come to take her to her own home.

'We have come to London now, my mother and I,' said Edith, 'and you
shall stay with us until I am married. I wish that we should know and
trust each other, Florence.'

'You are very kind to me,' said Florence, 'dear Mama. How much I thank
you!'

'Let me say now, for it may be the best opportunity,' continued Edith,
looking round to see that they were quite alone, and speaking in a lower
voice, 'that when I am married, and have gone away for some weeks,
I shall be easier at heart if you will come home here. No matter who
invites you to stay elsewhere. Come home here. It is better to be alone
than--what I would say is,' she added, checking herself, 'that I know
well you are best at home, dear Florence.'

'I will come home on the very day, Mama'

'Do so. I rely on that promise. Now, prepare to come with me, dear girl.
You will find me downstairs when you are ready.'

Slowly and thoughtfully did Edith wander alone through the mansion of
which she was so soon to be the lady: and little heed took she of all
the elegance and splendour it began to display. The same indomitable
haughtiness of soul, the same proud scorn expressed in eye and lip, the
same fierce beauty, only tamed by a sense of its own little worth, and
of the little worth of everything around it, went through the grand
saloons and halls, that had got loose among the shady trees, and raged
and rent themselves. The mimic roses on the walls and floors were set
round with sharp thorns, that tore her breast; in every scrap of gold
so dazzling to the eye, she saw some hateful atom of her purchase-money;
the broad high mirrors showed her, at full length, a woman with a noble
quality yet dwelling in her nature, who was too false to her better
self, and too debased and lost, to save herself. She believed that all
this was so plain, more or less, to all eyes, that she had no resource
or power of self-assertion but in pride: and with this pride, which
tortured her own heart night and day, she fought her fate out, braved
it, and defied it.

Was this the woman whom Florence--an innocent girl, strong only in her
earnestness and simple truth--could so impress and quell, that by her
side she was another creature, with her tempest of passion hushed, and
her very pride itself subdued? Was this the woman who now sat beside her
in a carriage, with her arms entwined, and who, while she courted and
entreated her to love and trust her, drew h