her mother. Aunt Susan would not permit it for a moment; she might
see her occasionally, but never again would they meet as child and
mother. There would be a gulf between them, the gulf which ever and
always separates the rich from the poor. For Florence henceforth would
belong to the rich ones of the earth. Mrs. Aylmer the great was so
pleased, so elated, so triumphant at her marked and brilliant success
that there was nothing she would not do for her. Yes, Florence's
future life was secure, she was fortunate, the world lay at her feet,
her fortune was made.

She sat down on a low chair.

"It is all before me," she muttered, "the riches, the honor, the glory.
I shall also, if I am dressed well, be beautiful. Mine is the sort of
face that requires good decoration; mine is the figure which needs the
best clothes. I shall have everything, everything. I ought to be
happy; I wonder I am not. I ought to be very happy. Oh, I wish this
fire did not burn in my heart, and that horrid, scorching, intolerable
feeling, I wish it did not consume me. Oh, I suppose I shall get over
it in time; and if life lasted forever I should be the happiest girl in
the world; but of course it won't--nothing lasts forever, for age comes
even to the youngest, and then--then there is illness and--and perhaps
death. And I may not even live to be old. Rich and lucky and
fortunate as I am, I may die. I should not like to die a bit--not a
bit; I should not be prepared for the other world. Oh, I must shut
away the thought, for there is no going back now."

Just at this point in her meditations there came a knock at her door.
Florence started when she heard the sound. She wished that she had
thought of putting out the candle. She could not bear to feel that
anyone was coming to see her to-night. Her mother?--she dared not meet
her mother alone; she would be prepared in the morning, but she could
not meet her mother's searching glance just now.

She did not reply at all to the first knock, but the light from the
candle streamed out under the door, and the knock was repeated, and now
it was more insistent, and a voice said:

"It is only me, Florence; it is only me; let me come in."

Florence shuddered and turned very pale. She knew the voice: it was
the voice of Bertha Keys. If there was anyone in all the wide world
whom she would most dread to meet on that unhappy night it was Bertha
Keys, the girl who knew her secret. There was