her half asleep in the chamber
above; and during that time she tried to bring herself to some steady
resolve. She would remain in London for the coming months, so that he
might come to her if he pleased. She would remain there, even though she
were subject to the daily attacks of Sophie Gordeloup. She hardly knew
why, but in part she was afraid of Sophie. She had done nothing of which
Sophie knew the secret. She had no cause to tremble because Sophie might
be offended. The woman had seen her in some of her saddest moments, and
could indeed tell of indignities which would have killed some women. But
these she had borne, and had not disgraced herself in the bearing of
them. But still she was afraid of Sophie, and felt that she could not
bring herself absolutely to dismiss her friend from her house.
Nevertheless, she would remain; because Harry Clavering was in London
and could come to her there. To her house at Ongar Park she would never
go again, unless she went as his wife. The place had become odious to
her. Bad as was her solitude in London, with Sophie Gordeloup to break
it, and, perhaps, with Sophie's brother to attack her, it was not so bad
as the silent desolation of Ongar Park. Never again would she go there,
unless she went there, in triumph--as Harry's wife. Having so far
resolved, she took herself at last to her room, and dismissed her drowsy
Phoebe to her rest.

And now the reader must be asked to travel down at once into the
country, that he may see how Florence Burton passed the same evening at
Clavering Rectory. It was Florence's last night there, and on the
following morning she was to return to her father's house at Stratton.
Florence had not as yet received her unsatisfactory letter from Harry.
That was to arrive on the following morning. At present she was, as
regarded her letters, under the influence of that one which had been
satisfactory in so especial a degree. Not that the coming letter--the
one now on its route--was of a nature to disturb her comfort
permanently, or to make her in any degree unhappy. "Dear fellow; he must
be careful, he is overworking himself." Even the unsatisfactory letter
would produce nothing worse than this from her; but now, at the moment
of which I am writing, she was in a paradise of happy thoughts.

Her visit to Clavering had been in every respect successful. She had
been liked by every one, and every one in return had been liked by her.
Mrs. Clavering had treated her