has not
known how to avoid her."

Then Florence read the letter very slowly, going over most of the
sentences more than once, and struggling to learn from them what were
really the wishes of the writer. When she came to Harry's exculpation of
Lady Ongar, she believed it thoroughly, and said so--meeting, however, a
direct contradiction on that point from her sister-in-law. When she had
finished it, she folded it up and gave it back. "Cissy," she said, "I
know that I ought to go back. I do not want to see him, and I am glad
that he has gone away."

"But you do not mean to give him up?"

"Yes, dearest."

"But you said you would never leave him, unless he left you."

"He has left me."

"No, Florence; not so. Do you not see what he says; that he knows you
are the only woman that can make him happy?"

"He has not said that; but if he had, it would be no matter. He
understands well how it is. He says that I could not take him now--even
if he came to me; and I cannot. How could I? What! wish to marry a man
who does not love me, who loves another, when I know that I am regarded
simply as a barrier between them; when by doing so I should mar his
fortunes? Cissy, dear, when you think of it, you will not wish it."

"Mar his fortunes! It would make them. I do wish it--and he wishes it
too. I tell you that I had him here, and I know it. Why should you be
sacrificed?"

"What is the meaning of self-denial, if no one can bear to suffer?"

"But he will suffer too--and all for her caprices! You cannot really
think that her money would do him any good. Who would ever speak to him
again, or even see him? What would the world say of him? Why, his own
father and mother and sisters would disown him, if they are such as you
say they are."

Florence would not argue it further, but went to her room, and remained
there alone till Cecilia came to tell her that her brother had returned.
What weeping there may have been there, need not be told. Indeed, as I
think, there was not much, for Florence was a girl whose education had
not brought her into the way of hysterical sensations. The Burtons were
an active, energetic people, who sympathized with each other in labor
and success--and in endurance also; but who had little sympathy to
express for the weaknesses of grief. When her children had stumbled in
their play, bruising their little noses, and barking their little shins,
Mrs. Burton, the elder, had been wont to bid them rise, asking t