py till she gets it into her
hands again. We will send Jem over to the post-office, and have it
registered."

When so much was settled, Mrs. Clavering went away about the affairs of
her house, thinking as she did so of the loving words with which she
would strive to give back happiness to Florence Burton.

Harry, when he was alone, slowly opened the parcel. He could not resist
the temptation of doing this, and of looking again at the things which
she had sent back to him. And he was not without an idea--perhaps a
hope--that there might be with them some short note--some scrap
containing a few words for himself. If he had any such hope he was
disappointed. There were his own letters, all scented with lavender from
the casket in which they had been preserved; there was the rich bracelet
which had been given with some little ceremony, and the cheap brooch
which he had thrown to her as a joke, and which she had sworn that she
would value the most of all because she could wear it every day; and
there was the pencil-case which he had fixed on to her watch-chain,
while her fingers were touching his fingers, caressing him for his love
while her words were rebuking him for his awkwardness. He remembered it
all as the things lay strewed upon his bed. And he re-read every word of
his own words. "What a fool a man makes of himself!" he said to himself
at last, with something of the cheeriness of laughter about his heart.
But as he said so he was quite ready to make himself a fool after the
same fashion again, if only there were not in his way that difficulty of
recommencing. Had it been possible for him to write again at once in the
old strain, without any reference to his own conduct during the last
month, he would have begun his fooling without waiting to finish his
dressing.

"Did you open the parcel?" his mother asked him, some hour or so before
it was necessary that Jem should be started on his mission.

"Yes, I thought it best to open it."

"And have you made it up again?"

"Not yet, mother."

"Put this with it, dear." And his mother gave him a little jewel, a
cupid in mosaic surrounded by tiny diamonds, which he remembered her to
wear ever since he had first noticed the things she had worn. "Not from
me, mind. I give it to you. Come--will you trust me to pack them?" Then
Mrs. Clavering again made up the parcel, and added the trinket which she
had brought with her.

Harry at last brought himself to write a few words