t some money as soon as I arrive in
London," she said. "Lend me sufficient to pay my passage there."

"You have no occasion to borrow money, Mrs. Tresham," said Mr.
Lanhearne. "There is a sum due your husband which will be quite
sufficient to meet all your expenses home. I will send a man to secure
you a good berth. Shall it be for Saturday next?"

"I can go to-morrow very well."

"No, you cannot go to-morrow, Mrs. Tresham," answered Ada. "You must
have proper clothing to travel in. If you will permit me, I will
attend to this matter for you at once."

And though the proper clothing was a very prosaic comfort, it was a
tangible one to Denas. She was grateful to find herself clothed in
that modest, sombre decency which her condition claimed; to have all
the small proprieties of the season and the circumstances, all the
toilet necessities which are part of the expression of a refined
nature. For the poor lady who pitifully lamented the calamity which
had "reduced her to elegance" indicated no slight deprivation;
proper clothing for the occasions of life being both to men and
women one of those great decencies demanded by an austere and
suitable self-respect.

Faithfully did this good father and daughter fulfil to the last tittle
the demands of their almost super-sensitive hearts and consciences,
and if they sighed with relief when the duty was over, the sigh only
proved the duty to have been beyond the line of self-satisfaction and
a real sacrifice to the claims of a common humanity. Mr. Lanhearne
then turned his thoughts gladly toward Florida. He felt that the
invasion of so much strange sorrow into his home had altered its
atmosphere, and that he was human enough to be a little weary in
well-doing. Ada was also glad to escape the precincts haunted by the
form and the voice which it pained her conscience to remember and
pained her heart to forget. So in a few more days the large brown
house was closed and dark, and "the tender grace of a day that was
dead" was gone for evermore. The land of sunshine was before them, and
many of their friends were already there to give them welcome; yet
Ada's soul kept repeating, with a ceaseless, uncontrollable monotony,
one sad lament--

"Ah, but alas! for the smile that never but one face wore!
Ah, for the voice that has flown away like a bird to an unknown
shore!
Ah, for the face--the flower of flowers--that blossoms on earth no
more!"

She tried to hu