also a grand piano in the apartment, with other musical
instruments, all richly inlaid, but with their polish dimmed from a
like cause.

The lady seemed perfectly careless of all this disarray; she flung
herself on a high-backed damask sofa, and one instant buried her
flushed features in the pillows--the next, she would lift her head,
hold her breath and listen if among the gush of bird-songs and the hum
of insects she could hear the one sound that her heart was panting
for. Then she would start up, and taking a tiny watch from her bosom
snatch an impatient glance at the hands and thrust it back to its
tremulous resting-place again. Alas for thee, Florence Hurst! All this
emotion, this tremor of soul and body, this quick leaping of the blood
in thy young heart and thrilling of thy delicate nerves, in answer to
a thought, what does it all betoken? Love, love such as few women ever
experienced, such as no woman ever felt without keen misery, and
happiness oh how supreme! Happiness that crowds a heaven of love into
one exquisite moment, whose memory never departs, but like the perfume
that hangs around a broken rose, lingers with existence forever and
ever.

Florence loved passionately, wildly. Else why was she there in the
solitude of that lone dwelling? Her father's household was in the
city--no human being was in the old mansion to greet her coming, and
yet Florence was there--alone and waiting!

It was beyond the time! You could see that by the hot flush upon her
cheek, by the sparkle of her eyes--those eyes so full of pride,
passion and tenderness, over which the quick tears came flashing as
she wove her fingers together, while broken murmurs dropped from her
lips.

"Does he trifle with me--has he dared--"

How suddenly her attitude of haughty grief was changed! what a burst
of tender joy broke over those lovely features! How eagerly she dashed
aside the proud tears and sat down quivering like a leaf, and yet
striving--oh how beautiful was the strife!--to appear less impatient
than she was.

Yes, it was a footstep light and rapid, coming along the gravel-walk.
It was on the stoop--in the room--and before her stood a young man,
elegant, nay almost superb in his type of manliness, and endowed with
that indescribable air of fashion which is more pleasing than beauty,
and yet as difficult to describe as the perfume of a flower or the
misty descent of dews in the night.

The young girl up to this moment had been