re, and you can manage for
yourself. Here we must not remain another moment."

"Florence!"

"Nay, nay--whoever heard of a lady being thwarted on her
wedding-morning!" cried Florence--and she went out upon the stoop.
Jameson followed, and seemed to be expostulating; but she took his arm
and walked on, evidently unconvinced by all that he was saying, till
they disappeared in the oak woods.

CHAPTER II.

Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in the shame.
They will name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear? BYRON.

Florence was in her father's house near the Battery, and looking forth
into a large, old-fashioned garden, which was just growing dusky with
approaching twilight; near her, in a large crimson chair, sat a man of
fifty perhaps, tall and slender, with handsome but stern features,
rendered more imposing by thick hair, almost entirely gray, and a
style of dress unusually rich, and partaking of fashions that had
prevailed twenty years earlier.

Florence was pensive, and an air of painful depression hung about her.
The presence of her father, who sat gazing upon her in silence,
affected her much; the secret that lay upon her heart seemed to grow
palpable to his sight, and though she appeared only still and pensive,
the poor girl trembled from head to foot.

"Florence!" said Mr. Hurst after the lapse of half an hour, for it
seemed as if he had been waiting for the twilight to deepen around
them--"Florence, you are sad, child. You look unhappy. Do your
father's wishes press so heavily upon your spirits--do you look upon
him as harsh, unreasonable, because he will not allow his only child
to throw away her friendship, her society upon the unworthy?"

Florence did not answer, her heart was too full. There was something
tender and affectionate in her father's voice that made the tears
start, and drowned the words that she would have spoken. Seldom had he
addressed her in that tone before. How unlike was he to the reserved,
stern father whose arbitrary command to part with her lover she had
secretly disobeyed.

"Speak, Florence, your depression grieves me," continued Mr. Hurst, as
he heard the sobs she was trying in vain to suppress.

"Oh, father--father! why will you call him unworthy because he lacks
family standing and wealth? I cannot--oh I never can think with you in