sobbing, as she laid her back on the pillow;
while Bea ran for some water.

CHAPTER XII.

THE STORY.

Mrs. Dering and Ernestine were alone; Ernestine had asked for the story
of her own, or rather her mother's life, and now lay with her face
turned away, while Mrs. Dering held her hand in that loving clasp, and
began telling it quietly:

"We were all living in Virginia at the time, dear. Papa Dering lived
with his uncle Ridley. Uncle Walter Dering lived in Staunton, and your
mama's home and mine, also in the city, were only a little way apart,
and we saw a great deal of each other. Florence Granger was her name,
and she was the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen, except the
little daughter here, who is going to be her mother's very image. She
was lovable in every way, but possessed a restless, impatient,
dissatisfied spirit, that brought her much unhappiness. She constantly
yearned for some kind of life that would give her eager, uncontrollable
spirits free play; she hated the restraints of home, and frequently
threw out dark hints to me of what she would do sometimes, when the
right moment presented itself. I often begged her to give up such
restless longings, and be happy at home; for she certainly had a lovely
one, and might have been the happiest of girls; but she would kiss me
and laugh, and call me 'dear little proper Bess,' and really be so happy
and gay for a time that I would lose my fears, and think her threats all
lively fun. About this time, papa and I became engaged, and I, confiding
to him a secret that I had discovered, that his brother Walter loved
Florence, he said that Walter had confessed it to him but that he
despaired of ever gaining her heart, and that he dreaded the depressing
effect of discouragement on his health, for Walter was very delicate. So
I promised to do all I could towards helping him, and finding out the
true state of Florence's heart towards him, and I did so quite
successfully, though it has always been a source of bitterest regret to
me. I found, with very little trouble that she had no thought or feeling
of love for him, and one day, when she was thoughtlessly laughing at him
for something, I told her, in a hasty moment, how he loved her, and how
the disappointment might kill him. I never can forget how surprised and
grieved she looked, nor how bitterly I regretted my hastiness, for a
more tender-hearted girl never lived, and it was impossible to guess,
how, in