place
again, and to know we are to go away no more!" said she. "It will wear
off after a while, and I shall become silent and solemn as a nun. Won't
you let me go to the seminary just one term? I can still take my music
lessons of Mrs. Sayles here at home, and I know my French and Italian
masters would like a respite from their duties." She stood looking
earnestly in her father's face.

"You smooth the way very well, my little daughter," said he, patting her
rosy cheek; "but I incline to think you had better continue your studies
in the old way."

Florence looked disappointed, and turned slowly from his side. Her
dejected appearance touched his affectionate heart, and he called her
back. She came bounding toward him, with new hope dancing in her dark
liquid eyes.

"If you can obtain your mother's consent," said he, "I will not object to
your attending school at the seminary one term, as you seem so much to
desire it."

"O, thank you, thank you, dear father!" exclaimed the glad girl, putting
her arms round his neck, and giving him a grateful kiss on either cheek,
"and may I commence to-morrow? that is, if mamma consents to my going?"

"To-morrow?" said he, "had you not better wait, as this term is so far
advanced, and commence with a new one?"

"O, no!" returned she, "I should rather begin at once."

"Well, go in, little Miss Rattle, and see what your sage mamma says on
the subject," said her father, smiling at her earnest countenance.

Away went Florence, with the lightness of a bird up the hall stairs, and,
giving a light tap at a closed door, stood dancing softly on tip-toe, as
she waited a summons to enter. "Who's there?" asked a low, trembling
voice at length.

"Me, mamma," answered Florence; "may I come in? I've something to ask
you."

The door was opened by a short, thin woman, of dark complexion, small
peering black eyes, and slick, shining hair of the same hue, which was
arranged with an air of nicety and precision.

Florence entered and glanced with an expression of alarm toward the drawn
curtains of a mahogany bedstead. "Is mother worse?" she asked in a voice
but a breath above a whisper.

"She has had one of her bleeding spells," answered the small, dark woman.
"Where is your father?"

"On the lower terrace; shall I call him?"

"No, I will go to him," returned the woman, "if you will remain by your
mother a while."

"O, yes, I shall be delighted to stay!" said Florence, approaching the
c