street, when she encountered Hannah Doliver.

"Where are you going?" demanded she in a sharp tone.

"To school," answered Florence, rushing past her.

"By whose leave, I wonder?" said the woman, running after her, to drag
her back. But the nimble-footed girl was too swift for her, and she
returned to the house muttering angrily to herself. Meantime, Florence
bounded over the gravelled walks, and was emerging from the gateway just
as the lad, in the morocco cap, was passing by. He arrested his steps on
beholding her, and bowed gracefully. She returned his salute, and said,
blushingly, "I am going to school up to the seminary. May I walk with
you?"

"Certainly, Miss Howard," answered he; "I shall be grateful for your
company."

"You know my name," said she, advancing to his side; "I am ignorant of
yours."

"Edgar Lindenwood," returned he, and the two walked on together.

CHAPTER XIV.

----"She has dark violet eyes,
A voice as soft as moonlight. On her cheek
The blushing blood miraculous doth range
From sea-shell pink to sunset. When she speaks
Her soul is shining through her earnest face
As shines a moon through its up-swathing cloud.
My tongue's a very beggar in her praise,
It cannot gild her gold with all its words."

ALEXANDER SMITH.

There was a neat, little vine-covered cottage standing a few doors
removed from the elegant mansion of Leroy Edson, and in it dwelt Mrs.
Stanhope, a widow lady and her maiden sister, Miss Martha Pinkerton,
a female of uncertain age, as authors say, and possessed of the
peculiarities common to persons of her class. They were not poor, nor
were they rich, but made a good living, as the world goes, by taking in
needlework. Young Mrs. Edson frequently dropped in to pass an hour in
social converse with Mrs. Stanhope, who was a pleasant, agreeable woman.
Miss Martha, too, always wore a smile on her sharp-featured face when
the lovely young wife appeared at the cottage. As they were simple,
unostentatious people, living in a retired and quiet way, she laid aside
all form and ceremony, and was accustomed to run in at any hour, in
whatever garb she chanced to be.

On a bright May morning, as the ladies had made all things tidy, and were
seating themselves to their daily avocation of the needle, they