gured the usually placid face of
his uncle, as he gazed so fixedly on Edith. It reminded him of the
violent passion evinced in regard to his intercourse with Florence
Howard. He knew the recluse had experienced a severe disappointment in
early life, and concluded this had tended to sour his mind toward the
whole female race, and caused him to look with angry distrust upon the
most gentle and lovely of the sex. In no other way could he account for
the repugnance manifested by his uncle toward his friendship and
acquaintance with both Florence and Edith. Thus ruminating, he reached
the forest habitation to find all dark and gloomy. The hermit had not
returned to his hut.

Col. Malcome lingered a moment as he escorted Florence to the door of
her father's mansion, and, as he did so, Major Howard stepped forth,
rather suddenly. Florence presented him to the colonel, and the two
gentlemen shook hands cordially.

"I have frequently desired to call on you and form your acquaintance,
Col. Malcome," said the major; "but frequent absences from home, and the
delicate health of my wife, have prevented me hitherto."

A slight, cynical smile flitted over the colonel's face at these latter
words, but it was not observed in the obscure light of evening, and he
answered, politely, that he had often desired an acquaintance with the
major, and hoped that now their children had established a friendly
intercourse, the parents might soon follow the example.

Major Howard expressed a wish that it might be so, and Col. Malcome,
bowing gracefully, retired.

Florence, after inquiring for her mother, and learning she was
comfortable as usual, ascended to her room, made fast the door, and drew
forth her journal, which was the dearest companion of her lonely hours,
the receptacle of her most treasured thoughts, and safety-valve for all
unuttered griefs and hidden sorrows.

She had scarcely touched her gold-tipped pen to the virgin page, when a
soft knock on the door displaced her train of thought.

"Father?" said she putting her lips close to the lock, for he was the
only one from whom she could expect a call at that late hour. There was
no answer. She hesitated a moment, and then opened the door. Hannah
Doliver slid in.

Florence stood still, gazing with astonishment on the little wiry form,
as it wormed around the apartment, touching the books, and giving sudden
pulls at the curtains and bed drapery. She had never seen Hannah over
her th