eak
it?"

"Better for it to be broken than used for others' harm."

"How do you know that it was meant to do harm?"

"I don't know it; I feel it--I am sure of it. If you lie and cheat and
rob, where will you stop short? Is it likely that I of all people can
trust you?"

Florence caught at the bed as if for support. She was trembling
violently; but her face had all its old malignancy as she said--

"You are going to slander me to your uncle, I suppose? Every one knows
that you would gain if I--I and little Dick were out of the way!"

Enid looked at her steadily.

"You are very clever, Florence," she said, "and it is exceedingly clever
of you to mention little Dick to me. You know that I love him, although
I do not love you. I shall do no harm to him that I can help. But
this--this burden is more than I can bear alone! I shall go to another
for help."

"You have promised to speak to nobody but Hubert on the subject," said
Flossy, turning upon her with a look of tigress-like fury.

"To nobody but my husband or my promised husband."

"And that is Hubert."

"No; it is not Hubert."

"Not Hubert? Then who--who?"

"That is nothing to you. You will hear in good time. You have no right
to question me; you lost your authority over me long ago."

"Not Hubert?" Flossy repeated once more, as if bewildered by the news.
Then she burst into a low wild laugh. "You are right," she said. "He has
replaced you already; he is desperately in love with Cynthia Westwood,
the daughter of the man who murdered your father, and he has given you
up. He never cared for you; he wanted your money only. Did that never
occur to your innocent mind? As soon as he is better, he will make
Cynthia his wife."

"He is free to do so if he pleases," said the girl, with a touch of
scorn in her voice. "I am thankful to escape from you both. You will not
expect me to live under the same roof with you again."

"Go where you please," returned Florence, "say and do what you please; I
shall be only too glad to think that I shall never see your face again.
I always hated you, Enid Vane; from the time that you were a child I
hated you, as I hated your mother before you. Some day you will perhaps
know why."

"I don't want to know. I have always felt that you hated me," said Enid,
the hot color receding from her cheeks. She was one of those people on
whom the consciousness of being disliked produces a chilling effect.
"But I never hated you; I do not h