to remember, Florence
was mindful of him' If she singled her out too plainly (Florence
thought) from among the rest, she would confirm--in one mind certainly:
perhaps in more--the belief that he was cruel and unnatural. Her own
delight was no set-off to this, 'What she had overheard was a reason,
not for soothing herself, but for saving him; and Florence did it, in
pursuance of the study of her heart.

She did so always. If a book were read aloud, and there were anything
in the story that pointed at an unkind father, she was in pain for their
application of it to him; not for herself. So with any trifle of an
interlude that was acted, or picture that was shown, or game that was
played, among them. The occasions for such tenderness towards him were
so many, that her mind misgave her often, it would indeed be better to
go back to the old house, and live again within the shadow of its dull
walls, undisturbed. How few who saw sweet Florence, in her spring of
womanhood, the modest little queen of those small revels, imagined what
a load of sacred care lay heavy in her breast! How few of those who
stiffened in her father's freezing atmosphere, suspected what a heap of
fiery coals was piled upon his head!

Florence pursued her study patiently, and, failing to acquire the secret
of the nameless grace she sought, among the youthful company who were
assembled in the house, often walked out alone, in the early morning,
among the children of the poor. But still she found them all too far
advanced to learn from. They had won their household places long ago,
and did not stand without, as she did, with a bar across the door.

There was one man whom she several times observed at work very early,
and often with a girl of about her own age seated near him' He was a
very poor man, who seemed to have no regular employment, but now went
roaming about the banks of the river when the tide was low, looking out
for bits and scraps in the mud; and now worked at the unpromising
little patch of garden-ground before his cottage; and now tinkered up
a miserable old boat that belonged to him; or did some job of that kind
for a neighbour, as chance occurred. Whatever the man's labour, the
girl was never employed; but sat, when she was with him, in a listless,
moping state, and idle.

Florence had often wished to speak to this man; yet she had never taken
courage to do so, as he made no movement towards her. But one morning
when she happened to co