thes, and herself packed her mother's things.

"Oh, my dear child, my best dress! don't let it get crushed," said the
little widow.

Florence's trembling hands smoothed out the rich folds, she placed the
dress in the top of the trunk, and before half-past six that morning
Mrs. Aylmer was dressed and her things packed.

Then Florence went down again through the house and awoke one of the
servants, and got her to wake a groom, who put a horse to a trap and
brought it round to a side door, and so it came to pass that before
seven o'clock that morning Mrs. Aylmer and Florence had left Cherry
Court Park forever.

When they got into the train poor Mrs. Aylmer turned to Florence and
begged for an explanation.

"I guess something dreadful has happened, but I can't imagine what it
is," she said. "What does this mean, Florence?"

"It means, Mummy," said Florence, "that I have done that which no one
but a mother would forgive. Listen, and I will tell you."

And then she told the whole story, from the very beginning, and Mrs.
Aylmer listened with a cold feeling at her heart, and at first a great
anger there; but when the story was finished, and Florence timidly took
her mother's hands and looked into her eyes and said, "Are you a true
enough mother to love me through it all?" then little Mrs. Aylmer's
heart melted, and she flung her arms round Florence's neck and
whispered through her sobs, "Oh, my child! oh, my child! I had a
dreadful feeling last night when your Aunt Susan said that you were my
daughter no longer; but this--this gives you to me forever."

"Of course it does, Mummy; Aunt Susan will never speak to me again.
Oh, Mummy, what it is to have you! What should I do without you now?"

* * * * *

The rest of this story can be told in a few words. It would be
impossible to depict the astonishment, the consternation, the amazement
which Sir John felt when he read poor Florence's confession. After
thinking matters over a short time, he sent for Mrs. Clavering, and he
and that good woman had a long conference together. The upshot of it
was that the guests were allowed to depart without knowing what had
really happened, Sir John saying that he would write to them afterwards.

Bertha Keys was sent for, severely reprimanded, and dismissed from her
post with ignominy. She never returned to Cherry Court School, leaving
Cherry Court Park for a distant part of the country that very day.
T