"No," he said, almost bitterly, "I cannot guess—perhaps I do not care to guess!"
"Oh, Robert! you do not know what happiness is; no human being ever was so happy before. How cold—how calm you are! You could feel for me when I was miserable, but now—now it is wrong: he charged me to keep it secret, but my heart is so full, Robert; stoop and let me whisper it—tell nobody, he would be very angry—but this week we are to be married!"
"Now," said Robert, drawing a deep breath, and speaking in a voice so calm that it seemed like prophecy—"now I feel for you more than ever."
The little, eager hand fell from his arm, and in a voice that thrilled with disappointment, Florence said,
"Then you will not wish me joy!"
Robert took her hand, grasped it a moment in his, and flinging aside the cloud of lace that had fallen over them, left the room. Florence followed him with her eyes, and while he was in sight a shade of sadness hung upon her sweet face—but her happiness was too perfect even for this little shadow to visit it more than a moment. She sunk upon an ottoman in the recess, and, with her eyes fixed upon the autumn flowers without, subsided into a reverie, the sweetest, the brightest that ever fell upon a youthful heart.
CHAPTER XV. THE MOTHER'S APPEAL.
Wrong to one's self but wrongs the world;