Tears rose into Mrs. Blunden’s eyes as she heartily returned the affectionate embrace. She was appeased by this entire submission, and half sobbed, half said:
“Child, it will be so hard to part with you that I should not be begrudged the pleasure of having you with me a few weeks longer. I was never really angry with you but once, my little Florry, and I have repented that ever since. I’m sure,” she added, sobbing still more audibly, “when you wrote, thanking me so gratefully for sending you a hundred pounds, and dwelling upon the use it had been and comforts it had procured my poor, foolish brother, I felt that I had been dreadfully cruel to have withheld what some one with more Christian charity had bestowed. By the bye,” she cried abruptly, “who sent you that money? Was it Mr. Aylwinne?”
“No, madam,” he answered shortly.
“Really, now! And did you know nothing about it?”
For a moment or two he did not reply; but, meeting the questioning glance of Florence, whose keener perception had divined that he was withholding something, he said slowly:
“I have reason to know—that is, I accidentally learned that the inclosure of that note to Miss Heriton was one of Lieutenant Mason’s last acts before quitting England.”
Florence uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
“Is it possible? Heaven forgive me! I judged him more harshly than I should have done had I known that he repented his conduct so far as to do this.”
Mr. Aylwinne turned to the window without replying, but Mrs. Blunden cried:
“Pish! You could not think worse of him than he deserved. He did but give you back a part of your own. And now let me go. If this wedding is to be a hurried affair, as I suppose it will be in spite of my protest, I must go and talk to my maid about the fashions, and so forth.”