The blossom from the bough.
A bitter sigh for the hours gone by,
The dreams that might not last;
The friends deemed true when our hopes were new,
And the glorious visions past."
Rufus Malcome, as the accepted suitor of Florence, paid regular visits to her father's mansion. Great was the glee of Hannah Doliver to behold the young couple together; and great the nervous disquiet evinced by the invalided Mrs. Howard when she was aware of the young man's presence in the house. She had never met him, as her health, which had in the last six months rapidly declined, confined her now entirely to her room, and indisposed her more strongly than ever to behold strange faces.
The only person she had ever been known to express a wish to see, since her residence in Wimbledon, was Edith Malcome,—a wish excited, perhaps, by Florence's warm praises of the grace and beauty of her young friend, who was as different from Rufus, she said, "as a sweet pink from an odious poppy."
But Edith, strange as it may appear, had never visited at the Howards', though often warmly invited by the whole family.
The colonel invariably excused her in his easy, graceful manner, saying she was "a timid little thing, and dreaded to go for a moment from her father's side." Latterly, her illness had been sufficient reason for her seclusion.
Florence was restricted from frequent visits to her sick friend by the state of her own health, which had grown so feeble and delicate as to alarm her father exceedingly. Dr. Potipher was consulted, and strongly advised travel and change of scene as the most effectual remedy for the feverish disease that seemed preying upon her constitution.