She had no earthly friend to go to for advice, but had learned to seek guidance and direction from that Friend who is ever-present with His children wherever they may be.
From early childhood she had always known her own mind, and circumstances during the past year had done much to develop and increase this natural tendency to self-reliance and independence of thought and action.
She rose in the morning with her plans arranged, and quite ready to carry them out with promptness and decision. As a preliminary she surprised Mrs. Sharp by telling her as she rose from the breakfast-table, after an almost untasted meal, that she must have the day to herself; she had some matters of her own to attend to, and knew she could be spared, the sewing for Araminta being about done and nothing else at all pressing.
Hardly waiting for a reply, in her haste and excitement, she left the room.
“Well, I declare! mighty independent, to be sure! What’s in the wind now, I wonder!” exclaimed Mrs. Sharp, setting down the cup she had just lifted to her lips, and looking after Floy’s retreating figure.
But Floy did not hear. Repairing to her own room, Floy arrayed herself in her best attire—a suit of deep mourning, simply made and inexpensive, but very pretty and becoming—and, armed with all the documents at her command which could help to establish her identity, wended her way to the street and number named in the advertisement.
She had no difficulty in finding the place; the name of the firm was on the outside of the building, and repeated on the first door to the right as she passed into the hall.
A voice bade her enter in answer to her knock. She did so with a noiseless step and quiet, lady-like air.
The room was of good size and handsomely furnished; evidently Messrs. Tredick & Server were a prosperous firm.
They were both there, seated each at his own desk. Both looked up and bowed good-morning, while one, the nearest to her, Mr. Server, as she afterwards learned, rose and handed her a chair, asking, “What can I do for you, Miss—”