A gentle sigh, and Floy knew that she was alone. No wail of sorrow broke the deep hush of that death-chamber, no tears fell from the burning eyes of the solitary mourner. They found her with the still form clasped in her arms, her dead mother’s head pillowed upon her bosom, the tearless eyes gazing with mingled love and anguish upon the calm, sweet face on whose unruffled brow Peace had set its signet. The lovely smile yet lingered about the pale lips which to Floy’s ear seemed ever whispering, “All is peace, peace, the sweetest peace.”
CHAPTER V.
BETROTHED.
“We all do fade as a leaf.”—Isaiah 64:6
“My Adah! let me call thee mine.”—Byron.
“Floy!”
Only a word, yet what a world of love and tender sympathy spoke in the tone and in the touch of the hand that gently caressed her hair.
The girl started and looked up.
“Oh, Espy!”