CHAPTER X.
FLOY’S RESOLVE.
“A beam of comfort, like the moon through clouds,
Gilds the black horror, and directs my way.”
Pride—her woman’s pride—had sustained Floy in the late interview with Mrs. Alden, and enabled her to resign Espy with apparent indifference; but when his mother had gone, leaving her alone, a sudden sense of utter desolation came over the girl, and hastening to her own room she locked her door, and throwing herself on the bed, buried her face in its pillows, while bitter, bursting sobs shook her whole frame.
“Was ever sorrow like unto my sorrow?” was the cry of the poor aching heart. “Have I not seen the grave close over my more than parents, earthly possessions swept away, and now resigned my love—all, all that was left me!”
The storm of grief was violent but brief. She seemed to hear again the prayer offered for her by the aged saint standing at her side in that other hour when heart and flesh were failing, and with passionate earnestness went up the cry, “Lord, my heart is overwhelmed; lead me to the Rock that is higher than I!”
Ah, all was not lost! Himself He had left her still, and with the thought she grew strong to do and endure.
She was endowed by nature with vigor of body and mind, and much firmness and decision of character. Her sobs were stilled, her tears ceased to flow, while with determined resolve she forced her thoughts to leave the past and busy themselves with plans for the future.
A new hope, a new desire had been gradually growing in her mind for the past few days. Her mother—her own mother, who had so loved her in her infancy—was there not a possibility that diligent, persevering search might be rewarded by success in finding her?