'Oh!' she uttered, in the sudden revulsion of feeling that the sight brought to her, 'is it you?'
He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down at her. Had it been to save her life, she could not have helped betraying emotion.
'Are you glad to see me, Florence?' he softly whispered.
She coloured even to tears. Glad! The time might come when she should be able to tell him so; but that time was not yet.
'Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return,' he continued, in the same low tone, sweeter to her ear than all music. 'She says I have been missed. Is it so, Florence?'
'And what have you been doing?' asked Florence, not knowing in the least what she said in her confusion, as she left his question unanswered, and drew her hands away from him.
'I have not been doing much, save the seeing a dear old friend laid in the earth. You know that Mrs. Thornimett is dead. She died before I got there.'
'Papa told us that. He heard from you two or three times, I think. How you must regret it! But why did they not send for you in time?'
'It was only the last day that danger was apprehended,' replied Austin. 'She grew worse suddenly. You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this gaiety'—he half turned to the room—'contrasts with the scenes I have left: the holy calm of her death-chamber, the laying of her in the grave.'