“Oh, no.”
“I am glad of that. I have often thought what a terrible experience it was for Carlos Conrad and his cousin. They came here so unexpectedly, and had that interview with their uncle (no one knows what was said or done on that occasion). Then came the awful tragedy, and their flight to parts unknown. I wonder what became of them? Are they in a strange land, without friends? Are they wandering about in disguise? Did they die from starvation or exposure during their flight? I have passed sleepless nights, asking these questions to myself, and thinking.”
“Oh, Florence, you must take your mind from these things. No good can come of your thinking of them. It is not doing justice to yourself. You are young, and have life before you.”
“True; but only seven weeks have passed yet. You must know how fresh everything is in my mind.”
“Yes, and it will always be so unless you have some diversion. Come, take a ride with me now,” exclaimed Mabel, springing up impulsively. “My phaeton is out here by the gate, and it is a lovely day.”
“Oh, Mabel, I have not ridden out since—since I put on black. I cannot.”
“But you must. I will not see you bury yourself in this way. Come!”
Florence hesitated.
“Go and get ready,” commanded Mabel.
Florence still hesitated, but soon yielded, and five minutes afterward was in the phaeton with her friend.