“Yes! yes! as you might have been, Florence!” repeated Mr. Fleetwood, with sudden energy, catching at the hand of the young girl and pressing it to his lips.
“Tell her all! yes, tell her all!” he added, turning to Mrs. Elder in a hurried, excited manner. “Her presence moves me strangely, and memories of the past are too strong for an old man’s feelings.”
Mr. Fleetwood left, abruptly, the apartment, passing into the street, and so leaving the aunt and niece alone.
“Tell me all of what, Aunt Mary?” said Florence, coming to the side of Mrs. Elder. Her face had become very pale.
“A simple story of thwarted love and undying affection,” replied Aunt Mary, calmly. “Mr. Fleetwood loved your mother, and that love was only in a measure returned. Your father won her heart more truly, and she decided in his favor. They were married, and you are their only child. If your mother had married Mr. Fleetwood, the current of her life might have run smoother; but whether she would have been happier is not for me to say. Mr. Fleetwood never would marry again; and it seems that his love for your mother has been an undying passion. I will say no more than this. But he is a man of great moral worth, noble sentiments, and a true heart. His interest in you is not a passing whim or preference, but has in it such deep regard as a wise and good father knows only for his child. And so you may be very sure that he will advise you to no course of action in regard to his niece and her children that he would not advise for his own daughter. It was his love for these children that led him to desire you for their governess,— you, whom he rightly knew only through my representation of your character. I think you will see it best to return to your post.”
“I can only go back through Mrs. Dainty’s invitation, and, I was going to say, after her apology.”
“Withhold for the present that last condition,” said Aunt Mary. “I doubt not, when the time comes, the way in which your feet should walk will be made very plain.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEW GOVERNESS.
Mrs. Dainty was asleep in her easy-chair, and the children, with no governess to interest or instruct them, were ranging through the house at will, and finding their own amusements, when the educated English lady arrived, and sent up her card.
“Mrs. Jeckyl—Jeckyl: who is she? I have no acquaintance by that name,” said Mrs. Dainty, as she looked at the card through her half-awake eyes. “What kind of a person is she?”