"Arthur, Arthur! you will break my heart!"
She had risen and was standing with one hand resting on the back of a chair, the other pressed to her head. He made a motion to approach her, but she put out her hand with a sign to stop him.
"Now listen to me. I am no false woman, no vain coquette. Until the night I received your letter, I knew no reason why I should not—not—" She hesitated a moment. "I knew no reason why I should not have answered it according to the dictates of my heart; but that night a story of a life was told me that—that changed my whole existence. It is a heavy burden to bear."
"But not, dearest, if I can help you bear it." He would have taken her hand, but she drew back from him, "You cannot, no one can—O God! help me, my heart is broken!" She threw her arms up over her head, and would have fallen had he not caught her. She had not fainted, though for a moment she thought death had come to her relief; and almost in a moment released herself from his arms, and said sadly: "I hoped to have spared us both this misery; but it was God's will that we should not escape it. For myself, a little more does not matter; but for you—O Arthur! forgive me the pain I have made you suffer, and remember my own cross is as heavy as I can bear. Good-by!" She held out her hand—"good-by! You cannot return home to-day, it is too late; but you must excuse me, I will send uncle."
"Florence! I am not going to remain if this is your answer. Do you think I could break bread or sleep under your roof after what has passed? Heavens! do you think I'm a stick or a stone?"
"As you will!" she said wearily, "I cannot help it!"
"Then I will take my leave." He was going; but as he laid his hand on the door-knob, he glanced at her, and the expression of heart-broken misery in the sweet face overcame his injured feelings, and he turned and took her hand. "Forgive me, Florence; I have been rude and unfeeling—selfish in my great disappointment. Forgive me, darling; remember my love is strong enough to bear the heaviest burden you could lay upon it, if your own strength fails, Good-by and God bless you." He raised her hand to his lips, and in another moment was gone.
Every day Florence strove manfully with her trouble, and every night her prayers were said before the Mater Dolorosa, for strength to bear with silent patience the sorrow her loving friends could not cure. But her face grew pale and wan, her form more slight and delicate, till her aunt, in alarm, proposed a change of scene. It was in the early spring, and Margaret Lee proposed a tour through the eastern cities; but Florence begged so hard not to be taken to New York or Philadelphia that the idea was given up. At last they determined to go direct to Boston, and sail thence for Liverpool. This plan was carried out in June, leaving the farm in charge of the overseer, and the house to Tamar.
To a mind like Florence's, imbued with a loving reverence for all connected with the church, filled with a love for the beautiful and grand, and a heart ready to receive their impressions; with an intellect of no common order, and a quick appreciation of the good and noble, a tour through Europe, particularly Spain, France, and Italy, had many charms, and could not but awake an interest that surprised herself. When they settled at Rome for the winter, they had the satisfaction of a decided change for the better in Florence's appearance.
But she had not forgotten; she was only glad that returning strength of body enabled her to hide more effectually the anguish and heart-sick yearning that sometimes seemed unbearable. Several letters came from Arthur Hinsdale during the first year; but Florence returned the same answer to all; and at last the young man desisted. Three years were passed in idling from one point of interest to another, when the tocsin of civil war in the United States waked up the nations, and called the country's loyal children from far and wide to her assistance.