CHAPTER XV.
"-- --I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes." SHAKSPEARE.
Twilight had fallen slowly, for the evening was heavy and wet, and dark masses of cloud driven by the northern blasts sailed gloomily overhead.

Nature wore a dreary aspect, and one involuntarily turned inward for amusement.

A bright light gleamed from the window of Florence Hamilton's humble home, and her little dining-room seemed by contrast extremely cheerful; yet the hearts of its inmates were more in accordance with the gloom which reigned without.

Aunt Lizzy, growing somewhat infirm of late, had retired earlier than usual.
Florence had been sewing all the afternoon, but now lay with closed eyes on the couch, her hands clasped over her head.

Mary sat near the table holding an open volume, but her thoughts had evidently wandered far away; for her gaze was fixed abstractedly on the fire which blazed and crackled at her feet.