`No, my love. She has no mother, but her father is living.'

`Is she in mourning for her poor mama, now?' inquired the child quickly.

`No; for her only brother.'

`Has she no other brother?'

`None.'

`No sister?'

`None.'

`I am very, very sorry!' said the little girl.

As they stopped soon afterwards to watch some boats, and had been silent in the meantime, Florence, who had risen when she heard her name, and had gathered up her flowers to go and meet them, that they might know of her being within hearing, resumed her seat and work, expecting to hear no more; but the conversation recommenced next moment.

`Florence is a favourite with every one here, and deserves to be, I am sure,' said the child, earnestly. `Where is her papa?'

The aunt replied, after a moment's pause, that she did not know. Her tone of voice arrested Florence, who had started from her seat again; and held her fastened to the spot, with her work hastily caught up to her bosom, and her two hands saving it from being scattered on the ground.

`He is in England, I hope, aunt?' said the child.

`I believe so. Yes; I know he is, indeed.'

`Has he ever been here?'

`I believe not. No.'

`Is he coming here to see her?'

`I believe not.'

`Is he lame, or blind, or ill, aunt?' asked the child.

The flowers that Florence held to her breast began to fall when she heard those words, so wonderingly spoken. She held them closer; and her face hung down upon them.

`Kate,' said the lady, after another moment of silence, `I will tell you the whole truth about Florence as I have heard it, and believe it to be. Tell no one else, my dear, because it may be little known here, and your doing so would give her pain.'

`I never will!' exclaimed the child.

`I know you never will,' returned the lady. `I can trust you as myself. I fear then, Kate, that Florence's father cares little for her, very seldom sees her, never was kind to her in her life, and now quite shuns her and avoids her. She would love him dearly if he would suffer her, but he will not--though for no fault of hers; and she is greatly to be loved and pitied by all gentle hearts.'