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Page 4
A Striking difference in personal appearance was presented by the
cousins, as they stood together. Florence, though somewhat younger,
was taller by several inches, and her noble and erect carriage, in
connection with the haughty manner in which her head was thrown back,
added in effect to her height. Her hair and eyes were brilliant black,
the latter particularly thoughtful in their expression. The forehead
was not remarkable for height, but was unusually prominent and
white, and almost overhung the eyes. The mouth was perfect, the lips
delicately chiseled, and curving beautifully toward the full dimpled
chin. The face, though intellectual, and artistically beautiful, was
not prepossessing. The expression was cold and haughty; and for this
reason she had received the appellations of "Minerva" and "Juno," such
being considered by her fellow-pupils as singularly appropriate.
Mary, on the contrary, was slight and drooping, and her sweet,
earnest countenance, elicited the love of the beholder, even before an
intimate acquaintance had brought to view the beautiful traits of her
truly amiable character.
And yet these girls, diametrically opposed in disposition, clung to
each other with a strength of affection only to be explained by that
strongest of all ties, early association.
Florence broke the seal of her letter, and Mary walked to the window.
It looked out on a narrow street, through which drays rattled noisily,
and occasional passengers picked their way along its muddy crossings.
Mary stood watching the maneuvers of a little girl, who was
endeavoring to pass dry-shod, when a low groan startled her; and
turning quickly, she perceived Florence standing in the center of the
room, the letter crumpled in one hand: her face had grown very pale,
and the large eyes gleamed strangely.
"Oh! Florry, what is the matter? Is your father ill--dead--tell me
quick?" and imploringly she clasped her hands.
Florence made a powerful effort, and spoke, in her usual tone:
"I was foolish to give way to my feelings, even for a moment--my
father is well." She paused, and then added, as if painfully, "But,
oh! he is almost penniless!"
"Penniless!" echoed Mary, as though she could not comprehend her
cousin's meaning.
"Yes, Mary, he has been very unfortunate in his speculations, obliged
to sell our plantation and negroes, and now, he says, 'a few paltry
thousands only remain;' but, oh! that is not the worst; I wish it
were, he has sold out everything, broken every tie, and will be here
this evening on his way to Texas. He writes that I must be ready to
accompany him to-morrow night."
She paused, as if unwilling to add something which must be told, and
looked sadly at her cousin.
Mary understood the glance.
"Florry, there is something in the letter relating to myself, which
you withhold for fear of giving me pain: the sooner I learn it the
better."
"Mary, here is a letter inclosed for you; but first hear what my
father says," and hurriedly she read as follows: ... "With regard to
Mary, it cannot be expected that she should wish to accompany us on
our rugged path, and bitterly, bitterly do I regret our separation.
Her paternal uncle, now in affluence, has often expressed a desire to
have her with him, and, since my misfortunes, has written me, offering
her a home in his family. Every luxury and advantage afforded by
wealth can still be hers. Did I not feel that she would be benefited
by this separation, nothing could induce me to part with her, but,
under existing circumstances, I can consent to give her up."
Florence flung the letter from her as she concluded, and approaching
her cousin, clasped her arms fondly about her. Mary had covered her
face with her hands, and the tears glistened on her slender fingers.
"Oh, Florry, you don't know how pained and hurt I am, that uncle
should think I could be so ungrateful as to forget, in the moment of
adversity, his unvaried kindness for six long years. Oh! it is cruel
in him to judge me so harshly," and she sobbed aloud.
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