was arranged with an air of nicety and precision. 

 Florence entered and glanced with an expression of alarm toward the drawn curtains of a mahogany bedstead. "Is mother worse?" she asked in a voice but a breath above a whisper. 

 "She has had one of her bleeding spells," answered the small, dark woman. "Where is your father?" 

 "On the lower terrace; shall I call him?" 

 "No, I will go to him," returned the woman, "if you will remain by your mother a while." 

 "O, yes, I shall be delighted to stay!" said Florence, approaching the couch. 

 "You must not talk to her," remarked the woman; "she needs to be very quiet." 

 "I won't speak a word unless she asks me to," answered the young girl, sitting down by the bed-side, as the dark woman disappeared, closing the door softly behind her. 

 After a few moments' silence the sick woman stirred and parted the curtains slightly with her wan hand. Florence rose. "Do you want anything, mother?" she asked. 

 "No, my dear, I have been asleep. Where is Hannah?" 

 "Gone below. I think to send father for Dr. Potipher." 

 "I hope not," said the invalid; "it is not necessary. This is only one of my common attacks. I shall be as well as usual in a few days." 

 "Do you think so, mother?" asked Florence, brightening. "I feared you were very ill. I had something particular to say, but I was not going to say it, for fear of hurting you." 

 "What is it, dear?" inquired the mother. 

 "Something papa and I have been talking about down on the piazza to-night." 

 "Well," said the sick woman, looking affectionately on the earnest expression and downcast lids of Florence's large hazel eyes. 

 "I asked him to let me go to the seminary this term, and he said if you had no objection I might do so," said the hesitating girl, at length, with a long-drawn breath, as though she had relieved her bosom of a heavy burden. 

 The pale lady was silent a few moments, as if revolving the matter in her mind. Then she spoke suddenly. "You said your 

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