entirely separate from those he had been too ready to assume; and,
if so, how strange would his letter appear. It was too late now to
recall the act, for already the mail that bore his letter was half
way from New York to Albany. A restless night succeeded to this day.
Early on the next morning he received a letter. It was in these
words--

"MY DEAR MR. FLORENCE:--I have been very ill, and to-day am able to
sit up just long enough to write a line or two. My uncle was in New
York some days ago, but did not meet with you. Will you not come up
and see me?

"Ever Yours, CLARA WELDON."

Florence was on board the next boat that left New York for Albany.
The letter of Clara was, of course, written before the receipt of
his hasty epistle. What troubled him now was the effect of this
epistle on her mind. He had not only wrongly interpreted her
silence, but had assumed the acceptance of another lover as
confidently as if he knew to an certainty that such was the case.
This was a serious matter and might result in the very thing he had
been so ready to assume--the rejection of his suit.

Arriving at length, in Albany, Mr. Florence sought out the residence
of Miss Weldon.

"Is Colonel Richards at home?" he inquired.

On being answered in the affirmative he sent up his name, with a
request to see him. The colonel made his appearance in short time.