Now at last in this chapter has to be told the fate of Florence Mountjoy, as far as it can be told in these pages. It was, at any rate, her peculiarity to attach to herself, by bonds which could not easily be severed, those who had once thought that they might be able to win her love. An attempt has been made to show how firm and determined were the affections of Harry Annesley, and how absolutely he trusted in her word when once it had been given to him. He had seemed to think that when she had even nodded to him, in answer to his assertion that he desired her to be his wife, all his trouble as regarded her heart had been off his mind.

There might be infinite trouble as to time,—as to ten years, three years, or even one year; trouble in inducing her to promise that she would become his wife in opposition to her mother; but he had felt sure that she never would be the wife of any one else. How he had at last succeeded in mitigating the opposition of her mother, so as to make the three years, or even the one year, appear to himself an altogether impossible delay, the reader knows. How he at last contrived to have his own way altogether, so that, as Florence told him, she was merely a ball in his hand, the reader will have to know very shortly. But not a shade of doubt had ever clouded Harry\'s mind as to his eventual success since she had nodded to him at Mrs. Armitage\'s ball. Though this girl\'s love had been so grand a thing to have achieved, he was quite sure from that moment that it would be his forever.

With Mountjoy Scarborough there had never come such a moment, and never could; yet he had been very confident, so that he had lived on the assurance that such a moment would come. And the self-deportment natural to her had been such that he had shown his assurance. He never would have succeeded; but he should not the less love her sincerely. And when the time came for him to think what he should do with himself, those few days after his father\'s death, he turned to her as his one prospect of salvation. If his cousin Florence would be good to him all might yet be well. He had come by that time to lose his assurance. He had recognized Harry Annesley as his enemy, as has been told often enough in these pages. Harry was to him a hateful stumbling-block. And he had not been quite as sure of her fidelity to another as Harry had been sure of it to himself. Tretton might prevail. Trettons do so often prevail. And the girl\'s mother was all on his side. So he had gone to Cheltenham, true as the needle to the pole, to try his luck yet once again. He had gone to Cheltenham, and there he found Harry Annesley. All hopes for him were then over and he started at once for Monaco; or, as he himself told himself, for the devil.

Among the lovers of Florence some memory may attach itself to poor Hugh Anderson. He too had been absolutely true to Florence. From the hour in which he had first conceived the idea that she would make him happy as his wife, it had gone on growing upon him with all the weight of love, He did not quite understand why he should have loved her so dearly, but thus it was. Such a Mrs. Hugh Anderson, with a pair of horses on the boulevards, was to his imagination the most lovely sight which could be painted. Then Florence took the mode of disabusing him which has been told, and Hugh Anderson gave the required promise. Alas, in what an unfortunate moment had he done so! Such was his own thought. For though he was sure of his own attachment to her, he could not mount high enough to be as sure of her to somebody else. It was a "sort of thing a man oughtn\'t to have been asked to promise," he said to the third secretary. And having so determined, he made up his mind to follow her to England and to try his fortune once again.

Florence had just wished Harry good-bye for the day, or rather for the week. She cared for nothing now in the way of protestations of affection. "Come Harry—there now—don\'t be so unreasonable. Am not I just as impatient as you are? This day fortnight you will be back, and then—"

"Then there will be some peace, won\'t there? But mind you write every day." And so Harry was whisked away, as triumphant a man as ever left Cheltenham by the London train. On the following morning Hugh Anderson reached Cheltenham and appeared in Montpellier Place.

"My daughter is at home, certainly," said Mrs. Mountjoy. There was something in the tone which made the young man at once assure himself that he had better go back to Brussels. He had even been a favorite with Mrs. Mountjoy. In his days of love-making poor Mountjoy had been absent, declared no longer to have a chance of Tretton, and Harry had been—the very evil one himself. Mrs. Mountjoy had been assured by the Brussels Mountjoy that, with the view of getting well rid of the evil one, she had better take poor Anderson to her bosom. She had opened her bosom accordingly, but with very poor results. And now he had come to look after what result there might be. Mrs. Mountjoy felt that he had better go back to Brussels.

"Could I not see her?" asked Anderson.

"Well, yes; you could see her."

"Mrs. Mountjoy, I\'ll tell you everything, just as though you were my own mother. I have loved your daughter;—oh, I don\'t know how it is! If she\'d be my wife for two years, I don\'t think I\'d mind dying afterward."

"Oh, Mr. Anderson!"

"I wouldn\'t. I never heard of a case where a girl had got such a hold of a man as she has of me."

"You don\'t mean to say that she has behaved badly?"

"Oh no! She couldn\'t behave badly;—it isn\'t in her. But she can bowl a fellow over in the most—well, most desperate manner. As for me, I\'m not worth my salt since I first saw her. When I go to ride with the governor I haven\'t a word to say to him," But this ended in Mrs. Mountjoy going and promising that she would send Florence down in her place. She knew that it would be in vain; but to a young man who had behaved so well as Mr. Anderson so much could not be refused. "Here I am again," he said, very much like Punch in the pantomime.

"Oh, Mr. Anderson! how do you do?"

A lover who is anxious to prevail with a lady should always hold up his head. Where is the writer of novels, or of human nature, who does not know as much as that? And yet the man who is in love, truly in love, never does hold up his head very high. It is the man who is not in love who does so. Nevertheless it does sometimes happen that the true lover obtains his reward. In this case it was not observed to be so. But now Mr. Anderson was sure of his fate, so that there was no encouragement to him to make any attempt at holding up his head. "I have come once more to see you," he said.

"I am sure it gives mamma so much pleasure."

"Mrs. Mountjoy is very kind. But it hasn\'t been for her. The truth is, I couldn\'t settle down in this world without having another interview."

"What am I to say, Mr. Anderson?"

"I\'ll just tell you how it all is. You know what my prospects are." She did not quite remember, but she bowed to him. "You must know, because I told you. There is nothing I kept concealed." Again she bowed. "There can be no possible family reason for my going to Kamtchatka."

"Kamtchatka!"

"Yes, indeed;—the F.O." (The F.O. always meant the Foreign Office.) "The F.O. wants a young man on whom it can thoroughly depend to go to Kamtchatka. The allowances are handsome enough, but the allowances are nothing to me."

"Why should you go?"

"It is for you to decide. Yes, you can detain me. If I go to that bleak and barren desert, it will merely be to court exile from that quarter of the globe in which you and I would have to live together and not separate. That I cannot stand. In Kamtchatka—Well, there is no knowing what may happen to me then."

"But I\'m engaged to be married to Mr. Annesley."

"You told me something of that before."

"But it\'s all fixed. Mamma will tell you. It\'s to be this day fortnight. If you\'d only stay and come as one of my friends."

Surely such a proposition as this is the unkindest that any young lady can make; but we believe that it is made not unfrequently. In the present case it received no reply.

Mr. Anderson took up his hat and rushed to the door. Then he returned for a moment. "God bless you, Miss Mountjoy!" he said. "In spite of the cruelty of that suggestion, I must bid God bless you." And then he was gone. About a week afterward M. Grascour appeared upon the scene with precisely the same intention. He, too, retained in his memory a most vivid recollection of the young lady and her charms. He had heard that Captain Scarborough had inherited Tretton, and had been informed that it was not probable that Miss Florence Mountjoy would marry her cousin. He was somewhat confused in his ideas, and thought, that were he now to re-appear on the scene there might still be a chance for him. There was no lover more unlike Mr. Anderson than M. Grascour. Not even for Florence Mountjoy, not even to own her, would he go to Kamtchatka; and were he not to see her he would simply go back to Brussels. And yet he loved her as well as he knew how to love any one, and, would she have become his wife, would have treated her admirably. He had looked at it all round, and could see no reason why he should not marry her. Like a persevering man, he persevered; but as he did so, no glimmering of an idea of Kamtchatka disturbed him.

But from this farther trouble Mrs. Mountjoy was able to save her daughter. M. Grascour made his way into Mrs. Mountjoy\'s presence, and there declared his purpose. He had been sent over on some question connected with the literature of commerce, and had ventured to take the opportunity of coming down to Cheltenham. He hoped that the truth of his affection would be evinced by the journey. Mrs. Mountjoy had observed, while he was making his little speech, how extremely well brushed was his hat. She had observed, also, that poor Mr. Anderson\'s hat was in such a condition as almost to make her try to smooth it down for him. "If you make objection to my hat, you should brush it yourself," she had heard Harry say to Florence, and Florence had taken the hat, and had brushed it with fond, lingering touches.

"M. Grascour, I can assure you that she is really engaged," Mrs. Mountjoy had said. M. Grascour bowed and sighed. "She is to be married this day week."

"Indeed!"

"To Mr. Harry Annesley."

"Oh-h-h! I remember the gentleman\'s name. I had thought—"

"Well, yes; there were objections, but they have luckily disappeared." Though Mrs. Mountjoy was only as yet happy in a melancholy manner, rejoicing with but bated joy at her girl\'s joys, she was too loyal to say a word now against Harry Annesley.

"I should not have troubled you, but—"

"I am sure of that, M. Grascour; and we are both of us grateful to you for your good opinion. I know very well how high is the honor which you are doing Florence, and she will quite understand it. But you see the thing is fixed; it\'s only a week." Florence was said, at the moment, to be not at home, though she was up-stairs, looking at four dozen new pocket-handkerchiefs which had just come from the pocket-handkerchief merchant, with the letters F.A. upon them. She had much more pleasure in looking at them than she would have had in listening to the congratulations of M. Grascour.

"He\'s a very good man, no doubt, mamma; a deal better, perhaps, than Harry." That, however, was not her true opinion. "But one can\'t marry all the good men."