CHAPTER LIV.
CLOUDS AND DARKNESS.
"At least, Miss Amy--at least, we shall be friends." Amy Waring sat in her chamber on the evening of the day that Lawrence Newt had said these words.

Her long rich brown hair clustered upon her shoulders, and the womanly brown eyes were fixed upon a handful of withered flowers.

They were the blossoms she had laid away at various times--gifts of Lawrence Newt, or consecrated by his touch.
She sat musing for a long time.

The womanly brown eyes were soft with a look of aching regret rather than of sharp disappointment.

Then she rose--still holding the withered remains--and paced thoughtfully up and down the room.