The Time of Roses by L.T. Meade

Florence sat up long with that letter lying in her lap. The fire burned low and finally went out. Still she sat by the cold hearth, and once or twice she touched the letter, and once or twice she read it.

"It burns into me; it is written in my heart in letters of fire," she said to herself finally, and then she rose slowly and stretched her arms and crossed the room and looked out at the sky. From the top of her lofty flat she could see just a little sky above the London roofs. It was a clear cold night with a touch of frost, and the stars were all brilliant. Florence gazed up at them.