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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Dora Thorne
+
+Author: Charlotte M. Braeme
+
+Posting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook #2374]
+Release Date: October, 2000
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORA THORNE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Theresa Armao.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DORA THORNE
+
+
+by
+
+Charlotte M. Braeme
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I
+
+"The consequences of folly seldom end with its originator," said Lord
+Earle to his son.  "Rely upon it, Ronald, if you were to take this most
+foolish and unadvisable step, you would bring misery upon yourself and
+every one connected with you.  Listen to reason."
+
+"There is no reason in prejudice," replied the young man haughtily.
+"You can not bring forward one valid reason against my marriage."
+
+Despite his annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earle's grave face.
+
+"I can bring a thousand reasons, if necessary," he replied.  "I grant
+everything you say.  Dora Thorne is very pretty; but remember, she is
+quite a rustic and unformed beauty--and I almost doubt whether she can
+read or spell properly.  She is modest and good, I grant, and I never
+heard one syllable against her.  Ronald, let me appeal to your better
+judgment--are a moderate amount of rustic prettiness and shy modesty
+sufficient qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your
+mother's place?"
+
+"They are quite sufficient to satisfy me," replied the young man.
+
+"You have others to consider," said Lord Earle, quickly.
+
+"I love her," interrupted his son; and again his father smiled.
+
+"We know what it means," he said, "when boys of nineteen talk about
+love.  Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your request, you
+would be the first in after years to reproach me for weak compliance
+with your youthful folly."
+
+"You would not call it folly," retorted Ronald, his face flushing
+hotly, "if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of some--"
+
+"Spare me a long discourse," again interrupted Lord Earle.  "You are
+quite right; if the young girl in question belonged to your own
+station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a different
+matter.  I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, fallen in love,
+or that you wish to marry, although you are young.  I am annoyed that
+you should dream of wishing to marry a simple rustic, the daughter of
+my lodge keeper.  It is so supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat
+the matter seriously."
+
+"It is serious enough for me," returned his son with a long, deep sigh.
+"If I do not marry Dora Thorne, I shall never marry at all."
+
+"Better that than a mesalliance," said Lord Earle, shortly.
+
+"She is good," cried Ronald--"good and fair, modest and graceful.  Her
+heart is pure as her face is fair.  What mesalliance can there be,
+father?  I never have believed and never shall believe in the cruel
+laws of caste.  In what is one man better than or superior to another
+save that he is more intelligent or more virtuous?"
+
+"I shall never interfere in your politics, Ronald," said Lord Earle,
+laughing quietly.  "Before you are twenty-one you will have gone
+through many stages of that fever.  Youth is almost invariably liberal,
+age conservative.  Adopt what line of politics you will, but do not
+bring theory into practice in this instance."
+
+"I should consider myself a hero," continued the young man, "if I could
+be the first to break through the trammels of custom and the absurd
+laws of caste."
+
+"You would not be the first," said Lord Earle, quietly.  "Many before
+you have made unequal marriages; many will do so after you, but in
+every case I believe regret and disappointment followed."
+
+"They would not in my case," said Ronald, eagerly; "and with Dora
+Thorne by my side, I could so anything; without her, I can do nothing."
+
+Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son.
+
+"Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald," he said,
+gently. "I listen, and try to convince you by reasonable arguments that
+the step you seem bent upon taking is one that will entail nothing but
+misery.  I have said no angry word to you, nor shall I do so.  I tell
+you simply it can not be.  Dora Thorne, my lodge keeper's daughter, is
+no fitting wife for my son, the heir of Earlescourt.  Come with me,
+Ronald; I will show you further what I mean."
+
+They went together, the father and son, so like in face yet so
+dissimilar in mind.  They had been walking up and down the broad
+terrace, one of the chief beauties of Earlescourt.  The park and
+pleasure grounds, with flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around them.
+The song of hundreds of birds trilled through the sweet summer air, the
+water of many fountains rippled musically, rare flowers charmed the eye
+and sent forth sweet perfume; but neither song of birds nor fragrance
+of flowers--neither sunshine nor music--brought any brightness to the
+grave faces of the father and son.
+
+With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the hall.
+They passed through a long suite of magnificent apartments, up the
+broad marble staircase, through long corridors, until they reached the
+picture gallery, one of the finest in England.  Nearly every great
+master was represented there.  Murillo, Guido, Raphael, Claude
+Lorraine, Salvator Rosa, Correggio, and Tintoretto.  The lords of
+Earlescourt had all loved pictures, and each of them ad added to the
+treasures of that wonderful gallery.
+
+One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the
+family.  Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side; faces of
+marvelous beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, shone out clearly
+from their gilded frames.
+
+"Look, Ronald," Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his shoulder,
+"you stand before your ancestors now.  Yours is a grand old race.
+England knows and honors it.  Look at these pictured faces of the wives
+our fathers chose.  There is Lady Sybella Earle; when one of Cromwell's
+soldiers drew his dagger to slay her husband, the truest friend King
+Charles ever had, she flung herself before him, and received the blow
+in his stead.  She died, and he lived--noble and beautiful, is she not?
+Now look at the Lacy Alicia--this fair patrician lady smiling by the
+side of her grim lord; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly
+from prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great political
+wrong.  She saved him, and for her sake he received pardon.  Here is
+the Lady Helena--she is not beautiful, but look at the intellect, the
+queenly brow, the soul-lit eyes!  She, I need not tell you, was a
+poetess.  Wherever the English language was spoken, her verses were
+read--men were nobler and better for reading them.  The ladies of our
+race were such that brave men may be proud of them.  Is it not so,
+Ronald?"
+
+"Yes," he replied, calmly; "they were noble women."
+
+Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the western
+sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone upon, until it
+seemed living and smiling.  A deep and tender reverence stole into Lord
+Earle's voice as he spoke:
+
+"No fairer or more noble woman ever ruled at Earlescourt than your
+mother, Ronald.  She is the daughter of 'a hundred earls,' high-bred,
+beautiful, and refined.  Now, let me ask you, in the name of common
+sense, do you wish to place my lodge keeper's daughter by your mother's
+side?  Admit that she is pretty and good--is it in the fitting order of
+things that she should be here?"
+
+For the first time, in the heedless, fiery course of his love, Ronald
+Earle paused.  He looked at the serene and noble face before him, the
+broad brow, the sweet, arched lips, the refined patrician features, and
+there came to him the memory of another face, charming, shy and
+blushing, with a rustic, graceful beauty different from the one before
+him as sunlight compared to moonlight.  The words faltered upon his
+lips--instinctively he felt that pretty, blushing Dora had no place
+there.  Lord Earle looked relieved as he saw the doubt upon his son's
+face.
+
+"You see it, Ronald," he cried.  "Your idea of the 'fusion' of races is
+well enough in theory, but it will not do brought into practice.  I
+have been patient with you--I have treated you, not as a school boy
+whose head is half turned by his first love, but as a sensible man
+endowed with reason and thought.  Now give me a reward.  Promise me
+here that you will make a brave effort, give up all foolish thoughts of
+Dora Thorne, and not see her again. Go abroad for a year or two--you
+will soon forget this boyish folly, and bless the good sense that has
+saved you from it.  Will you promise me, Ronald?"
+
+"I can not, father," he replied, "for I have promised Dora to make her
+my wife.  I can not break my word.  You yourself could never counsel
+that."
+
+"In this case I can," said Lord Earle, eagerly.  "That promise is not
+binding, even in honor; the girl herself, if she has any reason, can
+not and does not expect it."
+
+"She believed me," said Ronald, simply.  "Besides, I love her, father."
+
+"Hush," replied Lord Earle, angrily, "I will listen to no more
+nonsense.  There is a limit to my patience.  Once and for all, Ronald,
+I tell you that I decidedly forbid any mention of such a marriage; it
+is degrading and ridiculous.  I forbid you to marry Dora Thorne; if you
+disobey me, you must bear the penalty."
+
+"And what would the penalty be?" asked the heir of Earlescourt, with a
+coolness and calmness that irritated the father.
+
+"One you would hardly wish to pay," replied the earl.  "If, in spite of
+my prayers, entreaties, and commands, you persist in marrying the girl,
+I will never look upon your face again.  My home shall be no longer
+your home.  You will lose my love, my esteem, and what perhaps those
+who have lured you to ruin may value still more, my wealth.  I can not
+disinherit you; but, if you persist in this folly, I will not allow you
+one farthing. You shall be to me as one dead until I die myself."
+
+"I have three hundred a year," said Ronald, calmly; "that my godfather
+left me."
+
+Lord Earle's face now grew white with anger.
+
+"Yes," he replied, "you have that; it would not find you in gloves and
+cigars now.  But, Ronald, you can not be serious, my boy.  I have loved
+you--I have been so proud of you--you can not mean to defy and wound
+me."
+
+His voice faltered, and his son looked up quickly, touched to the heart
+by his father's emotion.
+
+"Give me your consent, father," he cried, passionately.  "You know I
+love you, and I love Dora; I can not give up Dora."
+
+"Enough," said Lord Earle; "words seem useless.  You hear my final
+resolve; I shall never change it--no after repentance, no entreaties,
+will move me. Choose between your parents, your home, your position,
+and the love of this fair, foolish girl, of whom in a few months you
+will be tired and weary.  Choose between us. I ask for no promises; you
+have refused to give it.  I appeal no more to your affection; I leave
+you to decide for yourself.  I might coerce and force you, but I will
+not do so.  Obey me, and I will make your happiness my study.  Defy me,
+and marry the girl then, in life, I will never look upon your face
+again. Henceforth, I will have no son; you will not be worthy of the
+name.  There is no appeal.  I leave you now to make your choice; this
+is my final resolve."
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+The Earles, of Earlescourt, were one of the oldest families in England.
+The "Barony of Earle" is mentioned in the early reigns of the Tudor
+kings.  They never appeared to have taken any great part either in
+politics or warfare.  The annals of the family told of simple, virtuous
+lives; they contained, too, some few romantic incidents.  Some of the
+older barons had been brave soldiers; and there were stories of
+hair-breadth escapes and great exploits by flood and field.  Two or
+three had taken to politics, and had suffered through their eagerness
+and zeal; but, as a rule, the barons of Earle had been simple, kindly
+gentlemen, contented to live at home upon their own estates, satisfied
+with the duties they found there, careful in the alliances they
+contracted, and equally careful in the bringing up and establishment of
+their children.  One and all they had been zealous cultivators of the
+fine arts.  Earlescourt was almost overcrowded with pictures, statues,
+and works of art.
+
+Son succeeded father, inheriting with title and estate the same kindly,
+simple dispositions and the same tastes, until Rupert Earle, nineteenth
+baron, with whom our story opens, became Lord Earle.  Simplicity and
+kindness were not his characteristics.  He was proud, ambitious, and
+inflexible; he longed for the time when the Earles should become
+famous, when their name should be one of weight in council.  In early
+life his ambitious desires seemed about to be realized.  He was but
+twenty when he succeeded his father, and was an only child, clever,
+keen and ambitious.  In his twenty-first year he married Lady Helena
+Brooklyn, the daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain.  There
+lay before him a fair and useful life.  His wife was an elegant,
+accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways--who had, from her
+earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and best society.
+Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she would have made an
+excellent embassadress--her manners were so bland and gracious; she had
+the rare gift of appearing interested in every one and in everything.
+
+With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle hoped for
+great things.  He looked to a prosperous career as a statesman; no
+honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too great.  But a hard fate
+lay before him.  He made one brilliant and successful speech in
+Parliament--a speech never forgotten by those who heard it, for its
+astonishing eloquence, its keen wit, its bitter satire.  Never again
+did his voice rouse alike friend and foe.  He was seized with a sudden
+and dangerous illness which brought him to the brink of the grave.
+After a long and desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly
+recovered, but all hope of public life was over for him.  The doctors
+said he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions;
+he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again of
+politics.
+
+To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death.  His wife
+tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some years he
+lived only to repine at his lot.  Lady Helena devoted herself to him.
+Earlescourt became the center and home of famous hospitality; men of
+letters, artists, and men of note visited there, and in time Lord Earle
+became reconciled to his fate.  All his hopes and his ambitions were
+now centered in his son, Ronald, a fine, noble boy, like his father in
+every respect save one.  He had the same clear-cut Saxon face, with
+clear, honest eyes and proud lips, the same fair hair and stately
+carriage, but in one respect they differed.  Lord Earle was firm and
+inflexible; no one ever thought of appealing against his decision or
+trying to change his resolution.  If "my lord" had spoken, the matter
+was settled.  Even Lady Helena knew that any attempt to influence him
+was vain.  Ronald, on the contrary, could be stubborn, but not firm.
+He was more easily influenced; appeal to the better part of his nature,
+to his affection or sense of duty, was seldom made in vain.
+
+No other children gladdened the Lord Earle's heart, and all his hopes
+were centered in his son.  For the second time in his life great hopes
+and ambitions rose within him.  What he had not achieved his son would
+do; the honor he could no longer seek might one day be his son's.
+There was something almost pitiful in the love of the stern,
+disappointed man for his child.  He longed for the time when Ronald
+would be of age to commence his public career.  He planned for his son
+as he had never planned for himself.
+
+Time passed on, and the heir of Earlescourt went to Oxford, as his
+father had done before him.  Then came the second bitter disappointment
+of Lord Earle's life.  He himself was a Tory of the old school.
+Liberal principles were an abomination to him; he hated and detested
+everything connected with Liberalism.  It was a great shock when Ronald
+returned from college a "full-fledged Liberal."  With his usual
+keenness he saw that all discussion was useless.
+
+"Let the Liberal fever wear out," said one of his friends; "you will
+find, Lord Earle, that all young men favor it.  Conservatism is the
+result of age and experience.  By the time your son takes a position in
+the world, he will have passed through many stages of Liberalism."
+
+Lord Earle devoutly believed it.  When the first shock of his
+disappointment was over, Ronald's political zeal began to amuse him.
+He liked to see the boy earnest in everything.  He smiled when Ronald,
+in his clear, young voice, read out the speeches of the chief of his
+party.  He smiled when the young man, eager to bring theory into
+practice, fraternized with the tenant farmers, and visited families
+from whom his father shrunk in aristocratic dread.
+
+There was little doubt that in those days Ronald Earl believed himself
+called to a great mission.  He dreamed of the time when the barriers of
+caste would be thrown down, when men would have equal rights and
+privileges, when the aristocracy of intellect and virtue would take
+precedence of noble birth, when wealth would be more equally
+distributed, and the days when one man perished of hunger while another
+reveled in luxury should cease to be.  His dreams were neither exactly
+Liberal nor Radical; they were simply Utopian.  Even then, when he was
+most zealous, had any one proposed to him that he should inaugurate the
+new state of things, and be the first to divide his fortune, the
+futility of his theories would have struck him more plainly.  Mingling
+in good society, the influence of clever men and beautiful women would,
+Lord Earle believed, convert his son in time. He did not oppose him,
+knowing that all opposition would but increase his zeal.  It was a
+bitter disappointment to him, but he bore it bravely, for he never
+ceased to hope.
+
+A new trouble was dawning for Lord Earle, one far more serious than the
+Utopian dream of his son; of all his sorrows it was the keenest and the
+longest felt.  Ronald fell in love, and was bent on marrying a simple
+rustic beauty, the lodge keeper's daughter.
+
+Earlescourt was one of the fairest spots in fair and tranquil England.
+It stood in the deep green heart of the land, in the midst of one of
+the bonny, fertile midland counties.
+
+The Hall was surrounded by a large park, where the deer browsed under
+the stately spreading trees, where there were flowery dells and knolls
+that would charm an artist; a wide brook, almost broad and deep enough
+to be called a river, rippled through it.
+
+Earlescourt was noted for its trees, a grand old cedar stood in the
+middle of the park; the shivering aspen, the graceful elm, the majestic
+oak, the tall, flowering chestnut were all seen to greatest perfection
+there.
+
+Art had done much, Nature more, to beautify the home of the Earles.
+Charming pleasure gardens were laid out with unrivaled skill; the
+broad, deep lake was half hidden by the drooping willows bending over
+it, and the white water lilies that lay on its tranquil breast.
+
+The Hall itself was a picturesque, gray old building, with turrets
+covered with ivy, and square towers of modern build; there were deep
+oriel windows, stately old rooms that told of the ancient race, and
+cheerful modern apartments replete with modern comfort.
+
+One of the great beauties of Earlescourt was the broad terrace that ran
+along one side of the house; the view from it was unequaled for quiet
+loveliness.  The lake shone in the distance from between the trees; the
+perfume from the hawthorn hedges filled the air, the fountains rippled
+merrily in the sunshine, and the flowers bloomed in sweet summer beauty.
+
+Lord Earle loved his beautiful home; he spared no expense in
+improvements, and the time came when Earlescourt was known as a model
+estate.
+
+One thing he did of which he repented till the hour of his death. On
+the western side of the park he built a new lodge, and installed
+therein Stephen Thorne and his wife, little dreaming as he did so that
+the first link in what was to be a fatal tragedy was forged.
+
+Ronald was nineteen, and Lord Earle thought, his son's college career
+ended, he should travel for two or three years.  He could not go with
+him, but he hoped that surveillance would not be needed, that his boy
+would be wise enough and manly enough to take his first steps in life
+alone.  At college he won the highest honors; great things were
+prophesied for Ronald Earle. They might have been accomplished but for
+the unfortunate event that darkened Earlescourt with a cloud of shame
+and sorrow.
+
+Lord and Lady Earle had gone to pay a visit to an old friend, Sir Hugh
+Charteris, of Greenoke.  Thinking Ronald would not reach home until the
+third week in June, they accepted Sir Hugh's invitation, and promised
+to spend the first two weeks in June with him.  But Ronald altered his
+plans; the visit he was making did not prove to be a very pleasant one,
+and he returned to Earlescourt two days after Lord and Lady Earle had
+left it.  His father wrote immediately, pressing him to join the party
+at Greenoke.  He declined, saying that after the hard study of the few
+last months he longed for quiet and rest.
+
+Knowing that every attention would be paid to his son's comfort, Lord
+Earle thought but little of the matter.  In after years he bitterly
+regretted that he had not insisted upon his son's going to Greenoke.
+So it happened that Ronald Earle, his college career ended, his future
+lying like a bright, unruffled dream before him, had two weeks to spend
+alone in Earlescourt.
+
+The first day was pleasant enough.  Ronald went to see the horses,
+inspected the kennels, gladdened the gamekeeper's heart by his keen
+appreciation of good sport, rowed on the lake, played a solitary game
+at billiards, dined in great state, read three chapters or "Mill on
+Liberalism," four of a sensational novel, and fell asleep satisfied
+with that day, but rather at a loss to know what he should do on the
+next.
+
+It was a beautiful June day; no cloud was in the smiling heavens, the
+sun shone bright, and Nature looked so fair and tempting that it was
+impossible to remain indoors.  Out in the gardens the summer air seemed
+to thrill with the song of the birds. Butterflies spread their bright
+wings and coquetted with the fragrant blossoms; busy humming bees
+buried themselves in the white cups of the lily and the crimson heart
+of the rose.
+
+Ronald wandered through the gardens; the delicate golden laburnum
+blossoms fell at his feet, and he sat down beneath a large acacia.  The
+sun was warm, and Ronald thought a dish of strawberries would be very
+acceptable.  He debated within himself for some time whether he should
+return to the house and order them, or walk down to the fruit garden
+and gather them for himself.
+
+What impulse was it that sent him on that fair June morning, when all
+Nature sung of love and happiness, to the spot where he met his fate?
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+The strawberry gardens at Earlescourt were very extensive.  Far down
+among the green beds Ronald Earle saw a young girl kneeling, gathering
+the ripe fruit, which she placed in a large basket lined with leaves,
+and he went down to her.
+
+"I should like a few of those strawberries," he said, gently, and she
+raised to his a face he never forgot.  Involuntarily he raised his hat,
+in homage to her youth and her shy, sweet beauty. "For whom are you
+gathering these?" he asked, wondering who she was, and whence she came.
+
+In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and most
+graceful of courtesies.
+
+"They are for the housekeeper, sir," she replied; and her voice was
+musical and clear as a silver bell.
+
+"Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald.
+
+"I am Dora Thorne," she replied, "the lodge keeper's daughter."
+
+"How is it I have never seen you before?" he asked.
+
+"Because I have lived always with my aunt, at Dale," she replied. "I
+only came home last year."
+
+"I see," said Ronald. "Will you give me some of those strawberries?" he
+asked.  "They look so ripe and tempting."
+
+He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her.  The pretty
+white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson fruit and
+green leaves.  Deftly and quickly she contrived a small basket of
+leaves, and filled it with fruit.  She brought it to him, and then for
+the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that one glance was fatal to
+him.
+
+She was no calm, grand beauty.  She had a shy, sweet, blushing face,
+resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe lips; pretty
+little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels, large dark eyes, bright
+as stars, and veiled by long lashes; dark hair, soft and shining.  She
+was indeed so fair, so modest and graceful, that Ronald Earle was
+charmed.
+
+"It must be because you gathered them that they are so nice," he said,
+taking the little basket from her hands.  "Rest awhile, Dora--you must
+be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you. Sit here under the
+shade of this apple tree."
+
+He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face. She never
+once raised her dark eyes to his.  He had seen beautiful and stately
+ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as this pretty maiden.  The more
+he looked at her the more he admired her.  She had no delicate
+patrician loveliness, no refined grace; but for glowing, shy, fresh
+beauty, who could equal her?
+
+So the young heir of Earlescourt sat, pretending to enjoy the
+strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure before
+him.  She neither stirred nor spoke.  Under the boughs of the apple
+tree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a fair picture, and
+his eyes were riveted upon it.
+
+It was all very delightful, and very wrong.  Ronald should not have
+talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic Dora Thorne
+should have known better.  But they were young, and such days come but
+seldom, and pass all too quickly.
+
+"Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly--"what a pretty name!  How well it
+suits you!  It is quite a little song in itself."
+
+She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes were
+raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again.
+
+"Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked.
+
+"No," she replied--"I have little time for reading."
+
+"I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly.  "Ever since I
+read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream."
+
+She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the
+musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw the
+wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its anxious mother.
+When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands were clasped and her lips
+quivering.
+
+"Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage.
+
+"So much!" she replied.  "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote those
+words; and you remember them all."
+
+Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him.  He recited other
+verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of delight.  The
+sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the heir of Earlescourt
+that he was forging the first link of a dreadful tragedy; he thought
+only of the shy, blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl!
+
+Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great bell at
+the Hall.  Then Dora started.
+
+"It is one o'clock!" she cried.  "What shall I do?  Mrs. Morton will be
+angry with me."
+
+"Angry!" said Ronald, annoyed at this sudden breakup of his Arcadian
+dream.  "Angry with you!  For what?"
+
+"She is waiting for the strawberries," replied conscious Dora, "and my
+basket is not half full."
+
+It was a new idea to him that any one should dare to be angry with this
+pretty, gentle Dora.
+
+"I will help you," he said.
+
+In less than a minute the heir of Earlescourt was kneeling by Dora
+Thorne, gathering quickly the ripe strawberries, and the basket was
+soon filled.
+
+"There," said Ronald, "you need not fear Mrs. Morton now, Dora. You
+must go, I suppose; it seems hard to leave this bright sunshine to go
+indoors!"
+
+"I--I would rather stay," said Dora, frankly; "but I have much to do."
+
+"Shall you be here tomorrow?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," she replied; "it will take me all the week to gather
+strawberries for the housekeeper."
+
+"Goodbye, Dora," he said, "I shall see you again."
+
+He held out his hand, and her little fingers trembled and fluttered in
+his grasp.  She looked so happy, yet so frightened, so charming, yet so
+shy.  He could have clasped her in his arms at that moment, and have
+said he loved her; but Ronald was a gentleman.  He bowed over the
+little hand, and then relinquished it.  He watched the pretty, fairy
+figure, as the young girl tripped away.
+
+"Shame on all artificial training!" said Ronald to himself. "What would
+our fine ladies give for such a face?  Imagine beauty without coquetry
+or affectation.  The girl's heart is as pure as a stainless lily; she
+never heard of 'a grand match' or a 'good parli.'  If Tennyson's Dora
+was like her, I do not wonder at anything that happened."
+
+Instead of thinking to himself that he had done a foolish thing that
+bright morning, and that his plain duty was to forget all about the
+girl, Ronald lighted his cigar, and began to dream of the face that had
+charmed him.
+
+Dora took the fruit to Mrs. Morton, and received no reprimand; then she
+was sent home to the cottage, her work for the day ended.  She had to
+pass through the park.  Was it the same road she had trodden this
+morning?  What caused the new and shining glory that had fallen on
+every leaf and tree?  The blue heavens seemed to smile upon her; every
+flower, every song of the bright birds had a new meaning.  What was it?
+Her own heart was beating as it had never beaten before; her face was
+flushed, and the sweet, limpid eyes shone with a new light.  What was
+it?  Then she came to the brook-side and sat down on the violet bank.
+
+The rippling water was singing a new song, something of love and youth,
+of beauty and happiness--something of a new and fairy-like life; and
+with the faint ripple and fall of the water came back to her the voice
+that had filled her ears and touched her heart. Would she ever again
+forget the handsome face that had smiled so kindly upon her?  Surely he
+was a king among men, and he had praised her, said her name was like a
+song, and that she was like the Dora of the beautiful poem.  This grand
+gentleman, with the clear, handsome face and dainty white hands,
+actually admired her.
+
+So Dora dreamed by the brook-side, and she was to see him again and
+again; she gave no thought to a cold, dark time when she should see him
+no more.  Tomorrow the sun would shine, the birds sing, and she should
+see him once again.
+
+Dora never remembered how that happy day passed.  Good Mrs. Thorne
+looked at her child, and sighed to think how pretty she was and how
+soon that sweet, dimpled face would be worn with care.
+
+Dora's first proceeding was characteristic enough.  She went to her own
+room and locked the door; then she put the cracked little mirror in the
+sunshine, and proceeded to examine her face.  She wanted to see why
+Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at this new power she
+seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on the table, and sat down to
+study her own face.  She saw that it was very fair; the coloring was
+delicate and vivid, like that of the heart of a rose; the fresh, red
+lips were arched and smiling; the dark, shy eyes, with their long
+silken lashes, were bright and clear; a pretty, dimpled, smiling face
+told of a sweet, simple, loving nature--that was all; there was no
+intellect, no soul, no high-bred refinement; nothing but the charm of
+bright, half-startled beauty.
+
+Dora was half puzzled.  She had never thought much of her own
+appearance.  Having lived always with sensible, simple people, the
+pernicious language of flattery was unknown to her.  It was with a
+half-guilty thrill of delight that she for the first time realized the
+charm of her own sweet face.
+
+The sunny hours flew by.  Dora never noted them; she thought only of
+the morning past and the morning to come, while Ronald dreamed of her
+almost unconsciously.  She had been a bright feature in a bright day;
+his artistic taste had been gratified, his eyes had been charmed.  The
+pretty picture haunted him, and he remembered with pleasure that on the
+morrow he should see the shy, sweet face again.  No thought of harm or
+wrong even entered his mind. He did not think that he had been
+imprudent.  He had recited a beautiful poem to a pretty, coy girl, and
+in a grand, lordly way he believed himself to have performed a kind
+action.
+
+The morning came, and they brought bright, blushing Dora to her work;
+again the little white fingers glistened amid the crimson berries.
+Then Dora heard him coming.  She heard his footsteps, and her face grew
+"ruby red."  He made no pretense of finding her accidentally.
+
+"Good morning, Dora," he said; "you look as bright as the sunshine and
+as fair as the flowers.  Put away the basket; I have brought a book of
+poems, and mean to read some to you.  I will help you with your work
+afterward."
+
+Dora, nothing loath, sat down, and straightway they were both in
+fairyland.  He read industriously, stealing every now and then a glance
+at his pretty companion.  She knew nothing of what he was reading, but
+his voice made sweeter music than she had ever heard before.
+
+At length the book was closed, and Ronald wondered what thoughts were
+running through his companion's simple, artless mind.  So he talked to
+her of her daily life, her work, her pleasures, her friends.  As he
+talked he grew more and more charmed; she had no great amount of
+intellect, no wit or keen powers of repartee, but the girl's love of
+nature made her a poetess.  She seemed to know all the secrets of the
+trees and the flowers; no beauty escaped her; the rustle of green
+leaves, the sighs of the western wind, the solemn hush of the
+deep-green woods, the changing tints of the summer sky delighted her.
+Beautiful words, embodying beautiful thoughts, rippled over the fresh,
+ripe lips.  She knew nothing else.  She had seen no pictures, read no
+books, knew nothing of the fine arts, was totally ignorant of all
+scholarly lore, but deep in her heart lay a passionate love for the
+fair face of nature.
+
+It was new to Ronald.  He had heard fashionable ladies speak of
+everything they delighted in.  He had ever heard of "music in the fall
+of rain drops," or character in flowers.
+
+Once Dora forgot her shyness, and when Ronald said something, she
+laughed in reply.  How sweet and pure that laughter was--like a soft
+peal of silver bells!  When Ronald Earle went to sleep that night, the
+sound haunted his dreams.
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+Every morning brought the young heir of Earlescourt to the bright sunny
+gardens where Dora worked among the strawberries.  As the days passed
+she began to lose something of her shy, startled manner, and laughed
+and talked to him as she would have done to her own brother.  His
+vanity was gratified by the sweetest homage of all, the unconscious,
+unspoken love and admiration of the young girl.  He liked to watch the
+blushes on her face, and the quivering of her lips when she caught the
+first sound of his coming footsteps.  He liked to watch her dark eyes
+droop, and then to see them raised to his with a beautiful, startled
+light.
+
+Insensibly his own heart became interested.  At first he had merely
+thought of passing a pleasant hour; then he admired Dora, and tried to
+believe that reading to her was an act of pure benevolence; but, as the
+days passed on, something stronger and sweeter attracted him.  He began
+to love her--and she was his first love.
+
+Wonderful to say, these long tete-a-tetes had not attracted
+observation.  No rumor of them escaped, so that no thorn appeared in
+this path of roses which led to the brink of a precipice.
+
+It wanted three days until the time settled for the return of Lord and
+Lady Earle.  Sir Harry Laurence, of Holtham Hall, asked Ronald to spend
+a day with him; and, having no valid excuse, he consented.
+
+"I shall not see you tomorrow, Dora," he said. "I am going away for the
+day."
+
+She looked at him with a startled face.  One whole day without him!
+Then, with a sudden deadly pain, came the thought that these golden
+days must end; the time must come when she should see him no more.  The
+pretty, dimpled face grew pale, and a dark shadow came into the clear
+eyes.
+
+"Dora," cried Ronald, "why do you look so frightened?  What is it?"
+
+She gave him no answer, but turned away.  He caught her hands in his
+own.
+
+"Are you grieved that I am going away for one whole day?" he asked.
+But she looked so piteous and so startled that he waited for no reply.
+"I shall continue to see you," he resumed.  "I could not let any day
+pass without that."
+
+"And afterward," she said, simply, raising her eyes to his full of
+tears.
+
+Then Ronald paused abruptly--he had never given one thought to the
+"afterward."  Why, of course strawberries would not grow forever--it
+would not always be summer.  Lord Earle would soon be back again, and
+then he must go abroad.  Where would Dora be then?  He did not like the
+thought--it perplexed him.  Short as was the time he had known her,
+Dora had, in some mysterious way, grown to be a part of himself.  He
+could not think of a day wherein he should not see her blushing, pretty
+face, and hear the music of her words.  He was startled, and clasped
+her little hands more tightly within his own.
+
+"You would not like to lose me, Dora?" he said, gently.
+
+"No," she replied; and then tears fell from her dark eyes.
+
+Poor Ronald!  Had he been wise, he would have flown then; but he bent
+his head over her, and kissed the tears away.  The pretty rounded
+cheek, so soft and child-like, he kissed again, and then clasped the
+slight girlish figure in his arms.
+
+"Do not shed another tear, Dora," he whispered; "we will not lose each
+other.  I love you, and you shall be my wife."
+
+One minute before he spoke the idea had not even crossed his mind; it
+seemed to him afterward that another voice had spoken by his lips.
+
+"Your wife!" she cried, looking at him in some alarm.  "Ah, no! You are
+very kind and good, but that could never be."
+
+"Why not?" he asked.
+
+"Because you are so far above me," replied the girl.  "I and mine are
+servants and dependents of yours.  We are not equal; I must learn to
+forget you," sobbed Dora, "and break my own heart!"
+
+She could not have touched Ronald more deeply; in a moment he had
+poured forth a torrent of words that amazed her.  Fraternity and
+equality, caste and folly, his mission and belief, his love and
+devotion, were all mingled in one torrent of eloquence that simply
+alarmed her.
+
+"Never say that again, Dora," he continued, his fair, boyish face
+flushing.  "You are the equal of a queen upon her throne; you are fair
+and true, sweet and good.  What be a queen more than that?"
+
+"A queen knows more," sighed Dora.  "I know nothing in all the wide
+world."
+
+"Then I will teach you," he said.  "Ah, Dora, you know enough! You have
+beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful words.  Do not
+turn from me; say you love me and will be my wife. I love you, Dora--do
+not make me unhappy."
+
+"I would not make you unhappy," she said, "for the whole world; if you
+wish me to love you--oh, you know I love you--if you wish me to go away
+and forget you, I will do my best."
+
+But the very thought of it brought tears again.  She looked so pretty,
+so bewildered between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by happiness, and yet
+so piteously uncertain, that Ronald was more charmed than ever.
+
+"My darling Dora," he said, "you do love me.  Your eyes speak, if your
+lips do not tell me.  Will you be my wife?  I can not live without you."
+
+It was the prettiest picture in the world to see the color return to
+the sweet face.  Ronald bent his head, and heard the sweet whisper.
+
+"You shall never rue your trust, Dora," he said, proudly; but she
+interrupted him.
+
+"What will Lord Earle say?" she asked; and again Ronald was startled by
+that question.
+
+"My father can say nothing," he replied.  "I am old enough to please
+myself, and this is a free country.  I shall introduce you to him,
+Dora, and tell him you have promised to be my wife.  No more tears,
+love.  There is nothing but happiness before us."
+
+And so he believed.  He could think of nothing, care for nothing but
+Dora--her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her undisguised love
+for him.  There was but one excuse.  He was young, and it was his first
+love; yet despite his happiness, his pride, his independence, he did
+often wonder in what words he should tell his father that he had
+promised to marry the lodge keeper's daughter.  There were even times
+when he shivered, as one seized with sudden cold, at the thought.
+
+The four days passed like a long, bright dream.  It was a pretty
+romance, but sadly misplaced--a pretty summer idyll.  They were but boy
+and girl.  Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook-side, and in the
+green meadows where the white hawthorn grew.  They talked of but one
+thing, their love.  Ronald never tired of watching Dora's fair face and
+pretty ways; she never wearied of telling him over and over again, in a
+hundred different ways, how noble and kind he was, and how dearly she
+loved him.
+
+Lord Earle wrote to say that he should be home on the Thursday evening,
+and that they were bringing back a party of guests with them.
+
+"There will be no time to tell my father just at present," said Ronald;
+"so, Dora, we must keep our secret.  It will not do to tell your father
+before I tell mine."
+
+They arranged to keep the secret until Lord Earle should be alone
+again.  They were to meet twice every day--in the early morning, while
+the dew lay on the grass, and in the evening, when the Hall would be
+full of bustle and gayety.
+
+Ronald felt guilty--he hardly knew how or why--when his father
+commiserated him for the two lonely weeks he had spent.  Lonely! He had
+not felt them so; they had passed all too quickly for him. How many
+destinies were settled in that short time!
+
+There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle.  The few
+guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and their host
+devoted himself to their entertainment.
+
+Lady Earle saw some great change in her son.  She fancied that he spent
+a great deal of time out of doors.  She asked him about it, wondering
+if he had taken to studying botany, for late and early he never tired
+of rambling in the park.  She wondered again at the flush that
+crimsoned his face; but the time was coming when she would understand
+it all.
+
+It is probable that if Ronald at that time had had as much of Dora's
+society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his mistake, and no
+great harm would have been done; but the foolish romance of foolish
+meetings had a charm for him.  In those hurried interviews he had only
+time to think of Dora's love--he never noted her deficiencies; he was
+charmed with her tenderness and grace; her artless affection was so
+pretty; the difference between her and those with whom he was
+accustomed to talk was so great; her very ignorance had a piquant charm
+for him.  So they went on to their fate.
+
+One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told his
+secret.  A new element crept into his love, and urged him on. Walking
+one day through the park with his father they overtook Dora's father.
+A young man was with him and the two were talking earnestly together,
+so earnestly that they never heard the two gentlemen; and in passing by
+Ronald distinguished the words, "You give me your daughter, Mr. Thorne,
+and trust me to make her happy."
+
+Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker.  He saw before him
+a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his appearance, with a
+calm, kind face and clear and honest eyes; and he was asking for
+Dora--Dora who was to be his wife and live at Earlescourt.  He could
+hardly control his impatience; and it seemed to him that evening would
+never come.
+
+Dinner was over at last.  Lord Earle sat with Sir Harry Laurence over a
+bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawing room and had taken
+up her book.  Ronald hastened to the favorite trysting place, the
+brook-side.  Dora was there already, and he saw that her face was still
+wet with tears.  She refused at first to tell him her sorrow.  Then she
+whispered a pitiful little story, that made her lover resolve upon some
+rash deeds.
+
+Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to marry
+him.  She had said "No;" but her mother had wept, and her father had
+grown angry, and had said she should obey him.
+
+"He has a large farm," said Dora, with a bitter sigh.  "He says I
+should live like a great lady, and have nothing to do.  He would be
+kind to my father and mother; but I do not love him," she added.
+
+Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, "I do not love
+him," she sobbed; "and, Ronald, I do love you."
+
+He bent down and kissed her pretty, tear-bedewed face, all the chivalry
+of his nature aroused by her words.
+
+"You shall be my wife, Dora," he said, proudly, "and not his. This very
+evening I will tell my father, and ask his consent to our marriage.  My
+mother is sure to love you--she is so kind and gracious to every one.
+Do not tremble, my darling; neither Ralph Holt nor any one else shall
+take you from me."
+
+She was soon comforted!  There was no bound or limit to her faith in
+Ronald Earle.
+
+"Go home now," he said, "and tomorrow my father himself shall see you.
+I will teach that young farmer his place.  No more tears, Dora--our
+troubles will end tonight."
+
+He went with her down the broad walk, and then returned to the Hall.
+He walked very proudly, with his gallant head erect, saying to himself
+that this was a free country and he could do what he liked; but for all
+that his heart beat loudly when he entered the drawing room and found
+Lord and Lady Earle.  They looked up smilingly at him, all unconscious
+that their beloved son, the heir of Earlescourt, was there to ask
+permission to marry the lodge keeper's daughter.
+
+
+
+Chapter V
+
+Ronald Earle had plenty of courage--no young hero ever led a forlorn
+hope with more bravery that he displayed in the interview with his
+parents, which might have daunted a bolder man.  As he approached, Lady
+Earle raised her eyes with a languid smile.
+
+"Out again, Ronald!" she said.  "Sir Harry Laurence left his adieus for
+you.  I think the park possesses some peculiar fascination.  Have you
+been walking quickly?  Your face is flushed."
+
+He made no reply, but drew near to his mother; he bent over her and
+raised her hand to his lips.
+
+"I am come to tell you something," he said.  "Father, will you listen
+to me?  I ask your permission to marry Dora Thorne, one of the fairest,
+sweetest girls in England."
+
+His voice never faltered, and the brave young face never quailed. Lord
+Earle looked at him in utter amazement.
+
+"To marry Dora Thorne!" he said.  "And who, in the name of reason, is
+Dora Thorne?"
+
+"The lodge keeper's daughter," replied Ronald, stoutly.  "I love her,
+father, and she loves me."
+
+He was somewhat disconcerted when Lord Earle, for all reply, broke into
+an uncontrollable fit of laughter.  He had expected a
+storm--expostulations, perhaps, and reproaches--anything but this.
+
+"You can not be serious, Ronald," said his mother, smiling.
+
+"I am so much in earnest," he replied, "that I would give up all I have
+in the world--my life itself, for Dora."
+
+Then Lord Earle ceased laughing, and looked earnestly at the handsome,
+flushed face.
+
+"No," said he, "you can not be serious.  You dare not ask your mother
+to receive a servant's daughter as her own child.  Your jest is in bad
+taste, Ronald."
+
+"It is no jest," he replied.  "We Earles are always terribly in
+earnest.  I have promised to marry Dora Thorne, and, with your
+permission, I intend to keep my word."
+
+An angry flush rose to Lord Earle's face, but he controlled his
+impatience.
+
+"In any case," he replied, quietly, "you are too young to think of
+marriage yet.  If you had chosen the daughter of a duke, I should, for
+the present, refuse."
+
+"I shall be twenty in a few months," said Ronald, "and I am willing to
+wait until then."
+
+Lady Earle laid her white jeweled hand on her son's shoulder, and said,
+gently:
+
+"My dear Ronald, have you lost your senses?  Tell me, who is Dora
+Thorne?"  She saw tears shining in his eyes; his brave young face
+touched her heart.  "Tell me," she continued, "who is she?  Where have
+you seen her?  What is she like?"
+
+"She is so beautiful, mother," he said, "that I am sure you would love
+her; she is as fair and sweet as she is modest and true.  I met her in
+the gardens some weeks ago, and I have met her every day since."
+
+Lord and Lady Earle exchanged a glance of dismay which did not escape
+Ronald.
+
+"Why have you not told us of this before?" asked his father, angrily.
+
+"I asked her to be my wife while you were from home," replied Ronald.
+"She promised and I have only been waiting until our guests left us and
+you had more time."
+
+"Is it to see Dora Thorne that you have been out so constantly?" asked
+Lady Earle.
+
+"Yes, I could not let a day pass without seeing her," he replied; "it
+would be like a day without sunshine."
+
+"Does any one else know of this folly?" asked Lord Earle, angrily.
+
+"No, you may be quite sure, father, I should tell you before I told any
+one else," replied Ronald.
+
+They looked at him in silent dismay, vexed and amazed at what he had
+done--irritated at his utter folly, yet forced to admire his honor, his
+courage, his truth.  Both felt that some sons would have carefully
+concealed such a love affair from them.  They were proud of his candor
+and integrity, although deploring his folly.
+
+"Tell us all about it, Ronald," said Lady Earle.
+
+Without the least hesitation, Ronald told them every word; and despite
+their vexation, neither could help smiling--it was such a pretty
+story--a romance, all sunshine, smiles, tears, and flowers.  Lord
+Earle's face cleared as he listened, and he laid one hand on his boy's
+shoulder.
+
+"Ronald," said he, "we shall disagree about your love; but remember, I
+do full justice to your truth.  After all, the fault is my own.  I
+might have known that a young fellow of your age, left all alone, was
+sure to get into mischief; you have done so. Say no more now; I clearly
+and distinctly refuse my consent.  I appeal to your honor that you meet
+this young girl no more.  We will talk of it another time."
+
+When the door closed behind him, Lord and Lady Earle looked at each
+other.  The lady's face was pale and agitated.
+
+"Oh, Rupert," she said, "how brave and noble he is!  Poor foolish boy!
+How proud he looked of his absurd mistake.  We shall have trouble with
+him, I foresee!"
+
+"I do not think so," replied her husband.  "Valentine Charteris will be
+here soon, and when Ronald sees her he will forget this rustic beauty."
+
+"It will be better not to thwart him," interrupted Lady Earle. "Let me
+manage the matter, Rupert.  I will go down to the lodge tomorrow, and
+persuade them to send the girl away; and then we will take Ronald
+abroad, and he will forget all about it in a few months."
+
+All night long the gentle lady of Earlescourt was troubled by strange
+dreams--by vague, dark fears that haunted her and would not be laid to
+rest.
+
+"Evil will come of it," she said to herself--"evil and sorrow. This
+distant shadow saddens me now."
+
+The next day she went to the lodge, and asked for Dora.  She half
+pardoned her son's folly when she saw the pretty dimpled face, the
+rings of dark hair, lying on the white neck.  The girl was indeed
+charming and modest, but unfitted--oh, how unfitted! ever to be Lady
+Earle.  She was graceful as a wild flower is graceful; but she had no
+manner, no dignity, no cultivation.  She stood blushing, confused, and
+speechless, before the "great lady."
+
+"You know what I want you for, Dora," said Lady Earle, kindly. "My son
+has told us of the acquaintance between you.  I am come to say it must
+cease.  I do not wish to hurt or wound you.  Your own sense must tell
+you that you can never be received by Lord Earle and myself as our
+daughter.  We will not speak of your inferiority in birth and position.
+You are not my son's equal in refinement or education; he would soon
+discover that, and tire of you."
+
+Dora spoke no word, the tears falling from her bright eyes; this time
+there was no young lover to kiss them away.  She made no reply and when
+Lady Earle sent for her father, Dora ran away; she would hear no more.
+
+"I know nothing of it, my lady," said the worthy lodge keeper, who was
+even more surprised than his master had been.  "Young Ralph Holt wants
+to marry my daughter, and I have said that she shall be his wife.  I
+never dreamed that she knew the young master; she has not mentioned his
+name."
+
+Lady Earle's diplomacy succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations.
+Stephen Thorne and his wife, although rather dazzled by the fact that
+their daughter had captivated the future Lord Earlescourt, let common
+sense and reason prevail, and saw the disparity and misery such a
+marriage would cause.  They promised to be gentle and kind to Dora, not
+to scold or reproach her, and to allow some little time to elapse
+before urging Ralph Holt's claims.
+
+When Lady Earle rose, she placed a twenty-pound banknote in the hands
+of Stephen Thorne, saying:
+
+"You are sending Dora to Eastham; that will cover the expenses."
+
+"I could not do that, my lady," said Stephen, refusing to take the
+money.  "I can not sell poor Dora's love."
+
+Then Lady Earle held out her delicate white hand, and the man bowed low
+over it.  Before the sun set that evening, Stephen Thorne had taken
+Dora to Eastham, where she was to remain until Ronald had gone abroad.
+
+For a few days it seemed as though the storm had blown over. There was
+one angry interview between father and son, when Ronald declared that
+sending Dora away was a breach of faith, and that he would find her out
+and marry her how and when he could.  Lord Earle thought his words were
+but the wild folly of a boy deprived of a much-desired toy.  He did not
+give them serious heed.
+
+The story of Earlescourt might have been different, had not Ronald,
+while still amazed and irritated by his father's cool contempt,
+encountered Ralph Holt.  They met at the gate leading from the fields
+to the high road; it was closed between them, and neither could make
+way.
+
+"I have a little account to settle with you, my young lordling," said
+Ralph, angrily.  "Doves never mate with eagles; if you want to marry,
+choose one of your own class, and leave Dora Thorne to me."
+
+"Dora Thorne is mine," said Ronald, haughtily.
+
+"She will never be," was the quick reply.  "See, young master, I have
+loved Dora since she was a--a pretty, bright-eyed child. Her father
+lived near my father's farm then.  I have cared for her all my life--I
+do not know that I have ever looked twice at another woman's face.  Do
+not step in between me and my love. The world is wide, and you can
+choose where you will--do not rob me of Dora Thorne."
+
+There was a mournful dignity in the man's face that touched Ronald.
+
+"I am sorry for you," he said, "if you love Dora; for she will be my
+wife."
+
+"Never!" cried Ralph.  "Since you will not listen to fair words, I defy
+you.  I will go to Eastham and never leave Dora again until she will be
+my own."
+
+High, angry words passed between them, but Ralph in his passion had
+told the secret Ronald had longed to know--Dora was at Eastham.
+
+It was a sad story and yet no rare one.  Love and jealousy robbed the
+boy of his better sense; duty and honor were forgotten. Under pretense
+of visiting one of his college friends, Ronald went to Eastham.  Lord
+and Lady Earle saw him depart without any apprehension; they never
+suspected that he knew where Dora was.
+
+It was a sad story, and bitter sorrow came from it.  Word by word it
+can not be written, but when the heir of Earlescourt saw Dora again,
+her artless delight, her pretty joy and sorrow mingled, her fear and
+dislike of Ralph, her love for himself drove all thought of duty and
+honor from his mind.  He prayed her to become his wife secretly.  He
+had said that when once they were married his father would forgive
+them, and all would be well.  He believed what he said; Dora had no
+will but his.  She forgot all Lady Earle's warnings; she remembered
+only Ronald and his love. So they were married in the quiet parish
+church of Helsmeer, twenty miles from Eastham, and no human being
+either knew or guessed their secret.
+
+There was no excuse, no palliation for an act that was undutiful,
+dishonorable, and deceitful--there was nothing to plead for him, save
+that he was young, and had never known a wish refused.
+
+They were married.  Dora Thorne became Dora Earle.  Ronald parted from
+his pretty wife immediately.  He arranged all his plans with what he
+considered consummate wisdom.  He was to return home, and try by every
+argument in his power to soften his father and win his consent.  If he
+still refused, then time would show him the best course.  Come what
+might, Dora was his; nothing on earth could part them.  He cared for
+very little else.  Even if the very worst came, and his father sent him
+from home, it would only be for a time, and there was Dora to comfort
+him.
+
+He returned to Earlescourt, and though his eyes were never raised in
+clear, true honesty to his father's face, Lord Earle saw that his son
+looked happy, and believed the cloud had passed away.
+
+Dora was to remain at Eastham until she heard from him.  He could not
+write to her, nor could she send one line to him; but he promised and
+believed that very soon he should take her in all honor to Earlescourt.
+
+
+
+Chapter VI
+
+It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy
+sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of summer.
+The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were filled with
+wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards. Nature wore her
+brightest smile.  The breakfast room at Earlescourt was a pretty
+apartment; it opened on a flower garden, and through the long French
+windows came the sweet perfume of rose blossoms.
+
+It was a pretty scene--the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, the
+delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers.  Lord Earle sat at the head
+of the table, busily engaged with his letters.  Lady Earle, in the
+daintiest of morning toilets, was smiling over the pretty pink notes
+full of fashionable gossip.  Her delicate, patrician face looked clear
+and pure in the fresh morning light. But there was no smile on Ronald's
+face.  He was wondering, for the hundredth time, how he was to tell his
+father what he had done.  He longed to be with his pretty Dora; and yet
+there was a severe storm to encounter before he could bring her home.
+
+"Ah," said Lady Earle, suddenly, "here is good news--Lady Charteris is
+positively coming, Rupert.  Sir Hugh will join her in a few days.  She
+will be here with Valentine tomorrow."
+
+"I am very glad," said Lord Earle, looking up with pleasure and
+surprise.  "We must ask Lady Laurence to meet them."
+
+Ronald sighed; his parents busily discussed the hospitalities and
+pleasures to be offered their guests.  A grand dinner party was
+planned, and a ball, to which half the country side were to be invited.
+
+"Valentine loves gayety," said Lady Earle, "and we must give her plenty
+of it."
+
+"I shall have all this to go through," sighed Ronald--"grand parties,
+dinners, and balls, while my heart longs to be with my darling; and in
+the midst of it all, how shall I find time to talk to my father?  I
+will begin this very day."
+
+When dinner was over, Ronald proposed to Lord Earle that they should go
+out on the terrace and smoke a cigar there.  Then took place the
+conversation with which our story opens, when the master of Earlescourt
+declared his final resolve.
+
+Ronald was more disturbed than he cared to own even to himself. Once
+the words hovered upon his lips that he had married Dora. Had Lord Earl
+been angry or contemptuous, he would have uttered them; but in the
+presence of his father's calm, dignified wisdom, he was abashed and
+uncertain.  For the first time he felt the truth of all his father
+said.  Not that he loved Dora less, or repented of the rash private
+marriage, but Lord Earle's appeal to his sense of the "fitness of
+things" touched him.
+
+There was little time for reflection.  Lady Charteris and her daughter
+were coming on the morrow.  Again Lady Earle entered the field as a
+diplomatist, and came off victorious.
+
+"Ronald," said his mother, as they parted that evening, "I know that,
+as a rule, young men of your age do not care for the society of elderly
+ladies; I must ask you to make an exception in favor of Lady Charteris.
+They showed me great kindness at Greenoke, and you must help me to
+return it.  I shall consider every attention shown to the lady and her
+daughter as shown to myself."
+
+Ronald smiled at his mother's words, and told her he would never fail
+in her service.
+
+"If he sees much of Valentine," thought his mother, "he can not help
+loving her.  Then all will be well."
+
+Ronald was not in the house when the guests arrived; they came rather
+before the appointed time.  His mother and Lady Charteris had gone to
+the library together, leaving Valentine in the drawing room alone.
+Ronald found her there.  Opening the door, he saw the sleeve of a white
+dress; believing Lady Earle was there, he went carelessly into the
+room, then started in astonishment at the vision before him.  Once in a
+century, perhaps, one sees a woman like Valentine Charteris; of the
+purest and loveliest Greek type, a calm, grand, magnificent blonde,
+with clear, straight brows, fair hair that shone like satin and lay in
+thick folds around her queenly head--tall and stately, with a finished
+ease and grace of manner that could only result from long and careful
+training.  She rose when Ronald entered the room, and her beautiful
+eyes were lifted calmly to his face. Suddenly a rush of color dyed the
+white brow.  Valentine remembered what Lady Earle had said of her son.
+She knew that both his mother and hers wished that she should be
+Ronald's wife.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I thought Lady Earle was here."
+
+"She is in the library," said Valentine, with a smile that dazzled him.
+
+He bowed and withdrew.  This, then, was Valentine Charteris, the fine
+lady whose coming he had dreaded.  She was very beautiful--he had never
+seen a face like hers.
+
+No thought of love, or of comparing this magnificent woman with simple,
+pretty Dora, ever entered his mind.  But Ronald was a true artist, and
+one of no mean skill.  He thought of that pure Grecian face as he would
+have thought of a beautiful picture or an exquisite statue.  He never
+thought of the loving, sensitive woman's heart hidden under it.
+
+It was not difficult when dinner was over to open the grand piano for
+Valentine, to fetch her music, and listen while she talked of operas he
+had never heard.  It was pleasant to watch her as she sat in the
+evening gloaming, her superb beauty enhanced by the delicate evening
+dress of fine white lace; the shapely shoulders were polished and
+white, the exquisite arms rounded and clasped by a bracelet of pearls.
+She wore a rose in the bodice of her dress, and, as Ronald bent over
+the music she was showing him the sweet, subtle perfume came to him
+like a message from Dora.
+
+Valentine Charteris had one charm even greater than her beauty. She
+talked well and gracefully--the play of her features, the movement of
+her lips, were something not to be forgotten; and her smile seemed to
+break like a sunbeam over her whole face--it was irresistible.
+
+Poor Ronald stood by her, watching the expression that seemed to change
+with every word; listening to pretty polished language that was in
+itself a charm.  The two mothers, looking on, and Lord Earle felt
+himself relieved from a heavy weight of care. Then Lady Earle asked
+Valentine to sing.  She was quite free from all affectation.
+
+"What kind of music do you prefer?" she asked, looking at Ronald.
+
+"Simple old ballads," he replied, thinking of Dora, and how prettily
+she would sing them.
+
+He started when the first note of Valentine's magnificent voice rang
+clear and sweet in the quiet gloaming.  She sang some quaint old story
+of a knight who loved a maiden--loved and rode away, returning after
+long years to find a green grave.  Ronald sat thinking of Dora.  Ah,
+perhaps, had he forsaken her, the pretty dimpled face would have faded
+away!  He felt pleased that he had been true.  Then the music ceased.
+
+"Is that what you like?" asked Valentine Charteris, "it is of the
+stronger sentimental school."
+
+Simple, honest Ronald wondered if sentiment was a sin against
+etiquette, or why fashionable ladies generally spoke of it with a sneer.
+
+"Do you laugh at sentiment?" he asked; and Valentine opened her fine
+eyes in wonder at the question.  Lady Earle half overheard it, and
+smiled in great satisfaction.  Matters must be going on well, she
+thought, if Ronald had already begun to speak of sentiment.  She never
+thought that his heart and mind were with Dora while he spoke--pretty
+Dora, who cried over his poetry, and devoutly believed in the language
+of flowers.
+
+The evening passed rapidly, and Ronald felt something like regret when
+it ended.  Lady Earle was too wise to make any comments; she never
+asked her son if he liked Valentine or what he thought of her.
+
+"I am afraid you are tired," she said, with a charming smile; "thank
+you for helping to amuse my friends."
+
+When Ronald thought over what he had done, his share seemed very small;
+still his mother was pleased, and he went to rest resolved that on the
+morrow he would be doubly attentive to Miss Charteris.
+
+Three days passed, and Ronald had grown quite at ease with Valentine.
+They read and disputed over the same books; Ronald brought out his
+large folio of drawings, and Valentine wondered at his skill.  He bent
+over her, explaining the sketches, laughing and talking gayly, as
+though there was no dark background to his life.
+
+"You are an accomplished artist," said Miss Charteris, "you must have
+given much time to study."
+
+"I am fond of it," said Ronald; "if fate had not made me an only son, I
+should have chosen painting as my profession."
+
+In after years these words came back to them as a sad prophecy.
+
+Ronald liked Miss Charteris.  Apart from her grand beauty, she had the
+charm, too, of a kindly heart and an affectionate nature. He saw how
+much Lady Earle loved her, and resolved to tell Valentine all about
+Dora, and ask her to try to influence his mother.  With that aim and
+end in view, he talked continually to the young lady; he accompanied
+her in all her walks and drives, and they sang and sketched together.
+Ronald, knowing himself so safely bound to Dora, forgot in what light
+his conduct must appear to others.  Lady Earle had forgotten her fears;
+she believed that her son was learning to love Valentine, and her
+husband shared her belief.
+
+All things just then were couleur de rose at Earlescourt.  Ronald
+looked and felt happy--he had great faith in Valentine's persuasive
+powers.
+
+Days passed by rapidly; the time for the grand ball was drawing near.
+Lady Earle half wondered when her son would speak of Miss Charteris,
+and Valentine wondered why he lingered near her, why oftentimes he was
+on the point of speaking, and then drew back. She quite believed he
+cared for her, and she liked him in return, as much as she was capable
+of liking any one.
+
+She was no tragedy queen, but a loving, affectionate girl, unable to
+reach the height of passionate love, or the depth of despair. She was
+well disposed toward Ronald--Lady Earle spoke so much of him at
+Greenoke.  She knew too that a marriage with him would delight her
+mother.
+
+Valentine's favorable impression of Ronald was deepened when she saw
+him.  Despite the one great act of duplicity which shadowed his whole
+life, Ronald was true and honorable.  Valentine admired his clear Saxon
+face and firm lips; she admired his deep bright eyes, that darkened
+with every passing emotion; she liked his gentle, chivalrous manner,
+his earnest words, his deferential attention to herself, his
+affectionate devotion to Lady Earle.
+
+There was not a braver or more gallant man in England than this young
+heir of Earlescourt.  He inherited the personal beauty and courage of
+his race.  He gave promise of a splendid manhood; and no one knew how
+proudly Lord Earle had rejoiced in that promise.
+
+In her calm stately way, Valentine liked him; she even loved him, and
+would have been happy as his wife.  She enjoyed his keen, intellectual
+powers and his originality of thought.  Even the "dreadful politics,"
+that scared and shocked his father, amused her.
+
+Ronald, whose heart was full of the pretty little wife he dared neither
+see nor write to, gave no heed to Valentine's manner; it never occurred
+to him what construction could be put upon his friendly liking for her.
+
+
+
+Chapter VII
+
+The day came for the grand ball, and during breakfast the ladies
+discussed the important question of bouquets; from that the
+conversation changed to flowers.  "There are so many of them," said
+Valentine, "and they are all so beautiful, I am always at a loss which
+to choose."
+
+"I should never hesitate a moment," said Ronald, laughingly. "You will
+accuse me, perhaps of being sentimental, but I must give preference to
+the white lily-bells.  Lilies of the valley are the fairest flowers
+that grow."
+
+Lady Earle overheard the remark; no one else appeared to notice it, and
+she was not much surprised when Valentine entered the ball room to see
+white lilies in her fair hair, and a bouquet of the same flowers,
+half-shrouded by green leaves, in her hand.
+
+Many eyes turned admiringly upon the calm, stately beauty and her white
+flowers. Ronald saw them.  He could not help remarking the exquisite
+toilet, marred by no obtrusive colors, the pretty lily wreath and
+fragrant bouquet.  It never occurred to him that Valentine had chosen
+those delicate blossoms in compliment to him.  He thought he had never
+seen a fairer picture than this magnificent blonde; then she faded from
+his mind.  He looked round on those fair and noble ladies, thinking
+that Dora's shy, sweet face was far lovelier than any there.  He looked
+at the costly jewels, the waving plumes, the sweeping satins, and
+thought of Dora's plain, pretty dress.  A softened look came into his
+eyes, as he pictured his shy, graceful wife.  Some day she, too, would
+walk through these gorgeous rooms, and then would all admire the wisdom
+of his choice.  So the heir of Earlescourt dreamed as he watched the
+brilliant crowd that began to fill the ball room; but his reverie was
+suddenly broken by a summons from Lady Earle.
+
+"Ronald," said she, looking slightly impatient, "have you forgotten
+that it is your place to open the ball?  You must ask Miss Charteris to
+dance with you."
+
+"That will be no hardship," he replied, smiling at his mother's earnest
+manner.  "I would rather dance with Miss Charteris than any one else."
+
+Lady Earle wisely kept silence; her son went up to Valentine and made
+his request.  He danced with her again and again--not as Lady Earle
+hoped, from any unusual preference, but because it gave him less
+trouble than selecting partners among strange young ladies.  Valentine
+understood him; they talked easily, and without restraint.  He paid her
+no compliments, and she did not seem to expect any.  With other ladies,
+Ronald was always thinking, "What would they say if they knew of that
+fair young wife at Eastham?"  With Valentine no such idea haunted
+him--he had an instinctive belief in her true and firm friendship.
+
+Lady Earle overheard a few whispered comments, and they filled her
+heart with delight.  Old friends whispered to her that "it would be a
+splendid match for her son," and "how happy she would be with such a
+daughter-in-law as Miss Charteris, so beautiful and dignified;" and all
+this because Ronald wanted to secure Valentine's friendship, so that
+she might intercede for Dora.
+
+When, for the fourth time, Ronald asked Miss Charteris "for the next
+dance," she looked up at him with a smile.
+
+"Do you know how often we have danced together this evening?" she asked.
+
+"What does it matter?" he replied, wondering at the flush that
+crimsoned her face.  "Forgive me, Miss Charteris, if I say that you
+realize my idea of the poetry of motion."
+
+"Is that why you ask me so frequently?" she said, archly.
+
+"Yes," replied honest Ronald; "it is a great pleasure; for one good
+dancer there are fifty bad ones."
+
+He did not quite understand the pretty, piqued expression of her face.
+
+"You have not told me," said Valentine, "whether you like my flowers."
+
+"They are very beautiful," he replied; but the compliment of her
+selection was all lost upon him.
+
+Miss Charteris did not know whether he was simply indifferent or timid.
+
+"You told me these lilies were your favorite flowers," she said.
+
+"Yes," replied Ronald; "but they are not the flowers that resemble
+you."  He was thinking how much simple, loving Dora was like the pretty
+delicate little blossoms.  "You are like the tall queenly lilies."
+
+He paused, for Valentine was looking at him with a wondering smile.
+
+"Do you know you have paid me two compliments in less than five
+minutes?" she said.  "And yesterday we agreed that between true friends
+they were quite unnecessary."
+
+"I--I did not intend to pay idle compliments," he replied.  "I merely
+said what I thought.  You are like a tall, grand, white lily, Miss
+Charteris.  I have often thought so.  If you will not dance with me
+again, will you walk through the rooms?"
+
+Many admiring glances followed them--a handsomer pair was seldom seen.
+They passed through the long suite of rooms and on to the conservatory,
+where lamps gleamed like stars between the green plants and rare
+exotics.
+
+"Will you rest here?" said Ronald.  "The ball room is so crowded one
+can not speak there."
+
+"Ah," thought Miss Charteris, "then he really has something to say to
+me!"
+
+Despite her calm dignity and serene manner, Valentine's heart beat
+high.  She loved the gallant young heir--his honest, kindly nature had
+a great charm for her.  She saw that the handsome face bending over the
+flowers was agitated and pale.  Miss Charteris looked down at the
+lilies in her hand.  He came nearer to her, and looked anxiously at her
+beautiful face.
+
+"I am not eloquent," said Ronald--"I have no great gift of speech; but,
+Miss Charteris, I should like to find some words that would reach your
+heart and dwell there."
+
+He wanted to tell her of Dora, to describe her sweet face with its
+dimples and blushes, her graceful manner, her timid, sensitive
+disposition.  He wanted to make her love Dora, to help him to soften
+his mother's prejudices and his father's anger; no wonder his lips
+quivered and his voice faltered.
+
+"For some days past I have been longing to speak to you," continued
+Ronald; "now my courage almost fails me.  Miss Charteris, say something
+that will give me confidence."  She looked up at him, and any other man
+would have read the love in her face.
+
+"The simplest words you can use will always interest me," she said,
+gently.
+
+His face cleared, and he began: "You are kind and generous--"
+
+Then came an interruption--Sir Harry Laurence, with a lady, entered the
+conservatory.
+
+"This is refreshing," he said to Ronald.  "I have been ten minutes
+trying to get here, the rooms are so full."
+
+Miss Charteris smiled in replying, wishing Sir Harry had waited ten
+minutes longer.
+
+"Promise me," said Ronald, detaining her, as Sir Harry passed on, "that
+you will give me one half hour tomorrow."
+
+"I will do so," replied she.
+
+"And you will listen to me, Miss Charteris?" he continued.  "You will
+hear all I have to say?"
+
+Valentine made no reply; several other people came, some to admire the
+alcove filled with ferns which drooped from the wall by which she was
+standing, others to breathe the fragrant air. She could not speak
+without being overheard; but, with a charming smile, she took a
+beautiful lily from her bouquet and held it out to him.  They then went
+back into the ball room.
+
+"He loves me," thought Valentine; and, as far as her calm, serene
+nature was capable of passionate delight, she felt it.
+
+"She will befriend me," thought Ronald; "but why did she give me this
+flower?"
+
+The most remote suspicion that Valentine had mistaken him--that she
+loved him--never crossed the mind of Ronald Earle.  He was singularly
+free from vanity.  Perhaps if he had a little more confidence in
+himself, the story of the Earles might have been different.
+
+Lady Charteris looked at her daughter's calm, proud face.  She had
+noticed the little interview in the conservatory, and drew her own
+conclusions from it.  Valentine's face confirmed them there was a
+delicate flush upon it, and a new light shone in the lustrous eyes.
+
+"You like Earlescourt?" said Lady Charteris to her daughter that
+evening, as they sat in her drawing room alone.
+
+"Yes, mamma, I like it very much," said Valentine.
+
+"And from what I see," continued the elder lady, "I think it is likely
+to be your home."
+
+"Yes, I believe so," said Valentine, bending over her mother, and
+kissing her.  "Ronald has asked me to give him one half hour tomorrow,
+and I am very happy, mamma."
+
+For one so calm and stately, it was admission enough.  Lady Charteris
+knew, from the tone of her daughter's voice, that she loved Ronald
+Earle.
+
+Ronald slept calmly, half hoping that the end of his troubles was
+drawing nigh.  Valentine, whom his mother loved so well, would
+intercede for Dora.  Lord Earle would be sure to relent; and he could
+bring Dora home, and all would be well.  If ever and anon a cold fear
+crept into his heart that simple, pretty Dora would be sadly out of
+place in that magnificent house, he dashed it from him.  Miss Charteris
+slept calmly, too, but her dreams were different from Ronald's.  She
+thought of the time when she would be mistress of that fair domain, and
+the wife of its brave young lord.  She loved him well.  No one had ever
+pleased her as he had--no one would ever charm her again.  Valentine
+had made the grand mistake of her life.
+
+The morrow so eagerly looked for was a fair, bright day.  The sun shone
+warm and bright, the air was soft and fragrant, the sky blue and
+cloudless.  Lady Charteris did not leave her room for breakfast, and
+Valentine remained with her mother.
+
+When breakfast was ended, Ronald lingered about, hoping to see
+Valentine.  He had not waited long before he saw the glimmer of her
+white dress and blue ribbons.  He met her in the hall.
+
+"Will you come out into the gardens, Miss Charteris?" he asked. "The
+morning is so beautiful, and you promised me one half hour. Do not take
+that book with you.  I shall want all your attention for I have a story
+to tell you."
+
+He walked by her side through the pleasure gardens where the lake
+gleamed in the sunshine, the water lilies sleeping on its quiet bosom;
+through the fragrant flower beds where the bees hummed and the
+butterflies made love to the fairest blossoms.
+
+"Let us go on to the park," said Valentine; "the sun is too warm here."
+
+"I know a little spot just fitted for a fairy bower," said Ronald.
+"Let me show it to you.  I can tell my story better there."
+
+They went through the broad gates of the park, across which the
+checkered sunbeams fell, where the deer browsed and king-cups and tall
+foxgloves grew--on to the brook side where Dora had rested so short a
+time since to think of her new-found happiness.
+
+The pale primroses had all died away, the violets were gone; but in
+their place the deep green bank was covered with other flowers of
+bright and sunny hue.  The shade of tall trees covered the bank, the
+little brook sang merrily, and birds chimed in with the rippling water;
+the summer air was filled with the faint, sweet summer music.
+
+"It is a pretty spot," said Miss Charteris.
+
+The green grass seemed to dance in the breeze, and Ronald made
+something like a throne amid it.
+
+"You shall be queen, and I your suppliant," he said.  "You promise to
+listen; I will tell you my story."
+
+They sat a few minutes in deep silence, broken only by the singing
+brook and the music of the birds; a solemn hush seemed to have fallen
+on them, while the leaves rustled in the wind.
+
+If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another and
+very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine looked; the
+sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage fell upon her face,
+while the white dress and blue ribbons, the fair floating hair, against
+the dark background of the bank and the trees, made a charming picture;
+but Ronald never saw it. After long years the memory of it came back to
+him, and he wondered at his own blindness.  He never saw the trembling
+of the white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple
+foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver of her
+proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes.  He only saw and
+thought of Dora.
+
+"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not eloquent,"
+began Ronald.  "When anything lies deep in my heart, I find great
+difficulty in telling it in words."
+
+"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a torrent of
+words does not always show an earnest nature.  I have many thoughts
+that I could never express."
+
+"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss Charteris,"
+said Ronald--"that you would see and comprehend the motives that I can
+hardly explain myself!  Sitting here in the summer sunshine, I can
+scarcely realize how dark the cloud is that hangs over me.  You are so
+kind and patient, I will tell you my story in my own way."  She
+gathered a rich cluster of bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the
+pretty flowers into pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the
+stream.
+
+"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to Earlescourt.
+Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and not quite myself,
+preferred remaining here alone and quiet.  One morning I went out into
+the garden, listless for want of something to do.  I saw there--ah!
+Now I want words, Miss Charteris--the fairest girl the sun ever shone
+upon."
+
+He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand to her
+brow, as though to shield her face.
+
+"Does the light annoy you?" he asked.
+
+"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story."
+
+"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty face, all
+smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that fell upon a
+white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long lashes, seldom raised,
+but full of wonderful light when once you could look into their depths.
+I can only tell you how in a few days I grew to love the fair young
+face, and how Dora Thorne that was her name, Miss Charteris--loved me."
+
+Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright flush die
+away, and the proud lips quiver.
+
+"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald.  "She is not what people
+call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine.  Her father lives at
+the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and she knows nothing of
+the world or its ways.  She has never been taught or trained, though
+her voice is like sweet music, and her laugh like the chime of silver
+bells.  She is like a bright April day, smiles and tears, sunshine and
+rain--so near together that I never know whether I love her best
+weeping or laughing."
+
+He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her face.
+
+"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so.  I asked her
+to be my wife, and she promised.  When my father came home from
+Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me.  He would not
+believe me serious.  I need not tell you the details. They sent my
+pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her--who wanted to make her
+his wife--came, and quarreled with me.  He my rival--swore that Dora
+should be his.  In his passion he betrayed the secret so well kept from
+me.  He told me where she was, and I went to see her."
+
+There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the white
+lips.
+
+"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty in
+her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot all I
+should have remembered, and married her."
+
+Valentine started then and uttered a low cry.
+
+"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of her so
+young and gentle!  They would have forced her to marry the farmer, and
+she disliked him.  What else could I do to save her?"
+
+Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not help
+admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor.
+
+"I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her.  I thought my
+father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was too sanguine.
+Since my marriage my father has told me that if I do not give up Dora
+he will not see me again.  Every day I resolve to tell him what I have
+done, but something interferes to prevent it.  I have never seen my
+wife since our wedding day. She is still at Eastham.  Now, Miss
+Charteris, be my friend, and help me."
+
+Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow--another time she would
+look it in the face; all her thoughts must now be for him.
+
+"I will do anything to serve you," she said, gently.  "What can I do?"
+
+"My mother loves you very much," said Ronald; "she will listen to you.
+When I have told her, will you, in your sweet, persuasive way,
+interfere for Dora?  Lady Earle will be influenced by what you say."
+
+A quiver of pain passed over the proud, calm face of Valentine
+Charteris.
+
+"If you think it wise for a stranger to interfere in so delicate a
+matter, I will do so cheerfully," she said; "but let me counsel on
+thing.  Tell Lord and Lady Earle at once.  Do not delay, every hour is
+of consequence."
+
+"What do you think of my story?" asked Ronald, anxiously.  "Have I done
+right or wrong?"
+
+"Do not ask me," replied Valentine.
+
+"Yes," he urged, "I will ask again; you are my friend.  Tell me, have I
+done right or wrong?"
+
+"I can speak nothing but truth," replied Valentine, "and I think you
+have done wrong.  Do not be angry.  Honor is everything; it ranks
+before life or love.  In some degree you have tarnished yours by an
+underhand proceeding, a private marriage, one forbidden by your parents
+and distasteful to them."
+
+Ronald's face fell as her words came to him slowly and clearly.
+
+"I thought," said he, "I was doing a brave deed in marrying Dora. She
+had no one to take her part but me."
+
+"It was a brave deed in one sense," said Valentine.  "You have proved
+yourself generous and disinterested.  Heaven grant that you may be
+happy!"
+
+"She is young and impressionable," said Ronald; "I can easily mold her
+to my own way of thinking.  You look very grave, Miss Charteris."
+
+"I am thinking of you," she said, gently; "it seems to me a grave
+matter.  Pardon me--but did you reflect well--were you quite convinced
+that the whole happiness of your life was at stake?  If so, I need say
+no more.  It is an unequal marriage, one not at all fitting in the
+order of things."
+
+How strange that she should use his father's words!
+
+"Tell your father at once," she continued.  "You can never retrace the
+step you have taken.  You may never wish to do so, but you can and must
+retrieve the error of duplicity and concealment."
+
+"You will try and make my mother love Dora?" said Ronald.
+
+"That I will," replied Valentine.  "You sketched her portrait well.  I
+can almost see her.  I will speak of her beauty, her grace, her
+tenderness."
+
+"You are a true friend," said Ronald, gratefully.
+
+"Do not overrate my influence," said Valentine.  "You must learn to
+look your life boldly in the face.  Candidly and honestly I think that,
+from mistaken notions of honor and chivalry, you have done wrong.  A
+man must be brave.  Perhaps one of the hardest lessons in life is to
+bear unflinchingly the effects and consequences of one's own deeds.
+You must do that, you must not flinch, you must bear what follows like
+a man and a hero."
+
+"I will," said Ronald, looking at the fair face, and half wishing that
+the little Dora could talk to him as this noble girl did; such noble
+words as hers made men heroes.  Then he remembered how Dora would weep
+if he were in trouble, and clasp her arms round his neck.
+
+"We shall still be friends, Miss Charteris?" he said, pleadingly.
+"Whatever comes you will not give me up?"
+
+"I will be your friend while I live," said Valentine, holding out her
+white hand, and her voice never faltered. "You have trusted me--I shall
+never forget that.  I am your friend, and Dora's also."
+
+The words came so prettily from her lips that Ronald smiled.
+
+"Dora would be quite alarmed at you," he said; "she is so timid and
+shy."
+
+Then he told Valentine of Dora's pretty, artless ways, of her love for
+all things beautiful in nature, always returning to one theme--her
+great love for him.  He little dreamed that the calm, stately beauty
+listened as one on the rack--that while he was talking of Dora she was
+trying to realize the cold, dreary blank that had suddenly fallen over
+her life, trying to think what the future would be passed without him,
+owning to herself that for this rash, chivalrous marriage, for his
+generous love, she admired him more than ever.
+
+The hand that played carelessly among the wild flowers had ceased to
+tremble, the proud lips had regained their color, and then Valentine
+arose, as she was going out with Lady Earle after lunch.
+
+A feeling of something like blank despair seized Valentine when she
+thought of what she must say to her other.  As she remembered their few
+words the previous evening, her face flushed hotly.
+
+"I can never thank you enough for your kind patience," said Ronald, as
+they walked back through the shady park and the bright flower gardens.
+
+Valentine smiled and raised her fact to the quiet summer sky, thinking
+of the hope that had been hers a few short hours before.
+
+"You will go at once and see your father, will you not?" she said to
+Ronald, as they parted.
+
+"I am going now," he replied; but at that very moment Lady Earle came
+up to him.
+
+"Ronald," she said, "come into my boudoir.  Your father is there he
+wants to see you before he goes to Holtham."
+
+Valentine went straight to her mother's room.  Lady Charteris sat
+waiting for her, beguiling the time with a book.  She smiled as her
+daughter entered.
+
+"I hope you have had a pleasant walk," she said; but both smile and
+words died away as she saw the expression on her daughter's face, as
+she bent over her mother.
+
+"Mamma," said Valentine, gently, "all I said to you last night about
+Earlescourt was a great mistake--it will never be my home. My vanity
+misled me."
+
+"Have you quarreled with Ronald?" asked Lady Charteris, quietly.
+
+"No," was the calm reply.  "We are excellent friends but, mamma, I was
+mistaken.  He did want to tell me something, but it was of his love for
+some one else--not for me."
+
+"He has behaved shamefully to you!" cried Lady Charteris.
+
+"Hush, mamma!" said Valentine. "You forget how such words humiliate me.
+I have refused men of far better position that Ronald Earle.  Never let
+it be imagined that I have mistaken his intentions."
+
+"Of course not," said her mother.  "I only say it to yourself,
+Valentine; he seemed unable to live out of your sight--morning, noon,
+and night he was always by your side."
+
+"He only wanted me to be his friend," said Valentine.
+
+"Ah, he is selfish, like all the men!" said Lady Charteris. "With whom
+has he fallen in love, my dear?"
+
+"Do not ask me," replied Valentine.  "He is in a terrible dilemma.  Do
+not talk to me about it, mamma.  I made a foolish mistake, and do not
+wish to be reminded of it."
+
+Lady Charteris detected the suppressed pain in the tone of her child's
+voice, and instantly formed her plans.
+
+"I think of returning tomorrow," she said.  "Your father is getting
+impatient to have us with him.  He can not come to Earlescourt himself.
+You say Mr. Earle is in a terrible dilemma, Valentine.  I hope there
+will be no scandalous expose while we are here.  I detest scenes."
+
+"Lord Earle is far too proud for anything of that kind," said
+Valentine.  "If there should be any unpleasantness, it will not appear
+on the surface.  Mamma, you will not mention this to me again."
+
+Valentine threw off her lace shawl and pretty hat; she then took up the
+book her mother had laid down.
+
+"My walk has tired me," she said; "the sun is very warm."
+
+She lay down upon the sofa and turned her face to the window, where the
+roses came nodding in.
+
+"Stay here and read," said lady Charteris, with delicate tact. "I am
+going to write my letters."
+
+Valentine lay still, looking at the summer beauty outside.  No one knew
+of the tears that gathered slowly in those proud eyes; no one knew of
+the passionate weeping that could not be stilled.
+
+When Lady Charteris returned in two hours, Valentine had regained her
+calm, and there was no trace of tears in the smiles which welcomed her.
+Proudly and calmly she bore the great disappointment of her life.  She
+was no tragedy queen; she never said to herself that her life was
+blighted or useless or burdensome.  But she did say that she would
+never marry until she found some one with Ronald's simple chivalry, his
+loyal, true nature, and without the weakness which had caused and would
+cause so much suffering.
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII
+
+Lady Earle's boudoir was always considered one of the prettiest rooms
+at Earlescourt.  Few, but rare, pictures adorned its walls. The long
+French windows opened on to the prettiest part of the gardens, where a
+large fountain rippled merrily in the sunshine. Groups of flowers in
+rare and costly vases perfumed the room.
+
+Lord Earle had but drawn a pretty lounging chair to the window, and sat
+there, looking happier than he had looked for months. Lady Earle went
+on with her task of arranging some delicate leaves and blossoms ready
+for sketching.
+
+"Ronald," said his father, "I have been waiting here some time. Have
+you been out?"
+
+"I have been in the park with Miss Charteris," replied Ronald.
+
+Lord Earle smiled again, evidently well pleased to hear that
+intelligence.
+
+"A pleasant and sensible method of spending your time," he continued;
+"and, strange to say, it is on that very subject I wish to speak to
+you.  Your attentions to Miss Charteris--"
+
+"My attentions!" cried Ronald.  "You are mistaken.  I have never paid
+any."
+
+"You need have no fear this time," said Lord Earle.  "Your mother tells
+me of the numerous comments made last evening on your long tete-a-tete
+in the conservatory.  I know some of your secrets. There can be no
+doubt that Miss Charteris has a great regard for you.  I sent for you
+to say that, far from my again offering any opposition to your
+marriage, the dearest wish of my heart will be gratified when I call
+Valentine Charteris my daughter."
+
+He paused for a reply, but none came.  Ronald's face had grown
+strangely pale.
+
+"We never named our wish to you," continued Lord Earle, "but years ago
+your mother and I hoped you would some day love Miss Charteris.  She is
+very beautiful; she is the truest, noblest, the best woman I know.  I
+am proud of your choice, Ronald--more proud than words can express."
+
+Still Ronald made no reply, and Lady Earle looked up at him quickly.
+
+"You need not fear for Valentine," she said. "I must not betray any
+secrets; she likes you, Ronald; I will say no more.  If you ask her to
+be your wife, I do not think you will ask in vain."
+
+"There is some great mistake," said Ronald, his pale lips quivering.
+"Miss Charteris has no thought for me."
+
+"She has no thought for any one else," rejoined Lady Earle, quickly.
+
+"And I," continued Ronald, "never dreamed of making her my wife. I do
+not love her.  I can never marry Valentine Charteris."
+
+The smiles died from Lord Earle's face, and his wife dropped the pretty
+blossoms she was arranging.
+
+"Then why have you paid the girl so much attention?" asked his father,
+gravely.  "Every one has remarked your manner; you never seemed happy
+away from her."
+
+"I wished to make her my friend," said Ronald; "I never thought of
+anything else."
+
+He stood aghast when he remembered why he had tried so hard to win her
+friendship.  What if Valentine misunderstood him?
+
+"Others thought for you," said Lady Earle, dryly.  "Of course, if I am
+mistaken, there is no more to be said; I merely intended to say how
+happy such a marriage would make me.  If you do not love the young lady
+the matter ends, I suppose."
+
+"Can you not love her, Ronald?" asked his mother, gently.  "She is so
+fair and good, so well fitted to be the future mistress of Earlescourt.
+Can you not love her?"
+
+"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he replied.
+
+"Surely," interrupted Lady Earle, "you have forgotten the idle, boyish
+folly that angered your father some time since--that can not be your
+reason?"
+
+"Hush, mother," said Ronald, standing erect and dauntless; "I was
+coming to tell you my secret when you met me.  Father, I deceived and
+disobeyed you.  I followed Dora Thorne to Eastham, and married her
+there."
+
+A low cry came from Lady Earle's lips.  Ronald saw his father's face
+grow white--livid--with anger; but no word broke the awful silence that
+fell upon them.  Hours seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes.
+
+"You married her," said Lord Earle, in a low, hoarse voice,
+"remembering what I said?"
+
+"I married her," replied Ronald, "hoping you would retract hard, cruel
+words that you never meant.  I could not help it, father; she has no
+one but me; they would have forced her to marry some one she did not
+like."
+
+"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle.  "Tell me when and where.  Let me
+understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not."
+
+Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular.
+
+"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt.
+"You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position--and Dora
+Thorne.  You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest."
+
+"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald.  "I am your only son."
+
+"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son.  Heaven grant
+no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine!
+Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, wishes, ambitions,
+and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked
+impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add
+fresh luster to a grand old name.  I have lived in your life; and now,
+for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken
+me--you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had."
+
+"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald.  "I never thought of these things."
+
+"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely.  "I can never trust you
+again.  From this time forth I have no son.  My heir you must be when
+the life you have darkened ends.  My son is dead to me."
+
+There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy
+young man.
+
+"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall.  You have
+chosen your own path; take it.  You preferred this Dora to me; go to
+her.  I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look
+upon your face again, and I never will."
+
+"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful.  He is my only child.  I
+shall die if you send him from me."
+
+"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle.  "I am sorry
+for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I shall not break
+my word!  I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son,
+"it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and
+are doubtless prepared for it."
+
+"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald.
+
+"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy
+wife, who was weeping passionately.  "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss
+her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her
+love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your
+last look at me.  I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful
+for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble
+race.  The same roof will never shelter us again.  Make what
+arrangements you will.  You have some little fortune; it must maintain
+you.  I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge
+keeper's daughter.  Go where you like--do as you like.  You have chosen
+your own path.  Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master.
+I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the
+dishonor of my race can not touch me.  Go now; I shall expect you to
+have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning."
+
+"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald.  "Send me from you punish
+me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!"
+
+"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly.  "Remember, when you see me
+lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I
+learned that you had deceived me."
+
+"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!"
+
+"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made
+deliberately.  I am not cruel.  If you write to me I shall return your
+letters unopened.  I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow
+you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do
+not forbid that.  She can see you under any roof save mine.  Now,
+farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you,
+but I shall keep my word.  See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your
+money, and he will arrange everything in my place."
+
+"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word,
+touch my hand once again!"
+
+"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that is not
+the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my own."
+
+Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and still;
+she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate pleading.  Lord
+Earle raised her face.  "Go," said he, calmly; "do not let your mother
+find you here when she recovers."
+
+He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish of
+the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the room.
+
+When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had left
+her.  No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who saw him
+clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by every kind and
+tender word he could utter.
+
+Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope that
+in time he would relent.  It was hard to lose her brave boy for a few
+months or even years; but he would return, his father must forgive him,
+her sorrow would be but for a time.  But Lord Earle, inflexible and
+unflinching, knew that he should never in life see his son again.
+
+No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris said, he
+was too proud for scenes.  He dined with Lady Charteris and her
+daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son. After dinner he
+shut himself in his own room, and suffered his agony along.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Earlescourt was full of bustle and activity.  The young heir was
+leaving suddenly; boxes and trunks had to be packed.  He did not say
+where he was going; indeed those who helped him said afterward that his
+face was fixed and pale, and that he moved about like one in a dream.
+
+Everything was arranged for Ronald's departure by the night mail from
+Greenfield, the nearest station to Earlescourt.  He took with him
+neither horses nor servants; even his valet, Morton, was left behind.
+"My lady" was ill, and shut up in her room all day.
+
+Valentine Charteris sat alone in the drawing room when Ronald came in
+to bid her farewell.  She was amazed at the unhappy termination of the
+interview.  She would have gone instantly to Lord Earle, but Ronald
+told her it was useless--no prayers, no pleadings could change his
+determination.
+
+As Ronald stood here, looking into Valentine's beautiful face, he
+remembered his mother's words, that she cared for him as she cared for
+no other.  Could it be possible that this magnificent girl, with her
+serene, queenly dignity, loved him?  She looked distressed by his
+sorrow.  When he spoke of his mother, and she saw the quivering lips he
+vainly tried to still, tears filled her eyes.
+
+"Where shall you go," she asked, "and what shall you do?"
+
+"I shall go to my wife at once," he replied, "and take her abroad.  Do
+not look so pained and grieved for me, Miss Charteris I must do the
+best I can.  If my income will not support me, I must work; a few
+months' study will make me a tolerable artist. Do not forget my mother,
+Valentine, and bid me 'Godspeed.'"
+
+Her heart yearned for him--so young, so simple, so brave.  She longed
+to tell him how much she admired him--how she wanted to help him, and
+would be his friend while she lived.  But Miss Charteris rarely yielded
+to any emotion; she had laid her hand in his and said:
+
+"Goodbye, Ronald--God bless you!  Be brave; it is not one great deed
+that makes a hero.  The man who bears trouble well is the greatest hero
+of all."
+
+As he left his home in that quiet starlit night, Ronald little thought
+that, while his mother lay weeping as though her heart would break, a
+beautiful face, wet with bitter tears, watched him from one of the
+upper windows, and his father, shut up alone, listened to every sound,
+and heard the door closed behind his son as he would have heard his own
+death knell.
+
+The next day Lady Charteris and her daughter left Earlescourt. Lord
+Earle gave no sign of the heavy blow which had struck him. He was their
+attentive host while they remained; he escorted them to their carriage,
+and parted from them with smiling words.  Then he went back to the
+house, where he was never more to hear the sound of the voice he loved
+best on earth.
+
+As the days and months passed, and the young heir did not return,
+wonder and surprise reigned at Earlescourt.  Lord Earle never mentioned
+his son's name.  People said he had gone abroad, and was living
+somewhere in Italy.  To Lord Earl it seemed that his life was ended; he
+had no further plans, ambition died away; the grand purpose of his life
+would never be fulfilled.
+
+Lady Earle said nothing of the trouble that had fallen upon her. She
+hoped against hope that the time would come when her husband would
+pardon their only son.  Valentine Charteris bore her disappointment
+well. She never forgot the simple, chivalrous man who had clung to her
+friendship and relied so vainly upon her influence.
+
+Many lovers sighed round Valentine.  One after another she dismissed
+them.  She was waiting until she saw some one like Ronald Earle--like
+him in all things save the weakness which had so fatally shadowed his
+life.
+
+
+
+Chapter IX
+
+In a small, pretty villa, on the banks of the Arno, Ronald Earle
+established himself with his young wife.  He had gone direct to
+Eastham, after leaving Earlescourt, his heart aching with sorrow for
+home and all that he had left there, and beating high with joy at the
+thought that now nothing stood between him and Dora. He told her of the
+quarrel--of his father's stern words--and Dora, as he had foreseen
+clung round his neck and wept.
+
+She would love him all the more, she said.  She must love him enough to
+make up for home and every one else.
+
+Yet, strange to say, when Ronald told his pretty, weeping wife all that
+happened, he made no mention of Valentine Charteris--he did not even
+utter her name.
+
+Ronald's arrangements were soon made.  He sent for Stephen Thorne and
+his wife, and told them how and when he had married Dora.
+
+"I am sorry for it," said Stephen.  "No good will ever come of such an
+unequal match.  My girl had better have stayed at home, or married the
+young farmer who loved her.  The distance between you is too great, Mr.
+Earle, and I fear me you will find it out."
+
+Ronald laughed at the idea that he should ever tire of Dora.  How
+little these prosaic, commonplace people knew of love!
+
+The good lodge keeper and his wife parted from Dora with many tears.
+She was never to brighten their home again with her sweet face and gay
+voice.  She was going away to strange lands over the sea.  Many dark
+forebodings haunted them; but it was too late for advice and
+interference now.
+
+The first news that came to the villa on the banks of the Arno was that
+Stephen Thorne and his wife had left the lodge and taken a small farm
+somewhere in the county of Kent.  Lady Earle had found them the means,
+and they had left without one word from Lord Earle.  He never asked
+whither they had gone.
+
+Despite his father's anger and his mother's sorrow, despite his poverty
+and loss of position, Ronald for some months was very happy with his
+young wife.  It was so pleasant to teach Dora, to watch her sweet,
+dimpled face and the dark eyes grow large with wonder; to hear her
+simple, naive remarks, her original ideas; to see her pretty, artless
+ways; above all, it was pleasant to be so dearly loved.
+
+He often thought that there never had been, never could be, a wife so
+loving as Dora.  He could not teach her much, although he tried hard.
+She sang simple little ballads sweetly and clearly; but although master
+after master tried his best, she could never be taught to play--not
+even as much as the easy accompaniments of her own songs.  Ronald hoped
+that with time and attention she would be able to sketch, but Dora
+never managed it.  Obediently enough she took pencil and paper in her
+hands and tried, but the strokes would never come straight.  Sometimes
+the drawing she made would resemble something so comical that both she
+and Ronald laughed heartily; while the consciousness of her own
+inferiority grieved her, and large, bright tears would frequently fall
+upon the paper.  Then Ronald would take the pencils away, and Dora
+would cling around his neck and ask him if he would not have been
+happier with a cleverer wife.
+
+"No, a thousand times, no," he would say; he loved Dora better in her
+artless simplicity than he could have loved the cleverest woman in the
+world.
+
+"And you are quite sure," said Dora, "that you will never repent
+marrying me?"
+
+"No, again," was the reply.  "You are the crowning joy of my life."
+
+It was pleasant to sit amid the oleanders and myrtles, reading the
+great poems of the world to Dora.  Even if she did not understand them,
+her face lighted with pleasure as the grand words came from Ronald's
+lips.  It was pleasant, too, to sit on the banks of the Arno, watching
+the blue waters gleaming in the sun.  Dora was at home there.  She
+would say little of books, of pictures, or music; but she could talk of
+beautiful Nature, and never tire.  She knew the changing colors of the
+sky, the varied hues of the waves, the different voices of the wind,
+the songs of the birds.  All these had a separate and distinct meaning
+for her.
+
+Ronald could not teach her much more.  She liked the beautiful poems he
+read, but never could remember who had written them. She forgot the
+names of great authors, or mixed them up so terribly that Ronald, in
+despair, told her it would be better not to talk of books just yet--not
+until she was more familiar with them.
+
+But he soon found out that Dora could not read for many minutes
+together.  She would open her book, and make a desperate attempt; then
+her dark eyes would wander away to the distant mountains, or to the
+glistening river.  She could never read while the sun shone or the
+birds sang.
+
+Seeing that, Ronald gave up all attempts at literature in the daytime;
+when the lamps were lighted in the evening, and the fair face of Nature
+was shut out, he tried again, and succeeded for ten minutes; then
+Dora's eyes drooped, the white lids with their jetty fringe closed; and
+with great dismay he found that over the masterpieces of the world Dora
+had fallen asleep.
+
+Two long, bright years had passed away before Ronald began to perceive
+that he could educate his pretty young wife no further. She was a
+strange mixture of ignorance and uncultivated poetry. She could speak
+well; her voice was sweet, her accent, caught from him, good; alone he
+never noticed any deficiencies, but if he met an English friend in
+Florence and brought him home to dine, then Ronald began to wish that
+Dora would leave off blushing and grow less shy, that she could talk a
+little more, and that he might lose all fear of her making some
+terrible blunder.
+
+The third year of their married life dawned; Dora was just twenty, and
+Ronald twenty-three.  There had been no rejoicing when he had attained
+his majority; it passed over unnoticed and unmarked.  News came to them
+from England, letters from the little farm in Kent, telling of simple
+home intelligence, and letters from Lady Earle, always sad and stained
+with tears.  She had no good news to tell them.  Lord Earle was well,
+but he would never allow his son's name to be mentioned before him, and
+she longed to see her son.  In all her letters Lady Earle said: "Give
+my love to Dora."
+
+In this, the third year of his married life, Ronald began to feel the
+pressure of poverty.  His income was not more than three hundred a
+year.  To Dora this seemed boundless riches; but the heir of
+Earlescourt had spent more in dress and cigars.  Now debts began to
+press upon him, writing home he knew was useless. He would not ask Lady
+Earle, although he knew that she would have parted with the last jewel
+in her case for him.
+
+Ronald gave himself up to the study of painting.  A pretty little
+studio was built, and Dora spent long hours in admiring both her
+husband and his work.  He gave promise of being some day a good
+artist--not a genius.  The world would never rave about his pictures;
+but, in time, he would be a conscientious, painstaking artist.  Among
+his small coterie of friends some approved, others laughed.
+
+"Why not go to the Jews?" asked fashionable young men. "Earlescourt
+must be yours some day.  You can borrow money if you like."
+
+Ronald steadily refused to entertain the idea.  He wondered at modern
+ideas of honor--that men saw no shame in borrowing upon the lives of
+their nearest and dearest, yet thought it a disgrace to be a follower
+of one of the grandest of arts.  He made one compromise--that was for
+his father's sake.  As an artist, he was known by Dora's name of
+Thorne, and, before long, Ronald Thorne's pictures were in great
+request.  There was no dash of genius about them; but they were careful
+studies.  Some few were sold, and the price realized proved no
+unwelcome addition to a small income.
+
+Ronald became known in Florence.  People who had not thought much of
+Mr. Earle were eager to know the clever artist and his pretty, shy
+wife.  Then the trial of Ronald Earle began in earnest.  Had he lived
+always away from the world, out of society, the chances are that his
+fate would have been different; but invitations began to pour in upon
+him and Dora, and Ronald, half tired of his solitude, although he never
+suspected it, accepted them eagerly.
+
+Dora did not like the change; she felt lonely and lost where Ronald was
+so popular and so much at home.
+
+Among those who eagerly sought Ronald's society was the pretty
+coquette, the Countess Rosali, an English lady who had married the
+Count Rosali, a Florentine noble of great wealth.
+
+No one in Florence was half so popular as the fair countess. Among the
+dark, glowing beauties of sunny Italy she was like a bright sunbeam.
+Her fair, piquant face was charming from its delicate bright coloring
+and gay smiles; her hair, of the rare color painted by the old masters,
+yet so seldom seen, was of pure golden hue, looking always as though
+the sun shone upon it.
+
+Countess Rosali, there was no denying the fact, certainly did enjoy a
+little flirtation.  Her grave, serious husband knew it, and looked on
+quite calmly.  To his grave mind the pretty countess resembled a
+butterfly far more than a rational being. He knew that, though she
+might laugh and talk to others, though she might seek admiration and
+enjoy delicate flattery, yet in her heart she was true as steel.  She
+loved bright colors, and everything else that was gay and brilliant.
+She had gathered the roses; perhaps some one else had her share of
+thorns.
+
+The fair, dainty lady had a great desire to see Mr. Thorne.  She had
+seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends a simple
+little thing, but it had charmed her.  It was merely a bouquet of
+English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally painted!  The
+bluebells looked as though they had just been gathered.  One almost
+fancied dew drops on the delicate wild roses; a spray of pink hawthorn,
+daisies and golden buttercups mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet,
+told sweet stories of the English meadows.
+
+"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, and
+knows what English flowers mean."
+
+The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to her, and
+then she would know his wife.  Her grave, silent husband smiled at her
+evident admiration of the handsome young Englishman.  She liked his
+clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she liked his simple, kindly manner,
+so full of chivalry and truth. She liked pretty Dora, too; but there
+were times when the dainty, fastidious countess looked at the young
+wife in wonder, for, as she said one evening to her husband:
+
+"There is something in Mrs. Thorne that puzzles me--she does not always
+speak or look like a lady--"
+
+Few days passed without bringing Ronald and Dora to the Villa Rosali.
+It would have been better for Ronald had he never left his pretty home
+on the banks of the Arno.
+
+
+
+Chapter X
+
+Going into society increased the expenses which Ronald and his wife
+found already heavy enough.  There were times when the money received
+from the sale of his pictures failed in liquidating bills; then Ronald
+grew anxious, and Dora, not knowing what better to do, wept and blamed
+herself for all the trouble.  It was a relief then to leave the home
+over which the clouds lowered and seek the gay villa, where something
+pleasant and amusing was always going on.
+
+The countess gathered around her the elite of Florentine society; she
+selected her friends and acquaintances as carefully as she selected her
+dresses, jewels, and flowers.  She refused to know "bores" and
+"nobodies"; her lady friends must be pretty, piquant, or fashionable,
+any gentleman admitted into her charmed circle must have genius, wit,
+or talent to recommend him.  Though grave matrons shook their heads and
+looked prudish when the Countess Rosali was mentioned, yet to belong to
+her set was to receive the "stamp of fashion."  No day passed without
+some amusement at the villa--picnic, excursion, soiree, dance, or, what
+its fair mistress preferred, private theatricals and charades.
+
+"Help me," she said one morning, as Ronald and Dora, in compliance with
+her urgent invitation, came to spend the day at the villa--"help me; I
+want to do something that will surprise every one.  There are some
+great English people coming to Florence--one of your heiresses, who is
+at the same time a beauty.  We must have some grand charades or
+tableaus.  What would you advise?  Think of something original that
+will take Florence by surprise."
+
+"Wishing any one to be original," said Ronald, smiling at her quick,
+eager ways, "immediately deprives one of all thought.  I must have
+time; it seems to me you have exhausted every subject."
+
+"An artist has never-failing resources," she replied; "when every
+'fount of inspiration' is closed it will be time to tell me there are
+no ideas.  You must have seen many charades, Mrs. Thorne," she said,
+turning suddenly to Dora; "they are very popular in England.  Tell me
+of some."
+
+Dora blushed.  She thought of the lodge and its one small parlor, and
+then felt wretched and uncomfortable, out of place, and unhappy.
+
+"I have never seen any charades," she said, stiffly, and with crimson
+cheeks.
+
+The countess opened her blue eyes in surprise, and Ronald looked
+anxiously from one to the other.
+
+"My wife was too young when we were married to have seen much of the
+world," he said, inwardly hoping that the tears he saw gathering in
+Dora's dark eyes would not fall.
+
+"Ah, then, she will be of no use in our council," replied the countess,
+quickly.  "Let us go out on the terrace; there is always inspiration
+under an Italian sky."
+
+She led the way to a pretty veranda on the terrace, and they sat under
+the shade of a large spreading vine.
+
+"Now we can discuss my difficulty in peace," said the lady, in her
+pretty, imperious way. "I will, with your permission, tell you some of
+my ideas."
+
+The countess was not particularly gifted, but Ronald was charmed by the
+series of pictures she placed before him, all well chosen, with
+startling points of interest, scenes from noble poems, pictures from
+fine old tragedies.  She never paused or seemed tired, while Dora sat,
+her face still flushed, looking more awkward and ill at ease than
+Ronald had ever seen her.  For the first time, as they sat under the
+vine that morning, Ronald contrasted his wife with his dainty,
+brilliant hostess, and felt that she lost by the contrast--"awkward and
+ill at ease," self-conscious to a miserable degree.  For the first time
+Ronald felt slightly ashamed of Dora, and wished that she knew more,
+and could take some part in the conversation.  Dimples and smiles,
+curling rings of dark hair, and pretty rosebud lips were, he thought,
+all very well, but a man grew tired of them in time, unless there was
+something to keep up the charm.  But poor little Dora had no resources
+beyond her smiles and tears.  She sat shrinking and timid, half
+frightened at the bright lady who knew so much and told it so well;
+feeling her heart cold with its first dread that Ronald was not pleased
+with her.  Her eyes wandered to the far-off hills.  Ah! Could it be
+that he would ever tire of her and wished that he had married some one
+like himself.  The very thought pierced her heart, and the timid young
+wife sat with a sorrowful look upon her face that took away all its
+simple beauty.
+
+"I will show you a sketch of the costume," said the countess; "it is in
+my desk.  Pray excuse me."
+
+She was gone in an instant, and Dora was alone with her husband.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Dora," he said, quickly, "do look a little
+brighter; what will the countess think of you?  You look like a
+frightened school girl."
+
+It was an injudicious speech.  If Ronald had only caressed her, all
+would have been sunshine again; as it was, the first impatient words
+she had ever heard from him smote her with a new, strange pain, and the
+tears overflowed.
+
+"Do not--pray--never do that," said Ronald; "we shall be the laughing
+stock of all Florence.  Well-bred people never give way to emotion."
+
+"Here is the sketch," said the countess, holding a small drawing in her
+hand.  Her quick glance took in Dora's tears and the disturbed
+expression of Ronald's face.
+
+With kind and graceful tact the countess gave Dora time to recover
+herself; but that was the last time she ever invited the young artist
+and his wife alone.  Countess Rosali had a great dread of all domestic
+scenes.
+
+Neither Dora nor Ronald ever alluded again to this little incident; it
+had one bad effect--it frightened the timid young wife, and made her
+dread going into society.  When invitations to grand houses came, she
+would say, "Go alone, Ronald; if I am with you they are sure to ask me
+ever so many questions which I can not answer; then you will be vexed
+with me, and I shall be ashamed of my ignorance."
+
+"Why do you not learn?" Ronald would ask, disarmed by her sweet
+humility.
+
+"I can not," said Dora, shaking her pretty head.  "The only lesson I
+ever learned in my life was how to love you."
+
+"You have learned that by heart," replied Ronald.  Then he would kiss
+her pitiful little face and go without her.
+
+By slow degrees it became a settled rule that Dora should stay at home
+and Ronald go out.  He had no scruples in leaving her--she never
+objected; her face was always smiling and bright when he went away, and
+the same when he returned.  He said to himself that Dora was happier at
+home than elsewhere, that fine ladies frightened her and made her
+unhappy.
+
+Their ways in life, now became separate and distinct, Ronald going more
+than ever into society, Dora clinging more to the safe shelter of home.
+
+But society was expensive in two ways--not only from the outlay in
+dress and other necessaries, but in the time taken from work. There
+were many days when Ronald never went near his studio, and only
+returned home late in the evening to leave early in the morning.  He
+was only human, this young hero who had sacrificed so much for love;
+and there were times, after some brilliant fete or soiree, when the
+remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow means, would come to him
+like a heavy weight or the shadow of a dark cloud.
+
+Not that he loved her less--pretty, tender Dora; but there was not one
+feeling or taste in common between them.  Harder men would have tired
+of her long before.  They never cared to speak much of home, for Dora
+noticed that Ronald was always sad after a letter from Lady Earle.  The
+time came when she hesitated to speak of her own parents, lest he
+should remember much that she would have liked him to forget.
+
+If any true friend had stepped in then, and warned them, life would
+have been a different story for Ronald Earle and his wife.
+
+Ronald's story became known in Florence.  He was the son of a wealthy
+English peer, who had offended his father by a "low" marriage; in time
+he would succeed to the title.  Hospitalities were lavished upon him,
+the best houses in Florence were thrown open to him, and he was eagerly
+welcomed there.  When people met him continually unaccompanied by his
+young wife they smiled significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with
+pity.  Poor, pretty Dora!
+
+Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by Dora.
+She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any traces of tears,
+yet Dora shed many.  Through the long sunny hours and far into the
+night she sat alone, thinking of the home she had left in far-off
+England--where she had been loved and worshiped by her rough, homely,
+honest father and a loving mother; thinking too, of Ralph, and his
+pretty, quiet homestead in the green fields, where she would have been
+honored as its mistress, where no fine ladies would have vexed her with
+questions, and no one would have thought her ignorant or awkward;
+thinking of all these things, yet loving Ronald none the less, except
+that a certain kind of fear began to mingle with her love.
+
+Gradually, slowly, but surely, the fascination of the gay and brilliant
+society in which Ronald was so eagerly courted laid hold of him.  He
+did not sin willfully or consciously; little by little a distaste for
+his own home and a weariness of Dora's society overcame him.  He was
+never unkind to her, for Ronald was a gentleman; but he lingered no
+more through the long sunny morning by her side.  He gave up all
+attempts to educate her.  He ceased to tease her about books; he never
+offered to read to her; and pretty, simple Dora, taught by the keen
+instinct of love, noted it all.
+
+Ronald saw some little change in her.  The dimples and smiles had
+almost vanished from her face.  He seldom heard the laugh that had once
+been so sweet to him. There was retiring grace in her manner that
+suited her well.  He thought she was catching the "tone of good
+society," and liked the change.
+
+Some natures become ennobled under the pressure of adversity; but
+limited means and petty money cares had no good effect upon Ronald
+Earle.  He fretted under them.  He could do nothing as other people
+did.  He could not purchase a magnificent bouquet for the countess; his
+means would not permit it.  He could not afford a horse such as all his
+gentlemen friends rode.  Adversity developed no good qualities in him;
+the discipline was harder and sterner still that made of him a true man
+at last.
+
+Ronald went on with his painting fitfully, sometimes producing a good
+picture, but often failing.
+
+The greatest patron of the fine arts in Florence was the Prince di
+Borgezi.  His magnificent palace was like one picture gallery. He saw
+some sketches of Ronald's, and gave an order to him to paint a large
+picture, leaving him to choose the subject.  In vain by night and by
+day did Ronald ponder on what that subject should be.  He longed to
+make his name immortal by it.  He thought once of Tennyson's "Dora,"
+and of sketching his wife for the principal figure.  He did make a
+sketch, but he found that he could not paint Dora's face; he could not
+place the dimpling smiles and bright blushes on canvas, and they were
+the chief charm.  He therefore abandoned the idea.
+
+Standing one day where the sunbeams fell lightly through the thick
+myrtles, an inspiration came to him.  He would paint a picture of Queen
+Guinevere in her gay sweet youth and bright innocent beauty--Guinevere
+with her lovely face and golden hair, the white plumes waving and
+jewels flashing; the bright figure on the milk-white palfrey shining in
+the mellow sunlight that came through the green trees.
+
+Lancelot should ride by her side; he could see every detail of the
+picture; he knew just the noble, brave, tender face Sir Lancelot should
+have; but where could he find a model for Guinevere?  Where was there a
+face that would realize his artist dreams of her?  The painting was
+half completed before he thought of Valentine Charteris and her
+magnificent blonde beauty--the very ideal of Queen Guinevere.
+
+With renewed energy Ronald set to work.  Every feature of that perfect
+face was engraved upon his mind.  He made sketch after sketch, until,
+in its serene, sweet loveliness, Valentine's face smiled upon him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XI
+
+"Queen Guinevere" was a success far beyond Ronald's dearest hopes.
+Artists and amateurs, connoisseurs of all ranks and degrees were
+delighted with it.  The great charm of the picture was the lovely young
+face.  "Whom was it like?"  "Where had he found his model?"  "Was ever
+any woman so perfectly beautiful?" Such were the questions that people
+never seemed tired of repeating.
+
+The picture was hung in the gallery of the palace, and the Prince di
+Borgezi became one of Ronald's best patrons.
+
+The prince gave a grand ball in honor of a beautiful English lady, who,
+with her family, had just arrived in Florence. Countess Rosali raved
+about her, wisely making a friend where any one else would have feared
+a rival.
+
+Ronald had contrived an invitation, but was prevented from attending.
+All the elite of Florence were there, and great was the excitement when
+Countess Rosali entered the ball room with an exceedingly beautiful
+woman--a queenly blonde--the lady about whom all Florence was
+interested--an English heiress, clever as she was fair, speaking French
+with a courtly grace and Italian with fluent skill; and when the prince
+stood before her he recognized in one moment the original of his famous
+"Guinevere."
+
+The countess was in danger--a fairer, brighter star had arisen.
+Valentine Charteris was the belle of the most brilliant hall ever given
+in Florence.
+
+When the prince had received his guest, and danced once with Miss
+Charteris, he asked her if she would like to see his celebrated
+picture, the "Guinevere," whose fame was spreading fast.
+
+"Nothing," she said, "would please her better;" and as the Countess
+Rosali stood near, the prince included her in the invitation.
+
+"Certainly; I never tire of the 'Guinevere,' never weary of the
+artist's triumph, for he is one of the most valued of my friends."
+
+Prince di Borgesi smiled, thinking how much of the fair coquette's
+admiration went to the artist's talent, and how much to his handsome
+face.
+
+They entered the long gallery, where some of the finest pictures in
+Italy were hung.  The prince led the ladies to the southern end.
+Valentine saw before her a magnificent painting--tall forest trees,
+whose thick branches were interwoven, every green leaf distinct and
+clear; she saw the mellow light that fell through them, the milk-white
+palfrey and the jeweled harness, the handsome knight who rode near; and
+then she saw her own face, bright, smiling, glowing with beauty, bright
+in innocence, sweet in purity.  Valentine stared in astonishment, and
+her companion smiled.
+
+"There can be no doubt about the resemblance," said the countess. "The
+artist has made you Queen Guinevere, Miss Charteris."
+
+"Yes," said Valentine, wonderingly; "it is my own face.  How came it
+there?  Who is the artist?"
+
+"His name is Ronald Thorne," replied the countess.  "There is quite a
+romance about him."
+
+The countess saw Miss Charteris grow pale and silent.
+
+"Have you ever seen him?" inquired the countess.  "Do you know him?"
+
+"Yes," said Valentine, "my family and his have been on intimate terms
+for years.  I knew that he was in Italy with his wife."
+
+"Ah," rejoined the countess, eagerly, "then perhaps you know all about
+his marriage?  Who was Mrs. Thorne?  Why did he quarrel with his
+father?  Do tell us, Miss Charteris."
+
+"Nay," said Valentine; "if Mrs. Thorne has any secrets, I shall not
+reveal them.  I must tell mamma they are in Florence.  We must call and
+see them."
+
+"I was fond of Mrs. Thorne once," said the countess, plaintively, "but
+really there is nothing in her."
+
+"There must be something both estimable and lovable," replied Valentine
+quickly, "or Mr. Thorne would never have married her."
+
+Prince di Borgesi smiled approval of the young lady's reply.
+
+"You admire my picture, Miss Charteris?" he asked.
+
+"The more so because it is the work of an old friend," said Valentine;
+and again the prince admired the grace of her words.
+
+"Any other woman in her place," he thought, "would have blushed and
+coquetted.  How charming she is!"
+
+From that moment Prince di Borgezi resolved to win Valentine if he
+could.
+
+Lady Charteris was half pleased, half sorry, to hear that Ronald was in
+Florence.  No one deplored his rash, foolish marriage more than she
+did.  She thought Lord Earle stern and cruel; she pitied the young man
+she had once liked so well, yet for all that she did not feel inclined
+to renew the acquaintance.  When Valentine asked her to drive next
+morning to the little villa on the banks of the Arno, she at first half
+declined.
+
+"I promised to be Ronald's friend years ago," said Valentine, calmly;
+"and now, mamma, you must allow me to keep my word.  We must visit his
+wife, and pay her every attention.  To refuse would imply a doubt of
+me, and that I could not endure."
+
+"You shall do as you like, my dear," replied Lady Charteris; "the young
+man's mother is my dearest friend, and for her sake we will be kind to
+him."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+It was one of those Italian mornings when the fair face of Nature
+seemed bathed in beauty.  The air was full of the music of birds; the
+waters of the Arno rolled languidly on; oleanders and myrtles were in
+full bloom; birds sang as they sing only under the blue sky of Italy.
+
+It was not yet noon when Lady Charteris and her daughter reached the
+little villa.  Before they came to the house, Valentine caught one
+glimpse of a pretty, pale face with large dark eyes. Could that be
+pretty, smiling Dora?  There were the shining rings of dark hair; but
+where were the smiles Ronald had described? That was not a happy face.
+Care and sorrow were in every line of it.
+
+They were told that Mr. Thorne was in his studio, and would see them
+there.  They had sent no card, and Ronald believed the "two ladies" to
+have called on some business connected with pictures. He started with
+surprise when Lady Charteris and Valentine entered.  There were a few
+words of confused greeting, a hurried explanation of the circumstances
+that led Sir Hugh to Florence; and then Valentine looked long and
+steadily at the only man she had ever cared for.  He was altered; the
+frank, handsome face looked worn and thin; it had a restless
+expression.  He did not look like a man who had found peace.  Lady
+Charteris told him of her last visit to Earlescourt--how his mother
+never ceased speaking of him, and his father still preserved the same
+rigid, unbending silence.
+
+"I have seen your picture," said Lady Charteris.  "How well you
+remembered my daughter's face."
+
+"It is one not easily forgotten," he replied; and then another deep
+silence fell upon him.
+
+"Where is Mrs. Earle?" asked Valentine.  "Our visit is chiefly to her.
+Pray introduce her to mamma.  I know her already by description."
+
+"I left my wife in the garden," said Ronald; "shall we join her there?"
+
+They followed him into the pretty sunlit garden, where Valentine had
+seen the pale, sad face.
+
+"My wife is timid," said Ronald, "always nervous with strangers."
+
+Dora was sitting under the shade of a large flowering tree, her hands
+folded, and her eyes riveted on the distant hills; there was something
+in her listless manner that touched both ladies more than any words
+could have done.  A deep flush crimsoned her face when Ronald and his
+guests stood before her.  She rose, not ungracefully; her eyelids
+drooped in their old shy manner.  As Ronald introduced his wife,
+something in the girl's wistful face went straight to Lady Charteris's
+heart.  She spoke not a word, but folded Dora in her arms and kissed
+her as her own mother might have done.
+
+"You must learn to love us," said Valentine; "we are your husband's
+dearest friends."
+
+Poor Dora had no graceful words ready; her heart was full of gratitude,
+but she knew not how to express it.  Ronald looked at her anxiously,
+and she caught his glance.
+
+"Now," thought Dora, "he will not be pleased."  She tried to say
+something of her pleasure in seeing them, but the words were so stiff
+and ungracious that Ronald hastened to interrupt them.
+
+A luncheon of fruit and wine was brought out into the garden, and they
+talked merrily--of Earlescourt and the dear old friends there; of the
+ball and Prince di Borgesi; in all of which Dora felt that she had no
+share.
+
+Who was this beautiful lady, with her fair face and golden hair?
+
+The same face she saw that Ronald had painted in his picture, and every
+one admired.  How graceful she was!  How she talked!  The words seemed
+to ripple like music over her perfect lips.  Where had Ronald known
+her?  Why had he never told her of Miss Charteris?
+
+"Ah!" thought Dora, "if I could be like her!"  And a sudden sense of
+wonder struck her that Ronald had not loved and married this fair and
+gracious lady.
+
+Valentine neither forgot nor neglected her.  She tried to draw her into
+their conversation, but Dora replied so uneasily and so briefly to all
+her remarks that she saw the truest kindness was to leave her alone.
+
+They spent a few hours pleasantly, and Lady Charteris would not leave
+until Ronald promised to take his wife to spend a long day with them.
+
+"I can hardly promise for Dora," said Ronald, kindly; "she seldom
+leaves home."
+
+"Mrs. Earle will not refuse me," said Valentine, with that smile which
+no one ever resisted.  "She will come with you, and we will make her
+happy."
+
+When the day was settled, the ladies drove away, and Ronald watched the
+carriage until it was out of sight.
+
+"My dear Valentine," cried Lady Charteris when they were out of
+hearing, "my dear child, what could possess Ronald Earle?  What could
+he see in that shy, awkward girl to induce him to give up everything
+and go into exile for her sake?  She is not even pretty."
+
+"She is altered, mamma," began Valentine.
+
+"Altered!" interrupted Lady Charteris.  "I should imagine she is, and
+unhappy, too.  She is frightened to speak--she has no style, no manner,
+no dignity.  He must have been insane."
+
+"I am quite sure he loved her," said Valentine, warmly, "and loves her
+now."
+
+"That is just the mystery," replied her mother--"a clever man like he
+is, accustomed to intelligent and beautiful women.  I shall never
+understand it."
+
+"Do not try," said Valentine, calmly.  "She is evidently nervous and
+sensitive.  I mean to be a true friend to Ronald, mamma; I shall try to
+train and form his wife."
+
+Poor Dora! She was already trained and formed, but no one would
+understand that.  People do not expect the perfume of the rose in a
+wild strawberry blossom, or the fragrance of the heliotrope in a common
+bluebell.  Yet they wondered that in this simple girl, ignorant of the
+world and it ways, they did not find a cultivated mind, a graceful
+manner, and a dignified carriage.  Their only thought was to train and
+form her, whereas Nature and not Art had done both.
+
+"Dora," said Ronald, as the carriage disappeared from view, "try to
+like Lady Charteris and her daughter; they are so kindly disposed
+toward you.  I shall be so pleased to see you good friends."
+
+"I will try," she replied, cheerfully.  "How beautiful she is, Ronald!
+Tell me about her.  You remember her face exactly; should you remember
+mine as well?"
+
+It was the first touch of jealousy stirring in the simple, loving heart.
+
+"Far better," said Ronald, with a smile; and then he looked up in
+alarm, for Dora was weeping wildly, and clinging to him.
+
+"Oh, Ronald!" she said, "for your sake I wish I was like her. Shall you
+ever tire of me, or wish you had not married me?"
+
+Ronald soothed and comforted his wife, and did not return to his studio
+that day, but sat talking to her, telling her how noble and good
+Valentine Charteris was.
+
+
+
+Chapter XII
+
+It is very seldom that a man of good disposition goes wrong willfully.
+Ronald Earle would have felt indignant if any one had accused him of
+dishonor or even neglect.  He thought Dora enjoyed herself more at home
+than in society, consequently he left her there.  Habits soon grow.
+The time came when he thought it was the wiser course.  He felt more at
+ease without her.  If Dora by chance accompanied him, he watched her
+anxiously, fearful lest others should discover and comment upon the
+little deficiencies she felt so acutely.
+
+The visit to Lady Charteris was duly paid--a day that Ronald enjoyed,
+and Dora thought would never end.  She could not feel at home with
+these fine ladies, although Lady Charteris was kind to her and
+Valentine laid herself out to please; not even when Valentine, pitying
+her shy, timid manner and evident constraint, took her out into the
+garden and tried hard to win her confidence.  Dora's heart seemed to
+close against the beautiful, brilliant lady who knew her husband and
+all his friends so well. A fierce, hot breath of jealousy stirred the
+simple nature. Ronald talked to Miss Charteris of things all unknown to
+her; they seemed to have the same thoughts and feelings, while she was
+outside the charmed circle, and could never enter it.  She watched the
+growing admiration on Ronald's face when Valentine played and sang, and
+her restless heart grew weary and faint. She had never felt jealous
+before.  When Countess Rosali talked and laughed with her husband,
+treating him sometimes as a captive and again as a victor, Dora never
+cared; but every smile on this woman's fair face pained her--she hardly
+knew why.
+
+When Miss Charteris, under pretense of showing her favorite flower,
+took Dora away from the others, and condescended to her as she had
+never done to any other, actually caressing the anxious little face and
+herself offering to be Mrs. Earle's true friend, Dora's heart closed
+against her.  She only replied by faint monosyllables, and never raised
+her dark eyes to the face turned so kindly upon her.
+
+When Ronald had taken his young wife away, Lady Charteris sat with her
+daughter in an unbroken silence.
+
+"Poor boy!" said the other lady at length, "and poor Dora!  This is one
+more added to the list of unhappy marriages.  How will it end?"
+
+As she watched the sun set in the golden west, Valentine asked herself
+the same question: "How will it end?"
+
+If any one had told Dora she was jealous, she would have denied it
+indignantly, although Valentine was seldom out of her mind.
+
+From pure kindness Lady Charteris wished Ronald to paint her daughter's
+portrait; it was to be a large picture they could take back to
+Greenoke.  He was pleased with the commission, and began to work at it
+eagerly.  Lady Charteris came with Valentine, and remained with her
+during the long sittings, doing everything in her power to please and
+win the artist's timid wife.
+
+The fair face, in its calm, Grecian beauty, grew upon the canvas. Many
+a long hour, when Ronald was absent, Dora lingered over it. The
+portrait had a strange fascination for her.  She dwelt upon every
+feature until, if the lips had opened and smiled a mocking smile at
+her, she would not have felt greatly surprised.  It was less a picture
+to her than a living, breathing reality.  She would watch Ronald as he
+worked at it, eager and enthusiastic; then, looking up and finding her
+dark eyes riveted upon him with so strange an expression, he would call
+her to see what progress he had made; and, never dreaming of the
+growing jealousy in Dora's heart, speak with an artist's delight of the
+peerless features.
+
+Without any great or sudden change, day by day Dora grew more silent
+and reserved.  She was learning to hide her thoughts, to keep her
+little troubles in her own heart and ponder them.  The time was past
+when she would throw herself into Ronald's arms and weep out her
+sorrows there.
+
+Ronald did not notice the change.  Home seemed very dull.  It was a
+great pleasure to leave the solitary little villa and sit in the
+brilliant salon of Lady Charteris's well-appointed home.  It was
+pleasant to exchange dull monotony for sparkling conversation and gay
+society.
+
+Valentine had many admirers.  Every one knew the Prince di Borgesi
+would gladly have laid his fortune and title at her feet; but she cared
+for neither.  Ronald often watched her as noble and learned men offered
+their homage to her.  She smiled brightly, spoke well and gracefully;
+but he never saw in her face the look he once remembered there.  Lady
+Charteris deplored her daughter's obstinacy.  She took Ronald into her
+confidence, and confided to him her annoyance when one suitor after
+another was dismissed.
+
+Ronald was not particularly vain.  Like most men, he had a pleasing
+consciousness of his own worth; but he could not help remembering his
+mother's assurance that Valentine cared for him. Could it have been
+true?  Was there ever a time when that beautiful girl, so indifferent
+to all homage, cared for him? Could there have been a time when the
+prize for which others sighed in vain was within his grasp and he
+slighted it?
+
+He did not dwell upon these thoughts, but they would come into his
+mind.  It was seldom that a day passed without his calling at the
+pretty home where Lady Charteris always welcomed him kindly. She was
+sorry for him.  He was never de trop with her. Occasionally, too, she
+drove out to see his wife; but the visits were rather of duty than of
+pleasure.
+
+Then Dora's health failed.  She grew weak and languid--irritable at
+times--as unlike the smiling, blushing girl Ronald had met at
+Earlescourt gardens as it was possible for her to be.  He wrote to tell
+his mother that at length there was hope of an heir to their ancient
+house.  He was very kind and patient to his ailing, delicate wife,
+giving up parties and soirees to sit with her, but never able to guess
+why Dora's dark eyes looked so strangely upon him.
+
+Lady Charteris had planned an excursion to some picturesque ruin that
+had pleased her daughter, who wished to make a sketch of it. Ronald was
+asked to join them, and he had been looking forward for many days to a
+few pleasant hours away from all care and anxiety--out in the beautiful
+country with Valentine.  But when the morning came Dora looked pale and
+ill.  She did not ask him to stay with her, but he read the wish in her
+face.
+
+"I will not go, Dora," said her husband; "I will not leave you. I shall
+send a note of excuse to Lady Charteris, and take care of you all day."
+
+"Is Miss Charteris going?" she asked, quietly.
+
+"Yes, and several others," he replied.
+
+"Then never mind me," said Dora; "do not give up a day's pleasure for
+me."
+
+Ronald might have guessed there was something wrong from the tone of
+her voice, but Ronald was not of a suspicious nature.
+
+"Now, Dora," he said, gently, "you know I would give up every pleasure
+in the world for you."
+
+He bent over her, and kissed her pale little face.  Time had been when
+the simple heart would have thrilled with happiness at his words; but
+Dora grew cold and hard.
+
+"It used to be always so," she thought, "before she came with her
+beauty and took him from me."
+
+How much misery would have been averted had she told Ronald of her
+jealous thoughts and fears!  He never suspected them.  When he returned
+home, looking bright and happy, she would ask him, "Have you seen Miss
+Charteris today?" and he, glad of her interest in his friends, would
+reply that he had been to her mother's house, and tell her of music he
+had heard or people he had met, or of Valentine's messages to her.  So
+Dora fed the dark, bitter jealousy that had crept into her heart.
+
+It was a proud but anxious day for Ronald when he wrote to tell his
+mother that he was now the father of little twin daughters, two pretty,
+fair babies, in place of the long looked-for heir of Earlescourt.
+
+Lady Charteris was very kind to the lonely young mother--so kind that,
+had she borne any other name, Dora must have loved her.  A glimpse of
+the old happiness came back, for Ronald was proud and pleased with the
+little twin sisters.
+
+One bright morning, when Dora had been taken down into the pretty room
+where the infants lay sleeping, Lady Charteris and her daughter came
+in.  Ronald joined them and there was a long discussion as to the names.
+
+"You must have an eye to the future," said Valentine, smiling. "These
+little ladies will be very grand personages some day.  It would be a
+nice compliment to Lady Earle if you called one Helena."
+
+"I have made my choice," said Dora, in a clear, ringing voice. "I shall
+call this little one with the fair hair Lillian, the other Beatrice."
+
+A faint flush rose to her face as she spoke.  She would allow of no
+interference here.  This smiling beauty should not give names to her
+children.
+
+"I admire your choice," said Lady Charteris; "Beatrice and Lillian are
+very pretty names."
+
+When Valentine bent over the cradle and kissed the children before
+taking leave, Dora said, "I have had my own way, you see, Miss
+Charteris, with my little ones.  Mr. Earle did not oppose me."
+
+Valentine thought the words harsh and strange; she had no clew to their
+meaning.  She could not have imagined Dora jealous of her. She made
+some laughing reply, and passed on.  Dora was not lonely now, the care
+of the little ones occupying her whole time; but, far from their
+binding Ronald to his home, he became more estranged from it than ever.
+
+The pretty, picturesque villa was very small; there was no room
+available for a nursery.  Wherever Dora sat, there must the little ones
+be; and although they were very charming to the mother and the nurse,
+the continued cries and noise irritated Ronald greatly.  Then he grew
+vexed; Dora cried, and said he did not love them, and so the barrier
+grew day by day between those who should have been all in all to each
+other.
+
+The children grew.  Little Beatrice gave promise of great beauty. She
+had the Earle face, Ronald said.  Lillian was a fair, sweet babe, too
+gentle, her mother thought, to live.  Neither of them resembled her,
+and at times Dora wished it had been otherwise.
+
+Perhaps in all Ronald Earle's troubled life he never spent a more
+unsettled or wretched year than this.  "It is impossible to paint," he
+said to himself, "when disturbed by crying babies." So the greater part
+of his time was spent away from home.  Some hours of every day were
+passed with Valentine; he never stopped to ask himself what impulse led
+him to seek her society; the calm repose of her fair presence
+contrasted so pleasantly with the petty troubles and small miseries of
+home.  When Miss Charteris rode out he accompanied her; he liked to
+meet her at parties and balls.  He would have thought a day sad and
+dark wherein he did not see her.
+
+When the little ones reached their first birthday, Valentine, with her
+usual kind thought, purchased a grand assortment of toys, and drove
+over quite unexpectedly to the villa.  It was not a very cheerful scene
+which met her gaze.
+
+Ronald was busily engaged in writing.  Dora, flushed and worn, was
+vainly trying to stop the cries of one child, while the other pulled at
+her dress.  The anxious, dreary face struck Valentine with pain.  She
+laid the parcel of toys down, and shook hands with Ronald, who looked
+somewhat ashamed of the aspect of affairs.  Then, turning to Dora, she
+took the child from her arms, and little Beatrice, looking at her with
+wondering eyes, forgot to cry.
+
+"You are not strong enough, Dora, to nurse this heavy child," said Miss
+Charteris.  "Why do you not find some one to help you?"
+
+"We can not afford it," said Ronald, gloomily.
+
+"We spend too much in gloves and horses," added Dora, bitterly; but no
+sooner were the words spoken than she would have given the world to
+recall them.
+
+Ronald made no reply, and Valentine, anxious to avert the storm she had
+unwittingly raised, drew attention to the toys.
+
+When Valentine left them, Dora and Ronald had their first quarrel long
+and bitter.  He could ill brook the insult her words implied--spoken
+before Valentine, too!--and she for the first time showed him how an
+undisciplined, untrained nature can throw off the restraint of good
+manners and good breeding.  It was a quarrel never to be forgotten,
+when Ronald in the height of his rage wished that he had never seen
+Dora, and she re-echoed the wish.  When such a quarrel takes place
+between man and wife, the bloom and freshness are gone from love.  They
+may be reconciled, but they will never again be to each other what they
+once were. A strong barrier is broken down, and nothing can be put in
+its place.
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII
+
+The angry, passionate words spoken by Ronald--almost the first he had
+ever uttered--soon faded from his mind, but they rankled like poisoned
+arrows in Dora's heart.  She believed them.  Before evening her husband
+repented of his anger, and called himself a coward for having scolded
+Dora.  He went up to her and raised her face to his.
+
+"Little wife," He said, "we have both been wrong.  I am very sorry--let
+us make friends."
+
+There was just a suspicion of sullenness in Dora's nature, and it
+showed itself in full force now.
+
+"It is no matter," she replied, coolly; "I knew long ago that you were
+tired of me."
+
+Ronald would not answer, lest they should quarrel again, but he thought
+to himself that perhaps she was not far wrong.
+
+From that day the breach between them widened.  In after years Dora saw
+how much she was to blame.  She understood then how distasteful her
+quiet, sullen reserve must have been to a high-bred, fastidious man
+like Ronald.  She did not see it then, but nursed in her heart
+imaginary wrongs and injuries; and, above all, she yielded to a wild,
+fierce jealousy of Valentine Charteris.
+
+For some weeks Miss Charteris saw the cloud deepening on Ronald's face.
+He grew silent, and lost the flow of spirit that had once seemed never
+to fail; and during the few weeks that followed, a strong resolution
+grew in her mind.  She was his true friend, and she would try to
+restore peace and harmony between him and his wife.  She waited for
+some days, but at her mother's house it was impossible to see him
+alone.  Yet she honestly believed that, if she could talk to him,
+remind him of his first love for Dora, of her simplicity and many
+virtues, she might restore peace and harmony to her old friend's house.
+She thought Ronald to blame. He had voluntarily taken active duties
+upon himself, and to her clearly, rightly judging mind, there was no
+earthly reason why he should not fulfill them.  He would not feel hurt
+at her speaking, she felt sure, for he had voluntarily sought her aid
+years ago. So Valentine waited day after day, hoping to find a chance
+for those few words she thought would do so much good; but, as no
+opportunity came, she resolved to make one.  Taking her little jeweled
+pencil, she wrote the following lines that were in after-time a death
+warrant:
+
+"Dear Mr. Earle,--I wish to speak to you particularly and privately.  I
+shall be in our grounds tomorrow morning about ten; let me see you
+there before you enter the house.  Your sincere friend, Valentine
+Charteris."
+
+All the world might have read the note--there was nothing wrong in
+it--good intentions and a kindly heart dictated it, but it worked fatal
+mischief.  When Ronald was leaving her mother's house, Miss Charteris
+openly placed the letter in his hands.
+
+"This is the first note I have ever written to you," she said, with a
+smile.  "You must not refuse the request it contains."
+
+"I will send him home happy tomorrow," she thought, "he is easily
+influenced for good.  He must make up the misunderstanding with his
+pretty little wife--neither of them look happy."
+
+Ronald did not open the letter until he reached home.  Then he read it
+with a half-consciousness of what Valentine wanted him for.
+
+"She is a noble woman," he thought.  "Her words made me brave
+before--they will do me good again."
+
+He left the folded paper upon the table in his studio; and jealous
+little Dora, going in search of some work she had left, found it there.
+She read it word by word, the color dying slowly out of her face as she
+did so, and a bitter, deadly jealousy piercing her heart like a
+two-edged sword.  It confirmed her worst fears, her darkest doubts.
+How dared this brilliant, beautiful woman lure Ronald from her?  How
+dared she rob her of his love?
+
+Ronald looked aghast at his wife's face as she re-entered the sitting
+room.  He had been playing with the children, and had forgotten for the
+time both Valentine and her note.  He cried out in alarm as she turned
+her white, wild face to him in dumb, silent despair.
+
+"What is the matter, Dora?" he cried.  "Are you ill or frightened?  You
+look like a ghost."
+
+She made no reply, and her husband, thinking she had relapsed into one
+of her little fits of temper, sighed heavily and bade her good night.
+
+Poor, foolish, jealous heart--she never lay down to rest!
+
+She had quite resolved she would go and meet the husband who was tired
+of her and the woman who lured him away.  She would listen to all they
+had to say, and then confront them.  No thought of the dishonor of such
+a proceeding struck her.  Poor Dora was not gifted with great
+refinement of feeling--she looked upon the step she contemplated rather
+as a triumph over an enemy than a degradation to herself.  She knew the
+place in the grounds where they should be sure to meet.  Miss Charteris
+called it her bower; it was a thick cluster of trees under the shade of
+which stood a pretty, rustic seat; and Dora thought that, if she placed
+herself behind the trees, she would be able to hear all unseen.
+
+Before Ronald partook of breakfast, Dora had quitted the house on her
+foolish errand.  She knew the way to the house and the entrance to the
+garden.  She had no fear; even were she discovered there, no one could
+surmise more than that she was resting on her way to the house.  She
+crouched behind the trees and waited.  It was wrong, weak, and wicked;
+but there was something so pitiful in the white face full of anguish,
+that one would hardly know whether to pity or blame her.
+
+The sunshine reached her, the birds were singing in the trees, the
+flowers were all blooming--she, in her sorrow and desolation, heeded
+nothing.  At length she saw them--Valentine in her white morning dress,
+her beautiful face full of deep, earnest emotion, and Ronald by her
+side.  As she surmised, they walked straight to the trees, and
+Valentine signed to Ronald to take a seat by her side.  Sweetly and
+clearly every word she uttered sounded to Ronald, but they fell like
+drops of molten lead on the jealous heart of Ronald's wife.
+
+"You must try," Valentine was saying; "I used to think you would be a
+hero.  You are proving yourself a very weak and erring man."
+
+Dora could not distinguish Ronald's words so plainly; he said something
+about life and its mistakes.
+
+"I told you once," said Valentine, "that the man who could endure so
+bravely the consequences of his own actions was a true hero. Grant the
+worst--that you have made a mistake.  You must make the best you can of
+it, and you are not doing that now."
+
+"No," he said gravely.  "I am very unhappy--more so than you can
+imagine, Valentine.  Life seems to have lost all its charms for me.  I
+had such great hopes once, but they are all dead now."
+
+"You are too young to say that," she replied; "a little courage, a
+little patience, and all will be well.  If it comforts you to know that
+my warmest, deepest sympathy is with you--"
+
+Valentine Charteris never finished her sentence; a pale, angry face and
+dark, gleaming eyes full of passion suddenly flashed before her.
+
+"You may spare your pity, Miss Charteris," cried a hoarse voice. "Why
+have you made my husband dissatisfied with me?  Why have you taken his
+love from me?  Why do you write notes asking him to meet you, that you
+may both speak evil and wrong of his low-born wife?"
+
+"Hush!" said Ronald, sternly, grasping her arm.  "Stop those wild
+words, Dora! Are you mad?"
+
+"No, not yet," she cried; "but this false woman will drive me so!"
+
+Then Miss Charteris rose, her calm, grand face unruffled, not a quiver
+on her proud lips.
+
+"Stay, Miss Charteris, one moment, I pray you," said Ronald, "while my
+wife apologizes for her folly."
+
+"It is all true," cried Dora.  "She wrote and asked you to meet her
+here."
+
+"Dora," said her husband, gravely, "did you read the letter Miss
+Charteris wrote to me?"
+
+"I did," she replied.
+
+"And you deliberately came here to listen to what she had to say to
+me?" he continued.  "You deliberately listened to what you were never
+intended to hear?"
+
+His grave, stern dignity calmed her angry passion, and she looked
+half-frightened into his quiet white face.
+
+"Answer me!" he said.  "Have you crouched behind those trees
+deliberately and purposely to listen?
+
+"Yes," she said; "and I would do so again if any one tried to take my
+husband from me."
+
+"Then may I be forgiven for the dishonor I have brought to my name and
+race!" said Ronald.  "May I be forgiven for thinking such a woman fit
+to be my wife!  Hear me," he continued, and the passion in his voice
+changed to contempt: "Miss Charteris is your friend; she asked me to
+meet her here that she might plead your cause, Dora--that she might
+advise me to remain more at home with you, to go less into society, to
+look more at the bright side of our married life, and be a better
+husband than I have been lately; it was for that she summoned me here."
+
+"I--I do not believe it," sobbed his wife.
+
+"That is at your option," he replied coolly.  "Miss Charteris, I should
+kneel to ask your pardon for the insults you have received.  If a man
+had uttered them, I would avenge them.  The woman who spoke them bears
+my name.  I entreat your pardon."
+
+"It is granted," she replied; "your wife must have been mad, or she
+would have known I was her friend.  I deeply regret that my good
+intentions have resulted so unhappily.  Forget my annoyance, Mr. Earle,
+and forgive Dora; she could not have known what she was saying."
+
+"I forgive her," said Ronald; "but I never wish to look upon her face
+again.  I see nothing but dishonor there.  My love died a violent death
+ten minutes since.  The woman so dead to all delicacy, all honor as to
+listen and suspect will never more be wife of mine."
+
+"Be pitiful," said Valentine, for Dora was weeping bitterly now; all
+her fire and passion, all her angry jealousy, had faded before his
+wrath.
+
+"I am pitiful," he replied.  "Heaven knows I pity her.  I pity myself.
+We Earles love honorable women when we love at all.  I will escort you
+to your house, Miss Charteris, and then Mrs. Earle and myself will make
+our arrangements."
+
+In her sweet, womanly pity, Valentine bent down and kissed the
+despairing face.
+
+"Try to believe that you are wrong and mistaken, Mrs. Earle," she said
+gently.  "I had no thought save to be your friend."
+
+They spoke no word as they passed through the pretty grounds. Valentine
+was full of pity for her companion, and of regret for her own share in
+that fatal morning's work.
+
+When Ronald reached the cluster of trees again, Dora was not there.
+Just at that moment he cared but little whither she had gone.  His
+vexation and sorrow seemed almost greater than he could bear.
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV
+
+The passion and despair of that undisciplined heart were something
+painful to see.  Reason, sense, and honor, for a time were all dead.
+If Dora could have stamped out the calm beauty of Valentine's
+magnificent face, she would have done so.  Ronald's anger, his bitter
+contempt, stung her, until her whole heart and soul were in angry
+revolt, until bitter thoughts raged like a wild tempest within her.
+She could not see much harm in what she had done; she did not quite see
+why reading her own husband's letter, or listening to a private
+conversation of his was a breach of honor.  She thought but little at
+the time of what she had done; her heart was full of anger against
+Ronald and Valentine.  She clasped her hands angrily after Mrs.
+Charteris had kissed her, crying out that she was false, and had lured
+Ronald from her.  Any one passing her on the high-road would have
+thought her mad, seeing the white face, the dark, gleaming eyes, the
+rigid lips only opening for moans and cries that marred the sweet
+silence.  He should keep his word; never--come what might never should
+he look upon her fair face again--the face he had caressed so often and
+thought so fair.  She would go away--he was quite tired of her, and of
+her children, too.  They would tease him and intrude upon him no more.
+Let him go to the fair, false woman, who had pretended to pity her.
+
+The little nurse-maid, a simple peasant girl, looked on in mute
+amazement when her mistress entered the room where the children were.
+
+"Maria," she said, "I am going home, over the seas to England. Will you
+come with me?"
+
+The only thing poor Dora had learned during those quiet years was a
+moderate share of Italian.  The young nurse looked up in wonder at the
+hard voice, usually soft as the cooing of a ring-dove.
+
+"I will go," she replied, "if the signora will take me.  I leave none
+behind that I love."
+
+With trembling, passionate hands and white, stern face, Dora packed her
+trunks and boxes--the children's little wardrobe and her own, throwing
+far from her every present, either of dress or toys, that Valentine had
+brought.
+
+She never delayed to look round and think of the happy hours spent in
+those pretty rooms.  She never thought of the young lover who had given
+up all the world for her.  All she remembered was the wrathful husband
+who never wished to see her more--who, in presence of another, had
+bitterly regretted having made her his wife.  She could not weep--the
+burning brain and jealous, angry heart would have been better for that,
+but the dark eyes were bright and full of strange, angry light.  The
+little ones, looking upon her, wept for fear.  With eager, passionate
+love she caught them in her arms, crying the while that they should
+never remain to be despised as she was.
+
+In the white-faced, angry woman, roused to the highest pitch of
+passion, there was no trace of pretty, blushing Dora.  Rapidly were the
+boxes packed, corded, and addressed.  Once during that brief time Maria
+asked, "Where are you going, signora?"  And the hard voice answered,
+"To my father's--my own home in England."
+
+When everything was ready, the wondering children dressed, and the
+little maid waiting, Dora sat down at her husband's desk and wrote the
+following lines.  No tears fell upon them; her hand did not tremble,
+the words were clear and firmly written:
+
+"I have not waited for you to send me away.  Your eyes shall not be
+pained again by resting on the face where you read dishonor. I saw
+months ago that you were tired of me.  I am going to my father's house,
+and my children I shall take with me--you care no more for them than
+for me.  They are mine--not yours.  I leave you with all you love in
+the world.  I take all I love with me.  If you prayed for long years, I
+would never return to you nor speak to you again."
+
+She folded the note and addressed it to her husband.  She left no kiss
+warm from her lips upon it.  As she passed forever from the little
+villa, she never turned for one last look at its vine-clad walls.
+
+The gaunt, silent Italian servant who had lived with Dora since the
+first day she reached Florence came to her in wonder and alarm, barely
+recognizing her pretty, gentle mistress in the pale, determined woman
+who looked like one brought to bay.  To her Dora spoke of the letter;
+it was to be given to her husband as soon as he returned.  Not one word
+did she utter in reply to the woman's question.  She hurried with the
+keen desperation of despair, lest Ronald should return and find her
+still there.
+
+Soon after noon, and while Ronald lingered with some friends upon the
+steps of the Hotel d'Italia, his wife reached the busy railway station
+at Florence.  She had money enough to take her home, but none to spare.
+She knew no rest; every moment seemed like an age to her, until the
+train was in motion, and fair, sunny Florence left far behind.
+
+Without the stimulus of anger Dora would have shrunk in terror from the
+thought of a long journey alone--she who had never been without the
+escort of a kind and attentive husband. But no prospect daunted her
+now--the wide seas, the dangers of rail and road had no terror for her.
+She was flying in hot haste and anger from one who had said before her
+rival that he never wished to see her face again.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The sun shining so brightly on the waters of the Arno lingered almost
+lovingly on the fair, quiet English landscape.  Far down in the fertile
+and beautiful county of Kent, where the broad channel washes the shore,
+stands the pretty, almost unknown village of Knutsford.
+
+The world is full of beauty, every country has its share Switzerland
+its snow-clad mountains, Germany its dark woods and broad streams,
+France its sunny plains, Italy its "thousand charms of Nature and Art;"
+but for quiet, tranquil loveliness, for calm, fair beauty, looking
+always fresh from the mighty hand that created it, there is nothing
+like English scenery.
+
+The white cliffs of Knutsford, like "grand giants," ran along the
+shore; there was a broad stretch of yellow sand, hidden when the tide
+was in, shining and firm when it ebbed.  The top of the cliff was like
+a carpet of thick green grass and springing heather.  Far away, in the
+blue distance, one could see, of a bright, sunny day, the outline of
+the French coast.  The waves rolled in, and broke upon the yellow
+sands; the sea-birds flew by with busy wings, white sails gleamed in
+the sunshine. Occasionally a large steamer passed; there was no sound
+save the rich, never-changing music of Nature, the rush of wind and
+waves, the grand, solemn anthem that the sea never tires of singing.
+
+Far down the cliff ran the zigzag path that led to the village; there
+was no sign of the sea on the other side of the white rocks.  There the
+green fields and pretty hop-gardens stretched out far and wide, and the
+Farthinglow Woods formed a belt around them.  In the midst of a green,
+fertile valley stood the lovely village of Knutsford.  It had no
+regular street; there were a few cottages, a few farm houses, a few
+little villas, one grand mansion, three or four shops, and quiet
+homesteads with thatched roofs and eaves of straw.
+
+The prettiest and most compact little farm in the village was the one
+where Stephen Thorne and his wife dwelt.  It was called the elms, a
+long avenue of elms leading to the little house and skirting the broad
+green meadows.  It was at a short distance from the village, so quiet,
+so tranquil, that, living there, one seemed out of the world.
+
+Stephen Thorne and his wife were not rich.  In spite of Lady Earle's
+bounty, it was hard for them at times to make both ends meet.  Crops,
+even in that fair and fertile county, would fail, cattle would die,
+rain would fall when it should not, and the sun refuse to shine.  But
+this year everything had gone on well; the hay stood in great ricks in
+the farm yard, the golden corn waved in the fields ripe and ready for
+the sickle, the cows and sheep fed tranquilly in the meadows, and all
+things had prospered with Stephen Thorne.  One thing only weighed upon
+his heart--his wife would have it that Dora's letters grew more and
+more sad; she declared her child was unhappy, and he could not persuade
+her to the contrary.
+
+It was a fair August evening.  Ah!  How weak and feeble are the words.
+Who could paint the golden flush of summer beauty that lay over the
+meadows and corn fields--the hedge rows filled with wild flowers, the
+long, thick grass studded with gay blossoms, the calm, sullen silence
+only broken by the singing of the birds, the lowing of cattle, the
+rustling of green leaves in the sweet soft air?
+
+Stephen Thorne had gone with his guest and visitor, Ralph Holt, to
+fetch the cattle home.  In Ralph's honor, good, motherly Mrs. Thorne
+had laid out a beautiful tea--golden honey that seemed just gathered
+from the flowers, ripe fruits, cream from the dairy everything was
+ready; yet the farmer and his guest seemed long in coming.  She went to
+the door and looked across the meadows. The quiet summer beauty stole
+like a spell over her.
+
+Suddenly, down in the meadows, Mrs. Thorne caught sight of a lady
+leading a little child by the hand.  She was followed by a young maid
+carrying another.  As the lady drew nearer, Mrs. Thorne stood
+transfixed and bewildered.  Could the summer sun or the flickering
+shade be mocking her?  Was she dreaming or awake?  Far off still,
+through the summer haze, she saw a white, wan face; dark eyes, shadowed
+and veiled, as though by long weeping; lips, once rosy and smiling,
+rigid and firm.  She saw what seemed to her the sorrowful ghost of the
+pretty, blooming child that had left her long ago.  She tried to call
+out, but her voice failed her.  She tried to run forward and meet the
+figure coming slowly through the meadows, but she was powerless to
+move.  She never heard the footsteps of her husband and his guest.  She
+only stirred when Stephen Thorne placed his hand upon her shoulder, and
+in a loud, cheery voice, asked what ailed her.
+
+"Look," she said, hoarsely, "look down the meadow there and tell me--if
+that is Dora or Dora's ghost?"
+
+She drew near more swiftly now, for she had seen the three figures at
+the door.  The white face and wild eyes seemed aflame with anxiety.
+
+"Dora, Dora!" cried Mrs. Thorne, "is it really you?"
+
+"It is," said a faint, bitter voice.  "I am come home, mother. My heart
+is broken and I long to die."
+
+They crowded around her, and Ralph Holt, with his strong arms, carried
+the fragile, drooping figure into the house.  They laid her upon the
+little couch, and drew the curling rings of dark hair back from her
+white face.  Mrs. Thorne wept aloud, crying out for her pretty Dora,
+her poor, unhappy child.  The two men stood watching her with grave,
+sad eyes.  Ralph clenched his hand as he gazed upon her, the wreck of
+the simple, gentle girl he had loved so dearly.
+
+"If he has wronged her," he said to Stephen Thorne, "if he has broken
+her heart, and sent her home to die, let him beware!"
+
+"I knew it would never prosper," groaned her father; "such marriages
+never do."
+
+When Dora opened her eyes, and saw the three anxious faces around her,
+for a moment she was bewildered.  They knew when the torture of memory
+returned to her, for she clasped her hands with a low moan.
+
+"Dora," said her mother, "what has happened?  Trust us, dear child--we
+are your best friends.  Where is your husband?  And why have you left
+him?"
+
+"Because he has grown tired of me," she cried, with passion and anger
+flaming again in her white, worn face.  "I did something he thought
+wrong, and he prayed to Heaven to pardon him for making me his wife."
+
+"What did you do?" asked her father, anxiously.
+
+"Nothing that I thought wrong," she replied.  "Ask me no questions,
+father.  I would rather die any death than return to him or see him
+again.  Yet do not think evil of him.  It was all a mistake.  I could
+not think his thoughts or live his life--we were quite different, and
+very unhappy.  He never wishes to see me again, and I will suffer
+anything rather than see him."
+
+The farmer and his wife looked at each other in silent dismay. This
+proud, angry woman and her passionate words frightened them. Could it
+be their Dora, who had ever been sunshine and music to them?
+
+"If you do not like to take me home, father," she said, in a hard
+voice, "I can go elsewhere; nothing can surprise or grieve me now."
+
+But kindly Mrs. Thorne had drawn the tired head to her.
+
+"Do you not know, child," she said, gently, "that a mother's love never
+fails?"
+
+Ralph had raised the little one in his arms, and was looking with
+wondering admiration at the proud, beautiful face of the little
+Beatrice, and the fair loveliness of Lillian.  The children looked with
+frank, fearless eyes into his plain, honest face.
+
+"This one with dark hair has the real Earle face," said Stephen Thorne,
+proudly; "that is just my lord's look--proud and quiet. And the little
+Lillian is something like Dora, when she was quite a child."
+
+"Never say that!" cried the young mother.  "Let them grow like any one
+else, but never like me!"
+
+They soothed her with gentle, loving words.  Her father said she should
+share his home with her children, and he would never give her up again.
+They bade her watch the little ones, who had forgotten their fears, and
+laughed over the ripe fruit and golden honey.  They also drew aside the
+white curtain, and let her tired eyes fall upon the sweet summer beauty
+of earth and sky.  Was not everything peaceful?  The sun sinking in the
+west, the birds singing their evening song, the flowers closing their
+bright eyes, the wind whispering "good night" to the shimmering,
+graceful elms--all was peace, and the hot, angry heart grew calm and
+still.  Bitter tears rose to the burning eyes--tears that fell like
+rain, and seemed to take away the sharpest sting of her pain.
+
+With wise and tender thought they let Dora weep undisturbed.  The
+bitter sobbing ceased at last.  Dora said farewell to her love. She lay
+white and exhausted, but the anger and passion had died away.
+
+"Let me live with you, father," she said, humbly.  "I will serve you,
+and obey you.  I an content, more than content, with my own home.  But
+for my little children, let all be as it was years ago."
+
+When the little ones, like the flowers, had gone to sleep, and Dora had
+gone into the pretty white room prepared for her, Ralph rose to take
+his leave.
+
+"Surely," said Thorne, "you are not leaving us.  You promised to stay a
+whole week."
+
+"I know," said the young farmer; "but you have many to think for now,
+Mr. Thorne.  The time will come when the poor, wearied girl sleeping
+above us will be Lady Earle.  Her husband knew I loved her.  No shadow
+even of suspicion must rest upon her.  While your daughter remains
+under your roof, I shall not visit you again."
+
+Dora's father knew the young man was right.
+
+"Let me see the little ones sometimes," continued Ralph; "and if large
+parcels of toys and books find their way to the Elms, you will know who
+sent them.  But I must not come in Dora's way; she is no loner Dora
+Thorne."
+
+As Stephen watched the young man walking quickly through the long gray
+fields, he wished that Dora had never seen Ronald Earle.
+
+Poor Dora's troubles were not yet ended.  When the warm August sun
+peeped into her room on the following morning, she did not see it
+shine; when the children crept to her side and called for mamma, she
+was deaf to their little voices.  The tired head tossed wearily to and
+fro, the burning eyes would not close.  A raging fever had her in its
+fierce clutches.  When Mrs. Thorne, alarmed by the children's cries,
+came in, Dora did not know her, but cried out loudly that she was a
+false woman, who had lured her husband from her.
+
+They sent in all haste for aid; but the battle was long and fierce.
+During the hours of delirium, Mrs. Thorne gleaned sorrowfully some
+portions of her daughter's story.  She cried out incessantly against a
+fair woman--one Valentine--whom Ronald loved--cried in scorn and anger.
+Frequently she was in a garden, behind some trees; then confronting
+some one with flaming eyes, sobbing that she did not believe it; then
+hiding her face and crying out:
+
+"He has ceased to love me--let me die!"
+
+But the time came when the fierce fever burned itself out, and Dora lay
+weak and helpless as a little child.  She recovered slowly, but she was
+never the same again.  Her youth, hope, love, and happiness were all
+dead.  No smile or dimple, no pretty blush, came to the changed face;
+the old coy beauty was all gone.
+
+Calm and quiet, with deep, earnest eyes, and lips that seldom smiled,
+Dora seemed to have found another self.  Even with her children the sad
+restraint never wore off nor grew less.  If they wanted to play, they
+sought the farmer in the fields, the good-natured nurse, or the
+indulgent grandmamma--never the sad, pale mother.  If they were in
+trouble then they sought her.
+
+Dora asked for work.  She would have been dairy maid, house maid, or
+anything else, but her father said "No."  A pretty little room was
+given to her, with woodbines and roses peeping in at the window.  Here
+for long hours every day, while the children played in the meadows, she
+sat and sewed.  There, too, Dora, for the first time, learned what
+Ronald, far away in sunny Italy, failed to teach her--how to think and
+read.  Big boxes of books came from the town of Shorebeach.  Stephen
+Thorne spared no trouble or expense in pleasing his daughter.  Dora
+wondered that she had never cared for books, now that deeper and more
+solemn thoughts came to her.  The pale face took a new beauty; no one
+could have believed that the thoughtful woman with the sweet voice and
+refined accent was the daughter of the blunt farmer Thorne and his
+homely wife.
+
+A few weeks passed, and but for the little ones Dora would have
+believed the whole to have been but a long, dark dream.  She would not
+think of Ronald; she would not remember his love, his sacrifices for
+her; she thought only of her wrongs and his cruel words.
+
+The children grew and throve.  Dora had no care at present as to their
+education.  From her they learned good English, and between herself and
+the faithful young nurse they could learn, she thought, tolerable
+Italian.  She would not think of a future that might take these beloved
+children from her.  She ignored Ronald's claim to them--they were hers.
+He had tired of them when he tired of her.  She never felt the days
+monotonous in that quiet farm house, as others might have done.  A dead
+calm seemed to surround her; but it was destined soon to be broken.
+
+
+
+Chapter XV
+
+Ronald did not return in the evening to the pretty villa where he had
+once been so happy.  In the warmth of his anger, he felt that he never
+could look again upon his wife.  To his sensitive, refined nature there
+was something more repulsive in the dishonorable act she had committed
+than there would have been in a crime of deeper dye.  He was shocked
+and startled--more so than if he awoke some fair summer morning to find
+Dora dead by his side.  She was indeed dead to him in one sense.  The
+ideal girl, all purity, gentleness, and truth, whom he had loved and
+married, had, it appeared, never really existed after all.  He shrank
+from the idea of the angry, vehement words and foul calumnies.  He
+shrank from the woman who had forgotten every rule of good breeding,
+every trace of good manners, in angry, fierce passion.
+
+How was he ever to face Miss Charteris again?  She would never mention
+one word of what had happened, but he could ill brook the shame Dora
+had brought upon him.  He remembered the summer morning in the woods
+when he told Valentine the story of his love, and had pictured his
+pretty, artless Dora to her.  Could the angry woman who had dared to
+insult him, and to calumniate the fairest and truest lady in all
+England, possibly be the same?
+
+Ronald had never before been brought into close contact with dishonor.
+He had some faint recollection at college of having seen and known a
+young man, the son of a wealthy nobleman, scorned and despised, driven
+from all society, and he was told that it was because he had been
+detected in the act of listening at the principal's door.  He
+remembered how old and young had shunned this young man as though he
+were plague-stricken; and now his own wife Dora had done the very same
+thing under circumstances that rendered the dishonor greater.  He asked
+himself, with a cynical smile, what he could expect?  He had married
+for love of a pretty, child-like face, never giving any thought to
+principle, mind, or intellect.  The only wonder was that so wretched
+and unequal a match had not turned out ten times worse.  His father's
+warning rang in his ears.  How blind, how foolish he had been!
+
+Every hope of his own life was wrecked, every hope and plan of his
+father's disappointed and dead.  There seemed to him nothing left to
+care for.  His wife--oh, he would not think of her!  The name vexed
+him.  He could not stand in Valentine's presence again, and for the
+first time he realized what she had been to him.  Home, and
+consequently England, was closed to him; the grand mansion he had once
+believed his had faded from his mind.
+
+Thinking of all these things, Ronald's love for his young wife seemed
+changed to dislike.  Three days passed before he returned home; then he
+was somewhat startled to find her really gone.  He had anticipated
+sullen temper, renewed quarrels, and then perhaps a separation, but he
+was startled to find her actually gone.  The servant gave him the cold
+farewell letter, written without tears, without sorrow.  He tore it
+into shreds and flung it from him.
+
+"The last act in the farce," he said, bitterly. "If I had not been mad,
+I should have foreseen this."
+
+The silent, deserted rooms did not remind him of the loving young wife
+parted from him forever.  He was too angry, too annoyed, for any gentle
+thoughts to influence him.  She had left him--so much the better; there
+could never again be peace between them.  He thought with regret of the
+little ones--they were too young for him to undertake charge of them,
+so that they were best left with their mother for a time.  He said to
+himself that he must make the best use he could of his life; everything
+seemed at an end. He felt very lonely and unhappy as he sat in his
+solitary home; and the more sorrow present upon him, the more bitter
+his thoughts grew, the deeper became his dislike to this unhappy young
+wife.
+
+Ronald wrote to his mother, but said no word to her of the cause of
+their quarrel.
+
+"Dora and I," he said, "will never live together again--perhaps never
+meet.  She has gone home to her father; I am going to wander over the
+wide earth.  Will you induce my father to receive my children at
+Earlescourt?  And will you see Mr. Burt, and arrange that half of my
+small income is settled upon Dora?"
+
+But to all his wife's entreaties Lord Earle turned a deaf ear. He
+declared that never during his life time should the children of Dora
+Thorne enter Earlescourt.  His resolution was fixed and unalterable.
+How, he asked, was he to trust the man who had once deceived him?  For
+aught he knew, the separation between Ronald and his wife might be a
+deeply laid scheme, and, the children once with him, there would be a
+grand reconciliation between the parents.
+
+"I am not surprised," he said, "that the unhappy boy is weary of his
+pretty toy.  It could not be otherwise; he must bear the consequences
+of his own folly.  He had time for thought, he made his own choice--now
+let him abide by it.  You have disregarded my wish, Lady Helena, in
+even naming the matter to me.  Let all mention of it cease.  I have no
+son.  One thing remember--I am not hard upon you--you can go where you
+like, see whom you like, and spend what money you will, and as you
+will."
+
+Lady Earle was not long in availing herself of the permission. There
+was great excitement at the Elms one morning, caused by the receipt of
+a letter from Lady Earle saying that she would be there on the same day
+to visit the son's wife and children.
+
+The little ones looked up to her with wondering eyes.  To them she was
+like a vision, with her noble face and distinguished air.
+
+Stephen Thorne and his wife received the great lady not without some
+trepidation; yet they were in no way to blame.  The fatal marriage had
+been as great a blow to them as to Lord and Lady Earle.  With the quiet
+dignity and graceful ease that never deserted her, Lady Earle soon made
+them feel at home.  She started in utter surprise, when a quiet, grave
+woman, on whose face sweetness and sullen humor were strangely mingled,
+entered the room.  This could not be pretty, coy, blushing Dora!  Where
+were the dimples and smiles?  The large dark eyes raised so sadly to
+hers were full of strange, pathetic beauty.  With sharp pain the
+thought struck Lady Earle, "What must not Dora have suffered to have
+changed her so greatly!"  The sad eyes and worn face touched her as no
+beauty could have done.  She clasped Dora in her arms and kissed her.
+
+"You are my daughter now," she said, in that rich, musical voice which
+Dora remembered so well.  "We will not mention the past; it is
+irrevocable.  If you sinned against duty and obedience, your face tells
+me you have suffered.  What has come between you and my son I do not
+seek to know.  The shock must have been a great one which parted you,
+for he gave up all the world for you, Dora, years ago.  We will not
+speak of Ronald.  Our care must be the children.  Of course you wish
+them to remain with you?"
+
+"While it is possible," said Dora, wearily.  "I shall never leave home
+again; but I can not hope to keep them here always."
+
+"I should have liked to adopt them," said Lady Earle; "to take them
+home and educate them, but--"
+
+"Lord Earle will not permit it," interrupted Dora, calmly.  "I know--I
+do not wonder."
+
+"You must let me do all I can for them here," continued Lady Earle; "I
+have made all plans and arrangements.  We will give the children an
+education befitting their position, without removing them from you.
+Then we shall see what time will do.  Let me see the little ones.  I
+wish you had called one Helena, after me."
+
+Dora remembered why she had not done so, and a flush of shame rose to
+her face.
+
+They were beautiful children, and Dora brought them proudly to the
+stately lady waiting for them.  Lady Earle took Beatrice in her arms.
+
+"Why, Dora," she said admiringly, "she has the Earle face, with a novel
+charm all its own.  The child will grow up into magnificent woman."
+
+"She has the Earle spirit and pride," said the young mother; "I find it
+hard to manage her even now."
+
+Then Lady Earle looked at the fair, spirituelle face and golden hair of
+little Lillian.  The shy, dove-like eyes and sweet lips charmed her.
+
+"There is a great contrast between them," she said, thoughtfully. "They
+will require careful training, Dora; and now we will speak of the
+matter which brought me here."
+
+Dora noticed that, long as she remained, Lady Earle never let Beatrice
+leave her arms; occasionally she bent over Lillian and touched her soft
+golden curls, but the child with the "Earle face" was the one she loved
+best.
+
+Together with Stephen Thorne and his wife, Lady Earle went over the
+Elms.  The situation delighted her; nothing could be better or more
+healthy for the children, but the interior of the house must be
+altered.  Then with delicate grace that could only charm, never wound,
+Lady Earle unfolded her plans.  She wished a new suite of rooms to be
+built for Dora and the children, to be nicely furnished with everything
+that could be required.  She would bear the expense.  Immediately on
+her return she would send an efficient French maid for the little ones,
+and in the course of a year or two she would engage the services of an
+accomplished governess, who would undertake the education of Beatrice
+and Lillian without removing them from their mother's care.
+
+"I shall send a good piano and harp," said Lady Earle, "it will be my
+pride and pleasure to select books, music, drawings, and everything
+else my grandchildren require.  I should wish them always to be nicely
+dressed and carefully trained.  To you, Dora, I must leave the highest
+and best training of all.  Teach them to be good, and to do their duty.
+They have learned all when they have learned that."
+
+For the first time in her life, the thought came home to Dora: How was
+she to teach what she had never learned and had failed to practice?
+That night, long after Lady Earle had gone away, and the children had
+fallen to sleep, Dora knelt in the moonlight and prayed that she might
+learn to teach her children to do their duty.
+
+As Lady Earle wished, the old farm house was left intact, and a new
+group of buildings added to it.  There was a pretty sitting room for
+Dora, and a larger one to serve as a study for the children, large
+sleeping rooms, and a bathroom, all replete with comfort.  Two years
+passed before all was completed, and Lady Earle thought it time to send
+a governess to the Elms.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+During those years little or nothing was heard from Ronald. After
+reading the cold letter Dora left for him, it seemed as though all
+love, all care, all interest died out of his heart. He sat for many
+long hours thinking of the blighted life "he could not lay down, yet
+cared little to hold."
+
+He was only twenty-three--the age at which life opens to most men; yet
+he was worn, tired, weary of everything--the energies that once seemed
+boundless, the ambition once so fierce and proud, all gone.  His whole
+nature recoiled from the shock.  Had Dora, in the fury of her jealousy
+and rage, tried to kill him, he would have thought that but a small
+offense compared with the breach of honor in crouching behind the trees
+to listen.  He thought of the quiet, grand beauty of Valentine's face
+while Dora was convulsed with passion.  He remembered the utter wonder
+in Valentine's eyes when Dora's flamed upon them.  He remembered the
+sickening sense of shame that had cowed him as he listened to her
+angry, abusive words. And this untrained, ignorant, ill-bred woman was
+his wife!  For her he had given up home, parents, position, wealth--all
+he had in life worth caring for.  For her, and through her, he stood
+there alone in the world.
+
+Those thoughts first maddened him, then drove him to despair. What had
+life left for him?  He could not return to England; his father's doors
+were closed against him.  There was no path open to him; without his
+father's help he could not get into Parliament.  He could not work as
+an artist at home.  He could not remain in Florence; never again, he
+said to himself, would he see Valentine Charteris--Valentine, who had
+been the witness of his humiliation and disgrace.  Sooner anything than
+that.  He would leave the villa and go somewhere--he cared little
+where. No quiet, no rest came to him.  Had his misfortunes been
+accidental--had they been any other than they were, the result of his
+boyish folly and disobedience, he would have found them easier to bear;
+as it was, the recollection that it was all his own fault drove him mad.
+
+Before morning he had written a farewell note to Lady Charteris, saying
+that he was leaving Florence at once, and would not be able to see her
+again.  He wrote to Valentine, but the few stiff words expressed little
+of what he felt.  He prayed her to forget the miserable scene that
+would haunt him to his dying day; to pardon the insults that had driven
+him nearly mad; to pardon the mad jealousy, the dishonor of Dora; to
+forget him and all belonging to him.  When Miss Charteris read the
+letter she knew that all effort to restore peace would for a time be in
+vain. She heard the day following that the clever young artist, Mr.
+Earle, had left.
+
+Countess Rosali loudly lamented Ronald's departure.  It was so strange,
+she said; the dark-eyed little wife and her children had gone home to
+England, and the husband, after selling off his home, had gone with Mr.
+Charles Standon into the interior of Africa.  What was he going to do
+there?
+
+She lamented him for two days without ceasing, until Valentine was
+tired of her many conjectures.  He was missed in the brilliant salons
+of Florence, but by none so much as by Valentine Charteris.
+
+What the pretty, coquettish countess had said was true.  After making
+many plans and forming many resolutions, Ronald met Mr. Standon, who
+was on the point of joining an exploring expedition in South Africa.
+He gladly consented to accompany him.  There was but little preparation
+needed.  Four days after the never-to-be-forgotten garden scene, Ronald
+Earle left Italy and became a wanderer upon the face of the earth.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI
+
+Valentine Charteris never told the secret.  She listened to the wonder
+and conjectures of all around her, but not even to her mother did she
+hint what had passed.  She pitied Ronald profoundly.  She knew the
+shock Dora had inflicted on his sensitive, honorable disposition.  For
+Dora herself she felt nothing but compassion.  Her calm, serene nature
+was incapable of such jealousies.  Valentine could never be jealous or
+mean, but she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle
+Dora both.
+
+"Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself.  "Nothing but
+ignorance can excuse her.  As though I, with half Florence at my feet,
+cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend."
+
+So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a
+fresh place.  Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty
+countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot
+her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of
+an impassive unimpressionable American. Florence soon forgot one whom
+she had been proud to know and honor.
+
+Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite
+nook--the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been
+enacted--she was found by the Prince di Borgezi.  Every one had said
+that sooner or later it would come to this.  Prince di Borgezi, the
+most fastidious of men, who had admired many women but loved none,
+whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved Valentine Charteris.  Her
+fair English face, with its calm, grand beauty, her graceful dignity,
+her noble mind and pure soul had captivated him.  For many long weeks
+he hovered round Valentine, longing yet dreading to speak the words
+which would unite or part them for life.
+
+Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter
+intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon knowing
+his fate.  He sought Valentine, and found her seated under the shade of
+her favorite trees.
+
+"Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have come
+to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can confer on any
+man."
+
+"What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling
+request.
+
+"Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen Guinevere'," he
+replied; "that picture is more to me than all that I possess.  Only one
+thing is dearer, the original.  May I ever hope to make that mine also?"
+
+Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an offer of
+marriage then that he was making.
+
+"Have you no word for me, Miss Charteris?" he said.  "I lay my life and
+my love at your feet.  Have you no word for me?"
+
+"I really do not know what to say," replied Valentine.
+
+"You do not refuse me?" said her lover.
+
+"Well, no," replied Valentine.
+
+"And you do not accept me?" he continued.
+
+"Decidedly not," she replied, more firmly.
+
+"Then I shall consider there is some ground for hope," he said.
+
+Valentine had recovered her self-possession.  Her lover gazed anxiously
+at her beautiful face, its proud calm was unbroken.
+
+"I will tell you how it is," resumed Valentine, after a short pause; "I
+like you better, perhaps, than any man I know, but I do not love you."
+
+"You do not forbid me to try all I can to win your love?" asked the
+prince.
+
+"No," was the calm reply.  "I esteem you very highly, prince.  I can
+not say more."
+
+"But you will in time," he replied.  "I would not change your quiet
+friendly liking, Miss Charteris, for the love of any other woman."
+
+Under the bright sky the handsome Italian told the story of his love in
+words that were poetry itself--how he worshiped the fair calm girl so
+unlike the women of his own clime.  As she listened, Valentine thought
+of that summer morning years ago when Ronald had told her the story of
+his love; and then Valentine owned to her own heart, that, if Ronald
+were in Prince di Borgezi's place, she would not listen so calmly nor
+reply so coolly.
+
+"How cold and stately these English girls are!" thought her lover.
+"They are more like goddesses than women.  Would any word of mine ever
+disturb the proud coldness of that perfect face?"
+
+It did not then, but before morning ended Prince di Borgezi had
+obtained permission to visit England in the spring and ask again the
+same question.  Valentine liked him.  She admired his noble and
+generous character, his artistic tastes, his fastidious exclusiveness
+had a charm for her; she did not love him, but it seemed to her more
+than probable that the day would come when she would do so.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Lady Charteris and her daughter left Florence and returned to Greenoke.
+Lady Earle paid them a long visit, and heard all they had to tell of
+her idolized son.  Lady Charteris spoke kindly of Dora; and Valentine,
+believing she could do something to restore peace, sent an affectionate
+greeting, and asked permission to visit the Elms.
+
+Lady Earle saw she had made a mistake when she repeated Valentine's
+words to Dora.  The young wife's face flushed burning red, and then
+grew white as death.
+
+"Pray bring me no more messages from Miss Charteris," she replied.  "I
+do not like her--she would only come to triumph over me; I decline to
+see her.  I have no message to send her."
+
+Then, for the first time, an inkling of the truth came to Lady Earle.
+Evidently Dora was bitterly jealous of Valentine.  Had she any cause
+for it?  Could it be that her unhappy son had learned to love Miss
+Charteris when it was all too late?  From that day Lady Earle pitied
+her son with a deeper and more tender compassion; she translated Dora's
+curt words into civil English, and then wrote to Miss Charteris.
+Valentine quite understood upon reading them that she was not yet
+pardoned by Ronald Earle's wife.
+
+Time passed on without any great changes, until the year came when Lady
+Earle thought her grandchildren should begin their education. She was
+long in selecting one to whom she could intrust them. At length she met
+with Mrs. Vyvian, the widow of an officer who had died in India, a lady
+qualified in every way for the task, accomplished, a good linguist,
+speaking French and Italian as fluently as English--an accomplished
+musician, an artist of no mean skill, and, what Lady Earl valued still
+more, a woman of sterling principles and earnest religious feeling.
+
+It was not a light task that Mrs. Vyvian undertook.  The children had
+reached their fifth year, and for ten years she bound herself by
+promise to remain with them night and day, to teach and train them.  It
+is true the reward promised was great.  Lady Earle settled a handsome
+annuity upon her.  Mrs. Vyvian was not dismayed by the lonely house,
+the complete isolation from all society, or the homely appearance of
+the farmer and his wife.  A piano and a harp were sent to the Elms.
+Every week Lady Earle dispatched a large box of books, and the
+governess was quite content.
+
+Mrs. Vyvian, to whom Lady Earle intrusted every detail of her son's
+marriage, was well pleased to find that Dora liked her and began to
+show some taste for study.  Dora, who would dream of other things when
+Ronald read, now tried to learn herself.  She was not ashamed to sit
+hour after hour at the piano trying to master some simple little air,
+or to ask questions when anything puzzled her in her reading.  Mrs.
+Vyvian, so calm and wise, so gentle, yet so strong, taught her so
+cleverly that Dora never felt her own ignorance, nor did she grow
+disheartened as she had done with Ronald.
+
+The time came when Dora could play pretty simple ballads, singing them
+in her own bird-like, clear voice, and when she could appreciate great
+writers, and speak of them without any mistake either as to their names
+or their works.
+
+It was a simple, pleasant, happy life; the greater part of the day was
+spent by mother children in study.  In the evening came long rambles
+through the green woods, where Dora seemed to know the name and history
+of every flower that grew; over the smiling meadows, where the kine
+stood knee-deep in the long, scented grass; over the rocks, and down by
+the sea shore, where the waves chanted their grand anthem, and broke in
+white foam drifts upon the sands.
+
+No wonder the young girls imbibed a deep warm love for all that was
+beautiful in Nature.  Dora never wearied of it--from the smallest blade
+of grass to the most stately of forest trees, she loved it all.
+
+The little twin sisters grew in beauty both in body and mind; but the
+contrast between them was great; Beatrice was the more beautiful and
+brilliant; Lillian the more sweet and lovable. Beatrice was all fire
+and spirit; her sister was gentle and calm. Beatrice had great faults
+and great virtues; Lillian was simply good and charming.  Yet, withal,
+Beatrice was the better loved. It was seldom that any one refused to
+gratify her wishes.
+
+Dora loved both children tenderly; but the warmest love was certainly
+for the child who had the Earle face.  She was imperious and willful,
+generous to a fault, impatient of all control; but her greatest fault,
+Mrs. Vyvian said, was a constant craving for excitement; a distaste for
+and dislike of quiet and retirement.  She would ride the most restive
+horse, she would do anything to break the ennui and monotony of the
+long days.
+
+Beautiful, daring, and restless, every day running a hundred risks, and
+loved the better for the dangers she ran, Beatrice was almost worshiped
+at the Elms.  Nothing ever daunted her, nothing ever made her dull or
+sad.  Lillian was gentle and quiet, with more depth of character, but
+little power of showing it; somewhat timid and diffident--a more
+charming ideal of an English girl could not have been
+found--spirituelle, graceful, and refined; so serene and fair that to
+look at her was a pleasure.
+
+Lady Earle often visited the Elms; no mystery had been made to the
+girls--they were told their father was abroad and would not return for
+many years, and that at some distant day they might perhaps live with
+him in his own home.  They did not ask many questions, satisfied to
+believe what was told them, not seeking to know more.
+
+Lady Earle loved the young girls very dearly. Beatrice, so like her
+father, was undoubtedly the favorite.  Lord Earle never inquired after
+them; when Lady Earle asked for a larger check than usual, he gave it
+to her with a smile, perfectly understanding its destination, but never
+betraying the knowledge.
+
+So eleven years passed like a long tranquil dream.  The sun rose and
+set, the tides ebbed and flowed, spring flowers bloomed, and died, the
+summer skies smiled, autumn leaves of golden hue withered on the
+ground; and winter snows fell; yet no change came to the quiet
+homestead in the Kentish meadows.
+
+Beatrice and Lillian had reached their sixteenth year, and two fairer
+girls were seldom seen.  Mrs. Vyvian's efforts had not been in vain;
+they were accomplished far beyond the ordinary run of young girls.
+Lillian inherited her father's talent for drawing.  She was an
+excellent artist.  Beatrice excelled in music.  She had a magnificent
+contralto voice that had been carefully trained.  Both were cultivated,
+graceful, elegant girls, and Lady Earle often sighed to think they
+should be living in such profound obscurity.  She could do nothing;
+seventeen years had not changed Lord Earle's resolution.  Time, far
+from softening, imbittered him the more against his son.  Of Ronald
+Lady Earle heard but little.  He was still in Africa; he wrote at rare
+intervals, but there was little comfort in his letters.
+
+Lady Earle did what she could for her grandchildren, but it was a
+strange, unnatural life.  They knew no other girls; they had never ben
+twenty miles from Knutsford.  All girlish pleasures and enjoyments were
+a sealed book to them.  They had never been to a party, a picnic, or a
+ball; no life was ever more simple, more quiet, more devoid of all
+amusement than theirs.  Lillian was satisfied and happy; her rich,
+teeming fancy, her artistic mind, and contented, sweet disposition
+would have rendered her happy under any circumstances--but it was
+different with brilliant, beautiful Beatrice.  No wild bird in a cage
+ever pined for liberty or chafed under restraint more than she did.
+She cried out loudly against the unnatural solitude, the isolation of
+such a life.
+
+Eleven years had done much for Dora.  The coy, girlish beauty that had
+won Ronald Earle's heart had given place to a sweet, patient womanhood.
+Constant association with one so elegant and refined as Mrs. Vyvian had
+done for her what nothing else could have achieved.  Dora had caught
+the refined, high-bred accent, the graceful, cultivated manner, the
+easy dignity.  She had become imbued with Mrs. Vyvian's noble thoughts
+and ideas.
+
+Dora retained two peculiarities--one was a great dislike for Ronald,
+the other a sincere dread of all love and lovers for her children.
+From her they heard nothing but depreciation of men. All men were
+alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was nonsense and
+folly.  Mrs. Vyvian tried her best to counteract these ideas; they had
+this one evil consequence--that neither Lillian nor Beatrice would ever
+dream of even naming such subjects to their mother, who should have
+been their friend and confidante.  If in the books Lady Earle sent
+there was any mention of this love their mother dreaded so, they went
+to Mrs. Vyvian or puzzled over it themselves.  With these two
+exceptions Dora had become a thoughtful, gentle woman.  As her mind
+became more cultivated she understood better the dishonor of the fault
+which had robbed her of Ronald's love.  Her fair face grew crimson when
+she remembered what she had done.
+
+It was a fair and tranquil womanhood; the dark eyes retained their
+wondrous light and beauty; the curling rings of dark hair were
+luxuriant as ever; the lips wore a patient, sweet expression.  The
+clear, healthy country air had given a delicate bloom to the fair face.
+Dora looked more like the elder sister of the young girls than their
+mother.
+
+The quiet, half-dreamy monotony was broken at last.  Mrs. Vyvian was
+suddenly summoned home.  Her mother, to whom she was warmly attached,
+was said to be dying, and she wished her last few days to be spent with
+her daughter.  At the same time Lady Earle wrote to say that her
+husband was so ill that it was impossible for her to look for any lady
+to supply Mrs. Vyvian's place.  The consequence was that, for the first
+time in their lives, the young girls were left for a few weeks without
+a companion and without surveillance.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII
+
+One beautiful morning in May, Lillian went out alone to sketch. The
+beauty of the sky and sea tempted her; fleecy-white clouds floated
+gently over the blue heavens; the sun shone upon the water until, at
+times, it resembled a huge sea of rippling gold. Far off in the
+distance were the shining white sails of two boats; they looked in the
+golden haze like the brilliant wings of some bright bird.  The sun upon
+the white sails struck her fancy, and she wanted to sketch the effect.
+
+It was the kind of morning that makes life seem all beauty and
+gladness, even if the heart is weighed down with care.  It was a luxury
+merely to live and breathe.  The leaves were all springing in the
+woods; the meadows were green; wild flowers blossomed by the
+hedge-rows; the birds sang gayly of the coming summer; the white
+hawthorn threw its rich fragrance all around, and the yellow broom
+bloomed on the cliffs.
+
+As she sat there, Lillian was indeed a fair picture herself on that May
+morning; the sweet, spirituelle face; the noble head with its crown of
+golden hair; the violet eyes, so full of thought; the sensitive lips,
+sweet yet firm; the white forehead, the throne of intellect.  The
+little fingers that moved rapidly and gracefully over the drawing were
+white and shapely; there was a delicate rose-leaf flush in the pretty
+hand.  She looked fair and tranquil as the morning itself.
+
+The pure, sweet face had no touch of fire or passion; its serenity was
+all unmoved; the world had never breathed on the innocent, child-like
+mind.  A white lily was not more pure and stainless than the young girl
+who sat amid the purple heather, sketching the white, far-off sails.
+
+So intent was Lillian upon her drawing that she did not hear light,
+rapid steps coming near; she was not aroused until a rich musical voice
+called, "Lillian, if you have not changed into stone or statue, do
+speak."  Then, looking up, she saw Beatrice by her side.
+
+"Lay down your pencils and talk to me," said Beatrice, imperiously.
+"How unkind of you, the only human being in this place who can talk, to
+come here all by yourself!  What do you think was to become of me?"
+
+"I thought you were reading to mamma," said Lillian, quietly.
+
+"Reading!" exclaimed Beatrice.  "You know I am tired of reading, tired
+of writing, tired of sewing, tired of everything I have to do."
+
+Lillian looked up in wonder at the beautiful, restless face.
+
+"Do not look 'good' at me," said Beatrice, impatiently.  "I am tired to
+death of it all.  I want some change.  Do you think any girls in the
+world lead such lives as we do--shut up in a rambling old farm house,
+studying from morn to night; shut in on one side by that tiresome sea,
+imprisoned on the other by fields and woods?  How can you take it so
+quietly, Lillian?  I am wearied to death."
+
+"Something has disturbed you this morning," said Lillian, gently.
+
+"That is like mamma," cried Beatrice; "just her very tone and words.
+She does not understand, you do not understand; mamma's life satisfies
+her, your life contents you; mine does not content me--it is all vague
+and empty.  I should welcome anything that changed this monotony; even
+sorrow would be better than this dead level--one day so like another, I
+can never distinguish them."
+
+"My dear Beatrice, think of what you are saying," said Lillian.
+
+"I am tired of thinking," said Beatrice; "for the last ten years I have
+been told to 'think' and 'reflect.'  I have thought all I can; I want a
+fresh subject."
+
+"Think how beautiful those far-off white sails look," said
+Lillian--"how they gleam in the sunshine.  See, that one looks like a
+mysterious hand raised to beckon us away."
+
+"Such ideas are very well for you, Lillian," retorted Beatrice. "I see
+nothing in them.  Look at the stories we read; how different those
+girls are from us!  They have fathers, brothers, and friends; they have
+jewels and dresses; they have handsome admirers, who pay them homage;
+they dance, ride, and enjoy themselves.  Now look at us, shut up here
+with old and serious people."
+
+"Hush, Beatrice," said Lillian; "mamma is not old."
+
+"Not in years, perhaps," replied Beatrice; "but she seems to me old in
+sorrow.  She is never gay nor light-hearted.  Mrs. Vyvian is very kind,
+but she never laughs.  Is every one sad and unhappy, I wonder?  Oh,
+Lillian, I long to see the world--the bright, gay world--over the sea
+there.  I long for it as an imprisoned bird longs for fresh air and
+green woods."
+
+"You would not find it all happiness," said Lillian, sagely.
+
+"Spare me all truism," cried Beatrice.  "Ah, sister, I am tired of all
+this; for eleven years the sea has been singing the same songs; those
+waves rise and fall as they did a hundred years since; the birds sing
+the same story; the sun shines the same; even the shadow of the great
+elms fall over the meadow just as it did when we first played there.  I
+long to away from the sound of the sea and the rustling of the elm
+trees.  I want to be where there are girls of my own age, and do as
+they do.  It seems to me we shall go on reading and writing, sewing and
+drawing, and taking what mamma calls instructive rambles until our
+heads grow gray."
+
+"It is not so bad as that, Beatrice," laughed Lillian. "Lady Earle says
+papa must return some day; then we shall all go to him."
+
+"I never believe one word of it," said Beatrice, undauntedly. "At times
+I could almost declare papa himself was a myth.  Why do we not live
+with him?  Why does he never write?  We never hear of or from him, save
+through Lady Earle; besides, Lillian, what do you think I heard Mrs.
+Vyvian say once to grandmamma?  It was that we might not go to
+Earlescourt at all--that if papa did not return, or died young, all
+would go to a Mr. Lionel Dacre, and we should remain here.  Imagine
+that fate--living a long life and dying at the Elms!"
+
+"It is all conjecture," said her sister.  "Try to be more contented,
+Beatrice.  We do not make our own lives, we have not the control of our
+own destiny."
+
+"I should like to control mine," sighed Beatrice.
+
+"Try to be contented, darling," continued the sweet, pleading voice.
+"We all love and admire you.  No one was ever loved more dearly or
+better than you are.  The days are rather long at times, but there are
+all the wonders and beauties of Nature and art."
+
+"Nature and Art are all very well," cried Beatrice; "but give me life."
+
+She turned her beautiful, restless face from the smiling sea; the south
+wind dancing over the yellow gorse caught up the words uttered in that
+clear, musical voice and carried them over the cliff to one who was
+lying with half-closed eyes under the shade of a large tree--a young
+man with a dark, half-Spanish face handsome with a coarse kind of
+beauty.  He was lying there, resting upon the turf, enjoying the beauty
+of the morning.  As the musical voice reached him, and the strange
+words fell upon his ear, he smiled and raised his head to see who
+uttered them. He saw the young girls, but their faces were turned from
+him; those words range in his ears--"Nature and Art are all very well,
+but give me life."
+
+Who was it longed for life?  He understood the longing; he resolved to
+wait there until the girls went away.  Again he heard the same voice.
+
+"I shall leave you to your sails, Lillian.  I wish those same boats
+would come to carry us away--I wish I had wings and could fly over the
+sea and see the bright, grand world that lies beyond it.  Goodbye; I am
+tired of the never-ending wash of those long, low waves."
+
+He saw a young girl rise from the fragrant heather and turn to descend
+the cliff.  Quick as thought he rushed down by another path, and,
+turning back, contrived to meet her half-way. Beatrice came singing
+down the cliff.  Her humor, never the same ten minutes together, had
+suddenly changed.  She remembered a new and beautiful song that Lady
+Earle had sent, and determined to go home and try it.  There came no
+warning to her that bright summer morning.  The south wind lifted the
+hair from her brow and wafted the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring
+flowers to greet her, but it brought no warning message; the birds
+singing gayly, the sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the
+first link in a terrible chain was to be forged that morning.
+
+Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow, Beatrice
+suddenly met the stranger.  A stranger was a rarity at the Elms.  Only
+at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek shelter and
+hospitality at the old farm house.  The stranger seemed to be a
+gentleman.  For one moment both stood still; then, with a low bow, the
+gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl pass.  As he did so, he
+noted the rare beauty of that brilliant face--he remembered the longing
+words.
+
+"No wonder," he thought; "it is a sin for such a face as that to be
+hidden here."
+
+The beauty of those magnificent eyes startled him.  Who was she? What
+could she be doing here?  Beatrice turning again, saw the stranger
+looking eagerly after her, with profound admiration expressed in every
+feature of his face; and that admiring gaze, the first she had ever
+received in her life, sank deep into the vain, girlish heart.
+
+He watched the graceful, slender figure until the turn of the road hid
+Beatrice from his view.  He followed her at a safe distance, and saw
+her cross the long meadows that led to the Elms.  Then Hugh Fernely
+waited with patience until one of the farm laborers came by.  By
+judicious questioning he discovered much of the history of the
+beautiful young girl who longed for life.  Her face haunted him--its
+brilliant, queenly beauty, the dark, radiant eyes.  Come what might,
+Hugh Fernely said to himself, he must see her again.
+
+On the following morning he saw the girls return to the cliff. Lillian
+finished her picture.  Ever and anon he heard Beatrice singing, in a
+low, rich voice, a song that had charmed her with its weird beauty:
+
+"For men must work, and women must weep; And the sooner it's over, the
+sooner to sleep And goodbye to the bar and its moaning."
+
+"I like those words, Lillian," he heard her say.  "I wonder how soon it
+will be 'over' for me.  Shall I ever weep, as the song says?  I have
+never wept yet."
+
+This morning the golden-haired sister left the cliff first, and
+Beatrice sat reading until the noonday sun shone upon the sea. Her book
+charmed her; it was a story telling of the life she loved and longed
+for--of the gay, glad world.  Unfortunately all the people in the book
+were noble, heroic, and ideal.  The young girl, in her simplicity,
+believed that they who lived in the world she longed for were all like
+the people in her book.
+
+When she left the path that led to the meadows, she saw by her side the
+stranger who had met her the day before.  Again he bowed profoundly,
+and, with many well-expressed apologies, asked some trifling question
+about the road.
+
+Beatrice replied briefly, but she could not help seeing the wonder of
+admiration in his face.  Her own grew crimson under his gaze--he saw
+it, and his heart beat high with triumph.  As Beatrice went through the
+meadows he walked by her side.  She never quite remembered how it
+happened, but in a few minutes he was telling her how many years had
+passed since he had seen the spring in England.  She forgot all
+restraint, all prudence, and raised her beautiful eyes to his.
+
+"Ah, then," she cried, "you have seen the great world that lies over
+the wide sea."
+
+"Yes," he replied, "I have seen it.  I have been in strange, bright
+lands, so different from England that they seemed to belong to another
+world.  I have seen many climes, bright skies, and glittering seas,
+where the spice islands lie."
+
+As he spoke, in words that were full of wild, untutored eloquence, he
+saw the young girl's eyes riveted upon him.  Sure of having roused her
+attention, he bowed, apologized for his intrusion, and left her.
+
+Had Dora been like other mothers, Beatrice would have related this
+little adventure and told of the handsome young traveler who had been
+in strange climes.  As it was, knowing her mother's utter dread of all
+men--her fear lest her children should ever love and marry--Beatrice
+never named the subject.  She thought much of Hugh Fernely--not of him
+himself, but of the world he had spoken about--and she hoped it might
+happen to her to meet him again.
+
+"If we had some one here who could talk in that way," she said to
+herself, "the Elms would not be quite so insupportable."
+
+Two days afterward, Beatrice, wandering on the sands, met Hugh Fernely.
+She saw the startled look of delight on his face, and smiled at his
+pleasure.
+
+"Pray forgive me," he said.  "I--I can not pass you without one word.
+Time has seemed to me like one long night since I saw you last."
+
+He held in his hand some beautiful lilies of the valley--every little
+white warm bell was perfect.  He offered them to her with a low bow.
+
+"This is the most beautiful flower I have seen for many years," he
+said.  "May I be forgiven for begging permission to offer it to the
+most beautiful lady I have ever seen?"
+
+Beatrice took it from him, blushing at his words.  He walked by her
+side along the yellow sands, the waves rolling in and breaking at their
+feet.  Again his eloquence charmed her.  He told her his name, and how
+he was captain of a trading vessel. Instinctively he seemed to
+understand her character--her romantic, ideal way of looking at
+everything.  He talked to her of the deep seas and their many wonders;
+of the ocean said to be fathomless; of the coral islands and of waters
+in whose depths the oyster containing the pale, gleaming pearl is
+found; of the quiet nights spent at sea, where the stars shine as they
+never seem to shine on land; of the strange hush that falls upon the
+heaving waters before a storm.  He told of long days when they were
+becalmed upon the green deep, when the vessel seemed
+
+  "A painted ship upon a painted ocean."
+
+With her marvelous fancy and quick imagination she followed him to the
+wondrous depth of silent waters where strange shapes, never seen by
+human eye, abound.  She hung upon his words; he saw it, and rejoiced in
+his success.  He did not startle her by any further compliment, but
+when their walk was ended he told her that morning would live in his
+memory as the happiest time of his life.
+
+After a few days it seemed to become a settled thing that Beatrice
+should meet Hugh Fernely.  Lillian wondered that her sister so often
+preferred lonely rambles, but she saw the beautiful face she loved so
+dearly grow brighter and happier, never dreaming the cause.
+
+For many long days little thought of Hugh Fernely came to Beatrice.
+Her mind ran always upon what he had told her--upon his description of
+what he had seen and heard.  He noted this, and waited with a patience
+born of love for the time when she should take an interest in him.
+
+Words were weak in which to express the passionate love he felt for
+this beautiful and stately young girl.  It seemed to him like a fairy
+tale.  On the morning he first saw Beatrice he had been walking a long
+distance, and had lain down to rest on the cliffs. There the beautiful
+vision had dawned upon him.  The first moment he gazed into that
+peerless face he loved Beatrice with a passion that frightened himself.
+He determined to win her at any cost.
+
+At last and by slow degrees he began to speak of her and himself,
+slowly and carefully, his keen eyes noting every change upon her face;
+he began to offer her delicate compliments and flattery so well
+disguised that it did not seem to her flattery at all.  He made her
+understand that he believed her to be the most beautiful girl he had
+ever beheld.  He treated her always as though she were a queen, and he
+her humblest slave.
+
+Slowly but surely the sweet poison worked its way; the day came when
+that graceful, subtle flattery was necessary to the very existence of
+Beatrice Earle.  There was much to excuse her; the clever, artful man
+into whose hands she had fallen was her first admirer--the first who
+seemed to remember she was no longer a child, and to treat her with
+deferential attention.  Had she been, as other girls are, surrounded by
+friends, accustomed to society, properly trained, prepared by the
+tender wisdom of a loving mother, she would never have cast her proud
+eyes upon Hugh Fernely; she would never have courted the danger or run
+the risk.
+
+As it was, while Dora preferred solitude, and nourished a keen dislike
+to her husband in her heart--while Ronald yielded to obstinate pride,
+and neglected every duty--while both preferred the indulgence of their
+own tempers, and neglected the children the Almighty intrusted to them,
+Beatrice went on to her fate.
+
+It was so sad a story, the details so simple yet so pitiful. Every
+element of that impulsive, idealistic nature helped on the tragedy.
+Hugh Fernely understood Beatrice as perhaps no one else ever did.  He
+idealized himself.  To her at length he became a hero who had met with
+numberless adventures--a hero who had traveled and fought, brave and
+generous.  After a time he spoke to her of love, at first never
+appearing to suppose that she could care for him, but telling her of
+his own passionate worship how her face haunted him, filled his dreams
+at night, and shone before him all day--how the very ground she stood
+upon was sacred to him--how he envied the flowers she touched--how he
+would give up everything to be the rose that died in her hands. It was
+all very pretty and poetical, and he knew how to find pretty,
+picturesque spots in the woods where the birds and the flowers helped
+him to tell his story.
+
+Beatrice found it very pleasant to be worshiped like a queen; there was
+no more monotony for her.  Every morning she looked forward to seeing
+Hugh--to learning more of those words that seemed to her like sweetest
+music.  She knew that at some time or other during the day she would
+see him; he never tired of admiring her beauty.  Blameworthy was the
+sad mother with her stern doctrines, blameworthy the proud, neglectful
+father, that she knew not how wrong all this was.  He loved her; in a
+thousand eloquent ways he told her so.  She was his loadstar, beautiful
+and peerless.  It was far more pleasant to sit on the sea shore, or
+under the greenwood trees, listening to such words than to pass long,
+dreary hours indoors.  And none of those intrusted with the care of the
+young girl ever dreamed of her danger.
+
+So this was the love her mother dreaded so much.  This was the love
+poets sung of and novelists wrote about.  It was pleasant; but in after
+days, when Beatrice herself came to love, she knew that this had been
+but child's play.
+
+It was the romance of the stolen meeting that charmed Beatrice. If Hugh
+had been admitted to the Elms she would have wearied of him in a week;
+but the concealment gave her something to think of.  There was
+something to occupy her mind; every day she must arrange for a long
+ramble, so that she might meet Hugh.  So, while the corn grew ripe in
+the fields, and the blossoms died away--while warm, luxurious summer
+ruled with his golden wand Ronald Earle's daughter went on to her fate.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII
+
+At length there came an interruption to Hugh Fernely's love dream.  The
+time drew near when he must leave Seabay.  The vessel he commanded was
+bound for China, and was to sail in a few days. The thought that he
+must leave the beautiful girl he loved so dearly and so deeply struck
+him with unendurable pain; he seemed only to have lived since he had
+met her, and he knew that life without her would be a burden too great
+for him to bear.  He asked himself a hundred times over: "Does she love
+me?"  He could not tell.  He resolved to try.  He dared not look that
+future in the face which should take her from him.
+
+The time drew near; the day was settled on which the "Seagull" was to
+set sail, and yet Hugh Fernely had won no promise from Beatrice Earle.
+
+One morning Hugh met her at the stile leading from the field into the
+meadow lane--the prettiest spot in Knutsford.  The ground was a
+perfectly beautiful carpet of flowers--wild hyacinths, purple
+foxgloves, pretty, pale strawberry blossoms all grew there. The hedges
+were one mass of wild roses and woodbine; the tall elm trees that ran
+along the lane met shadily overhead; the banks on either side were
+radiant in different colored mosses; huge ferns surrounded the roots of
+the trees.
+
+Beatrice liked the quiet, pretty, green meadow lane.  She often walked
+there, and on this eventful morning Hugh saw her sitting in the midst
+of the fern leaves.  He was by her side in a minute, and his dark,
+handsome face lighted up with joy.
+
+"How the sun shines!" he said.  "I wonder the birds begin to sing and
+the flowers to bloom before you are out, Miss Earle."
+
+"But I am not their sun," replied Beatrice with a smile.
+
+"But you are mine," cried Hugh; and before she could reply he was
+kneeling at her feet, her hands clasped in his, while he told her of
+the love that was wearing his life away.
+
+No one could listen to such words unmoved; they were true and eloquent,
+full of strange pathos.  He told her how dark without her the future
+would be to him, how sad and weary his life; whereas if she would only
+love him, and let him claim her when he returned, he would make her as
+happy as a queen.  He would take her to the bright sunny lands--would
+show her all the beauties and wonders she longed to see--would buy her
+jewels and dresses such as her beauty deserved--would be her humble,
+devoted slave, if she would only love him.
+
+It was very pleasant--the bright morning, the picturesque glade, the
+warmth and brightness of summer all around.  Beatrice looked at the
+handsome, pale face with emotion, she felt Hugh's warm lips pressed to
+her hand, she felt hot tears rain upon her fingers, and wondered at
+such love.  Yes, this was the love she had read of and thought about.
+
+"Beatrice," cried Hugh, "do not undo me with one word.  Say you love
+me, my darling--say I may return and claim you as my own. Your whole
+life shall be like one long, bright summer's day."
+
+She was carried away by the burning torrent of passionate words. With
+all her spirit and pride she felt weak and powerless before the mighty
+love of this strong man.  Almost unconscious of what she did, Beatrice
+laid her white hands upon the dark, handsome head of her lover.
+
+"Hush, Hugh," she said, "you frighten me.  I do love you; see, you
+tears wet my hand."
+
+It was not a very enthusiastic response, but it satisfied him. He
+clasped the young girl in his arms, and she did not resist; he kissed
+the proud lips and the flushed cheek.  Beatrice Earle said no word; he
+was half frightened, half touched, and wholly subdued.
+
+"Now you are mine," cried Hugh--"mine, my own peerless one; nothing
+shall part us but death!"
+
+"Hush!" cried Beatrice, again shuddering as with cold fear. "That is a
+word I dislike and dread so much, Hugh--do not use it."
+
+"I will not," he replied; and then Beatrice forgot her fears.  He was
+so happy--he loved her so dearly--he was so proud of winning her.  She
+listened through the long hours of that sunny morning.  It was the
+fifteenth of July--he made her note the day and in two years he would
+return to take her forever from the quiet house where her beauty and
+grace alike were buried.
+
+That was the view of the matter that had seized upon the girl's
+imagination.  It was not so much love for Hugh--she liked him. His
+flattery--the excitement of meeting him--his love, had become necessary
+to her; but had any other means of escape from the monotony she hated
+presented itself, she would have availed herself of it quite as
+eagerly.  Hugh was not so much a lover to her as a medium of escape
+from a life that daily became more and more unendurable.
+
+She listened with bright smiles when he told her that in two years he
+should return to fetch her; and she, thinking much of the romance, and
+little of the dishonor of concealment, told him how her sad young
+mother hated and dreaded all mention of love and lovers.
+
+"Then you must never tell her," he said--"leave that for me until I
+return.  I shall have money then, and perhaps the command of a fine
+vessel.  She will not refuse me when she knows how dearly I love you,
+and even should your father--the father you tell of--come home, you
+will be true to me, Beatrice, will you not?"
+
+"Yes, I will be true," she replied--and, to do her justice, she meant
+it at the time.  Her father's return seemed vague and uncertain; it
+might take place in ten or twenty years--it might never be.  Hugh
+offered her freedom and liberty in two years.
+
+"If others should seek your love," he said, "should praise your beauty,
+and offer you rank or wealth, you will say to yourself that you will be
+true to Hugh?"
+
+"Yes," she said, firmly, "I will do so."
+
+"Two years will soon pass away," said he.  "Ah, Beatrice," he
+continued, "I shall leave you next Thursday; give me all the hours you
+can.  Once away from you, all time will seem to me a long, dark night."
+
+It so happened that the farmer and his men were at work in a field
+quite on the other side of Knutsford.  Dora and Lillian were intent,
+the one upon a box of books newly arrived, the other upon a picture; so
+Beatrice had every day many hours at her disposal.  She spent them all
+with Hugh, whose love seemed to increase with every moment.
+
+Hugh was to leave Seabay on Thursday, and on Wednesday evening he
+lingered by her side as though he could not part with her.  To do Hugh
+Fernely justice, he loved Beatrice for herself.  Had she been a
+penniless beggar he would have loved her just the same. The only dark
+cloud in his sky was the knowledge that she was far above him.  Still,
+he argued to himself, the story she told of her father was an
+impossible one.  He did not believe that Ronald Earle would ever take
+his daughters home--he did not quite know what to think, but he had no
+fear on that score.
+
+On the Wednesday evening they wandered down the cliff and sat upon the
+shore, watching the sun set over the waters.  Hugh took from his pocket
+a little morocco case and placed it in Beatrice's hands.  She opened
+it, and cried out with admiration; there lay the most exquisite ring
+she had ever seen, of pure pale gold, delicately and elaborately
+chased, and set with three gleaming opals of rare beauty.
+
+"Look at the motto inside," said Hugh.
+
+She held the ring in her dainty white fingers, and read: "Until death
+parts us."
+
+"Oh, Hugh," she cried, "that word again?  I dread it; why is it always
+coming before me?"
+
+He smiled at her fears, and asked her to let him place the ring upon
+her finger.
+
+"In two years," he said, "I shall place a plain gold ring on this
+beautiful hand.  Until then wear this, Beatrice, for my sake; it is our
+betrothal ring."
+
+"It shall not leave my finger," she said. "Mamma will not notice it,
+and every one else will think she has given it to me herself."
+
+"And now," said Hugh, "promise me once more, Beatrice, you will be true
+to me--you will wait for me--that when I return you will let me claim
+you as my own?"
+
+"I do promise," she said, looking at the sun shining on the opals.
+
+Beatrice never forgot the hour that followed.  Proud, impetuous, and
+imperial as she was, the young man's love and sorrow touched her as
+nothing had ever done.  The sunbeams died away in the west, the
+glorious mass of tinted clouds fell like a veil over the evening sky,
+the waves came in rapidly, breaking into sheets of white, creamy foam
+in the gathering darkness, but still he could not leave her.
+
+"I must go, Hugh," said Beatrice, at length; "mamma will miss me."
+
+She never forgot the wistful eyes lingering upon her face.
+
+"Once more, only once more," he said.  "Beatrice, my love, when I
+return you will be my wife?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, startled alike by his grief and his love.
+
+"Never be false to me," he continued.  "If you were--"
+
+"What then?" she asked, with a smile, as he paused.
+
+"I should either kill myself or you," he replied, "perhaps both. Do not
+make me say such terrible things.  It could not be.  The sun may fall
+from the heavens, the sea rolling there may become dry land.
+Nature--everything may prove false, but not you, the noblest, the
+truest of women.  Say 'I love you, Hugh,' and let those be your last
+words to me.  They will go with me over the wide ocean, and be my rest
+and stay."
+
+"I love you, Hugh," she said, as he wished her.
+
+Something like a deep, bitter sob came from his white lips. Death
+itself would have been far easier than leaving her.  He raised her
+beautiful face to his--his tears and kisses seemed to burn it--and then
+he was gone.
+
+Gone!  The romance of the past few weeks, the engrossing interest, all
+suddenly collapsed.  Tomorrow the old monotonous life must begin again,
+without flattery, praise, or love.  He had gone; the whole romance was
+ended; nothing of it remained save the memory of his love and the ring
+upon her finger.
+
+At first there fell upon Beatrice a dreadful blank.  The monotony, the
+quiet, the simple occupations, were more unendurable than ever; but in
+a few days that feeling wore off, and then she began to wonder at what
+she had done. The glamour fell from before her eyes; the novelty and
+excitement, the romance of the stolen meetings, the pleasant homage of
+love and worship no longer blinded her.  Ah, and before Hugh Fernely
+had been many days and nights upon the wide ocean, she ended by growing
+rather ashamed of the matter, and trying to think of it as little as
+she could!  Once she half tried to tell Lillian; but the look of horror
+on the sweet, pure face startled her, and she turned the subject by
+some merry jest.
+
+Then there came a letter from Mrs. Vyvian announcing her return. The
+girls were warmly attached to the lady, who had certainly devoted the
+ten best years of her life to them.  She brought with her many
+novelties, new books, new music, amusing intelligence from the outer
+world.  For some days there was no lack of excitement and amusement;
+then all fell again into the old routine.
+
+Mrs. Vyvian saw a great change in Beatrice.  Some of the old
+impetuosity had died away; she was as brilliant as ever, full of life
+and gayety, but in some way there was an indescribable change.  At
+times a strange calm would come over the beautiful face, a far-off,
+dreamy expression steal into the dark, bright eyes.  She had lost her
+old frankness.  Time was when Mrs. Vyvian could read all her thoughts,
+and very rebellious thoughts they often were.  But now there seemed to
+be a sealed chamber in the girl's heart.  She never spoke of the
+future, and for the first time her watchful friend saw in her a nervous
+fear that distressed her.  Carefully and cautiously the governess tried
+to ascertain the cause; she felt sure at last that, young as she was,
+carefully as she had been watched, Beatrice Earle had a secret in her
+life that she shared with no one else.
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX
+
+There were confusion and dismay in the stately home of the Earles.  One
+sultry morning in August Lord Earle went out into the garden, paying no
+heed to the excessive heat.  As he did not return to luncheon, the
+butler went in search of him and found his master lying as one dead on
+the ground.  He was carried to his own room, doctors were summoned in
+hot haste from far and near; everything that science or love, skill or
+wisdom could suggest was done for him, but all in vain.  The hour had
+come when he must leave home, rank, wealth, position--whatever he
+valued most--when he must answer for his life and what he had done with
+it--when he must account for wealth, talent, for the son given to
+him--when human likings, human passions, would seem so infinitely
+little.
+
+But while Lord Earle lay upon the bed, pale and unconscious, Lady
+Earle, who knelt by him and never left him, felt sure that his mind and
+heart were both active.  He could not speak; he did not seem to
+understand.  Who knows what passes in those dread moments of silence,
+when the light of eternity shows so clearly all that we have done in
+the past?  It may be that while he lay there, hovering as it were
+between two worlds, the remembrance of his son struck him like a
+two-edged sword--his son, his only child given to him to train, not
+only for earth but for heaven--the boy he had loved and idolized, then
+cast off, and allowed to become a wanderer on the face of the earth.
+It may be that his stern, sullen pride, his imperious self-will, his
+resolute trampling upon the voice of nature and duty, confronted him in
+the new light shining upon him.  Perhaps his own words returned to him,
+that until he lay dead Ronald should never see Earlescourt again; for
+suddenly the voice they thought hushed forever sounded strangely in the
+silence of that death chamber.
+
+"My son!" cried the dying man, clasping his hands--"my son!"
+
+Those who saw it never forgot the blank, awful terror that came upon
+the dying face as he uttered his last words.
+
+They bore the weeping wife from the room.  Lady Earle, strong, and
+resolute though she was, could not drive that scene from her mind.  She
+was ill for many days, and so it happened that the lord of Earlescourt
+was laid in the family vault long ere the family at the Elms knew of
+the change awaiting them.
+
+Ronald was summoned home in all haste; but months passed ere letters
+reached him, and many more before he returned to England.
+
+Lord Earle's will was brief, there was no mention of his son's name.
+There was a handsome provision for Lady Earle, the pretty little estate
+of Roslyn was settled upon her; the servants received numerous
+legacies; Sir Harry Laurence and Sir Hugh Charteris were each to
+receive a magnificent mourning ring; but there was no mention of the
+once-loved son and heir.
+
+As the heir at law, everything was Ronald's--the large amount of money
+the late lord had saved, title, estates, everything reverted to him.
+But Ronald would have exchanged all for one line of forgiveness, one
+word of pardon from the father he had never ceased to love.
+
+It was arranged that until Ronald's return his mother should continue
+to reside at Earlescourt, and the management of the estates was
+intrusted to Mr. Burt, the family solicitor.
+
+Lady Earle resolved to go to the Elms herself; great changes must be
+made there.  Ronald's wife and children must take their places in the
+world; and she felt a proud satisfaction in thinking that, thanks to
+her sensible and judicious management, Dora would fill her future
+position with credit.  She anticipated Ronald's delight when he should
+see his beautiful and accomplished daughters.  Despite her great
+sorrow, the lady of Earlescourt felt some degree of hope for the
+future.  She wrote to the Elms, telling Dora of her husband's death,
+and announcing her own coming; then the little household understood
+that their quiet and solitude had ended forever.
+
+The first thing was to provide handsome mourning.  Dora was strangely
+quiet and sad through it all.  The girls asked a hundred questions
+about their father, whom they longed to see. They knew he had left home
+in consequence of some quarrel with his father--so much Lady Earle told
+them--but they never dreamed that his marriage had caused the fatal
+disagreement; they never knew that, for their mother's sake, Lady Earle
+carefully concealed all knowledge of it from them.
+
+Lady Earle reached the Elms one evening in the beginning of September.
+She asked first to see Dora alone.
+
+During the long years Dora had grown to love the stately, gentle lady
+who was Ronald's mother.  She could not resist her sweet, gracious
+dignity and winning manners.  So, when Lady Earle, before seeing her
+granddaughters, went to Dora's room, wishing for a long consultation
+with her, Dora received her with gentle, reverential affection.
+
+"I wish to see you first," said Lady Helena Earle, "so that we may
+arrange our plans before the children know anything of them. Ronald
+will return to England in a few months.  Dora, what course shall you
+adopt?"
+
+"None," she replied.  "Your son's return has nothing whatever to do
+with me."
+
+"But, surely," said lady Helena, "for the children's sake you will not
+refuse at least an outward show of reconciliation?"
+
+"Mr. Earle has not asked it," said Dora--"he never will do so, Lady
+Helena.  It is as far from his thoughts as from mine."
+
+Lady Earle sat for some moments too much astounded for speech.
+
+"I never inquired the cause of your separation, Dora," she said,
+gently, "and I never wish to know it.  My son told me you could live
+together no longer.  I loved my own husband; I was a devoted and
+affectionate wife to him.  I bore with his faults and loved his
+virtues, so that I can not imagine what I should do were I in your
+place.  I say to you what I should say to Ronald--they are solemn
+words--'What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put
+asunder.'  Now let me tell you my opinion.  It is this, that nothing
+can justify such a separation as yours--nothing but the most outrageous
+offenses or the most barbarous cruelty.  Take the right course, Dora;
+submit to your husband. Believe me, woman's rights are all fancy and
+nonsense; loving, gentle submission is the fairest ornament of woman.
+Even should Ronald be in the wrong, trample upon all pride and temper,
+and make the first advances to him."
+
+"I can not," said Dora gravely.
+
+"Ronald was always generous and chivalrous," continued Lady Earle.
+"Oh, Dora, have you forgotten how my son gave up all the world for you?"
+
+"No," she replied, bitterly; "nor has he forgotten it, Lady Earle."
+
+The remembrance of what she thought her wrongs rose visibly before her.
+She saw again the magnificent face of Valentine Charteris, with its
+calm, high-bred wonder.  She saw her husband's white, angry, indignant
+countenance--gestures full of unutterable contempt.  Ah, no, never
+again!  Nothing could heal that quarrel.
+
+"You must take your place in the world," continued Lady Earle. "You are
+no longer simply Mrs. Earle of the Elms; you are Lady Earle, of
+Earlescourt, wife of its lord, the mother of his children.  You have
+duties too numerous for me to mention, and you must not shrink from
+them."
+
+"I refuse all," she replied, calmly; "I refuse to share your son's
+titles, his wealth, his position, his duties; I refuse to make any
+advances toward a reconciliation; I refuse to be reconciled."
+
+"And why?" asked Lady Helena, gravely.
+
+A proud flush rose to Dora's face--hot anger stirred in her heart.
+
+"Because your son said words to me that I never can and never will
+forget," she cried. "I did wrong--Lady Helena, I was mad, jealous,
+blind--I did wrong--I did what I now know to be dishonorable and
+degrading.  I knew no better, and he might have pardoned me,
+remembering that.  But before the woman I believe to be my rival he
+bitterly regretted having made me his wife."
+
+"They were hard words," said Lady Earle.
+
+"Very hard," replied Dora; "they broke my heart--they slew me in my
+youth; I have never lived since then."
+
+"Can you never forgive and forget them, Dora?" asked Lady Helena.
+
+"Never," she replied; "they are burned into my heart and on my brain.
+I shall never forget them; your son and I must be strangers, Lady
+Earle, while we live."
+
+"I can say no more," sighed Lady Earle.  "Perhaps a mightier voice will
+call to you, Dora, and then you will obey."
+
+A deep silence fell upon them.  Lady Helena was more grieved and
+disconcerted than she cared to own.  She had thought of taking her
+son's wife and children home in triumph, but it was not to be.
+
+"Shall we speak of the children now?" she asked at length.  "Some
+arrangements must be made for them."
+
+"Yes," said Dora, "their father has claims upon them.  I am ready to
+yield to them.  I do not believe he will ever love them or care for
+them, because they are mine.  At the same time, I give them up to him
+and to you, Lady Earle.  The sweetest and best years of their lives
+have been spent with me; I must therefore not repine.  I have but one
+stipulation to make, and it is that my children shall never hear one
+word against me."
+
+"You know little of me," said Lady Helena, "if you think such a thing
+is possible.  You would rather part with your children than accompany
+them?"
+
+"Far rather," she replied.  "I know you will allow them to visit me,
+Lady Earle.  I have known for many years that such a time must come,
+and I am prepared for it."
+
+"But, my dear Dora," said Lady Earle, warmly, "have you considered what
+parting with your children implies--the solitude, the desolation?"
+
+"I know it all," replied Dora.  "It will be hard, but not so hard nor
+so bitter as living under the same roof with their father."
+
+Carefully and quietly Dora listened to Lady Earle's plans and
+arrangements--how her children were to go to Earlescourt and take the
+position belonging to them.  Mrs. Vyvian was to go with them and remain
+until Lord Earle returned.  Until then they were not to be introduced
+into society; it would take some time to accustom them to so great a
+change.  When Lord Earl returned he could pursue what course he would.
+
+"He will be so proud of them!" said Lady Earle. "I have never seen a
+girl so spirited and beautiful as Beatrice, nor one so fair and gentle
+as Lillian.  Oh, Dora, I should be happy if you were going with us."
+
+Never once during the few days of busy preparation did Dora's proud
+courage give way.  The girls at first refused to leave her; they
+exhausted themselves in conjectures as to her continued residence at
+the Elms, and were forced to be satisfied with Lady Earle's off-hand
+declaration that their mother could not endure any but a private life.
+
+"Mamma has a title now," said Beatrice, wonderingly; "why will she not
+assume it?"
+
+"Your mother's tastes are simple and plain," replied Lady Earle. "Her
+wishes must be treated with respect."
+
+Dora did not give way until the two fair faces that had brightened her
+house vanished.  When they were gone, and a strange, hushed silence
+fell upon the place, pride and courage gave way.  In that hour the very
+bitterness of death seemed to be upon her.
+
+
+
+Chapter XX
+
+It was a proud moment for Lady Earle when she led the two young girls
+through the long line of servants assembled to receive them.  They were
+both silent from sheer wonder.  They had left Florence at so early an
+age that they had not the faintest remembrance of the pretty villa on
+the banks of the Arno.  All their ideas were centered in the Elms--they
+had never seen any other home.
+
+Lady Earle watched the different effect produced upon them by the
+glimpse of Earlescourt.  Lillian grew pale; she trembled, and her
+wondering eyes filled with tears.  Beatrice, on the contrary, seemed
+instantly to take in the spirit of the place.  Her face flushed; a
+proud light came into her glorious eyes; her haughty head was carried
+more regally than ever.  There was no timidity, no shyly expressed
+wonder, no sensitive shrinking from new and unaccustomed splendor.
+
+They were deeply impressed with the magnificence of their new home.
+For many long days Lady Earle employed herself in showing the numerous
+treasures of art and vertu the house contained.  The picture gallery
+pleased Beatrice most; she gloried in the portraits of the grand old
+ancestors, "each with a story to his name."  One morning she stood
+before Lady Helena's portrait, admiring the striking likeness.
+Suddenly turning to the stately lady by her side, she said: "All the
+Ladies Earle are here; where is my own mamma?  Her face is sweet and
+fair as any of these. Why is there no portrait of her?"
+
+"There will be one some day," said Lady Helena.  "When your father
+returns all these things will be seen to."
+
+"We have no brother," continued Beatrice.  "Every baron here seems to
+have been succeeded by his son--who will succeed my father?"
+
+"His next of kin," replied Lady Earle, sadly--"Lionel Dacre; he is a
+third cousin of Lord Earle.  He will have both title and estate."
+
+She signed deeply; it was a real trouble to Lady Helena that she should
+never see her son's son, never love and nurse, never bless the heir of
+Earlescourt.
+
+Lillian delighted most in the magnificent gardens, the thickly wild
+wooded park, where every dell was filled with flowers and ferns, every
+knoll crowned with noble trees.  The lake, with white lilies sleeping
+on its tranquil bosom and weeping willows touching its clear surface,
+pleased her most of all.  As they stood on its banks, Beatrice, looking
+into the transparent depths, shuddered, and turned quickly away.
+
+"I am tired of water," she said; "nothing wearied me so much at
+Knutsford as the wide, restless sea.  I must have been born with a
+natural antipathy to water."
+
+Many days passed before they were familiar with Earlescourt. Every day
+brought its new wonders.
+
+A pretty suite of rooms had been prepared for each sister; they were in
+the western wing, and communicated with each other.  The Italian nurse
+who had come with them from Florence had preferred remaining with Dora.
+Lady Earle had engaged two fashionable ladies' maids, had also ordered
+for each a wardrobe suitable to the daughters of Lord Earle.
+
+Mrs. Vyvian had two rooms near her charges.  Knowing that some months
+might elapse before Ronald returned, Lady Helena settled upon a course
+of action.  The young girls were to be kept in seclusion, and not to be
+introduced to the gay world, seeing only a few old friends of the
+family; they were to continue to study for a few hours every morning,
+to drive or walk with Lady Earle after luncheon, to join her at the
+seven o'clock dinner, and to pass the evening in the drawing room.
+
+It was a new and delightful life.  Beatrice reveled in the luxury and
+grandeur that surrounded her.  She amused Lady Earle by her vivacious
+description of the quiet home at the Elms.
+
+"I feel at home here," she said, "and I never did there.  At times I
+wake up, half dreading to hear the rustling of the tall elm trees, and
+old Mrs. Thorne's voice asking about the cows. Poor mamma!  I can not
+understand her taste."
+
+When they became more accustomed to the new life, the strange
+incongruity in their family struck them both.  On one side a grand old
+race, intermarried with some of the noblest families in England--a
+stately house, title, wealth, rank, and position; on the other a simple
+farmer and his homely wife, the plain old homestead, and complete
+isolation from all they considered society.
+
+How could it be?  How came it that their father was lord of Earlescourt
+and their mother the daughter of a plain country farmer?  For the first
+time it struck them both that there was some mystery in the life of
+their parents.  Both grew more shy of speaking of the Elms, feeling
+with the keen instinct peculiar to youth that there was something
+unnatural in their position.
+
+Visitors came occasionally to Earlescourt.  Sir Harry and Lady Laurence
+of Holtham often called; Lady Charteris came from Greenoke, and all
+warmly admired the lovely daughters of Lord Earle.
+
+Beatrice, with her brilliant beauty, her magnificent voice, and gay,
+graceful manner, was certainly the favorite.  Sir Harry declared she
+was the finest rider in the county.
+
+There was an unusual stir of preparation once when Lady Earle told them
+that the daughter of her devoted friend, Lady Charteris, was coming to
+spend a few days at Earlescourt.  Then, for the first time, they saw
+the beautiful and stately lady whose fate was so strangely interwoven
+with theirs.
+
+Valentine Charteris was no longer "the queen of the county." Prince di
+Bergezi had won the beautiful English woman.  He had followed her to
+Greenoke and repeated his question.  There was neither coquetry nor
+affectation in Valentine--she had thought the matter over, and decided
+that she was never likely to meet with any one else she liked and
+respected so much as her Italian lover.  He had the virtues, without
+the faults, of the children of the South; a lavishly generous, princely
+disposition; well-cultivated artistic tastes; good principles and a
+chivalrous sense of honor.  Perhaps the thing that touched her most was
+his great love for her.  In many respects he resembled Ronald Earle
+more nearly than any one else she had ever met.
+
+To the intense delight of both parents, Miss Charteris accepted him.
+For her sake the prince consented to spend every alternate year in
+England.
+
+Three times had the whole country side welcomed the stately Italian and
+his beautiful wife.  This was their fourth visit to England, and, when
+the princess heard from Lady Charteris that Ronald's two daughters,
+whom she remembered as little babes, were at Earlescourt, nothing would
+satisfy her but a visit there.
+
+The young girls looked in admiring wonder at the lady.  They had never
+seen any one so dazzling or so bright.  The calm, grand, Grecian face
+had gained in beauty; the magnificent head, with its wealth of golden
+hair, the tall, stately figure, charmed them. And when Valentine took
+them in her arms and kissed them her thoughts went back to the white,
+wild face in the garden and the dark eyes that had flamed in hot anger
+upon her.
+
+"I knew your mother years ago," she said; "has she never mentioned my
+name?  I used to nurse you both in the little villa at Florence.  I was
+one of your father's oldest friends."
+
+No, they had never heard her name; and Beatrice wondered that her
+mother could have known and forgotten one so beautiful as the princess.
+
+The week she remained passed like a long, bright dream. Beatrice almost
+worshiped Valentine; this was what she had dreamed of long ago; this
+was one of the ideal ladies living in the bright, gay world she was
+learning to understand.
+
+When the prince and princess left Earlescourt they made Lady Helena
+promise that Beatrice and Lillian should visit them at Florence.  They
+spoke of the fair and coquettish Countess Rosali, still a reigning
+belle, and said how warmly she would welcome them for their father's
+sake.
+
+"You talk so much of Italy," said Valentine to Beatrice.  "It is just
+the land for the romance you love.  You shall see blue skies and sunny
+seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; you shall see such
+luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish to return to this cold,
+dreary England."
+
+It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit should
+be paid.  The evening after their guests' departure seemed long and
+triste.
+
+"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never told
+us anything of her friend.  I must tell her all about the visit."
+
+Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady Earle
+was obliged to let the letter go.  The passionate, lonely heart brooded
+over every word.  Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm,
+grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly
+recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them.  Dora read it
+through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain.  The old,
+fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought.  She
+tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds.
+
+"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of
+her fair face, and now she will win my children."
+
+Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a
+ray of light.  Valentine was married; she had married the wealthy,
+powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, after all, even
+if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not cared for her, or she had
+soon ceased to care for him.
+
+Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to that
+long, enthusiastic letter came.  Dora said simply that she had never
+named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person whom she did not
+care to remember.
+
+Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord Earle,
+saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, and in any case
+would be with them by Christmas day.  It was a short letter, written in
+the hurry of traveling; the words that touched his children most, were
+"I am glad you have the girls at Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what
+they are like.  Make them happy, mother; let hem have all they want;
+and, if it be possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me."
+
+The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was made
+to her.  The girls marked the weeks go by in some little trepidation.
+What if, after all, this father, whom they did not remember, should not
+like them: Beatrice did not think such a thing very probable, but
+Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, fanciful alarm.
+
+It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. Both had
+felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his wife--they sent
+many presents to them--but Beatrice would curl her proud lip in scorn
+when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. Thorne desired their humble duty
+to Lady Earle."
+
+Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his
+daughters, she saw no fault in them.  Beautiful, accomplished, and
+graceful, what more could he desire?  She inwardly thanked Providence
+that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the Thornes.
+Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just stepped out from a
+picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like loveliness, was quite as
+charming.  What would Lady Earle--so truthful, so honorable--have
+thought or said had she known that their bright favorite with the Earle
+face had plighted her troth, unknown to any one, to the captain of a
+trading vessel, who was to claim her in two years for his wife?
+
+Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the time
+would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. Nothing could
+be more delightful, nothing easier, provided Beatrice would marry the
+young heir, Lionel Dacre.
+
+One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle entered
+with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high-bred face.  She
+held an open letter in her hand.
+
+"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best this
+evening.  I have a note here--your father will be home tonight."
+
+The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of
+Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had never
+wept since he left her.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI
+
+Once more Ronald Earle stood upon English shores; once again he heard
+his mother tongue spoken all around him, once again he felt the charm
+of quiet, sweet English scenery.  Seventeen years had passed since he
+had taken Dora's hand in his and told her he cared nothing for all he
+was leaving behind him, nothing for any one in the world save
+herself--seventeen years, and his love-dream had lasted but two!  Then
+came the cruel shock that blinded him with anger and shame; then came
+the rude awakening from his dream when, looking his life bravely in the
+face, he found it nothing but a burden--hope and ambition gone--the
+grand political mission he had once believed to be his own impossible
+nothing left to him of his glorious dreams but existence--and all for
+what?  For the mad, foolish love of a pretty face.  He hated himself
+for his weakness and folly.  For that--for the fair, foolish woman who
+had shamed him so sorely--he had half broken his mother's heart, and
+had imbittered his father's life. For that he had made himself an
+exile, old in his youth, worn and weary, when life should have been all
+smiling around him.
+
+These thoughts flashed through his mind as the express train whirled
+through the quiet English landscape.  Winter snows had fallen, the
+great bare branches of the tall trees were gaunt and snow-laden, the
+fields were one vast expanse of snow, the frost had hardened the
+icicles hanging from hedges and trees.  The scene seemed strange to him
+after so many years of the tropical sun.  Yet every breath of the
+sharp, frosty air invigorated him and brought him new life and energy.
+
+At length the little station was reached, and he saw the carriage with
+his liveried servants awaiting him.  A warm flush rose to Lord Earle's
+face; for a moment he felt almost ashamed of meeting his old domestics.
+They must all know now why he had left home. His own valet, Morton, was
+there.  Lord Earle had kept him, and the man had asked permission to go
+and meet his old master.
+
+Ronald was pleased to see him; there were a few words of courteous
+greeting from Lord Earle to all around, and a few still kinder words to
+Morton.
+
+Once again Ronald saw the old trees of which he had dreamed so often,
+the stately cedars, the grand spreading oaks, the tall aspens, the lady
+beeches, the groves of poplars--every spot was familiar to him.  In the
+distance he saw the lake shining through the trees; he drove past the
+extensive gardens, the orchards now bare and empty.  He was not ashamed
+of the tears that rushed warmly to his eyes when the towers and turrets
+of Earlescourt came in sight.
+
+A sharp sense of pain filled his heart--keen regret, bitter remorse, a
+longing for power to undo all that was done, to recall the lost
+miserable years--the best of his life.  He might return; he might do
+his best to atone for his error; but neither repentance nor atonement
+would give him back the father whose pride he had humbled in the dust.
+
+As the carriage rolled up the broad drive, a hundred instances of his
+father's love and indulgence flashed across him--he had never refused
+any request save one.  He wisely and tenderly tried to dissuade him
+from the false step that could never be retraced but all in vain.
+
+He remembered his father's face on that morning when, with outstretched
+hands, he bade him leave his presence and never seek it more--when he
+told him that whenever he looked upon his dead face he was to remember
+that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which he had been
+deceived.
+
+Sad, bitter memories filled his heart when the carriage stopped at the
+door and Ronald caught sight of the old familiar faces, some in smiles,
+some in tears.
+
+The library door was thrown open.  Hardly knowing whither he went, Lord
+Earle entered, and it was closed behind him.  His eyes, dimmed with
+tears, saw a tall, stately lady, who advanced to meet him with open
+arms.
+
+The face he remembered so fair and calm bore deep marks of sorrow; the
+proud, tender eyes were shadowed; the glossy hair was threaded with
+silver; but it was his mother's voice that cried to him, "My son, my
+son, thank Heaven you have returned!"
+
+He never remembered how long his mother held him clasped in her arms.
+Earth has no love like a mother's love--none so tender, so true, so
+full of sweet wisdom, so replete with pity and pardon.  It was her own
+son whom Lady Earle held in her arms. She forgot that he was a man who
+had incurred just displeasure. He was her boy, her own treasure, and so
+it was that her words of greeting were all of loving welcome.
+
+"How changed you are," she said, drawing him nearer to the fast-fading
+light.  "Your face is quite bronzed, and you look so many years
+older--so sad, so worn!  Oh, Ronald, I must teach you to grow young and
+happy again!"
+
+He sighed deeply, and his mother's heart grew sad as she watched his
+restless face.
+
+"Old-fashioned copy-books say, mother, that 'to be happy one must be
+good.'  I have not been good," he said with a slight smile, "and I
+shall never be happy."
+
+In the faint waning light, through which the snow gleamed strangely,
+mother and son sat talking.  Lady Earle told Ronald of his father's
+death--of the last yearning cry when all the pent-up love of years
+seemed to rush forth and overpower him with its force.  It was some
+comfort to him, after all, that his father's last thoughts and last
+words had been of him.
+
+His heart was strangely softened; a new hope came to him. Granted that
+the best part of his life was wasted, he would do his best with the
+remainder.
+
+"And my children," he said, "my poor little girls!  I will not see them
+until I am calm and refreshed.  I know they are well and happy with
+you."
+
+Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had been
+longing to say.
+
+"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer.  You will never know
+how my heart has been torn between my husband and my son. Let my last
+few years be spent in peace."
+
+"They shall, mother," he said.  "Your happiness shall be my study."
+
+"There can be no rest for me," continued his mother, "unless all
+division in our family ends.  Ronald, I, who never asked you a favor
+before, ask one now.  Seek Dora and bring her home reconciled and
+happy."
+
+A dark angry frown such as she had never seen there before came into
+Lord Earle's face.
+
+"Anything but that," he replied, hastily; "I can not do it, mother.  I
+could not, if I lay upon my death bed."
+
+"And why?" asked Lady Helena, simply, as she had asked Dora.
+
+"For a hundred reasons, the first and greatest of which is that she has
+outraged all my notions of honor, shamed and disgraced me in the
+presence of one whom I esteemed and revered; she has--But no, I will
+not speak of my wife's errors, it were unmanly.  I can not forgive her,
+mother.  I wish her no harm; let her have every luxury my wealth can
+procure, but do not name her to me.  I should be utterly devoid of all
+pride if I could pardon her."
+
+"Pride on your side," said Lady Earle, sadly, "and temper on hers!  Oh,
+Ronald, how will it end?  Be wise in time; the most honest and noble
+man is he who conquers himself.  Conquer yourself, my son, and pardon
+Dora."
+
+"I could more easily die," he replied, bitterly.
+
+"Then," said Lady Earle, sorrowfully, "I must say to you as I said to
+Dora--beware; pride and temper must bend and break. Be warned in time."
+
+"Mother," interrupted Ronald, bending over the pale face so full of
+emotion, "let this be the last time.  You distress yourself and me; do
+not renew the subject.  I may forgive her in the hour of death--not
+before."
+
+Lady Helena's last hope died away; she had thought that in the first
+hour of his return, when old memories had softened his heart, she would
+prevail on him to seek his wife whom he had ceased to love, and for
+their children's sake bring her home. She little dreamed that the
+coming home, the recollection of his father, the ghost of his lost
+youth and blasted hopes rising every instant, had hardened him against
+the one for whom he had lost all.
+
+"You will like to see the children now," said Lady Helena.  "I will
+ring for lights.  You will be charmed with both.  Beatrice is much like
+you--she has the Earle face, and, unless I am mistaken, the Earle
+spirit, too."
+
+"Beatrice," said Lillian, as they descended the broad staircase, "I am
+frightened.  I wish I could remember something of papa his voice or his
+smile; it is like going to see a stranger.  And suppose, after all, he
+does not like us!"
+
+"Suppose what is of greater importance," said Beatrice proudly "that we
+do not like him!"
+
+But, for all her high spirits and hauteur, Beatrice almost trembled as
+the library door opened and Lady Earle came forward to met them.
+Beatrice raised her eyes dauntlessly and saw before her a tall, stately
+gentleman with a handsome face, the saddest and noblest she had ever
+seen--clear, keen eyes that seemed to pierce through all disguise and
+read all thoughts.
+
+"There is Beatrice," said Lady Helena, as she took her hand gently; and
+Ronald looked in startled wonder at the superb beauty of the face and
+figure before him.
+
+"Beatrice," he said, kissing the proud, bright face, "can it be
+possible?  When I saw you last you were a little, helpless child."
+
+"I am not helpless now," she replied, with a smile; "and I hope you are
+going to love me very much, papa.  You have to make up for fifteen
+years of absence.  I think it will not be very difficult to love you."
+
+He seemed dazzled by her beauty--her frank, high spirit and fearless
+words.  Then he saw a golden head, with sweet, dove-like eyes, raised
+to his.
+
+"I am Lillian, papa," said a clear, musical voice.  "Look at me,
+please--and love me too."
+
+He did both, charmed with the gentle grace of her manner, and the fair,
+pure face.  Then Lord Earle took both his children in his arms.
+
+"I wish," he said, in a broken voice and with tears in his eyes, "that
+I had seen you before.  They told me my little twin children had grown
+into beautiful girls, but I did not realize it."
+
+And again, when she saw his proud happiness, Lady Helena longed to
+plead for the mother of his children, that she might also share in his
+love; but she dared not.  His words haunted her. Dora would be forgiven
+only in the hour of death.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII
+
+The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's life.
+He was charmed with his daughters.  Lady Helena thought, with a smile,
+that it was difficult to realize the relationship between them.
+Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he seemed more like an elder
+brother than the father of the two young girls.
+
+There was some little restraint between them at first.  Lord Earle
+seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's gracious tact
+came into play.  She would not have dinner in the large dining room,
+she ordered it to be served in the pretty morning room, where the fire
+burned cheerfully and the lamps gave a flow of mellow light.  It was a
+picture of warm, cozy English comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased
+when he saw it.
+
+Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, only
+pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her accomplishments, obeyed.
+Her superb voice, with its clear, ringing tones, amazed him.  Beatrice
+sang song after song with a passion and fire that told how deep the
+music lay in her soul.
+
+Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, and
+again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and talent he
+had not looked for.  He praised the drawings highly. One especially
+attracted his attention--it was the pretty scene Lillian had sketched
+on the May day now so long passed--the sun shining upon the distant
+white sails, and the broad, beautiful sweep of sea at Knutsford.
+
+"That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed. It is
+too good to be hidden in a folio.  You have just caught the right
+coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on the water.
+Where is this sea-view taken from?"
+
+"Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her
+eyes.  "It is from Knutsford--mamma's home."
+
+Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise.
+
+"Mamma's home!"  The words smote him like a blow.  He remembered Dora's
+offense--her cold letter, her hurried flight, his own firm resolve
+never to receive her in his home again--but he had not remembered that
+the children must love her--that she was part of their lives.  He could
+not drive her memory from their minds.  There before him lay the pretty
+picture of "mamma's home."
+
+"This," said Lillian, "is the Elms.  See those grand old trees, papa!
+This is the window of Mamma's room, and this was our study."
+
+He looked with wonder.  This, then, was Dora's home--the pretty, quaint
+homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows.  As he gazed, he
+half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years had lived there could
+be like.  Did the curling rings of black hair fall as gracefully as
+ever?  Had the blushing dimpled face grown pale and still?  And then,
+chasing away all softened thought, came the remembrance of that hateful
+garden scene.  Ah, no, he could never forgive--he could not speak of
+her even to these, her children!  The two pictures were laid aside, and
+no more was said of framing them.
+
+Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that both
+were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if he had a
+preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. He had never seen
+any one to surpass her.  After Lady Helena had left him, he sat by the
+fire dreaming, as his father long years ago had done before him.
+
+It was not too late yet, he thought, to retrieve the fatal mistake of
+his life.  He would begin at once.  He would first give all his
+attention to his estate; it should be a model for all others.  He would
+interest himself in social duties; people who lamented his foolish,
+wasted youth should speak with warm admiration of his manhood; above
+all matters he dreamed of great things for his daughters, especially
+Beatrice.  With her beauty and grace, her magnificent voice, her frank,
+fearless spirit, and piquant, charming wit, she would be a queen of
+society; through his daughter his early error would be redeemed.
+Beatrice was sure to marry well; she would bring fresh honors to the
+grand old race ha had shamed.  When the annals of the family told, in
+years to come, the story of his mistaken marriage, it would be amply
+redeemed by the grand alliance Beatrice would be sure to contract.
+
+His hopes rested upon her and centered in her.  As he sat watching the
+glowing embers, there came to him the thought that what Beatrice was to
+him he had once been to the father he was never more to see.  Ah!  If
+his daughter should be like himself if she should ruin his hopes, throw
+down the air castle he had built--should love unworthily, marry beneath
+her, deceive and disappoint him!  But no, it should not be--he would
+watch over her.  Lord Earle shuddered at the thought.
+
+During breakfast on the morning following his return Lady Helena asked
+what his plans were for the day--whether he intended driving the girls
+over to Holte.
+
+"No," said Lord Earle.  "I wish to have a long conversation with my
+daughters.  We shall be engaged during the morning.  After luncheon we
+will go to Holte."
+
+Ronald, Lord Earle, had made up his mind.  In the place where his
+father had warned him, and made the strongest impression upon him, he
+would warn his children, and in the same way; so he took them to the
+picture gallery, where he had last stood with his father.
+
+With gentle firmness he said: "I have brought you here as I have
+something to say to you which is best said here.  Years ago, children,
+my father brought me, as I bring you, to warn and advise me--I warn and
+advise you.  We are, though so closely related, almost strangers.  I am
+ready to love you and do love you.  I intend to make your happiness my
+chief study.  But there is one thing I must have--that is, perfect
+openness, one thing I must forbid--that is, deceit of any kind, on any
+subject.  If either of you have in your short lives a secret, tell it
+to me now; if either of you love any one, even though it be one
+unworthy, tell me now.  I will pardon any imprudence, any folly, any
+want of caution--everything save deceit.  Trust me, and I will be
+gentle as a tender woman; deceive me, and I will never forgive you."
+
+Both fair faces had grown pale--Beatrice's from sudden and deadly fear;
+Lillian's from strong emotion.
+
+"The men of our race," said Lord Earle, "have erred at times, the women
+never.  You belong to a long line of noble, pure, and high-bred woman;
+there must be nothing in your lives less high, and less noble than in
+theirs; but if there had been--if, from want of vigilance, of training,
+and of caution there should be anything in this short past, tell it to
+me now, and I will forget it."
+
+Neither spoke to him one word, and a strange pathos came into his voice.
+
+"I committed one act of deceit in my life," continued Lord Earle; "it
+drove me from home, and it made me an exile during the best years of my
+life.  It matters little what it was--you will never know; but it has
+made me merciless to all deceit.  I will never spare it; it has made me
+harsh and bitter.  You will both find in me the truest, the best of
+friends; if in everything you are straightforward and honorable; but,
+children, dearly as I love you, I will never pardon a lie or an act of
+deceit."
+
+"I never told a lie in my life," said Lillian, proudly.  "My mother
+taught us to love the truth."
+
+"And you, my Beatrice?" he asked, gently as he turned to the beautiful
+face half averted from him.
+
+"I can say with my sister," was the haughty reply, "I have never told a
+lie."
+
+Even as she spoke her lips grew pale with fear, as she remembered the
+fatal secret of her engagement to Hugh Fernely.
+
+"I believe it," replied Lord Earle.  "I can read truth in each face.
+Now tell me--have no fear--have you any secret in that past life?
+Remember, no matter what you may have done, I shall freely pardon it.
+If you should be in any trouble or difficulty, as young people are at
+times, I will help you.  I will do anything for you, if you will trust
+me."
+
+And again Lillian raised her sweet face to his.
+
+"I have no secret," she said, simply. "I do not think I know a secret,
+or anything like one.  My past life is an open book, papa, and you can
+read every page in it."
+
+"Thank Heaven!" said Lord Earle, as he placed his hand caressingly upon
+the fair head.
+
+It was strange, and he remembered the omission afterward, that he did
+not repeat the question to Beatrice--he seemed to consider that
+Lillian's answer included her.  He did not know her heart was beating
+high with fear.
+
+"I know," he continued, gently, "that some young girls have their
+little love secrets.  You tell me you have none.  I believe you. I have
+but one word more to say.  You will be out in the great world soon, and
+you will doubtless both have plenty of admirers. Then will come the
+time of trial and temptation; remember my words--there is no curse so
+great as a clandestine love, no error so great or degrading.  One of
+our race was so cursed, and his punishment was great.  No matter whom
+you love and who loves you, let all be fair, honorable, and open as the
+day.  Trust me, do not deceive me.  Let me in justice say I will never
+oppose any reasonable marriage, but I will never pardon a clandestine
+attachment.
+
+"However dearly I might love the one who so transgressed," continued
+Lord Earle, "even if it broke my heart to part from her, I should send
+her from me at once; she should never more be a child of mine.  Do not
+think me harsh or unkind; I have weighty reasons for every word I have
+uttered.  I am half ashamed to speak of such things to you, but it must
+be done.  You are smiling, Lillian, what is it?"
+
+"I should laugh, papa," she replied, "if you did not look so very
+grave.  We must see people in order to love them.  Beatrice, how many
+do we know in the world?  Farmer Leigh, the doctor at Seabay, Doctor
+Goode, who came to the Elms when mamma was ill, two farm laborers, and
+the shepherd--that was the extent of our acquaintance until we came to
+Earlescourt.  I may now add Sir Henry Holt and Prince Borgesi to my
+list.  You forget, papa, we have lived out of the world."
+
+Lord Earle remembered with pleasure that it was true.  "You will soon
+be in the midst of a new world," he said, "and before you enter society
+I thought it better to give you this warning.  I place no control over
+your affections; the only thing I forbid, detest, and will never
+pardon, is any underhand, clandestine love affair.  You know not what
+they would cost."
+
+He remembered afterward how strangely silent Beatrice was, and how her
+beautiful, proud face was turned from him.
+
+"It is a disagreeable subject," said Lord Earle, "and I am pleased to
+have finished with it--it need never be renewed.  Now I have one more
+thing to say--I shall never control or force your affections, but in my
+heart there is one great wish."
+
+Lord Earle paused for a few minutes; he was looking at the face of Lady
+Alicia Earle, whom Beatrice strongly resembled.
+
+"I have no son," he continued, "and you, my daughters, will not inherit
+title or estate--both go to Lionel Dacre.  If ever the time should come
+when Lionel asks either of you to be his wife, my dearest wish will be
+accomplished.  And now, as my long lecture is finished, and the bell
+has rung, we will prepare for a visit to Sir Harry and Lady Laurence."
+
+There was not much time for thought during the rest of the day; but
+when night came, and Beatrice was alone, she looked the secret of her
+life in the face.
+
+She had been strongly tempted, when Lord Earle had spoken so kindly, to
+tell him all.  She now wished she had done so; all would have been
+over.  He would perhaps have chided her simple, girlish folly, and have
+forgiven her.  He would never forgive her now that she had deliberately
+concealed the fact; the time for forgiveness was past.  A few words,
+and all might have been told; it was too late now to utter them.  Proud
+of her and fond of her as she saw Lord Earle was, there would be no
+indulgence for her if her secret was discovered.
+
+She would have to leave the magnificent and luxurious home, the
+splendor that delighted her, the glorious prospects opening to her, and
+return to the Elms, perhaps never to leave it again. Ah, no!  The
+secret must be kept!  She did not feel much alarmed; many things might
+happen.  Perhaps the "Seagull" might be lost she thought, without pain
+or sorrow, of the possible death of the man who loved her as few love.
+
+Even if he returned, he might have forgotten her or never find her.
+She did not feel very unhappy or ill at ease--the chances, she thought,
+were many in her favor.  She had but one thing to do to keep all
+knowledge of her secret from Lord Earle.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII
+
+As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his daughters
+wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of his own love
+for them.  He had made many improvements since his return.  He did
+wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to rise by magic in
+place of the wretched tenements inhabited by poor tenants; schools,
+almshouses, churches, all testified to his zeal for improvement.
+People began to speak with warm admiration of the Earlescourt estate
+and of their master.
+
+Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to
+Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained.  His name was
+mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned in his
+favor.  As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious for his
+daughters to make their debut in the great world.  They could have no
+better chaperone than his own mother.  Lady Helena was speaking to him
+one morning of their proposed journey, when Lord Earle suddenly
+interrupted her.
+
+"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels?  I never see you wearing
+any."
+
+"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. I shall
+never wear them again.  The Earle jewels are always worn by the wife of
+the reigning lord, not by the widow of his predecessor.  Those jewels
+are not mine."
+
+"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald.  "Some of them might be reset
+for Beatrice and Lillian."
+
+Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry were
+brought down.  Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her sister
+smiled at her admiration.
+
+The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds were
+of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate pearls gleamed
+palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds of priceless value.
+One of the most beautiful and costly jewels was an entire suite of
+opals intermixed with small diamonds.
+
+"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his hands,
+"are of immense value.  Some of the finest opals ever seen are in this
+necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian price and
+bequeathed to one of our ancestors.  So much is said about the unlucky
+stone--the pierre du malheur, as the French call the opal--that I did
+not care so much for them."
+
+"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no
+superstitious fears about them.  Bright and beautiful jewels always
+seemed to me one of the necessaries of life.  I prefer diamonds, but
+these opals are magnificent."
+
+She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the opal
+ring upon her finger.  He caught the pretty white hand in his own.
+
+"That is a beautiful ring," he said.  "These opals are splendid. Who
+gave it to you, Beatrice?"
+
+The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had
+forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit.
+
+For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to desert
+her.  Then with a self-possession worthy of a better cause, Beatrice
+looked up into her father's face with a smile.
+
+"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the same
+thought crossed the minds of her three listeners--that it had been
+given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so.
+
+Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful daughters
+chose the jewels they liked best.  The difference in taste struck and
+amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery rubies, purple amethysts;
+Lillian cared for nothing but the pretty pale pearls and bright
+emeralds.
+
+"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. "We
+will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell.  They must be reset before
+you go to London."
+
+The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and lock it
+away.  She trembled still from the shock of her father's question.  The
+fatal secret vexed her.  How foolish she had been to risk so much for a
+few stolen hours of happiness--for praise and flattery--she could not
+say for love.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The time so anxiously looked for came at last.  Lord Earle took
+possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for their
+debut.  It was in every respect a successful one.  People were in
+raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet so unlike.
+Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face haunted those who
+saw it like a beautiful dream--Lillian, fair and graceful, as unlike
+her sister as a lily to a rose.
+
+They soon became the fashion.  No ball or soiree, no dance or concert
+was considered complete without them. Artists sketched them together as
+"Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight and Moonlight."  Poets
+indited sonnets to them; friends and admirers thronged around them.  As
+Beatrice said, with a deep-drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is
+life"--and she reveled in it.
+
+That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and became the
+center of all fashionable interest.  Whether he would marry and whom he
+would be likely to marry were two questions that interested every
+mother and daughter in Belgravia.  There had not been such an eligible
+parti for many years.  The savings of a long minority alone amounted to
+a splendid fortune.
+
+The young earl had vast estates in Scotland.  Lynnton Hall and Craig
+Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his.  His mansion in
+Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it.
+
+Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and amiable, the
+young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half a hundred of
+matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. Mammas with blooming
+daughters found him a difficult subject.  He laughed, talked, danced,
+walked, and rode, as society wished him to do; but no one had touched
+his heart, or even his fancy.  Lord Airlie was heart-whole, and there
+seemed no prospect of his ever being anything else.  Lady Constance
+Tachbrook, the prettiest, daintiest coquette in London, brought all her
+artillery of fascination into play, but without success.  The beautiful
+brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course of two
+waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but she failed
+in the attempt.  Lord Airlie was pronounced incorrigible.
+
+The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up.  He
+intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for himself,
+and not for his fortune.  This ideal of all that was beautiful, noble,
+and true in woman the earl was always searching for, but as yet had not
+found.
+
+On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's daughters, but
+it did not interest him.  He had been hearing of, seeing, and feeling
+disappointed in beautiful women for some years.  Many people made the
+point of meeting the "new beauties," but he gave himself no particular
+trouble.  They were like every one else, he supposed.
+
+One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a fete
+given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham.  He went early,
+intending to remain only a short time.  He found but a few guests had
+arrived.  After paying the proper amount of homage to Lady Downham, the
+young earl wandered off into the grounds.
+
+It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before,
+and was rather tired of it.  The day was more Italian than English,
+bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with
+fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies.
+
+Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were stationed in
+different parts of the grounds, the fountains played merrily in the
+sunlit air.  Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, bowing in reply to the
+salutations he received.
+
+A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his
+attention.  From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay
+pleasure boats.  Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be quite
+alone; but before he had removed a large bough that interfered with the
+full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the
+thick, sheltering rose bower.
+
+He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure,
+the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet
+as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and
+brightly.
+
+"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice
+was saying.  "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."
+
+"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the
+very center of gayety."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me
+for life.  Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful.  You think so, but do
+not admit it honestly as I do."
+
+There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed:
+
+"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling
+life--every moment is a golden one.  If there is a drawback, it
+consists in not being able to speak one's mind."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Lillian.
+
+"Do you not understand?" was the reply.  "Lady Helena is always talking
+to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear
+grandmamma!  Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a
+simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling.
+I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system."
+
+"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister.
+
+"Yes," was the careless reply.  "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when
+Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the
+tears came to my eyes.  I could not help it, although the drawing room
+was full.  Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion.
+Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady
+Everton, I laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and
+she looked at me.  I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'"
+
+"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister.
+
+"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can
+not resist it.  When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper
+of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other
+people do the same thing.  I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of
+telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her
+affectation.  It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it
+not, Lily?  I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I
+fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner."
+
+"You are so frank and fearless!  At the Elms, do you remember how every
+one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right
+time?" asked Lillian.
+
+"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so
+different.  I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and gayety.  I
+feel good and contented now.  I was always restless and longing for
+life; now I have all I wish for."
+
+There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers
+were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words--that loved
+truth, and hated all things false--what kind of face accompanied that
+voice.  Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and
+he started in horror from his seat.  He pushed aside the clustering
+roses.  At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping
+laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over
+some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that
+something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips.
+
+He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl.
+Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes
+swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so
+sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving
+mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders.  It
+was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite
+coloring and charmingly molded features.  He hardly noticed the
+fair-haired girl.
+
+"Who can she be?" thought Lord Airlie.  "I believed that I had seen
+every beautiful woman in London."
+
+Satisfied with having seen what kind of face accompanied the voice, the
+young earl left the pretty rose thicket.  His friends must have thought
+him slightly deranged.  He went about asking every one, "Who is here
+today?"  Among others, he saluted Lord Dolchester with that question.
+
+"I can scarcely tell you," replied his lordship.  "I am somewhat in a
+puzzle.  If you want to know who is the queen of the fete, I can tell
+you.  It is Lord Earle's daughter, Miss Beatrice Earle. She is over
+there, see with Lady Downham."
+
+Looking in the direction indicated, Lord Airlee saw the face that
+haunted him.
+
+"Yes," said Lord Dolchester, with a gay laugh; "and if I were young and
+unfettered, she would not be Miss Earle much longer."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV
+
+Lord Airlie gazed long and earnestly at the beautiful girl who looked
+so utterly unconscious of the admiration she excited.
+
+"I must ask Lady Downham to introduce me," he said to himself,
+wondering whether the proud face would smile upon him, and, if she
+carried into practice her favorite theory of saying what she thought,
+what she would say to him.
+
+Lady Downham smiled when the young earl made his request.
+
+"I have been besieged by gentlemen requesting introductions to Miss
+Earle," she said.  "Contrary to your general rule, Lord Airlie, you go
+with the crowd."
+
+He would have gone anywhere for one word from those perfect lips. Lady
+Downham led him to the spot where Beatrice stood, and in a few
+courteous words introduced him to her.
+
+Lord Airlie was celebrated for his amiable, pleasing manner.  He always
+knew what to say and how to say it, but when those magnificent eyes
+looked into his own, the young earl stood silent and abashed.  In vain
+he tried confusedly to utter a few words; his face flushed, and
+Beatrice looked at him in wonder.--Could this man gazing so ardently at
+her be the impenetrable Lord Airlie?
+
+He managed at length to say something about the beauty of the grounds
+and the brightness of the day.  Plainly as eyes could speak, hers
+asked: Had he nothing to say?
+
+He lingered by her side, charmed and fascinated by her grace; she
+talked to Lillian and to Lady Helena; she received the homage offered
+to her so unconscious of his presence and his regard that Lord Airlie
+was piqued.  He was not accustomed to being overlooked.
+
+"Do you never grow tired of flowers and fetes, Miss Earle?" he asked at
+length.
+
+"No," replied Beatrice, "I could never grow tired of flowers--who
+could?  As for fetes, I have seen few, and have liked each one better
+than the last."
+
+"Perhaps your life has not been, like mine, spent among them," he said.
+
+"I have lived among flowers," she replied, "but not among fetes; they
+have all the charm of novelty for me."
+
+"I should like to enjoy them as you do," he said. "I wish you would
+teach me, Miss Earle."
+
+She laughed gayly, and the sound of that laugh, like a sweet, silvery
+chime, charmed Lord Airlie still more.
+
+He found out the prettiest pleasure boat, and persuaded Beatrice to let
+him row her across the lake.  He gathered a beautiful water lily for
+her.  When they landed, he found out a seat in the prettiest spot and
+placed her there.
+
+Her simple, gay manner delighted him.  He had never met any one like
+her.  She did not blush, or look conscious, or receive his attentions
+with the half-fluttered sentimental air common to most young ladies of
+his acquaintance.
+
+She never appeared to remember that he was Lord Airlie, nor sought by
+any artifice to keep him near her.  The bright, sunny hours seemed to
+pass rapidly as a dream.  Long before the day ended, the young earl
+said to himself that he had met his fate; that if it took years to win
+her he would count them well spent that in all the wide world she was
+the wife for him.
+
+Lord Earle was somewhat amused by the solicitude the young nobleman
+showed in making his acquaintance and consulting his tastes.  After
+Lady Downham's fete he called regularly at the house.  Lady Helena
+liked him, but could hardly decide which of her grandchildren it was
+that attracted him.
+
+The fastidious young earl, who had smiled at the idea of love and had
+disappointed half the fashionable mothers in Belgravia, found himself a
+victim at last.
+
+He was diffident of his own powers, hardly daring to hope that he
+should succeed in winning the most beautiful and gifted girl in London.
+He was timid in her presence, and took refuge with Lillian.
+
+All fashionable London was taken by surprise when Lord Airlie threw
+open his magnificent house, and, under the gracious auspices of his
+aunt, Lady Lecomte, issued invitations for a grand ball.
+
+Many were the conjectures, and great was the excitement.  Lord Earle
+smiled as he showed Lady Helena the cards of invitation.
+
+"Of course you will go," he said.  "We have no engagement for that day.
+See that the girls look their best, mother."
+
+He felt very proud of his daughters--Lillian, looking so fair and sweet
+in her white silk dress and favorite pearls!  Beatrice, like a queen,
+in a cloud of white lace, with coquettish dashes of crimson.  The Earle
+diamonds shone in her dark hair, clasped the fair white throat, and
+encircled the beautiful arms.  A magnificent pomegranate blossom lay in
+the bodice of her dress, and she carried a bouquet of white lilies
+mixed with scarlet verbena.
+
+The excitement as to the ball had been great.  It seemed like a step in
+the right direction at last.  The great question was, with whom would
+Lord Airlie open the ball?  Every girl was on the qui vive.
+
+The question was soon decided.  When Beatrice Earle entered the room,
+Lord Airlie went straight to meet her and solicited her hand for the
+first dance.  She did not know how much was meant by that one action.
+
+He wondered, as he looked upon her, the queen of the most brilliant
+ball of the season, whether she would ever love him if it was within
+the bounds of possibility that she should ever care for him.  That
+evening, for the first time, he touched the proud heart of Beatrice
+Earle.  On all sides she had heard nothing but praises of Lord Airlie
+his wealth, his talents, his handsome person and chivalrous manner.
+The ladies were eloquent in praise of their young host.  She looked at
+him, and for the first time remarked the noble, dignified carriage, the
+tall, erect figure, the clear-cut patrician face--not handsome
+according to the rules of beauty, but from the truth and honor written
+there in nature's plainest hand.
+
+Then she saw--and it struck her with surprise  how Lord Airlie, so
+courted and run after, sought her out.  She saw smiles on friendly
+faces, and heard her name mingled with his.
+
+"My dear Miss Earle," said Lady Everton, "you have accomplished
+wonders--conquered the unconquerable.  I believe every eligible young
+lady in London has smiled upon Lord Airlie, and all in vain.  What
+charm have you used to bring him to your feet?"
+
+"I did not know that he was at my feet," replied Beatrice.  "You like
+figurative language, Lady Everton."
+
+"You will find I am right," returned lady Everton.  "Remember I was the
+first to congratulate you."
+
+Beatrice wondered, in a sweet, vague way, if there could be anything in
+it.  She looked again at Lord Airlie.  Surely any one might be proud of
+the love of such a man.  He caught her glance, and her face flushed.
+In a moment he was by her side.
+
+"Miss Earle," he said, eagerly, "you told me the other day you liked
+flowers.  If you have not been in the conservatory, may I escort you
+there?"
+
+She silently accepted his arm, and they went through the magnificent
+suite of rooms into the cool, fragrant conservatory.
+
+The pretty fountain in the midst rippled musically, and the lamps
+gleamed like pale stars among masses of gorgeous color.
+
+Beatrice was almost bewildered by the profusion of beautiful plants.
+Tier upon tier of superb flowers rose until the eye was dazzled by the
+varied hues and brightness--delicate white heaths of rare perfection,
+flaming azaleas, fuchsias that looked like showers of purple-red wine.
+The plant that charmed Beatrice most was one from far-off Indian
+climes--delicate, perfumed blossoms, hanging like golden bells from
+thick, sheltering green leaves. Miss Earle stood before it, silent in
+sheer admiration.
+
+"You like that flower?" said Lord Airlie.
+
+"It is one of the prettiest I ever saw," she replied.
+
+In a moment he gathered the fairest sprays from the precious tree.  She
+cried out in dismay at the destruction.
+
+"Nay," said Lord Airlie, "if every flower here could be compressed into
+one blossom, it would hardly be a fitting offering to you."
+
+She smiled at the very French compliment, and he continued--"I shall
+always have a great affection for that tree."
+
+"Why?" she asked, unconsciously.
+
+"Because it has pleased you," he replied.
+
+They stood by the pretty plant, Beatrice touching the golden bells
+softly with her fingers.  Something of the magic of the scene touched
+her.  She did not know why the fountain rippled so musically, why the
+flowers seemed doubly fair as her young lover talked to her.  She had
+been loved.  She had heard much of love, but she herself had never
+known what it really meant.  She did not know why, after a time, her
+proud, bright eyes drooped, and had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why
+her face flushed and grew pale, why his words woke a new, strange,
+beautiful music in her heart--music that never died until--
+
+"I ask for one spray--only one--to keep in memory of this pleasant
+hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause.
+
+She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells.
+
+"I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you ever
+gave any one a flower before?"
+
+"No," she replied.
+
+"Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her.
+
+That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully away.  The
+time came when he would have parted with any treasure on earth rather
+than that.
+
+But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice.  For a moment her
+thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford.  The present faded from
+her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he offered her the
+beautiful lily.  The very remembrance of it made her shudder as though
+seized with deathly cold--and Lord Airlie saw it.
+
+"You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing here!"
+He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her shoulders, and
+Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they returned to the ball room;
+but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss Earle.
+
+"You have enjoyed the ball, Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as he bade his
+daughters good night.
+
+"I have, indeed, papa," she replied.  "This has been the happiest
+evening of my life."
+
+"I can guess why," thought Lord Earle, as he kissed the bright face
+upraised to him; "there will be no wretched underhand love business
+there."
+
+He was not much surprised on the day following when Lord Airlie was the
+first morning caller, and the last to leave, not going until Lady
+Helena told him that they should all be at the opera that evening and
+should perhaps see him there.  He regretted that he had promised Lady
+Morton his box for the night, when Lady Earle felt herself bound to ask
+him to join them in theirs.
+
+All night Beatrice had dreamed of the true, noble face which began to
+haunt her.  She, usually so regardless of all flattery, remembered
+every word Lord Airlie had spoken.  Could it be true, as Lady Everton
+had said, that he cared for her?
+
+Her lover would have been spared many anxious hours could he have seen
+how the golden blossoms were tended and cared for.  Long afterward they
+were found with the little treasures which young girls guard so
+carefully.
+
+When Lord Airlie had taken his departure and Lord Earle found himself
+alone with his mother, he turned to her with the happiest look she had
+ever seen upon his face.
+
+"That seems to me a settled affair," he said.  "Beatrice will make a
+grand countess--Lady Airlie of Lynnton.  He is the finest young fellow
+and the best match in England.  Ah, mother, my folly might have been
+punished more severely.  There will no mesalliance there."
+
+"No," said Lady Earle, "I have no fears for Beatrice; she is too proud
+ever to do wrong."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV
+
+It was a pretty love story, although told in crowded London ball rooms
+instead of under the shade of green trees.  Beatrice Earle began by
+wondering if Lord Airlie cared for her; she ended by loving him herself.
+
+It was no child's play this time.  With Beatrice, to love once was to
+love forever, with fervor and intensity which cold and worldly natures
+can not even understand.
+
+The time came when Lord Airlie stood out distinct from all the world,
+when the sound of his name was like music, when she saw no other face,
+heard no other voice, thought of nothing else save him.  He began to
+think there might be some hope for him; the proud, beautiful face
+softened and brightened for him as it did for no other, and the
+glorious dark eyes never met his own, the frank, bright words died away
+in his presence.  Seeing all these things, Lord Airlie felt some little
+hope.
+
+For the first time he felt proud and pleased with the noble fortune and
+high rank that were his by birthright.  He had not cared much for them
+before; now he rejoiced that he could lavish wealth and luxury upon one
+so fair and worthy as Beatrice Earle.
+
+Lord Airlie was not a confident lover.  There were times when he felt
+uncertain as to whether he should succeed.  Perhaps true and
+reverential love is always timid.  Lord Earle had smiled to himself
+many long weeks at the "pretty play" enacted before him, and Lady
+Helena had wondered when the young man would "speak out" long before
+Lord Airlie himself presumed to think that the fairest and proudest
+girl in London would accept him.
+
+No day ever passed during which he did not manage to see her.  He was
+indefatigable in finding out the balls, soirees, and operas she would
+attend.  He was her constant shadow, never happy out of her sight,
+thinking of her all day, dreaming of her all night, yet half afraid to
+risk all and ask her to be his wife, lest he should lose her.
+
+To uninterested speculators Lord Airlie was a handsome, kindly,
+honorable young man.  Intellectual, somewhat fastidious, lavishly
+generous, a great patron of fine arts; to Beatrice Earle he was the
+ideal of all that was noble and to be admired.  He was a prince among
+men.  The proud heart was conquered.  She loved him and said to herself
+that she would rather love him as a neglected wife than be the
+worshiped wife of any other man.
+
+She had many admirers; "the beautiful Miss Earle" was the belle of the
+season.  Had she been inclined to coquetry or flirtation she would not
+have been so eagerly sought after.  The gentlemen were quite as much
+charmed by her utter indifference and haughty acceptance of their
+homage as by her marvelous beauty.
+
+At times Beatrice felt sure that Lord Airlie loved her; then a sudden
+fit of timidity would seize her young lover, and again she would doubt
+it.  One thing she never doubted--her own love for him.  If her dreams
+were all false, and he never asked her to be his wife, she said to
+herself that she would never be the wife of any other man.
+
+The remembrance of Hugh Fernely crossed her mind at times--not very
+often, and never with any great fear or apprehension.  It seemed to her
+more like a dark, disagreeable dream than a reality.  Could it be
+possible that she, Beatrice Earle, the daughter of that proud, noble
+father, so sternly truthful, so honorable, could ever have been so mad
+or so foolish?  The very remembrance of it made the beautiful face
+flush crimson.  She could not endure the thought, and always drove it
+hastily from her.
+
+The fifteenth of July was drawing near; the two years had nearly
+passed, yet she was not afraid.  He might never return, he might forget
+her, although, remembering his looks and words, that, she feared, could
+not be.
+
+If he went to Seabay--if he went to the Elms, it was not probable that
+he would ever discover her whereabouts, or follow her to claim the
+fulfillment of her absurd promise.  At the very worst, if he discovered
+that she was Lord Earle's daughter, she believed that her rank and
+position would dazzle and frighten him.  Rarely as those thoughts came
+to her, and speedily as she thrust them from her, she considered them a
+dear price for the little novelty and excitement that had broken the
+dead level calm of life at the Elms.
+
+Lord Airlie, debating within himself whether he should risk, during the
+whirl and turmoil of the London season, the question upon which the
+happiness of his life depended, decided that he would wait until Lord
+Earle returned to Earlescourt, and follow him there.
+
+The summer began to grow warm; the hawthorn and apple blossoms had all
+died away; the corn waved in the fields, ripe and golden; the hay was
+all gathered in; the orchards were all filled with fruit.  The
+fifteenth of July--the day that in her heart Beatrice Earle had half
+feared--was past and gone.  She had been nervous and half frightened
+when it came, starting and turning deathly pale at the sound of the
+bell or of rapid footsteps.  She laughed at herself when the day ended.
+How was it likely he would find her?  What was there in common between
+the beautiful daughter of Lord Earle and Hugh Fernely, the captain of a
+trading vessel?  Nothing, save folly and a foolish promise rashly asked
+and rashly given.
+
+Three days before Lord Earle left London, he went by appointment to
+meet some friends at Brookes's.  While there, a gentleman entered the
+room who attracted his attention, most forcibly--a young man of tall
+and stately figure, with a noble head, magnificently set upon broad
+shoulders; a fine, manly face, with proud, mobile features--at times
+all fire and light, the eyes clear and glowing, again, gentle as the
+face of a smiling woman. Lord Earle looked at him attentively; there
+seemed to be something familiar in the outline of the head and face,
+the haughty yet graceful carriage.
+
+"Who is that?" he inquired of his friend, Captain Langdon. "I have seen
+that gentleman before, or have dreamed of him."
+
+"Is it possible that you do not know him?" cried the captain. "That is
+Lionel Dacre, 'your next of kin,' if I am not mistaken."
+
+Pleasure and pain struggled in Lord Earle's heart.  He remembered
+Lionel many years ago, long before he committed the foolish act that
+had cost him so much.  Lionel had spent some time with him at
+Earlescourt; he remembered a handsome and high-spirited boy, proud and
+impetuous, brave to rashness, generous to a fault; a fierce hater of
+everything mean and underhand; truthful and honorable--his greatest
+failing, want of cool, calm thought.
+
+Lionel Dacre was poor in those days; now he was heir to Earlescourt,
+heir to the title that, with all his strange political notions, Ronald
+Earle ever held in high honor; heir to the grand old mansion and fair
+domain his father had prized so highly.  Pleasure and pain were
+strangely intermingled in his heart when he remembered that no son of
+his would every succeed him, that he should never train his successor.
+The handsome boy that had grown into so fine a man must take his place
+one day.
+
+Lord Earle crossed the room, and going up to the young man, laid one
+hand gently upon his shoulder.
+
+"Lionel," he said, "it is many years since we met.  Have you no
+remembrance of me?"
+
+The frank, clear eyes looked straight into his.  Lord Earle's heart
+warmed as he gazed at the honest, handsome face.
+
+"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Dacre, slowly.  "I do not
+remember ever to have seen you before."
+
+"Then I must have changed," said Lord Earle.  "When I saw you last,
+Lionel, you were not much more than twelve years old, and I gave you a
+'tip' the day you went back to Eton.  Charlie Villiers was with you."
+
+"Then you are Lord Earle," returned Lionel. "I came to London purposely
+to see you," and his frank face flushed, and he held out his hand in
+greeting.
+
+"I have been anxious to see you," said Lord Earle; "but I have not been
+long in England.  We must be better acquainted; you are my heir at law."
+
+"Your what?" said Mr. Dacre, wonderingly.
+
+"My heir," replied Lord Earle.  "I have no son; my estates are
+entailed, and you are my next of kin."
+
+"I thought you had half a dozen heirs and heiresses," said Lionel.  "I
+remember some story of a romantic marriage.  Today I hear of nothing
+but the beautiful Miss Earle."
+
+"I have no son," interrupted Lord Earle, sadly. "I wrote to you last
+week, asking you to visit me.  Have you any settled home?"
+
+"No," replied the young man gayly.  "My mother is at Cowes, and I have
+been staying with her."
+
+"Where are you now?" asked Lord Earle.
+
+"I am with Captain Poyntz, at his chambers; I promised to spend some
+days with him," replied Lionel, who began to look slightly bewildered.
+
+"I must not ask you to break an engagement," said Lord Earle, "but will
+you dine with us this evening, and, when you leave Captain Poyntz, come
+to us?"
+
+"I shall be very pleased," said Lionel, and the two gentlemen left
+Brookes's together.
+
+"I must introduce you to Lady Earle and my daughters," said Ronald, as
+they walked along.  "I have been so long absent from home and friends
+that it seems strange to claim relationship with any one."
+
+"I could never understand your fancy for broiling in Africa, when you
+might have been happier at home," said Lionel.
+
+"Did you not know?  Have you not heard why I went abroad?" asked Lord
+Earle, gravely.
+
+"No," replied Lionel.  "Your father never invited me to Earlescourt
+after you left."
+
+In a few words Lord Earle told his heir that he had married against his
+father's wish, and in consequence had never been pardoned.
+
+"And you gave up everything," said Lionel Dacre--"home, friends, and
+position, for the love of a woman.  She must have been well worth
+loving."
+
+Lord Earle grew pale, as with sudden pain.  Had Dora been so well worth
+loving?  Had she been worth the heavy price?
+
+"You are my heir," he said gravely--"one of my own race; before you
+enter our circle, Lionel, and take your place there, I must tell you
+that my wife and I parted years ago, never to meet again.  Do not
+mention her to me--it pains me."
+
+Lionel looked at the sad face; he could understand the shadows there
+now.
+
+"I will not," he said.  "She must have been--"
+
+"Not one word more," interrupted Lord Earle.  "In your thoughts lay no
+unjust blame on her. She left me of her own free will. My mother lives
+with me; she will be pleased to see you. Remember--seven sharp."
+
+"I shall not forget," said Lionel, pained at the sad words and the sad
+voice.
+
+As Lord Earle went home for the first time during the long years, a
+softer and more gentle thought of Dora came to him.  "She must have
+been--"  What--what did Lionel suspect of her?  Could it be that,
+seeing their divided lives, people judged as his young kinsman had
+judged--that they thought Dora to blame--criminal, perhaps?  And she
+had never in her whole life given one thought to any other than
+himself; nay, her very errors--the deed he could not pardon--sprung
+from her great affection for him.  Poor Dora!  The pretty, blushing
+face, with its sweet, shy eyes, and rosy lips, came before him--the
+artless, girlish love, the tender worship.  If it had been anything
+else, any other fault, Ronald must have forgiven her in that hour.  But
+his whole heart recoiled again as the hated scene rose before him.
+
+"No," he said, "I can not forgive it.  I can not forget it.  Men shall
+respect Dora; no one must misjudge her; but I can not take her to my
+heart or my home again.  In the hour of death," he murmured, "I will
+forgive her."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI
+
+Lady Earle thought her son looked graver and sadder that day than she
+had ever seen him.  She had not the clew to his reflections; she did
+not know how he was haunted by the thought of the handsome, gallant
+young man who must be his heir--how he regretted that no son of his
+would ever succeed him--how proud he would have been of a son like
+Lionel.  He had but two children, and they must some day leave
+Earlescourt for homes of their own.  The grand old house, the fair
+domain, must all pass into the hands of strangers unless Lionel married
+one of the beautiful girls he loved so dearly.
+
+Lady Helena understood a little of what was passing in his mind when he
+told her that he had met Lionel Dacre, who was coming to dine with him
+that day.
+
+"I used to hope Beatrice might like him," said Lady Earle; "but that
+will never be--Lord Airlie has been too quick.  I hope he will not fall
+in love with her; it would only end in disappointment."
+
+"He may like Lillian," said Lord Earle.
+
+"Yes," assented Lady Helena.  "Sweet Lily--she seems almost too pure
+and fair for this dull earth of ours."
+
+"If they both marry, mother," said Ronald, sadly, "we shall be quite
+alone."
+
+"Yes," she returned, "quite alone," and the words smote her with pain.
+She looked at the handsome face, with its sad, worn expression.  Was
+life indeed all over for her son--at the age, too, when other men
+sunned themselves in happiness, when a loving wife should have graced
+his home, cheered and consoled him, shared his sorrows, crowned his
+life with love?  In the midst of his wealth and prosperity, how lonely
+he was!  Could it be possible that one act of disobedience should have
+entailed such sad consequences?  Ah, if years ago Ronald had listened
+to reason, to wise and tender counsel--if he had but given up Dora and
+married Valentine Charteris, how different his life would have been,
+how replete with blessings and happiness, how free from care!
+
+Lady Earle's eyes grew dim with tears as these thoughts passed through
+her mind.  She went up to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder.
+
+"Ronald," she said, "I will do my best to make home happy after our
+bonny birds are caged.  For your sake, I wish things had been
+different."
+
+"Hush, mother," he replied gently.  "Words are all useless.  I must
+reap as I have sown; the fruits of disobedience and deceit could never
+beget happiness.  I shall always believe that evil deeds bring their
+own punishment.  Do not pity me--it unnerves me.  I can bear my fate."
+
+Lady Helena was pleased to see Lionel again.  She had always liked him,
+and rejoiced now in his glorious manhood.  He stood before the two
+sisters, half dazzled by their beauty.  The fair faces smiled upon him;
+pretty, white hands were outstretched to meet his own.
+
+"I am bewildered by my good fortune," he said. "I shall be the envy of
+every man in London; people will no longer call me Lionel Dacre.  I
+shall be known as the cousin of 'Les Demoiselles Earle.'  I have
+neither brother nor sister of my own.  Fancy the happiness of falling
+into the midst of such a family group."
+
+"And being made welcome there!" interrupted Beatrice.  Lionel bowed
+profoundly.  At first he fancied he preferred this brilliant, beautiful
+girl to her fair, gentle sister.  Her frank, fearless talk delighted
+him.  After the general run of young ladies--all fashioned, he thought,
+after one model--it was refreshing to meet her.  Her ideas were so
+original.
+
+Lord Airlie joined the little dinner party, and then Lionel Dacre read
+the secret which Beatrice hardly owned even to herself.
+
+"I shall not be shipwrecked on that rock," he said to himself. "When
+Beatrice Earle speaks to me her eyes meet mine; she smiles, and does
+not seem afraid of me; but when Lord Airlie speaks she turns from him,
+and her beautiful eyes droop.  She evidently cares more for him than
+for all the world besides."
+
+But after a time the fair, spirituelle loveliness of Lillian stole into
+his heart.  There was a marked difference between the two sisters.
+Beatrice took one by storm, so to speak; her magnificent beauty and
+queenly grace dazzled and charmed one. With Lillian it was different.
+Eclipsed at first sight by her more brilliant sister, her fair beauty
+grew upon one by degrees. The sweet face, the thoughtful brow, the deep
+dreamy eyes, the golden ripples of hair, the ethereal expression on the
+calm features, seemed gradually to reveal their charm. Many who at
+first overlooked Lillian, thinking only of her brilliant sister, ended
+by believing her to be the more beautiful of the two.
+
+They stood together that evening, the two sisters, in the presence of
+Lord Airlie and Lionel Dacre.  Beatrice had been singing, and the air
+seemed still to vibrate with the music of her passionate voice.
+
+"You sing like a siren," said Mr. Dacre; he felt no diffidence in
+offering so old a compliment to his kins-woman.
+
+"No," replied Beatrice; "I may sing well--in fact, I believe I do.  My
+heart is full of music, and it overflows on my lips; but I am no siren,
+Mr. Dacre.  No one ever heard of a siren with dusky hair and dark brows
+like mine."
+
+"I should have said you sing like an enchantress," interposed Lord
+Airlie, hoping that he was apter in his compliments.
+
+"You have been equally wrong, my lord," she replied, but she did not
+laugh at him as she had done at Lionel.  "If I were an enchantress,"
+she continued, "I should just wave my wand, and that vase of flowers
+would come to me; as it is, I must go to it. Who can have arranged
+those flowers?  They have been troubling me for the last half hour."
+She crossed the room, and took from a small side table an exquisite
+vase filled with blossoms.
+
+"See," she cried, turning to Lionel, "white heath, white roses, white
+lilies, intermixed with these pale gray flowers!  There is no contrast
+in such an arrangement.  Watch the difference which a glowing
+pomegranate blossom or a scarlet verbena will make."
+
+"You do not like such quiet harmony?" said Lionel, smiling, thinking
+how characteristic the little incident was.
+
+"No," she replied; "give me striking contrasts.  For many years the web
+of my life was gray-colored, and I longed for a dash of scarlet in its
+threads."
+
+"You have it now," said Mr. Dacre, quietly.
+
+"Yes," she said, as she turned her beautiful, bright fact to him; "I
+have it now, never to lose it again."
+
+Lord Airlie, looking on and listening, drinking in every word that fell
+from her lips, wondered whether love was the scarlet thread interwoven
+with her life.  He sighed deeply as he said to himself that it would
+not be; this brilliant girl could never care for him.  Beatrice heard
+the sigh and turned to him.
+
+"Does your taste resemble mine, Lord Airlie?"
+
+"I," interrupted Lord Airlie--"I like whatever you like, Miss Earle."
+
+"Yourself best of all," whispered Lionel to Beatrice with a smile.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+As Mr. Dacre walked home that evening, he thought long and anxiously
+about the two young girls, his kins-women.  What was the mystery? he
+asked himself--what skeleton was locked away in the gay mansion?  Where
+was Lord Earle's wife--the lady who ought to have been at the head of
+his table--the mother of his children?  Where was she?  Why was her
+place empty?  Why was her husband's face shadowed and lined with care?
+
+"Lillian Earle is the fairest and sweetest girl I have ever met," he
+said to himself.  "I know there is danger for me in those sweet, true
+eyes, but if there be anything wrong--if the mother is blameworthy--I
+will fly from the danger.  I believe in hereditary virtue and in
+hereditary vice.  Before I fall in love with Lillian, I must know her
+mother's story."
+
+So he said, and he meant it.  There was no means of arriving at the
+knowledge.  The girls spoke at times of their mother, and it was always
+with deep love and respect.  Lady Helena mentioned her, but her name
+never passed the lips of Lord Earle.  Lionel Dacre saw no way of
+obtaining information in the matter.
+
+There was no concealment as to Dora's abode.  Once, by special
+privilege, he was invited into the pretty room where the ladies sat in
+the morning--a cozy, cheerful room, into which visitors never
+penetrated.  There, upon the wall, he saw a picture framed a beautiful
+landscape, a quiet homestead in the midst of rich, green meadows; and
+Lillian told him, with a smile, that was the Elms, at Knutsford, "where
+mamma lived."
+
+Lionel was too true a gentleman to ask why she lived there; he praised
+the painting, and then turned the subject.
+
+As Lady Earle foresaw, the time had arrived when Dora's children partly
+understood there was a division in the family, a breach never to be
+healed.  "Mamma was quite different from papa," they said to each
+other; and Lady Helena told them their mother did not like fashion and
+gayety, that she had been simply brought up, used always to quietness
+and solitude, so that in all probability she would never come to
+Earlescourt.
+
+But as time went on, and Beatrice began to understand more of the great
+world, she had an instinctive idea of the truth.  It came to her by
+slow degrees.  Her father had married beneath him, and her mother had
+no home in the stately hall of Earlescourt.  At first violent
+indignation seized her; then calmer reflection told her she could not
+judge correctly.  She did not know whether Lord Earle had left his
+wife, or whether her mother had refused to live with him.
+
+It was the first cloud that shadowed the life of Lord Earle's beautiful
+daughter.  The discovery did not diminish her love for the quiet, sad
+mother, whose youth and beauty had faded so soon. If possible, she
+loved her more; there was a pitying tenderness in her affection.
+
+"Poor mamma!" thought the young girl--"poor, gentle mamma!  I must be
+doubly kind to her, and love her better than ever."
+
+Dora did not understand how it happened that her beautiful Beatrice
+wrote so constantly and so fondly to her--how it happened that week
+after week costly presents found their way to the Elms.
+
+"The child must spend all her pocket money on me," she said to herself.
+"How well and dearly she loves me--my beautiful Beatrice!"
+
+Lady Helena remembered the depth of her mother's love.  She pitied the
+lonely, unloved wife, deprived of husband and children.  She did all in
+her power to console her.  She wrote long letters, telling Dora how
+greatly her children were admired, and how she would like their mother
+to witness their triumph. She told how many conquests Beatrice had
+made; how the proud and exclusive Lord Airlie was always near her, and
+that Beatrice, of her own fancy, liked him better than any one else.
+
+"Neither Lord Earle nor myself could wish a more brilliant future for
+Beatrice," wrote Lady Helena.  "As Lady Airlie of Lynnton, she will be
+placed as her birth and beauty deserve."
+
+But even Lady Helena was startled when she read Dora's reply.  It was a
+wild prayer that her child should be saved--spared the deadly perils of
+love and marriage--left to enjoy her innocent youth.
+
+"There is no happy love," wrote poor Dora, "and never can be. Men can
+not be patient, gentle, and true.  It is ever self they
+worship--self-reflected in the woman they love.  Oh, Lady Helena, let
+my child be spared!  Let no so-called love come near her!  Love found
+me out in my humble home, and wrecked all my life.  Do not let my
+bright, beautiful Beatrice suffer as I have done.  I would rather fold
+my darlings in my arms and lie down with them to die than live to see
+them pass through the cruel mockery of love and sorrow which I have
+endured.  Lady Helena, do not laugh; your letter distressed me.  I
+dreamed last night, after reading it, that I placed a wedding veil on
+my darling's head, when, as it fell round her, it changed suddenly into
+a shroud.  A mother's love is true, and mine tells me that Beatrice is
+in danger."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII
+
+"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to some
+remark made by Lady Helena.  "The girls do not care for the
+sea--Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better than to
+return to Earlescourt.  It may not be quite fashionable, but it will be
+very pleasant."
+
+"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as home.  We
+owe our neighbors something, too.  I am almost ashamed when I remember
+how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and pleasant hospitality.
+We must introduce the girls to our neighbors.  I can foresee quite a
+cheerful winter."
+
+"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a smile,
+"then we will look the winter bravely in the face.  I suppose, mother,
+you can guess who has managed to procure an invitation to Earlescourt!"
+
+"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena.
+
+"Yes," was the laughing reply.  "It did me good, mother--it made me
+feel young and happy again to see and hear him.  His handsome, frank
+face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed said London
+would be like a desert--declared he could not go to Lynnton, the place
+was full of work-people.  He did not like Scotland, and was as homeless
+as a wealthy young peer with several estates could well be.  I allowed
+him to bewilder himself with confused excuses and blunders, and then
+asked him to join us at Earlescourt.  He almost 'jumped for joy,' as
+the children say. He will follow us in a week or ten days.  Lionel will
+come with us."
+
+"I am very pleased," said Lady Earle.  "Next to you, Ronald, I love
+Lionel Dacre; his frank, proud, fearless disposition has a great charm
+for me.  He is certainly like Beatrice.  How he detests everything
+false, just as she does!"
+
+"Yes," said Ronald, gravely; "I am proud of my children.  There is no
+taint of untruth or deceit there, mother; they are worthy of their
+race.  I consider Beatrice the noblest girl I have ever known; and I
+love my sweet Lily just as well."
+
+"You would not like to part with them now?" said Lady Earle.
+
+"I would sooner part with my life!" he replied.  "I am not given to
+strong expressions, mother, but even you could never guess how my life
+is bound up in theirs."
+
+"Then let me say one word, Ronald," said his mother; "remember Dora
+loves them as dearly and as deeply as you do.  Just think for a moment
+what it has cost her to give them up to you!  She must see them soon,
+with your full consent and permission.  They can go to her if you will."
+
+"You are right, mother," he said, after a few minutes.  "They are
+Dora's children, and she ought to see them; but they must not return to
+that farm house--I can not bear the thought of it. Surely they can meet
+on neutral ground--at your house, say, or in London; and let it be at
+Christmas."
+
+"It had better be in London," said Lady Helena.  "I will write to Dora,
+and tell her.  The very anticipation of it will make her happy until
+the time arrives--she loves the children so dearly."
+
+And again a softened thought of Dora came to her husband.  Of course
+she loved them.  The little villa at Florence rose before him; he saw
+vividly, as though he had left it but yesterday, the pretty vine-shaded
+room where Dora used to sit nursing the little ones.  He remembered her
+sweet patience, her never-failing, gentle love.  Had he done right to
+wound that sad heart afresh by taking those children from her?  Was it
+a just and fitting reward for the watchful love and care of those
+lonely years?
+
+He would fain have pardoned her, but he could not; and he said to
+himself again: "In the hour of death! I will forgive her then."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The glowing August, so hot and dusty in London, was like a dream of
+beauty at Earlescourt.  The tall trees gave grateful shelter, baffling
+the sun's warm rays; the golden corn stood in the broad fields ready
+for the sickle; the hedge-rows were filled with flowers.  The beech
+trees in the park were in full perfection. Fruit hung ripe and heavy in
+the orchards.  It was no longer the blossoming promise of spring, but
+the perfect glory of summer.
+
+For many long years Earlescourt had not been so gay.  The whole
+country-side rang with fashionable intelligence.  The house was filled
+with visitors, Lord Airlie heading the list.  Lionel Dacre, thinking
+but little of the time when the grand old place would be his own, was
+full of life and spirits.
+
+Long arrears of hospitalities and festivities had to be repaid to the
+neighborhood.  Beatrice and Lillian had to make their debut there.
+Lady Helena decided upon commencing the programme with a grand dinner
+party, to be followed by a ball in the evening. Ronald said something
+about the weather being warm for dancing.
+
+"We danced in London, papa," said Beatrice, "when the heat was so great
+that I should not have felt any surprise if the whole roomful of people
+had dissolved.  Here we have space--large, cool rooms, fresh air, a
+conservatory as large as a London house; it will be child's play in
+comparison with what we have gone through."
+
+"Miss Earle is quite right," said Lord Airlie.  "A ball during the
+season in London is a toil; here it would be nothing but a pleasure."
+
+"Then a ball let it be," said Lord Earle.  "Lillian, make out a list of
+invitations, and head it with Sir Harry and Lady Laurence of Holtham
+Hall.  That reminds me, their eldest son, Gaspar, came home yesterday
+from Germany; do not forget to include him."
+
+"Little Gaspar," cried Lady Helena--"has he returned?  I should like to
+see him."
+
+"Little Gaspar," said Lord Earle, laughing, "is six feet high now,
+mother.  You forget how time flies; he is taller than Lionel, and a
+fine, handsome young fellow he is.  He will be quite an acquisition."
+
+Lord Earle was too much engrossed to remark the uneasiness his few
+words had caused.  Lord Airlie winced at the idea of a rival a handsome
+man, and sentimental, too, as all those people educated in Germany are!
+
+"I can not understand what possesses English people to send their sons
+abroad for education," he said to Beatrice--"and to Germany of all
+places in the world."
+
+"Why should they not?" she asked.
+
+"The people are so absurdly sentimental," he replied.  "Whenever I see
+a man with long hair and dreamy eyes, I know he is a German."
+
+"You are unjust," said Beatrice, as she left him to join Lillian.
+
+"You are jealous," said Lionel, who had overheard the conversation.
+"Look out for a rival in the lists, my lord."
+
+"I wish this tiresome ball were over," sighed Lord Airlie.  "I shall
+have no chance of speaking while it is on the tapis."
+
+But he soon forgot his chagrin.  The formidable Gaspar appeared that
+very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that he was at
+once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that she paid no heed
+whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few words of courteous
+greeting, she returned to the point under discussion--what flowers
+would look best in the ball room.
+
+"If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be a
+gorgeous mass of bloom--something worth looking at; not a few pale
+blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let us have
+flowers full of life and fragrance.  Lillian, you know what I mean; you
+remember Lady Manton's flowers--tier after tier of magnificent color."
+
+"You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, with
+a well-pleased smile.
+
+"If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord Airlie, "I
+will send to Lynnton.  My gardener considers himself a past master of
+his art."
+
+"My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in profusion.
+You have not been through the conservatories. It would while away the
+morning pleasantly for you all.  Beatrice, select what flowers you
+will, and have them arranged as you like."
+
+"See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong will
+is!  Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants in full
+flower would be sufficient!  We will surprise him.  If the gardener
+loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think probable, he must be
+taken care of."
+
+Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and piquant,
+melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then taking refuge
+in icy coldness and sunny laughter.  Beautiful, dazzling, capricious,
+changing almost every minute, yet charming as she changed, he would not
+have bartered one of her proudest smiles or least words for anything on
+earth.
+
+He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers.  It was a glimpse
+of elysium to him.  The way in which Beatrice contrived to do as she
+liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever among the blooming
+flowers.
+
+"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last.  "We have been here
+nearly three hours."
+
+"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am
+sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me
+confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball
+room."
+
+"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I
+like dancing among the bright flowers.  Why should we not have
+everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?"
+
+"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely.  "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not
+always young and beautiful and happy?  Why must flowers die, beauty
+fade, love grow old?  Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. I know the
+answer, but let some one else give it to you."
+
+"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said.  "I like
+flowers, music, and dancing better.  I hope I shall never tire of them;
+sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I feel that I
+shall never live to grow old.  I can not imagine my eyes dim or my hair
+gray.  I can not imagine my heart beating slowly.  I can not realize a
+day when the warmth and beauty of life will have changed into cold and
+dullness."
+
+Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, spirituelle
+face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into hers, and a soft
+voice whispered to her of something not earthly, not of flowers and
+music, not of life and gayety, something far beyond these, and the
+proud eyes for a moment grew dim with tears.
+
+"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor to be.
+Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will be good, dear."
+
+Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more entrancing than
+ever.
+
+"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to himself,
+looking at Lillian--"some one to guide me, to teach me. Ah, if women
+only understood their mission!  That girl looked as I can imagine only
+guardian angels look--I wish she would be mine."
+
+Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, more in
+love than ever.
+
+He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then he
+would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife.  If she refused him, he would
+go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, he would be her
+devoted slave.  She should be a queen, and he would be her knight.
+
+Ah!  What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing
+should be his.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII
+
+Lord Airlie muttered something that was not a benediction when, on the
+morning following, Gaspar Laurence made his appearance at Earlescourt.
+
+"We can not receive visitors this morning," said Beatrice, half
+impatiently.  "Mr. Laurence must have forgotten the ball tonight."
+
+But Mr. Laurence had forgotten nothing of the kind.  It was a delicious
+morning, the sun shining brightly and clearly, the westerly breeze
+blowing fresh and cool.  He had thought it likely that the young ladies
+would spend the morning out-of-doors, and begged permission to join
+them.
+
+Lady Earle was pleased with the idea.  Lord Airlie mentioned something
+about fatigue, but he was overruled.
+
+"Stroll in the grounds," said Lady Helena; "go down by the lake; I will
+join you there afterward.  A few hours in the fresh air will be the
+best preparation for the ball."
+
+They went together.  Gaspar's preference soon became apparent he would
+not leave Beatrice, and Lord Airlie devotedly wished him at the
+antipodes.
+
+They sat down under the shade of a tall lady-birch, the deep, sunlit
+lake shining through the trees.  Then Gaspar, taking a little book in
+his hands, asked:
+
+"Have you read 'Undine,' Miss Earle--Fouque's 'Undine?'"
+
+"No," she replied; "I am half ashamed to say so."
+
+"It is the sweetest, saddest story ever written," he continued. "This
+is just the morning for it.  May I read it to you?"
+
+There was a general and pleased murmur of assent.  Lord Airlie muttered
+to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German sentiment--at
+their expense.
+
+Still it was very pleasant.  There was a gentle ripple on the deep
+lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed with a faint,
+musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy branches rustled in the
+wind; the birds sang in the trees.
+
+Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not a word
+of the beautiful story was lost.
+
+Beatrice listened like one in a dream.  Her proud, bright face
+softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad.  Gaspar read
+on--of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young knight and his
+love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and the cottage where
+Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and then of proud, beautiful
+Bertha.
+
+The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like an
+accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos.  Then Gaspar came to
+Bertha's love for the knight--their journey on the river to the huge
+hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's soft fingers, while
+the knight's love grew cold.
+
+Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read on of
+sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's proud triumph,
+her marriage with the knight, and the last, most beautiful scene of
+all--Undine rising from the unsealed fountain and going to claim her
+love.
+
+"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I did not
+know there was such a story in the world.  That is indeed a creation of
+genius.  I shall never forget Undine."
+
+Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden hair of
+her sister.  Lionel Dacre's glance followed hers.
+
+"I know what you are thinking of," he said--"Miss Lillian is a perfect
+Undine.  I can fancy her, with clasped hands and sad eyes, standing
+between the knight and Bertha, or rising with shadowy robes from the
+open fountain."
+
+"It is a beautiful creation," said Beatrice, gently.  "Lillian would be
+an ideal Undine--she is just as gentle, as fair, as true.  I am like
+Bertha, I suppose; at least I know I prefer my own way and my own will."
+
+"You should give some good artist a commission to paint a picture,"
+said Lord Airlie.  "Choose the scene in the boat Undine bending over
+the water, a dreamy expression on her fair face; Bertha sitting by the
+knight, proud, bright, and half scornful of her companion.  Imagine the
+transparent water Undine's little hand half lost in it, and the giant
+fingers clasping hers.  I wonder that an artist has never painted that
+scene."
+
+"Who would do for the knight?" said Beatrice.  "Lillian and I will
+never dispute over a knight."
+
+"Artists would find some difficulty in that picture," said Lillian.
+"How could one clothe a beautiful ideal like Undine? Sweeping robes and
+waving plumes might suit Bertha; but how could one depict Undine?"
+
+"The knight is the difficulty," laughed Lionel.
+
+"Why should we not go out on the lake now?" said Gaspar; "I will row."
+
+"I have been wishing for the last ten minutes," replied Beatrice, "to
+be upon the lake.  I want to put my hand in the water and see what
+comes."
+
+Gaspar was not long in getting a pleasure boat out of the boat house.
+Lionel managed to secure a seat near his Undine, and Lord Airlie by his
+Beatrice.
+
+It was even more pleasant on the water than on the land; the boat moved
+easily along, the fresh, clear breeze helping it.
+
+"Steer for those pretty water lilies," said Beatrice, "they look so
+fresh and shining in the sun."
+
+And as they floated over the water, her thoughts went back to that May
+morning when Lillian sat upon the cliffs and sketched the white far-off
+sails.  How distant it seemed!  She longed then for life.  Now every
+sweet gift which life could bestow was here, crowned with love.  Yet
+she sighed as Hugh Fernely's face rose before her.  If she could but
+forget it!  After all it had been on her side but a mockery of love.
+Yet another sigh broke from her lips, and then Lord Airlie looked
+anxiously at her.
+
+"Does anything trouble you, Miss Earle?" he asked.  "I never remember
+to have seen you so serious before."
+
+She looked for a moment wistfully into his face.  Ah, if he could help
+her, if he could drive this haunting memory from her, if ever it could
+be that she might tell him of this her trouble and ask him to save her
+from Hugh Fernely!  But that was impossible. Almost as though in answer
+to her thought, Gaspar Laurence began to tell them of an incident that
+had impressed him.  A gentleman, a friend of his, after making
+unheard-of sacrifices to marry a lady who was both beautiful and
+accomplished, left her suddenly, and never saw her again, the reason
+being that he discovered that she had deceived him by telling him a
+willful lie before her marriage.  Gaspar seemed to think she had been
+hardly used.  Lord Airlie and Lionel differed from him.
+
+"I am quite sure," said Lord Airlie, "that I could pardon anything
+sooner than a lie; all that is mean, despicable, and revolting to me is
+expressed in the one word, 'liar.'  Sudden anger, passion, hot
+revenge--anything is more easily forgiven. When once I discover that a
+man or woman has told me a lie, I never care to see their face again."
+
+"I agree with you," said Lionel; "perhaps I even go further.  I would
+never pardon an air of deceit; those I love must be straightforward,
+honest, and sincere always."
+
+"Such a weight of truth might sink the boat," said Beatrice,
+carelessly; but Lord Airlie's words had gone straight to her heart.  If
+he only knew.  But he never would.  And again she wished that in reply
+to her father's question she had answered truthfully.
+
+The time came when Lillian remembered Mr. Dacre's words, and knew they
+had not been spoken in vain.
+
+Beatrice had taken off her glove, and drew her hand trough the cool,
+deep water; thinking intently of the story she had just heard--of
+Undine and the water-sprites--she leaned over the boat's side and gazed
+into the depths.  The blue sky and white fleecy clouds, the tall green
+trees and broad leaves, were all reflected there.  There was a strange,
+weird fascination in the placid water--what went on in the depths
+beneath?  What lay beneath the ripples?  Suddenly she drew back with a
+startled cry a cry that rang out in the clear summer air, and haunted
+Lord Airlie while he lived.  He looked at her; her face had grown
+white, even to the very lips, and a nameless, awful dread lay in her
+dark eyes.
+
+"What is it?" he asked, breathlessly.  She recovered herself with a
+violent effort, and tried to smile.
+
+"How foolish I am!" she said; "and what is worse you will all laugh at
+me.  It was sheer fancy and nonsense, I know; but I declare that
+looking down into the water, I saw my own face there with such a
+wicked, mocking smile that it frightened me."
+
+"It was the simple reflection," said Lionel Dacre. "I can see mine.
+Look again, Miss Earle."
+
+"No," she replied, with a shudder; "it is only nonsense, I know, but it
+startled me.  The face seemed to rise from the depths and smile--oh,
+oh, such a smile!  When shall I forget it?"
+
+"It was only the rippling of the water which distorted the reflection,"
+said Lord Airlie.
+
+Beatrice made no reply, but drew her lace shawl around her as though
+she were cold.
+
+"I do not like the water," she said presently; "it always frightens me.
+Let us land, Mr. Laurence, please.  I will never go on the lake again."
+
+Gaspar laughed, and Mr. Dacre declared Beatrice had had too strong a
+dose of Undine and the water-sprites.  Lord Airlie felt her hand
+tremble as he helped her to leave the boat.  He tried to make her
+forget the incident by talking of the ball and the pleasure it would
+bring.  She talked gayly, but every now and then he saw that she
+shuddered as though icily cold.
+
+When they were entering the house she turned round, and, in her
+charming, imperious way, said:
+
+"None of you must tell papa about my fright.  I should not like him to
+think that an Earle could be either fanciful or a coward. I am brave
+enough on land."
+
+The heat had tried both girls, and Lady Helena said they must rest
+before dinner.  She made Beatrice lie down upon the cosy little couch
+in her dressing room.  She watched the dark eyes close, and thought how
+beautiful the young face looked in repose.
+
+But the girl's sleep was troubled.  Lady Earle, bending over her, heard
+her sigh deeply and murmur something about the "deep water." She awoke,
+crying out that she saw her own face, and Lady Earle saw great drops of
+perspiration standing in beads upon her brow.
+
+"What have you been dreaming of, child?" she asked.  "Young girls like
+you ought to sleep like flowers."
+
+"Flowers never quite close their eyes," said Beatrice, with a smile.
+"I shut mine, but my brain is active, it seems, even in sleep.  I was
+dreaming of the lake, Lady Helena.  Dreams are very wonderful; do they
+ever come true?"
+
+"I knew one that did," replied Lady Earle.  "When I was young, I had a
+friend whom I loved very dearly--Laura Reardon.  A gentleman, a Captain
+Lemuel, paid great attention to her.  She loved him--my poor Laura--as
+I hope few people love.  For many months he did everything but make an
+offer--saw her ever day, sent her flowers, books, and music, won her
+heart by a thousand sweet words and gentle deeds.  She believed he was
+in earnest, and never suspected him of being a male flirt.  He left
+London, suddenly, saying goodbye to her in the ordinary way, and
+speaking of his return in a few weeks.
+
+"She came to me one morning and told me a strange dream.  She dreamed
+she was dead, and lay buried in the center aisle of an old country
+church.  At the same time, and in the usual vague manner of dreams, she
+was conscious of an unusual stir.  She heard carriages drive up to the
+church door; she heard the rustling of dresses, the sound of footsteps
+above her head, the confused murmur of a crowd of people; then she
+became aware that a marriage was going on.  She heard the minister ask:
+
+"'George Victor Lemuel, will you have this woman for your lawful wedded
+wife?'
+
+"The voice she knew and loved best in the world replied:
+
+"'I will.'
+
+"'Alice Ferrars, will you take this man for your lawful wedded husband?"
+
+"'I will,' replied the clear, low voice.
+
+"She heard the service finished, the wedding bells peal, the carriages
+drive away.  I laughed at her, Beatrice; but the strange thing is,
+Captain George Lemuel was married on the very day Laura dreamed the
+dream.  He married a young lady, Alice Ferrars, and Laura had never
+heard of the name before she dreamed it.  The marriage took place in an
+old country church.  That dream came true, Beatrice; I never heard of
+another dream like it."
+
+"Did your friend die?" she asked.
+
+"No," replied Lady Helena; "she did not die, but her life was spoiled
+by her unhappy love."
+
+"I should have died had it been my disappointment," said Beatrice; "the
+loss of what one loves must be more bitter than death."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Far and near nothing was spoken of but the ball at Earlescourt.
+Anything so brilliant or on so grand a scale had not been given in the
+county for many years.
+
+Lord Earle felt proud of the arrangements as he looked through the ball
+room and saw the gorgeous array of flowers, tier upon tier of
+magnificent bloom, a sight well worth coming many miles to see.  Here
+and there a marble statue stood amid the flowers. Little fountains of
+scented water rippled musically.  He stopped for a few moments looking
+at the blossoms and thinking of his beautiful child.
+
+"How she loves everything bright and gay!" he said to himself. "She
+will be queen of the ball tonight."
+
+As Lord Earle stood alone in his library that evening, where he had
+been reading, stealing a quiet half hour, there came a gentle knock at
+the door.
+
+"Come in," he said, and there stood before him something that he
+thought must be a vision.
+
+"Grandmamma sent me," said Beatrice, blushing, "to see if I should do.
+You are to notice my diamonds, papa, and tell me if you approve of the
+setting."
+
+As he looked at the radiant figure a sense of wonder stole over him.
+Could this magnificent beauty really be Dora's daughter--Dora who had
+stained her pretty hand with strawberry juice so many years ago?
+
+He knew nothing of the details of the dress, he saw only the beautiful
+face and glorious eyes, the crowns of waving hair, the white, stately
+neck and exquisite arms.  Before him was a gleam of pale pink satin,
+shrouded with lace so fine and delicate that it looked like a fairy
+web; and the Earle diamonds were not brighter than the dark eyes.  They
+became the wearer well.  They would have eclipsed a fair, faded beauty;
+they added radiance to Beatrice's.
+
+"Where is Lillian?" he asked; and she knew from the tone of his voice
+how proud and satisfied he was.
+
+"I am here, papa," said a gentle voice.  "I wanted you to see Beatrice
+first."
+
+Lord Earle hardly knew which to admire the more.  Lillian looked so
+fair and graceful; the pure, spiritual face and tender eyes had new
+beauty; the slender, girlish figure contrasted well with the stately
+dignity of Beatrice.
+
+"I hope it will be a happy evening for you both," he said.
+
+"I feel sure it will for me," said Beatrice, with a smile.  "I am
+thoroughly happy, and am looking forward to the ball with delight."
+
+Lord Earle smiled half sadly as he gazed at her bright face, wondering
+whether, in years to come, it would be clouded or shadowed.
+
+"Will you dance, papa?" asked Beatrice, with a gleam of mischief in her
+dark eyes.
+
+"I think not," he replied; and Ronald Earle's thoughts went back to the
+last time he had ever danced--with Valentine Charteris. He remembered
+it well.  Ah, no!  All those pleasant, happy days were over for him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX
+
+The dinner party was over, and carriage after carriage rolled up to the
+Hall; the rooms began to fill; there was a faint sound of music, a
+murmur of conversation and laughter.
+
+"You have not forgotten your promise to me, Miss Earle?" said Lord
+Airlie. "I am to have the first dance and the last, certainly, and as
+many more as you can spare."
+
+"I have not forgotten," replied Beatrice.  She was never quite at her
+ease with him, although she loved him better than any one else on
+earth.  There was ever present with her the consciousness that she did
+so love him, and the wonder whether he cared for her.
+
+They opened the ball, and many significant comments were made upon the
+fact.  Gaspar Laurence was present.  He was deeply engaged for more
+than two hours in making up his mind whether he should ask Beatrice to
+dance with him or not--she looked so beautiful, so far above him.
+Gaspar could not help loving her--that was impossible; the first moment
+he saw her he was entranced.  But his was a humble, hopeless kind of
+adoration.  He would sooner have dreamed of wooing and winning a royal
+princess than of ever asking Beatrice to be his wife.
+
+At length he summoned up courage, and was rewarded by a bright smile
+and kind words.  Poor Gaspar!  When the beautiful face was near him,
+and her hand rested on his shoulder, he thought he must be dreaming.
+
+"There," he said, when the dance was over; "I shall not dance again.  I
+should not like to lose the memory of that waltz."
+
+"Why not?" she asked, wonderingly.
+
+"I must be candid with you," said Gaspar, sadly.  "Perhaps my
+confession is a vain one; but I love you, Miss Earle--so dearly that
+the ground on which you stand is sacred to me."
+
+"That is not a very timid declaration," said Beatrice with a smile.
+"You are courageous, Mr. Laurence.  I have only seen you three times."
+
+"It would make no difference," said Gaspar, "whether I had seen you
+only once, or whether I met you every day.  I am not going to pain you,
+Miss Earle.  Think kindly of me--I do not ask more; only remember that
+living in this world there is one who would stand between you and all
+peril--who would sacrifice his life for you.  You will not forget?"
+
+"I will not," said Beatrice, firmly.  "Never could I forget such words.
+I am willing to be your friend--I know how to value you."
+
+"I shall be happier with your friendship than with the love of any
+other woman," said Gaspar, gratefully.
+
+Just then Lord Earle came and took Mr. Laurence away.  Beatrice stood
+where he had left her, half screened from sight by the luxuriant
+foliage and magnificent flowers of a rare American plant.  There was a
+thoughtful, tender expression on her face that softened it into
+wondrous beauty.  She liked Gaspar, and was both pleased and sorry that
+he loved her.  Very pleasant was this delicious homage of
+love--pleasant was it to know that strong, brave, gifted men laid all
+they had in the world at her feet--to know that her looks, smiles, and
+words moved them as nothing else could.
+
+Yet she was sorry for Gaspar.  It must be sad to give all one's love
+and expect no return.  She would be his friend, but she could never be
+anything more.  She could give him her sincere admiration and esteem,
+but not her love.
+
+The proud, beautiful lips quivered, and the bright eyes grew dim with
+tears.  No, not her love--that was given, and could never be recalled;
+in all the wide world, from among all men's, Lord Airlie's face stood
+out clear and distinct.  Living or dying, Lord Earle's daughter knew
+she could care for no other man.
+
+She had taken in her hand one of the crimson flowers of the plant above
+her, and seemed lost in contemplating it.  She saw neither the blossom
+nor the leaves.  She was thinking of Lord Airlie's face, and the last
+words he had said to her, when suddenly a shadow fell before her, and
+looking up hastily, she saw him by her side.  He appeared unlike
+himself, pale and anxious.
+
+"Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you.  Pray come with me, away
+from all these people.  I can bear this suspense no longer."
+
+She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his face that
+which compelled obedience.  For Lord Airlie had watched Gaspar
+Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that followed it.
+He saw the softened look on her face, and it half maddened him.  For
+the first time in his life Lord Airlie was fiercely jealous.  He
+detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his fund of German romance and
+poetry.
+
+Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have died to
+secure?  What was he saying to her that softened the expression on her
+face?  What had he said that left her standing there with a tender
+light in her dark eyes which he had never seen before?  He could not
+bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room might not be the most
+appropriate place for an offer of marriage, but he must know his fate,
+let it be what it might.  He went up to her and made his request.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie had
+walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with people, and
+through the long conservatory.
+
+"We are not alone," he replied.  "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. Gresham
+prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms.  I must speak with
+you, Miss Earle.  Let me speak now."
+
+They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung in
+rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume.  The moon shone
+brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the flowers, bathing
+them in floods of silver light.
+
+A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and there
+Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in her lover's
+face.
+
+"Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer.  Why did Gaspar Laurence
+bend over you?  What was he saying?  My darling, do you not know how I
+love you--so dearly and so deeply that I could not live without you?
+Do you not know that I have loved you from the first moment I ever
+beheld you?  Beatrice, my words are weak. Look at me--read the love in
+my face that my lips know not how to utter."
+
+But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light of love
+that had fallen upon her dazzled her.
+
+"You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her hands
+in his.  "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, believe me, if
+you send me from you, it will kill me.  Every hope of my life is
+centered in you.  Beatrice, will you try to care for me?"
+
+She turned her face to his--the moonlight showed clearly the bright
+tears in her dark eyes.  For answer she said, simply:
+
+"Do not leave me--I care for you now; my love--my love--did you not
+know it?"
+
+The sweet face and quivering lips were so near him that Lord Airlie
+kissed the tears away; he also kissed the white hands that clasped his
+own.
+
+"You are mine--my own," he whispered, "until death; say so, Beatrice."
+
+"I am yours," she said, "even in death."
+
+It was a stolen half hour, but so full of happiness that it could never
+fade from memory.
+
+"I must go," said Beatrice, at length, unclasping the firm hand that
+held her own.  "Oh, Lord Airlie, how am I to meet all my friends?  Why
+did you not wait until tomorrow?"
+
+"I could not," he said; "and you perhaps would not then have been so
+kind."
+
+He loved her all the more for her simplicity.  As they left the garden,
+Lord Airlie gathered a white rose and gave it to Beatrice.  Long
+afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and dry, the rose was
+found.
+
+They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went back to
+the ball room.
+
+"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie.  "And, Beatrice, I
+shall speak to Lord Earle tonight.  Are you willing?"
+
+Yes, she was willing.  It was very pleasant to be taken possession of
+so completely.  It was pleasant to find a will stronger than her own.
+She did not care how soon all the world knew that she loved him.  The
+only thing she wondered at was why he should be so unspeakably happy.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX
+
+Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one long
+trance of happiness.  She heard the music, the murmur of voices, as
+though in a dream.  There were times when everything seemed brighter
+than usual--that was when Lord Airlie stood by her side.  Her heart was
+filled with unutterable joy.
+
+It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even thought of
+Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once crossed her mind.
+Nothing marred the fullness of her content.
+
+She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to say
+adieu.  She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father.
+
+"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I must
+see him tonight.  Beatrice, promise me you will not go to rest until
+your father has given us his consent."
+
+She could not oppose him.  When girls like Beatrice Earle once learn to
+love, there is something remarkable in the complete abandonment of
+their will.  She would fain have told him, with gay, teasing words,
+that he had won concession enough for one night; as it was, she simply
+promised to do as he wished.
+
+Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, wondering at
+the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and seemed unwilling to
+lose sight of him.  The happy moment arrived when the last carriage
+rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt were left alone.  Lady Earle
+asked the two young girls to go into her room for half an hour to "talk
+over the ball."  Lionel, sorry the evening was over, retired to his
+room; then Hubert Airlie went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak
+with him for ten minutes.
+
+"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held up his
+watch.  "See, it is past three o'clock."
+
+"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in suspense."
+
+"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led the way
+to the library, where the lamps were still alight.
+
+"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the excited,
+anxious lover.
+
+"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can not.
+Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice.  Will you give her to me to
+be my wife?"
+
+"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald.  "Is she
+willing?"
+
+"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with
+happiness as he remembered her words.
+
+"Let us see," said Lord Earle.  He rang the bell, and sent for his
+daughter.
+
+Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned from
+him as Beatrice entered the room.
+
+"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this true?
+Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?"
+
+"If you please, papa," she whispered.
+
+"I do please," he cried.  "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond all
+price.  You may judge of my daughter's love from her own word.  I know
+it has never been given to any one but you.  You are my daughter's
+first lover, and her first love.  You may take her to your heart, well
+satisfied that she has never cared for any one else.  It is true,
+Beatrice, is it not?"
+
+"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, she
+remembered Hugh.
+
+"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we are
+all tired tonight.  You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I suppose?"
+
+"If I sleep at all," he replied.
+
+"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me I
+should have selected you from all others to take charge of my
+Beatrice," said Lord Earle.  "Do not wait to thank me.  I have a faint
+idea of how much a grateful lover has to say.  Good night."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood alone
+in the bright little dressing room.
+
+"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has
+asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!"
+
+Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon
+Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears.
+
+"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for
+me.  What have I ever done that I should be so happy?"
+
+The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young
+sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice.
+
+"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself.  He is a king among
+men.  Who is so brave, so generous, so noble?  If he were a beggar, I
+should care just as much for him."
+
+Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to
+grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own
+room.
+
+Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and love.
+It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or
+quiet again.  It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's
+face, his voice, his words haunted her.
+
+She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown.  The fresh air, she
+thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently,
+and looked out.
+
+The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees;
+floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers,
+and the green grass.  There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the
+leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and
+calm.  The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur
+appealed to her.  Into the proud, passionate heart there came some
+better, nobler thoughts.  Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and
+beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and
+steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at
+times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half
+hour in the rose garden.  From her window she could see it--the moon
+shone full upon it.  The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was
+to be, bright, clear, unshadowed.  Even as the thought shaped itself in
+her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure
+of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from
+the shrubbery.  He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the
+windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared.
+
+She was not startled.  A passing wonder as to who it might be struck
+her.  Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did
+not think much about it.  A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten
+her.
+
+Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired
+in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest.
+
+The sun was shining brightly when she awoke.  By her side lay a
+fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them,
+and in their midst a little note which said:
+
+"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before
+breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a
+dream?"
+
+She rose quickly.  Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light
+shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie.
+
+"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting
+to him.
+
+"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding
+presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring;
+let us make the best of them."
+
+The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the
+trees.
+
+"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the
+high heavens.  Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that
+same sun to fall than for me to win you.  I can scarcely believe that
+my highest ideal of woman is realized.  It was always my ambition to
+marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me.  You never
+have.  No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed
+your face as I kissed it last night."
+
+As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face.  She remembered Hugh
+Fernely.  He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and
+guileless she was.
+
+"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued.  "I shall envy
+everything those beautiful eyes rest upon.  Will you ride with me this
+morning?  I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know.  You
+will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I
+shall."
+
+The breakfast bell rang at last.  When Beatrice entered the room, Lady
+Earle went up to her.
+
+"Your papa has told me the news," she said.  "Heaven bless you, and
+make you happy, dear child!"
+
+Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The
+chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many
+conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so
+late.
+
+It did not arrive until breakfast was ended.  Lord Earle distributed
+the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from
+Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian.  Lord Earle held in his hand a
+large common blue envelope.
+
+"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield.  What large writing!
+The name was evidently intended to be seen."
+
+Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite
+unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest
+post-town--it was probably some circular, some petition for charity,
+she thought.  Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she
+placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few
+minutes forgot all about it.
+
+Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour.
+Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a
+thought to the letter.
+
+It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as
+one of the brightest hours she had ever known.  Lord Airlie told her
+all about Lynnton, his beautiful home--a grand old castle, where every
+room had a legend, every tree almost a tradition.
+
+For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing should be
+built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money should be lavished
+without stint.
+
+"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy."
+
+So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air.  A sudden thought struck
+Beatrice.
+
+"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think?  You must go to see her,
+Hubert.  She dreaded love and marriage so much.  Poor mamma!"
+
+She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that
+her mother should dread what she found so pleasant?  Lord Airlie
+entered warmly into all her plans and wishes.  Near the grand suite of
+rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord
+Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them.
+
+"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice.  "I should not like
+her to hear it from any one but myself."
+
+"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie,
+"asking her to tolerate me."
+
+"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his
+companion.
+
+Their ride was a long one.  On their return Beatrice was slightly
+tired, and went straight to her own room.  She wrote a long letter to
+Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie.  He was
+everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand.  The world did
+not hold such another.  When the letter was finished it was time to
+dress for dinner.
+
+"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid.
+
+"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing
+with the words she had just written.
+
+What dress could be pretty enough for him?  One was found at last that
+pleased her--a rich, white crepe.  But she would wear no
+jewels--nothing but crimson roses.  One lay in the thick coils of her
+dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the
+flowing skirt.
+
+Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's fastidious
+taste to please.  She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased
+smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein.
+
+Suddenly she remembered the letter.  The morning-dress still hung upon
+a chair.  She took the envelope from the pocket.
+
+"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid.
+
+"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now."
+
+The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror,
+drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in
+amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXI
+
+The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair and
+nestled against the white neck.  Could it be lingering in cruel mockery
+upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of wild horror?  As
+Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left even her lips, her
+heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless dread took hold of her,
+the paper fell from her hands, and with a long, low cry she fell upon
+her knees, hiding her face in her hands.
+
+It had fallen at last--the cruel blow that even in her dreams and
+thoughts she had considered impossible.  Hugh Fernely had found her
+out, and claimed her as his own!
+
+This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud face and
+left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead was from him; and
+the words it contained were full of such passionate love that they
+terrified her.  The letter ran as follows:
+
+"My own Beatrice,--From peril by sea and land I have returned to claim
+you.  Since we parted I have stood face to face with death in its most
+terrible form.  Each time I conquered because I felt I must see you
+again.  It is a trite saying that death is immortal.  Death itself
+would not part me from you--nay, if I were buried, and you came to my
+grave and whispered my name, it seems to me I must hear you.
+
+"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife--you will not fail me? Ah, no, it
+can not be that the blue heavens above will look on quietly and witness
+my death blow!  You will come to me, and give me a word, a smile to
+show how true you have been.
+
+"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were the
+windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she was
+dreaming of me.  Life has changed for you since we sat upon the cliffs
+at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife.  I heard at the farm all
+about the great change, and how the young girl who wandered with me
+through the bonny green woods is the daughter of Lord Earle.  Your
+home, doubtless, is a stately one. Rank and position like yours might
+frighten some lovers--they do not daunt me.  You will not let them
+stand between us.  You can not, after the promises you uttered.
+
+"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich man,
+but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart.  I will take you
+away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall be so full of
+happiness that you will wish it never to end.
+
+"I wait your commands.  Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange,
+disappointed man.  I will not yet call upon you at your own home; I
+shall await your reply at Brookfield.  Write at once, Beatrice, and
+tell me how and when I may meet you.  I will go anywhere, at any time.
+Do not delay--my heart hungers and thirsts for one glance of your
+peerless face.  Appoint an hour soon.  How shall I live until it comes?
+Until then think of me as
+
+  "Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely.
+    "Address Post Office, Brookfield."
+
+She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter over
+and read it again.  Her white lips quivered with indignant passion.
+How dared he presume so far?  His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have
+read those words!  Fernely's love!  She loathed him; she hated, with
+fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name.  Why must this most
+wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now?  What must she do?
+Where could she turn for help and counsel?
+
+Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched
+her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? She struck the
+little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and
+where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair
+skin; white hard, fierce words came from the beautiful lips.
+
+"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried.  "Dear Heaven, save me from the
+fruits of my own folly!"
+
+Then hot anger yielded to despair.  What should she do?  Look which way
+she might, there was no hope.  If Lord Earle once discovered that she
+had dealt falsely with him, she would be driven from the home she had
+learned to love.  He would never pardon such concealment, deceit, and
+folly as hers.  She knew that.  If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any
+other man had called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her
+as his own, she would lose his affection.  Of that she was also quite
+sure.
+
+If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her father's
+affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear of Hugh Fernely.
+There could be no doubt on that head.
+
+What should she do with him?  Could she buy him off?  Would money
+purchase her freedom?  Remembering his pride and his love, she thought
+not.  Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her heart and life
+were centered in Lord Airlie?  Should she appeal to his love for pity's
+sake?
+
+Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless. Had she
+but been married before he returned--were she but Lady Airlie of
+Lynnton--he could not have harmed her.  Was the man mad to think he
+could win her--she who had had some of the most noble-born men in
+England at her feet?  Did he think she would exchange her grand old
+name for his obscure one--her magnificence for his poverty.
+
+There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded for the
+last time, and she must descend.  She thrust the letter hastily into a
+drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her mirror.  She was startled
+at the change.  Surely that pale face, with its quivering lips and
+shadowed eyes could not be hers. What should she do to drive away the
+startled fear, the vague dread, the deadly pallor?  The roses she wore
+were but a ghastly contrast.
+
+"I must bear it better," she said to herself.  "Such a face as this
+will betray my secret.  Let me feel that I do not care that it will all
+come right in the end."
+
+She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse.
+
+"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, "and
+have won.  Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert Airlie's
+sake?"
+
+Beatrice Earle left the room.  She swept, with her beautiful head
+erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase. She
+took her seat at the sumptuous table, whereon gold and silver shone,
+whereon everything recherche and magnificent was displayed.  But she
+had with her a companion she was never again to lose, a haunting fear,
+a skeleton that was never more to quit her side, a miserable
+consciousness of folly that was bringing sore wretchedness upon her.
+Never again was she to feel free from fear and care.
+
+"Beatrice," said Lady Earle when dinner was over, "you will never learn
+prudence."
+
+She started, and the beautiful bloom just beginning to return, vanished
+again.
+
+"Do not look alarmed, my dear," continued Lady Helena; "I am not angry.
+I fear you were out too long today.  Lord Airlie must take more care of
+you; the sun was very hot, and you look quite ill.  I never saw you
+look as you do tonight."
+
+"We had very little sun," replied Beatrice, with a laugh as she tried
+to make a gay one; "we rode under the shade in the park.  I am tired,
+but not with my ride."
+
+It was a pleasant evening, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies in
+the drawing room, the sunbeams still lingered on flower and tree.  The
+long windows were all open, and the soft summer wind that came in was
+laden with the sweet breath of the flowers.
+
+Lord Airlie asked Beatrice to sing.  It was a relief to her; she could
+not have talked; all the love and sorrow, all the fear and despair that
+tortured her, could find vent in music.  So she sat in the evening
+gloaming, and Lord Airlie, listening to the superb voice, wondered at
+the pathos and sadness that seemed to ring in every note.
+
+"What weird music, Beatrice!" he said, at length.  "You are singing of
+love, but the love is all sorrow.  Your songs are generally so bright
+and happy.  What has come over you?"
+
+"Nothing," was the reply, but he, bending over her, saw the dark eyes
+were dim with tears.
+
+"There," cried Lord Airlie, "you see I am right.  You have positively
+sung yourself to tears."
+
+He drew her from the piano, and led her to the large bay window where
+the roses peeped in.  He held her face up to the mellow evening light,
+and looked gravely into her beautiful eyes.
+
+"Tell me," he said, simply, "what has saddened you, Beatrice you have
+no secrets from me.  What were you thinking of just now when you sang
+that dreamy 'Lebenwold?'  Every note was like a long sigh."
+
+"Shall you laugh if I tell you?" she asked.
+
+"No," he replied; "I can not promise to sigh, but I will not smile."
+
+"I was thinking what I should do if--if anything happened to part us."
+
+"But nothing ever will happen," he said; "nothing can part us but
+death.  I know what would happen to me if I lost you, Beatrice."
+
+"What?" she asked, looking up into the handsome, kindly face.
+
+"I should not kill myself," he said, "for I hold life to be a sacred
+gift; but I should go where the face of no other woman would smile upon
+me.  Why do you talk so dolefully, Beatrice? Let us change the subject.
+Tell me where you would like to go when we are married--shall it be
+France, Italy, or Spain?"
+
+"Would nothing ever make you love me less, Hubert?" she asked. "Neither
+poverty nor sickness?"
+
+"No," he replied; "nothing you can think of or invent."
+
+"Nor disgrace?" she continued; but he interrupted her half angrily.
+
+"Hush!" he said, "I do not like such a word upon your lips; never say
+it again.  What disgrace can touch you?  You are too pure, too good."
+
+She turned from him, and he fancied a low moan came from her trembling
+lips.
+
+"You are tired, and--pray forgive me, Beatrice--nervous too," said Lord
+Airlie; "I will be your doctor.  You shall lie down here upon this
+couch.  I will place it where you can see the sun set in the west, and
+I will read to you something that will drive all fear away.  I thought
+during dinner that you looked ill and worn."
+
+Gently enough he drew the couch to the window, Lady Earle watching him
+the while with smiling face.  He induced Beatrice to lie down, and then
+turned her face to the garden where the setting sun was pleasantly
+gilding the flowers.
+
+"Now, you have something pleasant to look at," said Lord Airlie, "and
+you shall have something pleasant to listen to.  I am going to read
+some of Schiller's 'Marie Stuart.'"
+
+He sat at her feet, and held her white hands in his.  He read the
+grand, stirring words that at times seemed like the ring of martial
+music, and again like the dirge of a soul in despair.
+
+His clear, rich voice sounded pleasantly in the evening calm.
+Beatrice's eyes lingered on the western sky all aflame, but her
+thoughts were with Hugh Fernely.
+
+What could she do?  If she could but temporize with him, if she could
+but pacify him, for a time, until she was married, all would be safe.
+He would not dare to talk of claiming Lady Airlie it would be vain if
+he did.  Besides, she would persuade Lord Airlie to go abroad; and,
+seeing all pursuit useless, Hugh would surely give her up.  Even at the
+very worst, if Hubert and she were once married, she would not fear; if
+she confessed all to him, he would forgive her.  He might be very
+angry, but he would pardon his wife.  If he knew all about it before
+marriage, there was no hope for her.
+
+She must temporize with Fernely--write in a style that would convey
+nothing, and tell him that he must wait.  He could not refuse.  She
+would write that evening a letter that should give him no hope, nor yet
+drive him to despair.
+
+"That is a grand scene, is it not?" said Lord Airlie suddenly; then he
+saw by Beatrice's startled look that she had not listened.
+
+"I plead guilty at once," she replied.  "I was thinking--do not be
+angry--I was thinking of something that relates to yourself. I heard
+nothing of what you read, Hubert. Will you read it again?"
+
+"Certainly not," he said, with a laugh of quiet amusement. "Reading
+does not answer; we will try conversation.  Let us resume the subject
+you ran away from before--where shall we go for our wedding trip?"
+
+Only three days since she would have suggested twenty different places;
+she would have smiled and blushed, her dark eyes growing brighter at
+every word.  Now she listened to her lover's plans as if a ghostly hand
+had clutched her heart and benumbed her with fear.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+That evening it seemed to Beatrice Earle as though she would never be
+left alone.  In the drawing room stood a dainty little escritoire used
+by the ladies of Earlescourt.  Here she dared not write lest Lord
+Airlie should, as he often did, linger by her, pretending to assist
+her.  If she went into the library, Lord Earle would be sure to ask to
+whom she was writing.  There was nothing to be done but to wait until
+she retired to her own room.
+
+First came Lady Earle, solicitous about her health, recommending a long
+rest and a quiet sleep; then Lillian, full of anxiety, half longing to
+ask Beatrice if she thought Lionel Dacre handsomer and kinder than any
+one else; then the maid Suzette, who seemed to linger as though she
+would never go.
+
+At length she was alone, the door locked upon the outer world. She was
+soon seated at her little desk, where she speedily wrote the following
+cold letter, that almost drove Hugh Fernely mad:
+
+"My dear Hugh,--Have you really returned?  I thought you were lost in
+the Chinese Seas, or had forgotten the little episode at Knutsford.  I
+can not see you just yet.  As you have heard, Lord Earle has peculiar
+notions--I must humor them.  I will write again soon, and say when and
+where I can see you.  Yours sincerely, Beatrice Earle."
+
+She folded the letter and addressed it as he wished; then she left her
+room and went down into the hall, where the post-bag lay open upon the
+table.  She placed the missive inside, knowing that no one would take
+the trouble to look at the letters; then she returned, as she had come,
+silently.
+
+The letter reached Brookfield at noon the following day.  When Hugh
+Fernely opened it he bit his lips with rage.  Cold, heartless lines!
+Not one word was there of welcome.  Not one of sorrow for his supposed
+death; no mention of love, truth, or fidelity; no promise that she
+would be his.  What could such a letter mean?
+
+He almost hated the girl whom he had loved so well.  Yet he could not,
+would not, believe anything except that perhaps during his long absence
+she had grown to think less kindly of him.  She had promised to be his
+wife, and let come what might, he would make her keep her word.
+
+So he said, and Hugh Fernely meant it.  His whole life was centered in
+her and he would not tamely give her up.
+
+The letter dispatched, Beatrice awaited the reply with a suspense no
+words can describe.  A dull wonder came over her at times why she must
+suffer so keenly.  Other girls had done what she had done--nay, fifty
+times worse--and no Nemesis haunted them.  Why was this specter of fear
+and shame to stand by her side every moment and distress her?
+
+It was true it had been very wrong of her to meet this tiresome Hugh
+Fernely in the pleasant woods and on the sea shore; but it had broken
+the monotony that had seemed to be killing her.  His passionate love
+had been delicious flattery; still she had not intended anything
+serious.  It had only been a novelty and an amusement to her, although
+to him perhaps it had been a matter of life or death.  But she had
+deceived Lord Earle.  If, when he had questioned her, and sought with
+such tender wisdom to win her confidence, if she had told him her story
+then, he would have saved her from further persecution and from the
+effects of her own folly; if she had told him then, it would not have
+mattered there would have been no obstacle to her love for Lord Airlie.
+
+It was different now.  If she were to tell Lord Earle, after his
+deliberate and emphatic words, she could expect no mercy; yet, she said
+to herself, other girls have done even worse, and punishment had not
+overtaken them so swiftly.
+
+At last she slept, distressed and worn out with thought.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXII
+
+For the first time in her life, when the bright sun shone into her
+room, Beatrice turned her face to the wall and dreaded the sight of
+day.  The post-bag would leave the hall at nine in the morning--Hugh
+would have the letter at noon.  Until then she was safe.
+
+Noon came and went, but the length of the summer's day brought nothing
+save fresh misery.  At every unusual stir, every loud peal of the bell,
+every quick footstep, she turned pale, and her heart seemed to die
+within her.
+
+Lady Earle watched her with anxious eyes.  She could not understand the
+change that had come over the brilliant young girl who had used to be
+the life of the house.  Every now and then she broke out into wild
+feverish gayety.  Lillian saw that something ailed her sister--she
+could not tell what.
+
+For the fiftieth time that day, when the hall door bell sounded,
+Beatrice looked up with trembling lips she vainly tried to still. At
+last Lady Earle took the burning hands in her own.
+
+"My dear child," she said, "you will have a nervous fever if you go on
+in this way.  What makes you start at every noise?  You look as though
+you were waiting for something dreadful to happen."
+
+"No one ever called me nervous," replied Beatrice, with a smile,
+controlling herself with an effort; "mamma's chief complaint against me
+was that I had no nerves;" adding presently to herself: "This can not
+last.  I would rather die at once that live in this agony."
+
+The weary day came to a close, however, and it was well for Beatrice
+that Lord Airlie had not spent it with her.  The gentlemen at
+Earlescourt had all gone to a bachelor's dinner, given by old Squire
+Newton of the Grange.  It was late when they returned, and Lord Airlie
+did not notice anything unusual in Beatrice.
+
+"I call this a day wasted," he said, as he bade her goodnight; "for it
+has been a day spent away from you.  I thought it would never come to
+an end."
+
+She sighed, remembering what a dreary day it had been to her. Could she
+live through such another?  Half the night she lay awake, wondering if
+Hugh's answer to her letter would come by the first post, and whether
+Lord Earle would say anything if he noticed another letter from
+Brookfield.  Fortune favored her.  In the morning Lord Earle was deeply
+engrossed by a story Lionel was telling, and asked Beatrice to open the
+bag for him.  She again saw a hated blue envelope bearing her own name.
+When all the other letters were distributed, she slipped hers into the
+pocket of her dress, without any one perceiving the action.
+
+Breakfast was over at last; and leaving Lord Airlie talking to Lillian,
+Beatrice hastened to read the letter.  None of Hugh's anger was there
+set down; but if she had cared for him her heart must have ached at the
+pathos of his simple words.  He had received her note, he said--the
+note so unworthy of her--and hastened to tell her that he was obliged
+to go to London on some important business connected with his ship, and
+that he should be absent three weeks.  He would write to her at once on
+his return, and he should insist upon seeing her then, as well as exact
+the fulfillment of her promise.
+
+It was a respite; much might happen in three weeks.  She tore the
+letter into shreds, and felt as though relieved of a deadly weight.  If
+time could but be gained, she thought--if something could happen to
+urge on her marriage with Hubert Airlie before Hugh returned!  At any
+rate, for the moment she was free.
+
+She looked like herself again when Lord Airlie came to ask her if she
+would ride or walk.  The beautiful bloom had returned to her face and
+the light to her eyes.  All day she was in brilliant spirits.  There
+was no need now to tremble at a loud ring or a rapid step.  Three weeks
+was a long time--much might happen. "Oh, if Lord Airlie would but force
+me to marry him soon!"
+
+That very evening Lord Airlie asked her if she would go out with him.
+He wanted to talk to her alone, for he was going away on the morrow,
+and had much to say to her.
+
+"Where are you going?" she asked with sad, wondering eyes, her chance
+of escaping seeming rapidly to diminish.
+
+"I am going to Lynnton," he replied, "to see about plans for the new
+buildings.  They should be begun at once.  For even if we remain abroad
+a whole year they will then be hardly finished.  I shall be away ten
+days or a fortnight.  When I return, Beatrice, I shall ask you a
+question.  Can you guess what it will be?"
+
+There was no answering smile on her face.  Perhaps he would be absent
+three weeks.  What chance of escape had she now?
+
+"I shall ask you when you will fulfill your promise," he
+continued--"when you will let me make you in deed and in word my wife.
+You must not be cruel to me, Beatrice.  I have waited long enough.  You
+will think about it while I am gone, will you not?"
+
+Lord Earle smiled as he noted his daughter's face.  Airlie was going
+away, and therefore she was dull--that was just as it should be.  He
+was delighted that she cared so much for him.  He told Lady Helena that
+he had not thought Beatrice capable of such deep affection.  Lady
+Helena told him she had never known any one who could love so well or
+hate so thoroughly as Beatrice.
+
+The morning came, and Lord Airlie lingered so long over his farewell
+that Lady Helena began to think he would alter his mind and remain
+where he was.  He started at last, however, promising to write every
+day to Beatrice, and followed by the good wishes of the whole household.
+
+He was gone, and Hugh was gone; for three weeks she had nothing to
+fear, nothing to hope, and a settled melancholy calm fell upon her.
+Her father and Lady Helena thought she was dull because her lover was
+away; the musical laugh that used to gladden Lord Earle's heart was
+hushed; she became unusually silent; the beautiful face grew pale and
+sad.  They smiled and thought it natural.  Lillian, who knew every
+expression of her sister's face, grew anxious, fearing there was some
+ailment either of body or mind of which none of them were aware.
+
+They believed she was thinking of her absent lover and feeling dull
+without him.  In reality her thoughts were centered upon one idea--what
+could she do to get rid of Hugh Fernely?  Morning, noon, and night that
+one question was always before her.  She talked when others did, she
+laughed with them; but if there came an interval of silence the
+beautiful face assumed a far-off dreamy expression Lillian had never
+seen there before. Beatrice was generally on her guard, watchful and
+careful, but there were times when the mask she wore so bravely fell
+off, and Lillian, looking at her then, knew all was not well with her
+sister.
+
+What was to be done to get free from Hugh?  Every hour in the day fresh
+plans came to her--some so absurd as to provoke feverish, unnatural
+laughter, but none that were feasible.  With all her daring wit, her
+quick thought, her vivid fancy--with all her resource of mind and
+intellect, she could do nothing.  Day and night the one question was
+still there--what could she do to get free from Hugh Fernely?
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIII
+
+A whole week passed, and the "something" Beatrice longed for had not
+happened.  Life went on quietly and smoothly.  Her father and Lady
+Earle busied themselves in talking of preparations for the marriage.
+Lionel Dacre and Lillian slowly drifted into the fairyland of hope,
+Lord Airlie wrote every day.  No one dreamed of the dark secret that
+hung over Earlescourt.
+
+Every morning Beatrice, with the sanguine hopefulness of youth, said to
+herself, "Something will happen today;" every night she thought,
+"Something must happen tomorrow;" but days and nights went on calmly,
+unbroken by any event or incident such as she wished.
+
+The time of reprieve was rapidly passing.  What should she do if, at
+the end of three weeks, Lord Airlie returned and Hugh Fernely came back
+to Earlescourt?  Through the long sunny hours that question tortured
+her--the suspense made her sick at heart. There were times when she
+thought it better to die at once than pass through this lingering agony
+of fear.
+
+But she was young, and youth is ever sanguine; she was brave, and the
+brave rarely despair.  She did not realize the difficulties of her
+position, and she did not think it possible that anything could happen
+to take her from Hubert Airlie.
+
+Only one person noted the change in Beatrice, and that was her sister,
+Lillian Earle.  Lillian missed the high spirits, the brilliant
+repartee, the gay words that had made home so bright; over and over
+again she said to herself all was not well with her sister.
+
+Lillian had her own secret--one she had as yet hardly whispered to
+herself.  From her earliest childhood she had been accustomed to give
+way to Beatrice.  Not that there was any partiality displayed, but the
+willful young beauty generally contrived to have her own way.  By her
+engaging manners and high spirits she secured every one's attention;
+and thus Lillian was in part overlooked.
+
+She was very fair and gentle, this golden-haired daughter of Ronald
+Earle.  Her face was so pure and spirituelle that one might have
+sketched it for the face of a seraph; the tender violet eyes were full
+of eloquence, the white brow full of thought.  Her beauty never
+dazzled, never took any one by storm; it won by slow degrees a place in
+one's heart.
+
+She was of a thoughtful, unobtrusive nature; nothing could have made
+her worldly, nothing could have made her proud.
+
+Sweet, calm, serene, ignorant alike of all the height of happiness and
+the depths of despair--gifted, too with a singularly patient
+disposition and amiable temper, no one had ever seen Lillian Earle
+angry or hasty; her very presence seemed full of rest and peace.
+
+Nature had richly endowed her.  She had a quick, vivid fancy, a rare
+and graceful imagination; and perhaps her grandest gift was a strong
+and deep love for things not of this world.  Not that Lillian was given
+to "preaching," or being disagreeably "goody," but high and holy
+thoughts came naturally to her.  When Lord Earle wanted amusement, he
+sent for Beatrice--no one could while away long hours as she could;
+when he wanted comfort, advice, or sympathy, he sought Lillian.  Every
+one loved her, much as one loves the sunbeams that bring bright light
+and warmth.
+
+Lionel Dacre loved her best of all.  His only wonder was that any one
+could even look at Beatrice when Lillian was near.  He wondered
+sometimes whether she had not been made expressly for him--she was so
+strong where he was weak, her calm serene patience controlled his
+impetuosity, her gentle thoughtfulness balanced his recklessness, her
+sweet, graceful humility corrected his pride.
+
+She influenced him more than he knew--one word from her did wonders
+with him.  He loved her for her fair beauty, but most of all for the
+pure, guileless heart that knew no shadow of evil upon which the world
+had never even breathed.
+
+Lionel Dacre had peculiar ideas about women.  His mother, who had been
+a belle in her day, was essentially worldly.  The only lessons she had
+ever taught him were how to keep up appearance, how to study
+fashionable life and keep pace with it.
+
+She had been a lady of fashion, struggling always with narrow means;
+and there were times when her son's heart grew sick, remembering the
+falseness, the meanness, the petty cunning maneuvers she had been
+obliged to practice.
+
+As he grew older and began to look around the world, he was not
+favorably impressed.  The ladies of his mother's circle were all
+striving together to get the foremost place.  He heard of envy,
+jealousy, scandal, untruth, until he wondered if all women were alike.
+
+He himself was of a singularly truthful, honorable nature--all deceit,
+all false appearances were hateful to him.  He had formed to himself an
+ideal of a wife, and he resolved to live and die unmarried unless he
+could find some one to realize it.
+
+Lillian Earle did.  He watched her keenly; she was truthful and open as
+the day.  He never heard a false word from her  not even one of the
+trifling excuses that pass current in society for truth.  He said to
+himself, if any one was all but perfect, surely she was.  To use his
+own expression, he let his heart's desire rest in her; all he had ever
+hoped for or dreamed of was centered in her.  He set to work
+deliberately and with all the ardor of his impetuous nature to win her
+love.
+
+At first she did not understand him; then by degrees he watched the
+pure young heart awaken to consciousness.  It was as pretty a
+development of love as ever was witnessed.  At the sound of his
+footsteps or his voice the faint color flushed into her face, light
+came into her eyes; and when he stood by her side, bending his handsome
+head to read her secret, she would speak a word or two, and then hurry
+away from him.  If he wished to join her in her walks or rides, she
+begged to be excused with trembling lips and drooping eyes.
+
+She hardly knew herself what had come to her--why the world seemed
+suddenly to have grown so fair--what made fresh luster in the sky
+above.  A vague, delicious happiness stirred in the gentle heart.  She
+longed for, yet half dreaded, Lionel's presence. When he was near her,
+the little hands trembled and the sweet face grew warm and flushed.
+Yet the measure of her content and happiness seemed full.
+
+Lionel saw it all, and he wondered why such a precious treasure as the
+love of this pure, innocent girl should be his.  What had he ever done
+to deserve it?  Through her he began to respect all other women,
+through her he began to value the high and holy teachings he had
+hitherto overlooked.  She was his ideal realized.  If ever the time
+should come for him to be disappointed in her, then he would believe
+all things false--but it never could be.
+
+How should he tell her of his love?  It would be like trying to cage a
+startled, timid bird.  He stood abashed before her sweet innocence.
+
+But the time came when he resolved to woo and win her--when he felt
+that his life would be unbearable without her; and he said to himself
+that sweet Lillian Earle should be his wife, or he would never look
+upon a woman's face again.
+
+Lionel felt some slight jealousy of Beatrice; he paid dearly enough for
+it in the dark after-days.  He fancied that she eclipsed Lillian.  He
+thought that if he spoke to Lord Earle of his love, he would insist
+upon both marriages taking place on one day; and then his fair gentle
+love would, as usual, be second to her brilliant sister.
+
+"That shall never be," he said to himself.  "Lillian shall have a
+wedding day of her own, the honors unshared.  She shall be the one
+center of attraction."
+
+He determined to say nothing to Lord Earle until Beatrice was married;
+surely her wedding must take place soon--Lord Airlie seemed unable to
+exist out of her presence.  When they were married and gone, Lillian
+should have her turn of admiration and love.  It was nothing but proud,
+jealous care for her that made him delay.
+
+And Lillian discovered her own secret at last.  She knew she loved
+Lionel.  He was unlike every one else.  Who was so handsome, so brave,
+so good?  She liked to look shyly at the frank, proud face and the
+careless wave of hair thrown back from his brow; his voice made music
+in her heart, and she wondered whether he really cared for her.
+
+In her rare sweet humility she never saw how far she was above him; she
+never dreamed that he looked up to her as a captain to his queen.  He
+was always by her side, he paid her a thousand graceful attentions, he
+sought her advice and sympathy, some unspoken words seemed ever on his
+lips.  Lillian Earle asked herself over and over again whether he loved
+her.
+
+She was soon to know.  From some careless words of Lord Earle's, Lionel
+gathered that Beatrice's marriage would take place in November.  Then
+he decided, if he could win her consent, that Lillian's wedding should
+be when the spring flowers were blooming.
+
+August, with its sunny days, was at an end.  Early in September Lillian
+stood alone on the shore of the deep, clear lake.  Lionel saw her
+there, and hastened to join her, wondering at the grave expression on
+her face.
+
+"What are you thinking of, Lillian?" he asked.  "You look sad and
+anxious."
+
+"I was thinking of Beatrice," she replied.  "She seems so changed, so
+different.  I can not understand it."
+
+"I can," said Lionel.  "You forget that she will soon leave the old
+life far behind her.  She is going into a new world; a change so great
+may well make one thoughtful."
+
+"She loves Lord Airlie," returned Lillian--she could hear even then the
+musical voice saying, "I love him so dearly, Lily"--"she can not be
+unhappy."
+
+"I do not mean that," he replied; "thought and silence are not always
+caused by unhappiness.  Ah, Lily," he cried, "I wonder if you guess
+ever so faintly at the thoughts that fill my heart!  I wonder if you
+know how dearly I love you.  Nay, do not turn from me, do not look
+frightened.  To me you are the truest, noblest, and fairest woman in
+the world.  I love you so dearly, Lily, that I have not a thought or
+wish away from you.  I am not worthy to win you, I know--you are as far
+above me as the sun shining overhead  but, if you would try, you might
+make me what you would.  Could you like me?"
+
+The sweet flushed face was raised to his; he read the happiness shining
+in the clear eyes.  But she could not speak to him; words seemed to die
+upon her lips.  Lionel took the little white hands and clasped them in
+his own.
+
+"I knew I should frighten you, Lily," he said, gently.  "Forgive me if
+I have spoken too abruptly.  I do not wish you to decide at once.  Take
+me on trial--see if you can learn to love me weeks, months, or years
+hence.  I am willing to wait a whole life time for you, my darling, and
+should think the time well spent.  Will it be possible for you ever to
+like me?"
+
+"I like you now," she said, simply.
+
+"Then promise to endeavor to love me," he persisted; "will you, Lily?
+I will do anything you wish me; I will try my best to be half as good
+as you are.  Promise me, darling--my life hangs on your answer."
+
+"I promise," she said; and he knew how much the words meant.
+
+On the little hand that rested in his own he saw a pretty ring; it was
+a large pearl set in gold.  Lionel drew it from her finger.
+
+"I shall take this, Lily," he said; "and, when Beatrice is married and
+gone, I shall go to Lord Earle and ask him to give you to me.  I will
+not go now; we will keep our secret for a short time.  Two love affairs
+at once would be too much.  You will learn to love me, and when the
+spring time comes, perhaps you will make me happy as Beatrice will by
+then have made Lord Airlie.  I shall keep the ring.  Lillian, you are
+my pearl, and this will remind me of you.  Just to make me very happy,
+say you are pleased."
+
+"I will say more than that," she replied, a happy smile rippling over
+her face; "I have more than half learned my lesson."
+
+He kissed the pretty hand, and looked at the fair, flushed face he
+dared not touch with his lips.
+
+"I can not thank you," he said, his voice full of emotion.  "I will
+live for you, Lily, and my life shall prove my gratitude.  I begin to
+wish the spring were nearer.  I wonder if you will have learned your
+lesson then."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIV
+
+Lord Airlie's return to Earlescourt had been delayed.  The changes to
+take place at Lynnton involved more than he thought. It was quite three
+weeks before he could leave the Hall and seek again the presence he
+loved best on earth.
+
+Three weeks, yet nothing had happened.  Beatrice had watched each day
+begin and end until her heart grew faint with fear; she was as far as
+ever from finding herself freed from Hugh Fernely.
+
+Lord Airlie, on his arrival, was startled by the change in her
+brilliant face.  Yet he was flattered by it.  He thought how intensely
+she must love him if his absence could affect her so strongly.  He
+kissed her pale face over and over again, declaring that he would not
+leave her any more--no one else knew how to take care of her.
+
+They were all pleased to welcome him for every one liked Lord Airlie,
+and the family circle did not seem complete without him. That very
+night he had an interview with Lord Earle and besought him to allow the
+marriage to take place as soon as possible.  He had been miserable away
+from Beatrice, he declared, and he thought she looked pale and grave.
+Would Lord Earle be willing to say November, or perhaps the latter end
+of October?
+
+"My daughter must arrange the time herself" said Lord Earle; "whatever
+day she chooses will meet with my approval."
+
+Lord Airlie went to the drawing room where he had left Beatrice, and
+told her Lord Earle's answer; she smiled, but he saw the white lips
+quiver as she did so.
+
+Only one month since his passionate, loving words would have made the
+sweetest music to her; she listened and tried to look like herself, but
+her heart was cold with vague, unutterable dread.
+
+"The fourteenth of October"--clever Lord Airlie, by some system of
+calculation known only to himself, persuaded Beatrice that that was the
+"latter end of the month."
+
+"Not another word," he said, gayly.  "I will go and tell Lord Earle.
+Do not say afterward that you have changed your mind, as many ladies
+do. Beatrice, say to me, 'Hubert, I promise to marry you on the
+fourteenth of October.'"
+
+She repeated the words after him.
+
+"It will be almost winter," he added; "the flowers will have faded, the
+leaves will have fallen from the trees; yet no summer day will ever be
+so bright to me as that."
+
+She watched him quit the room, and a long, low cry came from her lips.
+Would it ever be?  She went to the window and looked at the trees.
+When the green leaves lay dead she would be Lord Airlie's wife, or
+would the dark cloud of shame and sorrow have fallen, hiding her
+forever from his sight?
+
+Ah, if she had been more prudent!  How tame and foolish, how
+distasteful the romance she had once thought delightful seemed now!  If
+she had but told all to Lord Earle!
+
+It was too late now!  Yet, despite the deadly fear that lay at her
+heart, Beatrice still felt something like hope.  Hope is the last thing
+to die in the human breast--it was not yet dead in hers.
+
+At least for that one evening--the first after Lord Airlie's
+return--she would be happy.  She would throw the dark shadow away from
+her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society.  He could see smiles on
+her face, and hear bright words such as he loved.  Let the morrow bring
+what it would, she would be happy that night.  And she kept her word.
+
+Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the
+pleasantest of his life.  There was no shadow upon the beautiful face
+he loved so well.  Beatrice was all life and animation; her gay, sweet
+words charmed every one who heard them.  Even Lionel forgot to be
+jealous, and admired her more than he ever had before.
+
+Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her fears for
+her grandchild's health were vain--the true physician was come at last.
+
+When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the white,
+jeweled hand.
+
+"I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an hour
+since I came to Earlescourt."
+
+The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to see.
+
+It was not filled with loving, passionate words, as was the first Hugh
+had written.  He said the time had come when he must have an
+answer--when he must know from her own lips at what period he might
+claim the fulfillment of her promise--when she would be his wife.
+
+He would wait no longer.  If it was to be war, let the war begin he
+should win.  If peace, so much the better.  In any case he was tired of
+suspense, and must know at once what she intended to do.  He would
+trust to no more promises; that very night he would be at Earlescourt,
+and must see her.  Still, though he intended to enforce his rights, he
+would not wantonly cause her pain.  He would not seek the presence of
+her father until she had seen him and they had settled upon some plan
+of action.
+
+"I know the grounds around Earlescourt well," he wrote.  "I wandered
+through them for many nights three weeks ago.  A narrow path runs from
+the gardens to the shrubbery--meet me there at nine; it will be dark
+then, and you need not fear being seen. Remember, Beatrice, at nine
+tonight I shall be there; and if you do not come, I must seek you in
+the house, for see you I will."
+
+The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame stood upon
+her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart.  Oh, that she should
+ever have placed herself in the power of such a man!
+
+The blow had fallen at last.  She stood face to face with her shame and
+fear.  How could she meet Hugh Fernely?  What should she say to him?
+How must such a meeting end?  It would but anger him the more.  He
+should not even touch her hand in greeting, she said to herself; and
+how would he endure her contempt?
+
+She would not see him.  She dared not.  How could she find time? Lord
+Airlie never left her side.  She could not meet Hugh.  The web seemed
+closing round her, but she would break through it.
+
+She would send him a letter saying she was ill, and begging him to wait
+yet a little longer.  Despite his firm words, she knew he would not
+refuse it if she wrote kindly.  Again came the old hope something might
+happen in a few days.  If not, she must run away; if everything failed
+and she could not free herself from him, then she would leave home; in
+any case she would not fall into his hands--rather death than that.
+
+More than once she thought of Gaspar's words.  He was so true, so
+brave--he would have died for her.  Ah, if he could but help her, if
+she could but call him to her aid!  In this, the dark hour of her life
+by her own deed she had placed herself beyond the reach of all human
+help.
+
+She would write--upon that she was determined; but who would take the
+letter?  Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery gate and give to
+the stranger a missive from herself?  If she asked such a favor from a
+servant, she would part with her secret to one who might hold it as a
+rod of iron over her.  She was too proud for that.  There was only one
+in the world who could help her, and that was her sister Lillian.
+
+She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her.  She remembered how
+long ago at Knutsford she had said something that had shocked her
+sister, and the scared, startled expression of her face was with her
+still.  It was a humiliation beyond all words.  Yet, if she could
+undergo it, there would be comfort in Lillian's sympathy.  Lillian
+would take the letter, she would see Hugh, and tell him she was ill.
+Ill she felt in very truth. Hugh would be pacified for a time if he saw
+Lillian.  She could think of no other arrangement.  That evening she
+would tell her sister--there was rest even in the thought.
+
+Long before dinner Lady Helena came in search of Beatrice--it was high
+time, she said, that orders should be sent to London for her trousseau,
+and the list must be made out at once.
+
+She sat calmly in Lady Helena's room, writing in obedience to her
+words, thinking all the time how she should tell Lillian, how best make
+her understand the deadly error committed, yet save herself as much as
+she could.  Lady Earle talked of laces and embroidery, of morning
+dresses and jewels, while Beatrice went over in her mind every word of
+her confession.
+
+"That will do," said Lady Earle, with a smile; "I have been very
+explicit, but I fear it has been in vain.  Have you heard anything I
+have said, Beatrice?"
+
+She blushed, and looked so confused that Lady Helena said, laughingly:
+
+"You may go--do not be ashamed.  Many years ago I was just as much in
+love myself, and just as unable to think of anything else as you are
+now."
+
+There was some difficulty in finding Lillian; she was discovered at
+last in the library, looking over some fine old engravings with Mr.
+Dacre.  He looked up hastily when Beatrice asked her sister to spare
+her half an hour.
+
+"Do not go, Lily," he said, jestingly; "it is only some nonsense about
+wedding dresses.  Let us finish this folio."
+
+But Beatrice had no gay repartee for him.  She looked grave, although
+she tried to force a smile.
+
+"I can not understand that girl," he said to himself, as the library
+door closed behind the two sisters.  "I could almost fancy that
+something was distressing her."
+
+"Lily," said Beatrice, "I want you very much.  I am sorry to take you
+from Lionel; you like being with him, I think."
+
+The fair face of her sister flushed warmly.
+
+"But I want you, dear," said Beatrice.  "Oh, Lily, I am in bitter
+trouble!  No one can help me but you."
+
+They went together into the little boudoir Beatrice called her own.
+She placed her sister in the easy lounging chair drawn near the window,
+and then half knelt, half sat at her feet.
+
+"I am in such trouble, Lily!" she cried.  "Think how great it is when I
+know not how to tell you."
+
+The sweet, gentle eyes looked wonderingly into her own.  Beatrice
+clasped her sister's hands.
+
+"You must not judge me harshly," she said, "I am not good like you,
+Lily; I never could be patient and gentle like you.  Do you remember,
+long ago, at Knutsford, how I found you one morning upon the cliffs,
+and told you that I hated my life?  I did hate it, Lillian," she
+continued.  "You can never tell how much; its quiet monotony was
+killing me.  I have done wrong; but surely they are to blame who made
+my life what it was then--who shut me out from the world, instead of
+giving me my rightful share of its pleasures.  I can not tell you what
+I did, Lily."
+
+She laid her beautiful, sad face on her sister's hands.  Lillian bent
+over her, and whispered how dearly she loved her, and how she would do
+anything to help her.
+
+"That very morning," she said, never raising her eyes to her sister's
+face--"that morning, Lily, I met a stranger--a gentleman he seemed to
+me--and he watched me with admiring eyes. I met him again, and he spoke
+to me.  He walked by my side through the long meadows, and told me
+strange stories of foreign lands he had visited--such stories!  I
+forgot that he was a stranger, and talked to him as I am talking to you
+now.  I met him again and again.  Nay, do not turn from me; I shall die
+if you shrink away."
+
+The gentle arms clasped her more closely.
+
+"I am not turning from you," replied Lillian.  "I can not love you more
+than I do now."
+
+"I met him" continued Beatrice, "every day, unknown to every one about
+me.  He praised my beauty, and I was filled with joy; then he talked to
+me of love, and I listened without anger.  I swear to you," she said,
+"that I did it all without thought; it was the novelty, the flattery,
+the admiration that pleased me, not he himself, I believe Lily.  I
+rarely thought of him.  He interested me; he had eloquent words at his
+command, and seeing how I loved romance, he told me stories of
+adventure that held me enchanted and breathless.  I lost sight of him
+in thinking of the wonders he related.  They are to blame, Lily, who
+shut me out from the living world.  Had I been in my proper place here
+at home, where I could have seen and judged people rightly, it would
+not have happened.  At first it was but a pleasant break in a life
+dreary beyond words; then I looked for the daily meed of flattery and
+homage.  I could not do without it.  Lily, will you hold me to have
+been mad when I tell you the time came when I allowed that man to hold
+my hands as you are doing, to kiss my face, and win from me a promise
+that I would be his wife?"
+
+Beatrice looked up then and saw the fair, pitying face almost as white
+as snow.
+
+"Is it worse than you thought?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Lillian; "terrible, irretrievable, I fear!"
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXV
+
+There was unbroken silence for some minutes; then Lillian bent over her
+sister, and said:
+
+"Tell me all, darling; perhaps I can help you."
+
+"I promised to be his wife, Lily," continued Beatrice.  "I am sure I
+did not mean it.  I was but a child.  I did not realize all that the
+words meant.  He kissed my face, and said he should come to claim me.
+Believe me, Lily, I never thought of marriage. Brilliant pictures of
+foreign lands filled my mind; I looked upon Hugh Fernely only as a
+means of escape from a life I detested. He promised to take me to
+places the names of which filled me with wonder.  I never thought of
+leaving you or mamma--I never thought of the man himself as of a lover."
+
+"You did not care for him, then, as you do for Lord Airlie?" interposed
+Lillian.
+
+"Do not pain me!" begged Beatrice.  "I love Hubert with the love that
+comes but once in life; that man was nothing to me except that his
+flattery, and the excitement of contriving to meet him, made my life
+more endurable.  He gave me a ring, and said in two years' time he
+should return to claim me.  He was going on a long voyage.  Lily, I
+felt relieved when he was gone--the novelty was over--I had grown
+tired.  Besides, when the glamour fell from my eyes, I was ashamed of
+what I had done.  I tried to forget all about him; every time the
+remembrance of him came to my mind I drove it from me.  I did not think
+it possible he would ever return.  It was but a summer's pastime.  That
+summer has darkened my life.  Looking back, I own I did very wrong.
+There is great blame attaching to me, but surely they who shut me out
+from the living world were blameworthy also.
+
+"Remember all through my story, darling, that I am not so good, not so
+patient and gentle as you. I was restless at the Elms, like a bird in a
+cage; you were content.  I was vain, foolish, and willful; but, looking
+back at the impetuous, imperious child, full of romance, untrained,
+longing for the strife of life, longing for change, for excitement, for
+gayety, chafing under restraint, I think there was some little excuse
+for me.  There was no excuse for what followed.  When papa spoke to
+us--you remember it, Lily--and asked so gently if we had either of us a
+secret in our lives--when he promised to pardon anything, provided we
+kept nothing from him--I ought to have told him then.  There is no
+excuse for that error.  I was ashamed. Looking round upon the noble
+faces hanging on the wall, looking at him, so proud, so dignified, I
+could not tell him what his child had done.  Oh, Lily, if I had told
+him, I should not be kneeling here at your feet now."
+
+Lillian made no reply, but pressed the proud, drooping figure more
+closely to her side.
+
+"I can hardly tell the rest," said Beatrice; "the words frighten me as
+I utter them.  This man, who has been the bane of my life, was going
+away for two years.  He was to claim me when he returned.  I never
+thought he would return; I was so happy, I could not believe it."  Here
+sobs choked her utterance.
+
+Presently she continued: "Lily, he is here; he claims me, and also the
+fulfillment of my promise to be his wife."
+
+A look of unutterable dread came over the listener's fair, pitying face.
+
+"He wrote to me three weeks since; I tried to put him off.  He wrote
+again this morning, and swears he will see me.  He will be here tonight
+at nine o'clock.  Oh, Lily, save me, save me, or I shall die!"
+
+Bitter sobs broke from the proud lips.
+
+"I never knelt to any one before," Beatrice said; "I kneel to you, my
+sister.  No one else can help me.  You must see him for me, give him a
+letter from me, and tell him I am very ill.  It is no untruth, Lily.  I
+am ill, my brain burns, and my heart is cold with fear.  Will you do
+this for me?"
+
+"I would rather almost give you my life," said Lillian gently.
+
+"Oh, do not say that, Lily!  Do you know what there is at stake? Do you
+remember papa's words--that, if ever he found one of us guilty of any
+deceit, or involved in any clandestine love affair, even if it broke
+his heart he would send the guilty one from him and never see her
+again?  Think, darling, what it would be for me to leave
+Earlescourt--to leave all the magnificence I love so dearly, and drag
+out a weary life at the Elms.  Do you think I could brook Lord Earle's
+angry scorn and Lady Helena's pained wonder?  Knowing our father as you
+know him, do you believe he would pardon me?"
+
+"I do not," replied Lily, sadly.
+
+"That is not all," continued Beatrice.  "I might bear anger, scorn, and
+privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is discovered, Lord
+Airlie will cease to love me.  He might have forgiven me if I had told
+him at first; he would not know that I had lied to him and deceived
+him.  I can not lose him--I can not give him up.  For our mother's
+sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. Do what I have asked!"
+
+"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' reprieve;
+it will avail nothing; he will be here again."
+
+"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered
+Beatrice wistfully.  "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be
+so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love.  If I can not free
+myself, I shall run away.  I would rather suffer anything than face
+Lord Airlie or my father.  Say you will help me for my love's sake!  Do
+not let me lose my love!"
+
+"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better
+judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. I will
+see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you.
+You can not free yourself.  I see no way--running away is all
+nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be
+better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart.
+Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of
+mind then.  They will prevent him from annoying you."
+
+"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips.
+"Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me.  I could never
+meet his anger.  If ever you love any one you will understand better.
+He is everything to me.  I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather
+than see his face turned coldly from me."
+
+She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor,
+weeping bitterly and passionately.  Her sister, bending over her, heard
+the pitiful words--"My love, my love!  I can not lose my love!"
+
+The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and
+still.
+
+"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See,
+my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating
+heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of
+agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely."
+
+Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no
+comfort.
+
+"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now.  I will write my
+letter.  He will be at the shrubbery gate.  I will manage so that you
+shall have time.  Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me,
+tell him I am ill and can not see him.  Shall you be frightened?"
+
+"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter.  I must
+think of you, not of myself."
+
+"You need not fear him," said Beatrice.  "Poor Hugh, I could pity him
+if I did not hate him.  Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I
+can not now."
+
+She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he
+must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer.
+
+She gave the letter to her sister.  Lillian's heart ached as she noted
+the trembling hands and quivering lips.
+
+"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice,
+sorrowfully.
+
+"There is no need," was the simple reply.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was
+nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine,
+came into the drawing room.  The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright
+fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted.  Sir Harry sat
+down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle
+challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte.  The young people were
+left to themselves.
+
+"In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek refuge in
+cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, Lily.  You never
+sing to me; come to the piano now."
+
+But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near.
+
+"Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently."
+
+He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused him a
+favor.
+
+"Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked.
+
+Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be
+impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the fair face
+flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped.
+
+"How guilty you look," he said.  "Is there any mystery on hand? Are you
+tired of me?  Or is there to be another important consultation over the
+wedding dresses?"
+
+"I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively.  "Get the
+folio ready--I shall not be long."
+
+Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish suspense,
+now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the benefit of his
+clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's.
+
+"My 'clear, ringing tenor' is quite at your service," he said with a
+smile.  "Lily is very unkind to me tonight."
+
+They went to the piano, where Lord Airlie awaited them; and Lillian,
+looking at her small, jeweled watch--Lord Earle's present--saw that it
+wanted three minutes to nine.
+
+She at once quitted the room, unobserved, as she thought; but Lionel
+saw her go.
+
+No words can tell how distasteful and repugnant was the task she had
+undertaken.  She would have suffered anything almost to have evaded it.
+She, who never had a secret; she, whose every word and action were open
+as the day; she, who shrank from all deceit and untruth as from a
+deadly plague, to be mixed up with a wretched clandestine love affair
+like this!  She, to steal out of her father's house at night, to meet a
+stranger, and plead her sister's cause with him!  The thought horrified
+her; but the beautiful face in its wild sorrow, the sad voice in its
+passionate anguish, urged her on.
+
+Lillian went hastily to her own room.  She took a large black shawl and
+drew it closely round her, hiding the pretty evening dress and the rich
+pearls.  Then, with the letter in her hand, she went down the staircase
+that led from her rooms to the garden.
+
+The night was dark; heavy clouds sailed swiftly across the sky, the
+wind moaned fitfully, bending the tall trees as it were in anger, then
+whispering round them as though suing for pardon. Lillian had never
+been out at night alone before, and her first sensation was one of
+fear.  She crossed the gardens where the autumn flowers were fading;
+the lights shone gayly from the Hall windows; the shrubbery looked dark
+and mysterious.  She was frightened at the silence and darkness, but
+went bravely on.  He was there.  By the gate she saw a tall figure
+wrapped in a traveling cloak; as she crossed the path, he stepped
+hastily forward, crying with a voice she never forgot:
+
+"Beatrice, at last you have come!"
+
+"It is not Beatrice," she said, shrinking from the outstretched arms.
+"I am Lillian Earle.  My sister is ill, and has sent you this."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVI
+
+Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it with a
+muttered imprecation of disappointment.  The moon, which had been
+struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, shone out faintly;
+by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a dark, handsome face browned
+with the sun of warm climes, dark eyes that had in them a wistful
+sadness, and firm lips.  He did not look like the gentlemen she was
+accustomed to.  He was polite and respectful.  When he heard her name,
+he took off his hat, and stood uncovered during the interview.
+
+"Wait!" he cried.  "Ah, must I wait yet longer?  Tell your sister I
+have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my life away."
+
+"She is really ill," returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her.  Do not
+be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear."
+
+"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily.  "It is of no
+use.  Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I
+will."
+
+"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and her
+calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her words, as she
+looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face.
+
+It was not a bad face, she thought; there was no cruelty or meanness
+there.  She read love so fierce and violent in it that it startled her.
+He did not look like one who would wantonly and willfully make her
+sister wretched for life.  Hope grew in her heart as she gazed.  She
+resolved to plead with him for Beatrice, to ask him to forget a
+childish, foolish promise--a childish error.
+
+"My sister is very unhappy," she said, bravely; "so unhappy that I do
+not think she can bear much more; it will kill her or drive her mad."
+
+"It is killing me," he interrupted.
+
+"You do not look cruel, Mr. Fernely," continued Lillian. "Your face is
+good and true--I would trust you.  Release my sister. She was but a
+foolish, impetuous child when she made you that promise.  If she keeps
+it, all her life will be wretched.  Be generous and release her."
+
+"Did she bid you ask me?" he interrogated.
+
+"No," she replied; "but do you know what the keeping of the promise
+will cost her?  Lord Earle will never forgive her.  She will have to
+leave home, sister, friends--all she loves and values most.  Judge
+whether she could ever care for you, if you brought this upon her."
+
+"I can not help it," he said gloomily.  "She promised to be my wife,
+Miss Lillian--Heaven knows I am speaking truthfully--and I have lived
+on her words.  You do not know what the strong love of a true man is.
+I love her so that if she chose to place her little foot upon me, and
+trample the life out of me, I would not say her nay.  I must see
+her--the hungry, yearning love that fills my heart must be satisfied."
+Great tears shone in his eyes, and deep sobs shook his strong frame.
+
+"I will not harm her," he said, "but I must see her.  Once, and once
+only, her beautiful face lay on my breast--that beautiful, proud face!
+No mother ever yearned to see her child again more than I long to see
+her.  Let her come to me, Miss Lillian; let me kneel at her feet as I
+did before,--If she sends me from her, there will be pity in death; but
+she can not.  There is not a woman in the world who could send such
+love as mine away!  You can not understand," he continued. "It is more
+than two years since I left her; night and day her face has been before
+me.  I have lived upon my love; it is my life--my everything.  I could
+no more drive it from my breast than I could tear my heart from my body
+and still live on."
+
+"Even if my sister cared for you," said Lillian, gently--for his
+passionate words touched her--"you must know that Lord Earle would
+never allow her to keep such a promise as she made."
+
+"She knew nothing of Lord Earle when it was made," he replied, "nor did
+I.  She was a beautiful child, pining away like a bright bird shut up
+in a cage.  I promised her freedom and liberty; she promised me her
+love.  Where was Lord Earle then?  She was safe with me.  I loved her.
+I was kinder to her than her own father; I took care of her--he did
+not."
+
+"It is all changed now," said Lillian.
+
+"But I can not change," he answered.  "If fortune had made me a king,
+should I have loved your sister less!  Is a man's heart a plaything?
+Can I call back my love?  It has caused me woe enough."
+
+Lillian knew not what to say in the presence of this mighty love; her
+gentle efforts at mediation were bootless.  She pitied him she pitied
+Beatrice.
+
+"I am sure you can be generous," she said, after a short silence.
+"Great, true, noble love is never selfish.  My sister can never be
+happy with you; then release her.  If you force her, or rather try to
+force her, to keep this rash promise, think how she will dislike you.
+If you are generous, and release her, think how she will esteem you."
+
+"Does she not love me?" he asked; and his voice was hoarse with pain.
+
+"No," replied Lillian, gently; "it is better for you to know the truth.
+She does not love you--she never will."
+
+"I do not believe it," he cried.  "I will never believe it from any
+lips but her own!  Not love me!  Great Heaven!  Do you know you are
+speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife?  If she tells me so,
+I will believe her."
+
+"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come
+again when she is well."
+
+"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough.  I am here to
+see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me."
+
+He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the
+envelope which Beatrice had sent.
+
+"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I
+thank you for coming to me.  You have been very kind and gentle.  You
+have a fair, true face.  Never break a man's heart for pastime, or
+because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands."
+
+"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said.  He held out
+his hand and she could not refuse hers.
+
+"Goodbye, Miss Lillian!  Heaven bless you for your sympathy."
+
+"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was
+never more to see.
+
+The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds.  Hugh Fernely
+walked quickly down the path.  Lillian, taking the folded paper,
+hastened across the gardens.  But neither of them saw a tall, erect
+figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre
+utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head.
+
+He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want
+music--he wanted Lillian.  Beatrice played badly, too, as though she
+did not know what she was doing.  Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him
+out of the way.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the
+piano.
+
+"To look for a good cigar," he replied.  "Neither Airlie nor you need
+pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you."  He
+quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of
+cigars awaited him.  He selected one, and went out into the garden to
+enjoy it.  Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery?
+The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he
+heard a murmur of voices.  Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall
+figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a
+black shawl.
+
+"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself.  "Now that is not
+precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no
+business of mine."
+
+But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true
+passion.  He wondered who he was.  He saw the young girl place her hand
+in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.
+
+He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in
+the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was
+chiming half past nine.  The chess and card tables were just as she had
+left them.  Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano.  Lionel
+was nowhere to be seen.  She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked
+Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes.
+
+"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters
+walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir.
+
+"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him?  What does he
+say?"
+
+"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he
+said.  He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her
+sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own.
+
+"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said,
+"that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him
+yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain."
+
+A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face.
+
+"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true?  Do not mock me with false
+hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance."
+
+"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him.  If you see him I
+feel sure he will release you.  See what he says."
+
+Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled lines.  She
+did not give them to Lillian to read.
+
+"Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own lips
+that you do not love me.  You must tell me yourself that every sweet
+hope you gave me was a false lie.  I will not leave Earlescourt again
+without seeing you.  On Thursday night, at ten o'clock, I will be at
+the same place--meet me, and tell me if you want your freedom.  Hugh."
+
+"I shall win!" she cried.  "Lily, hold my hands--they tremble with
+happiness. See, I can not hold the paper.  He will release me, and I
+shall not lose my love--my love, who is all the world to me.  How must
+I thank you?  This is Tuesday; how shall I live until Thursday?  I feel
+as though a load, a burden, the weight of which no words can tell, were
+taken from me.  Lily, I shall be Lord Airlie's wife, and you will have
+saved me."
+
+"Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as the sisters, in returning, passed by
+the chess table, "our game is finished, will you give us a song?"
+
+Never had the magnificent voice rung out so joyously, never had the
+beautiful face looked so bright.  She sang something that was like an
+air of triumph--no under current of sadness marred its passionate
+sweetness.  Lord Airlie bent over her chair enraptured.
+
+"You sing like one inspired, Beatrice," he said.
+
+"I was thinking of you," she replied; and he saw by the dreamy, rapt
+expression of her face that she meant what she had said.
+
+Presently Lord Airlie was summoned to Lady Helena's assistance in some
+little argument over cards, and Beatrice, while her fingers strayed
+mechanically over the keys, arrived at her decision.  She would see
+Hugh.  She could not avert that; and she must meet him as bravely as
+she could.  After all, as Lillian had said, he was not cruel, and he
+did love her.  The proud lip curled in scornful triumph as she thought
+how dearly he loved her.  She would appeal to his love, and beseech him
+to release her.
+
+She would beseech him with such urgency that he could not refuse. Who
+ever refused her?  Could she not move men's hearts as the wind moves
+the leaves?  He would be angry at first, perhaps fierce and passionate,
+but in the end she would prevail.  As she sat there, dreamy, tender
+melodies stealing, as it were, from her fingers, she went in fancy
+through the whole scene.  She knew how silent the sleeping woods would
+be--how dark and still the night.  She could imagine Hugh's face,
+browned by the sun and travel.  Poor Hugh!  In the overflow of her
+happiness she felt more kindly toward him.
+
+She wished him well.  He might marry some nice girl in his own station
+of life, and be a prosperous, happy man, and she would be a good friend
+to him if he would let her.  No one would ever know her secret.
+Lillian would keep it faithfully, and down the fair vista of years she
+saw herself Lord Airlie's beloved wife, the error of her youth repaired
+and forgotten.
+
+The picture was so pleasant that it was no wonder her songs grew more
+triumphant.  Those who listened to the music that night never forgot it.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVII
+
+Lionel Dacre stood for some minutes stunned with the shock and
+surprise.  He could not be mistaken; unless his senses played him
+false, it was Lillian Earle whom he had mistaken for a maid meeting her
+lover.  It was Lillian he had believed so pure and guileless who had
+stolen from her father's home under the cover of night's darkness and
+silence--who had met in her father's grounds one whom she dared not
+meet in the light of day.
+
+If his dearest friend had sworn this to Lionel he would not have
+believed it.  His own senses he could not doubt.  The faint, feeble
+moonlight had as surely fallen on the fair face and golden hair of
+Lillian Earle as the sun shone by day in the sky.
+
+He threw away his cigar, and ground his teeth with rage.  Had the skies
+fallen at his feet he could not have been more startled and amazed.
+Then, after all, all women were alike.  There was in them no truth; no
+goodness; the whole world was alike.  Yet he had believed in her so
+implicitly--in her guileless purity, her truth, her freedom from every
+taint of the world.  That fair, spirituelle form had seemed to him only
+as a beautiful casket hiding a precious gem.  Nay, still more, though
+knowing and loving her, he had begun to care for everything good and
+pure that interested her.  Now all was false and hateful.
+
+There was no truth in the world, he said to himself.  This girl, whom
+he had believed to be the fairest and sweetest among women, was but a
+more skillful deceiver than the rest.  His mother's little deceptions,
+hiding narrow means and straitened circumstances, were as nothing
+compared with Lillian's deceit.
+
+And he had loved her so!  Looking into those tender eyes, he had
+believed love and truth shone there; the dear face that had blushed and
+smiled for him had looked so pure and guileless.
+
+How long was it since he had held her little hands clasped within his
+own, and, abashed before her sweet innocence, had not dared to touch
+her lips, even when she had promised to love him?  How he had been
+duped and deceived!  How she must have laughed at his blind folly!
+
+Who was the man?  Some one she must have known years before. There was
+no gentleman in Lord Earle's circle who would have stolen into his
+grounds like a thief by night.  Why had he not followed him, and
+thrashed him within an inch of his life? Why had he let him escape?
+
+The strong hands were clinched tightly.  It was well for Hugh Fernely
+that he was not at that moment in Lionel's power.  Then the fierce, hot
+anger died away, and a passion of despair seized him.  A long, low cry
+came from his lips, a bitter sob shook his frame.  He had lost his
+fair, sweet love.  The ideal he had worshiped lay stricken; falsehood
+and deceit marked its fair form.
+
+While the first smart of pain was upon him, he would not return to the
+house; he would wait until he was calm and cool.  Then he would see how
+she dared to meet him.
+
+His hands ceased to tremble; the strong, angry pulsating of his heart
+grew calmer.  He went back to the drawing room; and, except that the
+handsome face was pale even to the lips, and that a strange, angry
+light gleamed in the frank, kindly eyes, there was little difference in
+Lionel Dacre.
+
+She was there, bending over the large folio he had asked her to show
+him; the golden hair fell upon the leaves.  She looked up as he
+entered; her face was calm and serene; there was a faint pink flush on
+the cheeks, and a bright smile trembled on her features.
+
+"Here are the drawings," she said; "will you look over them?"
+
+He remembered how he had asked her to sing to him, and she refused,
+looking confused and uneasy the while.  He understood now the reason
+why.
+
+He took a chair by her side; the folio lay upon a table placed in a
+large room, lighted by a silver lamp.  They were as much alone there as
+though they had been in another room.  She took out a drawing, and laid
+it before him.  He neither saw it nor heard what she remarked.
+
+"Lillian," he said, suddenly, "if you were asked what was the most
+deadly sin a woman could commit, what should you reply?"
+
+"That is a strange question," she answered. "I do not know, Lionel.  I
+think I hate all sin alike."
+
+"Then I will tell you," he said bitterly; "it is false, foul
+deceit--black, heartless treachery."
+
+She looked up in amazement at his angry tone; then there was for some
+moments unbroken silence.
+
+"I can not see the drawings," he said; "take them away.  Lillian Earle,
+raise your eyes to mine; look me straight in the face. How long is it
+since I asked you to be my wife?"
+
+Her gentle eyes never wavered, they were fixed half in wonder on his,
+but at his question the faint flush on her cheeks grew deeper.
+
+"Not very long," she replied; "a few days."
+
+"You said you loved me," he continued.
+
+"I do," she said.
+
+"Now, answer me again.  Have you ever loved or cared for any one else,
+as you say you do for me?"
+
+"Never," was the quiet reply.
+
+"Pray pardon the question--have you received the attentions of any
+lover before receiving mine?"
+
+"Certainly not," she said, wondering still more.
+
+"I have all your affection, your confidence, your trust; you have never
+duped or deceived me; you have been open, truthful, and honest with me?"
+
+"You forget yourself, Lionel," she said, with gentle dignity; "you
+should not use such words to me."
+
+"Answer!" he returned.  "You have to do with a desperate man. Have you
+deceived me?"
+
+"Never," she replied, "In thought, word, or deed."
+
+"Merciful Heaven!" he cried.  "That one can be so fair and so false!"
+
+There was nothing but wonder in the face that was raised to his.
+
+"Lillian," he said, "I have loved you as the ideal of all that was pure
+and noble in woman.  In you I saw everything good and holy.  May Heaven
+pardon you that my faith has died a violent death."
+
+"I can not understand you," she said, slowly.  "Why do you speak to me
+so?"
+
+"I will use plainer words," he replied--"so plain that you can not
+mistake them.  I, your betrothed husband, the man you love and trust,
+ask you, Lillian Earle, who was it you met tonight in your father's
+grounds?"
+
+He saw the question strike her as lightning sometimes strikes a fair
+tree.  The color faded from her lips; a cloud came over the clear,
+dove-like eyes; she tried to answer, but the words died away in a faint
+murmur.
+
+"Do you deny that you were there?" he asked.  "Remember, I saw you, and
+I saw him.  Do you deny it?"
+
+"No," she replied.
+
+"Who was it?" he cried; and his eyes flamed so angrily upon her that
+she was afraid.  "Tell me who it was.  I will follow him to the world's
+end.  Tell me."
+
+"I can not, Lionel," she whispered; "I can not.  For pity's sake, keep
+my secret!"
+
+"You need not be afraid," he said, haughtily.  "I shall not betray you
+to Lord Earle.  Let him find out for himself what you are, as I have
+done.  I could curse myself for my own trust.  Who is he?"
+
+"I can not tell you," she stammered, and he saw her little white hands
+wrung together in agony.  "Oh, Lionel, trust me--do not be angry with
+me."
+
+"You can not expect me," he said, although he was softened by the sight
+of her sorrow, "to know of such an action and not to speak of it,
+Lillian.  If you can explain it, do so.  If the man was an old lover of
+yours, tell me so; in time I may forget the deceit, if you are frank
+with me now.  If there be any circumstance that extenuates or explains
+what you did, tell it to me now."
+
+"I can not," she said, and her fair face drooped sadly away from him.
+
+"That I quite believe," he continued, bitterly.  "You can not and will
+not.  You know the alternative, I suppose?"
+
+The gentle eyes were raised to his in mute, appealing sorrow, but she
+spoke not.
+
+"Tell me now," he said, "whom it was you stole out of the house to
+meet--why you met him?  Be frank with me; and, if it was but girlish
+nonsense, in time I may pardon you.  If you refuse to tell me, I shall
+leave Earlescourt, and never look upon your false, fair face again."
+
+She buried her face in her hands, and he heard a low moan of sorrow
+come from her white lips.
+
+"Will you tell me, Lillian?" he asked again--and he never forgot the
+deadly anguish of the face turned toward him.
+
+"I can not," she replied; her voice died away, and he thought she was
+falling from her chair.
+
+"That is your final decision; you refuse to tell me what, as your
+accepted lover, I have a right to know?"
+
+"Trust me, Lionel," she implored.  "Try, for the love you bear me, to
+trust me!"
+
+"I will never believe in any one again," he said.  "Take back your
+promise, Lillian Earle; you have broken a true and honest heart, you
+have blighted a whole life.  Heaven knows what I shall become, drifted
+from you.  I care not.  You have deceived me. Take back your ring.  I
+will say goodbye to you.  I shall not care to look upon your false,
+fair face again."
+
+"Oh, Lionel, wait!" she cried.  "Give me time--do not leave me so!"
+
+"Time will make little difference," he answered; "I shall not leave the
+Hall until tomorrow morning; you can write to me if you wish me to
+remain."
+
+He laid the ring upon the table, refusing to notice the trembling,
+outstretched hand.  He could not refrain from looking back at her as he
+quitted the room.  He saw the gentle face, so full of deadly sorrow,
+with its white quivering lips; and yet he thought to himself, although
+she looked stricken with anguish, there was no guilt on the clear, fair
+brow.
+
+He turned back from the door and went straight to Lord Earle.
+
+"I shall leave Earlescourt tomorrow," he said, abruptly.  "I must go,
+Lord Earle; do not press to stay."
+
+"Come and go as you will, Lionel," said Ronald, surprised at the
+brusqueness of his manner; "we are always pleased to see you and sorry
+to lose you.  You will return soon, perhaps?"
+
+"I will write to you in a few days," he replied. "I must say goodbye to
+Lady Earle."
+
+She was astounded.  Beatrice and Lord Airlie came up to him there was a
+general expression of surprise and regret.  He, unlike himself, was
+brusque, and almost haughty.
+
+Sir Harry and Lady Laurence had gone home.  Beatrice, with a vague fear
+that something had gone wrong, said she was tired; Lord Airlie said
+goodnight; and in a few minutes Lady Helena and her son were left alone.
+
+"What has come over Lionel?" asked Ronald.  "Why, mother, how mistaken
+I am!  Do you know that I quite believed he was falling in love with
+Lillian?"
+
+"He did that long ago," replied Lady Helena, with a smile.  "Say
+nothing about it.  Lionel is very proud and impetuous.  I fancy he and
+Lillian have had some little dispute.  Matters of that kind are best
+left alone--interference always does harm.  He will come back in a few
+days; and all be right again.  Ronald, there is one question I have
+been wishing to ask you--do not be angry if I pain you, my son.
+Beatrice will be married soon--do you not intend her mother to be
+present at the wedding?"
+
+Lord Earle rose from his chair, and began, as he always did in time of
+anxiety, to pace up and down the room.
+
+"I had forgotten her claim," he said.  "I can not tell what to do,
+mother.  It would be a cruel, unmerited slight to pass her over, but I
+do not wish to see her.  I have fought a hard battle with my feelings,
+but I can not bring myself to see her."
+
+"Yet you loved her very much once," said Lady Helena.
+
+"I did," he replied, gently.  "Poor Dora."
+
+"It is an awful thing to live at enmity with any one," said Lady
+Helena--"but with one's own wife!  I can not understand it, Ronald."
+
+"You mistake, mother," he said, eagerly; "I am not at enmity with Dora.
+She offended me--she hurt my honor--she pained me in a way I can never
+forget."
+
+"You must forgive her some day," replied Lady Earle; "why not now?"
+
+"No," he said, sadly.  "I know myself--I know what I can do and what I
+can not do.  I could take my wife in my arms, and kiss her face--I
+could not live with her.  I shall forgive her, mother, when all that is
+human is dying away from me.  I shall forgive her in the hour of death."
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVIII
+
+Lillian Earle was no tragedy queen.  She never talked about sacrifice
+or dying, but there was in her calm, gentle nature a depth of endurance
+rarely equaled.  She had never owned, even to herself, how dearly she
+loved Lionel Dacre--how completely every thought and hope was centered
+in him.  Since she had first learned to care for him, she had never
+looked her life in the face and imagined what it would be without him.
+
+It never entered her mind to save herself at the expense of her sister;
+the secret had been intrusted to her, and she could not conceive the
+idea of disclosing it.  If the choice had been offered her between
+death and betraying Beatrice, she would have chosen death, with a
+simple consciousness that she was but doing her duty.
+
+So, when Lionel uttered those terrible words--when she found that he
+had seen her--she never dreamed of freeing herself from blame, and
+telling the story of her sister's fault.  His words were bitterly
+cruel; they stung her with sharp pain.  She had never seen contempt or
+scorn before on that kindly, honest face; now, she read both.  Yet,
+what could she do?  Her sister's life lay in her hands, and she must
+guard it.
+
+Therefore, she bore the cruel taunts, and only once when the fear of
+losing him tortured her, cried out for pity and trust.  But he had no
+trust; he stabbed her gentle heart with his fierce words, he seared her
+with his hot anger; she might, at the expense of another, have
+explained all, and stood higher than ever in his esteem, but she would
+not do it.
+
+She was almost stunned by the sorrow that had fallen upon her. She saw
+him, with haughty, erect bearing, quit the drawing room, and she knew
+that unless Beatrice permitted her to tell the truth, she would never
+see his face again.  She went straight to her sister's room and waited
+for her.
+
+The pale face grew calm and still; her sister could not refuse her
+request when she had told her all; then she would write to Lionel and
+explain.  He would not leave Earlescourt; he would only love her the
+better for her steadfast truth.
+
+"Send Suzette away," she whispered to Beatrice, when she entered; "I
+must see you alone at once."
+
+Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister.
+
+"What is it, Lily?" she asked.  "Your face is deathly pale.  What has
+happened?"
+
+"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to Lionel
+Dacre?  It will be quite sacred with him."
+
+"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried.  "No, a thousand times over!  How can you
+ask me, Lily?  He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not keep it from
+him.  Why do you ask me such an extraordinary question?"
+
+"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and saw
+me speaking to Hugh Fernely."
+
+"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment Beatrice
+looked despairing.
+
+"Not a word," said Lily.  "How could I, when you trusted me?"
+
+"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming over her
+face; "his opinion does not matter much.  What did he say?"
+
+"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, her
+face growing crimson with shame.
+
+"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice. "Well,
+never mind, darling.  I am very sorry it happened, but it will not
+matter.  I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not grieve over it.
+He will not surely tell?  He is too honorable for that."
+
+"No," said Lillian, dreamily, "he will not tell."
+
+"Then do not look so scared, Lily; nothing else matters."
+
+"You forget what he must think of me," said Lillian.  "Knowing his
+upright, truthful character, what must he think of me?"
+
+That view of the question had not struck Beatrice.  She looked grave
+and anxious.  It was not right for her sister to be misjudged.
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry," she began, but Lillian interrupted her, she came
+close to her, and lowered her pale face over her sister's arm.
+
+"Beatrice," she said, slowly, "you must let me tell him.  He cares for
+me.  He loves me; I promised to be his wife, and I love him--just as
+you do Lord Airlie."
+
+Under the shock of those words Beatrice Earle sat silent and motionless.
+
+"I love him," continued Lillian.  "I did not tell you.  He said it was
+not to be mentioned until you were married.  I love him so dearly,
+Beatrice--and when he asked me who it was I had been to meet, I could
+not answer him.  He was very angry; he said sharp, cruel words to me,
+and I could not tell him how false they were. He will leave
+Earlescourt; he will never look upon my face again unless I tell him
+all.  He has said so, and he will keep his word.  Beatrice, must I lose
+my love?"
+
+"It would be only for a time," she replied.  "I hate myself for being
+so selfish, but I dare not trust Lionel Dacre.  He is so impetuous, so
+hasty, he would betray me, as surely as he knew it. Do you not remember
+his saying the other day that it was well for him he had no secrets,
+for he could not manage to keep them!"
+
+"He would keep this," pleaded Lillian--"for your sake and mine."
+
+"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near
+happiness.  Oh, Lily, you have saved me once--save me again!  My
+darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I will
+tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly.
+Could you do this for me?"
+
+"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is not fair
+to myself, Beatrice."
+
+"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister.  "If myself, the
+sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it will last,
+at the most, only three or four weeks.  I will write to Lionel on my
+wedding day."
+
+"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian.
+
+"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or
+four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister,
+Lily.  I will say no more.  I leave it for you to decide."
+
+"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress.  "I could not
+clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice understood
+perfectly well.
+
+"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able
+to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now. On my wedding
+day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the
+noblest, the dearest in the world."
+
+"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian.
+
+"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added
+Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall
+not hurt you, Lily--it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to
+forget it.  He will not know how to atone to you for this.  Think of
+your happiness when he returns."
+
+She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm
+that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had
+overcome all objections.
+
+But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed wearily to
+and fro on its pillow--a fair face was stained with bitter tears.
+Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at the last she would come
+and bid him stay because she wished to tell him all.
+
+But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought the
+longed-for words.  He passed out from the Hall.  He could not refrain
+from looking once at the window of her room, but the blind was closely
+drawn.  He little knew or dreamed how and why he would return.
+
+Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn wished
+to surpass the glories or summer.  Beatrice had not told Lillian when
+she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she dreaded her sister's
+anxiety, partly because she did not wish any one to know how long she
+might be with him; for Beatrice anticipated a painful interview,
+although she felt sure of triumph in the end.
+
+Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain upon
+her mind had been too great.  When Lady Helena listened to her maid's
+remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she forbade her to get
+up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only too pleased to obey.
+
+The breakfast party was a very small one.  Lord Earle was absent; he
+had gone to Holte.  Lady Helena hurried away to sit with Lillian.  Lord
+Airlie had been smiling very happily over a mysterious little packet
+that had come by post.  He asked Beatrice if she would go out with
+him--he had something to show her.  They went out into the park,
+intending to return in time for luncheon.
+
+The morning was bright and calm.  Something of the warmth and beauty of
+the summer lingered still, although the ground was strewn with fallen
+leaves.
+
+Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar tree
+whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still lake.  The
+birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. On the beautiful
+face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing but happiness and love.
+
+"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, showing
+her a little packet--"a surprise.  You must thank me by saying that
+what it contains will be more precious to you than anything else on
+earth."
+
+She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain of
+exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty.
+
+She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in her
+hands.
+
+"Now, thank me," said Lord Airlie, "in the way I asked."
+
+"What it contains is more precious to me than anything on earth," she
+said.  "You know that, Hubert; why do you make me repeat it?"
+
+"Because I like to hear it," he answered. "I like to see my proud love
+looking humble for a few minutes; I like to know that I have caged a
+bright, wild bird that no one else could tame."
+
+"I am not caged yet," she objected.
+
+"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "make me a promise.  Let me fasten this
+locket around your neck, and tell me that you will not part with it
+night or day for one moment until our wedding day."
+
+"I can easily promise that," she said.  She bent her beautiful head,
+and Lord Airlie fastened the chain round her throat.
+
+He little knew what he had done.  When Lord Airlie fastened the chain
+round the neck of the girl he loved, he bound her to him in life and in
+death.
+
+"It looks charming," he said.  "How everything beautiful becomes you,
+Beatrice!  You were born to be a queen--who am I that I should have won
+you?  Tell me over again--I never grow tired of hearing it--do you love
+me?"
+
+She told him again, her face glowing with happiness.  He bent over her
+and kissed the sweet face; he kissed the little white hands and the
+rings of dark hair the wind blew carelessly near him.
+
+"When the leaves are green, and the fair spring is come," he said, "you
+will be my wife, Beatrice--Lady Airlie of Lynnton.  I love my name and
+title when I remember that you will share them. And you shall be the
+happiest Lady Airlie that ever lived--the happiest bride, the happiest
+wife the sun ever shone upon.  You will never part with my locket,
+Beatrice?"
+
+"No," she replied; "never.  I will keep it always."
+
+They sat through the long bright hours under the shade of the old cedar
+tree, while Lillian lay with head and heart aching, wondering in her
+gentle way why this sorrow should have fallen upon her.
+
+She did not know, as she lay like a pale broken lily, that years ago
+her father, in the reckless heyday of youth, had wilfully deceived his
+father, and married against his wish and commands; she did not know how
+that unhappy marriage had ended in pride, passion, and sullen, jealous
+temper--while those who should have foreborne went each their own
+road--the proud, irritated husband abroad, away from every tie of home
+and duty, the jealous, angry wife secluding herself in the bitterness
+of her heart--both neglecting the children intrusted to them.  She knew
+how one of those children had gone wrong; she knew the deceit, the
+misery, the sorrow that wrong had entailed.  She was the chief victim,
+yet the sin had not been hers.
+
+There were no fierce, rebellious feelings in her gentle heart, no angry
+warring with the mighty Hand that sends crosses and blessings alike.
+The flower bent by the wind was not more pliant.  Where her sorrow and
+love had cast her she lay, silently enduring her suffering, while
+Lionel traveled without intermission, wishing only to find himself far
+away from the young girl he declared he had ceased to love yet could
+not forget.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIX
+
+Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a quarter
+to ten.  Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left Lillian asleep,
+and had taken up a book near him.  Lord Airlie had been sketching for
+Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton. Looking up suddenly she saw
+the time.  At ten Hugh Fernely would be at the shrubbery gate.  She had
+not a moment to lose.  Saying she was feeling tired, she rose and went
+to bid Lord Earle goodnight.
+
+He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in his
+hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering something the
+while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton."  He remembered how she, so little
+given to caressing, had laid her hand upon his shoulder, clasping her
+arms around his neck, kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear
+papa."  He remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes,
+the sweet voice that lingered in his ears.  Yet no warning came to him,
+nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in the shadow
+of deadly peril.
+
+If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to shield
+her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her! As it was,
+she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he did not even gaze
+after her as she quitted the room.  If he had only known where and how
+he should see that face again!
+
+Beatrice went up to Lady Helena, who smiled without raising her eyes
+from her book.  Beatrice bent down and touched the kind, stately face
+with her lips.
+
+"Good night, grandmamma," she said.  "How studious you are!"
+
+"Good night--bless you, my child," returned Lady Helena; and the fair
+face turned from her with a smile.
+
+"You have left me until last," said Lord Airlie; "goodnight, my
+Beatrice.  Never mind papa--he is not looking at us, give me one kiss."
+
+She raised her face to his, and he kissed the proud, sweet lips.
+
+He touched the golden locket.
+
+"You will never part with it," he said; and he smiled as she answered:
+
+"No, never!"
+
+Then she passed out of his sight, and he who would have laid down his
+life for her saw her leave him without the faintest suspicion of the
+shadow that hung over her.
+
+The smile still lingered on her as she stood in her own room.  A few
+hours more--one more trial--she said to herself; then she would be
+free, and might enjoy her happiness to its full extent. How dearly
+Hubert loved her--how unutterably happy she would be when Hugh released
+her!  And he would--she never doubted it.
+
+"I shall not want you again," she said to her maid.  "And do not call
+me in the morning. I am tired."
+
+The door of Lillian's room was not closed; she went in.  The night lamp
+was shaded, and the blinds closely drawn, so that the bright moonlight
+could not intrude.  She went gently to the side of the bed where her
+sister lay.  Poor, gentle, loving Lillian! The pale, sad face, with its
+wistful wearied expression, was turned to the wall.  There were some
+traces of tears, and even in sleep deep sighs passed the quivering
+lips.  Sorrow and woe were impressed on the fair face.  Yet, as
+Beatrice kissed the clear, calm brow, she would gladly have changed
+places with her.
+
+"I will soon make it up to her," she said, gazing long and earnestly on
+the sleeping face.  "In a few weeks she shall be happier than she has
+ever been.  I will make Master Lionel go on his knees to her."
+
+She left the room, and Lillian never knew who had bent so lovingly over
+her.
+
+Beatrice took from her wardrobe, a thick, warm shawl.  She drew it over
+her head, and so half hid her face.  Then she went noiselessly down the
+staircase that led from her suite of rooms to the garden.
+
+How fair and beautiful the night was--not cold, although it was
+September, and the moon shining as she had rarely seen it shine before.
+
+It seemed to sail triumphantly in the dark-blue sky.  It poured a flood
+of silvery light on the sleeping flowers and trees.
+
+She had not lingered to look round the pretty dressing room as she left
+it.  Her eyes had not dwelt on the luxurious chamber and the white bed,
+wherein she ought to have been sleeping, but, now that she stood
+outside the Hall, she looked up at the windows with a sense of
+loneliness and fear.  There was a light in Lady Helena's room and one
+in Lord Airlie's.  She shrank back.  What would he think if he saw her
+now?
+
+Deeply she felt the humiliation of leaving her father's house at that
+hour of the night; she felt the whole shame of what she was going to
+do; but the thought of Lord Airlie nerved her.  Let this one night
+pass, and a life time of happiness lay before her.
+
+The night wind moaned fitfully among the trees; the branches of the
+tall lime trees swayed over her head; the fallen leaves twirled round
+her feet.  She crossed the gardens; the moon cast strange shadows upon
+the broad paths.  At length she saw the shrubbery gate, and, by it,
+erect and motionless, gazing on the bending trees in the park, was Hugh
+Fernely.  He did not hear her light footsteps--the wind among the lime
+trees drowned them. She went up to him and touched his arm gently.
+
+"Hugh," she said, "I am here."
+
+Before she could prevent him, he was kneeling at her feet.  He had
+clasped her hands in his own, and was covering them with hot kisses and
+burning tears.
+
+"My darling," he said, "my own Beatrice, I knew you would come!"
+
+He rose then, and, before she could stop him, he took the shawl from
+her head and raised the beautiful face so that the moonlight fell
+clearly upon it.
+
+"I have hungered and thirsted," he said, "for another look at that
+face.  I shall see it always now--its light will ever leave me more.
+Look at me, Beatrice," he cried, "let me see those dark eyes again."
+
+But the glance she gave him had nothing in it but coldness and dread.
+In the excitement of his joy he did not notice it.
+
+"Words are so weak," he said, "I can not tell you how I have longed for
+this hour.  I have gone over it in fancy a thousand times; yet no dream
+was ever so bright and sweet as this reality. No man in the wide world
+ever loved any one as I love you, Beatrice."
+
+She could not resist the passionate torrent of words--they must have
+touched the heart of one less proud.  She stood perfectly still, while
+the calm night seemed to thrill with the eloquent voice of the speaker.
+
+"Speak to me," he said, at length.  "How coldly you listen! Beatrice,
+there is no love, no joy in your face.  Tell me you are pleased to see
+me--tell me you have remembered me.  Say anything let me hear your
+voice."
+
+"Hugh," she answered, gently, drawing her hands from his strong grasp,
+"this is all a mistake.  You have not given me time to speak.  I am
+pleased to see you well and safe.  I am pleased that you have escaped
+the dangers of the deep; but I can not say more. I--I do not love you
+as you love me."
+
+His hands dropped nervously, and he turned his despairing face from her.
+
+"You must be reasonable," she continued, in her musical, pitiless
+voice.  "Hugh, I was only a dreaming, innocent, ignorant child when I
+first met you.  It was not love I thought of.  You talked to me as no
+one else ever had--it was like reading a strange, wonderful story; my
+head was filled with romance, my heart was not filled with love."
+
+"But," he said, hoarsely, "you promised to be my wife."
+
+"I remember," she acknowledged.  "I do not deny it; but, Hugh, I did
+not know what I was saying.  I spoke without thought.  I no more
+realized what the words meant than I can understand now what the wind
+is saying."
+
+A long, low moan came from his lips; the awful despair in his face
+startled her.
+
+"So I have returned for this!" he cried. "I have braved untold perils;
+I have escaped the dangers of the seas, the death that lurks in heaving
+waters, to be slain by cruel words from the girl I loved and trusted."
+
+He turned from her, unable to check the bitter sob that rose to his
+lips.
+
+"Hush, Hugh," she said, gently, "you grieve me."
+
+"Do you think of my grief?" he cried.  "I came here tonight, with my
+heart on fire with love, my brain dizzy with happiness.  You have
+killed me, Beatrice Earle, as surely as ever man was slain."
+
+Far off, among the trees, she saw the glimmer of the light in Lord
+Airlie's room.  It struck her with a sensation of fear, as though he
+were watching her.
+
+"Let us walk on," she said; "I do not like standing here."
+
+They went through the shrubbery, through the broad, green glades of the
+park, where the dew drops shone upon fern leaves and thick grass, past
+the long avenue of chestnut trees, where the wind moaned like a human
+being in deadly pain; on to the shore of the deep, calm lake, where the
+green reeds bent and swayed and the moonlight shone on the rippling
+waters.  All this while Hugh had not spoken a word, but had walked in
+silence by her side.  He turned to her at length, and she heard the
+rising passion in his voice.
+
+"You promised me," he said, "and you must keep your promise.  You said
+you would be my wife.  No other man must dare to speak to you of love,"
+he cried, grasping her arm.  "In the sight of Heaven you are mine,
+Beatrice Earle."
+
+"I am not," she answered proudly; "and I never will be; no man would,
+or could take advantage of a promise obtained from a willful, foolish
+child."
+
+"I will appeal to Lord Earle," he said; "I will lay my claim before
+him."
+
+"You may do so," she replied; "and, although he will never look upon me
+again, he will protect me from you."
+
+She saw the angry light flame in his eyes; she heard his breath come in
+quick, short gasps, and the danger of quarreling with him struck her.
+She laid her hand upon his arm, and he trembled at the gentle touch.
+
+"Hugh," she said, "do not be angry.  You are a brave man; I know that
+in all your life you never shrank from danger or feared peril.  The
+brave are always generous, always noble; think of what I am going to
+say.  Suppose that, by the exercise of any power, you could really
+compel me to be your wife, what would it benefit you?  I should not
+love you, I tell you candidly.  I should detest you for spoiling my
+life--I would never see you. What would you gain by forcing me to keep
+my promise?"
+
+He made no reply.  The wind bent the reeds, and the water came up the
+bank with a long, low wash.
+
+"I appeal to your generosity," she said--"your nobility of character.
+Release me from a promise I made in ignorance; I appeal to your very
+love for me--release me, that I may be happy.  Those who love truly,"
+she continued, receiving no reply, "never love selfishly.  If I cared
+for any one as you do for me, I should consider my own happiness last
+or all.  If you love me, release me, Hugh.  I can never be happy with
+you."
+
+"Why not?" he asked, tightening his grasp upon her arm.
+
+"Not from mercenary motives," she replied, earnestly; "not because my
+father is wealthy, my home magnificent, and you belong to another grade
+of society--not for that, but because I do not love you.  I never did
+love you as a girl should love the man she means to marry."
+
+"You are very candid," said he, bitterly; "pray, is there any one else
+you love in this way?"
+
+"That is beside the question," she replied, haughtily; "I am speaking
+of you and myself.  Hugh, if you will give me my freedom if you will
+agree to forget the foolish promise of a foolish child--I will respect
+and esteem you while I live; I shall bless you every day; your name
+will be a sacred one enshrined in my heart, your memory will be a
+source of pleasure to me.  You shall be my friend, Hugh, and I will be
+a true friend to you."
+
+"Beatrice," he cried, "do not tempt me!"
+
+"Yes, be tempted," she said; "let me urge you to be generous, to be
+noble!  See, Hugh, I have never prayed to any man--I pray to you; I
+would kneel here at your feet and beseech you to release me from a
+promise I never meant to give."
+
+Her words touched him.  She saw the softened look upon his face, the
+flaming anger die out of his eyes.
+
+"Hugh," she said, softly, "I, Beatrice Earle, pray you, by the love you
+bear me, to release me from all claim, and leave me in peace.
+
+"Let me think," he replied; "give me a few minutes; no man could part
+so hastily with the dearest treasure he has.  Let me think what I lose
+in giving you up."
+
+
+
+Chapter XL
+
+They stood for some time in perfect silence; they had wandered down to
+the very edge of the lake.  The water rippled in the moonlight, and
+while Hugh Fernely thought, Beatrice looked into the clear depths.  How
+near she was to her triumph!  A few minutes more and he would turn to
+her and tell her she was free. His face was growing calm and gentle.
+She would dismiss him with grateful thanks; she would hasten home.  How
+calm would be that night's sleep!  When she saw Lord Airlie in the
+morning, all her sorrow and shame would have passed by.  Her heart beat
+high as she thought of this.
+
+"I think it must be so," said Hugh Fernely, at last; "I think I must
+give you up, Beatrice.  I could not bear to make you miserable.  Look
+up, my darling; let me see your face once more before I say goodbye."
+
+She stood before him, and the thick dark shawl fell from her shoulders
+upon the grass; she did not miss it in the blinding joy that had fallen
+upon her.  Hugh Fernely's gaze lingered upon the peerless features.
+
+"I can give you up," he said, gently; "for your own happiness, but not
+to another, Beatrice.  Tell me that you have not learned to love
+another since I left you."
+
+She made no reply--not to have saved her life a thousand times would
+she have denied her love for Lord Airlie.  His kiss was still warm on
+her lips--those same lips should never deny him.
+
+"You do not speak," he added, gloomily.  "By Heaven, Beatrice, if I
+thought you had learned to love another man--if I thought you wanted to
+be free from me to marry another--I should go mad mad with jealous
+rage!  Is it so?  Answer me."
+
+She saw a lurid light in his eyes, and shrank from him.  He tightened
+his grasp upon her arm.
+
+"Answer me!" he cried, hoarsely. "I will know."
+
+Not far from her slept the lover who would have shielded her with his
+strong arm--the lover to whom every hair upon her dear head was more
+precious than gold or jewels.  Not far from her slept the kind, loving
+father, who was prouder and fonder of her than of any one on earth.
+Gaspar Laurence, who would have died for her, lay at that moment not
+far away, awake and thinking of her. Yet in the hour of her deadly
+peril, when she stood on the shore of the deep lake, in the fierce
+grasp of a half-maddened man, there was no one near to help her or
+raise a hand in her defense. But she was no coward, and all the high
+spirit of her race rose within her.
+
+"Loosen your grasp, Hugh," she said, calmly; "you pain me."
+
+"Answer me!" he cried.  "Where is the ring I gave you?"
+
+He seized both her hands and looked at them; they were firm and
+cool--they did not tremble.  As his fierce, angry eyes glanced over
+them, not a feature of her beautiful face quivered.
+
+"Where is my ring?" he asked.  "Answer me, Beatrice."
+
+"I have not worn it lately," she replied.  "Hugh, you forget yourself.
+Gentlemen do not speak and act in this way."
+
+"I believe I am going mad," he said, gloomily.  "I could relinquish my
+claim to you, Beatrice for your own sake, but I will never give you up
+to be the wife of any other man.  Tell me it is not so.  Tell me you
+have not been so doubly false as to love another, and I will try to do
+all you wish."
+
+"Am I to live all my life unloved and unmarried?" she answered,
+controlling her angry indignation by a strong effort, "because when I
+was a lonely and neglected girl, I fell into your power? I do not ask
+such a sacrifice from you.  I hope you will love and marry, and be
+happy."
+
+"I shall not care," he said, "what happens after I am gone--it will not
+hurt my jealous, angry heart then, Beatrice; but I should not like to
+think that while you were my promised wife and I was giving you my
+every thought, you were loving some one else. I should like to believe
+you were true to me while you were my own."
+
+She made no answer, fearing to irritate him if she told the truth, and
+scorning to deny the love that was the crowning blessing of her life.
+His anger grew in her silence.  Again the dark flush arose in his face,
+and his eyes flamed with fierce light.
+
+Suddenly he caught sight of the gold locket she wore round her neck,
+fastened by the slender chain.
+
+"What is this thing you wear?" he asked, quickly.  "You threw aside my
+ring.  What is this?  Whose portrait have you there? Let me see it."
+
+"You forget yourself again," she said, drawing herself haughtily away.
+"I have no account to render to you of my friends."
+
+"I will see who is there!" he cried, beside himself with angry rage.
+"Perhaps I shall know then why you wish to be freed from me.  Whose
+face is lying near your heart?  Let me see.  If it is that of any one
+who has outwitted me, I will throw it into the depths of the lake."
+
+"You shall not see it," she said, raising her hand, and clasping the
+little locket tightly.  "I am not afraid, Hugh Fernely.  You will never
+use violence to me."
+
+But the hot anger leaped up in his heart; he was mad with cruel
+jealousy and rage, and tried to snatch the locket from her.  She
+defended it, holding it tightly clasped in one hand, while with the
+other she tried to free herself from his grasp.
+
+It will never be know how that fatal accident happened.  Men will never
+know whether the hapless girl fell, or whether Hugh Fernely, in his mad
+rage, flung her into the lake.  There was a startled scream that rang
+through the clear air, a heavy fall, a splash amid the waters of the
+lake!  There was one awful, despairing glance from a pale,
+horror-stricken face, and then the waters closed, the ripples spread
+over the broad surface, and the sleeping lilies trembled for a few
+minutes, and then lay still again!  Once, and once only, a woman's
+white hand, thrown up, as it were, in agonizing supplication, cleft the
+dark water, and then all was over; the wind blew the ripples more
+strongly; they washed upon the grass, and the stir of the deep waters
+subsided!
+
+Hugh Fernely did not plunge into the lake after Beatrice--it was too
+late to save her; still, he might have tried.  The cry that rang
+through the sleeping woods, seemed to paralyze him--he stood like one
+bereft of reason, sense and life.  Perhaps the very suddenness of the
+event overpowered him.  Heaven only knows what passed in his dull,
+crazed mind while the girl he loved sank without help.  Was it that he
+would not save her for another that in his cruel love he preferred to
+know her dead, beneath the cold waters, rather than the living, happy
+wife of another man? Or was it that in the sudden shock and terror he
+never thought of trying to save her?
+
+He stood for hours--it seemed to him as years--watching the spot where
+the pale, agonized face had vanished--watching the eddying ripples and
+the green reeds.  Yet he never sought to save her--never plunged into
+the deep waters whence he might have rescued her had he wished.  He
+never moved.  He felt no fatigue. The first thing that roused him was a
+gleam of gray light in the eastern sky, and the sweet, faint song of a
+little bird.
+
+Then he saw that the day had broken.  He said to himself, with a wild
+horrible laugh, that he had watched all night by her grave.
+
+He turned and fled.  One meeting him, with fierce, wild eyes full of
+the fire of madness, with pale, haggard face full of despair, would
+have shunned him.  He fled through the green park, out on the
+high-road, away through the deep woods--he knew not whither never
+looking back; crying out at times, with a hollow, awful voice that he
+had been all night by her grave; falling at times on his face with
+wild, woeful weeping, praying the heavens to fall upon him and hide him
+forever from his fellow men.
+
+He crept into a field where the hedge-rows were bright with autumn's
+tints.  He threw himself down, and tried to close his hot, dazed eyes,
+but the sky above him looked blood-red, the air seemed filled with
+flames.  Turn where he would, the pale, despairing face that had looked
+up to him as the waters opened was before him.  He arose with a great
+cry, and wandered on.  He came to a little cottage, where rosy children
+were at play, talking and laughing in the bright sunshine.
+
+Great Heaven!  How long was it since the dead girl, now sleeping under
+the deep waters, was happy and bright as they?
+
+He fled again.  This time the piercing cry filled his ears; it seemed
+to deaden his brain.  He fell in the field near the cottage.  Hours
+afterward the children out at play found him lying in the dank grass
+that fringed the pond under the alder trees.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The first faint flush of dawn, a rosy light, broke in the eastern sky,
+a tremulous, golden shimmer was on the lake as the sunbeams touched it.
+The forest birds awoke and began to sing; they flew from branch to
+branch; the flowers began to open their "dewy eyes," the stately swans
+came out upon the lake, bending their arched necks, sailing round the
+water lilies and the green sedges.
+
+The sun shone out at length in his majesty, warming and brightening the
+fair face of nature--it was full and perfect day.  The gardeners came
+through the park to commence their work; the cows out in the pasture
+land stood to be milked, the busy world began to rouse itself; but the
+fatal secret hidden beneath the cold, dark water remained still untold.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLI
+
+The sun shone bright and warm in the breakfast room at Earlescourt.
+The rays fell upon the calm, stately face of Lady Helena, upon the
+grave countenance of her son, upon the bright, handsome features of
+Lord Airlie.  They sparkled on the delicate silver, and showed off the
+pretty china to perfection.  The breakfast was upon the table, but the
+three occupants of the room had been waiting.  Lady Helena took her
+seat.
+
+"It seems strange," she said to Lord Earle, "to breakfast without
+either of the girls.  I would not allow Lillian to rise; and from some
+caprice Beatrice forbade her maid to call her, saying she was tired."
+
+Lord Earle made some laughing reply, but Lady Helena was not quite
+pleased.  Punctuality with her had always been a favorite virtue.  In
+case of real illness, allowance was of course to be made; but she
+herself had never considered a little extra fatigue as sufficient
+reason for absenting herself from table.
+
+The two gentlemen talked gayly during breakfast.  Lord Earle asked
+Hubert if he would go with him to Holte, and Lord Airlie said he had
+promised to drive Beatrice to Langton Priory.
+
+Hearing that, Lady Helena thought it time to send some little warning
+to her grandchild.  She rang for Suzette, the maid who waited upon
+Beatrice, and told her to call her young mistress.
+
+She stood at her writing table, arranging some letters, when the maid
+returned.  Lady Helena looked at her in utter wonder--the girl's face
+was pale and scared.
+
+"My lady," she said, "will you please come here?  You are wanted very
+particularly."
+
+Lady Helena, without speaking to either of the gentlemen, went to the
+door where the girl stood.
+
+"What is it, Suzette?" she asked.  "What is the matter?"
+
+"For mercy's sake, my lady," replied the maid, "come upstairs.  I I can
+not find Miss Beatrice--she is not in her room;" and the girl trembled
+violently or Lady Helena would have smiled at her terror.
+
+"She is probably with Miss Lillian," she said.  "Why make such a
+mystery, Suzette?"
+
+"She is not there, my lady; I can not find her," was the answer.
+
+"She may have gone out into the garden or the grounds," said Lady
+Helena.
+
+"My lady," Suzette whispered, and her frightened face grew deathly
+pale, "her bed has not been slept in; nothing is touched in her room;
+she has not been in it all night."
+
+A shock of unutterable dread seized Lady Earle; a sharp spasm seemed to
+dart through her heart.
+
+"There must be some mistake," she said, gently; "I will go upstairs
+with you."
+
+The rooms were without occupant; no disarray of jewels, flowers, or
+dresses, no little slippers; no single trace of Beatrice's presence was
+there.
+
+The pretty white bed was untouched--no one had slept in it; the blinds
+were drawn, and the sunlight struggled to enter the room. Lady Helena
+walked mechanically to the window, and drew aside the lace curtains;
+then she looked round.
+
+"She has not slept here," she said; "she must have slept with Miss
+Lillian.  You have frightened me, Suzette; I will go and see myself."
+
+Lady Helena went through the pretty sitting room where the books
+Beatrice had been reading lay upon the table, on to Lillian's chamber.
+
+The young girl was awake, looking pale and languid, yet better than she
+had looked the night before.  Lady Earle controlled all emotion, and
+went quietly to her.
+
+"Have you seen Beatrice this morning?" she asked.  "I want her."
+
+"No," replied Lillian; "I have not seen her since just before dinner
+last evening."
+
+"She did not sleep with you, then?" said Lady Earle.
+
+"No, she did not sleep here," responded the young girl.
+
+Lady Helena kissed Lillian's face, and quitted the room; a deadly,
+horrible fear was turning her faint and cold.  From the suite of rooms
+Lord Earle had prepared and arranged for his daughters a staircase ran
+which led into the garden.  He had thought at the time how pleasant it
+would be for them.  As Lady Helena entered, Suzette stood upon the
+stairs with a bow of pink ribbon in her hand.
+
+"My lady," she said, "I fastened the outer door of the staircase last
+night myself.  I locked it, and shot the bolts.  It is unfastened now,
+and I have found this lying by it.  Miss Earle wore it last evening on
+her dress."
+
+"Something terrible must have happened," exclaimed Lady Helena.
+"Suzette, ask Lord Earle to come to me.  Do not say a word to any one."
+
+He stood by her side in a few minutes, looking in mute wonder at her
+pale, scared face.
+
+"Ronald," she said, "Beatrice has not slept in her room all night.  We
+can not find her."
+
+He smiled at first, thinking, as she had done, that there must be some
+mistake, and that his mother was fanciful and nervous; but, when Lady
+Helena, in quick, hurried words, told him of the unfastened door and
+the ribbon, his face grew serious.  He took the ribbon from the maid's
+hand--it seemed a living part of his daughter.  He remembered that he
+had seen it the night before on her dress, when he had held up the
+beautiful face to kiss it.  He had touched that same ribbon with his
+face.
+
+"She may have gone out into the grounds, and have been taken ill," he
+said.  "Do not frighten Airlie, mother; I will look round myself."
+
+He went through every room of the house one by one, but there was no
+trace of her.  Still Lord Earle had no fear; it seemed so utterly
+impossible that any harm could have happened to her.
+
+Then he went out into the grounds, half expecting the beautiful face to
+smile upon him from under the shade of her favorite trees.  He called
+aloud, "Beatrice!"  The wind rustled through the trees, the birds sang,
+but there came no answer to his cry. Neither in the grounds nor in the
+garden could he discover any trace of her.  He returned to Lady Helena,
+a vague fear coming over him.
+
+"I can not find her," he said.  "Mother, I do not understand this.  She
+can not have left us.  She was not unhappy--my beautiful child."
+
+There was no slip of paper, no letter, no clew to her absence. Mother
+and son looked blankly at each other.
+
+"Ronald," she cried, "where is she?  Where is the poor child?"
+
+He tried to comfort her, but fear was rapidly mastering him.
+
+"Let me see if Airlie can suggest anything," he said.
+
+They went down to the breakfast room where Lord Airlie still waited for
+the young girl he was never more to meet alive.  He turned round with a
+smile, and asked if Beatrice were coming. The smile died from his lips
+when he saw the pale, anxious faces of mother and son.
+
+"Hubert," said Lord Earle, "we are alarmed--let us hope without cause.
+Beatrice can not be found.  My mother is frightened." Lady Helena had
+sunk, pale and trembling, upon a couch.  Lord Airlie looked bewildered.
+Lord Earle told him briefly how they had missed her, and what had been
+done.
+
+"She must be trying to frighten us," he said; "she must have hidden
+herself.  There can not be anything wrong."  Even as he spoke he felt
+how impossible it was that his dignified Beatrice should have done
+anything wrong.
+
+He could throw no light upon the subject.  He had not seen her since he
+had kissed her when bidding her goodnight.  Her maid was the last
+person to whom she had spoken.  Suzette had left her in her own room,
+and since then nothing had been seen or heard of Beatrice Earle.
+
+Father and lover went out together.  Lord Airlie suggested that she had
+perhaps gone out into the gardens and had met with some accident there.
+They went carefully over every part--there was no trace of Beatrice.
+They went through the shrubbery out into the park, where the quiet lake
+shone amid the green trees.
+
+Suddenly, like the thrust of a sharp sword, the remembrance of the
+morning spent upon the water came to Lord Airlie.  He called to mind
+Beatrice's fear--the cold shudder that seized her when she declared
+that her own face with a mocking smile was looking up at her from the
+depths of the water.
+
+He walked hurriedly toward the lake.  It was calm and clear--the tall
+trees and green sedges swaying in the wind, the white lilies rising and
+falling with the ripples.  The blue sky and green trees were reflected
+in the water, the pleasure boat was fastened to the boat house.  How
+was he to know the horrible secret of the lake?
+
+"Come away, Airlie!" cried Lord Earle.  "I shall go mad!  I will call
+all the servants, and have a regular search."
+
+In a few minutes the wildest confusion and dismay reigned in the Hall;
+women wept aloud, and men's faces grew pale with fear. Their beautiful,
+brilliant young mistress had disappeared, and none knew her fate.  They
+searched garden, park, and grounds; men in hot haste went hither and
+thither; while Lady Earle lay half dead with fear, and Lillian rested
+calmly, knowing nothing of what had happened.
+
+It was Lord Airlie who first suggested that the lake should be dragged.
+The sun rode high in the heavens then, and shone gloriously over water
+and land.
+
+They found the drags, and Hewson, the butler, with Lee and Patson, two
+gardeners, got into the boat.  Father and lover stood side by side on
+the bank.  The boat glided softly over the water; the men had been once
+round the lake, but without any result. Hope was rising again in Lord
+Airlie's heart, when he saw those in the boat look at each other, then
+at him.
+
+"My lord," said Cowden, Lord Earle's valet, coming up to Hubert, "pray
+take my master home; they have found something at the bottom of the
+lake.  Take him home; and please keep Lady Earle and the women all out
+of the way."
+
+"What is it?" cried Lord Earle.  "Speak to me, Airlie.  What is it?"
+
+"Come away," said Lord Airlie.  "The men will not work while we are
+here."
+
+They had found something beneath the water; the drags had caught in a
+woman's dress; and the men in the boat stood motionless until Lord
+Earle was out of sight.
+
+Through the depths of water they saw the gleam of a white, dead face,
+and a floating mass of dark hair.  They raised the body with reverent
+hands.  Strong men wept aloud as they did so.  One covered the quiet
+face, and another wrung the dripping water from the long hair.  The sun
+shone on, as though in mockery, while they carried the drowned girl
+home.
+
+Slowly and with halting steps they carried her through the warm, sunny
+park where she was never more to tread, through the bright, sunlit
+gardens, through the hall and up the broad staircase, the water
+dripping from her hair and falling in large drops, into the pretty
+chamber she had so lately quitted full of life and hope. They laid her
+on the white bed wherefrom her eyes would never more open to the
+morning light, and went away.
+
+"Drowned, drowned! Drowned and dead!" was the cry that went from lip to
+lip, till it reached Lord Earle where he sat, trying to soothe his
+weeping mother.  "Drowned! Quite dead!" was the cry that reached
+Lillian, in her sick room, and brought her down pale and trembling.
+"Drowned and dead hours ago," were the words that drove Lord Airlie mad
+with the bitterness of his woe.
+
+They could not realize it.  How had it happened?  What had taken her in
+the dead of the night to the lake?
+
+They sent messengers right and left to summon doctors in hot haste, as
+though human skill could avail her now.
+
+"I must see her," said Lord Airlie.  "If you do not wish to kill me,
+let me see her."
+
+They allowed him to enter, and Lord Earle and his mother went with him.
+None in that room ever forgot his cry--the piercing cry of the strong
+man in his agony--as he threw himself by the dead girl's side.
+
+"Beatrice, my love, my darling, why could I not have died for you?"
+
+And then with tears of sympathy they showed him how even in death the
+white cold hand grasped his locket, holding it so tightly that no
+ordinary foe could remove it.
+
+"In life and in death!" she had said, and she had kept her word.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLII
+
+While the weeping group still stood there, doctors came; they looked at
+the quiet face, so beautiful in death, and said she had been dead for
+hours.  The words struck those who heard them with unutterable horror.
+Dead, while those who loved her so dearly, who would have given their
+lives for her, had lain sleeping near her, unconscious of her
+doom--dead, while her lover had waited for her, and her father had been
+intently thinking of her approaching wedding.
+
+What had she suffered during the night?  What awful storm of agony had
+driven her to the lake?  Had she gone thither purposely?  Had she
+wandered to the edge and fallen in, or was there a deeper mystery?  Had
+foul wrong been done to Lord Earle's daughter while he was so near her,
+and yet knew nothing of it?
+
+She still wore her pretty pink evening dress.  What a mockery it
+looked!  The delicate laces were wet and spoiled; the pink blossoms she
+had twined in her hair clung to it still; the diamond arrow Lord Airlie
+had given her fastened them, a diamond brooch was in the bodice of her
+dress, and a costly bracelet encircled the white, cold arm.  She had
+not, then, removed her jewels or changed her dress.  What could have
+taken her down to the lake?  Why was Lord Airlie's locket so tightly
+clinched in her hand?
+
+Lord Airlie, when he was calm enough to speak, suggested that she might
+have fallen asleep, tired, before undressing--that in her sleep she
+might have walked out, gone to the edge of the lake, and fallen in.
+
+That version spread among the servants.  From them it spread like
+wildfire around the whole country-side; the country papers were filled
+with it, and the London papers afterward told how "the beautiful Miss
+Earle" had been drowned while walking in her sleep.
+
+But Lord Airlie's suggestion did not satisfy Ronald Earle; he would not
+leave the darkened chamber.  Women's gentle hands removed the bright
+jewels and the evening dress.  Lady Helena, with tears that fell like
+rain, dried the long, waving hair, and drew it back from the placid
+brow.  She closed the eyes, but she could not cross the white hands on
+the cold breast.  One held the locket in the firm, tight clasp of
+death, and it could not be moved.
+
+Ronald would not leave the room.  Gentle hands finished their task.
+Beatrice lay in the awful beauty of death--no pain, no sorrow moving
+the serene loveliness of her placid brow.  He knelt by her side.  It
+was his little Beatrice, this strange, cold, marble statue--his little
+baby Beatrice, who had leaped in his arms years ago, who had cried and
+laughed, who had learned in pretty accents to lisp his name--his
+beautiful child, his proud, bright daughter, who had kissed him the
+previous night while he spoke jesting words to her about her lover.
+And he had never heard her voice since--never would hear it again.  Had
+she called him when the dark waters closed over her bright head?
+
+Cold, motionless, no gleam of life or light--and this was Dora's little
+child!  He uttered a great cry as the thought struck him: "What would
+Dora say?"  He loved Beatrice; yet for all the long years of her
+childhood he had been absent from her.  How must Dora love the child
+who had slept on her bosom, and who was now parted from her forever.
+
+And then his thoughts went back to the old subject: "How had it
+happened?  What had taken her to the lake?"
+
+One knelt near who might have told him, but a numb, awful dread had
+seized upon Lillian.  Already weak and ill, she was unable to think,
+unable to shape her ideas, unable to tell right from wrong.
+
+She alone held the clew to the mystery, and she knelt by that death bed
+with pale, parted lips and eyes full of terror.  Her face startled
+those who saw it.  Her sorrow found no vent in tears; the gentle eyes
+seemed changed into balls of fire; she could not realize that it was
+Beatrice who lay there, so calm and still--Beatrice, who had knelt at
+her feet and prayed that she would save her--Beatrice, who had believed
+herself so near the climax of her happiness.
+
+Could she have met Hugh, and had he murdered her?  Look where she
+would, Lillian saw that question written in fiery letters.  What ought
+she to do?  Must she tell Lord Earle, or did the promise she had made
+bind her in death as well as in life.  Nothing could restore her
+sister.  Ought she to tell all she knew, and to stain in death the name
+that was honored and loved?
+
+One of the doctors called in saw the face of Lillian Earle.  He went at
+once to Lady Helena, and told her that if the young lady was not
+removed from that room, and kept quiet she would be in danger of her
+life.
+
+"If ever I saw a face denoting that the brain was disturbed," he said,
+"that is one."
+
+Lillian was taken back to her room, and left with careful nurses. But
+the doctor's warning proved true.  While Lord Earle wept over the dead
+child, Lady Helena mourned over the living one, whose life hung by a
+thread.
+
+The day wore on; the gloom of sorrow and mourning had settled on the
+Hall.  Servants spoke with hushed voices and moved with gentle tread.
+Lady Helena sat in the darkened room where Lillian lay.  Lord Airlie
+had shut himself up alone, and Ronald Earle knelt all day by his dead
+child.  In vain they entreated him to move, to take food or wine, to go
+to his own room.  He remained by her, trying to glean from that silent
+face the secret of her death.
+
+And when night fell again, he sunk exhausted.  Feverish slumbers came
+to him, filled with a haunted dream of Beatrice sinking in the dark
+water and calling upon him for help.  Kindly faces watched over him,
+kindly hands tended him.  The morning sun found him still there.
+
+Lady Helena brought him some tea and besought him to drink it. The
+parched, dried lips almost refused their office.  It was an hour
+afterward that Hewson entered the room, bearing a letter in his hand.
+It was brought, he said by Thomas Ginns, who lived at the cottage past
+Fair Glenn hills.  It had been written by a man who lay dying there,
+and who had prayed him to take it at once without delay.
+
+"I ventured to bring it to you, my lord," said the butler; "the man
+seemed to think it a matter of life or death."
+
+Lord Earle took the letter from his hands--he tried to open it, but the
+trembling fingers seemed powerless.  He signed to Hewson to leave the
+room, and, placing the letter upon the table, resumed his melancholy
+watch.  But in some strange way his thoughts wandered to the missive.
+What might it not contain, brought to him, too, in the solemn death
+chamber?  He opened it, and found many sheets of closely covered paper.
+On the first was written "The Confession of Hugh Fernely."
+
+The name told him nothing.  Suddenly an idea came to him--could this
+confession have anything to do with the fate of the beloved child who
+lay before him?  Kneeling by the dead child's side, he turned over the
+leaf and read as follows:
+
+"Lord Earle, I am dying--the hand tracing this will soon be cold.
+Before I die I must confess my crime.  Even now, perhaps, you are
+kneeling by the side of the child lost to you for all time.  My lord, I
+killed her.
+
+"I met her first nearly three years ago, at Knutsford; she was out
+alone, and I saw her.  I loved her then as I love her now. By mere
+accident I heard her deplore the lonely, isolated life she led, and
+that in such terms that I pitied her.  She was young, beautiful, full
+of life and spirits; she was pining away in that remote home, shut out
+from the living world she longed for with a longing I can not put into
+words.  I spoke to her--do not blame her, she was a beautiful, ignorant
+child--I spoke to her, asking some questions about the road, and she
+replied. Looking at her face, I swore that I would release her from the
+life she hated, and take her where she would be happy.
+
+"I met her again and again.  Heaven pardon me if I did my best to awake
+an interest in her girlish heart!  I told her stories of travel and
+adventure that stirred all the romance in her nature. With the keen
+instinct of love I understood her character, and played upon its
+weakness while I worshiped its strength.
+
+"She told me of a sad, patient young mother who never smiled, of a
+father who was abroad and would not return for many years. Pardon me,
+my lord, if, in common with many others, I believed this story to be
+one to appease her.  Pardon me, if I doubted as many others
+did--whether the sad young mother was your wife.
+
+"I imagined that I was going to rescue her from a false position when I
+asked her to be my wife.  She said her mother dreaded all mention of
+love and lovers, and I prayed her to keep my love a secret from all the
+world.
+
+"I make no excuses for myself; she was young and innocent as a dreaming
+child.  I ought to have looked on her beautiful face and left her.  My
+lord, am I altogether to blame?  The lonely young girl at Knutsford
+pined for what I could give her--happiness and pleasure did not seem so
+far removed from me.  Had she been in her proper place I could never
+have addressed her.
+
+"Not to you can I tell the details of my love story--how I worshiped
+with passionate love the beautiful, innocent child who smiled into my
+face and drank in my words.  I asked her to be my wife, and she
+promised.  My lord, I never for a moment dreamed that she would ever
+have a home with you--it did not seem to me possible.  I intended to
+return and marry her, firmly believing that in some respects my rank
+and condition in life were better than her own.  She promised to be
+true to me, to love no one else, to wait for me, and to marry me when I
+returned.
+
+"I believe now that she never loved me.  My love and devotion were but
+a pleasant interruption in the monotony of her life. They were to blame
+also who allowed her no pleasures--who forced her to resort to this
+stolen one.
+
+"My lord, I placed a ring upon your daughter's finger, and pledged my
+faith to her.  I can not tell you what my love was like; it was a
+fierce fire that consumed me night and day.
+
+"I was to return and claim her in two years.  Absence made me love her
+more.  I came back, rich in gold, my heart full of happiness, hope
+making everything bright and beautiful.  I went straight to
+Knutsford--alas! she was no longer there!  And then I heard that the
+girl I loved so deeply and so dearly was Lord Earle's daughter.
+
+"I did not dream of losing her; birth, title, and position seemed as
+nothing beside my mighty, passionate love.  I thought nothing of your
+consent, but only of her; and I went to Earlescourt.  My lord, I wrote
+to her, and my heart was in every line.  She sent me a cold reply.  I
+wrote again; I swore I would see her.  She sent her sister to me with
+the reply.  Then I grew desperate, and vowed I would lay my claim
+before you.  I asked her to meet me out in the grounds, at night,
+unseen and unknown.  She consented, and on Thursday night I met her
+near the shrubbery.
+
+"How I remember her pretty pleading words, her beautiful proud face!
+She asked me to release her.  She said that it had all been child's
+play--a foolish mistake--and that if I would give her her freedom from
+a foolish promise she would always be my friend.  At first I would not
+hear of it; but who could have refused her?  If she had told me to lie
+down at her feet and let her trample the life out of me, I should have
+submitted.
+
+"I promised to think of her request, and we walked on to the border of
+the lake.  Every hair upon her head was sacred to me; the pretty, proud
+ways that tormented me delighted me, too.  I promised I would release
+her, and give her the freedom she asked, if she told me I was not
+giving her up to another.  She would not.  Some few words drove me mad
+with jealous rage--yes, mad; the blood seemed to boil in my veins.
+Suddenly I caught sight of a golden locket on her neck, and I asked her
+whose portrait it contained.  She refused to tell me.  In the madness
+of my rage I tried to snatch it from her.  She caught it in her hands,
+and, shrinking back from me, fell into the lake.
+
+"I swear it was a sheer accident--I would not have hurt a hair of her
+head; but, oh! My lord, pardon me--pardon me, for Heaven's sake--I
+might have saved her and I did not; I might have plunged in after her
+and brought her back, but jealousy whispered to me, 'Do not save her
+for another--let her die.'  I stood upon the bank, and saw the water
+close over her head.  I saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal,
+and never moved or stirred.  I stood by the lake-side all night, and
+fled when the morning dawned in the sky.
+
+"I killed her.  I might have saved her, but did not.  Anger of yours
+can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been.  I was a strong
+man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be numbered with the
+dead.  I do not wish to screen myself from justice.  I have to meet the
+wrath of Heaven, and that appalls me as the anger of man never could.
+Send the officers of the law for me.  If I am not dead, let them take
+me; if I am, let them bury me as they would a dog.  I ask no mercy, no
+compassion nor forgiveness; I do not merit it.
+
+"If by any torture, any death, I could undo what I have done, and save
+her, I would suffer the extremity of pain; but I can not. My deed will
+be judged in eternity.
+
+"My lord, I write this confession partly to ease my own conscience,
+party to shield others from unjust blame.  Do not curse me because,
+through my mad jealousy, my miserable revenge, as fair and pure a child
+as father ever loved has gone to her rest."
+
+So the strange letter concluded.  Lord Earle read every word, looking
+over and anon at the quiet, dead face that had kept the secret hidden.
+Every word seemed burned in upon his brain; every word seemed to rise
+before him like an accusing spirit.
+
+He stood face to face at last with the sin of his youth; it had found
+him out.  The willful, wanton disobedience, the marriage that had
+broken his father's heart, and struck Ronald himself from the roll of
+useful men; the willful, cruel neglect of duty; the throwing off of all
+ties; the indulgence in proud, unforgiving temper, the abandonment of
+wife and children--all ended there.  But for his sins and errors, that
+white, still figure might now have been radiant with life and beauty.
+
+The thought stung him with cruel pain.  It was his own fault. Beatrice
+might have erred in meeting Hugh Fernely; Fernely had done wrong in
+trying to win that young child-like heart for his own; but he who left
+his children to strange hands, who neglected all duties of parentage,
+had surely done the greatest wrong.
+
+For the first time his utter neglect of duty came home to him. He had
+thought himself rather a modern hero, but now he caught a glimpse of
+himself as he was in reality.  He saw that he was not even a brave man;
+for a brave man neglects no duty.  It was pitiful to see how sorrow
+bent his stately figure and lined his proud face.  He leaned over his
+dead child, and cried to her to pardon him, for it was all his fault.
+Lady Helena, seeking him in the gloom of that solemn death chamber,
+found him weeping as strong men seldom weep.
+
+He did not give her the letter, nor tell her aught of Hugh Fernely's
+confession.  He turned to her with as sad a face as man ever wore.
+
+"Mother," he said, "I want my kinsman, Lionel Dacre.  Let him be sent
+for, and ask him to come without delay."
+
+In this, the crowning sorrow of his life, he could not stand alone.  He
+must have some one to think and to plan for him, some one to help him
+bear the burden that seemed too heavy for him to carry.  Some one must
+see the unhappy man who had written that letter, and it should be a
+kinsman of his own.
+
+Not the brave, sad young lover, fighting alone with his sorrow he must
+never know the tragedy of that brief life, to him her memory must be
+sacred and untarnished, unmarred by the knowledge of her folly.
+
+Lady Helena was not long in discovering Lionel Dacre's whereabouts.
+One of the footmen who had attended him to the station remembered the
+name of the place for which he had taken a ticket.  Lady Helena knew
+that Sir William Greston lived close by, and she sent at once to his
+house.
+
+Fortunately the messenger found him.  Startled and horrified by the
+news, Lionel lost no time in returning.  He could not realize that his
+beautiful young cousin was really dead.  Her face, in its smiling
+brightness, haunted him.  Her voice seemed to mingle with the wild
+clang of the iron wheels.  She was dead, and he was going to console
+her father.
+
+No particulars of her death had reached him; he now only knew that she
+had walked out in her sleep, and had fallen into the lake.
+
+Twenty-four hours had not elapsed since Lord Earle cried out in grief
+for his young kinsman, yet already he stood by his side.
+
+"Persuade him to leave that room," said Lady Helena.  "Since our
+darling was carried there he has never left her side."
+
+Lionel did as requested.  He went straight to the library, and sent for
+Lord Earle, saying that he could not at present look upon the sad sight
+in the gloomy death chamber.
+
+While waiting there, he heard of Lillian's dangerous illness. Lady
+Helena told him how she had changed before her sister's death; and,
+despite the young man's anger, his heart was sore and heavy.
+
+He hardly recognized Lord Earle in the aged, altered man who soon stood
+before him.  The long watch, the bitter remorse, the miserable
+consciousness of his own folly and errors had written strange lines
+upon his face.
+
+"I sent for you, Lionel," he said, "because I am in trouble--so great
+that I can no longer bear it alone.  You must think and work for me; I
+can do neither for myself."
+
+Looking into his kinsman's face, Lionel felt that more than the death
+of his child weighed upon the heart and mind of Ronald Earle.
+
+"There are secrets in every family," said Ronald; "henceforth there
+will be one in mine--and it will be the true story of my daughter's
+death.  While I knelt yesterday by her side, this letter was brought to
+me.  Read it, Lionel; then act for me."
+
+He read it slowly, tears gathering fast in his eyes, his lips
+quivering, and his hands tightly clinched.
+
+"My poor Beatrice!" he exclaimed; and then the strength of his young
+manhood gave way, and Lionel Dacre wept as he had never wept before.
+"The mean, pitiful scoundrel!" he cried, angry indignation rising as he
+thought of her cruel death.  "The wretched villain--to stand by while
+she died!"
+
+"Hush!" said Lord Earle.  "He has gone to his account.  What have you
+to say to me, Lionel?  Because I had a miserable quarrel with my wife I
+abandoned my children.  I never cared to see them from the time they
+were babes until they were women grown.  How guilty am I?  That man
+believed he was about to raise Beatrice in the social scale when he
+asked her to be his wife, or as he says, he would never have dreamed of
+proposing to marry my daughter.  If he merits blame, what do I deserve?"
+
+"It was a false position, certainly," replied Lionel Dacre.
+
+"This secret must be kept inviolate," said Lord Earle. "Lord Airlie
+must never know it--it would kill Lady Helena, I believe. One thing
+puzzles me, Lionel--Fernely says Lillian met him.  I do not think that
+is true."
+
+"It is!" cried Lionel, a sudden light breaking in upon him.  "I saw her
+with him.  Oh, Lord Earle, you may be proud of Lillian! She is the
+noblest, truest girl that ever lived.  Why, she sacrificed her own
+love, her own happiness, for her sister!  She loved me; and when this
+wedding, which will never now take place, was over, I intended to ask
+you to give me Lillian.  One night, quite accidentally, while I was
+wandering in the grounds with a cigar, I saw her speaking to a
+stranger, her fair sweet face full of pity and compassion, which I
+mistook for love.  Shame to me that I was base enough to doubt
+her--that I spoke to her the words I uttered!  I demanded to know who
+it was she had met, and why she had met him.  She asked me to trust
+her, saying she could not tell me.  I stabbed her with cruel words, and
+left her vowing that I would never see her again.  Her sister must have
+trusted her with her secret, and she would not divulge it."
+
+"We can not ask her now," said Lord Earle; "my mother tells me she is
+very ill."
+
+"I must see her," cried Lionel, "and ask her to pardon me if she can.
+What am I to do for you, Lord Earle?  Command me as though I were your
+own son."
+
+"I want you to go to the cottage," said Ronald, "and see if the man is
+living or dead.  You will know how to act.  I need not ask a kinsman
+and a gentleman to keep my secret."
+
+In a few minutes Lionel Dacre was on his way to the cottage, riding as
+though it were for dear life.  Death had been still more swift.  Hugh
+Fernely lay dead.
+
+The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found
+a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in
+his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for
+many hours, and then asked for pen and ink.  He was writing, she said,
+nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter
+to Lord Earle.  The man refused any nourishment.  Two hours later they
+went in to persuade him to take some food, and found him lying dead,
+his face turned to the morning sky.
+
+Lionel Dacre entered the room.  The hot anger died out of his heart as
+he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white countenance.  What
+torture must the man have suffered, what hours of untold agony, to have
+destroyed him in so short a time!  The dark, handsome face appeared to
+indicate that the man had been dying for years.
+
+Lionel turned reverently away.  Man is weak and powerless before death.
+In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply rewarded for
+her kindness, and that he himself would defray all expenses.
+
+"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said.
+
+"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him--had never seen him;
+but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's friends."
+
+Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was never
+raised.  Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all attention
+and aroused all sympathy.  No one spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected
+him with the occurrence at the Hall.
+
+There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the
+visitation of God."  No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate
+in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had
+shortened his life.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle.
+
+"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours."
+
+His name was not mentioned between them again.  Lord Earle never
+inquired where he was buried--he never knew.
+
+The gloom had deepened at the Hall.  Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death.
+Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless
+man.  He could not realize it.  They told him how she lay with the
+cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living
+child in mourning for the one that lay dead.
+
+In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick
+room where Lillian lay.  She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes
+were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the
+flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still.  She talked
+incessantly--at times of Knutsford and Beatrice--then prayed in her
+sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her--only trust her; when
+Beatrice was married she would tell him all.
+
+He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of
+recognition came into them.
+
+"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never
+forgot his voice or his manner.
+
+"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours.
+If you wish to help her, pray for her."
+
+In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most
+fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent
+Lillian Earle.
+
+As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother.
+She wanted her mother--why was she not there?  He looked at Lady
+Helena; she understood him.
+
+"I have written," she said.  "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be
+here soon."
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIII
+
+On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for,
+Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave.  The servants of the
+household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had
+taken their last look at her face.  Lady Helena had shed her last tears
+over it.  Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead
+love.  They had humored him, and for three long hours he had knelt by
+her, bidding her a sorrowful farewell, taking his last look at the face
+that would never again smile on earth for him.
+
+They respected the bitterness of his uncontrollable sorrow; no idle
+words of sympathy were offered to him; men passed him by with an
+averted face--women with tearful eyes.
+
+Lord Earle was alone with his dead child.  In a little while nothing
+would remain of his beautiful, brilliant daughter but a memory and a
+name.  He did not weep; his sorrow lay too deep for tears.  In his
+heart he was asking pardon for the sins and follies of his youth; his
+face was buried in his hands, his head bowed over the silent form of
+his loved child; and when the door opened gently, he never raised his
+eyes--he was only conscious that some one entered the room, and walked
+swiftly up the gloomy, darkened chamber to the bedside.  Then a
+passionate wailing that chilled his very blood filled the rooms.
+
+"My Beatrice, my darling!  Why could I not have died for you?"
+
+Some one bent over the quiet figure, clasping it in tender arms,
+calling with a thousand loving words upon the dear one who lay
+there--some one whose voice fell like a strain of long-forgotten music
+upon his ears.  Who but a mother could weep as she did? Who but a
+mother forget everything else in the abandonment of her sorrow, and
+remember only the dead?
+
+Before he looked up, he knew it was Dora--the mother bereft of her
+child--the mother clasping in her loving arms the child she had nursed,
+watched, and loved for so many years.  She gazed at him, and he never
+forgot the woeful, weeping face.
+
+"Ronald," she cried, "I trusted my darling to you; what has happened to
+her?"
+
+The first words for many long years--the first since he had turned
+round upon her in his contempt, hoping he might be forgiven for having
+made her his wife.
+
+She seemed to forget him then, and laid her head down upon the quiet
+heart; but Ronald went round to her.  He raised her in his arms, he
+laid the weeping face on his breast, he kissed away the blinding tears,
+and she cried to him:
+
+"Forgive me, Ronald--forgive me!  You can not refuse in the hour of
+death."
+
+How the words smote him.  They were his own recoiling upon him. How
+often he had refused his mother's pleading--hardened his own heart,
+saying to himself and to her that he could not pardon her yet--he would
+forgive her in the hour of death, when either he or she stood on the
+threshold of eternity!
+
+Heaven had not willed it so.  The pardon he had refused was wrung from
+him now; and, looking at his child, he felt that she was sacrificed to
+his blind, willful pride.
+
+"You will forgive me, Ronald," pleaded the gentle voice, "for the love
+of my dead child?  Do not send me from you again.  I have been very
+unhappy all these long years; let me stay with you now. Dear, I was
+beside myself with jealousy when I acted as I did."
+
+"I forgive you," he said, gently, "can you pardon me as easily, Dora?
+I have spoiled your life--I have done you cruel wrong; can you forget
+all, and love me as you did years ago?"
+
+All pride, restraint, and anger were dead.  He whispered loving words
+to his weeping wife, such as she had not heard for years; and he could
+have fancied, as he did so, that a happy smile lingered on the fair
+face of the dead.
+
+No, it was but the light of a wax taper flickering over it; the
+strange, solemn beauty of that serene brow and those quiet lips were
+unstirred.
+
+Half an hour afterward Lady Helena, trembling from the result of her
+experiment, entered the room.  She saw Ronald's arms clasped round
+Dora, while they knelt side by side.
+
+"Mother," said Lord Earle, "my wife has pardoned me.  She is my own
+again--my comfort in sorrow."
+
+Lady Earle touched Dora's face with her lips, and told what her errand
+was.  They must leave the room now--the beautiful face of Beatrice
+Earle was to be hidden forever from the sight of men.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+That evening was long remembered at Earlescourt; for Lady Dora
+thenceforward took her rightful position.  She fell at once into the
+spirit of the place, attending to every one and thinking of every one's
+comfort.
+
+Lillian was fighting hard for her young life.  She seemed in some vague
+way to understand that her mother was near.  Lady Dora's hand soothed
+and calmed her, her gentle motherly ways brought comfort and rest; but
+many long days passed before Lillian knew those around her, or woke
+from her troubled, feverish dream. When she did so, her sister had been
+laid to rest in her long, last home.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+People said afterward that no fairer day had ever been than that on
+which Beatrice Earle was buried.  The sun shone bright and warm, the
+birds were singing, the autumn flowers were in bloom, as the long
+procession wound its way through the trees in the park; the leaves fell
+from the trees, while the long grass rustled under the tread of many
+feet.
+
+Lord Earle and Hubert Airlie were together.  Kindly hearts knew not
+which to pity the more--the father whose heart seemed broken by his
+sorrow, or the young lover so suddenly bereft of all he loved best.
+From far and near friends and strangers gathered to that mournful
+ceremony; from one to another the story flew how beautiful she was, and
+how dearly the young lord had loved her, how she had wandered out of
+the house in her sleep and fallen into the lake.
+
+They laid her to rest in the green church-yard at the foot of the
+hill--the burial place of the Earles.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The death bell had ceased ringing; the long white blinds of the Hall
+windows were drawn up; the sunshine played once more in the rooms; the
+carriages of sorrowing friends were gone; the funeral was over.  Of the
+beautiful, brilliant Beatrice Earle there remained but a memory.
+
+They told afterward how Gaspar Laurence watched the funeral procession,
+and how he had lingered last of all in the little church-yard.  He
+never forgot Beatrice; he never looked into the face of another woman
+with love on his own.
+
+It was all over, and on the evening of that same day a quiet, deep
+sleep came to Lillian Earle.  It saved her life; the wearied brain
+found rest.  When she awoke, the lurid light of fever died out of her
+eyes, and they looked in gratified amazement upon Lady Dora who sat by
+her side.
+
+"Mamma," she whispered, "am I at home at Knutsford?"
+
+Dora soothed her, almost dreading the time when memory should awaken in
+full force.  It seemed partly to return then, for Lillian gave vent to
+a wearied sigh, and closed her eyes.
+
+Then Dora saw a little of wild alarm cross her face.  She sprang up
+crying:
+
+"Mamma, is it true?  Is Beatrice dead?"
+
+"It is true, my darling," whispered her mother, gently.  "Dead, but not
+lost to us--only gone before."
+
+The young girl recovered very slowly.  The skillful doctor in
+attendance upon her sad that, as soon as it was possible to remove her,
+she should be carried direct from her room to a traveling carriage,
+taken from home, and not allowed to return to the Hall until she was
+stronger and better.
+
+They waited until that day came, and meanwhile Lady Dora Earle learned
+to esteem Lord Airlie very dearly.  He seemed to find more comfort with
+her than with any one else.  They spoke but of one subject--the loved,
+lost Beatrice.
+
+Her secret was never known.  Lord Earle and Lionel Dacre kept it
+faithfully.  No allusion to it ever crossed their lips.  To Lord
+Airlie, while he lived, the memory of the girl he had loved so well was
+pure and untarnished as the falling snow.  Not even to her mother was
+the story told.  Dora believed, as did every one else, that Beatrice
+had fallen accidentally into the lake.
+
+When Lillian grew stronger--better able to bear the mention of her
+sister's name--Lord Earle went to her room one day, and, gently enough,
+tried to win her to speak to him of what she knew.
+
+She told him all--of her sister's sorrow, remorse, and tears; her
+longing to be free from the wretched snare in which she was caught; how
+she pleaded with her to interfere.  She told him of her short interview
+with the unhappy man, and its sad consequences for her.
+
+Then the subject dropped forever.  Lord Earle said nothing to her of
+Lionel, thinking it would be better for the young lover to plead his
+own cause.
+
+One morning, when she was able to rise and sit up for a time, Lionel
+asked permission to see her.  Lady Dora, who knew nothing of what had
+passed between them, unhesitatingly consented.
+
+She was alarmed when, as he entered the room, she saw her daughter's
+gentle face grow deathly pale.
+
+"I have done wrong," she said.  "Lillian is not strong enough to see
+visitors yet."
+
+"Dear Lady Dora," explained Lionel, taking her hand, "I love Lillian;
+and she loved me before I was so unhappy as to offend her.  I have come
+to beg her pardon.  Will you trust her with me for a few minutes?"
+
+Lady Dora assented, and went away, leaving them together.
+
+"Lillian," said Lionel, "I do not know in what words to beg your
+forgiveness.  I am ashamed and humbled.  I know your sister's story,
+and all that you did to save her.  When one was to be sacrificed, you
+were the victim.  Can you ever forgive me?"
+
+"I forgive you freely," she gently answered.  "I have been in the
+Valley of the Shadow of Death, and all human resentment and unkindness
+seem as nothing to me."
+
+"And may I be to you as I was before?" he asked.
+
+"That is another question," she said.  "I can not answer it now. You
+did not trust me, Lionel."
+
+Those were the only words of reproach she ever uttered to him. He did
+not annoy her with protestation; he trusted that time would do for him
+what he saw just then he could not do for himself.
+
+He sat down upon the couch by her side, and began to speak to her of
+the tour she was about to make; of the places she should visit
+carefully avoiding all reference to the troubled past.
+
+Three days afterward Lillian started on her journey to the south of
+France insisted upon by the doctor.  Lord Earle and his wife took
+charge of their child; Lord Airlie, declaring he could not yet endure
+Lynnton, went with them.  Lady Helena and Lionel Dacre remained at
+home, in charge of the Hall and the estate.
+
+One thing the latter had resolved upon--that, before the travelers
+returned, the lake should be filled up, and green trees planted over
+the spot where its waters now glistened in the sun.
+
+No matter how great the expense and trouble, he was resolved that it
+should be done.
+
+"Earlescourt would be wretched," he said, "if that fatal lake remained."
+
+The day after the family left Earlescourt, he had workmen engaged.  No
+one was sorry at his determination.  Lady Helena highly approved of it.
+The water was drained off, the deep basin filled with earth, and tall
+saplings planted where once the water had glistened in the sun.  The
+boat house was pulled down, and all vestige of the lake was done away
+with.
+
+Lionel Dacre came home one evening from the works in very low spirits.
+Imbedded in the bottom of the lake they had found a little slipper--the
+fellow to it was locked away in Dora's drawer.  He saved it to give it
+to her when she returned.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIV
+
+Two years passed away, and the travelers thought of returning. Lillian
+had recovered health and strength, and, Lord Earle said, longed for
+home.
+
+One bright June day they were expected back.  Lionel Dacre had driven
+to the station.  Lady Earle had laid aside her mourning dress, and sat
+anxiously awaiting her son.  She wished the homecoming were over, and
+that they had all settled down to the new life.
+
+Her wish was soon gratified.  Once again she gazed upon the face of her
+only and beloved son.  He was little changed--somewhat sunburned, it
+was true; but there was less of the old pride and sternness, a kindly
+smile playing round his lips.  There was, too, a shade of sadness that
+plainly would never leave him; Lord Earle could never forget his lost
+child.
+
+Lady Helena looked anxiously at Dora, but there was no cause for fear.
+The rosy, dimpled beauty of youth had passed away, but a staid dignity
+had taken its place.  She looked a graceful amiable woman, with eyes of
+wondrous beauty thickly veiled by long lashes, and a wealth of rippling
+black hair.  Lady Helena thought her far more beautiful now than when
+the coy smiles and dimples had been the chief charm.  She admired, too,
+the perfect and easy grace with which Dora fell at once into her proper
+place as mistress of that vast establishment.
+
+The pretty, musical voice was trained and softened; the delicate,
+refined accent retained no trace of provincialism.  Everything about
+Dora pleased the eye and gratified the taste; the girlish figure had
+grown matronly and dignified; the sweet face had in it a tinge of
+sadness one may often see in the face of a mother who has lost a child.
+Lady Helena, fastidious and critical, could find no fault with her
+son's wife.
+
+She welcomed her warmly, giving up to her, in her own graceful way, all
+rule and authority.  Helping her if in any way she required it, but
+never interfering, she made Dora respected by the love and esteem she
+always evinced for her.
+
+But it was on Lillian's face that Lady Helena gazed most earnestly.
+The pallor of sickness had given way to a rosy and exquisite bloom.
+The fair, sweet face in its calm loveliness seemed to her perfect, the
+violet eyes were full of light. Looking at her, Lady Helena believed
+there were years of life in store for Ronald's only child.
+
+There was much to talk about.  Lord Earle told his mother how Hubert
+Airlie had gone home to Lynnton, unable to endure the sight of
+Earlescourt.  He had never regained his spirits.  In the long years to
+come it was possible, added Ronald, that Lord Airlie might marry, for
+the sake of his name; but if ever the heart of living man lay buried in
+a woman's grave, his was with the loved, lost Beatrice.
+
+Lionel Dacre knew he had done wisely and well to have the bed of the
+lake filled up.  In the morning he saw how each member of the family
+shrank from going out into the grounds.  He asked Lord Earle to
+accompany him, and then the master of Earlescourt saw that the deep,
+cruel water no longer shimmered amid the trees.
+
+Lionel let him bring his wife and daughter to see what had been done;
+and they turned to the author of it with grateful eyes, thanking him
+for the kind thought which had spared their feelings.  Green trees
+flourished now on the spot where the water had glistened in the sun;
+birds sang in their branches, green grass and ferns grew round their
+roots.
+
+Yet among the superstitious, strange stories were told.  They said that
+the wind, when it rustled among those trees, wailed with a cry like
+that of one drowning, that the leaves shivered and trembled as they did
+on no other branches; that the stirring of them resembled deep-drawn
+sighs.  They said flowers would never grow in the thick grass, and that
+the antlered deer shunned the spot.
+
+As much as possible the interior arrangements of Earlescourt had been
+altered.  Lillian had rooms prepared for her in the other wing; those
+that had belonged to her hapless sister were left undisturbed.  Lady
+Dora kept the key; it was known when she had been visiting them; the
+dark eyes bore traces of weeping.
+
+Beatrice had not been forgotten and never would be.  Her name was on
+Lillian's lips a hundred times each day.  They had been twin sisters,
+and it always seemed to her that part of herself lay in the church yard
+at the foot of the hill.
+
+Gaspar Laurence had gone abroad--he could not endure the sight or name
+of home.  Lady Laurence hoped that time would heal a wound that nothing
+else could touch.  When, after some years, he did return, it was seen
+that his sorrow would last for life.  He never married--he never cared
+for the name of any woman save that of Beatrice Earle.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+A week after their return, Lillian Earle stood one evening watching
+from the deep oriel window the sun's last rays upon the flowers.
+Lionel joined her, and she knew from his face that he had come to ask
+the question she had declined to answer before.
+
+"I have done penance, Lillian," he said, "if ever man has. For two
+years I have devoted time, care, and thought to those you love, for
+your sake; for two years I have tried night and day to learn, for your
+sake, to become a better man.  Do not visit my fault too heavily upon
+me.  I am hasty and passionate--I doubted you who were true and pure;
+but, Lillian, in the loneliness and sorrow of these two years I have
+suffered bitterly for my sin.  I know you are above all coquetry.  Tell
+me, Lillian, will you be my wife?"
+
+She gave him the answer he longed to hear, and Lionel Dacre went
+straight to Lord Earle.  He was delighted--it was the very marriage
+upon which he had set his heart years before.  Lady Dora was delighted,
+too; she smiled more brightly over it than she had smiled since the
+early days of her married life.  Lady Helena rejoiced when they told
+her, although it was not unexpected news to her, for she had been
+Lionel's confidante during Lillian's illness.
+
+There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed; the June roses
+were blooming then, and it was arranged that it should take place in
+the month of August.
+
+There were to be no grand festivities--no one had heart for them; the
+wedding was to be quiet, attended only by a few friends; and Lord Earle
+succeeded in obtaining a promise from Lionel which completely set his
+heart at rest.  It was that he would never seek another home--that he
+and Lillian would consent to live at Earlescourt.  Her father could not
+endure the thought of parting with her.
+
+"It will be your home, Lionel," he said, "in the course of after-years.
+Make it so now.  We shall be one family, and I think a happy one."
+
+So it was arranged, much to everybody's delight.  A few days before the
+wedding took place, a letter came which seemed to puzzle Lord Earle
+very much.  He folded it without speaking, but, when breakfast was
+over, he drew his wife's hand within his own.
+
+"Dora," he said, "there will never be any secrets between us for the
+future.  I want you to read this letter--it is from Valentine Charteris
+that was, Princess Borgezi that is.  She is in England, at Greenoke,
+and asks permission to come to Lillian's wedding; the answer must rest
+with you, dear."
+
+She took the letter from him and read it through; the noble heart of
+the woman spoke in every line, yet in some vague way Dora dreaded to
+look again upon the calm, grand beauty of Valentine's face.
+
+"Have no fear, Dora, in saying just what you think," said her husband;
+"I would not have our present happiness clouded for the world.  One
+word will suffice--if you do not quite like the thought, I will write
+to her and ask her to defer the visit."
+
+But Dora would not be outdone in magnanimity.  With resolute force, she
+cast from her every unworthy thought.
+
+"Let her come, Ronald," she said, raising her clear, dark eyes to his.
+"I shall be pleased to see her.  I owe her some amends."
+
+He was unfeignedly pleased, and so was every one else.  Lady Helena
+alone felt some little doubts as to Dora's capability of controlling
+herself.
+
+The Princess Borgezi was to come alone; she had not said at what hour
+they might expect her.
+
+Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so
+constantly to her lost child.  Beatrice had loved the beautiful,
+gracious woman who was coming to visit them.  It may have been that
+which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, when the
+house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of preparation, to go to
+the silent, solitary rooms where her daughter's voice had once made
+sweetest music.
+
+She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found her, and
+tried to still her bitter weeping.
+
+"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my
+bright, beautiful darling should be lying there.  It is only two years
+since a wedding wreath was made for her."
+
+Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. It was a
+long walk, but she preferred taking it alone.  She said she should feel
+better after it.  They yielded to her wish. Before she had quitted the
+house many minutes, the Princess Borgezi arrived.
+
+There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting.  He was heartily glad to
+see her--glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian face that had
+seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen Guinivere.  They
+talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, turning to him, said:
+
+"Now let me see Lady Dora.  My visit is really to her."
+
+They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered something
+to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I will follow her.  I will ask her to kiss me over
+her daughter's grave."
+
+Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine entered the
+church yard alone.
+
+Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white marble
+cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave.
+
+She went up to her.  Her footsteps, falling noiselessly on the soft
+grass, were unheard by the weeping mother.
+
+Valentine knelt by her side.  Dora, looking up, saw the calm face
+beaming down upon her, ineffable tenderness in the clear eyes. She felt
+the clasp of Valentine's arms, and heard a sweet voice whisper:
+
+"Dora, I have followed you here to ask you to try to love me, and to
+pardon me for my share in your unhappy past.  For the love of your
+dead, who loved me, bury here all difference and dislike."
+
+She could not refuse.  For the first time, Lord Earle's wife laid her
+head upon that noble woman's shoulder and wept away her sorrow, while
+Valentine soothed her with loving words.
+
+Over the grave of a child the two women were reconciled--all dislike,
+jealousy, and envy died away forever.  Peace and love took their place.
+
+In the after-time there was something remarkable in Dora's reverential
+love for Valentine.  Lord Earle often said that in his turn he was
+jealous of her.  His wife had no higher ideal, no truer friend than the
+Princess Borgezi.
+
+The wedding day dawned at last; and for a time all trace of sadness was
+hidden away.  Lord Earle would have it so.  He said that that which
+should be the happiest day of Lillian's life must not be clouded.  Such
+sad thoughts of the lost Beatrice as came into the minds of those who
+had loved her remained unspoken.
+
+The summer sun never shone upon a more lovely bride, nor upon a fairer
+scene than that wedding.  The pretty country church was decorated with
+flowers and crowded with spectators.
+
+Side by side at the altar stood Lady Dora Earle and Valentine. People
+said afterward they could not decide whom they admired most--Lady
+Helena's stately magnificence, Dora's sweet, simple elegance, or the
+Princess Borgezi's statuesque Grecian beauty.
+
+Lord Earle had prepared a surprise for Dora.  When the little wedding
+party returned from the church, the first to greet them was Stephen
+Thorne, now a white-headed old man, and his wife. The first to show
+them all honor and respect were Lord Earle and his mother.  Valentine
+was charmed with their homely simplicity.
+
+For months after they returned to Knutsford the old people talked of
+"the lady with the beautiful face, who had been so kind and gracious to
+them."
+
+Lord Airlie did not attend the wedding, but he had urged Lionel to
+spend his honeymoon at Lynnton Hall, and Lillian had willingly
+consented.
+
+So they drove away when the wedding breakfast was over. A hundred
+wishes for their happiness following them, loving words ringing after
+them.  Relatives, friends, and servants had crowded round them; and
+Lillian's courage gave way at last.  She turned to Lionel, as though
+praying him to shorten their time of parting.
+
+"Heaven bless you, my darling!" whispered Dora to her child. "And mind,
+never--come what may--never be jealous of your husband."
+
+"Goodbye, Lionel," said Lord Earle, clasping the true, honest hand in
+his; "and, if ever my little darling here tries you, be patient with
+her."
+
+The story of a life time was told in these two behests.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLV
+
+Ten years had passed since the wedding bells chimed for the marriage of
+Lillian Earle.  New life had come to Earlescourt. Children's happy
+voices made music there; the pattering of little feet sounded in the
+large, stately rooms, pretty, rosy faces made light and sunshine.
+
+The years had passed as swiftly and peacefully as a happy dream. One
+event had happened which had saddened Lord Earle for a few days--the
+death of the pretty, coquettish Countess Rosali.  She had nor forgotten
+him; there came to him from her sorrowing husband a ring which she had
+asked might be given to him.
+
+Gaspar Laurence was still abroad, and there was apparently no
+likelihood of his return.  The Princess Borgezi with her husband and
+children, had paid several visits to the Hall.  Valentine had one
+pretty little daughter, upon whom Lionel's son was supposed to look
+with most affection.  She had other daughters--the eldest, a tall,
+graceful girl, inherited her father's Italian face and dark, dreamy
+eyes.  Strange to say, she was not unlike Beatrice.  It may have been
+that circumstance which first directed Lord Airlie's attention to her.
+He met her at Earlescourt, and paid her more attention than he had paid
+to any one since he had loved so unhappily years before.
+
+No one was much surprised when he married her.  And Helena Borgezi made
+a good wife.  She knew his story, and how much of his heart lay in the
+grave of his lost love.  He was kind, gentle, and affectionate to her,
+and Helena valued his thoughtful, faithful attachment more than she
+would have valued the deepest and most passionate love of another man.
+
+One room at Lynnton was never unlocked; strange feet never entered it;
+curious eyes never looked round it.  It was the pretty boudoir built,
+but never furnished, for Hubert Airlie's first love.
+
+Time softened his sorrow; his fair, gentle wife was devoted to him,
+blooming children smiled around him; but he never forgot Beatrice.  In
+his dreams, at times, Helena heard her name on his lips; but she was
+not jealous of the dead.  No year passed in which she did not visit the
+grave where Beatrice Earle slept her last long sleep.
+
+       *      *      *      *      *
+
+Dora seemed to grow young again with Lillian's children.  She nursed
+and tended them.  Lady Helena, with zealous eyes, looked after
+Bertrand, the future lord of Earlescourt, a brave, noble boy, his
+father's pride and Lillian's torment and delight, who often said he was
+richer than any other lad in the country, for he had three mothers,
+while others had but one.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The sun was setting over the fair broad lands of Earlescourt, the
+western sky was all aflame; the flowers were thirsting for the soft dew
+which had just begun to fall.
+
+Out in the rose garden, where long ago a love story had been told, were
+standing a group that an artist would have been delighted to sketch.
+
+Lionel had some choice roses in bloom, and after dinner the whole party
+had gone out to see them.  Lady Helena Earle was seated on the garden
+chair whereon Beatrice had once sat listening to the words which had
+gladdened her brief life.  A number of fair children played around her.
+
+Looking on them with pleased eyes was a gentle, graceful lady. Her
+calm, sweet face had a story in it, the wondrous dark eyes had in them
+a shadow as of some sorrow not yet lived down.  Lady Dora Earle was
+happy; the black clouds had passed away.  She was her husband's best
+friend, his truest counselor; and Ronald had forgotten that she was
+ever spoken of as "lowly born."  The dignity of her character, acquired
+by long years of stern discipline, asserted itself; no one in the whole
+country side was more loved or respected than Lady Dora Earle.
+
+Ronald, Lord Earle, was lying on the grass at his wife's feet. He
+looked older, and the luxuriant hair was threaded with silver; but
+there was peace and calm in his face.
+
+He laughed at Lillian and her husband conversing so anxiously over the
+roses.
+
+"They are lovers yet," he said to Dora; and she glanced smilingly at
+them.
+
+The words were true.  Ten years married, they were lovers yet. There
+was gentle forbearance on one side, an earnest wish to do right on the
+other.  Lillian Dacre never troubled her head about "woman's rights;"
+she had no idea of trying to fill her husband's place; if her opinion
+on voting was asked, the chances were that she would smile and say,
+"Lionel manages all those matters."  Yet in her own kingdom she reigned
+supreme; her actions were full of wisdom, he words were full of kindly
+thought.  The quiet, serene beauty of her youth had developed into that
+of magnificent womanhood.  The fair, spirituelle face was peerless in
+her husband's eyes.  There was no night or day during which Lionel
+Dacre did not thank Heaven for that crown of all great gifts, a good
+and gentle wife.
+
+There was a stir among the children; a tall, dark gentleman was seen
+crossing the lawn, and Lionel cried: "Here is Gaspar Laurence with his
+arms full of toys--those children will be completely spoiled!"
+
+The little ones rushed forward, and Bertrand, in his hurry, fell over a
+pretty child with large dark eyes and dark hair.  Lord Earle jumped up
+and caught her in his arms.
+
+"Bertie, my boy," he said, "always be kind to little Beatrice!" The
+child clasped her arms round his neck.  He kissed the dark eyes and
+murmured to himself, "Poor little Beatrice!"
+
+The summer wind that played among the roses, lifting the golden,
+rippling hair from Lillian's forehead and tossing her little girl's
+curls into Lord Earle's face, was singing a sweet, low requiem among
+the trees that shaded the grave of Beatrice Earle.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme
+
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