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+The Project Gutenberg Etext Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme
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+Dora Thorne
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+by Charlotte M. Braeme
+
+October, 2000  [Etext #2374]
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme
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+Etext prepared by Theresa Armao.
+
+
+
+
+
+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--Fonque'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 Etext Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme
+
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