"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
s