ad 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