orgesi 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