er 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.