d 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 swe