t had happened which had saddened Lord Earle for a few days--the
death of the pretty, coquettish Countess Rosali. She had nor forgotten
him; there came to him from her sorrowing husband a ring which she had
asked might be given to him.

Gaspar Laurence was still abroad, and there was apparently no
likelihood of his return. The Princess Borgezi with her husband and
children, had paid several visits to the Hall. Valentine had one
pretty little daughter, upon whom Lionel's son was supposed to look
with most affection. She had other daughters--the eldest, a tall,
graceful girl, inherited her father's Italian face and dark, dreamy
eyes. Strange to say, she was not unlike Beatrice. It may have been
that circumstance which first directed Lord Airlie's attention to her.
He met her at Earlescourt, and paid her more attention than he had paid
to any one since he had loved so unhappily years before.

No one was much surprised when he married her. And Helena Borgezi made
a good wife. She knew his story, and how much of his heart lay in the
grave of his lost love. He was kind, gentle, and affectionate to her,
and Helena valued his thoughtful, faithful attachment more than she
would have valued the deepest and most passionate love of another man.

One room at Lynnton was never unlocked; strange feet never entered it;
curious eyes never looked round it. It was the pretty boudoir built,
but never furnished, for Hubert Airlie's first love.

Time softened his sorrow; his fair, gentle wife was devoted to him,
blooming children smiled around him; but he never forgot Beatrice. In
his dreams, at times, Helena heard her name on his lips; but she was
not jealous of the dead. No year passed in which she did not visit the
grave where Beatrice Earle slept her last long sleep.

* * * * *

Dora seemed to grow young again with Lillian's children. She nursed
and tended them. Lady Helena, with zealous eyes, looked after
Bertrand, the future lord of Earlescourt, a brave, noble boy, his
father's pride and Lillian's torment and delight, who often said he was
richer than any other lad in the country, for he had three mothers,
while others had but one.

* * * * *

The sun was setting over the fair broad lands of Earlescourt, the
western sky was all aflame; the flowers were thirsting for the soft dew
which had just begun to fall.

Out in the rose garden, where long ago a love story