e's eyes ached with the dazzle of silver
plate, the ornaments and magnificence of the room.

"Shall I ever grow accustomed to all this?" she asked herself. "Shall I
ever learn to look upon it as my own? I am indeed bewildered."

Yet her husband admired her perfect grace and self-possession. She might
have been mistress of Beechgrove all her life for any evidence she gave
to the contrary. His pride in her increased every moment; there was no
one like her.

"I have never really known what 'home' meant before, Madaline," he said.
"Imagine sitting opposite to a beautiful vision, knowing all the time
that it is your wife. My own wife--there is magic in the words."

And she, in her sweet humility, wondered why Heaven had so richly
blessed her, and what she had done that the great, passionate love of
this noble man should be hers. When dinner was ended he asked her if she
was tired.

"No," she answered, laughingly; "I have never felt less fatigued."

"Then I should like to show you over the house," he said--"my dear old
home. I am so proud of it, Madaline; you understand what I mean--proud
of its beauty; its antiquity--proud that no shadow of disgrace has ever
rested on it. To others these are simply ancient gray walls; to me they
represent the honor, the stainless repute, the unshadowed dignity of my
race. People may sneer if they will, but to me there seems nothing so
sacred as love of race--jealousy of a stainless name."

"I can understand and sympathize with you," she said, "although the
feeling is strange to me."

"Not quite strange, Madaline. Your mother had a name, dear, entitled to
all respect. Now come with me, and I will introduce you to the long line
of the Ladies Arleigh."

They went together to the picture-gallery, and as they passed through
the hall Madaline heard the great clock chiming.

"Ah, Norman," she said, listening to the chimes, "how much may happen in
one day, however short that day may be."

Chapter XXV.

The picture-gallery was one of the chief attractions of Beechgrove; like
the grand old trees, it had been the work of generations. The Arleighs
had always been great patrons of the fine arts; many a lord of
Beechgrove had expended what was a handsome fortune in the purchase of
pictures. The gallery itself was built on a peculiar principal; it went
round the whole of the house, extending from the eastern to the western
wing--it was wide, lofty, well-lighted, and the pictures wer