ning; and she shrank in imagination from that awakening to despair.
And she thought of others who were more or less concerned in the
tragedy; of Mary Kingston--though she could not remember her without a
shudder--of Mrs. Romaine, who had loved her brother so tenderly; and of
Lady Alice, the woman whose husband was in prison for a crime of which
Lesley was willing to swear that he was innocent.

When her thoughts once reached her mother, they stayed and would not be
diverted. She could not sleep: she could think of nothing but the mother
and the father whom she loved. And she wept over the failure of her
schemes for their reunion. All hope of that was at an end. It was
impossible that Lady Alice should not believe him guilty. She had always
judged him harshly, and taken the worst possible view of his behavior.
Lesley remembered that she had not--in common parlance--"had a good word
to say for him," when she spoke of him in the convent parlor. What would
she say now, and how could Lesley make her see the truth?

The fruit of her reflections became evident at breakfast-time next
morning. Lesley came downstairs with her hat on and a mantle over her
arm.

"Where are you going?" Miss Brooke asked. "Not to poor Ethel, I hope? I
am very sorry for her, but really, Lesley----"

"I am going to mamma," said Lesley.

"Going to----Well, upon my word! Lesley, I did think you had a little
more feeling for your father! Going----Well, I shall not countenance it.
I shall not let your boxes go out of the house. It is simply
disgraceful."

"But I don't want my boxes," said Lesley, rather forlornly helping
herself to a cup of coffee. "What have my boxes to do with it, Aunt
Sophy? I shall be back in an hour. Mr. Kenyon said we should be able to
see father to-day, and I do not want to be away when he comes."

"Then--then you don't mean to _stay_ with your mamma?" gasped Aunt
Sophy.

Lesley could not help a little laugh, but the tears came into her brown
eyes as she laughed. "Would you mind very much if I did, Aunt Sophy?"
she asked, setting down her cup of coffee.

"I should mind for this reason," said Miss Brooke, stoutly, "that if you
ran away from your father's house now, people would say that you thought
him guilty. It would go against him terribly. Sooner than that, I would
lock you into your own room and prevent your going by main force."

"I believe you would," said Lesley, "and so would I, in your place, Aunt
Sophy. But you