e dense dust of the descending
mass, though not a stone touched them.

'Where is Dorothy?' says the excited Lady Mottisfont.

'She has her--she won't let her go for a time--'

'Has her? But she's _mine_--she's mine!' cries Lady Mottisfont.

Then her quick and tender eyes perceived that her husband had almost
forgotten her intrusive existence in contemplating the oneness of
Dorothy's, the Countess's, and his own: he was in a dream of exaltation
which recognized nothing necessary to his well-being outside that welded
circle of three lives.

Dorothy was at length brought home; she was much fascinated by the
Countess, and saw nothing tragic, but rather all that was truly
delightful, in what had happened. In the evening, when the excitement
was over, and Dorothy was put to bed, Sir Ashley said, 'She has saved
Dorothy; and I have been asking myself what I can do for her as a slight
acknowledgment of her heroism. Surely we ought to let her have Dorothy
to bring up, since she still desires to do it? It would be so much to
Dorothy's advantage. We ought to look at it in that light, and not
selfishly.'

Philippa seized his hand. 'Ashley, Ashley! You don't mean it--that I
must lose my pretty darling--the only one I have?' She met his gaze with
her piteous mouth and wet eyes so painfully strained, that he turned away
his face.

The next morning, before Dorothy was awake, Lady Mottisfont stole to the
girl's bedside, and sat regarding her. When Dorothy opened her eyes, she
fixed them for a long time upon Philippa's features.

'Mamma--you are not so pretty as the Contessa, are you?' she said at
length.

'I am not, Dorothy.'

'Why are you not, mamma?'

'Dorothy--where would you rather live, always; with me, or with her?'

The little girl looked troubled. 'I am sorry, mamma; I don't mean to be
unkind; but I would rather live with her; I mean, if I might without
trouble, and you did not mind, and it could be just the same to us all,
you know.'

'Has she ever asked you the same question?'

'Never, mamma.'

There lay the sting of it: the Countess seemed the soul of honour and
fairness in this matter, test her as she might. That afternoon Lady
Mottisfont went to her husband with singular firmness upon her gentle
face.

'Ashley, we have been married nearly five years, and I have never
challenged you with what I know perfectly well--the parentage of
Dorothy.'

'Never have you, Philippa dear. Though I have se