dearest child, that you have a mother, and
another home, here in the South. You will come sometimes? And for a long
visit? The journey is so short nowadays, is it not? You will not forget
altogether the lonely woman who has found a son--and a daughter?"

It was not until he and his mother were alone together that Derrick
delivered his father's message; and he did so gently, tenderly, with his
hand laid in hers. Donna Elvira was silent for a long time; then she
said, in a low voice,

"We will leave it to time, Derrick. You say, in your language, that Time
heals all things. And the wound is now almost healed. We will
wait----Yes, we will leave it to time."

And with that Derrick had to be satisfied.

It was towards the close of their stay at the ranch that Derrick
received a letter from his father containing the news of the death of
him who had been known so long to the world as the Marquess of Sutcombe.
The last days of the stricken man had passed in peacefulness and
forgetfulness. He had never spoken of his son, had seemed to remember
nothing of the terrible tragedy which had cast its shadow over all their
lives; all his conscious thought had been of the brother whose place he
had usurped, at first innocently, but whom now he had restored to his
own. The letter closed with a hint that Derrick's father found the
responsibility of his titles and honours somewhat hard to bear; and
Derrick knew that the old man needed him.

This letter brought their visit--already a long one--to an end, and
Derrick and Celia started for home. Nothing shall be said of their
reception; indeed, the most eloquent pen could not attempt to vie with
the glowing periods in which the great event was enshrined in the
columns of the local paper; suffice it that, after a progress through
many triumphal arches, much cheering; some speechifying on the part of
Derrick--which was by no means particularly happy but was received with
delirious enthusiasm--the carriage conveyed them to the Hall, where
Derrick's father and Celia's old friend stood, leaning on his stick, and
awaited them.

"Thank God you've come back, Derrick!" said his father, fervently. "You
and Celia are wanted here, very badly. You see," he added, with a touch
of pathos, "I have been away from all this so long, I am so unused to
everything----My dear, will you believe me"--he turned to Celia with a
smile that had not a little pathos in it--"I sometimes long for the
quietude, the--th