were
alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was nonsense and
folly. Mrs. Vyvian tried her best to counteract these ideas; they had
this one evil consequence--that neither Lillian nor Beatrice would ever
dream of even naming such subjects to their mother, who should have
been their friend and confidante. If in the books Lady Earle sent
there was any mention of this love their mother dreaded so, they went
to Mrs. Vyvian or puzzled over it themselves. With these two
exceptions Dora had become a thoughtful, gentle woman. As her mind
became more cultivated she understood better the dishonor of the fault
which had robbed her of Ronald's love. Her fair face grew crimson when
she remembered what she had done.

It was a fair and tranquil womanhood; the dark eyes retained their
wondrous light and beauty; the curling rings of dark hair were
luxuriant as ever; the lips wore a patient, sweet expression. The
clear, healthy country air had given a delicate bloom to the fair face.
Dora looked more like the elder sister of the young girls than their
mother.

The quiet, half-dreamy monotony was broken at last. Mrs. Vyvian was
suddenly summoned home. Her mother, to whom she was warmly attached,
was said to be dying, and she wished her last few days to be spent with
her daughter. At the same time Lady Earle wrote to say that her
husband was so ill that it was impossible for her to look for any lady
to supply Mrs. Vyvian's place. The consequence was that, for the first
time in their lives, the young girls were left for a few weeks without
a companion and without surveillance.

Chapter XVII

One beautiful morning in May, Lillian went out alone to sketch. The
beauty of the sky and sea tempted her; fleecy-white clouds floated
gently over the blue heavens; the sun shone upon the water until, at
times, it resembled a huge sea of rippling gold. Far off in the
distance were the shining white sails of two boats; they looked in the
golden haze like the brilliant wings of some bright bird. The sun upon
the white sails struck her fancy, and she wanted to sketch the effect.

It was the kind of morning that makes life seem all beauty and
gladness, even if the heart is weighed down with care. It was a luxury
merely to live and breathe. The leaves were all springing in the
woods; the meadows were green; wild flowers blossomed by the
hedge-rows; the birds sang gayly of the coming summer; the white
hawthorn threw its rich