It is just
the land for the romance you love. You shall see blue skies and sunny
seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; you shall see such
luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish to return to this cold,
dreary England."

It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit should
be paid. The evening after their guests' departure seemed long and
triste.

"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never told
us anything of her friend. I must tell her all about the visit."

Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady Earle
was obliged to let the letter go. The passionate, lonely heart brooded
over every word. Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm,
grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly
recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them. Dora read it
through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain. The old,
fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought. She
tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds.

"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of
her fair face, and now she will win my children."

Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a
ray of light. Valentine was married; she had married the wealthy,
powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, after all, even
if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not cared for her, or she had
soon ceased to care for him.

Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to that
long, enthusiastic letter came. Dora said simply that she had never
named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person whom she did not
care to remember.

Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord Earle,
saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, and in any case
would be with them by Christmas day. It was a short letter, written in
the hurry of traveling; the words that touched his children most, were
"I am glad you have the girls at Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what
they are like. Make them happy, mother; let hem have all they want;
and, if it be possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me."

The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was made
to her. The girls marked the weeks go by in some little trepidation.
What if, after all, this father, whom they did not remember, should not