like them: Beatrice did not think such a thing very probable, but
Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, fanciful alarm.

It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. Both had
felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his wife--they sent
many presents to them--but Beatrice would curl her proud lip in scorn
when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. Thorne desired their humble duty
to Lady Earle."

Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his
daughters, she saw no fault in them. Beautiful, accomplished, and
graceful, what more could he desire? She inwardly thanked Providence
that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the Thornes.
Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just stepped out from a
picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like loveliness, was quite as
charming. What would Lady Earle--so truthful, so honorable--have
thought or said had she known that their bright favorite with the Earle
face had plighted her troth, unknown to any one, to the captain of a
trading vessel, who was to claim her in two years for his wife?

Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the time
would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. Nothing could
be more delightful, nothing easier, provided Beatrice would marry the
young heir, Lionel Dacre.

One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle entered
with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high-bred face. She
held an open letter in her hand.

"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best this
evening. I have a note here--your father will be home tonight."

The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of
Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had never
wept since he left her.

Chapter XXI

Once more Ronald Earle stood upon English shores; once again he heard
his mother tongue spoken all around him, once again he felt the charm
of quiet, sweet English scenery. Seventeen years had passed since he
had taken Dora's hand in his and told her he cared nothing for all he
was leaving behind him, nothing for any one in the world save
herself--seventeen years, and his love-dream had lasted but two! Then
came the cruel shock that blinded him with anger and shame; then came
the rude awakening from his dream when, looking his life bravely in the
face, he found it nothing but a burden--hope and ambition gone--the
grand pol