And my children," he said, "my poor little girls! I will not see them
until I am calm and refreshed. I know they are well and happy with
you."

Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had been
longing to say.

"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer. You will never know
how my heart has been torn between my husband and my son. Let my last
few years be spent in peace."

"They shall, mother," he said. "Your happiness shall be my study."

"There can be no rest for me," continued his mother, "unless all
division in our family ends. Ronald, I, who never asked you a favor
before, ask one now. Seek Dora and bring her home reconciled and
happy."

A dark angry frown such as she had never seen there before came into
Lord Earle's face.

"Anything but that," he replied, hastily; "I can not do it, mother. I
could not, if I lay upon my death bed."

"And why?" asked Lady Helena, simply, as she had asked Dora.

"For a hundred reasons, the first and greatest of which is that she has
outraged all my notions of honor, shamed and disgraced me in the
presence of one whom I esteemed and revered; she has--But no, I will
not speak of my wife's errors, it were unmanly. I can not forgive her,
mother. I wish her no harm; let her have every luxury my wealth can
procure, but do not name her to me. I should be utterly devoid of all
pride if I could pardon her."

"Pride on your side," said Lady Earle, sadly, "and temper on hers! Oh,
Ronald, how will it end? Be wise in time; the most honest and noble
man is he who conquers himself. Conquer yourself, my son, and pardon
Dora."

"I could more easily die," he replied, bitterly.

"Then," said Lady Earle, sorrowfully, "I must say to you as I said to
Dora--beware; pride and temper must bend and break. Be warned in time."

"Mother," interrupted Ronald, bending over the pale face so full of
emotion, "let this be the last time. You distress yourself and me; do
not renew the subject. I may forgive her in the hour of death--not
before."

Lady Helena's last hope died away; she had thought that in the first
hour of his return, when old memories had softened his heart, she would
prevail on him to seek his wife whom he had ceased to love, and for
their children's sake bring her home. She little dreamed that the
coming home, the recollection of his father, the ghost of his lost
youth and blasted hopes rising every instant, had hardened him against
the one