illiant future for
Beatrice," wrote Lady Helena. "As Lady Airlie of Lynnton, she will be
placed as her birth and beauty deserve."

But even Lady Helena was startled when she read Dora's reply. It was a
wild prayer that her child should be saved--spared the deadly perils of
love and marriage--left to enjoy her innocent youth.

"There is no happy love," wrote poor Dora, "and never can be. Men can
not be patient, gentle, and true. It is ever self they
worship--self-reflected in the woman they love. Oh, Lady Helena, let
my child be spared! Let no so-called love come near her! Love found
me out in my humble home, and wrecked all my life. Do not let my
bright, beautiful Beatrice suffer as I have done. I would rather fold
my darlings in my arms and lie down with them to die than live to see
them pass through the cruel mockery of love and sorrow which I have
endured. Lady Helena, do not laugh; your letter distressed me. I
dreamed last night, after reading it, that I placed a wedding veil on
my darling's head, when, as it fell round her, it changed suddenly into
a shroud. A mother's love is true, and mine tells me that Beatrice is
in danger."

Chapter XXVII

"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to some
remark made by Lady Helena. "The girls do not care for the
sea--Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better than to
return to Earlescourt. It may not be quite fashionable, but it will be
very pleasant."

"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as home. We
owe our neighbors something, too. I am almost ashamed when I remember
how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and pleasant hospitality.
We must introduce the girls to our neighbors. I can foresee quite a
cheerful winter."

"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a smile,
"then we will look the winter bravely in the face. I suppose, mother,
you can guess who has managed to procure an invitation to Earlescourt!"

"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena.

"Yes," was the laughing reply. "It did me good, mother--it made me
feel young and happy again to see and hear him. His handsome, frank
face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed said London
would be like a desert--declared he could not go to Lynnton, the place
was full of work-people. He did not like Scotland, and was as homeless
as a wealthy young peer with several estates could well be. I allowed
him to bewild