broken lily, that years ago
her father, in the reckless heyday of youth, had wilfully deceived his
father, and married against his wish and commands; she did not know how
that unhappy marriage had ended in pride, passion, and sullen, jealous
temper--while those who should have foreborne went each their own
road--the proud, irritated husband abroad, away from every tie of home
and duty, the jealous, angry wife secluding herself in the bitterness
of her heart--both neglecting the children intrusted to them. She knew
how one of those children had gone wrong; she knew the deceit, the
misery, the sorrow that wrong had entailed. She was the chief victim,
yet the sin had not been hers.

There were no fierce, rebellious feelings in her gentle heart, no angry
warring with the mighty Hand that sends crosses and blessings alike.
The flower bent by the wind was not more pliant. Where her sorrow and
love had cast her she lay, silently enduring her suffering, while
Lionel traveled without intermission, wishing only to find himself far
away from the young girl he declared he had ceased to love yet could
not forget.

Chapter XXXIX

Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a quarter
to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left Lillian asleep,
and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie had been sketching for
Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton. Looking up suddenly she saw
the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would be at the shrubbery gate. She had
not a moment to lose. Saying she was feeling tired, she rose and went
to bid Lord Earle goodnight.

He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in his
hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering something the
while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He remembered how she, so little
given to caressing, had laid her hand upon his shoulder, clasping her
arms around his neck, kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear
papa." He remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes,
the sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to him,
nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in the shadow
of deadly peril.

If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to shield
her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her! As it was,
she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he did not even gaze
after her as she quitted the room. If he had only known where and how