od on the
threshold of eternity!

Heaven had not willed it so. The pardon he had refused was wrung from
him now; and, looking at his child, he felt that she was sacrificed to
his blind, willful pride.

"You will forgive me, Ronald," pleaded the gentle voice, "for the love
of my dead child? Do not send me from you again. I have been very
unhappy all these long years; let me stay with you now. Dear, I was
beside myself with jealousy when I acted as I did."

"I forgive you," he said, gently, "can you pardon me as easily, Dora?
I have spoiled your life--I have done you cruel wrong; can you forget
all, and love me as you did years ago?"

All pride, restraint, and anger were dead. He whispered loving words
to his weeping wife, such as she had not heard for years; and he could
have fancied, as he did so, that a happy smile lingered on the fair
face of the dead.

No, it was but the light of a wax taper flickering over it; the
strange, solemn beauty of that serene brow and those quiet lips were
unstirred.

Half an hour afterward Lady Helena, trembling from the result of her
experiment, entered the room. She saw Ronald's arms clasped round
Dora, while they knelt side by side.

"Mother," said Lord Earle, "my wife has pardoned me. She is my own
again--my comfort in sorrow."

Lady Earle touched Dora's face with her lips, and told what her errand
was. They must leave the room now--the beautiful face of Beatrice
Earle was to be hidden forever from the sight of men.

* * * * *

That evening was long remembered at Earlescourt; for Lady Dora
thenceforward took her rightful position. She fell at once into the
spirit of the place, attending to every one and thinking of every one's
comfort.

Lillian was fighting hard for her young life. She seemed in some vague
way to understand that her mother was near. Lady Dora's hand soothed
and calmed her, her gentle motherly ways brought comfort and rest; but
many long days passed before Lillian knew those around her, or woke
from her troubled, feverish dream. When she did so, her sister had been
laid to rest in her long, last home.

* * * * *

People said afterward that no fairer day had ever been than that on
which Beatrice Earle was buried. The sun shone bright and warm, the
birds were singing, the autumn flowers were in bloom, as the long
procession wound its way through the trees in the park; the leaves fell
from th