r remain in the custody of his mother. _His_ son
could not remain under the roof of his wife's second husband during his
own lifetime. The line must be drawn somewhere. It did not occur to
Thorne that his wife, with equal justice, might raise similar
objections.

He determined to see Ethel at once and discover whether or not there
was truth in the reports that had reached him anent Cecil Cumberland.
If there should be, he would bring such pressure as lay in his power to
bear on her, in order to obtain immediate possession of the boy. The
child was still so young that the law gave the mother rights which
could only be set aside at the expense of a disagreeable suit; but
Thorne thought he could manage Ethel in such a way as to make her
voluntarily surrender her rights. He knew that her affection for the
child was neither deep nor strong.

He ascended the steps of his own house and rang the bell sharply. It
was answered by a strange servant who regarded him with interest;
evidently a gentleman caller at that hour of the morning was unusual.
Was Mrs. Thorne at home? The man would inquire. Would the gentleman
walk in. What name should he say? Mr. Thorne--and his business was
pressing; he must see her at once.

The man opened the door of the back parlor and stood aside to let Mr.
Thorne pass; then he closed it noiselessly and proceeded up-stairs to
inform his mistress.

Thorne glanced around the room curiously; it was two years since he had
seen it. On the marble hearth burned a bright wood-fire, and the
dancing flames reflected themselves in the burnished brasses. The
tiles around the fireplace were souvenirs of his wedding, hand-painted
by the bevy of bridesmaids to please a fancy of Ethel's. Norma's was
in the center--the place of honor. It was a strange thing that Norma
had selected to paint; heavy sprays of mingled nightshade and monkshood
on a ground the color of a fading leaf; but, strange as it was, it was
the most beautiful of them all. There were flowers in the room and the
perfume of heliotrope and roses filled the air. The piano was open and
on it one of the popular songs of the day; a loud, garish thing. Ethel
liked what she called "bright music;" on the keys lay a tumbled lace
handkerchief, and on the floor, close to the pedal of the instrument,
was a man's driving glove.

Over the piano hung the portrait of a lady with soft, gray hair, and
the expression of purity and love which medieval