ce and
sorrow.

While in Liverpool, preparing to go to Melbourne, he accidentally
found and read Mrs. Laurance's advertisement in the London _Times_,
offering a reward for any definite information concerning Cuthbert
Laurance, reported lost on Steamer ----. Had she relented, would she
pardon him now? He was lonely, desolate; his heart yearned for the
sight of his fair young daughter, doubly dear since the loss of poor
Maud, and he longed inexpressibly to see once more the love of his
early and his later life.

If still implacably vindictive, would she have continued the
advertisement, which so powerfully tempted him to reveal himself? He
was fully conscious of his own unworthiness, and of the magnitude of
the wrongs inflicted upon her, but after a long struggle with his
pride, which bled sorely at thought of the scornful repulse that
might await him, he had written confidentially to Mr. Palma, and in
accordance with his advice, returned to New York.

Only the day previous he had arrived, and now came to test the power
of memory over his wife's heart.

"Father, she is sitting alone on the verandah, with such a world of
sadness in her eyes, which have lost the blessed power of weeping. Go
to her. I believe you need no ally to reach my mother's heart."

Mr. Laurance kissed her fair forehead, and walked away; and passing
his arm around Regina, Mr. Palma drew her forward across the lawn
till they reached a branching lilac near the verandah.

Here he paused, took off his glasses, and looked proudly and
tenderly down into the violet eyes that even now met his so shyly.

"My Lily, to-morrow at this hour you will be my wife."

His haughty lips were smiling as they sought hers, and with her
lovely flushed face half hidden on his shoulder, and one small hand
clinging to his, she watched her father's figure approaching the
steps.

Mrs. Laurance sat with her folded hands resting on the rail of the
balustrade, her head slightly drooped upon her bosom; and the
beautiful face was lighted by the dying sunset splendour, that
seemed to kindle a nimbus around the golden head, and rendered her
in her violet drapery like some haloed _Mater Dolorosa_, treading
alone the _Via Crucis_.

Dusky shadows under the melancholy brown eyes made them appear
darker, deeper, almost prophetic, and over her lips drifted a
fragment from "Regret"

"Oh that word Regret!
There have been nights and morns, when w