e dreariness and desolation of her home. She longed
for peace and rest; she would gladly have sought them in a convent had
she been permitted to do so, or in the grave, had she dared.

I repeat that she did not dislike the Duke of Hereward; but on the
contrary, she liked him better than any one else in the world except her
mother, and so it followed that at length she began to look upon a
marriage with him as the only possible refuge from the horrors of her
home.

What wonder, then, that, goaded and taunted by her father, implored by
her mother, solicited by the handsome duke, believing her young lover to
be dead, slain by the hands of her father, longing to escape from the
persecutions of her family, prostrated in body and mind, broken in heart
and in spirit, Valerie at last succumbed to the pressure brought to bear
upon her, and accepted the refuge of the Duke of Hereward's love,
although the very next moment, in honor of herself and him, she
would willingly have recalled her decision, if she could have done so.

From the moment that her acceptance of the duke's proposal was announced
to her parents, the domestic sky cleared; her ruthless tyrant became
again her tender father; her weeping mother brightened into smiles;
she herself was once more the petted daughter of the house, and her lover
showed himself the proudest and happiest of men; and Valerie de la Motte
would have been at peace but for her consciousness of the secret that
they were all keeping from the duke.

"Mamma, he ought to be told, he is so good, so noble, so confiding. I
feel like a wretch in deceiving him; he ought to be told of my fault
before he commits himself by marrying me," she pleaded with her mother.

"Valerie, you frighten me half to death! Do not dream of such a folly as
telling the duke anything about your mad imprudence in running away with
the young Russian! It would make a great and terrible scandal! Your
father would kill you, I do believe! Besides, for that fault, committed
while you were in our keeping and under our authority, you are
accountable only to me and to your father. Your betrothed husband has
nothing to do with it. No good would come of your telling it; no harm can
come of your keeping it. The wild partner of your imprudence is dead and
buried, the saints be praised! and so he can never rise up to trouble
your peace. While you are here with us, and under our authority, you must
obey us, and hold your peace, and keep yo