t seldom. Come back into the house.
Forgive me if I speak bitterly, but the sight of your happiness would
drive me to forget the duties I owe to others. Why did you come?"

"For my husband's sake," said Lady Gernon. "And now, from my soul, I
thank you. I know how worthless are my promises," she said, bitterly;
"but I can confide in yours. Now let us return."

The blood was mantling in Philip Norton's forehead, and he was about to
speak, when an end was put to the painful interview by the merry,
prattling voice of a child, and Philip's bright little fellow came
running up, but only to draw back shyly on seeing the strange lady, who
sank upon her knees with outstretched hands, as if hungering to clasp
the child to her breast.

"Yours?--your boy, Philip?" she said.

"Mine, Lady Gernon," said Norton, coldly, for he had once more regained
control of himself. Then, stooping over the child, "Go to that lady,
Brace," he said; and in obedience the child suffered himself to be
caressed, Lady Gernon kissing his bright little face eagerly, a tear or
two falling the while upon his sunny hair.

Lady Gernon was still on her knees, holding the boy, who, forgetting his
fear, was playing with her watch-chain, when slowly, and with courtly
grace, conversing loudly the while, Sir Murray led Ada Norton into the
garden, when the dread and undefined feelings in the latter's heart were
chased away, and a happy light beamed in her eye as she caught sight of
the group before her; but there was an ill-concealed, angry glance
directed at his wife by Sir Murray, and another at the child--an angry,
jealous, envious look, but it was gone in an instant, and, stooping
down, he too sought to take the child's hand, but only for it to shrink
from him hastily.

"Oh, Ada!" exclaimed Lady Gernon, with swimming eyes, as she laid her
hand upon her cousin's arm; and in those two words there seemed
sufficient to disarm every doubt and suspicion--to break off the points
of the thorns that had been ready to enter into her soul; and Ada, as
much at rest as now seemed Lady Gernon, turned to her smilingly, ready
to listen to her praises of the child's beauty, and her prayers that
they might be as of old.

"I have been so lonely abroad, Ada," said Lady Gernon, sadly. "You will
renew the old days, will you not?"

Ada Norton paused for a moment before she answered, looking steadfastly
in her cousin's face, to see there now a calm, sad serenity, that she