"Your face is quite bronzed, and you look so many years older--so sad, so worn! Oh, Ronald, I must teach you to grow young and happy again!" He sighed deeply, and his mother's heart grew sad as she watched his restless face.
"Old-fashioned copy-books say, mother, that 'to be happy one must be good.' I have not been good," he said with a slight smile, "and I shall never be happy." In the faint waning light, through which the snow gleamed strangely, mother and son sat talking.

Lady Earle told Ronald of his father's death--of the last yearning cry when all the pent-up love of years seemed to rush forth and overpower him with its force.

It was some comfort to him, after all, that his father's last thoughts and last words had been of him.
His heart was strangely softened; a new hope came to him.

Granted that the best part of his life was wasted, he would do his best with the remainder.
"And my children," he said, "my poor little girls! I will not see them until I am calm and refreshed.

I know they are well and happy with you." Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had been longing to say.
"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer.