This, then, was Dora's home--the pretty, quaint homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows.

As he gazed, he half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years had lived there could be like.

Did the curling rings of black hair fall as gracefully as ever?
Had the blushing dimpled face grown pale and still?
And then, chasing away all softened thought, came the remembrance of that hateful garden scene.

Ah, no, he could never forgive--he could not speak of her even to these, her children! The two pictures were laid aside, and no more was said of framing them.
Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that both were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if he had a preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice.

He had never seen any one to surpass her.