"It would not have prevented it," said Mrs. Brace. "Doris has always had her own way, no matter who suffered by it; if she had not gone now, she would have gone another time." Then Mark looked up with a puzzled face. "She has seen no one, to my knowledge," he said, "since she left school. How did she manage, I wonder, to get this situation?" The solution of that problem occupied the remainder of the evening. They could not imagine how she had contrived it. To them it was another proof of her indomitable will, proving that she would accomplish her ends, no matter what they were, or at what cost. CHAPTER XXXIII. THERE IS NO TRUE LOVE EXCEPT THE LOVE OF A MOTHER. Out once more under the pale light of the stars, repassing the same road that he had trodden a few hours since, so full of hope and love. Earle walked like one dizzy from a great blow; the silent, pitiful stars, with their great golden eyes, shone down from the depths of the blue sky; the night wind seemed to hush, the birds were silent, the birds were asleep. "Doris!" he cried, in a loud, passionate voice, "have you really gone from me, Doris?" It seemed to him that the force of his love, the might of his affection, must call her back--she could not resist him. Surely the most pitiful cry that rose to the clear heavens that night was the cry of this broken heart. "Doris!" sounded so distinctly that it startled the birds from their sleep; but no answer came to his call. How he reached home he never knew. The stars were shining when he left Brackenside--they were shining when he reached Lindenholm; but he never knew how long he had been coming. His mother, looking pale and tired, was waiting for him. She had felt impatient with him before, thinking that as he saw Doris every day, it was surely not needful to prolong his wooing until late at night, knowing that she must sit up for him; but one look at his face took away all thought of self. Wonder and alarm shone in her eyes as she gazed at his drawn, haggard features. Then, as he had often done when he was a boy, he knelt at her feet and laid his head on her knee. "Doris has gone away, mother," he said. When she heard that she knew all. They sat talking, mother and son, far into the night; and then Mrs. Moray learned something of the passionate love of her son for the girl who had promised to be his wife. In that hour his whole heart was opened to her, and she listened in wondering fear. To love anything created, any human being after this wild fashion, seemed to her most wonderful and most sinful. It was a volcano, this poet's love. She laid her hand on the fair, bowed head of her son.