But of this, Doris, triumphant and happy, knew nothing. That journey home was delightful to her. She gloried in seeing Earle lose the dignity, the stern self-control, the coldness that had been so distasteful to her; she delighted in making his face flush, in saying words to him that made his strong hands tremble and his lips quiver; she delighted in these evidences of her power. Gradually he became the warm, impassioned lover that he had been once, and Doris was happy. While Earle was her friend all was safe. "I hope," she said to him one day, "that they will not tease me at home with tiresome questions; I am so impatient, I should never answer or hear them." "If by home you mean Brackenside," said Earle, "it is not very probable; you will not be there long." "You had better give them a caution, Earle. I know my own failings so well. Tell them that you met me in Florence. Mind, if you use the word _found_ I shall never forgive you. You met me in Florence, and hearing that they were in trouble over me, I returned; that is what you have to say, Earle, neither more nor less." He smiled at her vehemence. "I will do all I can to please you, Doris," he said. "That is well; if you do so, Earle, we shall be all right together. I like to be obeyed." "It suits you," said Earle; "you were born to be a queen." "Do they know anything at Brackenside of this wonderful story, Earle?" she asked, after a time. "No, not yet--not one word; no one knows it but myself and you." Yet he could see that, as they drew nearer home, she was nervous and ill at ease. Once he asked her why it was, and she half laughed as she said: "Mattie is so tiresome; I shall have no peace with her." And again he repeated his formula of comfort, "It is not for long." On the evening they reached Brackenside it was cold and windy. Rain had fallen during the day, but the rain-clouds had all disappeared; the sky was clear and blue, the moon shone, but the cold was great. The scene in England was quite wintry; there was no Italian sun to warm it; the flowers and leaves were all dead; the fields looked gray, not green, and the wind wailed with a sound so mournful that it made one shudder to listen to it. As they walked up the fields together, Earle said to his beautiful companion: "According to Mark Brace's story, it was on such a night as this that you were brought to Brackenside." She laughed. "Do you know, Earle," she said, "I am quite ashamed of it, but I have a very uncomfortable sensation that I am returning home very much after the style of the prodigal son." "Nothing of the kind," said generous Earle. He would not allow her to depreciate herself. The wind was fearful; it bent the tall trees, and swayed them to and fro as though they were reeds. It moaned and wailed round the house with long-drawn, terrible cries. "One would think the wind had a voice, and was foretelling evil," said Doris, with a shudder. "Listen, Earle!"