sympathy with his bitter foes, who, alas, were daily increasing in number and in power. CHAPTER XXII. A MOTHER'S STORY. "I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, thou hast metamorphos'd me; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good counsel, set the world at nought; Made wit with musing weak; heart-sick with thought." --SHAKESPEARE. It was late one sunny afternoon when, the tedious journey at length accomplished, Primrose alighted before the door of her unknown mother's stately residence, and having taken leave on the threshold of the Black Horseman, who promised to call again later in the evening, was escorted by a powdered and liveried serving-man through a spacious entrance-hall to a small but luxuriously-furnished apartment, which, he told her, was her ladyship's boudoir, and where she would presently come to receive her. "Her ladyship!" Primrose's heart beat fast as she seated herself on a low-cushioned chair by a window which looked out upon a gay pleasaunce, and thought to herself: "Is my mother then really some great lady, and withal my foster-father's kinswoman! How strange to be transplanted suddenly into all this splendour! How will she greet me, a poor country maiden, with but such little knowledge of the world's ways as the Lady Bryn Afon's passing kindnesses have given me? She comes! Ah, Heaven, protect me in this trying hour!" The door opened softly, and ere Primrose dared raise her eyes, soft arms were clasped about her slender form, and loving, burning kisses were pressed on her cheek and brow and lips by one the recognition of whom took away her breath, and made her for a moment turn sick and faint with overpowering feelings. It was none other than the Lady Bryn Afon herself! "My darling--my beautiful daughter!" she murmured in a broken voice; "did you ever dream of this? In the long hours you have spent at my side, when I have yearned to clasp you to my heart with all a mother's love, did no secret yearning fill your own? Call me 'mother' but once! Let me hear the sweet name my heart has these long years craved in secret bitterness to hear but once fall from your lips, and I will wait patiently for the love I ill deserve, yet would fain believe you will perchance not find so very hard to give me. Oh! my darling--my little baby whom I tore from my breaking heart nineteen long years ago--tell me you will try to love me a little, and forgive me these weary, bitter years of parting! Not bitter though to you, thank God, but to me--ah! none but He can ever know a mother's suffering in such a plight as mine!" "Dear mother," whispered Primrose softly, kissing her pale cheek, "I have long loved you dearly as the kindest of friends and benefactors, and though this sudden surprise has taken away all the words I fain would utter, yet let me stay awhile thus in your loving arms in silence, and the truth