He remembers, and will so remember until he dies, the pretty scene--the fair, young children among the flowers. When they were tired, baby Maude came to her mother, who raised her in her arms and laid the golden head on her gentle breast. Harry climbed the seat, and clasped his arms around his mother’s neck. The sun shone on her fair, stately head, with its coronal of fair hair, on her sweet, tender face, on the blue dress and white lace. “You form quite a picture,” said Kenelm, with a smile. “I should like to make a sketch of you, Lady Alden, just as you sit. I would send it to Ronald.” She made no reply, and, looking at her, he saw that she was very pale and had tears in her eyes. “Lady Alden,” he said, “you are surely not grieving over the business affair of Gaspin’s?” “No,” she replied; “but I am not myself to-day. I have a dreadful nervous depression that I cannot shake off.” “Have you been overtiring yourself?” he asked. “No; I have had such unpleasant dreams of Ronald--all of Ronald. I dreamed last night that I saw him, but could not reach him because of a deep, black stream that flowed between us; and as I looked the stream deepened and darkened, while he cried out to me that we were parted, and he should never see me again.” “But you do not believe in dreams?” he said, cheerfully. “No, I do not believe in them; but this one has haunted me, and has made me nervous and sad all day long.” CHAPTER XLVI. KENELM EYRLE’S ACCUSATION. “Where did Ronald keep his private papers?” asked Kenelm, when he had finished dinner. “Do you think there is anything among them that he would not wish to have inspected?” “I do not think so,” she replied. “Ronald holds no secrets, if that is what you mean. There is a large bureau in the library filled with papers of all kinds. Shall we look there?” They went to the library, which was perhaps the noblest room in the Hall. The light came through windows of richly stained glass. The furniture was of dark polished oak; the walls were lined with books. Over the elaborately carved mantelpiece hung a masterpiece by Titian. There were two statues of exquisite beauty; cozy chairs and couches of every description. As Kenelm followed Lady Alden into the room, there flashed across him a memory of the time when Clarice lay dead, and he had gone there to meet Sir Ronald. Lady Alden turned to him suddenly. “Do you know, Kenelm,” she said, “this room recalls my husband to me more vividly than any other. Whenever I enter it, it seems to me that I shall see him there in his favorite chair. I never come here except I am quite obliged; it recalls him too forcibly.” “You saw him here so often,” said Mr. Eyrle; “that is the reason. Shall we open the bureau?” She unlocked it, and, sitting down together, they looked through the mass of papers that had accumulated, patiently opening each one and closing it again.