The question from the child, uppermost in her mind, aroused him from his heart-aching reverie. He looked at her sternly. "Mama," he repeated; "child, breathe that name no more! Banish it from your memory! Oh, no, no, no! I did not mean that!" and he turned his head aside with downcast eyes, shocked and ashamed at his passionate outburst in the presence of his little child. He sat down on a bench and put her on his knee, and as he did so became conscious of the child again looking wistfully in his eyes. "Well, you are sorry for leaving mama in that old cabin, aren't you?" It forced him to turn his eyes away from her, and with a tremor of pain in his voice, muttered: "Twenty times the child has said that to me today," and, turning to her, he said gently and with infinite compassion: "Dorothy, you are too young to comprehend. It is my intention to remove you from the home of your birth, to take you East, and educate you there. Now, don't trouble me with questions, dear," and he kissed the fair young brow and, looking into her sweet innocent brown eyes, he saw reflected in them her mother's. Then he turned his head aside and muttered: "So much like her mother! Oh, Constance! Constance! My judgment condemns you, but my heart--my heart will not leave you!" Down from the house leisurely strolled Mr. Harris and Hazel. "His Grace has just communicated to me the most amazing information about Virginia. It is so absurd that I felt quite angry with him for mentioning it," Hazel said quite seriously. "And what did he tell you?" inquired Mr. Harris. "If it is no secret?" "He told me that it is common talk that she was found in the cabin with Constance at the time of Dorothy's rescue by her father, having just rewarded the Italian for abducting the child, and that they both swooned when uncle found them there." "Lord Beauchamp must have been misinformed," broke in Mr. Harris, with a grave face. "If such were the case Sam would have told me. All idle tattle--mischievous gossip!" "Ah! Mr. Thorpe and Dorothy!" "Oh, darling!" exclaimed Hazel, and she gathered the child in her arms, kissed her, and flew off to the house with her. "Well, John, I am glad to meet you again," shaking his hand, "though to tell the truth, I did not expect you." "It has cost me bitter memories, Mr. Harris." "I have long since discovered," continued Mr. Harris, "that while time cannot heal a deep-rooted sorrow, it softens many of its asperities. When do you depart for the East?" "I have made arrangements to leave tomorrow." "You are doing just what would prompt any man in like position to do. I trust we shall hear from you occasionally." "It is now my purpose, after arranging for Dorothy's education, to travel abroad for an indefinite period, but I shall endeavor to keep in communication with you." Linking his arm in that of his guest, Mr. Harris said: "Come, John, let us join Mrs. Harris on the piazza. She is anxious to have a chat with you."