He seemed dazzled by her beauty--her frank, high spirit and fearless words. Then he saw a golden head, with sweet, dove-like eyes, raised to his. "I am Lillian, papa," said a clear, musical voice. "Look at me, please--and love me too." He did both, charmed with the gentle grace of her manner, and the fair, pure face. Then Lord Earle took both his children in his arms. "I wish," he said, in a broken voice and with tears in his eyes, "that I had seen you before. They told me my little twin children had grown into beautiful girls, but I did not realize it." And again, when she saw his proud happiness, Lady Helena longed to plead for the mother of his children, that she might also share in his love; but she dared not. His words haunted her. Dora would be forgiven only in the hour of death. Chapter XXII The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's life. He was charmed with his daughters. Lady Helena thought, with a smile, that it was difficult to realize the relationship between them. Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he seemed more like an elder brother than the father of the two young girls. There was some little restraint between them at first. Lord Earle seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's gracious tact came into play. She would not have dinner in the large dining room, she ordered it to be served in the pretty morning room, where the fire burned cheerfully and the lamps gave a flow of mellow light. It was a picture of warm, cozy English comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased when he saw it. Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, only pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her accomplishments, obeyed. Her superb voice, with its clear, ringing tones, amazed him. Beatrice sang song after song with a passion and fire that told how deep the music lay in her soul. Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, and again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and talent he had not looked for. He praised the drawings highly. One especially attracted his attention--it was the pretty scene Lillian had sketched on the May day now so long passed--the sun shining upon the distant white sails, and the broad, beautiful sweep of sea at Knutsford. "That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed. It is too good to be hidden in a folio. You have just caught the right coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on the water. Where is this sea-view taken from?" "Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her eyes. "It is from Knutsford--mamma's home." Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise.