“You know that I am glad, Earle;” and the clear, truthful eyes were raised to his with a look that satisfied him, though the conscious crimson dyed all her fair face. “And there will be no regret at leaving your native land?” he persisted, his whole being thrilling with the consciousness of her pure love. “Not one, save the lonely graves I shall leave behind and would like to visit occasionally,” she murmured, with a starting tear, as she thought of Richard Forrester and his sister sleeping so quietly side by side in Greenwood, and of that other grave that must soon be made beside them. Earle lifted the sweet face and kissed the tremulous lips with infinite tenderness, then releasing her, she slipped from the room by one door as Paul Tressalia entered by another. The greeting of the two young men was cordial and friendly, although each felt a thrill of pain as they clasped hands and realized all that that meeting meant to them. Each knew that as soon as Mr. Dalton should be laid away Earle would claim Editha as his wife, and take her back to reign in the home of his ancestors, where, doubtless, a life of joy, such as falls to the lot of few, would be spent. But Paul Tressalia was not a man to sit weakly down and pine for what he could not have. Since that day when he had pleaded his suit for the last time with Editha, and she had in her despair cried out for a friend, strong and true, he had bravely set himself to work to conquer the hopeless passion in his heart, and he had already learned to look upon his future with a calmness at which he himself at times was surprised. He came to-day as both Earle’s and Editha’s tried and trusted friend, and the congratulations which he tendered the former had a ring of heartiness in them not to be questioned for a moment. CHAPTER XLVIII EARLE’S BEAUTIFUL THEORY Sumner Dalton lingered only a little more than a week after Earle’s arrival. But with his mind relieved of the burden of revenge so long cherished, and of the secret which had threatened to ruin Editha’s life—with his hate confessed, and his evil passions burned out—he grew quieter and more at ease, even though he knew that he must enter the dark valley very soon. He had talked with Earle once again regarding the past, seeming anxious to know something of Marion’s last days, and appeared much agitated when, with as little reflection upon him as possible, he gave a short account of her sorrowful, secluded life, and her calm resignation in the hour of death. Earle knew that he longed to be assured of his forgiveness for the bitter wrongs of which he had been guilty, and yet deemed it a mockery to crave it; but he knew that it would comfort him inexpressibly, and he told him one day that he accorded it fully and freely, and begged him to seek pardon also from a higher source.