“She will learn, she must learn, in my tenderest love, to forget that unasked question of her brooding eyes—‘My father!’ It is better that she never knows—best for us all.” This task of induced forgetfulness was the mother’s single ambition now. The arrangements for departure were rapidly progressing, and as the time of roses came nearer, Elaine could not disguise her increasing restlessness in noting Hugh Conyers’ absence. The saddened eyes of his sister brought a sudden alarm to Elaine’s heart. For a pride as strong as her own had kept them tenderly apart. The modest household of Roundsman Dan Daly had been enriched with all the splendors removed from the Elmleaf, and Mary Daly daily blessed the generous hand which had given to her the home in which the very spirit of happiness seemed to have nestled. And only there, in that modest home, of all the circle, was there peace and rest, for both the mother and daughter at Lakemere, in tender deceit, guarded the heart secrets which they dared not own. The silent resentment of Sara Conyers against the self-banishment of her brother was now growing into a doubt of Elaine Willoughby’s womanly gratitude. “Between her and Hugh I have no choice,” the angered womanly champion of an absent brother decided. “Back to our old eyrie we go together, or else, I will share Hugh’s foreign exile.” And she marveled at her brother’s imperative injunction of silence as to his plans. It was when Noel Endicott was feverishly closing up the last final “business affairs” at Lakemere, supplemented with some portentously long “personal conferences” with that young Diana, Miss Romaine Garland, that Judge Endicott, a grave embassador, came up to Lakemere with news of serious moment. He was secretly Cupid’s embassador. He was alone with the woman whose interests he had chivalrously guarded for fifteen long years. With a sigh he returned again to the question of the marriage—the strange dead-lock which had so baffled him. “You sail for Europe in a month. Have you nothing to say to me, Elaine? There is but one final seal to the happiness of your future life. Your marriage.” “The Senator has an ardent advocate, my dear old friend!” Elaine answered, with beaming eyes, “but he has not yet asked for me!” “He will,” very decidedly answered Endicott. “I have a letter, in which he asks me to arrange an interview, to formally ask your permission to come here. “I now understand the delicacy which has held him back till all your momentous business matters have been settled and you have been relieved from all the awkwardness of your confidential relations with the two great bands of capitalists. “He has respected your illness, your agitation over Garston’s mysterious death, and has given you time to arrange all your legal affairs and settle Romaine’s inheritance. “Remember, he deems her to be only your ward.