“She was unreasonably jealous, dear. Judge her as lightly as you can. She is not here to defend herself,” the old lady said, solemnly; then added: “Let me destroy the letter, Sweetheart. I should not like for my son to see it again, or even to know of your reading it.” Thea paused in her restless walk, and dashing the tears from her eyes, cried, pleadingly: “Only tell me this: was that the reason why I was sent away from Verelands in my childhood to be reared by strangers?” “Yes, that was the reason,” reluctantly. “Norman feared that his wife’s malice might cast a blot on your future if we kept you. You are not angry with him, dear?” “It is the only grudge I ever had against my husband, and now that I understand, I love him more devotedly than ever.” “That is right. He is worthy of it all, dear. He worships you and your child, Thea.” “I know--Heaven bless him and make us always worthy of his devotion,” she answered, with a sort of solemnity; then, clasping her jeweled hands together, she cried, feverishly: “Oh, I would give the world to find out my origin, just for my dear husband’s sake!” “Try to be content. He could not love you more if you were a king’s daughter, my child, nor less if you belonged to the most lowly family.” Thea sighed, for she knew that her husband was keenly sensitive to the mystery of her origin. She remembered that he did not care for strangers to know her story. “And now,” she thought, sadly, “he will be more sensitive than ever for the sake of our little child. It was noble in him to marry me and lift me to his own proud position in life, and I wish he could be rewarded by finding out that I belong to a family equal to his own.” “Now dry your eyes, my dear, and do not suffer yourself to brood over this discovery that you have made,” Mrs. de Vere cried, soothingly. “After all, it is so far back in the past that it can trouble Norman no more. He has doubtless forgotten all about it; and though he was very unhappy for a time, that is all over now, and you have made up for it all by your love.” “If I did not believe that, I should almost die of despair!” Thea cried, with a sort of hysterical excitement; and she mentally resolved that she would try to make Norman forget all the sadness of his past in the sunshine of her love. “He may have loved her well, but he loves me, too, and I have one more claim upon his heart--I have borne him a beautiful child,” she thought, triumphantly; and so she washed away the bitter stains of tears from her cheeks and made herself as lovely as possible in her eager desire to make up to Norman for the sadness of his past. CHAPTER LV. “There is something wrong about the publication of my new book, dear, and my publisher has telegraphed me to come immediately to New York,” Norman said the next day to his wife, handing her the telegram to read. “Must you go?” “I suppose so. Can you come with me?” “Yes.”