"She is a strange woman," sighed Lesbia, "and very unhappy." "Don't make any mistake, my dear. Lady Charvington is too hard-hearted to be unhappy. So long as she has her rank and her title and her crowds of adorers, she cares for no one. Whatever love she may have had for your father she has long since given entirely to herself." "Do Agatha and Lena know that I am their half-sister?" "No. I was talking about that yesterday to Lord Charvington. As you know he has not been able to do anything because of his illness, but he is only waiting to get on his feet again to put matters straight." "In what way?" asked the girl anxiously. "Well, you are his daughter, my dear, and he desires to acknowledge you as such in the most public manner." "No," said Lesbia firmly and sadly, "that would be useless and would do no good. Such an acknowledgment would only lead to a lot of questions being asked by my father's friends, and then the whole unhappy business would be raked up. I don't want my miserable story to be published in the papers, especially as Mr. Hale's name is so notorious. Let me marry you quietly, my dear, and then we can go away to France with my father for a few months. I have you, I have the money left to me by my mother, and I have found my real father--the rest matters very little." George kissed her. "You wise little darling," he said admiringly, "I think your decision is exactly what I should expect from your commonsense way of looking at things. I agree with you, that it is best to let sleeping dogs lie, and not to stir up muddy water, and not to--to--what other proverb shall I use, Lesbia?" "'Let the dead past bury its dead,'" she replied, seriously. "We have had much trouble, and we have been parted. Now the troubles appear to have come to an end and we are together. Let us marry and enjoy our good fortune and be happy in our own small way." "Amen! amen! amen!" said George, laughing, "and indeed I think we deserve the good fortune for we did not refuse to bear the cross." "And so have gained the crown of perfect love," said Lesbia contentedly as she nestled in her lover's arms. The garden was still brilliant with many-hued roses, and the river murmured a joyous song as it flowed tranquilly under the deeply blue summer sky. But the blackbird and his mate had gone away with their brood and the nest was deserted. Still other birds remained and other birds were singing lustily of summer joys. Basking in the warm sunshine, contented with each other's company, George and Lesbia passed into that hour of silence, which speaks of love so deep that no speech is needed. They listened to the birds, to the river, to the whispering of the breeze, and dreamed of a future that would always be happy. They were together, they understood each other, so nothing else mattered.