She left the room as she spoke, and Lucille felt that she had triumphed and her revenge would be complete. She remembered how Fenella had gloated over this boy, how Lord Francis had written of him as his “darling child,” and smiled to herself as she thought what they would both say and do, when they found he had gone beyond recall. In a short time the door opened again, and Mrs. Grandison appeared with Ronny. He recognized Lucille at once as the lady he had seen at the _table d’hôte_ at Harrogate. “I know you!” he said, coming forward with a shy, outstretched hand, “you were with my papa at Harrogate.” “And with your mamma, Ronny, of course. We were all there together. But mamma wants you sadly. She has been fretting terribly for her boy. We are going back to her together.” “Going back to mummy? Oh, I _am_ glad! I have wanted her so,” said Ronny, trying hard to keep back his tears. “It’s been very jolly with Harold, of course, and Mrs. Grandison’s been ever so good to me--but I’ve missed mummy every day. Shall we go at once? I’m all ready, and my box is packed. And shall I see her to-day? Oh! do let us make haste and go.” He thrust his hand in that of Lucille as he spoke, who rose smiling, and addressed Helen Grandison: “You see, madame, the ties of nature surmount those of friendship. Please to accept the best thanks of the parents of this boy, for your care of him at a very trying moment, to which I must add my own, and wish you farewell.” “Good-afternoon,” said Mrs. Grandison stiffly, as she watched them get into the fly which was in waiting, and drive away to the station. And before she had time to acquaint Jacynth with the circumstance, Ronny (still with the expectation of meeting his mother) was far away on the broad Atlantic! CHAPTER XII. BY FRANK DANBY. “Row faster, man, row faster. Move--no, sit where you are, but give me the other oars. Pull, pull,” he said, “as if you were getting away from hell.” And feverishly, with white set lips, with gleaming eyes, Lord Francis accentuated his words by his actions, and propelled the boat with all the strength of which he was capable, across the blue waters that kept him from Fenella. His feet pressed against the wood, the muscles of his arms standing out like iron, the youth in him dying under the strain, his very brain ceasing to act, and his heart almost standing still; he tried by physical exertion to deaden that burning mental pain that seized him as he felt, saw, heard, and writhed under the sense that he had wronged her, wronged Fenella, wronged the woman who always was and always would be the one woman on earth for him; wronged the girl love that had lain on his breast, believed and loved him; the child who had grown to womanhood in his arms--Fenella, his wife. And at last the keel of the boat grated on the shore.