“Oh, mamma, I did promise daddy to be good, and you said I was so naughty, and then you got your face burnt, and it was all my fault. Oh, please say forgive!” Forgive? If anyone needed forgiveness it was not Lion, and as if a veil had suddenly been lifted from her eyes, Mrs. Beresford saw herself in the true light at last, worldly-minded, selfish-hearted, far, far different from the pure and loving nature before her! “Oh, my child, my little child!” she said, bending down to take him in her arms. There was silence for a few moments, while Lion lay wonderingly in the embrace that had never enfolded him before, then raising his hand to her bandaged face he whispered— “Poor mamma, you’re much worser than I am; but you’ll tell daddy I was sorry, won’t you?” “No, no; you shall tell him yourself,” she exclaimed with sudden vehemence; “you are going to get well, you must, you shall!” The nurse looked at her warningly, and she was silent again while Lion’s excitement subsided into a drowsy state which lasted till the doctor came. He looked in amazement at the strange figure by the bed, but for once in her life Mrs. Beresford had no thoughts for herself. “He is better, is he not?” she said eagerly, but the doctor shook his head. “No,” he said, “I shall telegraph for your husband to-night.” The days passed on, and one evening a carriage dashed up to the door and springing out almost before it had stopped, Paul Beresford seized upon the doctor, who came forward to greet him. “How is he?” he asked. “Better,” was the answer, and waiting to hear no more he dashed upstairs and opened the door of his boy’s room. “How are you, my darling?” he said eagerly. His wife turned away with a sudden pang. It was not likely that he would recognise her for she had sent him no news of her accident, but for the first time she felt that he was dearer to her than the friends for whom she had once sacrificed his happiness. But Lion did not forget her. “Daddy,” he said, “mamma has forgiven me, but you must forgive me too; it was all my fault, you know, that she was burnt.” “Lena!” cried Paul in astonishment, as he gazed at the white-capped figure by the window. “You told me to take care of her,” said Lion mournfully; “but she has had to take care of me all the time!” Lena had hidden her face in her hands, but in a moment she felt her husband’s arms round her and knew that a new life had begun for them both. “Are you so very sorry that mamma was burnt?” asked Lion wistfully, as he saw the tears in his father’s eyes. “No, dear, he is glad,” said his mother softly, “because there is a fire in my heart that will, I hope, burn up all the selfishness.” “What fire comes in people’s hearts?” asked Lion in wonder, and with a look that made her scarred face more beautiful than it had been in all the perfection of its bloom, his mother answered— “The fire of love!” [Illustration] OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES; OR, VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES.