“Phebe, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed in wonder. It was the maid whom he had discharged at Louise Barry’s instigation. She had not forgotten her wrongs, for she answered, sullenly, as soon as she recognized him: “I’m nurse to the heir, Mr. Laurens--little Sir Cecil Trueheart!” He brushed past her, with a smothered sigh to the memory of his wife, and went up the broad stone steps. Presently he found himself waiting in a stately reception-room for the coming of the mistress of The Oaks. While he waited, he stood at the window watching Phebe and her little charge as they strolled upon the terrace. He murmured to himself, with a thrill of pride: “Somewhere in England, I have a little son as beautiful and noble, doubtless, as this little heir of a noble line.” The door opened. A graceful lady in lustrous blue velvet came slowly toward him over the velvet carpet. At first sight of her there flashed over him the words of the young English girl, his brother’s wife: “The most beautiful lady in England!” Dark, curling hair, dark, dreamy eyes, and a face the saddest his eyes had ever seen. She came slowly on until they were face to face, then a cry of passionate joy came from the lips of each: “My wife!” “My husband!” The hour for which she had hoped and longed had come at last. She knew that the truth had come to him somehow, and that the long, sad parting was over for aye. Holding her close in his arms, he told her all. She rang the bell for Florine Dabol, but, seeing Cecil Laurens coming into the house, the wily maid had guessed all. She had instantly fled; and she was clever enough to remain hidden forever from those she had helped Louise to separate. “My darling, you will forgive me all, even the cruel sneers at your mother, so bitterly repented now?” he said, humbly. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Cecil, my mother was an angel,” she said, tenderly. “Although she was an actress, she was not of low birth as Mrs. Barry told you. She was an earnest Christian, too, and I am sure that when she was instantly killed by a railroad collision her pure soul went straight to Heaven. But this is too sad to dwell upon. Come and let me show you our beautiful little son, Sir Cecil.” THE END. THE HART SERIES Laura Jean Libbey Miss Caroline Hart Mrs. E. Burke Collins Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller Charlotte M. Braeme Barbara Howard Lucy Randall Comfort Mary E. Bryan Marie Corelli Was there ever a galaxy of names representing such authors offered to the public before? Masters all of writing stories that arouse the emotions, in sentiment, passion and love, their books excel any that have ever been written. NOW READY