"I cannot tell Lawrence the _whole_ truth," she said, shuddering. "I would rather die than that he should know the terrible secret! He is so proud and he told me once he would not marry a woman with the faintest shadow of disgrace upon her name. I have deceived him, and I must never let him know now, for I love him, and it would kill me to have him put me away! I will tell him something plausible, though I will not tell a direct lie if I can help." Poor little Queenie!--once so innocent and transparent that her very thoughts could be read in her eyes--her terrible misfortunes had taught her strange subterfuges and deceit. "I wonder if there will be any trouble about proving my identity," she thought; "I have heard of such things, and it _will_ appear very strange to them at first. Papa will take me for a ghost, as he did the night I went and looked at him through the window when he thought I was traveling in Europe. Poor Uncle Rob! I wonder if he was sorry much when he heard I was dead." She passed the farm-house where the Thorns lived, but the doors and windows were both closed, and the only sign of life was a faint blue smoke curling up from the chimney. "I should like to stop and see what has become of that poor, willful girl," she said to herself, "but I am so impatient I cannot spare the time." She walked on faster as she neared the great city. Her impatience redoubled by the thought that every step brought her nearer to her loved ones. "I wonder if they will be glad to see me," she thought wistfully; "I know papa _will_! Poor old darling, I could never doubt _him_! I do not know about Georgie and mamma. _They_, perhaps, were relieved that I and my terrible secret were buried together--they may be sorry to see me resurrected. But of one thing I am certain. Sydney was glad when she thought I was dead. She will hate me more than ever when I go back. But I shall not trouble any of them, I shall have my husband--he is all I want. He shall take me away from here to some other place where I can forget all the terrible past in my new happiness." All the while she was thinking she was walking quickly on, buoyed up by the joyous anticipations. At last, foot-sore and weary, she entered the great city and walked on until she stood in front of her father's handsome residence. Trembling with passionate joy, and with her heart beating so that she could hear it in her ears, she went up the steps and rang the bell. The door was opened to her by a strange man in livery instead of the female servant who had formerly answered the bell. Her first sensation of surprise and disappointment was succeeded by an amusing thought. "Mamma and Sydney are grander than ever. They have set up a man-servant." "Is Mr. Lyle at home?" she timidly inquired. The man stared at her a moment in blank surprise; then getting his wits together, replied respectfully: "The Lyles don't live here now, miss."