"That is another question," she said. "I can not answer it now. You did not trust me, Lionel."
Those were the only words of reproach she ever uttered to him. He did not annoy her with protestation; he trusted that time would do for him what he saw just then he could not do for himself.
He sat down upon the couch by her side, and began to speak to her of the tour she was about to make; of the places she should visit carefully avoiding all reference to the troubled past.
Three days afterward Lillian started on her journey to the south of France insisted upon by the doctor. Lord Earle and his wife took charge of their child; Lord Airlie, declaring he could not yet endure Lynnton, went with them. Lady Helena and Lionel Dacre remained at home, in charge of the Hall and the estate.
One thing the latter had resolved upon—that, before the travelers returned, the lake should be filled up, and green trees planted over the spot where its waters now glistened in the sun.
No matter how great the expense and trouble, he was resolved that it should be done.
"Earlescourt would be wretched," he said, "if that fatal lake remained."
The day after the family left Earlescourt, he had workmen engaged. No one was sorry at his determination. Lady Helena highly approved of it. The water was drained off, the deep basin filled with earth, and tall saplings planted where once the water had glistened in the sun. The boat house was pulled down, and all vestige of the lake was done away with.
Lionel Dacre came home one evening from the works in very low spirits. Imbedded in the bottom of the lake they had found a little slipper—the fellow to it was locked away in Dora's drawer. He saved it to give it to her when she returned.