Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so constantly to her lost child. Beatrice had loved the beautiful, gracious woman who was coming to visit them. It may have been that which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, when the house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of preparation, to go to the silent, solitary rooms where her daughter's voice had once made sweetest music.
She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found her, and tried to still her bitter weeping.
"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my bright, beautiful darling should be lying there. It is only two years since a wedding wreath was made for her."
Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. It was a long walk, but she preferred taking it alone. She said she should feel better after it. They yielded to her wish. Before she had quitted the house many minutes, the Princess Borgezi arrived.
There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting. He was heartily glad to see her—glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian face that had seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen Guinivere. They talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, turning to him, said:
"Now let me see Lady Dora. My visit is really to her."
They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered something to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes.
"Yes," she said; "I will follow her. I will ask her to kiss me over her daughter's grave."
Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine entered the church yard alone.
Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white marble cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave.