"The same old silly story; but I am glad of it! Let me see—when is that 'Lily-Pearl' to get here? I cannot wait much longer!"

"And you will not be obliged to do so. I shall expect her now on every train, for there was something in her letter that appeared like surprising. She said 'a week at the farthest, but I am so impatient to get close to my mother once more that I fear I cannot wait much longer for Mrs. Gaylord to smooth down her ruffles.'"

She did wait, however, but the day came when the carriage containing the long lost daughter with her escort and servant stopped before the door of Mrs. Hamilton's temporary home and alighted. What a rush of emotion came into the heart of the young girl when she remembered that beneath that roof was the one who had been the cause of all her desolations and roamings! But they were over now, and with a light tread she darted up the marble steps and rang the bell.

"By surprise after all," she remarked, turning to Mrs. Gaylord, who was following. The door flew open and with an exclamation of joy she sprang into her mother's embrace.

"The train is not due for five minutes," Lillian said at last, finding breath to speak. "I was just coming to the door to watch down the street as I have done for many days."

But why attempt to picture the scenes of bliss that followed? All hearts in the broad circle of love save one opened wide to receive its new accessions. Mrs. Cheevers could never tire of eulogizing her pretty ways and simplicity of manners, while the husband reiterated fully twice each day that even his pet, Lillian, never came up to her daughter in good looks or winning ways.

Still Mrs. Belmont utterly refused to see her grandchild. In vain did Lillian assure her that the past had been severed forever, and Lily only waited to tell her this, but her answering wail of agony was truly pitiful to hear.

"No—no!" she would say, "I cannot, O, I cannot! Keep her away! Keep her away! O God! But he will not hear? Don't let her come, Lillian my child. I did it! So cruel! So wicked!" With streaming eyes Lillian would pet and caress her mother with most earnest solicitude.

Day after day passed with no better results. She would not see Lily, neither would she be taken to the beautiful home on Broad street. "Let me die here," she would plead, when told of the pretty room that had been fitted up for her—so nearly like the one at Rosedale. But she shrank at the very recital and settled down in her easy chair like a weary child who desires to be let alone.

"What shall I do!" This from Mrs. Hamilton, one morning coming into the presence of her daughter, after one more fruitless attempt. "She will never consent to leave here, and I cannot go without her. Neither do I like to use compulsion."