only fear was lest the child should be absolutely killed by the great
amount of affection and caresses heaped upon it. Lord Atherton's
happiness was complete, Lord and Lady Ridsdale were delighted with the
beautiful princely boy, and his mother absolutely worshiped him.

It was when the little heir of Leigh was about a year old that the blow
fell on his beautiful mother. She was seated one morning in her
luxurious dressing-room, a scene of splendid confusion and brilliant
coloring that would have enchanted an artist, herself more lovely than
ever, for the promise of her girlhood had developed into magnificent
womanhood. Jewels of great value lay on the toilet-table, costly dresses
were lying about. The nurse had just been in with baby, and nothing
would please baby but playing with his mamma's beautiful golden-brown
hair. Of course his wish must be gratified. The diamond arrow that
fastened the heavy coils was withdrawn, and the glorious wealth of hair,
in all its shining abundance, fell in picturesque disorder. Then Lord
Atherton entered to ask his wife some question about the day's
proceedings, and he told her she looked so lovely he would not let the
beautiful hair be touched. My lord withdrew, leaving his wife's face
flushed with pleasure at his praises. Then came the maid, and she
brought in her hands some letters that had just arrived. Lady Atherton
laid them down carelessly; there was nothing, she thought, that could
possibly interest her.

Presently she took up the letters, and then all her indifference
vanished, the love light died from her eyes, the smile from her lips.
She knew the handwriting. One of those notes was from Allan Lyster.

She hastily opened it, and, as she read, all the color faded from her
sweet face. The folly and sin of her ignorant girlhood were finding her