Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and
still; she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate
pleading. Lord Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly;
"do not let your mother find you here when she recovers."

He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish
of the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the
room.

When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had
left her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who
saw him clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by
every kind and tender word he could utter.

Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope
that in time he would relent. It was hard to lose her brave boy
for a few months or even years; but he would return, his father
must forgive him, her sorrow would be but for a time. But Lord
Earle, inflexible and unflinching, knew that he should never in
life see his son again.

No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris
said, he was too proud for scenes. He dined with Lady Charteris
and her daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son.
After dinner he shut himself in his own room, and suffered his
agony along.

* * * * * * * * * * * *