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Rh unconsciously—swayed by no early remembrances—by, in short, none of those ties which bind parent and child together far more than the fancied force of blood; although I do believe there is much even in that—still Francesca could dwell only on the thought, that she was unknown, nay, it might be, unwelcome. She must come before Lord Avonleigh connected with a very unjustifiable passage in his life: perhaps—and that idea strengthened her—his heart might be softened by the memory of her mother's sufferings—former love must awaken into tenderness for the orphan she had left.

Guido, too, was among her anxious questionings of the future. The home which was not a home for him could be none for her; but surely Lord Avonleigh would feel what was due to one who had indeed been the most kind, the most tender brother to his own, would he add deserted, child. On this subject, perhaps the first one in their lives that had not been talked over together, they had been silent,—Francesca from delicacy, Guido from presentiment.

An exclamation from Guido of "How beautiful!" broke their meditations, and all reined up their ponies to look round. They had just entered one of the forest-roads; both had been so preoccupied by their thoughts, that beyond their first