" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. " "I don't know," said McClintock. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her! The pearl without price—his and not his! He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went down the veranda steps. The Magdalene. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily.
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