flushing. "You are the equal of a queen upon her throne; you are fair
and true, sweet and good. What be a queen more than that?"

"A queen knows more," sighed Dora. "I know nothing in all the wide
world."

"Then I will teach you," he said. "Ah, Dora, you know enough! You have
beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful words. Do not
turn from me; say you love me and will be my wife. I love you, Dora--do
not make me unhappy."

"I would not make you unhappy," she said, "for the whole world; if you
wish me to love you--oh, you know I love you--if you wish me to go away
and forget you, I will do my best."

But the very thought of it brought tears again. She looked so pretty,
so bewildered between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by happiness, and yet
so piteously uncertain, that Ronald was more charmed than ever.

"My darling Dora," he said, "you do love me. Your eyes speak, if your
lips do not tell me. Will you be my wife? I can not live without you."

It was the prettiest picture in the world to see the color return to
the sweet face. Ronald bent his head, and heard the sweet whisper.

"You shall never rue your trust, Dora," he said, proudly; but she
interrupted him.

"What will Lord Earle say?" she asked; and again Ronald was startled by
that question.

"My father can say nothing," he replied. "I am old enough to please
myself, and this is a free country. I shall introduce you to him,
Dora, and tell him you have promised to be my wife. No more tears,
love. There is nothing but happiness before us."

And so he believed. He could think of nothing, care for nothing but
Dora--her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her undisguised love
for him. There was but one excuse. He was young, and it was his first
love; yet despite his happiness, his pride, his independence, he did
often wonder in what words he should tell his father that he had
promised to marry the lodge keeper's daughter. There were even times
when he shivered, as one seized with sudden cold, at the thought.

The four days passed like a long, bright dream. It was a pretty
romance, but sadly misplaced--a pretty summer idyll. They were but boy
and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook-side, and in the
green meadows where the white hawthorn grew. They talked of but one
thing, their love. Ronald never tired of watching Dora's fair face and
pretty ways; she never wearied of telling him over and over again, in a
hundred