ord by word it
can not be written, but when the heir of Earlescourt saw Dora again,
her artless delight, her pretty joy and sorrow mingled, her fear and
dislike of Ralph, her love for himself drove all thought of duty and
honor from his mind. He prayed her to become his wife secretly. He
had said that when once they were married his father would forgive
them, and all would be well. He believed what he said; Dora had no
will but his. She forgot all Lady Earle's warnings; she remembered
only Ronald and his love. So they were married in the quiet parish
church of Helsmeer, twenty miles from Eastham, and no human being
either knew or guessed their secret.

There was no excuse, no palliation for an act that was undutiful,
dishonorable, and deceitful--there was nothing to plead for him, save
that he was young, and had never known a wish refused.

They were married. Dora Thorne became Dora Earle. Ronald parted from
his pretty wife immediately. He arranged all his plans with what he
considered consummate wisdom. He was to return home, and try by every
argument in his power to soften his father and win his consent. If he
still refused, then time would show him the best course. Come what
might, Dora was his; nothing on earth could part them. He cared for
very little else. Even if the very worst came, and his father sent him
from home, it would only be for a time, and there was Dora to comfort
him.

He returned to Earlescourt, and though his eyes were never raised in
clear, true honesty to his father's face, Lord Earle saw that his son
looked happy, and believed the cloud had passed away.

Dora was to remain at Eastham until she heard from him. He could not
write to her, nor could she send one line to him; but he promised and
believed that very soon he should take her in all honor to Earlescourt.

Chapter VI

It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy
sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of summer.
The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were filled with
wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards. Nature wore her
brightest smile. The breakfast room at Earlescourt was a pretty
apartment; it opened on a flower garden, and through the long French
windows came the sweet perfume of rose blossoms.

It was a pretty scene--the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, the
delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers. Lord Earle sat at the head
of the table, bu