If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another and
very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine looked; the
sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage fell upon her face,
while the white dress and blue ribbons, the fair floating hair, against
the dark background of the bank and the trees, made a charming picture;
but Ronald never saw it. After long years the memory of it came back to
him, and he wondered at his own blindness. He never saw the trembling
of the white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple
foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver of her
proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes. He only saw and
thought of Dora.

"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not eloquent,"
began Ronald. "When anything lies deep in my heart, I find great
difficulty in telling it in words."

"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a torrent of
words does not always show an earnest nature. I have many thoughts
that I could never express."

"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss Charteris,"
said Ronald--"that you would see and comprehend the motives that I can
hardly explain myself! Sitting here in the summer sunshine, I can
scarcely realize how dark the cloud is that hangs over me. You are so
kind and patient, I will tell you my story in my own way." She
gathered a rich cluster of bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the
pretty flowers into pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the
stream.

"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to Earlescourt.
Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and not quite myself,
preferred remaining here alone and quiet. One morning I went out into
the garden, listless for want of something to do. I saw there--ah!
Now I want words, Miss Charteris--the fairest girl the sun ever shone
upon."

He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand to her
brow, as though to shield her face.

"Does the light annoy you?" he asked.

"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story."

"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty face, all
smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that fell upon a
white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long lashes, seldom raised,
but full of wonderful light when once you could look into their depths.
I can only tell you how in a few days I grew to love the fa