ir young
face, and how Dora Thorne that was her name, Miss Charteris--loved me."

Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright flush die
away, and the proud lips quiver.

"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald. "She is not what people
call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine. Her father lives at
the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and she knows nothing of
the world or its ways. She has never been taught or trained, though
her voice is like sweet music, and her laugh like the chime of silver
bells. She is like a bright April day, smiles and tears, sunshine and
rain--so near together that I never know whether I love her best
weeping or laughing."

He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her face.

"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so. I asked her
to be my wife, and she promised. When my father came home from
Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me. He would not
believe me serious. I need not tell you the details. They sent my
pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her--who wanted to make her
his wife--came, and quarreled with me. He my rival--swore that Dora
should be his. In his passion he betrayed the secret so well kept from
me. He told me where she was, and I went to see her."

There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the white
lips.

"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty in
her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot all I
should have remembered, and married her."

Valentine started then and uttered a low cry.

"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of her so
young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the farmer, and
she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?"

Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not help
admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor.

"I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her. I thought my
father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was too sanguine.
Since my marriage my father has told me that if I do not give up Dora
he will not see me again. Every day I resolve to tell him what I have
done, but something interferes to prevent it. I have never seen my
wife since our wedding day. She is still at Eastham. Now, Miss
Charteris, be my friend, and help me."

Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow--another time she wou