o perilled her
life for mine yesterday--for mine and the dog's-but never mind that now,
she was heartless, but could I find it in my heart to turn away from her
in her sorrow? Alas! I was still so weak, that my love drew me more than
my pledged word, along the well-known road that yesterday I had vowed
never to tread again.

My aunt met me at the door. I was breathless and agitated, but she
seemed more cheerful than I had expected; her eyes were full of tears,
for she had just come from the sick room, but there was a smile on her
kind face as it looked pleasantly into mine. 'Is she very ill?' I
stammered.

'Not very,' she said, coolly; 'come here a moment, Georgy,' and taking
my hand, she drew me into her own little sitting-room, and shut the
door. 'My dear boy,' she continued, placing both her soft hands on my
shoulders, 'I sent you rather an urgent message, for fear you wouldn't
come back in spite of your promise, and I want this settled about you
and Dora; you have tormented each other long enough, you with your
exactions and jealousy, she with her flirting and all that; I don't say
she was not the worst of the two, but that's over. No, she's not very
sick--don't interrupt me! She caught cold yesterday, as I thought she
would, in that foolish, wicked business you were all engaged in,
tempting of Providence I call it, but I hope it will do you good, and
learn you a lesson. What, Georgy! you expected a wild, shy young girl to
show you her heart without asking? you expected a spoiled, flattered
child, whom you have done the most to spoil and flatter, not to tease
and torment you when she had it in her power, and could you not bear it
better from your little wayward favorite, who, you know, was always
true-hearted after all? Pshaw, my dear boy, I needn't plead for our dear
baby. Poor Dora has a sore heart, for she thinks you have gone away in
anger forever, and her sins against you are all badly punished already.
I think you'll forgive her, and I won't tell you if it's worth your
while. She looks dreadfully, and feels badly, and as she has hardly been
sick a day in her life, thinks she is going to die, or she never would
have told me what she did tell me. I'm her mother, it's not for me to
betray her; but you're my son, too, and I wish you both happy. Go in now
and forgive your old aunty's long speeches; do what you can for my poor
little girl, and don't ever give me reason to repent putting so much
power into your han