reast.

"You must show us the famous 'dark walks,' Mr. Tyers," says Dorothy.

"Surely you will not care to see those, Miss Manners."

"O lud, of course you must," chimed in the Miss Stanleys; "there is no
spice in these flaps and flies."

He led us accordingly into Druid's Walk, overarched with elms, and dark
as the shades, our gentlemen singing, "'Ods! Lovers will contrive,'" in
chorus, the ladies exclaiming and drawing together. Then I felt a soft,
restraining hold on my arm, and fell back instinctively, vibrating to the
touch.

"Could you not see that I have been trying to get a word with you for
ever so long?"

"I trust you to find a way, Dolly, if you but wish," I replied, admiring
her stratagem.

"I am serious to-night." Indeed, her voice betrayed as much. How well I
recall those rich and low tones! "I said I wished you shut up in the
Marshalsea, and I meant it. I have been worrying about you."

"You make me very happy," said I; which was no lie.

"Richard, you are every bit as reckless and indifferent of danger as they
say your father was. And I am afraid--"

"Of what?" I asked quickly.

"You once mentioned a name to me--"

"Yes?" I was breathing deep.

"I have forgiven you," she said gently. "I never meant to have referred
to that incident more. You will understand whom I mean. You must know
that he is a dangerous man, and a treacherous. Oh!" she exclaimed,
"I have been in hourly terror ever since you rode against him in Hyde
Park. There! I have said it."

The tense sweetness of that moment none will ever know.

"But you have more reason to fear him than I, Dorothy."

"Hush!" she whispered, catching her breath; "what are you saying?"

"That he has more cause to fear me than I to dread him."

She came a little closer.

"You stayed in London for me, Richard. Why did you? There was no need,"
she exclaimed; "there was no need, do you hear? Oh, I shall never
forgive Comyn for his meddling! I am sure 'twas he who told you some
ridiculous story. He had no foundation for it."

"Dorothy," I demanded, my voice shaking with earnestness, "will you tell
me honestly there is no foundation for the report that the duke is
intriguing to marry you?"

That question was not answered, and regret came the instant it had left
my lips--regret and conviction both. Dorothy joined Lady Carlisle before
our absence had been noted, and began to banter Fitzpatrick upon his
losings.

We were in the lighted Grove ag