was, and whence she came.

In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and
most graceful of courtesies.

"They are for the housekeeper, sir," she replied; and her voice
was musical and clear as a silver bell.

"Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald.

"I am Dora Thorne," she replied, "the lodge keeper's daughter."

"How is it I have never seen you before?" he asked.

"Because I have lived always with my aunt, at Dale," she replied.
"I only came home last year."

"I see," said Ronald. "Will you give me some of those
strawberries?" he asked. "They look so ripe and tempting."

He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her. The
pretty white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson
fruit and green leaves. Deftly and quickly she contrived a small
basket of leaves, and filled it with fruit. She brought it to
him, and then for the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that
one glance was fatal to him.

She was no calm, grand beauty. She had a shy, sweet, blushing
face, resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe
lips; pretty little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels, large