dark eyes, bright as stars, and veiled by long lashes; dark hair,
soft and shining. She was indeed so fair, so modest and
graceful, that Ronald Earle was charmed.

"It must be because you gathered them that they are so nice," he
said, taking the little basket from her hands. "Rest awhile,
Dora--you must be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you.
Sit here under the shade of this apple tree."

He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face.
She never once raised her dark eyes to his. He had seen
beautiful and stately ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as
this pretty maiden. The more he looked at her the more he
admired her. She had no delicate patrician loveliness, no
refined grace; but for glowing, shy, fresh beauty, who could
equal her?

So the young heir of Earlescourt sat, pretending to enjoy the
strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure
before him. She neither stirred nor spoke. Under the boughs of
the apple tree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a
fair picture, and his eyes were riveted upon it.

It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not
have talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic
Dora Thorne should have known better. But they were young, and
such days come but seldom, and pass all too quickly.

"Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly--"what a pretty name! How
well it suits you! It is quite a little song in itself."