She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes
were raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again.

"Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked.

"No," she replied--"I have little time for reading."

"I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly. "Ever since
I read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream."

She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the
musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw
the wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its
anxious mother. When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands
were clasped and her lips quivering.

"Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage.

"So much!" she replied. "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote
those words; and you remember them all."

Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him. He recited
other verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of
delight. The sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the
heir of Earlescourt that he was forging the first link of a
dreadful tragedy; he thought only of the shy, blushing beauty and
coy grace of the young girl!

Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great