Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker. He saw
before him a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his
appearance, with a calm, kind face and clear and honest eyes; and
he was asking for Dora--Dora who was to be his wife and live at
Earlescourt. He could hardly control his impatience; and it
seemed to him that evening would never come.

Dinner was over at last. Lord Earle sat with Sir Harry Laurence
over a bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawing room
and had taken up her book. Ronald hastened to the favorite
trysting place, the brook-side. Dora was there already, and he
saw that her face was still wet with tears. She refused at first
to tell him her sorrow. Then she whispered a pitiful little
story, that made her lover resolve upon some rash deeds.

Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to
marry him. She had said "No;" but her mother had wept, and her
father had grown angry, and had said she should obey him.

"He has a large farm," said Dora, with a bitter sigh. "He says I
should live like a great lady, and have nothing to do. He would
be kind to my father and mother; but I do not love him," she
added.

Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, "I do not
love him," she sobbed; "and, Ronald, I do love you."

He bent down and kissed her pretty, tear-bedewed face, all the
chivalry of his nature aroused by her words.