If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another
and very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine
looked; the sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage
fell upon her face, while the white dress and blue ribbons, the
fair floating hair, against the dark background of the bank and
the trees, made a charming picture; but Ronald never saw it.
After long years the memory of it came back to him, and he
wondered at his own blindness. He never saw the trembling of the
white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple
foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver
of her proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes. He
only saw and thought of Dora.

"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not
eloquent," began Ronald. "When anything lies deep in my heart, I
find great difficulty in telling it in words."

"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a
torrent of words does not always show an earnest nature. I have
many thoughts that I could never express."

"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss
Charteris," said Ronald--"that you would see and comprehend the
motives that I can hardly explain myself! Sitting here in the
summer sunshine, I can scarcely realize how dark the cloud is
that hangs over me. You are so kind and patient, I will tell you
my story in my own way." She gathered a rich cluster of
bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the pretty flowers into
pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the stream.