"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to
Earlescourt. Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and
not quite myself, preferred remaining here alone and quiet. One
morning I went out into the garden, listless for want of
something to do. I saw there--ah! Now I want words, Miss
Charteris--the fairest girl the sun ever shone upon."

He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand
to her brow, as though to shield her face.

"Does the light annoy you?" he asked.

"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story."

"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty
face, all smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that
fell upon a white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long
lashes, seldom raised, but full of wonderful light when once you
could look into their depths. I can only tell you how in a few
days I grew to love the fair young face, and how Dora Thorne
that was her name, Miss Charteris--loved me."

Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright
flush die away, and the proud lips quiver.

"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald. "She is not what
people call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine. Her
father lives at the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and
she knows nothing of the world or its ways. She has never been