taught or trained, though her voice is like sweet music, and her
laugh like the chime of silver bells. She is like a bright April
day, smiles and tears, sunshine and rain--so near together that
I never know whether I love her best weeping or laughing."

He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her
face.

"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so. I
asked her to be my wife, and she promised. When my father came
home from Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me. He
would not believe me serious. I need not tell you the details.
They sent my pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her--who
wanted to make her his wife--came, and quarreled with me. He
my rival--swore that Dora should be his. In his passion he
betrayed the secret so well kept from me. He told me where she
was, and I went to see her."

There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the
white lips.

"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty
in her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot
all I should have remembered, and married her."

Valentine started then and uttered a low cry.

"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of
her so young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the
farmer, and she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?"