on the long lashes.

It was Dorothy. Her hands were stretched out in welcome, and then I had
them pressed in my own. And I could only look and look again, for I was
dumb with joy.

"Thank God you are alive!" she cried; "alive and well, when we feared you
dead. Oh, Richard, we have been miserable indeed since we had news of
your disappearance."

"This is worth it all, Dolly," I said, only brokenly.

She dropped her eyes, which had searched me through in wonder and pity,
--those eyes I had so often likened to the deep blue of the sea,--and her
breast rose and fell quickly with I knew not what emotions. How the mind
runs, and the heart runs, at such a time! Here was the same Dorothy I
had known in Maryland, and yet not the same. For she was a woman now,
who had seen the great world, who had refused both titles and estates,
--and perchance accepted them. She drew her hands from mine.

"And how came you in such a place?" she asked, turning with a shudder.
"Did you not know you had friends in London, sir?"

Not for so much again would I have told her of Mr. Manners's conduct. So
I stood confused, casting about for a reply with truth in it, when Comyn
broke in upon us.

"I'll warrant you did not look for her here, Richard. Faith, but you are
a lucky dog," said my Lord, shaking his head in mock dolefulness; "for
there is no man in London, in the world, for whom she would descend a