This, however, did not satisfy the child, who, during the week
that Mrs. Elliott remained in the neighborhood, cast many longing
glances in the direction of Rose Hill, gazing oft with tearful
eyes upon a female figure which sometimes walked upon the balcony,
and which, perhaps, was her benefactress. One night it was told at
Locust Grove that Mrs. Elliott had gone, and then, with a feeling
of desolation for which she could not account, Dora again laid her
face on the old green trunk and wept.

Poor Dora Deane! The path she trod was dark, indeed, but there was
light ahead, and even now it was breaking upon her though she knew
it not.

-------------------




CHAPTER IX.

DORA AT ROSE HILL.


Summer was over. The glorious September days were gone. The hazy
October had passed away, and the autumn winds had swept the
withered leaves from the tall trees which grew around Rose Hill;
when one cold, rainy November morning, a messenger was sent to
Mrs. Deane, saying that Mrs. Hastings was sick, and wished to see
her.