CHAPTER III. STOLEN SWEETS.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 277, 30 June 1888, Page 10

CHAPTER 111. STOLEN SWEETS.

The strawberry gardens at Earlescourt were very extensive. Far down amongst the green beds Ronald Earle saw a young girl kneeling, gathering the ripe fruit, which she placed in a. large basket lined with leaves, and he went down to her. *I should like a few of tho&e strawberries, 1 he said gentlj , and she raised to his a face he never forget, [nvoluntarily he raised his hat, in homage of her youth and her shy sweet beauty. 'For whom are you gathering these?' he asked, wondering who she was and whence she came. In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the piettiesband most graceful of courtesies. ' They are for the housekeeper, sir/ she replied ; and her voice was musical and clear as a silver bell. 'Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald. 'I am Dora Thorne,' she replied, * the lodge-keeper's daughter.' ' How is it I have never seen you before '!' he asked. ' Because I have lived always with my auutatDale,' sheieplied. '1 only came home last year.' 111 1 see,' said Ronald. ' Will you give me homo of tho3e strawberries ?' he asked. 1 They look so ripe and tempting.' He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her. The pretty white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson fruit and green leaves. Deftly and quickly she contrived a small basket of leaves, nnd filled it with fruit. She brought it to him, and the i for the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that one glance was fatal to him. She was no calm, grand beauty. She had a shy sweet blushing face, resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe lips ; pretty little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels ; large dark eyes, bright as stars, and veiled by long lashes ; dark hair, soft and shining. She was indeed so fair, so modest and graceful, that Ronald Earle \\ as charmed 1 It must be because you gatheied them that they are so nice,' he said taking the little basket from her hand?. ' Rest awhile, Dora ; you must be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you, Sit here under the fjjade of th:s apple-tree.' He watched the crimson blushes that tl>ed her fair young (ojcq. She never once Laised her eyes to his. He had seen beautiful and stately ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as this pretty maiden. The more he looked at her the 'more he admired her. She had no dolicate patrician loveliness, no refined grace ; but for glowing, ?hy, fresh beauty, who could equal her? So the young heir of Earle&court sat, pretending to enjoy the strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure before him. She neither stirred nor spoke. Under the boughs of the appletree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a fair picture, and his eyes were riveted upon it. It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not have talked to the lodge keeper's daughiesr ; and sweet, rustic Dora Thorne should have known better. But they were yoiung, and such days come but seldom, and pass all too quickly.

3 • l)ora Thorne/ said Ronald, musingly— 3 ' wlnfca protty name I Ho\V Well tb suits r you ! It ft qulto a little Bongf in itself' t She smiled wlfcli delighb at his words ; » then her shy dark oyes~\vere raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again t i ' Havo you ii nd Tennyson's ' ' Doi'ft V ' ' ho I nskod. '♦N"''*' slio lopliod— 'l havo Htllo iinr. for leading. 1 > '1 will iell you tho etorj ,' lie said, pat o- > ni-ingly. ' Evor since 1 read it 1 havo had an iclo.il "Dora," and you realise n\y i droam. 1 > Bho had no' the least idea what he moant, i but whon ho leoitod the musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred ; sho ' saw the who it field, tho golden corn, tho little c\ild aii'l it-- anxious mother. When i .Ronald oeo.'iud s?jj along, he saw her hands : weio claspo I and her lip* (]ui\oring. 1 Did you like thai ': la- a^ked with uni conscious patronage. 'So much :' sho replied. ' Ah, he must J i be a great man who wroto those words, and . you remember them .ill !' Her eimplo admiration flattered and charmed him. Ho recited other verse 1 - for her, and the girl listened in a trance of delight. The sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the heir of Earles couit that he was forging the fii'3t link of a dreadful tragedy ; he thought only of tho shy blushing beauty and coy grace of the young giil. Suddonly from over the tiees there came the sound of the great bell at the Hull. Then Dora started. •It is one o'clock !' she cried. ' What shall 1 do? Mrs Morton will be angry with me.' ' Angry !" &aid Konald, annoyed at this sudden break up of his Arcadian dicam. 1 Angry with you ! For what ?' ' She is waiting for the strawberries,' replied conscious Dora, ' and my basket is not half full.' It was a new idea to him tha f anyone should dare to bo angry with this pretty gentle Dora. 'I will help you,' he said. In less than a minute the heir of Earle.scourt was kneeling by Dora Thorne, gather ing quickly the ripe strawbciries, and the basket was soon tilled. 'There,' said Ronald, • you need not fear Mrs Morton now, Dora. You must go, I suppose ; it seems hard to leave this bright sunshine to go in -doors.' 'I—lI — I would rather stay,' said Dora, frankly ; • but I have much to do.' ' Shall you be here to-morrow ?' he asked. f Yes,' she replied ; ( it will take mo all tho week to gathei strawberries for tho housekeeper.' • Good-bye, Dora,' he eaid ; ' I shall see you again.' He held out his hand, and her little fingers trembled and fluttered in his grasp. She looked so happy, yet so frightened, so charming, yot so shy. He could have clasped her in his arms that moment, and have said he loved her ; but Ronald was a gentleman. He bowed over tho pretty hand, and thenrelinquishedit. He watched the pretty, fairy figure as the young girl tripped away. • Shame on all artificial traini >q !' said Ronald to himself. • What would our fine ladies give for such a face-? Imagine beauty without coquetry or affectation. That girl's heart is a? pure as a stainless lily ; she never heard of a " grand match "or a " good parti." If Tennyson's Dora was like her, 1 do not wonder at anything that happened. ' Instead of thinking bo himself that he had done a foolish thing that bright morning, and that his plain duty was to forget all about the girl, Ronald lighted his cigar, and began to dream of the face that nad charmed him. Dora took the fruit to Mrs Morton, and received no reprimand ; then she was sent home to the cottage, her work for the day ended. She had to pass through the park. Was it the same road she had trodden that morning ? What caused the new and shining glory that had fallen on every J leaf and tree? The blue heavens seemed to smile upon her; every flower, every song of the bright birds had a new meaning. What was it ? Her own heart was beating as it had nevor beaten before; her face was flushed, and the sweet limpid eyes bhone with a new light. What was it? Then she came to the brook-side and pat down on the violet bank. The rippling water was sing- , ing a new song, something of love and ( youth, ot beauty and happiuebs— K?mebhing of a new and faiiy-like life; ami with the J fuint ripple and fall of the water, came J back to her the voice that rilled her ears i and touched her heart. Would she ever j again forget the handsome face that had i .smiled co kindly upon her ? Surely he was a king amongst men, and he had praised her, said her name was like a song, and j that she was like the Dora of the beautiful j poem, This grand gentleman, with the j clear handsome face and dainty white . hands, actualty admired her ! I So Dora dreamed by the brookside, and | she was to see him again and again ; she j gave no thought to a cold dark time whon •

she should bgo litm no tnore, to-morroW the sun Would shine, the blrda sing 1 , and she should gee him onco again. Dora nevei 1 romonibered how that liappy day pas<»edv CJood Mrs Thovne looked at her child, and sighed to think how protty she was, and how boon limb sweot dimpled face would bo worn with care. Dora's first proceeding; was characteristic enough. She went, to her own room and looked the door j then sho pub bho craoiod little mirror in tho sunshine, and proooedod to oxamlno her faco. She wonted to eoe why Ronald Karlo admired hor j eho wondered muoh at this new power she Boomo'l possossod of ; blio j>lncoct the glass on tho table, and Bat down to atudy her own face. She saw that it was very fair } tho colouring was delicnto and vivid, like that of Iho heart of a roso ; tho fresh rod lip^ were arched and smiling ; tho dark, shy eyes, with their long silken lashes, were bright and clear j a protty dimpled, smiling face told of a sweet-, simpl?, loving nature— that was all ; theie was no intellect, no soul, no high-bred refinement, nothing but the charm of bright, halfstartlei beauty. Dora was half puzzled. She had never thought much of her own appearance. Ha\ ing lived always with sensible, simplo people, tho pernicious language of ilattery was unknown to her. It was with a halfguilty thrill of delight that she for the !ir»t time realised the charm of her own bwcot face. Tho sunny hours flew by. Bora never noted them ; she thought only of the morning lo come, while Ronald dt earned of her almost unconsciously. She had been a bright feature in a bright day ; his artistic taste had been gratified, his eyes had been charmed. The pretty picture haunted him, and he remembered with pleasure that on the morrow he should see the shy sweet face again. No thought of harm or wrong even entered his mind. He had recited a beautiful poem to a pretty coy girl, and in a grand lordly way he believed himself to have performed a kind action. The morning came, and it brought, bright, blushing Dora to her work ; again the little white fingers glistened amidst the c imson berries. Then Dora heard him coming. She heard his footsteps, and her face grew 'ruby rod.' He made no pretense of finding her accidentally. ' Good-morning, Dora,' he said ; ' you knk as bright as the sunshine and as fair as the flowers Put away the basket ; I 'have brought a book of poems, and mean to read some to yon. 1 will help you with your work afterward.' Dora, nothing loth, sat down, and straightway they were both in fairyland. He read industriously, stealing every now and then a glance at his pretty companion. She knew nothing of what he was reading, but his voice made sweeter music than she had ever heard before. At length the book was closed, and j Ronald wondered what thoughts .were I running through his companion's simple artless mind. So he talked to her of her daily life, her work, her pleasures, her friends. As he talked he grew more and more charmed ; she had no great amount of intellect, no wit or keen powers of re- ' partee, but the girl's love of nature made i her a poetess. She seemed to know all the secrets of the trees and the flowers ; no beauty escaped her ; the rustle of the green leaves, the sighs of the western wind, the solemn hush of the deep green woods, the changing tints of the summer sky delighted her. Beautiful words, embodying beautiful thoughts, rippled over the fresh ripe lips. She knew nothing else. She had seen no pictures, read no books, knew nothing of the fine arts, was totally ignorant or all scholarly lore, but deep in her heart lay the passionate love for the fair face of nature. It was new to Ronald. He had heard fashionable ladies speak of everything they delighted in. He had never heard before of ' music in the fall of rain-drops,' or character in flowerfc. Once Dora forgot her shyness ; and when Ronald said something she laughed in reply. How sweet and pure that laughter was — like a soft peel of silver bells ! When Ronald Earle went to sleep that night, the sound haunted his dreams.