CHAPTER IV.

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

CHAPTER IV.

Every morning brought the young heir of Earlcicourt to the bright sunny gardens whore Dora worked amongst Iho strawberries. As the days passed she began to lose something of her shy, startled manner, and laughed and talked to him as she would have done to her own brother. His vanity was gratified by the sweetest homage of all, the unconscious, unspoken love and admiration of the young girl. He liked to watch the blushes on her face, and the quivering of her lips when she caught the first sound of his coming footsteps. He liked to watch her dark eyes droop, and then to see them raised to his with a beautiful, startled light. Insensibly his own heart became interested. At first he had merely thought of passing a pleasant hour ; then he admired Dora, and tried to believe that reading to her was an act of pure benevolence ;

but as the days passod on, something stronger and fcweotei' attracted him. Ue began to love hoi I—and1 — and she wad hl-< lir.-t love. Wonderful to say, thoso long tele-a°tete>, had not attracted obsonaiion. No runloui 1 o( them csoapod, bo that no thorn appcarotl in this path of rOsOS, whloh lod to ihe b t ink of a preo!niao. It v anted threo days until the tim sottlod for tlio roturn of Lord and Lady Earle. Sir Harry Liurencc, of Itoltlmm Hall, asked Ronald to wpond a day with him j and, having no valid excuse, ho consented. 4 1 shall not see you to-movrow, Dora,' he said. '1 am going away for the day. ' She looked up at him with a startled face. One whole day without him ! Then, with a sudden, deadly pan camo the thought that these golden days must end ; the time must come when sho should see him no more. The pretty dimpled face grew pale, and a dark shadow came into tha clear eyes. 'Dora,' cried Ronald, 'why do you look so frightened ? What is it V She gave him no answer, but turned away. He caught her hands in his own. ' Are you grieved that I am going away for ono whole day?' he asked. But she lookod so piteous and so startled that he waited for no reply. ' I shall continue to sec you,' he resumed. 4 1 cou'd not let any da}' pass without that.' ' And afterward,' she said, simply, raising her eyes t"> his, full of tears. Then Ronald paused abruptly— he had never given one thought to the ' afterward.' Why, of course strawberries would not grow forever— it would not always be summer. Lord Earle would soon be back again, and then he must go abroad. Where would Dora be then ? He did not like the thought —it perplexed him. Short as was the time he had known her, Dora had, in s >me mysterious way, growp to bo part of himself. He could not think of a day whoroin he should not see her blushing pretty face, and hear the music of her words. He was startled, and clasped her little hands more tightly in his own. ' You would not like to lose me, Dora V he said gently. ' No,' she replied ; and then tears fell from her dark eyes. Poor Ronald, had he been wise, he would have llown then, but he bent his head over her, and kissed the tears away. The pretty rounded cheek, so soft and childlike, lie kissed again and again, and then clusped the slight, girlish figure in his arms. IDo not shed another tear, Dora,' he whispered ; ' we will not lose each other. I love you, and you shall be my wife.' One minute before he spoke, the idea had not even crossed his mind ; it seemed to him afterward that another voice had spoken by his lips. ' Your wife !' she cried, looking at him in some alarm. 4 Ah, no. You are very kind and good, but that could never be.' 1 Why not ?' he asked. * Because you are so far above me,' roplied the girl. 'land mine are servants and dependents of yours. We are not equal ; I must learn to forget you,' sobbed Dora, v and break my own heart.' She could not have touched Ronald more deeply ; in a moment he had poured forth a torront of words that amazed her. Fraternity and equality, caste and folly, his mission and belief, his love and devotion, were all mingled in one torrent of eloquence that simply alarmed her.' ' Never say that again, Dora, 5 he continued, his fair boyish face flushing. * You are the equal of a queen upon her throne ; you are tair and true, sweet and good. What is a queen more than that ?' 'A queen knows more,' s'ghed Dora. '1 know nothing in all the wide world.' 1 Then 1 will teach you,' he said. ' Ah, Doia, you know enough. You have beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful words. Do not turn from me ; say you lovo me and will be my wife. I love you, Dora — do not make me unhappy.' 'I would not make you unhappy,' she said, ' for the whole world, if you wish me to love yon — oh, you know I love you ! If you wish me to go away and forget you, I will do my best.' But the very thought of it brought tears again. She looked so pretty, so bewildered, between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by happiness, and yet so pitoously uncertain, that Ronald was more charmed than ever. ' My darling Dora,' he said, ' you do love me. Your eyes speak, if your lips do not tell me. Will you be my wife ? [ cannot live without you.' It was tho prettiest picture in the world to see the colour return to the sweet face. Ronald bent his head and heard the gontle whispers. 'You shall never rue your trust, Dora,' he said, proudly ; but she interrupted him. ' What will Lord Earle say ?' she asked ; and again Ronald was startled by the question. 'My father can say nothing,' he replied. * I am old enough to please myself, and this is a free country. I shall introduce you to him, Dora, and tell him you have promised

to be my wife lso moro tears, love. There is nothing but happiness before us/ And so ho believed. He could think of not ling, care for nothing ' but Dora- -her pretty face, her artless, Pimple \vays, her Undisguised love for him. I/hero w0,3 but one oxoupe. Ho Was young, and it wa< his first love ; yet despite his happiness, his pride, his independence, he did often wonder in what Wjrds he should tell his father that he had promi&cd to marry the lodge-keeper's daughter. Theie were even timos when he shivered, as one seized with tiudden cold, at the thought. The four days passed like a long bright dream. It was a pretty romance, but badly misplaced— a pretty summer idyl. They were bat boy and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook side, and in the green meadows where the white hawthorn grew. Thoy talked but of one thing, their Lye Konald never tired of vatching Dora's fair face and pretty ways ; she never wearied of telling him over and over again, in a hundred different, way?, how noble and how kind he wa?, and how dearly &be loved him. Lord Earle wrote to say that he eho-s'io 1 be home on the Thursday evrni'ng, &n& Ihni they were bringing bac': a pat'fy ef gttests with them. • There will be no liim to tell my father just at present,' said Ronald ; ' so, Dora, wo must keep our secret. It will not do to tell your father before I tell mine.' They arranged to keep the secret until Lord Eurle should be alone again. Thoy were to meet twice every day — in the early morning, while the dew lay on the grass ; and in the evening, when the Hall would be full of bustle and gaiety. Ronald felt guilty— he hardly knew how or why — when his father commiserated him for the two lonely weeks he had spent. Lonely ! He had not felt them bo ; they had passed all too quickly for him. How many destinies were settled in that short time. There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle. The few guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and their host devoted himself to their entertainment. Lady Earle saw some great change in her son. She fancied that he spent a great deal of time out-of-doors. She asked him about it, wondering if he had taken to study botany, for late and eai'ly he never tired ot rambling in the park. She wondered again at the flush that; crimsoned his face ; but the time was coming when she would understand it all. It is probable that, if Eonald at that time had had as much of Dora r s society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his mistake, and no great harm would have been done ; but the foolish romance of the stolen meetings had a charm for him. In these hurried interviews he had only time to think of Dora'a love — he never noted her deficiencies ; he was charmed with her tenderness and grace ; her artless affection was bo pretty ; the difference between her and those with whom he was accustomed to talk was so great ; her very ignorance had a piquant charm for him. So they went on to their fate. One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told his secret. A new element crept into his love, and urged him on. Walking one day through the park with his father, they overtook Dora's father. A young man was with him, and the two were talking earnestly together, so earnestly that they never heard the two gentlemen ; and, in passing by Ronald distinguished the words, ' You give me your daughter, Mr Thorne, and trust me to make her nappy.' Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker. He saw before him a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his appearance, with a calm, kind face and clear honest eyes ; and he was askipg for Dora — Dora who was tn be his wife, and live at Earlescourt. He could hardly control his impatience ; it seemed to him that evening would never come. Dinner was over at last. Lord Earle eat with Sir Harry Laurence over a bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawingroom and had taken up her book. Ronald hastened to the favourite trysting-place, the brook-side ; Dora was there already, and he saw that her face was Btill wet with tears. She refused at first to tell him her sorrow. Then she whispered a pitiful little story, that made her lover resolve upon more rash deeds. Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to marry him. She had said •No ;' but her mother had wept, and her father had grown angry, and had said she should obey liim. 'He has a large farm,' said Dora, with a bitter sigh. 'He says I should live like a lady, and have nothing to do. He would be kind to my father and mother ; bat I do not love him,' she added. Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, '] do not love him,' she sobbed, ' and, Ronald, I do love you.' He bent down and kissed her pretty tearbedewed face, all the chivalry of his nature aroused by her words. •You shall be my wife, Dora,' he said, proudly, • and not his. This very erening