"
And so he believed. He could think of nothing, care for nothing
but Dora--her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her
undisguised love for him. There was but one excuse. He was
young, and it was his first love; yet despite his happiness, his
pride, his independence, he did often wonder in what words he
should tell his father that he had promised to marry the lodge
keeper's daughter. There were even times when he shivered, as
one seized with sudden cold, at the thought.
The four days passed like a long, bright dream. It was a pretty
romance, but sadly misplaced--a pretty summer idyll. They were
but boy and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook-
side, and in the green meadows where the white hawthorn grew.
They talked of but one thing, their love. Ronald never tired of
watching Dora's fair face and pretty ways; she never wearied of
telling him over and over again, in a hundred different ways, how
noble and kind he was, and how dearly she loved him.
Lord Earle wrote to say that he should be home on the Thursday
evening, and that they were bringing back a party of guests with
them.
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