It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not have talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic Dora Thorne should have known better. But they were young, and such days come but seldom, and pass all too quickly. "Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly--"what a pretty name! How well it suits you! It is quite a little song in itself." She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes were raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again. "Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked. "No," she replied--"I have little time for reading." "I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly. "Ever since I read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream." She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw the wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its anxious mother. When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands were clasped and her lips quivering. "Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage. "So much!" she replied. "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote those words; and you remember them all." Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him. He recited other verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of delight. The sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the heir of Earlescourt that he was forging the first link of a dreadful tragedy; he thought only of the shy, blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl! Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great bell at the Hall. Then Dora started. "It is one o'clock!" she cried. "What shall I do? Mrs. Morton will be angry with me." "Angry!" said Ronald, annoyed at this sudden breakup of his Arcadian dream. "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 that any one should dare to be angry with this pretty, gentle Dora. "I will help you," he said. In less than a minute the heir of Earlescourt was kneeling by Dora Thorne, gathering quickly the ripe strawberries, and the basket was soon filled. "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 indoors!" "I--I would rather stay," said Dora, frankly; "but I have much to do." "Shall you be here tomorrow?" he asked. "Yes," she replied; "it will take me all the week to gather strawberries for the housekeeper." "Goodbye, Dora," he said, "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, yet so shy. He could have clasped her in his arms at that moment, and have said he loved her; but Ronald was a gentleman. He bowed over the little hand, and then relinquished it. He watched the pretty, fairy figure, as the young girl tripped away.