Yet for all this care in keeping Dora above the sphere of usefulness, her charms had not won for her a distinguished lover. Still Dora had a lover, and this was less wonderful than it would have been had her sweet face not pictured itself on some heart. But her lover was only a humble clerk in a store where she had often been to make purchases. He was as simple and earnest in all his tastes and feelings as Dora herself. Their meetings were not frequent, for young Edwards had been told of the old engraver’s weakness, and did not, therefore, venture to call upon his sweetheart at her home. At length so little work came that Stilling did not receive more than sufficient money to buy food, and actual privation began to creep in upon himself and daughter. Stern necessity required the dismissal of their domestic, and then the old man busied himself in household matters, in order to keep Dora as far as possible above such menial employments. As age crept on, and his intellects grew still weaker, he clasped his fond delusion more closely to his heart, and observed all of Dora’s movements with a more jealous eye. For as long a time as a year had the faith of Dora and her lover been pledged. Their meetings were generally in the street, on a certain appointed afternoon of each week. Then they walked together and talked about the future, when there should be no barrier to their happiness. But the young man, as time wore on, grew impatient; and his pride occasionally awakened, telling him that he was as good as the old engraver, and worthy, in every respect, to claim the hand of his daughter. Sometimes this feeling showed itself to Dora, when the maiden would be so hurt that Edwards always repented of his hasty words, and resolved to be more guarded in future. “Let me call and see you at your father’s,” said Edwards, one day as they were walking together; “perhaps I may not be so unwelcome a visiter as you think.” “Oh, no, no! you must not think of it,” replied Dora quickly. “But where is this to end?” inquired the young man. “If he will not accept me as your lover, and you cannot become mine except with his consent, the case seems hopeless.” Dora did not reply at the moment, and they walked along for some time in silence. “There is a way. I have thought of it a great deal,” at length said the young girl. She spoke with some hesitation in her manner. “What is it?” inquired her lover. Dora leaned toward him, and said something in a low voice. “That’s not to be thought of,” was the quick reply of the young man. Dora was silent, while her bosom, as it rose and fell quickly, showed that her feelings were much disturbed. The suggestion, whatever it was, appeared to hurt or offend the young man, and when they separated, it was with a coldness on his part that made tears dim the eyes of Dora the moment she turned from him.