"Dear, dear, Dora!" she cried, while on the setting of fringe which we have spoken of round her soft eyes, hung gems of tears, like May morning dew on hawthorn, "I knew you would come some day and see me." Here the joyous tears burst forth. "And Miles thinks so too, I know; for, whenever he returns, he always asks has any one called? well knowing no one would so, unless it were you; and when I say, 'No one, dear,' he takes me to his arms, and says, embracing me, 'Never mind, Minnie, I always come back to you--never mind the world, dear child!' Oh! he is _so_ kind, dearest Dora!" exclaimed the loving wife, "and I am so _very_ happy!" "Long may it last, dear Minnie," said her cousin, as she returned the caress; "I have been very cruel not to come sooner, but--but----" "Don't speak of it, dear Dora," cried Minnie, ever anxious to save another any pain; "I know it was not your fault--my aunt wouldn't let you; but, now you are here, _do_ stay all day, Miles will return at five, 'tis scarcely two yet," and she drew her beside her on an ottoman, and encircled her with her arms. "I cannot Minnie, mamma does not know I have come; I shall have to tell her cautiously, for----" "Oh! I know, I know, I've been a very naughty girl, but why did they lock me up? and why was my uncle going to take me to that odious Miss Burton's? If he had confided in my honour, I _never_ should have ran away." "Are you sure, Minnie--quite sure? Mr. Tremenhere is very persuasive, I make no doubt, and handsome too; I think him much improved since his marriage," she spoke constrainedly. "How do you know?" asked her cousin, amazed; "when did you see him--and where?" "Did he not tell you," inquired the other, much confused, "I met him at Uplands. Oh! I have perhaps done wrong in telling you." A strange sensation, half triumph, half pleasure, shot through her heart; it was one of those involuntary promptings of the evil one, which we cannot always master. "Why," prompted this fiend, "did Tremenhere deceive his wife? Dares he not trust himself to name me?" "Oh! I see it all!" cried that pure-hearted wife; "it is just like my own dear Miles--he feared to pain me." She was sincere in this thought _then_. "Come, Minnie," cried Lady Dora, hastily rising, "put on your bonnet, we will have a quiet drive, we can then speak of all; I love a nice chat in a cosy, half-sleepy, jog-trot pace--my country pace, I call it. Come, we will go out for half an hour." She wished to break the thread of the conversation, and have a little time to recover herself. "And then you will return with me, and remain?" "I don't promise; we shall see."