As for Dora, she went up to her room in perfect tranquillity. "Foolish fellow, how angry he was with me," she said to herself as she brushed out the long fair hair that fell round her in a halo. Her blue eyes looked through it like Undine's. "I wonder if all lovers would be so troublesome; it wanted all one's tact to keep him within bounds. I wish Flo were not so young, and that Beattie were less helpless," she went on, with a sigh. "It will be hard work keeping him in good humor the next year or two, but it would never do to engage myself to him as things are now. I have enough on my hands without that," and with another involuntary sigh, as she thought of Garth's handsome countenance, Dora Cunningham, like a right-minded young woman, put away the subject from her mind and went to sleep. END OF VOL. II. BUNGAY: CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.