"You see, Dorcas, I'm going out for the Perkinses with Orrin Tileston. We each put in five hundred, and have our share of the profits." "But to China! that's right under our feet! You'll never come back!" murmured the girl. "Do you ever want I should? Dorcas, if I come back rich, shall you be glad? It will be all for you,--dear!" the last word low and timidly. The mist went over her eyes again. A vision of Solomon in all his glory swept across her. Even to Walton had spread rumors of the immense fortunes acquired in the China and India trade, and the gold of Cathay seemed to shimmer over the form before her, so strong, so able to contend with, and compel, if need were, Fortune. As to Swan, he looked over the river of Time that separated him from love and happiness, and saw his idol and ideal standing on the farther bank, dressed in purple and fine linen, with jewels of his own adorning. Like Bunyan's "shining ones," she seemed to him far lifted out of the range of ordinary thought and expression, into the regions of inspired song. Now that he was really going to the East, the image of Dorcas in his heart took on itself, with a graceful readiness, the gold of Ophir, the pomps of Palmyra, and the shining glories of Zion. He longed to "crown her with rose-buds, to fill her with costly wine and ointments,"--to pour over her the measureless bounty of his love, from the cornucopia of Fortune. "Dorcas," said he,--and his words showed how inadequately thoughts can be represented,--"Dorcas, I know your father thinks nothing at all of me now; _but_, supposing I come back in two years, with--with--say five thousand dollars!--then, Dorcas!" The bright, soft eyes looked pleadingly at her. Truly, in those days of simplicity and scant earnings, five thousand dollars did seem likely to be an overwhelming temptation to the owner of the Fox farm. "But,--Swan!" said the blushing girl, releasing herself from his grasp, and stepping back. "Yes, Dorcas!--yes!--once!--only once!" He came between her and the image of Henry Mowers; he was going away; she might never see him again. A vague sentiment, composed of pleasure, pity, admiration, and ambition, but having the semblance only of timidity in her rosy face and downcast eyes, made her yield her shrinking form, for one moment, to his trembling and passionate caress, and the next, she ran as swiftly as a deer to the house.