A sudden turn in the walk brought him to a small alcove, and there, reclining on a bank of turf, her face concealed partly by her arm and partly by her handkerchief, was Dora Barham, sobbing as if her heart was broken, and so engrossed by the cause of her agitation, as to be quite unconscious of his approach. He hesitated a moment, for he could not leave her in such grief, and yet he did not dare to intrude upon it; he stopped, looked at her, waited, and was then resolved to go back, when accidentally treading on a broken stick in the path, the sharp crack it gave under his foot, startled Dora, and made her instantly raise her head. “Mr. Duncan!” exclaimed she, trying to brush away her tears in a great hurry, as she saw him, but not looking at all sorry at the interruption. “I hope I do not disturb you,” said he, apologetically. “I had no idea of finding you here.” “Not in the least,” looking at the bank beside her (she was now sitting upright), as if she longed to ask him to sit down. “How is Hilary?” “Doing quite well, they tell me; she is going to bed; I hope she will sleep well, and be all right to-morrow.” He ventured to sit down as he spoke. “Oh, I am so glad! dear Hilary――it was horrid, dreadful――I can not get the idea out of my head; oh, Mr. Duncan! if they had not been there to save her!” Dora shuddered again, and again tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “Do not agitate yourself so,” exclaimed her companion, “do not think of it; can I do nothing for you; get you nothing?” “No, thank you! I shall be better presently.” She sobbed a little, and then was quiet. “And your head-ache? Miss Barham told me it was bad.” “I believe it was my heart, more than my head, Mr. Duncan,” replied Dora, with a smile. “I can not bear things as Isabel does, and I was so frightened; and people seemed so thoughtless and indifferent, and so ready to forget――so little thankful. Oh, dear! what a set I live with; it made my heart full, and my head ache; so at last I crept away here, to be happy and grateful my own way.” He looked at her with a smile, half-admiring, half arch, but said―― “I had no idea I found you in a state of _happiness_.” She crimsoned, laughed, and then said―― “It is, nevertheless, very pleasant to cry sometimes.” “I have heard so before,” was his answer. “And one can not do it in company, you know; it would look absurd, and be considered bad manners, which is worse; and besides, people do not ever understand one; I believe _you_ are rather shocked at me.” “Do you? then I am afraid my looks are deceitful.” “Don’t you think me foolish then?” coloring again, and looking down. “Foolish for feeling for my sister’s danger! foolish for caring for her safety! if affection, sympathy, friendship, sensibility, gratitude to Heaven, sincerity, simple truth of feeling, if these are folly, or if you suppose I consider them so, then accuse me of thinking you foolish.”