When he left his home in anger, she never imagined that it was with her--that he really meant what he said. When she remained firm to her duty--to the solemn promise she had given to his father, it was with the idea that she was serving him, and she had sufficient faith in his affection for her, to believe that he appreciated the heroic sacrifice. He had cast her off there and then--had relinquished her for ever. He had asked her to leave the house with him, to become his wife, in the very face of his father's anger; she had refused to accede to his request, and he had taken it as a final decision. She realized it all now. But who was to blame in the matter? Had it not been her own act? She had stood firm to her word, and he had proved to her, bitterly proved to her, that he could as obstinately adhere to his. But she had loved him--so faithfully, so well--had been so confident of his fidelity, that she could not as yet bring herself to believe, that he would part with her in that cold heartless manner. That he had left his parents, his country, his home, all the happy associations of his boyhood and youth, to be revenged on her. She who had sacrificed her own feelings to do what she considered to be her duty. It was hard to think so meanly of Gilbert Rushmere. But he deserved it. The bitterest pang of her grief lay there. He was no more worthy of her love. She must learn to forget. Even in these moments of humiliation Dorothy felt that she had acted right, nor did she for an instant regret the course she had pursued. This sense of rectitude was the only prop upon which she could lean in her hour of desolation, but she found it, as every one will find it, a column of strength. Hiding her crushed affections deep down in the silent chambers of her soul, she bowed her knees to the Heavenly Father, and in solemn earnest tones, besought the assistance of the Divine Comforter, to help her in her hour of need, and teach her resignation. Who ever sought a healing draught from that life-giving fountain, and turned empty away? If their faith was too small to receive the full cup, some healing drops would reach the parched lips, to cool the burning thirst, and reconcile them to a sorrowful lot. With Dorothy it was but a softening mist, a dew scattered by the spray of a fountain, that reached the arid desert of her heart--but ah, how magical were the effects. The hard resentful feelings which had been gathering against her ungrateful lover, gradually melted, and she wept. Wept and prayed for the broken reed on which she had so long leant--the idol of clay, at whose feet she had so long worshipped; and while she forgave his desertion, she entreated of Heaven to bless him--to make him a wise, good man, useful in his day and generation.