"I should not blame you a bit, Dorothy Chance, after the long lecture I read you about your imprudence in meeting Lord Wilton alone on the heath. You must think me a great hypocrite for taking you out alone with me. But Mrs. Martin has made me acquainted with your history, and I respect you for defending the character of the man who has, indeed, proved himself to you, a sincere friend, who from Henry Martin's account of him, I trust is slowly, though surely, striving to enter the straight gate that leads to heaven." "Oh, Mr. Fitzmorris, you are so good and truthful, it is impossible to be angry with you long; and I was angry with you for speaking so harshly of poor Lord Wilton, but I love you all the better now, for confessing so frankly that you were in error." She held out her hand as she spoke. Gerard took it, and pressed it reverentially. "We are friends then?" "Yes. I hope for ever." "Amen!" said her companion heartily; "and now, little one, no more sentimentality, but let us go to work." Shouldering the carpet-bag across his stick, the vicar led the way over the lawn, and on to the heath. "Where are we going?" asked Dorothy, not a little amused at the decided manner in which her companion took to the road. "Do you know a place called Hog Lane, at the bottom of the heath, on the east side, where it slopes down to the salt flats?" "Yes, I have been there looking for the cows with Gilbert." "And who is Gilbert?" Mr. Fitzmorris suddenly faced about. He was walking still ahead, and cast such a sharp penetrating glance at Dorothy, that she felt her face crimson, and her knees tremble with agitation. "Is he your brother, or your sweetheart?" "Neither, Mr. Fitzmorris. He is the son of the kind people who brought me up." "And you never took a fancy to each other. Eh, Dorothy?" "Oh, yes, we did," returned Dorothy, with great simplicity. "But that is all off now, and he is going to marry somebody else. I did love him with my whole heart and soul, and it caused me the greatest anguish of mind I ever experienced, to try and forget him. It's all for the best, Mr. Fitzmorris, but it was hard to realize the dreadful truth that he had ceased to love me." She turned aside to hide her tears. Gerard was shocked that his careless speech had given her so much pain, for of this part of her history Mrs. Martin had not spoken. Perhaps she was afraid by so doing that she might lessen the interest which she perceived that Mr. Fitzmorris felt in Dorothy. "Forgive me, Dorothy, I spoke at random. How little we understand the might of words, their power of conferring pleasure, or giving intense pain. Do dry these tears; the sight of them quite unmans me. By-and-by, when we are better friends, you will tell me all about it, and we can sympathize with each other." "And you have known that great heart sorrow?" sobbed Dorothy.