Well might Dora Dupont cry out, for she recognized in the handsome face and form of the man who stood beneath that arched entrance, her rejected suitor and enemy, Ralph Moulton. Utterly overcome by his sudden and unwelcome presence, her trembling limbs refused to support her, and she sank weak and faint upon a sofa which stood behind her. A look of intense love, followed by one of triumph, flashed over his dark, fine face, as his gaze fell upon the lovely girl before him. Madame Alroyd, who had half risen as he entered, now sank into her seat again, exclaiming: “Mr. Moulton! and here too!” “Yes, madam,” he replied, with a smile and a graceful bow; “and I trust that I find you well this morning.” Then turning composedly to Dora, he added: “Miss Dora, allow me to congratulate you upon your fine looks, although I perceive that traveling has robbed you of some of your former bloom.” He seated himself carelessly, though his restless eyes devoured every expression of her marble face. She had by this time recovered her self-possession somewhat, and rising with proud hauteur, she said, in icy tones: “To what circumstance am I to attribute this untimely visit, Mr. Moulton? It was my desire to have an interview with the chief of this place. I am now awaiting his presence.” “The chief you will not see this morning, Miss Dupont; and you are to attribute this visit from me to your own fair self, and the love I bear you.” She waved her hand with a gesture of scornful impatience and said: “That subject was long since forbidden between us.” “Nay, my fair one, I could not receive your cruel answer as final; and if you remember right, you know I told you that I should at some future time renew my suit. And I am here this morning to plead again, that you will consent to be my wife. Madam, have I your permission to address your niece?” he said, turning quickly to Dora’s aunt. “It must be as she says, Mr. Moulton. I trust all such matters to her own heart and judgment,” she returned, coldly. “Very well, then to her I will appeal,” turning to our heroine again. “How came you in this place, sir?” she demanded. “Why, I came here the same as I would go anywhere, but my object was to meet you.” “Ah! perhaps Mr. Moulton has something to do with our captivity here,” said Dora, shooting a wicked glance at him from her flashing eyes. “Possibly he may have,” he returned, with a smile and a bow. “Thank you, sir; you are very kind. You have taken a load from my mind,” she answered, in a relieved tone. “How so?” he asked, surprised. “I feared I had been brought here by a set of lawless robbers, and that my honor would be the sacrifice; but, I assure you, I fear no such craven as yourself,” she said, in a voice of intense sarcasm. He colored angrily at the scorn and irony which her look and tone betrayed, and replied: