This little dark-eyed lady was showing him up in colors, altogether too truthful to be agreeable, though he could but admire her for her spirit and honesty, and already he felt his passion for Dora beginning to cool beneath the charms of the more brilliant, yet not more lovely, girl by his side. “I should say,” she replied, in answer to his question, “that his oath was a most unworthy one, and were better broken than kept. But excuse me. I forget that I am talking very plainly to an entire stranger,” and with a haughty little bow she was turning away when his voice arrested her. “Stay, please, and I will introduce myself according to rule. I should have done so before, but my awkwardness in obstructing your path has put to flight all my ideas of etiquette. I am Ralph Moulton, at your service.” He bowed low and gracefully before her as he spoke, for, in spite of her surroundings, he recognized her as a lady noble and pure. Then he added, “Will you kindly return the favor?” “Certainly. My name is Enid Chichester.” “And are you and your companions retained as captives here? But I need not ask, for doubtless you are.” “Yes. I have not seen my bright, beautiful home for two weary years.” Two sparkling drops struggled up from the liquid depths of her lovely eyes, and rolled like gems over her flushed cheeks, hiding themselves within the folds of the fleecy robes in her hands. A strange expression gleamed within Ralph Moulton’s eyes as he gazed upon her emotion. One might interpret it thus: If he had but seen this lovely, friendless little fairy before he had gone to such extremes with Dora, he thought he could have found all the consolation he wished in her smile. With a sigh, half of regret for himself, and the other half of sympathy for her, Ralph Moulton asked, in a low tone: “Would you accept freedom, Miss Chichester, could it be obtained for you?” “Would I accept it? Oh, Heaven grant me but this one boon, and no sacrifice would be too great to testify my gratitude!” “My friend,” he whispered, bending nearer, so that his own dark locks mingled with hers. “Listen. Prepare yourself for the change, and your wish shall be gratified. I pledge you my word that it shall be so.” “Will you? Oh, thanks, thanks!” She dropped her laces all in a heap upon the floor, and clasping her hands impulsively around his arm, bowed her dainty head, and sobbed like a child. Ralph Moulton quivered in every nerve beneath her touch, and the color mounted hotly to his brow. He thought to clasp her in his arms and comfort her, dry her tears, and win back her smile. But he dared not do it; from his very soul he respected this pure girl, and felt himself unworthy even to touch her robes. If he had not made that rash vow, or even if he had not had this last interview with Dora, all would be well.