“Robbie,” she asked, softly patting his face with her little hand, “you aren’t sorry yet, are you?” “No, darling, nor ever shall be. Why?” “Why, I thought you must be, or you would have come before.” “I could not, Dora. I have been locked in my room ever since that night, and I climbed down the trellis to come to you to-night. I ran away!” He flushed with shame that he was obliged to say it. “You have, you did?” said Dora, with flashing eyes. “I don’t care, I think your father is a wicked, naughty man, and I hope God will punish him.” “Hush, darling, for I have something worse than that to tell you.” And he told her all that had passed between him and his father, only keeping back what he had said of her, and that he was to start for a far-off country on the morrow. Again the flood-gates were opened, and torrents poured from the riven heart. She clung to him with a death-like grip, crying out, in her agony, “that she would not let him go—that they would make him love some one else, and she should never see him again, and she should be, oh! so lonely that she should surely die!” The poor boy hardly knew how to comfort her, and really did not know but she would die, while his own heart ached almost to bursting at the sad parting. “No, Dora, dear,” at length he gravely replied, “you will not die. You will have your mother to love you, and I shall never forget you while I live. Now, listen to me, and promise to do as I ask you. I want you to mind your mother in everything, for she knows best what is right; I want you to study hard, and learn all you can; and do not be naughty any more about practicing your music; for I am going to get the best education I can, and I shall come back for you some day, and I want to feel proud of my little wife. Yes, Dora, I want you to be as nice a young lady then as Miss Annie Burton is now. Will you promise to try?” Dora caught her breath at this request. “Oh, Robbie, I’m afraid I can’t; but I’ll try. I promise anything that you want me to, but I can’t bear to have you go. I shall never be happy again as long as I live.” “Yes, you will, darling; you must try to be happy. And now I want you to say that you love me, and won’t ever forget me, and then I must go.” “Of course I will not forget you, and you know I love you,” she said, raising her tear-stained face from his shoulder. His arms closed tightly round her as he said: “Look at me, Brightie—right into my eyes! There now—how much do you love me?” She looked at him, half-puzzled, a moment, before answering, then said: “I don’t believe I can tell you, Robbie; I guess as well as—as if you were really my brother.” His arms clasped her more tightly yet, and while a disappointed look came into his eyes, he whispered: “Brightie, think—don’t you love me any better than that? Would you rather always be my sister than my wife?”