Many a time her heart had been lonely and sick for the want of a little love; many a time her conscience had whispered that she had done wrong in forsaking her own flesh and blood; but pride would not let her yield, until her once darling and favorite was laid cold and silent beneath the sod. Then, in her grief and remorse, she pounced down upon poor, terrified little Dora, and carried her off, to love, pet, and spoil her, if she could, and to make a lady of her. Everything that heart could wish was now hers, and she reigned a very queen over a household of servants, and in the heart of Madame Alroyd, and despite the shadows that had clouded her young life, she grew happy as a bird, and bright and winsome as the day. Her education was now completed, and for the past few months she had reigned as a beauty and a belle in the first circles of New York. But Dora had not forgotten her childhood, nor her boy husband. Oh, no! Even now his picture lay against her throbbing heart, and not a day passed but that it was taken from its hiding-place, and pressed tenderly and passionately to her ripe, beautiful lips. But it was _her secret_! She had never dared to tell her aunt of that episode in her life, fearing that the sacredness with which she regarded it would be laughed to scorn. And so the years came and went, until she arrived at young ladyhood, and suitors by the score flocked around the wealthy beauty, seeking in vain for a favorable response to their vows of eternal love and fidelity. All met with the same firm yet gentle reply, and went away disappointed, yet loving the more. Two young men had lately appeared in society, who seemed more favored than the others had been, and report said that one of these two would receive the prize. Which—all were waiting eagerly to learn. One was a young German, highly educated and refined, handsome and wealthy. He had recently graduated at a celebrated seminary in his native country, and was now making a tour of the United States. His name was Fredrich Weimher. The other was—_Ralph Moulton_! Both hovered near Dora now, waiting anxiously to be favored with a smile or a word. A band of musicians, concealed by a floral screen, suddenly struck up their inspiriting music, and both these young gentlemen stepped quickly forward to secure her hand for the dance. Fredrich Weimher, being first, secured the prize, and led her away, leaving Ralph Moulton standing alone, angrily gnawing his lips and frowning darkly. Graceful as a willow was our heroine, and as gracefully Mr. Weimher bore her through the mazes of the dance, and then led her away to get a breath of fresh air. Sweeping aside some heavy curtains, they stepped through a low window, out upon a balcony, and were hidden from view of the guests within the drawing-room. “Miss Dora,” said Fredrich Weimher, gayly, “I have not yet offered you my congratulations. Permit me to do so now.”