He took the white-gloved hand held out to him, and pressed it fervently, then gently drawing her toward him, he bent and respectfully kissed her fair upturned brow, saying: “Good-by, my friend—my sister. May old Neptune bear you safely on your journey, and perchance we may meet abroad, for I shall shortly return to my native country. God grant you may meet your own loved one, and that unalloyed happiness may ever be yours.” He turned quickly from her, and disappeared within, leaving her alone, happy yet sorrowful, for his was too noble a heart to be rent with unrequited love. As Fredrich Weimher lifted the heavy curtains which concealed the balcony on which he and Dora had stood, and stepped within the drawing-room, a man moved quickly aside, scowling blackly upon him, yet with a certain air of triumph. But his evil gaze was thrown away, for its object passed on and soon left the mansion. CHAPTER X. “GO!” SHE COMMANDED. Waiting a few moments, Ralph Moulton—for it was he who was hidden among the heavy folds of drapery, and had listened to every word that passed between Weimher and Dora—stepped softly out upon the balcony, and stood beside his fair hostess. She was weeping, and did not notice him until he laid his hand gently upon her smooth, bare arm, and said, in a sympathizing tone: “Why do you weep, Miss Dupont?” With a start of affright and a haughty gesture, she moved away from him, for his familiar touch angered her. Hastily wiping her eyes, she said, coldly: “Really, Mr. Moulton, I don’t know as I can explain to you my feelings. Sadness, I presume, is one cause of my tears.” “And what could possibly render Miss Dupont sad? Methought her life was as fair and bright as earth’s choicest gifts could make it,” he said, with a voice which he tried to make tender. “If you please,” she replied, “we will not discuss that subject now, Mr. Moulton.” She turned abruptly to leave the balcony, for she deemed him rude to intrude himself upon her when she was struggling with her sad feelings. He quickly caught her hand, detaining her, while he exclaimed: “Stay, Miss Dupont; do not leave me so, for I have something to say to you.” “I am listening,” she replied coldly. “But pray, Mr. Moulton, be good enough to release my hand.” He did not release it, but drew it within his arm, and then led her to one end of the balcony. “Miss Dupont—Dora, I love you; will you be my wife?” “No, sir,” she answered, sharply. He started violently; then said, reproachfully: “I beg your pardon; did I understand you aright?” “I beg _your_ pardon, Mr. Moulton, for allowing myself to speak in such a manner,” she replied, wearily. Her heart had been almost broken with the scene that had just transpired, and she did not feel equal to another. “I have not been feeling very happy for a few moments past,” she went on; “but I am pained at your declaration, for I cannot return your affection.”