She thanked the fates fervently that just at this moment her aunt finished her meal, and arose to leave the table. She felt that a pair of eyes were following her the whole length of the room, and she was ill at ease until the door closed upon them. “Who were those two ladies who just left the room?” asked Mr. Ellerton of a gentleman who sat at his right hand, and with whom he had been having some previous conversation. “Madame Alroyd and Miss Dora Dupont, her niece. They are from your own country, sir, I have been told,” replied his companion. Mr. Ellerton puckered up his mouth very much as if he were going to whistle, while he muttered to himself: “Well, I don’t wonder the little beauty looked at me, as if she thought I was an old bear. She must have known me; and now I know where I have seen those great, deep blue eyes before.” “Do you know anything about them?” he asked, aloud. “Only by report,” replied his neighbor. “That says that the old lady is as rich as Crœsus, and has adopted the young lady who is her niece. They are making a tour for pleasure of this country. They say the little beauty is turning all the young men crazy. “Is she? That’s a pity, for I have my doubts about any of them getting her,” remarked Mr. Ellerton, dryly. “I don’t know about that. I sat beside her to-day in the institute, and I began to think that one young man had turned her head; for she scarce breathed all through Ellerton’s valedictory; and when he finished she threw him a lovely bouquet, and which you might have seen in his hand afterward. She’s a dainty little craft, anyhow—don’t you think so?” “Um—well, yes—rather,” replied Mr. Ellerton, smiling at his companion’s volubility, and rather enjoying this bit of gossip about his son. Then to himself he added, “I guess I shall have to look into this matter a little. Rich, is she? well, I won’t mind so much about his having her now. I’ll cultivate their acquaintance immediately, and try to get the little one to like me if I can.” With which complacent reflections he arose and left the table. As Madame Alroyd and Dora were passing up the stairs to their rooms, a servant met them and handed the latter a note. She glanced at the handwriting, and in an instant flushed crimson, then turned pale as the pure lilies which hung from her hair, and lay against her soft cheek. Passing swiftly to her room, with the note clasped in both her hands over her beating heart, she sank breathless upon a sofa, quivering in every nerve. The writing was Robert’s, and she felt that that white folded missive had power to seal her happiness or plunge her into the depths of woe. Madame Alroyd took in at a glance the cause of her emotion, and so remained silent until her niece should recover herself sufficiently to read the note. She had not long to wait, for soon Dora tore it eagerly open and read it through, her white face blanching to the hue of death, until at the last word she fell with a moan of anguish to the floor.