He remembered that the squire had a nephew, and was convinced that it was he who had seen Dora, become attached to her, and was resolved to marry her, taking this way to get rid of him in order to make his own way clear. He was deeply agitated, and wondered what his father thought had become of him. And Dora—would she think he had willfully deserted her? He feared so, feeling that his enemy would urge this view of the case, and eventually win her for himself. He was nearly frantic with the thought, and forgot where he was—forgot everything but that he would wreak the bitterest vengeance upon the vile plotters, could he but lay his hands upon them; and wrung his hands in his agony, utterly regardless of the two beautiful eyes that were wistfully following his every movement. “Yes, yes; it is as I fear, without doubt. Oh, why does Heaven permit such wickedness to go unpunished? Is there no way that I can escape, that I may thwart them? Oh, Heaven, give me strength to bear this, or I shall go mad!” He threw himself, exhausted, into a chair, and groaned aloud. The lovely girl opposite him arose, and gliding softly to his side, laid one of her small white hands upon his arm, and said: “My friend, I begin to believe that a kind Providence has indeed led you to me to-day; and that our lives and destinies are in some mysterious way connected, and the same person has done us both a foul wrong. I pray that you will have confidence in me. Tell me your story, and perhaps I may be able to help you, or rather we may be able to help each other.” He looked at her with a sad, yet admiring glance, and taking her little hand, pressed it reverently to his lips; then said: “My dear young lady, you do me honor to put so much faith and trust in me; while at the same time you shame me with your courage and calmness. I thank you sincerely for your sympathy, for your gentle eyes tell me I have that. But I am selfish to be so bound up in my own sorrows and troubles, besides being rude to interrupt so abruptly your story. Please pardon me, and continue your narrative, after which I shall, in return, tell you my own history.” He led her gently to a sofa, and taking a seat beside her signified his readiness to listen to her tale. CHAPTER XX. A STRANGE STORY. “Some nineteen years ago,” said the maiden, “a gentleman, Ralph Moulton by name, was traveling in Italy. He came to Naples, where my mother’s family resided. There were four of them in the household—my grandfather, my two uncles, and my mother. Their names were Count of Lamerack, Gerient and Edwin, and Vivien. She was the darling of their hearts, the light and pride of their eyes. Nothing was too good or too expensive for her, her every wish was gratified, every whim pampered.