At last, when she saw how much in earnest he was, she said, “I will tell him myself; I can do it more gently, and it will not hurt so much. Don’t go to him, but leave it with me.” “Will you tell him all and ask to be released?” Robert said, making her stand still while she replied, “I’ll tell him all, how I love Richard best; but I shall not ask to be released.” Robert was satisfied, for from what he had heard of Squire Russell he believed he would never require of Dora so great a sacrifice. “I shall be here with the early dawn,” he said, as he left her at the gate. Dora did not reply, but stood with her eyes riveted upon the house across the street, where she knew was Dr. West. There was a light shining from the windows of the upper room, while the figure of a woman wearing a widow’s cap was occasionally seen passing to and fro. “That is Richard’s room,” she whispered, feeling an intense desire to fly at once to his side and assert her right to stay there. Then, remembering her promise to Robert, she walked slowly to the house, meeting in the door with Johnnie, who, wild with excitement, exclaimed, “Hurrah, guess who has come! Dr. West,—and I have been in to see him. He’s whiter than a ghost, and what is funny, his chin fairly shook when I told him I was to have a new mother to-morrow, and what do you think, that woman, his mother, put me out of the room and said too much talking hurt him. Did you know he was here?” “Yes, I knew, Johnnie; where’s your father?” Dora asked, feeling that if she waited longer her courage would give way. “Father’s in the library, and he’s ordered us youngsters to keep out. I guess he’s expecting you, for he asked lots of times where you was, and nobody knew, Jessie’s over there,” and Johnnie jerked his shoulder in the direction of the doctor’s window. Very slowly, as if going to her grave, Dora walked on till she came to the library door. It was shut, and as she stood there trembling, she caught the sound of a voice praying within, a voice which trembled with happiness and gratitude as John Russell thanked the God who had given to him Dora. “I can’t; oh, I can’t,” Dora sighed, as, faint and sick, she leaned against the wall, while that prayer proceeded. Then, when it was finished, still feeling that she could not talk with him that night, she went up to her room, and in the garments all damp and stained with night dew, and the slippers wet with the waters of the lake, she sat down by the open window and watched the light across the way, until she heard Jessie coming and knew that Robert was with her. They were talking, too, of her, for she heard her name coupled with Dr. West’s, while Jessie said, “It’s dreadful, and I do so pity Squire Russell,—he is such a nice, good man.”