LITMIR.BIZ

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and quarreled with me. He my rival—swore that Dora should be his. In his passion he betrayed the secret so well kept from me. He told me where she was, and I went to see her."

      There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the white lips.

      "I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty in her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot all I should have remembered, and married her."

      Valentine started then and uttered a low cry.

      "You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of her so young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the farmer, and she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?"

      Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not help admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor.

      "I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her. I thought my father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was too sanguine. Since my marriage my father has told me that if I do not give up Dora he will not see me again. Every day I resolve to tell him what I have done, but something interferes to prevent it. I have never seen my wife since our wedding day. She is still at Eastham. Now, Miss Charteris, be my friend, and help me."

      Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow—another time she would look it in the face; all her thoughts must now be for him.

      "I will do anything to serve you," she said, gently. "What can I do?"

      "My mother loves you very much," said Ronald; "she will listen to you. When I have told her, will you, in your sweet, persuasive way, interfere for Dora? Lady Earle will be influenced by what you say."

      A quiver of pain passed over the proud, calm face of Valentine Charteris.

      "If you think it wise for a stranger to interfere in so delicate a matter, I will do so cheerfully," she said; "but let me counsel on thing. Tell Lord and Lady Earle at once. Do not delay, every hour is of consequence."

      "What do you think of my story?" asked Ronald, anxiously. "Have I done right or wrong?"

      "Do not ask me," replied Valentine.

      "Yes," he urged, "I will ask again; you are my friend. Tell me, have I done right or wrong?"

      "I can speak nothing but truth," replied Valentine, "and I think you have done wrong. Do not be angry. Honor is everything; it ranks before life or love. In some degree you have tarnished yours by an underhand proceeding, a private marriage, one forbidden by your parents and distasteful to them."

      Ronald's face fell as her words came to him slowly and clearly.

      "I thought," said he, "I was doing a brave deed in marrying Dora. She had no one to take her part but me."

      "It was a brave deed in one sense," said Valentine. "You have proved yourself generous and disinterested. Heaven grant that you may be happy!"

      "She is young and impressionable," said Ronald; "I can easily mold her to my own way of thinking. You look very grave, Miss Charteris."

      "I am thinking of you," she said, gently; "it seems to me a grave matter. Pardon me—but did you reflect well—were you quite convinced that the whole happiness of your life was at stake? If so, I need say no more. It is an unequal marriage, one not at all fitting in the order of things."

      How strange that she should use his father's words!

      "Tell your father at once," she continued. "You can never retrace the step you have taken. You may never wish to do so, but you can and must retrieve the error of duplicity and concealment."

      "You will try and make my mother love Dora?" said Ronald.

      "That I will," replied Valentine. "You sketched her portrait well. I can almost see her. I will speak of her beauty, her grace, her tenderness."

      "You are a true friend," said Ronald, gratefully.

      "Do not overrate my influence," said Valentine. "You must learn to look your life boldly in the face. Candidly and honestly I think that, from mistaken notions of honor and chivalry, you have done wrong. A man must be brave. Perhaps one of the hardest lessons in life is to bear unflinchingly the effects and consequences of one's own deeds. You must do that, you must not flinch, you must bear what follows like a man and a hero."

      "I will," said Ronald, looking at the fair face, and half wishing that the little Dora could talk to him as this noble girl did; such noble words as hers made men heroes. Then he remembered how Dora would weep if he were in trouble, and clasp her arms round his neck.

      "We shall still be friends, Miss Charteris?" he said, pleadingly. "Whatever comes you will not give me up?"

      "I will be your friend while I live," said Valentine, holding out her white hand, and her voice never faltered. "You have trusted me—I shall never forget that. I am your friend, and Dora's also."

      The words came so prettily from her lips that Ronald smiled.

      "Dora would be quite alarmed at you," he said; "she is so timid and shy."

      Then he told Valentine of Dora's pretty, artless ways, of her love for all things beautiful in nature, always returning to one theme—her great love for him. He little dreamed that the calm, stately beauty listened as one on the rack—that while he was talking of Dora she was trying to realize the cold, dreary blank that had suddenly fallen over her life, trying to think what the future would be passed without him, owning to herself that for this rash, chivalrous marriage, for his generous love, she admired him more than ever.

      The hand that played carelessly among the wild flowers had ceased to tremble, the proud lips had regained their color, and then Valentine arose, as she was going out with Lady Earle after lunch.

      A feeling of something like blank despair seized Valentine when she thought of what she must say to her other. As she remembered their few words the previous evening, her face flushed hotly.

      "I can never thank you enough for your kind patience," said Ronald, as they walked back through the shady park and the bright flower gardens.

      Valentine smiled and raised her fact to the quiet summer sky, thinking of the hope that had been hers a few short hours before.

      "You will go at once and see your father, will you not?" she said to Ronald, as they parted.

      "I am going now," he replied; but at that very moment Lady Earle came up to him.

      "Ronald," she said, "come into my boudoir. Your father is there he wants to see you before he goes to Holtham."

      Valentine went straight to her mother's room. Lady Charteris sat waiting for her, beguiling the time with a book. She smiled as her daughter entered.

      "I hope you have had a pleasant walk," she said; but both smile and words died away as she saw the expression on her daughter's face, as she bent over her mother.

      "Mamma," said Valentine, gently, "all I said to you last night about Earlescourt was a great mistake—it will never be my home. My vanity misled me."

      "Have you quarreled with Ronald?" asked Lady Charteris, quietly.

      "No," was the calm reply. "We are excellent friends but, mamma, I was mistaken. He did want to tell me something, but it was of his love for some one else—not for me."

      "He has behaved shamefully to you!" cried Lady Charteris.

      "Hush, mamma!" said Valentine. "You forget how such words humiliate me. I have refused men of far better position that Ronald Earle. Never let it be imagined that I have mistaken his intentions."

      "Of course not," said her mother. "I only say it to yourself, Valentine; he seemed unable to live out of your sight—morning, noon, and night he was always by your side."

      "He only wanted me to be his friend," said Valentine.

      "Ah, he is selfish, like all the men!" said Lady Charteris. "With whom has he

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