house. There was an earnestness in everything that she did, quite
unusual in a girl of her age, and at times her manner was grave and
sad, but strangely attractive, nevertheless. When she had completed
her labors in the garden, she came and seated herself beside him.

"Some day, Paul, we'll have a cheerier home than this; won't we?" she
said, looking wistfully up at the quaint old pile before them.

"I don't think we could have a more romantic one," he answered; and
then, hoping to elicit an explanatory answer, added, "but why should
Guir House not seem cheerful to you?"

"I don't know; it has always been gloomy; don't you think so?"

"Not having known it always, Dorothy, I am not in a position to
judge; but it will always be the sweetest place on earth to me,
because I met you here for the first time."

"Yes, I know; but you must not forget your promise."

She seemed nervous and anxious concerning his fulfillment of it.

"And do you suppose that I could ever forget anything you asked me?
No, Dorothy, while you will it, I am your slave; but, as I told you
before, you exert such a strange power over me that you could make me
hate and fear you. I don't know why this should be so, but I feel
it!"

"Hush!" she said, extending her outstretched hand toward his mouth;
"do not talk in that way; you frighten me; for, O Paul! I was just