than to walk. She was very pale, but as she drew near I could see in her eyes a sweet calm.
I went forward to meet her, and in silence we shook hands. She motioned to the boulder, and we sat down. She was less shy than yesterday, and seemed in many subtle ways to be, though not less girlish, more of a woman.
When we sat down I laid my hand on hers and said—and I felt that my voice was hoarse:—
"Well!"
She looked at me tenderly, and said in a sweet, grave voice:—
"My father has a claim on me that I must not overlook. He is all alone; he has lost my mother, and my brother is away, and is going into a different sphere of life from us. He has lost his land that he prized and valued, and that has been ours for a long, long time; and now that he is sad and lonely, and feels that he is growing old, how could I leave him? He that has always been so good and kind to me all my life!" Here the sweet eyes filled with tears. I had not taken away my hand, and she had not removed hers; this negative of action gave me hope and courage.
"Norah! answer me one thing. Is there any other man between your heart and me?"
"Oh no! no!" Her speech was impulsive; she stopped as suddenly as she began. A great weight seemed lifted from my heart; and yet there came a qualm of pity for my friend. Poor Dick! poor Dick!
