Mr. Burroughs stared at her in astonishment; and, with a directness more natural than conventional, exclaimed,—
"You have loved twice already!"
"Yes. Three times, indeed. I loved my mother and Picter, and they are both dead. I loved Sunshine and she is lost to me. O my little Sunshine! who was all to me, and who, I thought"—
And then-oh rare result of all these days of suffering, and hidden bitterness, and a lingering relinquishment of the sweet and tender hope of her future life!-Dora gave way all at once, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into a passion of tears; such tears as women seldom weep; such tears as Dora herself had shed but two or three times in her short life.
Mr. Burroughs sat for a moment, looking at her with a yearning tenderness in his eyes, and then folded her suddenly in his arms, whispering,—
"Dora, Dora Darling! I love you, and I will be to you more than all these; and no time nor chance shall rob you of my love, if only you will give me yours instead."
But Dora repulsed him vehemently, sobbing, "No, no, no! you shall not say it! I will not hear it!"
"Not say it? Why not? It is God's truth; and you must have known it before to-day."
"No: it is only pity, because you think I want to stay, and because—
No, I will not have it! I will not hear it! You are quite wrong, Mr.
Burroughs: you do not know"—
She stopped in confusion. She had done sobbing now; but she did not uncover her face, or look up. Mr. Burroughs regarded her with a strange expression, and then, taking her hand, said softly,—