“Dora, whose gray hair is this?”
“My father’s,” said Dora, in a tremulous voice.
“Your father!” cried Ormond, starting up. The full recollection of that fond father, that generous benefactor, that confiding friend, rushed upon his heart.
“And is this the return I make!—Oh, if he could see us at this instant!”
“And if he could,” cried Dora, “oh! how he would admire and love you, Ormond, and how he would—”
Her voice failed, and with a sudden motion she hid her face with both her hands.
“He would see you, Dora, without a guide, protector, or friend; surrounded with admirers, among profligate men, and women still more profligate, yet he would see that you have preserved a reputation of which your father would be proud.”
“My father! oh, my poor father!” cried Dora: “Oh! generous, dear, ever generous Ormond!”
Bursting into tears—alternate passions seizing her—at one moment the thoughts of her father, the next of her lover, possessed her imagination.
At this instant the noise of some one approaching recalled them both to their senses. They were found in earnest conversation about a party of pleasure that was to be arranged for the next day. Madame de Connal made Ormond promise that he would come the next morning, and settle every thing with M. de Connal for their intended expedition into the country.