"Yes, I will go and have it over," he thought, just as Mrs. Leah entered, telling him that "Miss Deane wanted that book."
Thinking that Eugenia was in the house, he answered hastily. "Take it to her, and pray don't let her in here."
"It's Dora, not Eugenia," said Mrs. Leah, and instantly the whole expression of his countenance changed.
"Dora!" he exclaimed. "It's a long time since I saw her in this room. Tell her to come up."
Very gladly Dora obeyed the summons, and in a moment she stood in the presence of Mr. Hastings.
"I am glad to see you," he said, motioning her to the little stool, on which she had often sat when reciting to him her lessons, and when she now sat down, it was so near to him that, had he chosen, his hand could have rested on her beautiful hair, for she held her hood upon her lap.
Two months before and he would not have hesitated to smooth these shining tresses, but the question of his sister, "Do you love her?" had produced upon him a curious effect, making him half afraid of the child-woman who sat before him, and who, after waiting a time for him to speak, looked up into his face, and said, "Do you want me for anything in particular, Mr. Hastings?"
"Want you, Dora? Want you?" he said, abstractedly, as if that question, too, had puzzled him; then remembering himself, and why he had sent for her, he answered, "I want to talk with you, Dora—to tell you something. Do you remember my sister Mrs. Elliott?"
The eager, upward glance of Dora's eyes, was a sufficient answer, and he continued, "I saw her last week and talked with her of you. She wishes you to come and live with her. Will you go?"
Dora could never tell why she cried, but the thought of living with Mrs. Elliott, whom she regarded as an almost superior being, overcame her, and she burst into tears, while Mr. Hastings looked at her, quite uncertain as to what, under the circumstances, it was proper for him to do. If his sister had never bothered him with that strange question, he would have known exactly how to act; but now in a state of perplexity, he sat motionless, until, thinking he must do something, he said gently, "Dora, my child" The last word removed his embarrassment entirely. She was a child, and as such he would treat her. So he said again, "Dora, my child, why do you cry?" and Dora answered impulsively, "It makes me so glad to think of living with Mrs. Elliott, for you do not know how unhappy I have been since she found me four years ago."