The white face and wild eyes seemed aflame with anxiety.
"Dora, Dora!" cried Mrs.Thorne, "is it really you ?" "It is," said a faint, bitter voice.

"I am come home, mother.

My heart is broken and I long to die." They crowded around her, and Ralph Holt, with his strong arms, carried the fragile, drooping figure into the house.

They laid her upon the little couch, and drew the curling rings of dark hair back from her white face.

Mrs.Thorne wept aloud, crying out for her pretty Dora, her poor, unhappy child.