have plenty of friends to
whom I can go, and shall be quite content, dear--quite content."

"Where is it that you wish me to go, aunt?" asked Doro coldly. They were
going over the same ground, then, after all.

"Abroad, dear--abroad, to all the great cities of the world," said the
aunt, faltering a little as she met his eyes. "You are well educated,
Theodore; I have taught you myself. You are a gentleman's son, and I
have planned for you a life suited to your descent. I have written to my
cousins in Amsterdam; they have never seen me, but for the sake of the
name they will--O my boy, my darling, tell me that you will go!" she
burst forth, breaking into entreaty as she read his face.

But Doro shook off her hands. "Aunt," he said, rising, "why will you
distress yourself thus? I shall marry Catalina, and you know it; have I
not told you so? Let us speak no more on the subject. As to the money, I
care not for it; keep it." And he turned toward the door as if to end
the discussion. But Miss Elisabetha followed and threw herself on her
knees before him.

"Child!" she cried, "give me, give yourself a little delay; only that, a
little delay. Take the money--go; and if at the end of the year your
mind is still the same, I will say not one word, no, not one, against
it. She is but young, too young to marry. O my boy, for whom I have
labored, for whom I have planned, for whom I have prayed, will you too
forsake me?"

"Of course not, aunt," replied Doro; "I mean you to live with us
always"; and with his strong young arms he half led, half carried her
back to her arm-chair. She sat speechless. To live with them
always--with _them!_ Words surged to her lips in a flood--then, as she
met his gaze, surged back to her heart again. There was that in the
expression of his face which told her all words were vain; the placid,
far-away look, unmoved in spite of her trouble, silenced argument and
killed hope. As well attack a creamy summer cloud with axes; as well
attempt to dip up the ocean with a cup. She saw it all in a flash, as
one sees years of past life in the moment before drowning; and she was
drowning, poor soul! Yet Doro saw nothing, felt nothing, save that his
aunt was growing into an old woman with foolish fancies, and that he
himself was sleepy. And then he fell to thinking of his love, and all
her enchanting ways--her little angers and quick repentances, the
shoulder turned away in pretended scorn, and the sudden waves of