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Book, page 481 / 508 Dora, though naturally of a temper apt to take alarm at the touch of blame, and offence at the tone of advice, now in the most graceful manner thanked her friend for his counsel; said she was flattered, gratified, by the interest it showed in her happiness--and she immediately yielded her will, her _fantaisie_, to his better judgment. This compliance, and the look with which it was accompanied, convinced him of the absolute power he possessed over her heart. He was enchanted with Dora--she never looked so beautiful; never before, not even in the first days of his early youth, had he felt her beauty so attractive. "Dear Madame de Connal, dear Dora!" he exclaimed. "Call me Dora," said she: "I wish ever to be Dora to Harry Ormond. Oh! Harry, my first, my best, my only friend, I have enjoyed but little real happiness since we parted." Tears filled her fine eyes--no longer knowing where he was, Harry Ormond found himself at her feet. But while he held and kissed in transport the beautiful hand, which was but feebly withdrawn, he seemed to be suddenly shocked by the sight of one of the rings on her finger. "My wedding-ring," said Dora, with a sigh. "Unfortunate marriage!" That was not the ring on which Ormond's eyes were fixed. "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
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