sentence of imprisonment, Lady Crawford, or some trusted person in her place, was always on guard in Aunt Dorothy’s room to prevent Dorothy’s escape, and guards were also stationed in the retainer’s room for the same purpose.  I tell you this that you may understand the difficulties Dorothy would have to overcome before she could see John, as she declared to Madge she would.  But my opinion is that there are no limits to the resources of a wilful girl.  Dorothy saw Manners.  The plan she conceived to bring about the desired end was so seemingly impossible, and her execution of it was so adroit and daring, that I believe it will of itself Interest you in the telling, aside from the bearing it has upon this history.  No sane man would have deemed it possible, but this wilful girl carried it to fruition.  She saw no chance of failure.  To her it seemed a simple, easy matter.  Therefore she said with confidence and truth, “I will see him when I wish to.”

Let me tell you of it.

During Dorothy’s imprisonment I spent an hour or two each evening with her and Madge at their parlor in the tower.  The windows of the room, as I have told you, faced westward, overlooking the Wye, and disclosed the beautiful, undulating scenery of Overhaddon Hill in the distance.

One afternoon when Madge was not present Dorothy asked me to bring her a complete suit of my garments,—­boots, hose, trunks, waistcoat, and doublet.  I laughed, and asked her what she wanted with them, but she refused to tell me.  She insisted, however, and I promised to fetch the garments to her.  Accordingly the next evening I delivered the bundle to her hands.  Within a week she returned them all, saving the boots.  Those she kept—­for what reason I could not guess.

Lady Crawford, by command of Sir George, carried in her reticule the key of the door which opened from her own room into Sir George’s apartments, and the door was always kept locked.

Dorothy had made several attempts to obtain possession of the key, with intent, I believe, of making a bold dash for liberty.  But Aunt Dorothy, mindful of Sir George’s wrath and fearing him above all men, acted faithfully her part of gaoler.  She smiled, half in sadness, when she told me of the girl’s simplicity in thinking she could hoodwink a person of Lady Crawford’s age, experience, and wisdom.  The old lady took great pride in her own acuteness.  The distasteful task of gaoler, however, pained good Aunt Dorothy, whose simplicity was, in truth, no match for Dorothy’s love-quickened cunning.  But Aunt Dorothy’s sense of duty and her fear of Sir George impelled her to keep good and conscientious guard.

One afternoon near the hour of sunset I knocked for admission at Lady Crawford’s door.  When I had entered she locked the door carefully after me, and replaced the key in the reticule which hung at her girdle.

I exchanged a few words with her Ladyship, and entered Dorothy’s bedroom, where I left my cloak, hat, and sword.  The girls were in the parlor.  When I left Lady Crawford she again took her chair near the candle, put on her great bone-rimmed spectacles, and was soon lost to the world in the pages of “Sir Philip de Comynges.”  The dear old lady was near-sighted and was slightly deaf.  Dorothy’s bedroom, like Lady Crawford’s apartments, was in deep shadow.  In it there was no candle.