Lady Crawford hastened to Dorothy’s room and returned to me in great agitation.

“Were you in the plot?” she demanded angrily.

“No more than were you, Lady Crawford,” I replied, telling the exact truth.  If I were accessory to Dorothy’s crime, it was only as a witness and Aunt Dorothy had seen as much as I.

I continued:  “Dorothy left Lady Madge and me at the window, saying she wished to make a change in her garments.  I was watching the sunset and talking with Lady Madge.”

Lady Crawford, being full of concern about the main event,—­Dorothy’s escape,—­was easily satisfied that I was not accessory before the fact.

“What shall I do, Malcolm?  What shall I do?  Help me, quickly.  My brother will return in the morning—­perhaps he will return to-night—­and he will not believe that I have not intentionally permitted Dorothy to leave the Hall.  I have of late said so much to him on behalf of the girl that he suspects me already of being in sympathy with her.  He will not believe me when I tell him that I have been duped.  The ungrateful, selfish girl!  How could she so unkindly return my affection!”

The old lady began to weep.

I did not believe that Dorothy intended to leave Haddon Hall permanently.  I felt confident she had gone out only to meet John, and was sure she would soon return.  On the strength of that opinion I said:  “If you fear that Sir George will not believe you—­he certainly will blame you—­would it not be better to admit Dorothy quietly when she returns and say nothing to any one concerning the escapade?  I will remain here in these rooms, and when she returns I will depart, and the guards will never suspect that Dorothy has left the Hall.”

“If she will but return,” wailed Aunt Dorothy, “I shall be only too glad to admit her and to keep silent.”

“I am sure she will,” I answered.  “Leave orders with the guard at Sir George’s door to admit me at any time during the night, and Dorothy will come in without being recognized.  Her disguise must be very complete if she could deceive you.”

“Indeed, her disguise is complete,” replied the tearful old lady.

Dorothy’s disguise was so complete and her resemblance to me had been so well contrived that she met with no opposition from the guards in the retainer’s room nor from the porter.  She walked out upon the terrace where she strolled for a short time.  Then she climbed over the wall at the stile back of the terrace and took her way up Bowling Green Hill toward the gate.  She sauntered leisurely until she was out of sight of the Hall.  Then gathering up her cloak and sword she sped along the steep path to the hill crest and thence to the gate.

Soon after the first day of her imprisonment she had sent a letter to John by the hand of Jennie Faxton, acquainting him with the details of all that had happened.  In her letter, among much else, she said:—­