I went back to Eagle Tower and stood at my window looking down the Wye, hoping soon to see Dorothy returning home.  I did not feel jealousy in the sense that a lover would feel it; but there was a pain in my heart, a mingling of grief, anger, and resentment because Dorothy had destroyed not only my faith in her, but, alas! my sweet, new-born faith in womankind.  Through her fault I had fallen again to my old, black belief that virtue was only another name for the lack of opportunity.  It is easy for a man who has never known virtue in woman to bear and forbear the lack of it; but when once he has known the priceless treasure, doubt becomes excruciating pain.

After an hour or two Dorothy and her servant appeared at the ford and took the path up the Wye toward Haddon.  Thomas was riding a short distance behind his accommodating mistress, and as they approached the Hall, I recognized something familiar in his figure.  At first, the feeling of recognition was indistinct, but when the riders drew near, something about the man—­his poise on the horse, a trick with the rein or a turn with his stirrup, I could not tell what it was—­startled me like a flash in the dark, and the word “John!” sprang to my lips.  The wonder of the thing drove out of my mind all power to think.  I could only feel happy, so I lay down upon my bed and soon dropped off to sleep.

When I awakened I was rapt in peace, for I had again found my treasured faith in womankind.  I had hardly dared include Madge in my backsliding, but I had come perilously near doing it, and the thought of my narrow escape from such perfidy frightened me.  I have never taken the risk since that day.  I would not believe the testimony of my own eyes against the evidence of my faith in Madge.

I knew that Thomas was Sir John Manners, and yet I did not know it certainly.  I determined, if possible, to remain in partial ignorance, hoping that I might with some small show of truth be able to plead ignorance should Sir George accuse me of bad faith in having failed to tell him of John’s presence in Haddon Hall.  That Sir George would sooner or later discover Thomas’s identity I had little doubt.  That he would kill him should he once have him in his power, I had no doubt at all.  Hence, although I had awakened in peace concerning Dorothy, you may understand that I awakened to trouble concerning John.

CHAPTER XI

THE COST MARK OF JOY

Peace had been restored between Dorothy and her father.  At least an armistice had been tacitly declared.  But, owing to Dorothy’s knowledge of her father’s intention that she should marry Lord Stanley, and because of Sir George’s feeling that Dorothy had determined to do nothing of the sort, the belligerent powers maintained a defensive attitude which rendered an absolute reconciliation impossible.  They were ready for war at a moment’s notice.