Dorothy was saved the trouble of seeking her father, for at that moment he entered the room.

“You are welcome, father,” said Dorothy in cold, defiant tones.  “You have come just in time to see the last flickering flame of your fine marriage contract.”  She led him to the fireplace.  “Does it not make a beautiful smoke and blaze?”

“Did you dare—­”

“Ay, that I did,” replied Dorothy.

“You dared?” again asked her father, unable to believe the evidence of his eyes.

“Ay, so I said; that I did,” again said Dorothy.

“By the death of Christ—­” began Sir George.

“Now be careful, father, about your oaths,” the girl interrupted.  “You must not forget the last batch you made and broke.”

Dorothy’s words and manner maddened Sir George.  The expression of her whole person, from her feet to her hair, breathed defiance.  The poise of her body and of her limbs, the wild glint in her eyes, and the turn of her head, all told eloquently that Sir George had no chance to win and that Dorothy was an unconquerable foe.  It is a wonder he did not learn in that one moment that he could never bring his daughter to marry Lord Stanley.

“I will imprison you,” cried Sir George, gasping with rage.

“Very well,” responded Dorothy, smilingly.  “You kept me prisoner for a fortnight.  I did not ask you to liberate me.  I am ready to go back to my apartments.”

“But now you shall go to the dungeon,” her father said.

“Ah, the dungeon!” cried the girl, as if she were delighted at the thought.  “The dungeon!  Very well, again.  I am ready to go to the dungeon.  You may keep me there the remainder of my natural life.  I cannot prevent you from doing that, but you cannot force me to marry Lord Stanley.”

“I will starve you until you obey me!” retorted her father.  “I will starve you!”

“That, again, you may easily do, my dear father; but again I tell you I will never marry Stanley.  If you think I fear to die, try to kill me.  I do not fear death.  You have it not in your power to make me fear you or anything you can do.  You may kill me, but I thank God it requires my consent for my marriage to Stanley, and I swear before God that never shall be given.”

The girl’s terrible will and calm determination staggered Sir George, and by its force beat down even his strong will.  The infuriated old man wavered a moment and said:—­

“Fool, I seek only your happiness in this marriage.  Only your happiness.  Why will you not consent to it?”

I thought the battle was over, and that Dorothy was the victor.  She thought so, too, but was not great enough to bear her triumph silently.  She kept on talking and carried her attack too far.

“And I refuse to obey because of my happiness.  I refuse because I hate Lord Stanley, and because, as you already know, I love another man.”

When she spoke the words “because I love another man,” the cold, defiant expression of her face changed to one of ecstasy.