I must be sadly lacking in those arts which please men, and I long to possess the beauty of the angels, and the fascinations of Satan that I may hold John, hold him, hold him, hold him.  That I may hold him so sure and fast that it will be impossible for him to break from me.  At times, I almost wish he were blind; then he could see no other woman.  Ah, am I not a wicked, selfish girl?  But I will not allow myself to become jealous.  He is all mine, isn’t he, Malcolm?” She spoke with nervous energy, and tears were ready to spring from her eyes.

“He is all yours, Dorothy,” I answered, “all yours, as surely as that death will some day come to all of us.  Promise me, Dorothy, that you will never again allow a jealous thought to enter your heart.  You have no cause for jealousy, nor will you ever have.  If you permit that hateful passion to take possession of you, it will bring ruin in its wake.”

“It was, indeed, foolish in me,” cried Dorothy, springing to her feet and clasping her hands tightly; “and I promise never again to feel jealousy.  Malcolm, its faintest touch tears and gnaws at my heart and racks me with agony.  But I will drive it out of me.  Under its influence I am not responsible for my acts.  It would quickly turn me mad.  I promise, oh, I swear, that I never will allow it to come to me again.”

Poor Dorothy’s time of madness was not far distant nor was the evil that was to follow in its wake.

John in writing to Dorothy concerning his journey to Scotland had unhesitatingly intrusted to her keeping his honor, and, unwittingly, his life.  It did not once occur to him that she could, under any conditions, betray him.  I trusted her as John did until I saw her vivid flash of burning jealousy.  But by the light of that flash I saw that should the girl, with or without reason, become convinced that Mary Stuart was her rival, she would quickly make Derbyshire the warmest locality in Christendom, and John’s life might pay the cost of her folly.  Dorothy would brook no rival—­no, not for a single hour.  Should she become jealous she would at once be swept beyond the influence of reason or the care for consequences.  It were safer to arouse a sleeping devil than Dorothy Vernon’s jealousy.  Now about the time of John’s journey to the Scottish border, two matters of importance arose at Haddon Hall.  One bore directly upon Dorothy, namely, the renewal by the Stanleys of their suit for her hand.  The other was the announcement by the queen that she would soon do Sir George Vernon the honor of spending a fortnight under the roof of Haddon Hall.  Each event was of great importance to the King of the Peak.  He had concluded that Thomas, the man-servant, was not the Earl of Leicester in disguise, and when the Earl of Derby again came forward with his marriage project, Sir George fell back into his old hardness toward Dorothy, and she prepared her armament, offensive and defensive, for instant use if need should arise.