Sir George approached our little group, and when he saw Dorothy in John’s arms, he broke forth into oaths and stepped toward her intending to force her away.  But John held up the palm of his free hand warningly toward Sir George, and drawing the girl’s drooping form close to his breast he spoke calmly:—­

“Old man, if you but lay a finger on this girl, I will kill you where you stand.  No power on earth can save you.”

There was a tone in John’s voice that forced even Sir George to pause.  Then Sir George turned to me.

“This is the man who was in my house.  He is the man who called himself Thomas.  Do you know him?”

Dorothy saved me from the humiliation of an answer.

She took one step from John’s side and held him by the hand while she spoke.

“Father,” she said, “this man is Sir John Manners.  Now you may understand why he could not seek my hand openly, and you also know why I could not tell you his name.”  She again turned to John, and he put his arm about her.  You can imagine much better that I can describe Sir George’s fury.  He snatched a halberd from the hands of a yeoman who was standing near by and started toward John and Dorothy.  Thereupon the hard old warrior, Sir William St. Loe, whose heart one would surely say was the last place where sentiment could dwell, performed a little act of virtue which will balance many a page on the debtor side of his ledger of life, he lifted his sword and scabbard and struck Sir George’s outstretched hand, causing the halberd to fall to the ground.

“Don’t touch the girl,” cried Sir William, hoarsely.

“She is my daughter,” retorted Sir George, who was stunned mentally as well as physically by Sir William’s blow.

“I care not whose daughter she is,” returned Sir William.  “You shall not touch her.  If you make but one other attempt, I will use my blade upon you.”

Sir William and John had been warm friends at London court, and the old captain of the guards quickly guessed the true situation when he saw Dorothy run to John’s arms.

“Sir, you shall answer for this,” said Sir George, angrily, to Sir William.

“With pleasure,” returned Sir William.  “I will give you satisfaction whenever you wish it, save this present time.  I am too busy now.”

Blessed old Sir William!  You have been dead these many winters; and were I a priest, I would say a mass for your soul gratis every day in the year.

“Did the girl betray us?” asked Queen Mary.

No one answered her question.  Then she turned toward Sir John and touched him upon the shoulder.  He turned his face toward her, signifying that he was listening.

“Who is this girl?” Mary demanded.

“My sweetheart, my affianced wife,” John answered.

“She says she betrayed us,” the queen responded.

“Yes,” said John.

“Did you trust her with knowledge of our presence in Rutland?” Mary demanded angrily.