“You once told me, Sir George—­you remember our interview at The Peacock—­that if you should ever again order me to leave Haddon, I should tell you to go to the devil.  I now take advantage of your kind permission, and will also say farewell.”

I kissed Aunt Dorothy’s cheek, took my leave, and sought Cecil, from whom I obtained a passport to France.  Then I asked Dawson to fetch my horse.

I longed to see Madge before I left Haddon, but I knew that my desire could not be gratified; so I determined to stop at Rowsley and send back a letter to her which Dawson undertook to deliver.  In my letter I would ask Madge’s permission to return for her from France and to take her home with me as my wife.  After I had despatched my letter I would wait at The Peacock for an answer.

Sore at heart, I bade good-by to Dawson, mounted my horse, and turned his head toward the Dove-cote Gate.  As I rode under Dorothy’s window she was sitting there.  The casement was open, for the day was mild, although the season was little past midwinter.  I heard her call to Madge, and then she called to me:—­

“Farewell, Malcolm!  Forgive me for what I said to you in the dungeon.  I was wrong, as usual.  Forgive me, and God bless you.  Farewell!”

While Dorothy was speaking, and before I replied, Madge came to the open casement and called:—­

“Wait for me, Malcolm, I am going down to you.”

Great joy is a wonderful purifier, and Madge’s cry finished the work of the past few months and made a good man of me, who all my life before had known little else than evil.

Soon Madge’s horse was led by a groom to the mounting block, and in a few minutes she emerged gropingly from the great door of Entrance Tower.  Dorothy was again a prisoner in her rooms and could not come down to bid me farewell.  Madge mounted, and the groom led her horse to me and placed the reins in my hands.

“Is it you, Malcolm?” asked Madge.

“Yes,” I responded, in a voice husky with emotion.  “I cannot thank you enough for coming to say farewell.  You have forgiven me?”

“Yes,” responded Madge, almost in tears, “but I have not come to say farewell.”

I did not understand her meaning.

“Are you going to ride part of the way with me—­perhaps to Rowsley?” I asked, hardly daring to hope for so much.

“To France, Malcolm, if you wish to take me,” she responded murmuringly.

For a little time I could not feel the happiness that had come upon me in so great a flood.  But when I had collected my scattered senses, I said:—­

“I thank God that He has turned your heart again to me.  May I feel His righteous anger if ever I give you cause to regret the step you are taking.”

“I shall never regret it, Malcolm,” she answered softly, as she held out her hand to me.

Then we rode by the dove-cote, out from Haddon Hall, never to see its walls again.