“That is well, child, that is well.  Once more you are my good, obedient daughter, and I love you.  Wear your sable cloak, Doll; the weather is very cold out of doors.”

Her father’s solicitude touched her nearly, and she gently led him to a secluded alcove near by, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him passionately.  The girl’s affection was sweet to the old man who had been without it so long, and his eyes grew moist as he returned her caresses.  Dorothy’s eyes also were filled with tears.  Her throat was choked with sobs, and her heart was sore with pain.  Poor young heart!  Poor old man!

Soon after Dorothy had spoken with her father she left the Hall by Dorothy’s Postern.  She was wrapped in her sable cloak—­the one that had saved John’s life in Aunt Dorothy’s room; but instead of going across the garden to the stile where Lord Leicester was waiting, which was north and east of the terrace, she sped southward down the terrace and did not stop till she reached the steps which led westward to the lower garden.  She stood on the terrace till she saw a man running toward her from the postern in the southwest corner of the lower garden.  Then down the steps she sped with winged feet, and outstretching her arms, fell upon the man’s breast, whispering:  “John, my love!  John, my love!”

As for the man—­well, during the first minute or two he wasted no time in speech.

When he spoke he said:—­

“We must not tarry here.  Horses are waiting at the south end of the footbridge.  Let us hasten away at once.”

Then happened the strangest of all the strange things I have had to record of this strange, fierce, tender, and at time almost half-savage girl.

Dorothy for months had longed for that moment.  Her heart had almost burst with joy when a new-born hope for it was suggested by the opportunities of the ball and her father’s desire touching my lord of Leicester.  But now that the longed-for moment was at hand, the tender heart, which had so anxiously awaited it, failed, and the girl broke down weeping hysterically.

“Oh, John, you have forgiven so many faults in me,” she said between sobs, “that I know you will forgive me when I tell you I cannot go with you to-night.  I thought I could and I so intended when I came out here to meet you.  But oh, John, my dearest love, I cannot go; I cannot go.  Another time I will go with you, John.  I promise that I will go with you soon, very soon, John; but I cannot go now, oh, I cannot.  You will forgive me, won’t you, John?  You will forgive me?”

“No,” cried John in no uncertain tones, “I will not forgive you.  I will take you.  If you cry out, I will silence you.”  Thereupon he rudely took the girl in his arms and ran with her toward the garden gate near the north end of the stone footbridge.

“John, John!” she cried in terror.  But he placed his hand over her mouth and forced her to remain silent till they were past the south wall.  Then he removed his hand and she screamed and struggled against him with all her might.  Strong as she was, her strength was no match for John’s, and her struggles were in vain.