“How do you know who he was?”

“Jennie described him,” she said.

“How did she describe him?” I asked.

“She said he was—­he was the handsomest man in the world and—­and that he affected her so powerfully she fell in love with him in spite of herself.  The little devil, to dare!  You see that describes him perfectly.”

I laughed outright, and the girl blushed painfully.

“It does describe him,” she said petulantly.  “You know it does.  No one can gainsay that he is wonderfully, dangerously handsome.  I believe the woman does not live who could refrain from feasting her eyes on his noble beauty.  I wonder if I shall ever again—­again.”  Tears were in her voice and almost in her eyes.

“Dorothy!  My God, Dorothy!” I exclaimed in terror.

“Yes! yes!  My God, Dorothy!” she responded, covering her face with her hands and sighing deeply, as she dropped her head and left me.

Yes, yes, my God, Dorothy!  The helpless iron and the terrible loadstone! 
The passive seed!  The dissolving cloud and the falling rain!

Less than a week after the above conversation, Dorothy, Madge, and I were riding from Yulegrave Church up to the village of Overhaddon, which lies one mile across the hills from Haddon Hall.  My horse had cast a shoe, and we stopped at Faxton’s shop to have him shod.  The town well is in the middle of an open space called by the villagers “The Open,” around which are clustered the half-dozen houses and shops that constitute the village.  The girls were mounted, and I was standing beside them in front of the farrier’s, waiting for my horse.  Jennie Faxton, a wild, unkempt girl of sixteen, was standing in silent admiration near Dorothy.  Our backs were turned toward the well.  Suddenly a light came into Jennie’s face, and she plucked Dorothy by the skirt of her habit.

“Look, mistress, look!  Look there by the well!” said Jennie in a whisper.  Dorothy looked toward the well.  I also turned my head and beheld my friend, Sir John, holding a bucket of water for his horse to drink.  I had not seen him since we parted at The Peacock, and I did not show that I recognized him.  I feared to betray our friendship to the villagers.  They, however, did not know Sir John, and I need not have been so cautious.  But Dorothy and Madge were with me, and of course I dared not make any demonstration of acquaintanceship with the enemy of our house.

Dorothy watched John closely, and when he was ready to mount she struck her horse with the whip, and boldly rode to the well.

“May I ask you to give my mare water?” she said.

“Certainly.  Ah, I beg pardon.  I did not understand,” answered Sir John, confusedly.  John, the polished, self-poised courtier, felt the confusion of a country rustic in the presence of this wonderful girl, whose knowledge of life had been acquired within the precincts of Haddon Hall.  Yet the inexperienced girl was self-poised and unconfused, while the wits of the courtier, who had often calmly flattered the queen, had all gone wool-gathering.