“Come to your apartments, Dorothy,” said Lady Crawford, anxious to separate the belligerents.  “I have given your father my word of honor that I will guard you and will keep you prisoner in your rooms.  Do you not pity me?  I gave my promise only to save you from the dungeon, and painful as the task will be, I will keep my word to your father.”

“Which shall it be, father?” asked Dorothy.  “You shall finish the task you began.  I shall not help you in your good work by making choice.  You shall choose my place of imprisonment.  Where shall it be?  Shall I go to my rooms or to the dungeon?”

“Go to your rooms,” answered Sir George, “and let me never see—­” but Sir George did not finish the sentence.  He hurriedly left the hall, and Dorothy cheerfully went to imprisonment in Entrance Tower.

CHAPTER VIII

Malcolm No. 2

Sir George had done a bad day’s work.  He had hardened Dorothy’s heart against himself and had made it more tender toward John.  Since her father had treated her so cruelly, she felt she was at liberty to give her heart to John without stint.  So when once she was alone in her room the flood-gates of her heart were opened, and she poured forth the ineffable tenderness and the passionate longings with which she was filled.  With solitude came the memory of John’s words and John’s kisses.  She recalled every movement, every word, every tone, every sensation.  She gave her soul unbridled license to feast with joyous ecstasy upon the thrilling memories.  All thoughts of her father’s cruelty were drowned in a sea of bliss.  She forgot him.  In truth, she forgot everything but her love and her lover.  That evening, after she had assisted Madge to prepare for bed, as was her custom, Dorothy stood before her mirror making her toilet for the night.  In the flood of her newly found ecstasy she soon forgot that Madge was in the room.

Dorothy stood before her mirror with her face near to its polished surface, that she might scrutinize every feature, and, if possible, verify John’s words.

“He called me ‘my beauty’ twice,” she thought, “and ‘my Aphrodite’ once.”  Then her thoughts grew into unconscious words, and she spoke aloud:—­

“I wish he could see me now.”  And she blushed at the thought, as she should have done.  “He acted as if he meant all he said,” she thought.  “I know he meant it.  I trust him entirely.  But if he should change?  Holy Mother, I believe I should die.  But I do believe him.  He would not lie, even though he is not a Vernon.”