“Shall I tell you another secret?” she continued, regarding him fixedly—­“if, indeed, it be a secret, for you must be sadly wanting in discernment if you have not found it out ere this.  She loves you.”

“Dorothy!” exclaimed Richard.

“I am sure of it,” she rejoined.  “But I would not tell you this, if I were not quite equally sure that you love her in return.”

“On my faith, Dorothy, you give yourself credit for wonderful penetration,” cried Richard.

“Not a whit more than I am entitled to,” she answered.  “Nay, it will not do to attempt concealment with me.  If I had not been certain of the matter before, your manner now would convince me.  I am very glad of it.  She will make a charming sister, and I shall he very fond of her.”

“How you do run on, madcap!” cried her brother, trying to look displeased, but totally failing in assuming the expression.

“Stranger things have come to pass,” said Dorothy; “and one reads in story-hooks of young nobles marrying village maidens in spite of parental opposition.  I dare say you will get nobody’s consent to the marriage but mine, Richard.”

“I dare say not,” he replied, rather blankly.

“That is, if she should not turn out to be somebody’s daughter,” pursued Dorothy; “somebody, I mean, quite as great as the heir of Middleton, which I make no doubt she will.”

“I hope she may,” replied Richard.

“Why, you don’t mean to say you wouldn’t marry her if she didn’t!” cried Dorothy.  “I’m ashamed of you, Richard.”

“It would remove all opposition, at all events,” said her brother.

“So it would,” said Dorothy; “and now I’ll tell you another notion of mine, Richard.  Somehow or other, it has come into my head that Alizon is the daughter of—­whom do you think?”

“Whom!” he cried.

“Guess,” she rejoined.

“I can’t,” he exclaimed, impatiently.

“Well, then, I’ll tell you without more ado,” she answered.  “Mind, it’s only my notion, and I’ve no precise grounds for it.  But, in my opinion, she’s the daughter of the lady who has just left the room.”

“Of Mistress Nutter!” ejaculated Richard, starting.  “What makes you think so?”

“The extraordinary and otherwise unaccountable interest she takes in her,” replied Dorothy.  “And, if you recollect, Mistress Nutter had an infant daughter who was lost in a strange manner.”

“I thought the child died,” replied Richard; “but it may be as you say.  I hope it is so.”

“Time will show,” said Dorothy; “but I have made up my mind about the matter.”

At this moment Nicholas Assheton came up to them, looking grave and uneasy.

“What has happened?” asked Richard, anxiously.

“I have just received some very unpleasant intelligence,” replied Nicholas.  “I told you of a menace uttered by that confounded Potts, on quitting me after his ducking.  He has now spoken out plainly, and declares he overheard part of a conversation between Mistress Nutter and Elizabeth Device, which took place in the ruins of the convent church this morning, and he is satisfied that—­”