“Certainly.”

“How long do you purpose to keep me in this place?”

“Until you, of your own free will, can utter three simple words.”

“And those words?”

“I love you.”

“Then,” she said, slowly, decisively, “I am doomed to remain here until death releases me.”

“Yes; the death of ambition.”

She turned from him with a bitter laugh, seating herself in a chair near the window.  Looking up into his face, she said, with maddening submission: 

“I presume your daily visits are to be a part of the torture I am to endure?”

His smile, as he shook his head in response, incensed her to the point of tears, and she was vastly relieved when he turned abruptly and left the apartment.  When the maid came in she found Miss Garrison asleep on the couch, her cheeks stained with tears.  Tired, despairing, angry, she had found forgetfulness for the while.  Sleep sat lightly upon her troubled brain, however, for the almost noiseless movements of the maid awakened her and she sat up with a start.

“Oh, it is you!” she said, after a moment.  “What is your name?’

“Baker, Miss.”

The captive sat on the edge of the couch and for many minutes watched, through narrow eyes, the movements of the servant.  A plan was growing in her brain, and she was contemplating the situation in a new and determined frame of mind.

“Baker,” she said, finally, “come here.”  The maid stood before her, attentively.

’’Would you like to earn a thousand pounds?” Without the faintest show of emotion, the least symptom of eagerness, Baker answered in the affirmative “Then you have but to serve me as I command, and the money is yours.”

“I have already been instructed to serve you, Miss.”

“I don’t mean for you to dress my hair and to fasten my gown and all that.  Get me out of this place and to my friends.  That is what I mean,” whispered Dorothy, eagerly.

“You want to buy me, Miss?’ said Baker, calmly.

“Not that, quite, Baker, but just—­”

“You will not think badly of me if I cannot listen to your offer, Miss?  I am to serve you here, and I want you to like me, but I cannot do what you would ask.  Pardon me if I speak plainly, but I cannot be bought.”  There was no mistaking the honest expression in the maid’s eyes.  “Lady Saxondale is my mistress, and I love her.  If she asks me to take you to your friends, I will obey.”

Dorothy’s lips parted and a look of incredulity grew in her eyes.  For a moment she stared with unconcealed wonder upon this unusual girl, and then wonder slowly changed to admiration.

“Would that all maids were as loyal, Baker.  Lady Saxondale trusts you and so shall I. But,” wonder again manifesting itself, “I cannot understand such fidelity.  Not for £5,000?”

“No, Miss; thank you,” respectfully and firmly.

“Ask Lady Saxondale if I may come to her.”