“Alas, so you did, and a deal more!” I exclaimed.

With that she broke away from me and, getting to her feet, made me a low curtsey with the grace that was hers alone.

“You are my Lord and my King, sir,” she said, “and my rough Patriot squire, all in one.”

“Are you happy, Dolly?” I asked, tremulous from my own joy.

“I have never been happy in all my life before, Richard dear,” she said.

In truth, she was a being transformed, and more wondrous fair than ever.  And even then I pictured her in the brave gowns and jewels I would buy her when times were mended, when our dear country would be free.  All at once, ere I could draw a breath, she had stooped and kissed me ever so lightly on the forehead.

The door opened upon Aunt Lucy.  She had but to look at us, and her black face beamed at our blushes.  My lady threw her arms about her neck, and hid her face in the ample bosom.

“Now praise de good Lawd!” cried Mammy; “I knowed it dis longest time.  What’s I done tole you, Miss Dolly?  What’s I done tole you, honey?”

But my lady flew from the room.  Presently I heard the spinet playing softly, and the words of that air came out of my heart from long ago.

          “Love me little, love me long,
          Is the burthen of my song. 
          Love that is too hot and strong
          Burneth soon to waste. 
          Still, I would not have thee cold,
          Nor too backward, nor too bold. 
          Love that lasteth till ’tis old
          Fadeth not in haste.”

CHAPTER LVI

HOW GOOD CAME OUT OF EVIL

’Twas about candlelight when I awoke, and Dorothy was sitting alone beside me.  Her fingers were resting upon my arm, and she greeted me with a smile all tenderness.

“And does my Lord feel better after—­after his excitement to-day?” she asked.

“Dorothy, you have made me a whole man again.  I could walk to Windsor and back.”

“You must have your dinner, or your supper first, sir,” she answered gayly, “and do you rest quiet until I come back to feed you.  Oh, Richard dear,” she cried, “how delightful that you should be the helpless one, and dependent on me!”

As I lay listening for the rustle of her gown, the minutes dragged eternally.  Every word and gesture of the morning passed before my mind, and the touch of her lips still burned on my forehead.  At last, when I was getting fairly restless, the distant tones of a voice, deep and reverberating, smote upon my ear, jarring painfully some long-forgotten chord.  That voice belonged to but one man alive, and yet I could not name him.  Even as I strained, the tones drew nearer, and they were mixed with sweeter ones I knew well, and Dorothy’s mother’s voice.  Whilst I was still searching, the door opened, the voices fell calm, and Dorothy came in bearing a candle in each hand.  As she set them down on the table, I saw an agitation in her face, which she strove to hide as she addressed me.