It was what I expected.  But the confirmation of it brought me to my feet in a torrent of indignation, exclaiming: 

“The villain!  You tell me he will allow Mr. Carvel to see no one?”

She started forward, laying her hand on my arm, and Dorothy gave a little cry.

“What are you saying, Richard?  What are you saying?”

“Mrs. Manners,” I answered, collecting myself, “I must tell you that I believe it is Grafton Carvel himself that is responsible for my abduction.  He meant that I should be murdered.”

Then Dorothy rose, her eyes flashing and her head high.

“He would have murdered you—­you, Richard?” she cried, in such a storm of anger as I had never seen her.  “Oh, he should hang for the thought of it!  I have always suspected Grafton Carvel capable of any crime!”

“Hush, Dorothy,” said her mother; “it is not seemly for a young girl to talk so.”

“Seemly!” said Dorothy.  “If I were a man I would bring him to justice, and it took me a lifetime.  Nay, if I were a man and could use a sword—­”

“Dorothy!  Dorothy!” interrupted Mrs. Manners.

Dorothy sat down, the light lingering in her eyes.  She had revealed more of herself in that instant than in all her life before.

“It is a grave charge, Richard,” said Mrs. Manners, at length.  “And your uncle is a man of the best standing in Annapolis.”

“You must remember his behaviour before my mother’s marriage, Mrs. Manners.”

“I do, I do, Richard,” she said sadly.  “And I have never trusted him since.  I suppose you are not making your accusation without cause?”

“I have cause enough,” I answered bitterly.

“And proof?” she added.  She should have been the man in her family.

I told her how Harvey had overheard the bits of the plot at Carvel Hall near two years gone; and now that I had begun, I was going through with Mr. Allen’s part in the conspiracy, when Dorothy startled us both by crying: 

“Oh, there is so much wickedness in the world, I wish I had never been born!”

She flung herself from the room in a passion of tears to shock me.  As if in answer to my troubled look, Mrs. Manners said, with a sigh: 

“She has not been at all well, lately, Richard.  I fear the gayety of this place is too much for her.  Indeed, I am sorry we ever left Maryland.”

I was greatly disturbed, and thought involuntarily of Comyn’s words.  Could it be that Mr. Manners was forcing her to marry Chartersea?

“And has Mr. Lloyd said nothing of my uncle?” I asked after a while.

“I will not deny that ugly rumours are afloat,” she answered.  “Grafton, as you know, is not liked in Annapolis, especially by the Patriot party.  But there is not the slightest ground for suspicion.  The messenger—­”

“Yes?”