green glass that closed the one loophole.  It grew and grew, and its growth was the approach of the grinning demon of shame.  The nearer a man can arrive to the knowledge of such feelings as hers is the conviction that he never can comprehend them.  The cruel light seemed gathering its strength to publish her shame to the universe.  Blameless as she was, she would have gladly accepted death in escape from the misery that every moment grew nearer.  Now and then a faint glimmer of comfort reached her in the thought that at least the escape of Richard, if he had escaped, was thus ensured, and that without any blame to her.  And perhaps mistress Watson would be merciful—­only she too had her obligations, and as housekeeper was severely responsible.  And even if she should prove pitiful, there was the locking of the door!  It followed so quickly, that some one must have seen her enter, and wittingly snared her, believing most likely that she was not alone in the chamber.

The terrible bolt at length slid back in the lock, gently, yet with tearing sound; mistress Watson entered, stood, stared.  Before her sat Dorothy by the side of the bedstead, in her dressing-gown, her hair about her neck, her face like the moon at sunrise, and her eyelids red and swollen with weeping.  She stood speechless, staring first at the disconsolate maiden, and then at the disorder of the room.  The prisoner was nowhere.  What her thoughts were, I must only imagine.  That she should stare and be bewildered, finding Dorothy where she had left Richard, was at least natural.

The moment Dorothy found herself face to face with her doom, her presence of mind returned.  The blood rushed from her heart to her brain.  She rose, and ere the astonished matron, who stood before her erect, high-nosed, and open-mouthed like Michael Angelo’s Clotho, could find utterance, said,

’Mistress Watson, I swear to you by the soul of my mother, that although all seeming is against me, W—­’

‘Where is the young rebel?’ interrupted mistress Watson sternly.

‘I know not,’ answered Dorothy.  ’When first I entered the chamber, he had already gone.’

‘And what then hadst thou to do entering it?’ asked the housekeeper, in a tone that did Dorothy good by angering her.

Mistress Watson was a kind soul in reality, but few natures can resist the debasing influence of a sudden sense of superiority.  Besides, was not the young gentlewoman in great wrong, and therefore before her must she not personify an awful Purity?

‘That I will tell to none but my lord marquis,’ answered Dorothy, with sudden resolve.

‘Oh, by all means, mistress! but an’ thou think to lead him by the nose while I be in Raglan,—­’

’Shall I inform his lordship in what high opinion his housekeeper holds him?’ said Dorothy.  ‘It seems to me he will hardly savour it.’

’It would be an ill turn to do me, but my lord marquis did never heed a tale-bearer.’