A silence ensued during which Dorothy again turned her back on John and walked a few paces away from him. John's patience was rapidly oozing, and when the unknown intruder again turned in his direction, John said with all the gentleness then at his command:--

"Well, sir, I do ask."

"Your curiosity is flattering," said the girl.

"Pardon me, sir," returned John. "My curiosity is not intended to be flattering. I--"

"I hope it is not intended to be insulting, sir?" asked my hat and cloak.

"That, sir, all depends upon yourself," retorted John, warmly. Then after an instant of thought, he continued in tones of conciliation:--

"I have an engagement of a private nature at this place. In short, I hope to meet a--a friend here within a few minutes and I feel sure that under the circ.u.mstances so gallant a gentleman as yourself will act with due consideration for the feelings of another. I hope and believe that you will do as you would be done by."

"Certainly, certainly," responded the gallant. "I find no fault at all with your presence. Please take no account whatever of me. I a.s.sure you I shall not be in the least disturbed."

John was somewhat disconcerted.

"Perhaps you will not be disturbed," replied John, struggling to keep down his temper, "but I fear you do not understand me. I hope to meet a--a lady and--"

"I hope also to meet a--a friend," the fellow said; "but I a.s.sure you we shall in no way conflict."

"May I ask," queried John, "if you expect to meet a gentleman or a lady?"

"Certainly you may ask," was the girl's irritating reply.

"Well, well, sir, I do ask," said John. "Furthermore, I demand to know whom you expect to meet at this place."

"That, of course, sir, is no business of yours."

"But I shall make it my affair. I expect to meet a lady here, my sweetheart." The girl's heart jumped with joy. "And if you have any of the feelings of a gentleman, you must know that your presence will be intolerable to me."

"Perhaps it will be, my dear sir, but I have as good a right here as you or any other. If you must know all about my affairs, I tell you I, too, hope to meet my sweetheart at this place. In fact, I know I shall meet my sweetheart, and, my good fellow, I beg to inform you that a stranger's presence would be very annoying to me."

John was at his wit's end. He must quickly do or say something to persuade this stubborn fellow to leave. If Dorothy should come and see two persons at the gate she, of course, would return to the Hall. Jennie Faxton, who knew that the garments were finished, had told Sir John that he might reasonably expect to see Dorothy at the gate on that evening, for Sir George had gone to Derby-town, presumably to remain over night.

In sheer desperation John said, "I was here first, and I claim the ground."

"That is not true," replied the other. "I have been waiting here for you--I mean for the person I am to meet--" Dorothy thought she had betrayed herself, and that John would surely recognize her. "I had been waiting full five minutes before you arrived."

John's blindness in failing to recognize Dorothy is past my understanding.

He explained it to me afterward by saying that his eagerness to see Dorothy, and his fear, nay almost certainty, that she could not come, coupled with the hope which Jennie Faxton had given him, had so completely occupied his mind that other subjects received but slight consideration.

"But I--I have been here before this night to meet--"

"And I have been here to meet--quite as often as you, I hope," retorted Dorothy.

They say that love blinds a man. It must also have deafened John, since he did not recognize his sweetheart's voice.

"It may be true that you have been here before this evening," retorted John, angrily; "but you shall not remain here now. If you wish to save yourself trouble, leave at once. If you stalk about in the forest, I will run you through and leave you for the crows to pick."

"I have no intention of leaving, and if I were to do so you would regret it; by my beard, you would regret it," answered the girl, pleased to see John in his overbearing, commanding mood. His stupidity was past comprehension.

"Defend yourself," said John, drawing his sword.

"Now he will surely know the truth," thought Dorothy, but she said: "I am much younger than you, and am not so large and strong. I am unskilled in the use of a sword, and therefore am I no match for Sir John Manners than whom, I have heard, there is no better swordsman, stronger arm, nor braver heart in England."

"You flatter me, my friend," returned John, forced into a good humor against his will; "but you must leave. He who cannot defend himself must yield; it is the law of nature and of men."

John advanced toward Dorothy, who retreated stepping backward, holding her arm over her face.

"I am ready to yield if you wish. In fact, I am eager to yield--more eager than you can know," she cried.

"It is well," answered John, putting his sword in sheath.

"But," continued Dorothy, "I will not go away."

"Then you must fight," said John.

"I tell you again I am willing, nay, eager to yield to you, but I also tell you I cannot fight in the way you would have me. In other ways perhaps I can fight quite as well as anybody. But really, I am ashamed to draw my sword, since to do so would show you how poorly I am equipped to defend myself under your great laws of nature and of man. Again, I wish to a.s.sure you that I am more than eager to yield; but I cannot fight you, and I will not go away."

The wonder never ceases that John did not recognize her. She took no pains to hide her ident.i.ty, and after a few moments of concealment she was anxious that John should discover her under my garments.

"I would know his voice," she thought, "did he wear all the petticoats in Derbyshire."

"What shall I do with you?" cried John, amused and irritated. "I cannot strike you."

"No, of course you would not murder me in cold blood," answered Dorothy, laughing heartily. She was sure her laughter would open John's eyes.

"I cannot carry you away," said John.

"I would come back again, if you did," answered the irrepressible fellow.

"I suppose you would," returned John, sullenly. "In the devil's name, tell me what you will do. Can I not beg you to go?"

"Now, Sir John, you have touched me. I make you this offer: you expect Mistress Vernon to come from the Hall--"

"What do you know about Mistress Vernon?" cried John. "By G.o.d, I will--"

"Now don't grow angry, Sir John, and please don't swear in my presence.

You expect her, I say, to come from the Hall. What I propose is this: you shall stand by the gate and watch for Doll--oh, I mean Mistress Vernon--and I will stand here behind the wall where she cannot see me.

When she comes in sight--though in truth I don't think she will come, and I believe were she under your very nose you would not see her--you shall tell me and I will leave at once; that is, if you wish me to leave. After you see Dorothy Vernon if you still wish me to go, I pledge my faith no power can keep me. Now is not that fair? I like you very much, and I want to remain here, if you will permit me, and talk to you for a little time--till you see Doll Vernon."

"Doll Vernon, fellow? How dare you so speak of her?" demanded John, hotly.

"Your pardon and her pardon, I beg; Mistress Vernon, soon to be Countess of Derbyshire. By the way, I wager you a gold pound sterling that by the time you see Doll Vernon--Mistress Vernon, I pray your pardon--you will have grown so fond of me that you will not permit me to leave you." She thought after that speech he could not help but know her; but John's skull was like an oaken board that night. Nothing could penetrate it. He began to fancy that his companion was a simple witless person who had escaped from his keepers.

"Will you take the wager?" asked Dorothy.

"Nonsense!" was the only reply John deigned to give to so foolish a proposition.