"John, John, speak to me; 'tis Dorothy." She placed her lips near his ear and whispered: "'Tis Dorothy, John. Speak to her." But she received no response. Then came a wild light to her eyes and she cried aloud: "John, 'tis Dorothy. Open your eyes. Speak to me, John! oh, for G.o.d's sake speak to me! Give some little sign that you live," but John was silent. "My G.o.d, my G.o.d! Help, help! Will no one help me save this man? See you not that his life is flowing away? This agony will kill me. John, my lover, my lord, speak to me. Ah, his heart, his heart! I will know." She tore from his breast the leathern doublet and placed her ear over his heart. "Thank G.o.d, it beats!" she cried in a frenzied whisper, as she kissed his breast and turned her ear again to hear his heart's welcome throbbing. Then she tried to lift him in her arms and succeeded in placing his head in her lap. It was a piteous scene. G.o.d save me from witnessing another like it.

After Dorothy lifted John's head to her lap he began to breathe perceptibly, and the girl's agitation pa.s.sed away as she gently stroked his hair and kissed him over and over again, softly whispering her love to his unresponsive ear in a gentle frenzy of ineffable tenderness such as was never before seen in this world, I do believe. I wish with all my heart that I were a maker of pictures so that I might draw for you the scene which is as clear and vivid in every detail to my eyes now as it was upon that awful day in Haddon Hall. There lay John upon the floor and by his side knelt Dorothy. His head was resting in her lap. Over them stood Sir George with the murderous f.a.got raised, as if he intended again to strike. I had sprung to his side and was standing by him, intending to fell him to the floor should he attempt to repeat the blow upon either Dorothy or John. Across from Sir George and me, that is, upon the opposite side of Dorothy and John, stood Lady Crawford and Madge, who clung to each other in terror. The silence was heavy, save when broken by Dorothy's sobs and whispered e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns to John. Sir George's terrible deed had deprived all of us, including himself, of the power to speak. I feared to move from his side lest he should strike again. After a long agony of silence he angrily threw the f.a.got away from him and asked:--

"Who is this fellow? Can any one tell me?"

Only Madge, Dorothy, and I could have given him true answer. By some strange power of divination Madge had learned all that had happened, and she knew as well as I the name of the man who lay upon the floor battling with death. Neither Madge nor I answered.

"Who is this fellow?" again demanded Sir George.

Dorothy lifted her face toward her father.

"He is the man whom you seek, father," she answered, in a low, tearful voice. "He is my lover; he is my life; he is my soul, and if you have murdered him in your attempt to kill your own child, all England shall hear of it and you shall hang. He is worth more in the eyes of the queen than we and all our kindred. You know not whom you have killed."

Sir George's act had sobered him.

"I did not intend to kill him--in that manner," said Sir George, dropping his words absent-mindedly. "I hoped to hang him. Where is Dawson? Some one fetch Dawson."

Several of the servants had gathered about the open door in the next room, and in obedience to Sir George's command one of them went to seek the forester. I feared that John would die from the effects of the blow; but I also knew from experience that a man's head may receive very hard knocks and life still remain. Should John recover and should Sir George learn his name, I was sure that my violent cousin would again attempt the personal administration of justice and would hang him, under the old Saxon law. In that event Parliament would not be so easily pacified as upon the occasion of the former hanging at Haddon; and I knew that if John should die by my cousin's hand, Sir George would pay for the act with his life and his estates. Fearing that Sir George might learn through Dawson of John's ident.i.ty, I started out in search of Will to have a word with him before he could see his master. I felt sure that for many reasons Will would be inclined to save John; but to what extent his fidelity to the cause of his master might counteract his resentment of Sir George's act, I did not know. I suspected that Dawson was privy to John's presence in Haddon Hall, but I was not sure of it, so I wished to prepare the forester for his interview with Sir George and to give him a hint of my plans for securing John's safety, in the event he should not die in Aunt Dorothy's room.

When I opened the door in the Northwest Tower I saw Dawson coming toward the Hall from the dove-cote, and I hastened forward to meet him. It was pitiful that so good a man as Sir George Vernon was, should have been surrounded in his own house by real friends who were also traitors. That was the condition of affairs in Haddon Hall, and I felt that I was the chief offender. The evil, however, was all of Sir George's making. Tyranny is the father of treason.

When I met Dawson I said: "Will, do you know who Tom-Tom is?"

The forester hesitated for a moment, and said, "Well, Sir Malcolm, I suppose he is Thomas--"

"No, no, Will, tell me the truth. Do you know that he is--or perhaps by this time I should say he was--Sir John Manners?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Was?" cried Will. "Great G.o.d! Has Sir George discovered--is he dead? If he is dead, it will be a sad day for Sir George and for Haddon Hall. Tell me quickly."

I at once knew Will Dawson was in the secret. I answered:--

"I hope he is not dead. Sir George attempted to strike Dorothy with a f.a.got, but Thomas stepped in front of her and received the blow. He is lying almost, if not quite, dead in Lady Crawford's room. Sir George knows nothing about him, save that he is Dorothy's lover. But should Thomas revive I feel sure my cousin will hang him in the morning unless steps are taken to prevent the deed."

"Sir Malcolm, if you will stand by me," said Dawson, "Sir George will not hang him."

"I certainly will stand by you, Dawson. Have no doubt on that score. Sir George intends to cast John into the dungeon, and should he do so I want you to send Jennie Faxton to Rutland and have her tell the Rutlanders to rescue John to-night. To-morrow morning I fear will be too late. Be on your guard, Will. Do not allow Sir George to discover that you have any feeling in this matter. Above all, lead him from the possibility of learning that Thomas is Sir John Manners. I will contrive to admit the Rutland men at midnight."

I hastened with Dawson back to the Hall, where we found the situation as I had left it. John's head was lying on Dorothy's lap, and she was trying to dress his wound with pieces of linen torn from her clothing. Sir George was pacing to and fro across the room, breaking forth at times in curses against Dorothy because of her relations with a servant.

When Dawson and I entered the room, Sir George spoke angrily to Will:--

"Who is this fellow? You employed him. Who is he?"

"He gave me his name as Thomas Thompson," returned Will, "and he brought me a favorable letter of recommendation from Danford."

Danford was forester to the Duke of Devonshire, and lived at Chatsworth.

"There was naught in the letter save that he was a good servant and an honest man. That is all we can ask of any man."

"But who is he?" again demanded Sir George.

"Your worship may perhaps learn from Danford more than I can tell you,"

replied the forester, adroitly avoiding a lie.

"Think of it, Malcolm," said Sir George, speaking to me. "Think of it. My daughter, my only child, seeks for her husband this low-born serving man.

I have always been sure that the fellow would prove to be such." Then he turned to Dawson: "Throw the fellow into the dungeon. If he lives till morning, I will have him hanged. To the dungeon with him."

Sir George waved his hand toward Dawson and Tom Welch, and then stepped aside. Will made an effort to hide his feelings, and without a word or gesture that could betray him, he and Welch lifted John to carry him away.

Then it was piteous to see Dorothy. She clung to John and begged that he might be left with her. Sir George violently thrust her away from John's side, but she, still upon her knees, grasped her father's hand and cried out in agony:--

"Father, let me remain with him. If you have ever felt love for me, and if my love for you has ever touched one tender spot in your heart, pity me now and leave this man with me, or let me go with him. I beg you, father; I plead; I implore. He may be dying. We know not. In this hour of my agony be merciful to me."

But Sir George rudely repulsed her and left the room, following Welch and Dawson, who bore John's unconscious form between them. Dorothy rose to her feet screaming and tried to follow John. I, fearing that in her frenzy of grief she might divulge John's name, caught her in my arms and detained her by force. She turned upon me savagely and struck me in her effort to escape. She called me traitor, villain, dog, but I lifted her in my arms and carried her struggling to her bedroom. I wanted to tell her of the plans which Dawson and I had made, but I feared to do so, lest she might in some way betray them, so I left her in the room with Lady Crawford and Madge. I told Lady Crawford to detain Dorothy at all hazards, and I whispered to Madge asking her to tell Dorothy that I would look to John's comfort and safety. I then hastily followed Sir George, Dawson, and Welch, and in a few moments I saw them leave John, bleeding and senseless, upon the dungeon floor. When Sir George's back was turned, Dawson by my orders brought the surgeon from the stable where he had been working with the horses. The surgeon bound up the wound in John's head and told me, to my great joy, that it was not fatal. Then he administered a reviving potion and soon consciousness returned. I whispered to John that Dawson and I would not forsake him, and, fearing discovery by Sir George, hurriedly left the dungeon.

I believe there is a certain amount of grief and sorrow which comes with every great joy to give it a cost mark whereby we may always know its value. The love between Dorothy and John indeed was marked in plain figures of high denominations.

CHAPTER XII

THE LEICESTER POSSIBILITY

On Leaving the dungeon I sought Madge, and after I had whispered a word to her from my heart I asked her to tell Dorothy the encouraging words of the surgeon, and also to tell her that she should not be angry with me until she was sure she had good cause. I dared not send a more explicit message, and I dared not go to Dorothy, for Sir George was in a suspicious mood and I feared ruin not only for myself but for John, should my violent cousin suspect me of sympathy with his daughter and her lover.

I also sought Aunt Dorothy and whispered a word to her of which you shall hear more presently.

"Ah, I cannot do it," cried the trembling old lady in response to my whispered request. "I cannot do it."

"But you must, Aunt Dorothy," I responded. "Upon it depend three lives: Sir George's, Dorothy's, and her lover's. You must do it."

"I will try," she replied.

"That a.s.surance will not suit me," I responded. "You must promise upon your salvation that you will not fail me."

"I promise upon my salvation," replied Aunt Dorothy.

That evening of course we did not see the ladies at supper. Sir George and I ate in silence until my cousin became talkative from drink. Then he spoke bitterly of Dorothy's conduct, and bore with emphasis upon the fact that the lover to whom Dorothy had stooped was a low-born serving man.

"But Dorothy declares he is n.o.ble," I responded.

"She has lied to me so often that I do not believe a word she says,"

returned Sir George.

He swore oath upon oath that the wretch should hang in the morning, and for the purpose of carrying into effect his intention he called in Joe the butcher and told him to make all things ready for the execution.