"Did not Madge give you my message?" I asked, interrupting her.

"Yes, but did you not force me away from him when, through my fault, he was almost at death's door?"

"Have your own way, Dorothy," I said. "There lives not, I hope, another woman in the world so unreasoning and perverse as you."

She tossed her head contemptuously and continued to comb her hair.

"How, suppose you," I asked, addressing Dorothy's back, as if I were seeking information, "how, suppose you, the Rutland people learned that John was confined in the Haddon dungeon, and how did they come by the keys?"

The girl turned for a moment, and a light came to her anger-clouded face as the rainbow steals across the blackened sky.

"Malcolm, Malcolm," she cried, and she ran to me with her bare arms outstretched.

"Did you liberate him?" she asked. "How did you get the keys?"

"I know nothing of it, Dorothy, nothing," I replied.

"Swear it, Malcolm, swear it," she said.

"I will swear to nothing," I said, unclasping her arms from my neck.

"Then I will kiss you," she answered, "for you are my dear good brother, and never so long as I live will I again doubt you."

But she did before long doubt me again, and with good cause.

Dorothy being in a gentle humor; I took advantage of the opportunity to warn her against betraying John's name to her father. I also told her to ask her father's forgiveness, and advised her to feign consent to the Stanley marriage. Matters had reached a point where some remedy, however desperate, must be applied.

Many persons, I fear, will condemn me for advising Dorothy to deceive her father; but what would you have had me do? Should I have told her to marry Stanley? Certainly not. Had I done so, my advice would have availed nothing. Should I have advised her to antagonize her father, thereby keeping alive his wrath, bringing trouble to herself and bitter regret to him? Certainly not. The only course left for me to advise was the least of three evils--a lie. Three evils must be very great indeed when a lie is the least of them. In the vast army of evils with which this world swarms the lie usually occupies a proud position in the front rank. But at times conditions arise when, coward-like, he slinks to the rear and evils greater than he take precedence. In such sad case I found Dorothy, and I sought help from my old enemy, the lie. Dorothy agreed with me and consented to do all in her power to deceive her father, and what she could not do to that end was not worth doing.

Dorothy was anxious about John's condition, and sent Jennie Faxton to Bowling Green, hoping a letter would be there for her. Jennie soon returned with a letter, and Dorothy once more was full of song, for John's letter told her that he was fairly well and that he would by some means see her soon again despite all opposition.

"At our next meeting, my fair mistress," John said in the letter, "you must be ready to come with me. I will wait no longer for you. In fairness to me and to yourself you shall not ask me to wait. I will accept no more excuses. You must come with me when next we meet."

"Ah, well," said Dorothy to Madge, "if I must go with him, I must. Why did he not talk in that fashion when we rode out together the last time? I like to be made to do what I want to do. He was foolish not to make me consent, or better still would it have been had he taken the reins of my horse and ridden off with me, with or against my will. I might have screamed, and I might have fought him, but I could not have hurt him, and he would have had his way, and--and," with a sigh, "I should have had my way."

After a brief pause devoted to thought, she continued:--

"If I were a man and were wooing a woman, I would first learn what she wanted to do and then--and then, by my word, I would make her do it."

I went from Dorothy's room to breakfast, where I found Sir George. I took my seat at the table and he said:--

"Who, in G.o.d's name, suppose you, could have taken the keys from my pillow?"

"Is there any one whom you suspect?" I asked for lack of anything else to say.

"I at first thought, of course, that Dorothy had taken them," he answered.

"But Madge would not lie, neither would my sister. Dorothy would not hesitate to lie herself blue in the face, but for some reason I believed her when she told me she knew nothing of the affair. Her words sounded like truth for once."

"I think, Sir George," said I, "you should have left off 'for once.'

Dorothy is not a liar. She has spoken falsely to you only because she fears you. I am sure that a lie is hateful to her."

"Malcolm, I wish I could have your faith," he responded. "By the way, Malcolm, have you ever seen the Earl of Leicester?"

"I saw him only once. He visited Scotland during the ceremonies at Queen Mary's return from France. I saw him once, and then but briefly. Why do you ask?"

"It is whispered among the servants," said Sir George, "that Leicester is at Chatsworth in disguise."

Chatsworth was the home of the Duke of Devonshire, and was but a short distance from Haddon. After Sir George spoke, I remembered the words of old Bess.

"Still, I do not know why you ask." I said.

"My reason is this," replied Sir George; "Dorothy declared the fellow was of n.o.ble blood. It is said that Leicester loves gallant adventure incognito. He fears her Majesty's jealousy if in such matters he acts openly. You remember the sad case of Mistress Robsart. I wonder what became of the girl? He made way with her in some murderous fashion, I am sure." Sir George remained in revery for a moment, and then the poor old man cried in tones of distress: "Malcolm, if that fellow whom I struck last night was Leicester, and if he has been trying his h.e.l.lish tricks on my Doll I--I should pity her; I should not abuse her. I may have been wrong. If he has wronged Doll--if he has wronged my girl, I will pursue him to the ends of the earth for vengeance. That is why I ask if you have ever seen the Earl of Leicester. Was the man who lay upon the floor last night Robert Dudley? If it were he, and if I had known it, I would have beaten him to death then and there. Poor Doll!"

Any one hearing the old man speak would easily have known that Doll was all that life held for him to love.

"I do not distinctly remember Leicester's face," I answered, "but since you speak of it, I believe there is a resemblance between him and the man we called Thomas. But even were it he, Sir George, you need have no fear for Dorothy. She of all women is able and willing to protect herself."

"I will go to Dorothy and ask her to tell me the truth. Come with me."

We again went to Dorothy's room. She had, since I last saw her, received the letter from John of which I have spoken, and when we entered her parlor where she and Madge were eating breakfast we found her very happy.

As a result she was willing and eager to act upon my advice.

She rose and turned toward her father.

"You told me, Doll, that the fellow was of n.o.ble blood. Did you speak the truth?"

"Yes, father, I spoke the truth. There is no n.o.bler blood in England than his, save that of our royal queen. In that you may believe me, father, for I speak the truth."

Sir George remained silent for a moment and then said:--

"If the man is he whom I believe him to be he can have no true purpose with you. Tell me, my child--the truth will bring no reproaches from me--tell me, has he misused you in any way?"

"No, father, before G.o.d, he has been a true gentleman to me."

The poor old man struggled for a moment with his emotions; then tears came to his eyes and he covered his face with his hands as he started to leave the room.

Dorothy ran to him and clasped her arms about his neck. Those two, father and child, were surely of one blood as shown in the storms of violence and tenderness by which their natures were alternately swept.

"Father, you may believe me; you do believe me," said Dorothy.

"Furthermore, I tell you that this man has treated me with all courtesy, nay, more: he has treated me with all the reverence he would have shown our queen."

"He can have no true purpose with you, Doll," said Sir George, who felt sure that Leicester was the man.

"But he has, father, a true purpose with me. He would make me his wife to-day would I consent."

"Why then does he not seek you openly?"

"That he cannot do," Dorothy responded hesitatingly.