The rivers were in flood, but when Dorothy and I reached the ford, the girl did not stop to consider the danger ahead of her. I heard her whisper, "On, Dolcy, on," and I heard the sharp "whisp" of the whip as she struck the trembling, fearful mare, and urged her into the dark flood.

Dolcy hesitated, but Dorothy struck her again and again with the whip and softly cried, "On, Dolcy, on." Then mare and rider plunged into the swollen river, and I, of course, followed them. The water was so deep that our horses were compelled to swim, and when we reached the opposite side of the river we had drifted with the current a distance of at least three hundred yards below the road. We climbed the cliff by a sheep path. How Dorothy did it I do not know; and how I succeeded in following her I know even less. When we reached the top of the cliff, Dorothy started off at full gallop, leading the way, and again I followed. The sheep path leading up the river to the road followed close the edge of the cliff, where a false step by the horse would mean death to both horse and rider.

But Dorothy feared not, or knew not, the danger, and I caught her ever whispered cry,--"On, Dolcy, on; on, Dolcy, on." Ashamed to fall behind, yet fearing to ride at such a pace on such a path, I urged my horse forward. He was a fine, strong, mettlesome brute, and I succeeded in keeping the girl's dim form in sight. The moon, which was rapidly sinking westward, still gave us light through rifts in the black bank of floating clouds, else that ride over the sheep path by the cliff would have been our last journey in the flesh.

Soon we reached the main road turning southward. It was a series of rough rocks and mudholes, and Dorothy and Dolcy shot forward upon it with the speed of the tempest, to undo, if possible, the evil which a dozen words, untimely spoken, had wrought. I urged my horse until his head was close by Dolcy's tail, and ever and anon could I hear the whispered cry,--"On, Dolcy, on; on, Dolcy, sweet Dolcy, good Dolcy; on, my pet, on."

No word was spoken between Dorothy and me; but I could hear Dolcy panting with her mighty effort, and amid the noise of splashing water and the thud, thud, thud of our horses' hoofs came always back to me from Dorothy's lips the sad, sad cry, full of agony and longing,--"On, Dolcy, on; on Dolcy, on."

The road we took led us over steep hills and down through dark, shadow-crowded ravines; but up hill, down hill, and on the level the terrible girl before me plunged forward with unabated headlong fury until I thought surely the flesh of horse, man, and woman could endure the strain not one moment longer. But the horses, the woman, and--though I say it who should not--the man were of G.o.d's best handiwork, and the cords of our lives did not snap. One thought, and only one, held possession of the girl, and the matter of her own life or death had no place in her mind.

When we reached the cross-road where I was to leave her, we halted while I instructed Dorothy concerning the road she should follow from that point to Rutland, and directed her how to proceed when she should arrive at the castle gate. She eagerly listened for a moment or two, then grew impatient, and told me to hasten in my speech, since there was no time to lose. Then she fearlessly dashed away alone into the black night; and as I watched her fair form fade into the shadows, the haunting cry came faintly back to me,--"On, Dolcy, on; on, Dolcy on," and I was sick at heart. I was loath to leave her thus in the inky gloom. The moon had sunk for the night, and the clouds had banked up without a rift against the hidden stars; but I could give her no further help, and my life would pay the forfeit should I accompany her. She had brought the evil upon herself. She was the iron, the seed, the cloud, and the rain. She was fulfilling her destiny. She was doing that which she must do: nothing more, nothing less.

She was filling her little niche in the universal moment. She was a part of the infinite kaleidoscope--a fate-charged, fate-moved, fragile piece of gla.s.s which might be crushed to atoms in the twinkling of an eye, in the sounding of a trump.

After leaving Dorothy I rode across the country and soon overtook the yeoman guard whom I joined un.o.bserved. Then I marched with them, all too rapidly to suit me, to Rutland. The little army had travelled with greater speed than I had expected, and I soon began to fear that Dorothy would not reach Rutland Castle in time to enable its inmates to escape.

Within half an hour from the time I joined the yeomen we saw the dim outlines of the castle, and Sir William St. Loe gave the command to hurry forward. Cecil, Sir William, Sir George, and myself rode in advance of the column. As we approached the castle by the road leading directly to the gate from the north, I saw for a moment upon the top of the hill west of the castle gate the forms of Dorothy and Dolcy in dim silhouette against the sky. Then I saw them plunge madly down the hill toward the gate. I fancied I could hear the girl whispering in frenzied hoa.r.s.eness,--"On, Dolcy, on," and I thought I could catch the panting of the mare. At the foot of the hill, less than one hundred yards from the gate, poor Dolcy, unable to take another step, dropped to the ground. Dolcy had gone on to her death. She had filled her little niche in the universe and had died at her post Dorothy plunged forward over the mare's head, and a cry of alarm came from my lips despite me. I was sure the girl had been killed. She, however, instantly sprang to her feet. Her hair was flying behind her and she ran toward the gate crying: "John, John, fly for your life!" And then she fell p.r.o.ne upon the ground and did not rise.

We had all seen the mare fall, and had seen the girl run forward toward the gates and fall before reaching them. Cecil and Sir William rode to the spot where Dorothy lay, and dismounted.

In a moment Sir William called to Sir George:--

"The lady is your daughter, Mistress Dorothy."

"What in h.e.l.l's name brings her here?" cried Sir George, hurriedly riding forward, "and how came she?"

I followed speedily, and the piteous sight filled my eyes with tears. I cannot describe it adequately to you, though I shall see it vividly to the end of my days. Dorothy had received a slight wound upon the temple, and blood was trickling down her face upon her neck and ruff. Her hair had fallen from its fastenings. She had lost her hat, and her gown was torn in shreds and covered with mud. I lifted the half-conscious girl to her feet and supported her; then with my kerchief I bound up the wound upon her temple.

"Poor Dolcy," she said, almost incoherently, "I have killed her and I have failed--I have failed. Now I am ready to die. Would that I had died with Dolcy. Let me lie down here, Malcolm,--let me lie down."

I still held her in my arms and supported her half-fainting form.

"Why are you here?" demanded Sir George.

"To die," responded Dorothy.

"To die? d.a.m.ned nonsense!" returned her father.

"How came you here, you fool?"

"On Dolcy. She is dead," returned Dorothy.

"Were you not at Haddon when we left there?" asked her father.

"Yes," she replied.

"Did you pa.s.s us on the road?" he asked.

"How came you here?" Sir George insisted.

"Oh, I flew hither. I am a witch. Don't question me, father. I am in no temper to listen to you. I warn you once and for all, keep away from me; beware of me. I have a dagger in my bosom. Go and do the work you came to do; but remember this, father, if harm comes to him I will take my own life, and my blood shall be upon your soul."

"My G.o.d, Malcolm, what does she mean?" asked Sir George, touched with fear by the strength of his daughter's threat. "Has she lost her wits?"

"No," the girl quickly responded, "I have only just found them."

Sir George continued to question Dorothy, but he received no further response from her. She simply held up the palm of her hand warningly toward him, and the gesture was as eloquent as an oration. She leaned against me, and covered her face with her hands, while her form shook and trembled as if with a palsy.

Cecil and Sir William St. Loe then went toward the gate, and Sir George said to me:--

"I must go with them. You remain with Doll, and see that she is taken home. Procure a horse for her. If she is unable to ride, make a litter, or perhaps there is a coach in the castle; if so, take possession of it. Take her home by some means when we return. What, think you, could have brought her here?"

I evaded the question by replying, "I will probably be able to get a coach in the castle, Sir George. Leave Dorothy with me."

Soon, by the command of Sir William, the yeomen rode to the right and to the left for the purpose of surrounding the castle, and then I heard Cecil at the gates demanding:--

"Open in the name of the queen."

"Let us go to the gates," said Dorothy, "that we may hear what they say and see what they do. Will they kill him here, think you?" she asked, looking wildly into my face.

The flambeaux on the castle gate and those which the link-boys had brought with them from Haddon were lighted, and the scene in front of the gate was all aglow.

"No, no, my sweet one," I answered, "perhaps they will not kill him at all. Certainly they will not kill him now. They must try him first."

I tried to dissuade her from going to the gates, but she insisted, and I helped her to walk forward.

When Dorothy and I reached the gates, we found that Cecil and Lord Rutland were holding a consultation through the parley-window. The portcullis was still down, and the gates were closed; but soon the portcullis was raised, a postern was opened from within, and Sir William entered the castle with two score of the yeomen guards.

Sir George approached and again plied Dorothy with questions, but she would not speak. One would have thought from her att.i.tude that she was deaf and dumb. She seemed unconscious of her father's presence.

"She has lost her mind," said Sir George, in tones of deep trouble, "and I know not what to do."

"Leave her with me for a time, cousin. I am sure she will be better if we do not question her now."

Then Dorothy seemed to awaken. "Malcolm is right, father. Leave me for a time, I pray you."

Sir George left us, and waited with a party of yeomen a short distance from the gate for the return of Sir William with his prisoners.

Dorothy and I sat upon a stone bench, near the postern through which Sir William and the guardsmen had entered, but neither of us spoke.

After a long, weary time of waiting Sir William came out of the castle through the postern, and with him came Mary Stuart. My heart jumped when I saw her in the glare of the flambeaux, and the spirit of my dead love for her came begging admission to my heart. I cannot describe my sensations when I beheld her, but this I knew, that my love for her was dead past resurrection.

Following Mary came Lord Rutland, and immediately following his Lordship walked John. When he stepped through the postern, Dorothy sprang to her feet and ran to him with a cry, "John, John!"

He looked at her in surprise, and stepped toward her with evident intent to embrace her. His act was probably the result of an involuntary impulse, for he stopped before he reached the girl.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Sir George had gone at Sir William's request to arrange the guards for the return march.

Dorothy and John were standing within two yards of each other.