"I could not hate you if I would," he replied, with quick-coming breath, "and G.o.d knows I would not. To love you is the sweetest joy in life," and he softly kissed the great l.u.s.trous eyes till they closed as if in sleep.

Then he fiercely sought the rich red lips, waiting soft and pa.s.sive for his caresses, while the fair head fell back upon the bend of his elbow in a languorous, half-conscious sweet surrender to his will. Lord Rutland and I had turned our backs on the shameless pair, and were busily discussing the prospect for the coming season's crops.

Remember, please, that Dorothy spoke to John of Jennie Faxton. Her doing so soon bore bitter fruit for me.

Dorothy had been too busy with John to notice any one else, but he soon presented her to his father. After the old lord had gallantly kissed her hand, she turned scornfully to me and said:--

"So you fell a victim to her wanton wiles? If it were not for Madge's sake, I could wish you might hang."

"You need not balk your kindly desire for Madge's sake," I answered. "She cares little about my fate. I fear she will never forgive me."

"One cannot tell what a woman will do," Dorothy replied. "She is apt to make a great fool of herself when it comes to forgiving the man she loves."

"Men at times have something to forgive," I retorted, looking with a smile toward John. The girl made no reply, but took John's hand and looked at him as if to say, "John, please don't let this horrid man abuse me."

"But Madge no longer cares for me," I continued, wishing to talk upon the theme, "and your words do not apply to her."

The girl turned her back disdainfully on me and said, "You seem to be quite as easily duped by the woman who loves you and says she doesn't as by the one who does not care for you but says she does."

"d.a.m.n that girl's tongue!" thought I; but her words, though biting, carried joy to my heart and light to my soul.

After exchanging a few words with Lord Rutland, Dorothy turned to John and said:--

"Tell me upon your knightly honor, John, do you know aught of a wicked, treasonable plot to put the Scottish woman on the English throne?"

I quickly placed my finger on my lips and touched my ear to indicate that their words would be overheard; for a listening-tube connected the dungeon with Sir George's closet.

"Before the holy G.o.d, upon my knighthood, by the sacred love we bear each other, I swear I know of no such plot," answered John. "I would be the first to tell our good queen did I suspect its existence."

Dorothy and John continued talking upon the subject of the plot, but were soon interrupted by a warning knock upon the dungeon door.

Lord Rutland, whose heart was like twenty-two carat gold, soft, pure, and precious, kissed Dorothy's hand when she was about to leave, and said: "Dear lady, grieve not for our sake. I can easily see that more pain has come to you than to us. I thank you for the great fearless love you bear my son. It has brought him trouble, but it is worth its cost. You have my forgiveness freely, and I pray G.o.d's choicest benediction may be with you." She kissed the old lord and said, "I hope some day to make you love me."

"That will be an easy task," said his Lordship, gallantly. Dorothy was about to leave. Just at the doorway she remembered the chief purpose of her visit; so she ran back to John, put her hand over his mouth to insure silence, and whispered in his ear.

On hearing Dorothy's whispered words, signs of joy were so apparent in John's face that they could not be mistaken. He said nothing, but kissed her hand and she hurriedly left the dungeon.

After the dungeon door closed upon Dorothy, John went to his father and whispered a few words to him. Then he came to me, and in the same secretive manner said:--

"The queen has promised Dorothy our liberty." I was not at all sure that "our liberty" included me,--I greatly doubted it,--but I was glad for the sake of my friends, and, in truth, cared little for myself.

Dorothy went from our dungeon to the queen, and that afternoon, according to promise, Elizabeth gave orders for the release of John and his father.

Sir George, of course, was greatly chagrined when his enemies slipped from his grasp; but he dared not show his ill humor in the presence of the queen nor to any one who would be apt to enlighten her Majesty on the subject.

Dorothy did not know the hour when her lover would leave Haddon; but she sat patiently at her window till at last John and Lord Rutland appeared.

She called to Madge, telling her of the joyous event, and Madge, asked:--

"Is Malcolm with them?"

"No," replied Dorothy, "he has been left in the dungeon, where he deserves to remain."

After a short pause, Madge said:--

"If John had acted toward the Scottish queen as Malcolm did, would you forgive him?"

"Yes, of course. I would forgive him anything."

"Then why shall we not forgive Malcolm?" asked Madge.

"Because he is not John," was the absurd reply.

"No," said Madge, promptly; "but he is 'John' to me."

"That is true," responded Dorothy, "and I will forgive him if you will."

"I don't believe it makes much difference to Malcolm whether or not you forgive him," said Madge, who was provoked at Dorothy's condescending offer. "My forgiveness, I hope, is what he desires."

"That is true, Madge," replied Dorothy, laughingly; "but may not I, also, forgive him?"

"If you choose," responded Madge, quietly; "as for me, I know not what I wish to do."

You remember that Dorothy during her visit to the dungeon spoke of Jennie Faxton. The girl's name reached Sir George's ear through the listening-tube and she was at once brought in and put to the question.

Jennie, contrary to her wont, became frightened and told all she knew concerning John and Dorothy, including my part in their affairs. In Sir George's mind, my bad faith to him was a greater crime than my treason to Elizabeth, and he at once went to the queen with his tale of woe.

Elizabeth, the most sentimental of women, had heard from Dorothy the story of her tempestuous love, and also of mine, and the queen was greatly interested in the situation.

I will try to be brief.

Through the influence of Dorothy and Madge, as I afterward learned, and by the help of a good word from Cecil, the queen was induced to order my liberation on condition that I should thenceforth reside in France. So one morning, three days after John's departure from Haddon, I was overjoyed to hear the words, "You are free."

I did not know that Jennie Faxton had given Sir George her large stock of disturbing information concerning my connection with the affairs of Dorothy and John. So when I left the dungeon, I, supposing that my stormy cousin would be glad to forgive me if Queen Elizabeth would, sought and found him in Aunt Dorothy's room. Lady Crawford and Sir George were sitting near the fire and Madge was standing near the door in the next room beyond. When I entered, Sir George sprang to his feet and cried out angrily:--

"You traitorous dog, the queen has seen fit to liberate you, and I cannot interfere with her orders; but if you do not leave my Hall at once I shall set the hounds on you. Your effects will be sent to The Peac.o.c.k, and the sooner you quit England the safer you will be." There was of course nothing for me to do but to go.

"You once told me, Sir George--you remember our interview at The Peac.o.c.k--that if you should ever again order me to leave Haddon, I should tell you to go to the devil. I now take advantage of your kind permission, and will also say farewell."

I kissed Aunt Dorothy's cheek, took my leave, and sought Cecil, from whom I obtained a pa.s.sport to France. Then I asked Dawson to fetch my horse.

I longed to see Madge before I left Haddon, but I knew that my desire could not be gratified; so I determined to stop at Rowsley and send back a letter to her which Dawson undertook to deliver. In my letter I would ask Madge's permission to return for her from France and to take her home with me as my wife. After I had despatched my letter I would wait at The Peac.o.c.k for an answer.

Sore at heart, I bade good-by to Dawson, mounted my horse, and turned his head toward the Dove-cote Gate. As I rode under Dorothy's window she was sitting there. The cas.e.m.e.nt was open, for the day was mild, although the season was little past midwinter. I heard her call to Madge, and then she called to me:--

"Farewell, Malcolm! Forgive me for what I said to you in the dungeon. I was wrong, as usual. Forgive me, and G.o.d bless you. Farewell!"

While Dorothy was speaking, and before I replied, Madge came to the open cas.e.m.e.nt and called:--

"Wait for me, Malcolm, I am going down to you."

Great joy is a wonderful purifier, and Madge's cry finished the work of the past few months and made a good man of me, who all my life before had known little else than evil.