MISTRESS DOROTHY 
 
 of 
 HADDON HALL
 
 MISTRESS DOROTHY 
 of HADDON HALL 
 
 BEING the TRUE LOPE STORT of 
 
 DOROTHY VERNON^HADDON HALL 
 By HENRT HASTINGS 
 
 R. F. FENNO fcf COMPANY 
 
 9 and 1 1 East Sixteenth Street, New York 
 
 1902
 
 Copyright, 1901, by 
 
 Jl. F- FjENNO & COMFANT 
 
 Miiirin Dtrttbf of Haddtn Hall
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A LOVE SCENE AND A PROPHECY, . 7 
 
 II. THE BETROTHAL FEAST 17 
 
 III. DOROTHY VERNON, .... 25 
 
 IV. A DUEL TO THE DEATH, ... 33 
 V. MADGE UTTERS A WARNING, . . 41 
 
 VI. DAWSON BRINGS BAD NEWS, ... 49 
 
 VII. A LOWLY DIPLOMATIST, . . . 56 
 
 VIII. IN DARLEY DALE, 63 
 
 IX. AT THE WOODMAN'S HUT, ... 71 
 
 X. DOROTHY'S DESPAIR, . . . .83 
 
 XI. TRAPPED, 91 
 
 XII. IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH, . . . 101 
 
 XIII. THE PROSPECT DARKENS, . . . 112 
 
 XIV. THE MIRACLE, ...... 124 
 
 XV. A BOLD MOVE 132 
 
 XVI. THE DARKENING OF THE SUN, . . 137 
 
 2136190
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII. A BARBED SHAFT, . ... 144 
 
 XVIII. BETTER THAN THE PHYSICIAN, . .155 
 
 XIX. MOVE AND COUNTERMOVE. . . . 1 66 
 
 XX. DlABOLO, . 176 
 
 XXI. THE MEETING AT THE HAZEL COPSE, . 187 
 
 XXII. ON THE BRINK, ..... 200 
 
 XXIII. THE TRYST, . ... . . 208 
 
 XXIV. STOLEN MEETINGS 219 
 
 XXV. ANOTHER AFFAIR OF HONOR, . . 230 
 
 XXVI. THE TIDE OF FATE, 245 
 
 XXVII. THE SEAL OF COMPACT, ... 251 
 
 XXVIII. COUNTERPLOTS, 255 
 
 XXIX. A PRISONER 268 
 
 XXX. A BID FOR FREEDOM, .... 277 
 
 XXXI. TRIUMPH, 286
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LOVE SCENE AND A PROPHECY. 
 
 " Dreaming again, Doll? " 
 
 The sudden question breaking into her rev- 
 erie caused Dorothy Vernon to start and red- 
 den as she turned a pair of bewitching eyes to- 
 wards her sister Margaret, who sat beside her 
 on the lawn of the beautifully terraced garden 
 of Haddon Hall one fine spring day in the 
 early years of Queen Elizabeth's reign. 
 
 "Dreaming!" echoed Dorothy. "What 
 have I to dream about, Madge? " 
 
 " Now, Doll, don't try to deceive me. What 
 pretty girl of eighteen doesn't dream of lovers 
 and love-making? " 
 
 Dorothy sighed. " I suppose some day," 
 she said with obvious prevarication, " when 
 you are a happy bride I shall have to decide on 
 a partner, but till then I shall be fancy free. 
 I'm only a girl yet." 
 
 " What about Sir Falconer Bracebridge?" 
 said Margaret slyly.
 
 8 
 
 A slight shudder passed over Dorothy, and 
 her beautiful face grew pale. She made no 
 reply, but bent over the book she held in her 
 lap. 
 
 " You do not seem to like Sir Falconer, sis- 
 ter." Margaret had noticed the coldness with 
 which Dorothy had received her playful refer- 
 ence to Sir Falconer Bracebridge. " I cannot 
 understand why you should shudder at the 
 idea of so goodly a gentleman for a lover and 
 husband. You know our father's wish a wish 
 shared by Lady Vernon that you should ac- 
 cept his attentions/ 
 
 Poor Dorothy was hurt, for her sister spoke 
 sternly, and almost harshly, to her. 
 
 " Oh, Madge," she said, throwing herself at 
 her sister's feet, and hiding her face in her lap, 
 " bear with me a little. I know my father's 
 wish, but, oh, Madge, I do not trust Sir Fal- 
 coner ; I do not like him. Be considerate with 
 me, Madge." 
 
 Margaret Vernon was touched by her sister's 
 pleading tones. " There, there, my pretty 
 dove," she said soothingly. " I but reminded 
 you of your duty to our parents, but do not 
 think any more about it now." 
 
 Doll was soothed, and the reconciliation had
 
 just been cemented by a kiss, when Margaret 
 excitedly whispered: 
 
 " Loose me, dear, quick ! Here is Sir 
 Thomas Stanley." 
 
 Dorothy sprang to her feet, pushed back a 
 rebellious lock of hair, while her sister ran for- 
 ward eagerly to greet a young man attired in 
 the height of fashion, who was descending the 
 broad flight of steps that led from the upper 
 terrace. 
 
 Margaret suddenly stopped in the middle of 
 the lawn, as if she had remembered suddenly 
 that this eagerness she had displayed was not 
 altogether maidenly, and an almost triumphant 
 smile flickered stealthily round the young 
 man's lips as he doffed his plumed hat, and 
 kissed the Lady Margaret's hand with all the 
 grace of a courtier. Sir Thomas Stanley was 
 the second son of the Earl of Derby, and a 
 favorite with both Sir George and Lady Ver- 
 non. There was no doubt he was deeply smit- 
 ten with the charms of Margaret, but what 
 Margaret thought of him was a question which 
 puzzled the young man sorely. 
 
 " What ails sweet Mistress Dorothy that she 
 turns her back upon me? " said the young 
 man when the formalities of greeting her sis- 
 ter Margaret were over.
 
 10 
 
 " Oh," explained Margaret, " we were just 
 making up the tiniest of quarrels when you 
 appeared, and we'll appoint you to judge be- 
 tween us. The fact is Sir Falconer Brace- 
 bridge " 
 
 Dorothy's eyes flashed fire. " I don't want 
 to hear his name again," she said petulantly, 
 stamping her foot prettily. 
 
 " He sighs thus and thus," continued Mar- 
 garet, heaving huge sighs, not heeding the in- 
 terruption, " and Dorothy is cruel." 
 
 An arch light flashed into Dorothy's eyes as 
 her sister mimicked Sir Falconer. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Thomas, he is not the only one 
 who sighs thus and thus," echoed Dorothy. 
 ' You don't know how my sister loves you. 
 Night and day she sighs for you ; she talks of 
 you in her sleep. Look at the scarlet in her 
 face; look in her eyes and read your fate. 
 Good-by. Two's company," she cried, almost 
 dancing away in mischievous delight, and 
 blowing a kiss as she made for a flight of steps 
 which led to the River Wye. 
 
 Margaret's face burned, and her heart palpi- 
 tated like a startled fawn's as Sir Thomas came 
 up to her, and took her hand. Her eyes fell 
 before the ardent look in her lover's as he 
 said:
 
 II 
 
 " Dorothy spoke the truth, then, and you 
 really love me? " 
 
 Not a word fell from Margaret's lips, but a 
 vivid blush rose to her cheeks, and she swayed 
 slightly towards the gallant young cavalier, 
 who was watching her every movement as if 
 his life depended on his intentness. 
 
 " It is true, then, darling? " he continued, 
 drawing her gently towards him. 
 
 "Yes," she breathed softly. 
 
 " And you will be my wife? " 
 
 " Yes, lord of my heart, whenever you will." 
 
 He threw his arms about her, and their lips 
 met. 
 
 A little warning cough made them start 
 apart, and, turning, they beheld Dorothy smil- 
 ing roguishly, and accompanied by a gaunt, 
 weird-looking old woman, the chief feature of 
 whose swarthy face was a pair of dark, gleam- 
 ing eyes, which when they rested on you 
 seemed to pierce into your very soul. 
 
 Dorothy had met the weird figure by the 
 servants' gate, and, learning that she was a 
 seer of the future, had resolved that the wom- 
 an should read the fortune of the lovers in the 
 upper garden. She bade the woman follow 
 her, and on the way thither learned that her 
 companion was an Arabian, and that she was
 
 u 
 
 called Jedaan the Prophetess by the country 
 people. And so they arrived on the scene just 
 as the lovers were plighting their troth. 
 
 Nor were Dorothy Vernon and her strange 
 companion alone in breaking in on the love 
 scene, for the Lady Matilda Vernon had also 
 been an unwilling witness, and was even now 
 descending the steps to the lawn. 
 
 The stepmother of the two girls extended 
 her hand to Sir Thomas, glanced inquiringly 
 at Margaret, and, turning to Dorothy, she said 
 severely : 
 
 " And who is this you have brought here? " 
 
 " A prophetess, mother," answered Dorothy 
 merrily. 
 
 " A prophetess ! " exclaimed the lady scorn- 
 fully. " An impostor, a cheat. Go hence, 
 woman," turning to Jedaan. " Your looks 
 make me shiver." 
 
 A gleam of fire shot from Jedaan's eyes. 
 " No more an impostor than you," she re- 
 torted. 
 
 The haughty Lady of Haddon uttered a cry 
 of horror at being thus addressed by a wan- 
 dering fortune-teller, and Sir Thomas was 
 about to rebuke Jedaan, when Dorothy's soft 
 voice interposed: 
 
 " My lady mother," she interposed, " I am
 
 13 
 
 responsible for this woman being here, and I 
 should like if you would let me put her claims 
 to the test. Here, Jedaan," she continued be- 
 fore her stepmother could speak, " look at my 
 hand and tell me what the future holds for 
 me." 
 
 Jedaan took the little white hand gently be- 
 tween her own brown ones, and thoughtfully 
 gazed at it for a few moments. 
 
 " I see strange things in this hand," said the 
 woman at length. " You will marry, but he 
 whom you will marry will be none of your 
 father's choosing. He will come like a thief 
 in the night, and his coming shall change the 
 fortunes of this house, for the Vernons shall 
 know it no more, and he who rules now shall 
 be the last Lord of Hadden." 
 
 Dorothy drew her imprisoned hand hastily 
 away, and her face flushed, and then grew 
 deathly pale as the meaning of the last ominous 
 words dawned on her mind. 
 
 Lady Vernon started forward, as if she her- 
 self would strike the woman dead at her feet, 
 but Margaret with a contemptuous laugh 
 stepped between her stepmother and the 
 prophetess. 
 
 " Here, witch of the evil tongue,' she said,
 
 14 
 
 " see if you can come nearer the truth in my 
 case." 
 
 Jedaan caught Margaret's hand, and peered 
 intently at it as in Dorothy's case. She opened 
 her mouth as if to speak, but on second thought 
 she let the hand fall. " I cannot read your 
 fate," she said, almost sorrowfully. 
 
 " A mere trick of your craft," cried Mar- 
 garet angrily. " I insist on hearing what you 
 see in my hand." 
 
 " Do not blame me, then. You have a lover, 
 and you will become his wife. With him you 
 will cross the sea, but " 
 
 " But what? " 
 
 " You will have it, then? Tis written in the 
 book of fate that you shall die within a year of 
 your wedding." 
 
 With such grim conviction were the terrible 
 words uttered that consternation fell on the 
 little group, and Margaret, uttering a low cry 
 of pain, swooned in her lover's arms. 
 
 " You shameless jade," cried Lady Vernon, 
 pale with passion, " see what you have done 
 with your foolish words. Go, or, by my faith, 
 the hounds shall tear you to pieces." 
 
 Dorothy trembled, for her step-mother's an- 
 ger was not to be trifled with, and she knew 
 she would have to bear the brunt of this un-
 
 15 
 
 fortunate incident. In spite of her distress, 
 however, she placed a silver coin in Jedaan's 
 hand. " Go, go, at once," she cried, " and God 
 grant that your cruel words may never come 
 true." 
 
 Jedaan looked gently at Dorothy as she said : 
 " I have spoken, and Fate is Fate." Then, 
 without deigning to look at Lady Vernon, 
 with bowed head, she moved slowly from sight 
 of the awe-struck group on the lawn. 
 
 Several servants now appeared on the scene, 
 and with their assistance Margaret quickly re- 
 gained consciousness. Sir George Vernon, the 
 Lord of Haddon, and father of Margaret and 
 Dorothy, had been summoned when his daugh- 
 ter had fainted, and before the recovery of her 
 senses he had been informed of what had taken 
 place, and had also learned from Sir Thomas 
 of the promise he had got from Lady Margaret. 
 The prospect of an alliance with the powerful 
 Earl of Derby was very gratifying to the Lord 
 of Haddon Hall, and when Margaret came to 
 greet her father, he, desirous to take her 
 thoughts from the painful scene which had just 
 taken place, placed her hand in that of Sir 
 Thomas. 
 
 " The blessing of God be upon you, my chil- 
 dren," he said with deep emotion, " and my;
 
 16 
 
 house and the house of Stanley be ever knit in 
 the bonds of friendship. And in honor of the 
 betrothal I command a feast to be prepared 
 worthy of such a memorable occasion. And 
 as for your fortune, Madge, it shall be little 
 short of your weight in gold."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BETROTHAL FEAST. 
 
 The little village of Bakewell, situated two 
 miles from Haddon Hall, boasted an inn of 
 renown known all over the county as " The 
 Boar's Head," and kept by one of Sir George 
 Vernon's tenants, Hubert Armstrong. Be- 
 hind the hostelry lay a tree-shaded bowling 
 green, in which two young men, evidently of 
 some standing in the world, were pitting their 
 skill against one another. 
 
 The guests for passing travelers they were 
 merely desisted from their play as they 
 watched the approach of a youth in page's at- 
 tire, who seemed to wish to speak to them. 
 
 " Sirs," said the page as he came up, rais- 
 ing his cap, " I am. a page in the service of the 
 Lady Matilda, wife of Sir George Vernon, 
 Lord of Haddon and King of the Peak. To- 
 night there is to be feasting at the Hall in 
 honor of the betrothal of Lady Margaret to 
 Sir Thomas Stanley, and all who choose to
 
 i8 
 
 come are welcome. Therefore, if you are free, 
 in my Lord and Lady's name, I bid you to the 
 feast." 
 
 The young man listened gravely, and then 
 an amused smile broke over his face at the 
 strangeness of the invitation to a passing trav- 
 eler. 
 
 " What, ho, John," he cried at last to his 
 friend, who was at the other end of the green, 
 " are you good for a royal feast to-night? " 
 
 " Ay, Will," replied the other, coming for- 
 ward. " What friend have you found in Bake- 
 well? Fie, Will, 'tis surely not a lady friend? " 
 
 " Hush, man, you know better than that," 
 replied Will with a smile. " Here is a page of 
 Lady Vernon, who invites us to the betrothal 
 feast of the Lady Margaret, if it be our pleas- 
 ure to attend. What do you say, John? " 
 
 " Ah," said John, his interest growing. " I 
 have heard of Sir George Vernon's hospitality 
 and the beauty of his daughters. Give my 
 respects to your Lord and Lady, and say that 
 I, John Manners, son of the Earl of Rutland, 
 and his friend, William Aleyne, Esquire, of 
 Nottingham, will honor ourselves by partaking 
 of Haddon's hospitality to-night." 
 
 The page respectfully took his leave, and the 
 two young men turned to one another.
 
 19 
 
 " This is an adventure we did not look for," 
 said Will Aleyne, " but beware of the darts 
 from the fair Dorothy's eyes, John. The 
 daughter of Haddon is not for the second son 
 of the Earl of Rutland." 
 
 " Nay," replied John Manners with a blush 
 that belied his words, for the two that very 
 morning had been talking of the possibility of 
 encountering the beauty of Haddon about 
 Bakewell, " I was thinking of the service the 
 King of the Peak might do me, if I were to 
 go to London and seek service with Her Grace 
 the Queen. The sword is the only weapon 
 with which a younger son may carve his way 
 to fortune and love." 
 
 At this moment the landlord approached the 
 young men bowing obsequiously. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I am your humble 
 servant, and my poor inn is honored by the 
 presence of two such gentlemen, for I have 
 just learned your names and rank from Lady 
 Vernon's page." 
 
 " Oh," answered Manners, " we are merely 
 here to enjoy the beauty of the Peak country, 
 and would desire to remain unknown." 
 
 " The fortune that has brought you to my 
 poor inn has opened the gates of Haddon to
 
 2O 
 
 you/' pursued the innkeeper, "and you will 
 gaze on the beauty of Haddon's daughters." 
 
 " Is Mistress Dorothy betrothed, too? " in- 
 quired Aleyne, with a mischievous glance at 
 his companion. 
 
 " Well, rumor has it that she will wed Sir 
 Falconer Bracebridge." 
 
 " Sir Falconer Bracebridge ! " echoed Man- 
 ners in surprise. 
 
 " Ay, sir; know ye anything of him? " 
 
 " Well, not much to his credit." The inn- 
 keeper showed some annoyance. 
 
 " Sir Falconer is a worthy gentleman," he 
 said, with some heat, " and a good patron of 
 mine. He is clever, too." 
 
 " Ay, in deceit," said Manners. 
 
 " Come, come," said Aleyne interposing, for 
 he saw mischief might arise from this too free 
 expression of opinion of Manners' part, " let's 
 not argue on a day like this. Fetch us another 
 jug of ale, landlord, for my, throat is dry." 
 With a frown on his face the man went off, 
 and Aleyne turned to his friend. "Jack," he 
 said, " you must keep a guard on your tongue 
 or it will lead you into trouble. Mine host, I 
 think, is not to be trusted, and if he reports 
 this to Bracebridge it may cause trouble." 
 
 " I cannot help that," replied Manners,
 
 21 
 
 " and much I wonder that he is permitted to 
 pay court to Dorothy Vernon. Surely his 
 character is not known to Sir George Vernon." 
 
 "Hush, man, what is Dorothy Vernon to 
 you that you should concern yourself with her 
 affairs? " 
 
 " True, true," replied the young man, 
 thoughtfully, as if some foreboding of what 
 the future held for him was troubling him, 
 " she is nothing to me now, but to mate with 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge ! It is shameful." 
 
 A little later the two friends set out for the 
 Hall, and they had just slowed up their steeds 
 to gaze on the picture the mansion presented, 
 as it reflected the golden rays of the sinking 
 sun, when a woman suddenly rose in front of 
 their horses, which shied and swerved aside 
 from the strange figure, with a dark skin and 
 a diamond blazing on her forehead. It was 
 Jedaan, the Prophetess. 
 
 For a moment the superstition which held 
 peer and peasant in its thrall thrilled the young 
 men with sudden awe, but the fear of the other 
 world was only momentary, and Manners was 
 the first to recover his wits. 
 
 "Who are you? " he cried, in angry tones, 
 " and why do you stop us in this unwarranted 
 fashion?"
 
 22 
 
 " I am an Arabian, and have the gift of fore- 
 telling what will be," replied Jedaan calmly. 
 
 " A pleasant gift, faith," responded Manners, 
 with a skeptical smile. " Come now, we have 
 not time to hear thy prophecy now. To-mor- 
 row at noon be at the Boar's Head, and in- 
 quire for John Manners and Will Aleyne, and 
 you shall reveal my destiny to me. There is 
 a groat for you in the meantime." 
 
 Little was said till they reached the Eagle 
 Tower, where was the principal entrance to 
 Haddon Hall. 
 
 The herald's trumpets had proclaimed that 
 the feast was ready, and those who were privi- 
 leged to sit above the salt had formed in line 
 on each side of the great ballroom waiting for 
 the host and his family to lead the way. John 
 Manners and his friend stood together, and as 
 Dorothy Vernon and her stepmother came up 
 the room, Dorothy, by accident, let her hand- 
 kerchief fall. Manners immediately stooped, 
 and restored the handkerchief with such a 
 graceful bow that the young lady's attention 
 was arrested. Their eyes and hands met as 
 Dorothy accepted the 'handkerchief with a 
 smile and a word of thanks, and as she passed 
 on, she turned her head for an instant, and 
 glanced back at the young man.
 
 23 
 
 " Who is that gallant? " she whispered to 
 her stepmother. 
 
 " I know not, child," replied Lady Vernon, 
 unamiably ; " some graceless loon whom your 
 father's weakness has brought here." 
 
 Dorothy was hurt by the allusion to her 
 father, and held her peace. 
 
 For some seconds after Dorothy had passed, 
 Manners could do nothing but gaze at the 
 vision which had risen before his eyes. 
 
 " For once rumor hath not lied," he whis- 
 pered to Aleyne when he found his tongue. 
 " The fair Dorothy Vernon is lovelier even 
 than report painted her." 
 
 Aleyne laughed. 
 
 " Smitten already, Jack ! " he said, " but re- 
 member I have warned you." 
 
 Manners made no reply, and his silence con- 
 tinued all the time of the banquet till the ladies 
 retired. 
 
 When Sir George Vernon rose at midnight 
 to quit the banqueting hall, the two young 
 men followed him to take their leave. 
 
 " Nay, my friends," said their host, genial- 
 ly, " you must not ride away at such an hour, 
 if you will deign to accept my hospitality." 
 
 Manners looked at his friend, and then ac-
 
 24 
 
 cepted for both with an eagerness that might 
 have attracted attention at any other time, for 
 Dorothy's sweet face still haunted him.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DOROTHY VERNON. 
 
 The sunlight was streaming in at the win- 
 dow next morning when he awoke, and mak- 
 ing a hasty toilet wandered into the gardens, 
 with Dorothy Vernon's face still haunting his 
 waking dreams. 
 
 He had reached the broad upper terrace 
 when, suddenly, a silvery voice broke on his 
 ear, and, turning, he saw the object of his 
 dreams in the lawn garden accompanied by an 
 old woman and two spaniels. 
 
 Impulsively, Manners was about to descend 
 the broad steps to the lawn, when he checked 
 himself. What right had he to intrude on this 
 young lady's privacy? He was only the guest 
 of an hour. 
 
 He was turning away when the two spaniels 
 suddenly spied him, and flew up the steps at 
 the stranger, snapping and barking at him as 
 if they intended to quite make an end of him. 
 
 " Come here, you ungracious creatures,"
 
 26 
 
 cried Dorothy in evident distress at the unruli- 
 ness of the dogs. Don't be alarmed, sir, they 
 are not dangerous." Manners smiled and 
 bowed, and, descending the steps, said, with a 
 laugh : 
 
 " In truth, my lady Dorothy, I am afraid I 
 must put myself under your protection from 
 these ferocious beasts." 
 
 " Nay, they are only frolicsome. Is it not 
 so, Madge? ' 
 
 " Ay, sweet one," replied the old woman, 
 " but ill-mannered and spoiled." 
 
 The old woman, Dorothy's nurse and wait- 
 ing woman, worshiped the ground the girl trod 
 on. From her girlhood she had been in the 
 service of the Vernon family, and was devoted 
 to every member of it, with the exception of 
 Lady Vernon, whose harshness to Dorothy she 
 resented. 
 
 " Then I am grateful for their ill manners, 
 since it has given me the opportunity to pay 
 my respects to the charming daughter of my 
 honored host." 
 
 Dorothy blushed crimson, and, stooping to 
 adjust the collar of one of the dogs, said softly : 
 " May I know the name of my father's guest, 
 who seems so well versed in the art of flat- 
 tery? "
 
 27 
 
 " It is one, lady, of which I have no need to 
 be ashamed. I am plain John Manners, sec- 
 ond son of the Earl of Rutland." 
 
 Dorothy looked up, and extended her shape- 
 ly hand to him, which he kissed with, perhaps, 
 a little more warmth than was necessary. 
 
 " I am pleased to know you, sir, and I have 
 heard of your worthy father. Stay you long 
 with us?" she added. 
 
 " Alas, no ! " he answered with a sigh. " My 
 friend, Will Aleyne, and myself are traveling 
 through the Peak country, and would have left 
 Bakewell last night had your father not de- 
 tained us." 
 
 " Brief as your visit is, I would like you to 
 take away a good impression of Haddon Hall. 
 If it would not weary you, I should be pleased 
 to show you the gardens and the view of the 
 Hall that is to be got from the upper terrace." 
 
 " My lady Dorothy," replied Manners, a 
 look of unspeakable delight illumining his face, 
 '* I should, indeed, be a churl if I were wearied 
 by aught you might say or do." 
 
 " A noble speech, sir," chimed in old Madge. 
 " Now, Mr. Manners, have you ever seen a 
 sweeter maid than my Dorothy? " 
 
 " By the book, no ! " exclaimed Manners, en- 
 thusiastically.
 
 28 
 
 "Peace, sir," said Dorothy sternly, "I'll 
 hear no more of your flattery." With crimson 
 face she called her dogs, and fled like a startled 
 fawn to the upper terrace. 
 
 " After her, sir ! " cried Madge. " She is 
 bashful, and likes not to hear her praises sung. 
 Go to her and I will follow." 
 
 Needing no second bidding, he rushed up 
 the steps, and overtook the young lady. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy," he said, " I claim the 
 fulfillment of your promise to show me the 
 view of which you spoke." 
 
 " Nay, this is too much, sir. You abuse the 
 hospitality of my father." 
 
 Manners dropped on his knees, and, bow- 
 ing his head, said dolefully: 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy Vernon, by the sun that 
 shines upon us, I vow that I will not quit this 
 spot till you have pardoned nue for the dread- 
 ful crime of admiring you." 
 
 " Was ever maiden so persecuted," sighed 
 Dorothy. " Shame on you for taking advan- 
 tage of my maiden weakness. But I suppose 
 I must forgive you. Now, rise and go. I am 
 to blame for having drawn you into speech 
 with me." 
 
 Manners, who had sprung gayly to his feet 
 on hearing her words of forgiveness, was dum-
 
 29 
 
 founded by the sudden change in her man- 
 ner. He tried to stammer an excuse as she 
 moved away, but, as she made no response, 
 there was no help but to depart crestfallen. 
 
 A week had passed since the betrothal feast 
 at Haddon Hall, and still John Manners and 
 his friend lingered at Bakewell, much to the an- 
 noyance of Aleyne, who was eager to resume 
 his travels. The day following the feast Je- 
 daan, the seer, had come to the Boar's Head 
 in accordance with Manner's invitation. The 
 young man showed an extraordinary eagerness 
 to hear what the weird woman had to tell him, 
 and the strangely assorted pair left Aleyne to 
 his own cynical meditations, while they ad- 
 journed to a separate room. Jedaan, having 
 darkened the window, spread a chocolate-col- 
 ored powder on a plate, and set fire to it. 
 
 From the burning powder arose a thin 
 bluish vapor, which curled and twisted and 
 spread till it obscured from the young man's 
 gaze the opposite wall of the room. 
 
 " What do you see? " said Jedaan, ceasing 
 the low, monotonous chant she had kept up 
 while the powder was burning. 
 
 " A human face," replied Manners. " Ah, 
 it is Dorothy Vernon ! " 
 
 "How does she look?"
 
 30 
 
 " Sad. The eyes are wistful, and they fill 
 with tears. It is gone," he added regretfully. 
 
 Jedaan, again approaching Manners, made 
 several passes with her hands before his face, 
 and threw more powder into the dish. 
 
 The cloud of vapor increased, and a new 
 picture gradually grew out of the curling 
 wreaths of smoke. 
 
 " I see a moonlit road," went on John 
 Manners, " and two figures on horseback, rid- 
 ing as if for their lives. One of the figures is 
 that of a woman, but her face is mufHed. The 
 other is a man myself, I'll swear! Behind 
 are pursuing shadows, phantoms of angry men 
 with naked swords in their hands. The shad- 
 ows make up on the pursued rapidly, and the 
 foremost strives to strike me with his sword. 
 Ah!" 
 
 The sudden exclamation was elicited by the 
 disappearance of the smoke picture. 
 
 " What does all this mean? " continued John 
 Manners, almost fiercely, turning to Jedaan, 
 but no answer was vouchsafed him. Dazed for 
 a moment, he stared around him, and awoke 
 to the consciousness that the room was filled 
 with a stifling odor, and that the weird woman 
 was 'stretched on the floor, dead, for all he 
 could tell. He rushed to the window, and,
 
 31 
 
 throwing it open, turned his attention to the 
 prophetess. 
 
 She stirred when he touched her, and opened 
 her eyes. Very soon she had recovered suffi- 
 ciently to enable her to move out of the heavy 
 atmosphere of the chamber, and reply to the 
 youth's eager questioning as to the meaning of 
 the vision. But only one answer would she 
 give. " What you have seen will be," a-nd 
 with this he had to be content. 
 
 Day after day passed, and the two young 
 men lingered on at the Boar's Head in Bake- 
 well, Aleyne getting daily more impatient, and 
 his friend, no doubt influenced by Jedaan's 
 necromancy, loitering merely on the chance of 
 getting another glimpse of Dorothy Vernon. 
 
 Mounting his steed one morning, he was 
 riding along near the great gateway, when 
 the sound of a horn and voices aroused him 
 from his reverie, and looking ahead he beheld 
 a lady accompanied by a cavalier and followed 
 by two attendants. Manners drew his horse 
 under a tree, for he recognized Dorothy Ver- 
 non. As she came abreast of where he stood 
 she suddenly caught sight of him, and became 
 so confused that she let her riding whip fall. 
 Manners sprang from his horse, picked up the 
 whip, and presented it to her as he doffed his
 
 32 
 
 hat and bowed. She stammered her thanks, 
 passed on, and Manners stood gazing after 
 her, and heard the cavalier, who was Brace- 
 bridge, ask sternly: 
 
 " Who is this gallant? You seem to know 
 him, my dear Dorothy." 
 
 " A week ago he was my father's guest," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Aye, aye; but his name? " 
 
 " Manners." 
 
 " What? John Manners, son of the Earl of 
 Rutland?" 
 
 Doll nodded an assent. 
 
 "Oh, oh! but this is fortunate. I have a 
 score to settle with that evil-tongued rascal, 
 and by the Virgin I'll teach him a lesson he'll 
 long remember ! " 
 
 Fortunately Manners did not hear the con- 
 versation, or he would have hurried after the 
 party, and demanded an explanation. What 
 he did was to return to the inn and announce 
 to his friend that he was ready to depart at 
 once.
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A DUEL TO THE DEATH. 
 
 Their road next morning lay through Rows- 
 ley, as they intended to ride to Derby that 
 day. 
 
 Soon they were traversing the beautiful and 
 romantic Darley Dale, and so they came to 
 Darley village, where a picturesque inn with 
 a broad bowling green tempted them to halt, 
 drink a horn of ale, and play a game of bowls. 
 While mine host had gone to his cellar to tap 
 a fresh barrel John Manners strolled to the 
 little church on the other side of the road, with 
 its quiet God's acre, and flinging himself down 
 he indulged in reverie, and dreamed waking 
 dreams of Dorothy Vernon. He lay there 
 some little time dreaming his dreams until re- 
 called to a sense of his mundane surroundings 
 by the sound of galloping horses, and looking 
 along the road which he and his friend had 
 traversed he beheld three horsemen riding 
 hard through a cloud of dust.
 
 34 
 
 The three riders drew rein when they got 
 abreast of the inn so suddenly as nearly to 
 throw their steeds on their haunches. They 
 were gentlemen as evidenced by their dress 
 and swords. They were hot and dust covered, 
 while their horses were flecked with foam. 
 On the stcne bench in front of the inn Aleyne 
 and the two servants sat. 
 
 " What ho, fellows ! " cried one of the horse- 
 men abruptly, a florid-faced man, " have you 
 seen two cavaliers pass, gentlemen of some 
 quality? " 
 
 " Whom is it you seek?" asked the servant. 
 
 " One John Manners, who rides with a 
 knave no less scurvy than himself." 
 
 The servant stood up and answered boldly: 
 
 " My master is John Manners, a very honest 
 gentleman, and no scurvy knave, as you are 
 pleased to call him." 
 
 The florid-faced man flung himself from his 
 horse, his example being followed by his com- 
 panions. 
 
 " What ho, tapster ! " he roared in blustering 
 tones. " Send your hostler to our steeds. I 
 have a score to settle with one of your cus- 
 tomers." 
 
 " I would humbly crave to know your name 
 and quality, sir," said the landlord, looking a
 
 35 
 
 little scared at the prospects of a quarrel. 
 
 " I am Sir Falconer Bracebridge, knight," 
 came the proud answer. " My friend here is 
 Sir Ralph Bardsdale, knight, of Norwich, 
 Cheshire; and that gentleman is my esquire." 
 
 " And whom seek you, sir? " asked the host. 
 
 " One John Manners, a knave, who with 
 false tongue hath beslandered my fair name, 
 and he must answer to me with his life." 
 
 Bracebridge was in the habit of frequenting 
 the Boar's Head at Bakewell, and as he was an 
 influential patron the landlord did not fail to 
 report to him Manners' disparaging remarks, 
 and when Bracebridge met John in the woods 
 near Haddon, and noticed that Dorothy was 
 confused his jealous nature was aroused, and 
 he resolved to pick a quarrel with his rival on 
 the first opportunity. The day following that 
 meeting Hubert Armstrong conveyed a secret 
 message to Bracebridge that Manners and his 
 friend had left, and were on their way to Lon- 
 don. In consequence of this Bracebridge had 
 set off in pursuit, overtaking his enemy at 
 Darley village. 
 
 John Manners, who heard what passed be- 
 tween the fire-eater and the landlord of the inn, 
 came forward, and with a dignified bow he 
 answered for himself:
 
 36 
 
 " I am John Manners, second son of the 
 Earl of Rutland, and at your service." 
 
 Bracebridge grew red in the face, and with 
 a passionate gesture, cried : 
 
 " If you are John Manners then I charge 
 you with being a false and perjured slanderer." 
 
 " On what authority? " asked Manners, 
 coolly and proudly. 
 
 " On the authority of one Hubert Arm- 
 strong, host of the Boar's Head at Bakewell. 
 Answer you to the point: has Hubert Arm- 
 strong spoken truly or falsely, when he reports 
 that you have defamed me?" 
 
 " If Armstrong has reported me as saying 
 that you have a reputation for being clever in 
 deceit, and that you are a dicer and a trickster, 
 then he has reported me truly." 
 
 Bracebridge's face became scarlet, and the 
 veins in his forehead seemed to swell up. 
 
 " Then," he cried in a towering rage, " you 
 shall make good your words on your sword, 
 and as he spoke the words he flung his riding 
 glove in Manners' face. 
 
 Aleyne, who had been a silent spectator, 
 started up at the first indication of the quarrel, 
 but held his peace, waiting for developments, 
 though keenly alive to the seriousness of the 
 situation.
 
 37 
 
 As the glove of the challenger fell to the 
 ground Manners kicked it away disdainfully, 
 and flinging his hat on the bench he drew 
 his sword, and said with a sneer: 
 
 " You shall have your revenge, and Mis- 
 tress Dorothy Vernon shall be freed from the 
 possibility of becoming wife to such as you, 
 who are not fit to fasten the latchet of her 
 shoe." 
 
 Nothing that Manners could have said or 
 done could have aroused the fury of Brace- 
 bridge as this did. 
 
 He made a desperate lunge at his antago- 
 nist, who skillfully parried the thrust, however, 
 and at that moment Aleyne, whose feelings got 
 the better of him, fearing as he did that his 
 triend would be sacrificed, struck up their 
 swords with his own, and exclaimed: 
 
 " Hold ! This is an outrage, and I implore 
 you put up your weapons, and let me decide 
 between you." 
 
 Young Bardsdale here threw himself into 
 the breach. 
 
 " Thy name and rank? " he demanded, as 
 he drew his sword. 
 
 " My name is William Aleyne, Esquire. 
 And thine?"
 
 33 
 
 " Sir Ralph Bardsdale, son of Sir Hope 
 Bardsdale of Northwich, Cheshire." 
 
 " Defend yourself then, Sir Ralph, for my 
 friend's quarrel is mine also," said Aleyne. 
 
 The four men now fell to in deadly earnest, 
 and for some minutes the swordsmen fought 
 with dogged determination and admirable 
 skill. 
 
 Some chance remarks from the crowd falling 
 on Bardsdale's ears so wounded his vanity and 
 stirred his passion that he made such a furious 
 onslaught on his foe that Aleyne nearly lost 
 his footing, and could do nothing but guard 
 himself. At last, however, he recovered his 
 position, and by a very skillful blow he slight- 
 ly wounded the bloodthirsty young duelist in 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " First blood," cried Aleyne, " and since you 
 and I have no just cause of quarrel, let's put 
 up our swords." 
 
 Infuriated as he was Bardsdale was in no 
 humor to listen to reason, and smarting from 
 the prick he had received, he lost all control of 
 himself, till Aleyne saw at last that it would 
 be necessary to disable his youthful opponent, 
 and he determined to wound him in the sword 
 arm, but Bardsdale made a sudden lunge and 
 rush: the lunge was parried, then Aleyne
 
 39 
 
 thrust, and the other failing to guard himself, 
 the point of the weapon entered deeply into his 
 chest, and piercing the heart he fell back with 
 a gurgling cry. He was instantly picked up* 
 laid on the bench, while every effort was made 
 to stanch the flow of blood. 
 
 In the meantime Manners and Bracebridge 
 had been striving might and main for mastery. 
 At length, by splendid sword play, with a 
 lightning-like movement, Manners got under 
 his antagonist's guard, and came near piercing 
 him through the heart, but Bracebridge man- 
 aged to knock up the sword, but was slightly 
 wounded in so doing. Unfortunately for him- 
 self in making the thrust Manners trod on a 
 small stone, which threw him off his balance, 
 and that was his undoing. Bracebridge saw 
 his opportunity, and was not slow to avail him- 
 self of it. Recovering his weapon he made a 
 powerful thrust, and ran his opponent through 
 the shoulder. Manners' sword fell front his 
 hand, and he would have gone to the ground 
 if his servant had not rushed forward and 
 caught him. 
 
 So ended the combat. The arrival of a 
 skilled woman and her examination of young 
 Bardsdale left no room to doubt that he was 
 beyond the reach of all human aid.
 
 40 
 
 The sun had set, and the village slept, but 
 from a latticed window of an upper chamber 
 of the hostelry a light streamed. In that cham- 
 ber lay John Manners grievously wounded, 
 while distressed and sorrow-stricken his faith- 
 ful friend, William Aleyne, sat and watched. 
 Presently he was startled, and the echoes of the 
 village were awakened by a loud knocking on 
 the door, and the voice of a woman crying for 
 admittance.
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MADGE UTTERS A WARNING. 
 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge did not convey 
 the body of his friend Bardsdale back to Had- 
 don, but lodged it at Rowsley for the night. 
 Here also he had the slight wound on his arm 
 attended to, and that done he proceeded to 
 the Hall, where, seeking a private interview 
 with Sir George Vernon, he broke the news to 
 him. Of course, he made the best he possibly 
 could of his own case, representing Manners 
 as being " a graceless fellow, of such free 
 speech and so loose-tongued that he not only 
 slandered the fame of honest gentlemen but of 
 fair women. My own reputation having suf- 
 fered grievous wrong by this slanderer, as 
 testified by mine host of The Boar's Head at 
 Bakewell, honor demanded that I should chal- 
 lenge him. And when I heard that he had 
 sneaked away from fear of meeting me, I rode 
 after him and laid him low." 
 
 " But is he dead? " asked Sir George Ver- 
 non, in evident distress.
 
 42 
 
 " I know not ; but I cut him down, and I 
 think he will hardly wield sword again." 
 
 Sir George took a far more serious view of 
 the matter than Bracebridge was disposed to 
 do, and expressed grave fears that the power- 
 ful Manners family would not let the affair 
 rest where it was. He deplored such a hasty 
 appeal to arms, when explanation might have 
 set matters right; and he confessed that, from 
 what little he had seen of Manners, he had 
 been rather impressed with him. 
 
 Bracebridge did not like to hear this praise 
 of his rival, and he spared no invective that 
 was likely to tell in his own favor, referring 
 to Manners as " a brawler " and " a heretic." 
 Whether or not Sir George was impressed by 
 this line of argument did not appear, for he 
 preserved a diplomatic silence. 
 
 A little later Bracebridge sought Dorothy, 
 to take his leave of her. She seemed surprised 
 at his sudden departure, and naturally inquired 
 the cause of it. Needless to say, he did not 
 satisfy her curiosity, and the only explanation 
 he ventured to give was that an affair of some 
 importance necessitated his going into Chesh- 
 ire as soon as possible. 
 
 If he supposed that Dorothy would weep 
 and wail at his going, he befooled himself
 
 43 
 
 greatly. Indeed, though she concealed it, she 
 experienced a sense of relief. And when she 
 mounted to the summit of the tower to wave 
 an adieu to him, she did not look like a young 
 lady who was steeped in woe because her lover 
 was going away. 
 
 The day had not run to finish before old 
 Madge was in possession of the news which 
 was being discussed by the servants. It had 
 been brought to the Hall by a butcher who 
 supplied the family with " small meat " ; but 
 he was not in a position to say whether John 
 Manners was fatally hurt or not. His infor- 
 mation was that there had been a fierce encoun- 
 ter at Darley between some gentlemen, that 
 one was killed, and that Master Manners had 
 been worsted by his opponent. When Madge, 
 with eager interest, inquired the cause of the 
 quarrel, Will Dawson, the head forester, who 
 had been bringing in fagots, said : 
 
 " I know not the cause, good nurse, of this 
 sword-pricking and blood-spilling, but I'll 
 wager my year's wage there's a woman at the 
 bottom of it." 
 
 " You know nothing about it, Will Dawson. 
 But come hither; I should like to speak a 
 word to you privately. I am eager to know 
 how it fares with this John Manners, who, if
 
 44 
 
 report lies not, hath been so grievously hurt by 
 the fiery Sir Falconer Bracebridge. I have a 
 crown to spare, and 'tis yours for the earning." 
 
 " Say how I can earn it, good Madge, and 
 the crown is mine." 
 
 " Tis easily earned. Tell not your business 
 to anyone, but ride hard to Darley and bring 
 me a report of John Manners. And mark you, 
 Will, let it be a true report, even though it 
 tells of his death. You understand? " 
 
 " Ay, clearly," replied Will Dawson, and 
 within half an hour he was riding at full 
 speed to Darley. 
 
 A hawking party had been arranged for that 
 day, but Sir George Vernon had canceled it 
 on account of the tragedy; and when Madge 
 went to Dorothy's room, she was questioned 
 as to the cause of the hawking party being put 
 off. 
 
 " Is it because Sir Falconer has departed? " 
 asked Dorothy. 
 
 " I should think not, love-bird. Did Sir 
 Falconer say nothing to you before he went? " 
 
 " Oh, much," laughed Doll. " He said I 
 was to dream of him. Why, Madge, if I were 
 to dream of him I should frighten you, because 
 you would think I had a nightmare."
 
 45 
 
 " You would rather dream of handsome 
 young Manners, eh? " 
 
 " Heigho ! " sighed Dorothy, as she leaned 
 out of her window, and expressed a fear that 
 there was going to be a change of weather. 
 
 " Would you like news of Manners? " asked 
 the old nurse. 
 
 " Well, truth to tell, I have a woman's curi- 
 osity," she said indifferently. " Do you know 
 what has become of him? " 
 
 " Ay." 
 
 " Oh, tell me, tell me," cried Dorothy, with 
 an eagerness that could scarcely have been the 
 outcome of mere curiosity, and was not in 
 keeping with her assumed indifference. 
 
 " He is lying grievously wounded at Dar- 
 ley." 
 
 " Grievously wounded," echoed Doll, with a 
 little catching of her breath. 
 
 " So runs the report." 
 
 " Who has wounded him? " 
 
 " The man to whom your lady mother would 
 wed you." 
 
 "What? Sir Falconer? " 
 
 " Ay, Sir Falconer." 
 
 Dorothy seemed dumfounded for the mo- 
 ment, and her pretty face was clouded with a 
 look of sadness. Presently she spoke :
 
 46 
 
 " Madge, what was the cause of the quar- 
 rel?" 
 
 " I know not ; but if I said that you were, 
 maybe I should not be far wrong." 
 
 " I the cause? " cried Doll. Then, with an 
 angry flash of her eyes, she asked : " Think 
 you, Madge, that John Manners has dared to 
 speak ill of me? " 
 
 " No, my baby, I think not so. A man does 
 not speak ill of the woman he admires." 
 
 " But how do you know that Manners ad- 
 niires me? " asked Doll coyly. 
 
 " Baby, dear, I know it by the way John 
 Manners looked at you, and the way John 
 Manners sighed, and by the woe in his face 
 when you pretended to be very angry and 
 sent him from you." 
 
 Dorothy remained wrapped in thought for 
 some minutes, but presently she looked up into 
 the kindly face, and, twining her white arms 
 about Madge's neck, she asked: 
 
 " Has Sir Falconer departed because of this 
 quarrel? " 
 
 " When he came to the Hall this time he 
 brought a friend with him," remarked Madge. 
 
 " Ay, Sir Ralph Bardsdale." 
 
 " Well, Sir Ralph Bardsdale is dead, so runs 
 the news."
 
 47 
 
 " Dead ! " exclaimed Dorothy in a tone of 
 horror, as she clapped her hands to her tem- 
 ples; ''dead! And killed by John Manners?" 
 
 " Not by Manners, as I am told, but his 
 friend. The gossip is that Sir Falconer set 
 upon Manners, and when William Aleyne took 
 his part Sir Ralph set upon Aleyne, who slew 
 him. 'Tis an awful business, and Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge carried the body into Cheshire to 
 the boy's home." 
 
 " Oh, Madge ! Madge ! " moaned Dorothy 
 in real distress ; " but this is woeful news in- 
 deed, and I fear it will lead to grave conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " If it frees thee, my sweet child, from the 
 prospects of an odious marriage, then I say 
 'tis well. You are too gentle, and sweet and 
 beautiful for such as Sir Falconer. Let him 
 seek a lady of his own fiber, and not wed with' 
 one who would wither under his angry looks." 
 
 Dorothy was so upset that she wept. She 
 had a high regard for the old woman's per- 
 spicacity and shrewdness, and in her heart she 
 was perfectly well aware that Madge was 
 right. She had tried to deceive herself, but 
 Madge's little outburst of plain speaking had 
 convinced her that the trial was a failure, and 
 now this terrible news of the fight and its tragic
 
 consequences caused her to shrink within her- 
 self and experience a sense of dread of the man 
 who was to be her husband. That surely was 
 an outrage on natural feeling, and not the spirit 
 in which she should be wooed and won. When 
 her tears had spent themselves Doll sank into a 
 deep reverie, which old Madge did not disturb, 
 but busied herself with some trifling duties, un- 
 til, suddenly looking up, Dorothy asked 
 dreamily, and as if the matter didn't very great- 
 ly interest her : 
 
 " I wonder if the young gentleman who was 
 wounded by Sir Falconer was hurt to death? " 
 
 " You will soon have your question an- 
 swered, since Will Dawson has gone to Darley, 
 and is to bring us news," replied Madge.
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DAWSON BRINGS BAD NEWS. 
 
 The woman who disturbed the midnight 
 silence of Darley by clamoring at the door of 
 the hostel for admission while Manners lay 
 wounded sorely, and his devoted friend, 
 Aleyne, watched by his bedside, was no other 
 than Jedaan, the seer. A pedlar passing 
 through Darley on his way to Bakewell had 
 gathered the news, and spread it as he went, 
 and Jedaan heard from the pedlar of the fight 
 and its results, with keen interest, for there is 
 little doubt she had faith in her own prophe- 
 cies. Apart from that, Manners had won her 
 sympathy and good-will by the kindly way he 
 had treated her. 
 
 Parting from the pedlar, she wended her 
 way toward Darley, and a little distance out of 
 Rowsley met the procession bringing in the 
 body of Bardsdale. She loitered about until 
 an opportunity occurred for her to address 
 herself to Sir Falconer Bracebridge, when she
 
 So 
 
 begged that she might be allowed to forecast 
 his future. At any other time he would have 
 humored her; but now he was filled with grief 
 for the death of his friend, and disturbed in 
 his mind as to the possible consequences to 
 himself for his rashness. Accordingly Sir Fal- 
 coner spurned her, and when, undeterred by 
 his savage mood, she importuned him, he told 
 his esquire to beat her with the flat of his 
 sword. Had he known what a deadly enemy 
 this strange woman could be he would prob- 
 ably have hesitated before insulting her. Je- 
 daan's mobile face betrayed the emotions of 
 her mind, and her dark eyes glowed like those 
 of an angry tigress. But she remained silent, 
 though, raising her hand, she drew imaginary 
 figures in the air, until some of the loiterers 
 jeered at her and called her " witless." 
 
 The moon was pouring a flood of light over 
 the landscape when she came to Darley, and 
 saw the light streaming from the window of 
 the room where Manners lay. She clamored 
 for admittance, until mine host, irritated at 
 being disturbed from his rest, armed himself 
 with a ponderous cudgel, and, from an open 
 window, demanded to know who it was who 
 thus disturbed the peace of the night. 
 
 " Give me admission/' demanded Jedaan im-
 
 Si 
 
 peratively, " that I may bring comfort to the 
 wounded gentleman who lies under this roof." 
 
 Bidding her wait until he had donned some 
 clothes, the host disappeared, and, unbarring 
 the heavy door, he admitted Jedaan, though 
 he was not a little startled as the gleam from 
 his lantern revealed the strange, weird figure 
 of his visitor. 
 
 " Know you the hurt gentleman? " he asked 
 in some trepidation. 
 
 " Ay ; conduct me to him at once," was Je- 
 daan's answer, uttered in a stern and command- 
 ing tone. 
 
 The simple countryman was awed, and, with 
 trembling hand and chattering teeth, he held 
 his lantern aloft, and guided her up the nar- 
 row stairs to the room where Manners lay. 
 
 Manners, who was suffering much pain, was 
 amazed at Jedaan's unexpected appearance, an 
 amazement that was shared by Aleyne, who 
 had been dozing as he sat, but started into full 
 wakefulness as the woman entered. 
 
 " The day has had its surprises," said Man- 
 ners with a wan smile, " and the night is not 
 behind the day. Why come you at such an 
 hour, Jedaan? " 
 
 " To give you comfort." 
 
 " I need it," he answered, lightly, " for my
 
 52 
 
 life ebbs, and before to-morrow's sun has set I 
 shall have passed to the life eternal." 
 
 " Have I not told you your future? " asked 
 Jedaan solemnly. 
 
 " Ay, you have so told me ; but my faith is 
 weak." 
 
 " Let it be strong again, then, for I tell you 
 your time of departure is not yet. Let me see 
 your wound." 
 
 Manners was reluctant to do this; but Je- 
 daan declared that her own skill in the treat- 
 ment of wounds was not inferior to a surgeon's, 
 and mayhap superior. Moreover, as she urged, 
 to wait for a surgeon in such cases was danger- 
 ous, and she was sure she could give him ease 
 and sleep, which would lessen the chance of a 
 fever. 
 
 Her argument told and her manner im- 
 pressed so that the suffering man yielded him- 
 self to her. He had been pierced on the top 
 of the chest, on the left side, close to the shoul- 
 der joint, and had lost a great deal of blood. 
 With extraordinary dexterity and delicacy of 
 touch she removed his bandages, and examined 
 the wound with a critical eye. 
 
 " Tis a clean wound," she said, " though a 
 painful one; and, as there has been no blood
 
 53 
 
 from thy mouth, thou wilt be but little the 
 worse for this sword prick." 
 
 From under her petticoat she produced a 
 small bag of untanned leather. The contents 
 of the bag were of a miscellaneous character. 
 There were phials filled with colored liquids, 
 some white flax, a metal box containing a 
 green ointment, and what seemed to be pieces 
 of bark of the alder or willow tree. Having 
 cleansed the wound with water from a ewer 
 that stood on a table, she poured from one of 
 her phials a few drops of lotion into it. Next, 
 she soaked a pad of the flax with some other 
 lotion, and, drawing the lips of the wound to- 
 gether, she cleverly bound the flax on it with 
 a piece of bark straightened out. 
 
 The dressing completed, she prevailed upon 
 Manners to swallow a portion of the contents 
 of another of her phials, and then she sat down 
 to watch the effect of her treatment. In about 
 a quarter of an hour the injured man showed 
 every symptom of extreme drowsiness, and in 
 another quarter of an hour he was sleeping 
 calmly and naturally. Then telling Aleyne to 
 get rest, she coiled herself up in a corner of 
 the room, wrapped her scarf about her head, 
 and slumbered soundly. 
 
 It will be remembered that Will Dawson, the
 
 54 
 
 head woodsman at Haddon, prompted by the 
 large reward of a crown which was offered by 
 Madge for news of the wounded man, had set 
 off on his errand in the course of the after- 
 noon, and, avoiding the road by keeping to the 
 woods, through which he could have found his 
 way blindfolded, he came to Darley, where he 
 was well known. He had a chat with the black- 
 smith and cobbler, and with other gossips also, 
 and, as each one had his own and different ver- 
 sion of the affair, the news-gatherer was some- 
 what confused. But there was a consensus of 
 opinion that the " poor young gentleman " 
 who was lying at the inn was " wounded unto 
 death." And, finally, when Will, over a jack 
 of foaming October, discussed the matter with 
 mine host, that worthy gave such a lugubrious 
 account of the condition of his guest, and pro- 
 tested so emphatically that the " dying man " 
 must not be disturbed, that Dawson felt there 
 was no longer any ground to hope that " Mas- 
 ter Manners " would live, but the wound being 
 of such a nature the rising sun would find him 
 a corpse. 
 
 Thus it was that when, late in the day, 
 Madge went to Dorothy's chamber to bid her 
 good-night she said sadly: 
 
 " Will Dawson has returned, sweet one, and,
 
 55 
 
 though he hath muddled his brains with ale, 
 he tells a clear story." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried Dorothy with great ea- 
 gerness, as the nurse paused in her speech. 
 
 " The poor young gentleman, as it seems, 
 has received a fatal hurt, and lies a-dying," said 
 Madge dolefully. " May the saints receive 
 him." 
 
 Dorothy gave a start. 
 
 " Poor young gentleman ! " she said fervent- 
 ly. " God pity him ! How sad ! how sad ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A LOWLY DIPLOMATIST. 
 
 It is not difficult to understand that even at 
 a period when encounters were frequent, the 
 fight at Darley caused a good deal of excite- 
 ment throughout the county. There were cir- 
 cumstances in connection with it that gave it an 
 interest often lacking in such cases. Of course, 
 there were many versions of the story, for 
 accurate news was difficult to get; but the 
 generally accepted one was that the combat 
 had been between rivals for the hand of one 
 of Derbyshire's most beautiful women. This 
 caused Sir George Vernon very great annoy- 
 ance, and he did his best to counteract it by 
 causing a public announcement to be made 
 that the quarrel was between Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge and Mr. John Manners, owing to 
 the latter having attacked the reputation of 
 Sir Falconer in a hostelry. 
 
 The feelings of Lady Matilda may perhaps 
 be far better imagined than described, and she
 
 57 
 
 railed against Manners in terms that would 
 hardly have been justified had he been a com- 
 mon adventurer. She declared that he had 
 brought bad luck to the house; and that the 
 beautiful harmony that had hitherto prevailed 
 had been entirely disturbed by him. Needless 
 to say that Dorothy fell under the lady's deep 
 displeasure, for, with a strangely perverted 
 sense of what constituted right and justice, she 
 blamed Dorothy as being one of the causes that 
 had led to the encounter. 
 
 Of course, Sir George Vernon took Doll's 
 part; but this only made matters worse, until 
 it was decided that the subject should be ta- 
 booed. For several days after the fatal en- 
 counter Dorothy had to keep to her room, or, 
 at the most, could only descend to the terrace 
 for a brief taking of the air. The stepmother 
 was pleased to think that the indisposition was 
 due to a " fretting fever " caused by Sir Fal- 
 coner's enforced and hurried departure. 
 
 Dorothy wisely held her peace, and the Lady 
 Matilda would probably have gone into hys- 
 terics had she been told that her stepdaugh- 
 ter was a good deal distressed because she con- 
 sidered she had treated John Manners a little 
 harshly on the occasion of the first and last 
 time of seeing him. This distress was a pure
 
 58 
 
 sentiment due to a belief that Manners was 
 dead, and she did not like the thought that on 
 the eve of his death she had been unkind to a 
 man whose only fault was that he let it be 
 known that he was struck with her beauty. It 
 was not an unnatural sentiment in a young 
 lady of Dorothy's romantic temperament. 
 
 A fortnight passed. The excitement died 
 down. Haddon resumed its normal serenity; 
 but the beautiful weather had given place to 
 chill winds and damp atmosphere. Dorothy 
 had quite recovered from her slight indisposi- 
 tion, and was interesting herself immensely in 
 the preparations that had already begun for 
 Margaret's wedding. Sir Thomas Stanley had 
 left, and had gone to the Isle of Man, where 
 duty called him, and, as the marriage had been 
 fixed to take place late in the autumn, needle- 
 women and dressmakers were already busy 
 planning the bride's trousseau, for the trous- 
 seau in the case of a lady of her standing was 
 a formidable affair, and generally gave em- 
 ployment to an army of women for months. 
 
 " Doll," said Madge one morning when she 
 went into her nursling's chamber, " I have 
 news for you." 
 
 " Is't good, nurse? " 
 
 " Well, sweet one, it isn't bad."
 
 59 
 
 "Then don't keep me in suspense." 
 
 " Guess, my baby, what it is," said Madge 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Nay, dear old Madge, don't tease me. 
 Tell me your news, and I will kiss you." 
 
 " Well, this is it. Last night when I was at 
 the buttery hatch waiting for my ale Will Daw- 
 son came, and he whispered in my ear that he 
 had heard that Master Manners is not dead, 
 after all." 
 
 Dorothy visibly started, and the look in her 
 eyes said as plainly as words that the news was 
 welcome news. 
 
 " Right glad I am to hear it," she replied, 
 " for at least Sir Falconer Bracebridge has not 
 the death of this poor young gentleman on 
 his soul." 
 
 " Oh, it is of Sir Falconer's soul you think," 
 cried Madge slyly; and then, with some 
 warmth, she added : " But Master Manners 
 owes no thanks to Sir Falconer for his life. 
 I'll wager that had Sir Falconer had his will 
 there would have been little life left in Man- 
 ners." 
 
 " I fear 'tis so," murmured Dorothy with a 
 sigh. " But Manners lives, if your news be 
 true, and may God keep him in the future ! "
 
 Go 
 
 " Amen to that. But would you not like to 
 see this young gentleman again? " 
 
 " Wherefore should I wish to see him? He 
 is naught to me nor I to him. I am glad he 
 has escaped with his life ; but there my interest 
 ends. You must speak of him no more." 
 
 Poor kindly hearted Madge felt rebuked. 
 She had taken a fancy to Manners, and, even 
 from the little she had seen of him, she con- 
 trasted him with Bracebridge, to the latter's 
 disadvantage. And she had indulged in a 
 pretty little dream, in which she pictured John 
 Manners and Dorothy Vernon making love to 
 each other. When, therefore, she heard that 
 Manners was likely to recover she had hastened 
 joyfully to Dorothy to convey the information, 
 and to be told now that with his recovery in- 
 terest ceased was rather a shock to her. 
 
 " If your interest ceases, lady-bird," she an- 
 swered, " the poor young gentleman's may 
 not." 
 
 " What mean you, Madge? " 
 
 " I mean that perhaps he will think much 
 and long of you to his undoing." 
 
 " Was ever such nonsense talked," cried 
 Dorothy. " John Manners goes forth upon his 
 way and I on mine, and there's an end of it." 
 
 Dorothy rounded off her speech with a little
 
 6i 
 
 sigh, and turned to her mirror to glance at her 
 sweet face. Then Madge stole softly to her, 
 and, passing her arm round her neck, she laid 
 the fair head on her shoulder, and said : 
 
 " Will you answer me one question, lady- 
 bird, truthfully? " 
 
 " That will I, Madge, if I can. What is 
 it?" 
 
 " Would you like to see John Manners just 
 once more? " 
 
 " Nurse, your question is foolish." 
 
 " Nay, nay, 'tis a fair question, and I have 
 your promise that you would answer it truth- 
 fully." 
 
 " You push me unfairly, Madge," cried 
 Dorothy petulantly ; " but since it is so, I 
 should like to see John Manners once more, 
 if it were only to give him greetings of his re- 
 covery." 
 
 Old Madge smiled. She was conscious of 
 having scored a little triumph, and she was 
 satisfied. 
 
 Nurse Madge was illiterate and uneducated ; 
 but if Sir George Vernon the all-powerful 
 king of the Peak and his lady had been told 
 that this lowly servitor saw more than they, 
 and might change the fortunes of their house, 
 they would have laughed scornfully at the bare
 
 62 
 
 idea. Madge's affection for her " nursling," 
 as she loved to call her, tempted her to do bold 
 things, however, for no other earthly reason 
 than that of assuring Dorothy's interest and 
 happiness, and feeling sure that misery only 
 would come out of an alliance with Brace- 
 bridge, she was anxious, if possible, to prevent 
 that alliance from ever taking place. But she 
 herself could never have dreamed that her 
 lowly intriguing would have such tremendous 
 results as those which followed.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN DARLEY DALE. 
 
 When John Manners awoke from the re- 
 freshing sleep to which Jedaan's care and skill 
 had soothed him he felt another man. His 
 gloomy forebodings had given place to hope- 
 fulness, and so deeply impressed was he with 
 the skill of the strange woman that he asked 
 his friend, Aleyne, whether he thought there 
 was any necessity to send to Matlock, as pro- 
 posed, for the surgeon. Aleyne felt some re- 
 luctance to take the responsibility of saying it 
 was not before he had had some conversation 
 with Tedaan, and, as she had disappeared, he 
 went forth to make inquiries about her. He 
 found her in the village surrounded with a lit- 
 tle, eager crowd of the simple country folk. 
 
 Jedaan managed, after a little, to escape 
 from her audience, and converse with Aleyne, 
 to whom she pledged her assurance that she 
 could cure his friend of his wound, and that 
 she would depart if the surgeon was sent for.
 
 64 
 
 In the end Manners decided to trust himself 
 entirely to her care; and, as he now felt con- 
 vinced that in his case no vital organ was in- 
 jured, although the wound was deep and pain- 
 ful, he was content that she should attend to 
 him. She rewarded this confidence by unre- 
 mitting attention, and at the end of a week 
 he was allowed to get up, and sit in the sun- 
 shine on the bowling green or in front of the 
 hostelry, according to his fancy. Jedaan, how- 
 ever, was careful to bind his arm with bandages 
 to his side, so that he could not move it, lest, 
 as she said, the bleeding might start afresh. 
 
 As Manners was now anxious about his peo- 
 ple, fearing that exaggerated reports would 
 reach them, and throw them into a state of 
 anxiety and alarm, he dispatched his willing 
 friend Aleyne to them, and requested him to 
 say that his " accident " was but a trifling af- 
 fair, and though it had laid him up for a little 
 while he was speedily recovering; that he in- 
 tended to continue his journey, and hoped to 
 visit the forests of Leicestershire and Notting- 
 hamshire before returning. 
 
 So William Aleyne set forth upon his jour- 
 ney, and Manners promised to remain until he 
 should return, and vowed he would defend him 
 with sword and purse should any trouble arise
 
 65 
 
 out of the death of Bardsdale, which was not 
 improbable if the young man's people had 
 wealth and influence, although he was the chal- 
 lenger, and had been killed in fair fight. 
 
 Of course, Manners was in entire ignorance 
 of the extraordinary interest that old Madge 
 took in his welfare. Will Dawson on the oc- 
 casion of his first visit carried back a report 
 that the wounded man would not survive ; but 
 subsequent visits led to a modification of this, 
 and finally to an assurance that all was well, 
 and the invalid was rapidly recovering. 
 
 One day it chanced when Dawson had come 
 to the hostelry Manners passed him on his way 
 to a favorite seat under a spreading tree at 
 the corner of the house. 
 
 Dawson touched his cap to Manners, who, 
 struck by the forester's splendid physique and 
 sturdy independence of manner, readily en- 
 tered into conversation with him. And when 
 he learned that he was head forester to Sir 
 George Vernon his interest increased tenfold, 
 and he plied the forester with questions about 
 the family, and Dorothy in particular. Honest 
 Will Dawson was confused and agitated by 
 having the honor of talking to this gentleman 
 of quality, the son of an Earl ; and when Mas- 
 ter John Manners pressed a guinea upon him
 
 66 
 
 Will Dawson's bewilderment deprived him of 
 speech altogether. 
 
 An hour later, as Dawson stood by his horse, 
 ready to mount and ride home, and having re- 
 covered from the confusion into which Man- 
 ners' generosity and condescension had thrown 
 him, he said with a profound obeisance : 
 
 " Sir, I am your humble servant, and if you 
 would deign* to intrust me with any message 
 to be delivered at Haddon it shall be truly and 
 secretly given." 
 
 John looked at the speaker, and hesitated; 
 then said: 
 
 " A thousand thanks, but I am a stranger. 
 Why, then, should I send messages? " 
 
 " I know not, sir," said Will as he got into 
 the saddle, " but if you will pardon my freedom 
 of speech, I thought you would command me 
 to bespeak you well to Mistress Dorothy." 
 
 John rose from his seat, patted the neck of 
 Dawson's horse, and looked into the man's 
 face. " Think you, Dawson," he asked, " that 
 Mistress Dorothy has heard of my encounter 
 with Sir Falconer Bracebridge? " 
 
 " Do I think so, sir? Nay, 'tis common talk 
 at the Hall." 
 
 " Do you often get speech with Mistress 
 Dorothy?"
 
 67 
 
 " Only when she rides in the woods or goes 
 a-hawking with my Lord, or takes the air in 
 company with Madge. Ah, sir, she is a sweet 
 lady, and hath no false pride." 
 
 " Truly she is a most sweet lady, Dawson ! 
 Now, hark ye, should you have an opportunity 
 of speaking to her soon, say you have talked 
 with the poor gentleman who was wounded, 
 and that he prays for God's blessings upon her. 
 You need not say more." 
 
 Manners heaved a great sigh, and turned 
 away, and Dawson added: 
 
 " By the saints I swear I will also tell her 
 that you sighed as if your own heart, were 
 bursting with love of her ! " 
 
 Manners faced round quickly and half-an- 
 grily, but Dawson had dug his heels into the 
 mare's sides, and was galloping away. 
 
 When another few days had passed the 
 young man's wound, though still tender, was 
 healed, thanks to his own good constitution 
 and Jedaan's assiduous care. The weird wom- 
 an felt that her services were no longer re- 
 quired, so left him, amply and generously re- 
 warded for her services. Before parting from 
 him, and as if divining his thoughts, she said : 
 
 " Be of good cheer, sir. I have seen your
 
 68 
 
 star at night in the heavens, and it shines with 
 surpassing luster." 
 
 '' Would that I had faith in all your fore- 
 tellings," he answered, " but my mind refuses 
 to receive them. My heart is hardened. My 
 star may shine, but I myself am in the dark." 
 
 " Fate is fate, and destiny cannot be per- 
 verted," was her somewhat mystical reply, as 
 she kissed his hand, said " farewell," and added 
 as the final word, and speaking as one who 
 prophesies : " We shall meet again." 
 
 The strange woman had gone, and he was 
 alone, and felt lonelier than ever. Another 
 week was added to the past, and his friend was 
 still absent. The servant had returned, bring- 
 ing no news, and as the situation had become 
 unbearable Manners resolved to depart, leav- 
 ing word that he was riding to Derby, and 
 would be found at the hostelry of the " Black 
 Bear." But before he could set out his resolu- 
 tion was suddenly changed by the arrival of 
 Will Dawson. The forester had evidently rid- 
 den hard, and, drawing rein in front of the 
 hostelry, he sprang from the saddle and gave 
 the bridle to a hanger-on who was idling about 
 the doorway. Entering the hostelry, he inr 
 quired of the landlord for John Manners, whq
 
 69 
 
 happened to be giving his servant some in- 
 structions. 
 
 " Ah, Dawson ! " exclaimed John, as he rec- 
 ognized the woodman. " I was about to de- 
 part. In another half hour I should have been 
 well advanced upon my journey." 
 
 " In which case, sir," answered Will, " I 
 must have sped after you, since I am charged 
 to give a message to you privately." 
 
 With curiosity and interest alike aroused, 
 Manners drew the bearer of this irrtportant 
 message on one side, and said : 
 
 " And now speak your message, for I am 
 all eagerness." 
 
 " It is from Nurse Madge, if it please you." 
 
 " From Nurse Madge," repeated John with 
 an air of disappointment and disgust. 
 
 " Ay, sir; and she bade me speed to you and 
 say that to-morrow at noon she will be riding 
 past the woodman's hut in the lower chase of 
 Haddon on the eastern side." 
 
 " But how in the name of common sense 
 does it affect me? " asked the mystified John 
 Manners. 
 
 " Nay, I know not, sir, save it be that Mis- 
 tress Dorothy will be riding with her." 
 
 " What a dull-pated ass I am," thought 
 John to himself, " not to have guessed this J "
 
 70 
 
 He questioned no further, and when Daw- 
 son had refreshed himself he took his depart- 
 ure. 
 
 Left to his own reflections, however, John 
 Manners felt bewildered by the thoughts that 
 crowded through his brains. " Was this a gen- 
 uine assignation on the part of Madge," he 
 mused, " or a deep-laid scheme against his 
 honor or his safety? If it were the latter, and 
 Bracebridge were at the bottom of the plot, 
 then he would make sure that the hot-tem- 
 pered knight should not escape a second time."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 AT THE WOODMAN'S HUT. 
 
 How slowly and leaden-footed the hours of 
 the night sped away for John Manners. Sleep 
 came to him only in fitful snatches, and during 
 the wakeful intervals the silence and loneliness 
 were well-nigh maddening, for he was on ten- 
 ter-hooks ; his nerves were strung to their full- 
 est tension. One moment it seemed to him 
 he was being made the sport of a cruel destiny ; 
 the next, hope filled him with delight, to be 
 succeeded, however, by fits of despair. As the 
 night waned, he sank from sheer exhaustion 
 into a heavy slumber, from which he awoke 
 unrefreshed; and when he glanced into the 
 mirror he was startled to note how dull his 
 eyes were and how deep the shadows beneath. 
 
 The morning, like his spirits, was dull and 
 gloomy. A searching wind blew along the 
 valley, tossing the branches of the trees about 
 with a meaningless fury, and raising clouds of 
 dust. .The sky was heavy, and there were
 
 72 
 
 signs that presaged rain. Necessarily this was 
 not conducive to John Manners' well-being, 
 for if rain fell it was hardly to be expected that 
 Mistress Dorothy Vernon would ride forth in 
 the woods. And so he watched the lowering 
 sky, and listened to the fiendish screech of the 
 wind in anything but pleasant mood. In his 
 morbid state it seemed as if everybody and 
 everything were conspiring against him. 
 
 It was only a little after ten when he 
 mounted his horse to ride to Rowsley. On his 
 way toward Haddon the one figure and sub- 
 ject of his thoughts was Dorothy Vernon. 
 Fool he might be, and a dreamer of impossible 
 dreams, but it was undeniable that for the 
 time being he was completely under the spell 
 of Dorothy Vernon's bewitching beauty. 
 
 On reaching Rowsley he stalled his horse 
 at the tavern there, and set forth on foot to 
 the place named by Dawson as the rendezvous. 
 His heart, however, was heavy as lead, for the 
 gloom of the sky had increased, and a com- 
 ing storm was heralded by big drops of rain. 
 
 " She will not come in the rain," he thought, 
 " and I shall not again see her dear, dear, 
 sweet face ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, he pursued his journey 
 through the Meadow. He did not hurry,
 
 73 
 
 What need was there to hurry? He was even 
 yet in advance of the time named, and in such 
 rain and wind Mistress Dorothy Vernon would 
 not venture forth, but would be snugly housed 
 beneath Haddon's sheltering roof, and bestow- 
 ing no thought on the foolish gentleman, who 
 was plowing his way over the wet and mossy 
 track in the vain hope of beholding her. Such 
 was his belief, and he railed against Fate, 
 against the weather, against everything, in fact. 
 And though he would go as far as the spot 
 named by Dawson, he had no intention of 
 lingering there. Not he! He would at once 
 hasten back, and that night would sleep in 
 Derby and visit Haddon's Vale no more. 
 
 At last the trail he had been following bent 
 at an acute angle upward, and casting his 
 forlorn eyes in the direction in which it trended 
 he beheld the goal a rustic hut built of 
 gnarled branches, and thatched deeply with 
 straw. Melancholy, indeed, it looked in the 
 gloom that pervaded the forest, and, so far as 
 he could see, no living thing stirred within 
 or without. The ascent was steep, the moss 
 and dead leaves wet and slippery, so that he 
 toiled up with difficulty. 
 
 When within a short distance of the hut, a
 
 74 
 
 sound broke upon his ears, a sound that thrilled 
 and startled him. It was a voice. 
 
 He paused and listened. 
 
 It was a woman's voice, full of rich, sweet 
 tones. The blood quickened in his veins. He 
 heard his heart beat ; the pulses in his temples 
 rapped a tattoo. Neither wet moss nor slip- 
 pery leaves could stay his feet now. He hur- 
 ried forward, and beheld, sheltering beneath 
 the porch of the hut, Mistress Dorothy Ver- 
 non and dear old Nurse Madge. 
 
 It is a question whether John Manners or 
 Dorothy Vernon was most confused as their 
 glances met and fell again. And suddenly the 
 gentleman remembered that he must surely ap- 
 pear somewhat draggled, for the wind had 
 battered and the rain had drenched. Therefore 
 he tugged at his doublet, gave his cloak a 
 shake, glanced uneasily at his mud-stained 
 shoes, and saw with dismay that the plumes of 
 his hat were in sorry plight. All this was 
 momentary, he was conscious of bowing very 
 low, and stammering out some pretty fiction 
 about how surprised he was at this unexpected 
 meeting. 
 
 Madges eyes twinkled. 
 
 " By what strange chance, sir, did you come 
 here on such a day? "
 
 75 
 
 " It was a most kind Fate that surely led 
 me," he answered, as a sigh escaped him. 
 
 " It is very strange," said Dorothy, " that 
 you should come at this time. Madge and I 
 rode out to take the air, but the rain fell so 
 persistently that we were driven here for shel- 
 ter." 
 
 Manners had begun to recover his self-pos- 
 session. " It is dear, dear rain," he said, 
 " since it has enabled me to see you once 
 again, lady. I can now apologize for my rude- 
 ness when we last met, and then, when your 
 gracious pardon is bestowed, I will say fare- 
 well." 
 
 " Are you going away? " she asked quickly, 
 and as if surprised. 
 
 " Ay, lady ; I think I shall go beyond the 
 seas, and tempt fortune in other lands." 
 
 " And pray, sir," demanded Dorothy, " has 
 fortune treated you so badly in this poor coun- 
 try that you feel free to woo her elsewhere? " 
 
 He tried to look straight into her eyes, but 
 she averted them hastily. There was such a 
 wistful expression in her soft eyes, that no 
 sweeter picture than she presented could pos- 
 sibly have been imagined. She wore a riding 
 cloak of silver gray, with a hood that, com- 
 ing up over her head, framed her beautiful
 
 76 
 
 face, until she appeared, to Manners' enrap- 
 tured gaze, like the realization of some pic- 
 tured saint. To his eyes never before had 
 woman looked so beautiful, and the admiration 
 he felt displayed itself in his expression. That 
 she read his thoughts, and was conscious of 
 the impression she was making upon him was 
 more than probable, for she suddenly ex- 
 claimed, as if desirous of turning the drift of 
 the conversation: 
 
 " I ask your forgiveness, Master Manners, 
 that I should have been so forgetful of your 
 health as to fail to ask you how you have been 
 recently? " 
 
 " A thousand thanks, sweet lady, for this in- 
 terest. I am very well." 
 
 " And yet I have heard you were severely 
 wounded." 
 
 " 'Twas but a scratch." 
 
 " Then the gossips have lied, for 'twas said 
 that you were sick unto death." 
 
 " Death has passed me by and taken better 
 men." 
 
 " Say rather that the good God has spared 
 you for better fortune. But I should like to 
 hear from your own lips the cause of quarrel." 
 
 " Words, words, my lady," he answered with 
 a smile, " and yet words of grave offense
 
 77 
 
 lightly spoken, against Sir Falconer Brace- 
 bridge." 
 
 " Tell me, Master Manners," she said with a 
 strange, eager earnestness, " and tell me truly, 
 know you aught of evil against Sir Falconer? " 
 
 A pitiable look of despair swept across Man- 
 ners' face at this question, for it placed him, 
 as it seemed, in an exceedingly awkward and 
 delicate position. Here was an affianced bride 
 asking him if he knew anything evil of the man 
 who stood in the position of her husband-elect. 
 A man less endowed with scrupulous honor 
 than was John Manners might have sought to 
 benefit himself by trying to disgrace his rival, 
 but Manners shrank with an acute sensitive- 
 ness from even seeming to do so. 
 
 " My Lady Dorothy," he said at last, " Sir 
 Falconer Bracebridge who as I understand is 
 to be your wedded lord and I have crossed 
 swords, and a young gentleman has been slain 
 because in idle moments I spoke some ill-con- 
 sidered words." 
 
 Dorothy Vernon's face underwent a com- 
 plete change. She looked stern, commanding, 
 imperious, and when she spoke her tone did 
 not belie her looks. 
 
 " Master Manners, you are but juggling 
 with the truth. If your words were without
 
 78 
 
 warrant, then were you guilty of a most wicked 
 act, since one gentleman has been slain by 
 cause thereof, and between you and Sir Fal- 
 coner bad blood has been begot, the end of 
 which no man can foresee. If, on the con- 
 trary, there was warrant for your words, I, as 
 having great interest therein, demand to know 
 your warrant." 
 
 In the pitiable dilemma in which he then 
 found himself Manners almost wished that the 
 earth would open and swallow him*. He 
 looked round intending to appeal dumbly to 
 the humble Madge in the hope that she might 
 perchance come to his rescue; but the old 
 woman, taking advantage of Manners' and 
 Dorothy's absorption in each other, had 
 slipped away, and gone to where the horses 
 were tethered in a shed at the back of the 
 hut. There she had been joined by Will Daw- 
 son, who had come down from the upper wood 
 with a bag of game, and the two were in deep 
 conversation. 
 
 At length John Manners rose to the occa- 
 sion. He could not, and would not, descend 
 to a meanness. Placing his hand upon his 
 heart, and looking into her searching eyes 
 with honest, unwavering gaze, he said with al- 
 most ponderous solemnity:
 
 79 
 
 " My Lady Dorothy, I know nothing from 
 personal knowledge of Sir Falconer Brace- 
 bridge." 
 
 " Master Manners," replied Dorothy, almost 
 as solemnly, " it runs that at the Boar's Head 
 in Bakewell you said that against Sir Falconer 
 which has led to sad shedding of blood. If I 
 read you aright, I am sure you would not say 
 things of such moment without fair warrant. 
 Now, sir, I beseech frankness on your 
 part " 
 
 But Sir Falconer is to be your lord- 
 
 " What matters it?" she exclaimed with a 
 warmth that startled him. " On your honor, 
 sir, as an honest gentleman, give me the in- 
 formation I seek." 
 
 " You appeal to my honor, lady, and I 
 yield. On many authorities I have heard that 
 Sir Falconer is a dicer, that he is a man of 
 loose habits, that he hath been in many broils 
 by reason of an unhappy temper, and that in 
 his cups he hath been known to speak lightly 
 of the fame of many fair women. These mat- 
 ters, lady, are common talk, and when a man's 
 reputation is assailed by many it is to be feared 
 that at least a few speak truly. When I al- 
 lowed my tongue to loosely wag against Sir 
 Falconer I but repeated what men have been
 
 8o 
 
 saying this many a day ; and I beg you to re- 
 member, lady, that I spoke them without prej- 
 udice in my own favor, for I knew you not." 
 
 Dorothy Vernon shuddered, and for a mo- 
 ment covered her face with her hands as if she 
 were horrified. That she was greatly agitated 
 was obvious, and he was about to say some- 
 thing in the nature of an apology, when she 
 stopped him with a gesture. 
 
 " Master Manners, I thank you," she said 
 in a tone that told plainly of emotion, " and I 
 beseech you to summon my nurse." 
 
 He looked at her through a mist. So stirred 
 were the depths of his emotion that a watery 
 film gathered in his eyes. 
 
 " One word, Lady Dorothy," he cried. 
 " Since we must part to meet no more, say that 
 you do not despise me, that you do not hate 
 me." 
 
 Dorothy dare not trust herself to speak. 
 There was a lump in her throat; she felt as if 
 she must weep. She averted her face, and held 
 her hand toward him. In an instant he was 
 on his knee, and, seizing her hand, kissed it 
 again and again. Suddenly she withdrew it as 
 a footstep startled her, and Madge reappeared. 
 She was turning to go again, saying: " Call 
 me, sweet dove, when you are ready," when
 
 8i 
 
 Dorothy flung her arms out toward her, and 
 faltered with a choking sob : " Madge, 
 Madge ! " The nurse caught her to her bosom, 
 and demanded in fiery tones as she looked at 
 Manners : 
 
 " What means this? Have you insulted my 
 sweet child? Thou shalt pay dearly if so. 
 What ho, Will, Will Dawson ! " 
 
 Dawson came rushing from the shed, and 
 Madge was about to address him, when by a 
 supreme effort Dorothy drew herself up. 
 
 " Peace, nurse," she said, " and you, Will 
 Dawson, stand back. Behold, I allow this 
 gentleman to salute my hand. What need you 
 more for answer? " She suited the action to 
 the word, held forth her beautiful hand, and 
 once again Manners pressed his lips to it. 
 
 " Forgive me, lady-bird," sobbed dear old 
 Madge, as she used her knuckles to rub the 
 tears from' her cheeks. " I thought that Mas- 
 ter Manners had angered you. And you, sir, 
 forgive me. Will Dawson, bring the horses, 
 for we must get home. The rain has ceased, 
 but I doubt if it will hold fine for long." 
 
 Like one in a dream Manners saw Dawson 
 bring the horses round ; like one in a dream he 
 helped Dorothy into fier saddle; and long he 
 stood stock still wondering if he had really
 
 82 
 
 heard her whisper : " Ere you go to lands be- 
 yond the seas we shall meet again." Had he 
 really seen her just before a bend in the path- 
 way hid her from his view turn and wave her 
 handkerchief to him? How long did he stand 
 there? Was it seconds, minutes, or hours? 
 He knew not. He took no count of time. 
 
 The rain was falling again. It dripped and 
 sang Dorothy. The wind talked to the trees, 
 and its theme was Dorothy, and his own heart 
 said " Dorothy " in every beat.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A LETTER FROM BRACEBRIDGE DOROTHY'S 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 That fateful meeting at the woodman's hut 
 in Haddon Chase between Dorothy Vernon 
 and John Manners was due entirely to the 
 scheming of Nurse Madge, who, humble and 
 lowly though she was, had, by a freak of 
 chance, become the shaper of the destinies, so 
 to speak, of the house of her master, and the 
 house of Manners. This faithful old nurse had 
 seen many would-be wooers come buzzing 
 around her " most sweet child," and she had 
 approved of none of them; but when John 
 Manners came before her something in his 
 bearing, his looks, his eye, his voice, struck her ; 
 arrested her attention, and, by reason of some 
 unerring instinct, or intuitive faculty of ap- 
 praising the virtue and vices of the opposite 
 sex which she possessed, she pronounced him 
 satisfactory. But even this would not have 
 availed him if her keen old eyes had not de-
 
 84 
 
 tected in her charge signs of admiration of 
 John; for from the first time she first set eyes 
 upon him, Dorothy thought him handsome 
 and attractive; and this determined Madge to 
 take such means as she was capable of com- 
 manding to give Dorothy another opportunity 
 of seeing the man who had made such a 
 strange impression upon her. Then Manners 
 had opposed himself to the hectoring Sir Fal- 
 coner. This caused Madge's dormant sympa- 
 thies to spring into full activity, and she had 
 maneuvered to bring about that meeting at the 
 woodman's hut. 
 
 When Madge and Dorothy rode away after 
 the interview the old woman was a little bit 
 mystified by what she had witnessed, and, as 
 Doll volunteered no explanation, she endeav- 
 ored to elicit one by asking : 
 
 " What do you think now of John Manners, 
 my chick? " 
 
 The pale, sweet face had never before, to 
 Madge's knowledge, looked so solemn with 
 thought, or so troubled with some conflicting 
 emotion. 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me now, dear nurse," was 
 Dorothy's answer. " My mind is in a whirl." 
 
 "jYour face is sorrowful, little one," per-
 
 85 
 
 sisted Madge. " John Manners must have 
 dealt unkindly with thee." 
 
 An expressive glance from the soft, pensive 
 eyes told her nurse more, perhaps, than even 
 the words that followed did. " John Manners 
 is a true man and an honest gentleman," was 
 Dorothy's response. " But, please," she 
 pleaded, " let me be silent, for indeed I have 
 much to think about." 
 
 The nurse questioned no further; and 
 through the pattering rain they pursued the 
 rest of their way in silence. On reaching the 
 Hall, Dorothy was informed that Lady Matilda 
 had been making inquiries for her, and had 
 given word that as soon as she returned she 
 was to attend her Ladyship at once in her 
 room. This message seemed pregnant with 
 coming trouble, and, when the nurse had made 
 her charge presentable, Dorothy prepared to 
 face it. A glance at her stepmother's stern 
 face did not reassure her. The lady was sort- 
 ing out some threads for tapestry work, but 
 turned as Dorothy entered, and demanded to 
 know how she had been employing her time 
 for the past three hours. 
 
 " I was riding in the woods with Madge to 
 take the air." 
 
 " A most improper thing to do in such
 
 86 
 
 weather. I should not be surprised if a severe 
 attack of cold should follow.' 
 
 " But the rain has not wet me, madam." 
 
 " Pray, Mistress Dorothy, what makes you 
 proof against the rain? " 
 
 " I mean," explained Doll meekly, " I mean 
 the rain has not wet me to my hurt." 
 
 " Oh, oh, you say one thing and mean an- 
 other. But, seriously, it seems to me that 
 dangers other than from the rain may arise 
 to a well-favored maiden who rides forth 
 alone." 
 
 " But Madge accompanied m"e." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Madge, forsooth ! I do not ap- 
 prove of this wandering forth alone, and I 
 shall urge thy father to give such commands 
 as you will do well to obey in future. For a 
 wandering maiden is never safe from graceless 
 churls who boast in their tavern orgies of their 
 conquests, and speak lightly of the fame of 
 even the most high-born." 
 
 Poor Dorothy remained silent. Further 
 argument would only provoke further irritat- 
 ing remarks. " But I have news for you," 
 continued the good lady when she found that 
 Doll held her peace. " Letters have come by 
 special courier from Sir Falconer Bracebridge, 
 who sends loving greetings to you, and in-
 
 87 
 
 quires tenderly for your health and happiness. 
 He speaks of his sorrow for the awful grief of 
 Sir Ralph Bardsdale's mother and father when 
 they received back their dead boy. Indeed, 
 indeed, it rends my heart, oh! to think that 
 this great sorrow should have been brought 
 about by that adventurer, Manners, and his 
 companion. A pest on them both, and on their 
 houses ! " 
 
 Dorothy's blood boiled; but she restrained 
 herself, for she failed not to see that if she at- 
 tempted anything in the nature of a defense of 
 Manners it would only bring the storm about 
 her own head. 
 
 Lady Vernon waited for an expected out- 
 burst, but, none coming, she sullenly went on : 
 " Now, for more pleasant matters of thy fu- 
 ture lord's letter. He tells me to convey to 
 you the news that following hard upon his 
 letter he himself will return within a week, and 
 he begs me further to plead with your father 
 that there shall be a formal betrothal and a 
 day of marriage fixed." 
 
 Dorothy gave an involuntary start; but 
 Lady Matilda failed to notice it, and continued : 
 " It is a happy thing that so noble a gentle- 
 man as Sir Falconer Bracebridge has sought- 
 your hand at the very time that we are re-
 
 joicing at our dear Margaret's betrothal. 
 Truly, my lord has cause for congratulation, 
 and you that Heaven has smiled so favorably 
 upon you." 
 
 Dorothy's thoughts had been wandering 
 elsewhere, but her stepmother's question re- 
 called her, and though she felt bewildered she 
 gave a clever answer. 
 
 " Heaven has smiled upon my sister, and 
 though I have many sins that I pray may be 
 purged away, I know of no such high offense 
 in the sight of Heaven that its smiles should 
 be withheld from me." 
 
 " Tis well said, and as my Lady Brace- 
 bridge you will have cause for much thankful- 
 ness." 
 
 The Lady Vernon, having exhausted her 
 subject, kissed her stepdaughter coldly on the 
 forehead, and dismissed her, much to Doro- 
 thy's relief. But so intense had been the strain 
 on the poor girl's feelings, and so overstrung 
 were her nerves, that when she found herself 
 alone in her chamber she shot the bolt of the 
 massive door and wept. The weeping was the 
 natural outcome of all she had gone through. 
 
 That same afternoon Lady Vernon ap- 
 proached her husband on the subject of Brace- 
 bridge's proposal Sir George expressed no dis-
 
 89 
 
 approval of the suggested betrothal, but he 
 showed himself averse to an early marriage. 
 
 " You must not forget, dame," he urged as 
 a cogent reason for delay, " my daughter Mar- 
 garet goes from me within the year, and it 
 would rend my heart in pieces if I were to be 
 deprived at the same time of my sweet Doll. 
 A man who gives his daughters in marriage 
 knows that he is opening out for them a new 
 life, but whether for happiness or misery he 
 cannot tell. But he does know this ; the going 
 from him of his children takes from him joys 
 that never, never can return. Their departure 
 reminds him that the fires of his life burn low, 
 and soon only the gray ashes will remain." 
 
 This little bit of homely and deeply felt senti- 
 ment found no echo in his lady's breast. S'he 
 was artful enough, however, not to attempt to 
 win her lord by counter argument, so she ap- 
 peared to acquiesce in Sir George's views, 
 though she made a mental resolve that things 
 should be as she desired. 
 
 Lady Vernon had yet to learn that there 
 was something in the world stronger than even 
 her imperious will, and more resourceful than 
 her astute diplomacy. Dorothy's fate was 
 sealed as far as she was concerned, but she had 
 forgot that " love laughs at locksmiths," and
 
 90 
 
 that Dorothy was no longer a child. But even 
 Dorothy did not guess the startling and tragic 
 events which lay in the immediate future, and 
 were to exercise such a tremendous influence 
 on her life and that of her family.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TRAPPED. 
 
 John Manners could no longer be in any; 
 doubt as to the true state of his feelings for 
 Mistress Dorothy Vernon. The Hand of Des- 
 tiny had grasped him; and henceforth he would 
 be moved as a piece on a chess-board. In the 
 light of what had transpired at the Woodman's 
 Hut on the day when the rains fell and the 
 winds blew, the prophecies of Jedaan the Gipsy 
 appeared less wild and improbable. 
 
 As was only natural, however, his buoyancy 
 and hopefulness underwent a sudden change, 
 and for days he endured that suspense of love 
 which ofttimes is so hard to bear. She had 
 said at the moment of parting, " Before thou 
 goest to lands beyond the sea we shall meet 
 again." What did she mean by that? Surely 
 she would send him a message, a sign. But 
 days came and went, and brought no sign. 
 Thus he alternated between hope and fear; 
 when at last, to his joy and relief, William
 
 92 
 
 Aleyne, returned. He brought with him 
 money and anxious messages, and a firm re- 
 quest that John Manners would depart out of 
 Derbyshire and return to his people. 
 
 Aleyne's journey had been uneventful. He 
 had soon told all, and been told in turn of 
 his friend's doings since the parting. Aleyne 
 brought his cool, dispassionate reasoning to 
 bear upon the situation, and this was his 
 judgment. 
 
 " It is as clear as daylight that Dawson's 
 coming to you was prompted by the old nurse, 
 who wished to bring you and Mistress Doro- 
 thy Vernon together, that she might hear from 
 your own lips the story of your quarrel with 
 Bracebridge, and the causes that led to it. 
 That object being now accomplished, you will 
 hear no more from the lady, and it is now your 
 duty to leave this place and wipe her from 
 your memory." 
 
 This advice, on the face of it, was sound, but 
 it was hardly likely to weigh with a man who 
 was drunk with love, and in whose ears still 
 rang the words, " Before thou goest beyond 
 the seas we shall meet again." 
 
 " Will, good friend," answered Manners, " I 
 am sure of your friendship, and value your 
 sound sense; but I will depart not out of
 
 93 
 
 Derbyshire until Dorothy Vernon's prediction 
 is fulfilled and we have met again." 
 
 Aleyne tried to reason his friend from this 
 determination, but Manners was firm; even 
 urging his friend to go and leave him. But 
 Aleyne said that, as they had set out together, 
 he would remain, for a time at least, in the 
 hope that his friend's " moon madness," as he 
 termed it, would pass away. 
 
 It was a somewhat curious thing that on the 
 very day following this discussion Jedaan re- 
 appeared with a message from Will Dawson, 
 whom she had met near Haddon. The mes- 
 sage was to the effect that at a certain hour 
 two days from then Dawson would be at the 
 hut in the wood, and if Manners would repair 
 there he would receive news. And the woman 
 herself brought news. It was that Sir Fal- 
 coner Bracebridge was back at Haddon Hall, 
 and that it was rumored among the servants 
 that he and Dorothy were to be married early 
 in the new year. 
 
 The fact that a portion of Jedaan's prophecy 
 had already been verified had seriously im- 
 pressed Manners with a belief in the weird 
 woman's power of piercing the future, and now 
 he pressed her again to tell him more. j 
 
 " Is it written in the Book of Fate that I
 
 94 
 
 should tempt my fortune by remaining here? " 
 Manners asked Jedaan, after the first shock of 
 her news had passed. 
 
 " It is so written," she answered. 
 
 " And my heart's desires will find fulfill- 
 ment?" 
 
 " No man reaches the heights at which he 
 gazes," she said, ambiguously, " but be bold, 
 brave, determined, and mayhap thou wilt fall 
 not far short." 
 
 With this answer he had to be content, for 
 not another word would she vouchsafe in re- 
 sponse to his eager questioning. 
 
 On the day appointed for his meeting Daw- 
 son at the woodman's hut, John Manners went 
 off full of a burning eagerness to know what 
 the object of the meeting was. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Manners, as he hastened 
 along, " should it chance that Dorothy is at 
 the rendezvous what joy will be mine!" 
 
 He reached the hut, and, save for the wood- 
 land voices, there was silence and solitude. 
 Seating himself on a fallen tree, he listened 
 and watched; listened for the sound of a sil- 
 very voice, watched for the figure of his 
 dreams. 
 
 But Dorothy came not, though the burly
 
 95 
 
 woodman, Dawson, did. As he made his 
 obeisance to Manners, he said: 
 
 " Nurse Madge bids me convey to you the 
 news that Lady Matilda has set a close watch 
 on Mistress Dorothy of late, and, while 
 Mistress Dorothy desires to see you once more 
 regarding matters about which you gave her 
 information, she is afraid that a meeting is 
 now impossible. Since she considers that there 
 is danger to yourself should you remain in the 
 neighborhood, she begs that you will depart, 
 and she will remember you in her prayers." 
 
 John Manners' heart turned cold, and he 
 was sick with a sense of bitter disappointment. 
 
 " To see her no more." The thought was 
 maddening. 
 
 His life in danger ! Pooh ! What value set 
 he upon his life? If she would but give him 
 an approving smile, whisper a word of love 
 in his ear, he would pit himself against a host 
 of Sir Falconer Bracebridges, and fiery 
 dragons to boot ay, and slay them all ! 
 
 " Friend Dawson," he said, with a familiar- 
 ity that pleased the woodman, " go to Nurse 
 Madge, and tell her to say to her mistress that 
 my life I value not at a pin's point, and here 
 I will remain until I see her." 
 
 " A bold resolution, sir, but you run much
 
 96 
 
 risk. Sir Falconer Bracebridge, who remains 
 at the Hall, rides and hunts in the woods daily, 
 and he is a fiery-tempered gentleman." 
 
 " I care not. But, tell me, Dawson, is it true 
 that Bracebridge is to be openly betrothed to 
 Mistress Dorothy? " 
 
 " So says the rumor, sir. But I give you this 
 only as servants' gossip." 
 
 " I understand. I have a good mind to go 
 boldly to the Hall and warn Sir George Ver- 
 non against his future son-in-law, for I have 
 an implacable hatred of this same Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge." 
 
 " I detest him myself, sir, but if you did 
 what you say it would be a serious matter, and 
 would, I am sure, cause much sorrow to the 
 dear young mistress." 
 
 " You are right, Dawson," exclaimed John, 
 in dire distress, " and yet I cannot bear the 
 thought that Mistress Dorothy should be~ wed 
 to so loose a man as Sir Falconer Bracebridge. 
 Oh, if I could but see Dorothy once more, for 
 I am sure she does not love him." 
 
 " I have heard old Madge say the same, sir. 
 And, more, I have heard that Mistress Dorothy 
 thinks you a most proper gentleman." 
 
 Carried away by his feelings, John Manners
 
 97 
 
 seized the hand of Dawson and shook it, much 
 to the man's amazement. 
 
 " Tell me, Dawson," he cried, " are there no 
 means by which I can see Mistress Dorothy? " 
 
 Dawson ran his fingers through his tangled 
 locks, and scratched his head in a puzzled way. 
 But suddenly a broad smile beamed on his 
 weather-beaten countenance, and he said: 
 
 " I have a plan, Master Manners, but first 
 I must put it before old Madge, and to- 
 morrow at this time I will meet you here and 
 you shall know it." 
 
 " But why not now? " 
 
 Dawson explained that he did not like to 
 take upon himself the responsibility of putting 
 his plan into execution until he had discussed 
 the subject with the old nurse, so there was 
 nothing for Manners to do but possess his soul 
 in patience until the morrow. 
 
 John Manners was far too straightforward 
 and honest to play fast and loose with his good 
 friend Aleyne, and so he told him all that 
 Dawson had said. Needless to say, Aleyne 
 gave utterance to his thoughts with a vigor of 
 expression altogether unusual with him. This 
 " wild, romantic infatuation," as he was pleased 
 to term it, was unworthy of a man of mature 
 years. The situation, as it seemed to him, was
 
 an impossible one, for what hope was there, 
 firstly, of disposing of Sir Falconer Brace- 
 bridge; secondly, of winning the favor of Sir 
 George and Lady Vernon; and, thirdly, of 
 gaining Dorothy's consent to be wooed by a 
 gentleman who, although the son of an Earl, 
 had little to look forward to? 
 
 William Aleyne was beyond all doubt a 
 patient man, and as true and stanch a friend 
 as ever breathed, but the limit of his patience 
 was now reached. 
 
 " John," he said, sorrowfully, " up to this 
 point I have clung to you, and my services, 
 my sword, my life have been at your disposal. 
 But now my dignity and pride are at stake, 
 and, besides, we as gentlemen have no right 
 to force ourselves into the affairs of a family 
 in whom we have no concern, and who take 
 no interest in us. Now, once more I ask, will 
 you go with me? " 
 
 " No, Aleyne, I cannot go hence until I have 
 once more seen Mistress Dorothy. It seems 
 to me it is my fate." 
 
 " So be it. Farewell. I part from you not 
 in anger, but in sorrow." 
 
 Half an hour later Aleyne and his servant 
 were riding toward Derby, and no sooner was 
 he out of sight than Manners felt that he had
 
 99 
 
 acted foolishly, and he actually instructed his 
 man to ride after Aleyne and ask him to re- 
 turn. But before the man could get into the 
 saddle the order was countermanded, and Man- 
 ners resolved to face alone the issue of the step 
 he had taken. 
 
 The hours went by leaden-footed, and when 
 night closed in a chilling sense of loneliness 
 came upon him, so that he would have given 
 much for the companionship of his true and 
 trusted friend, Aleyne. Irritable even with 
 himself, he wandered along the deserted road, 
 until, weary and fagged, he returned to the 
 inn, and entered the common room, where 
 some of the villagers were assembled. He had 
 been there for over an hour taking part in 
 their merry-making, when the door opened and 
 a stranger entered. He was a big, burly man, 
 of a somewhat ruffianly cast of countenance. 
 Glancing round at the assembled company, he 
 said: 
 
 " Is Master Manners here? " 
 
 " I am he," answered Manners. 
 
 " Follow me, please ; for I am the bearer of 
 a message intended for your own ear alone." 
 
 Manners' face flushed. " A message from 
 Madge or Will Dawson," he thought, and, as 
 the stranger led the way, he followed. They
 
 100 
 
 passed out of the house into the roadway. The 
 night was dark, though the stars were shining. 
 
 " What is your message? " Manners asked, 
 burning with a desire to hear what the man 
 had to say. 
 
 " Come a little farther from the house, for 
 what I have to say is private." 
 
 Not suspecting treachery, Manners walked 
 along the road, the man being in advance. 
 Suddenly, as they reached the deep shadow of 
 overhanging trees, the stranger whistled, and 
 instantly Manners felt himself gripped as if 
 in a vise. Before he could make the slightest 
 resistance, his head was enveloped in a sack or 
 cloak; then he was lifted by powerful hands 
 and placed across a horse in front of a man 
 already in the saddle, and the horse was at 
 once urged into a gallop. The whole business 
 had been so swiftly and suddenly carried out 
 that the infamous plot had succeeded only too 
 well.
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 It is easy to imagine John Manners' feelings 
 when he realized that he was being carried off 
 as a captive. His arms were imprisoned by a 
 sack or cloak, which had been hastily but se- 
 curely fastened about his waist with a cord. 
 It was, therefore, painfully evident that he was 
 the victim of a well-matured and deep-laid 
 scheme, which had been only too successful. 
 
 From the muffled sounds that came to him, 
 he knew there were several horsemen, and, 
 recognizing his utter helplessness, he resigned 
 himself with such patience as he could com- 
 mand to the situation. Needless to say, his 
 pulses were quickened by an all-pervading feel- 
 ing of indignation at the outrage, for which he 
 mentally vowed there should be a bitter reck- 
 oning. 
 
 For an hour the jolting and jarring never 
 ceased, and he felt as if his back would break 
 in two. At last the horses rattled over cobble
 
 IO2 
 
 stones, and then halted. He felt himself 
 lifted down, carried some distance, along a 
 passage as it seemed, and finally he was 
 dumped unceremoniously onto a bench'. 
 Next, the sack was removed, and the sense of 
 suffocation yielded as he was able to breathe 
 the air freely. He was bathed in perspiration, 
 while every limb in his body ached. 
 
 He noticed with the quickness that a man 
 in such a situation would be apt to note that 
 he was in a low-ceilinged apartment, the floor 
 of which was the natural earth, while there was 
 one tiny window at one end. He had been 
 placed on a stool, and a small table stood at 
 one corner, while in another corner was a 
 bundle of new straw. Two men stood over 
 him. One held aloft a horn lantern ; the other 
 had the sack in his hand. This fellow was of 
 gigantic build. He was like a bull, and must 
 have had a bull's strength. His coarse features 
 were deeply pitted with small-pox marks, and 
 his great round head was thatched with a 
 matted tangle of reddish hair. As Manners 
 recovered himself he started up, exclaiming: 
 
 " Who is responsible for this outrage? 
 Where am I ? ' 
 
 " That you will know by-and-by," answered 
 the big man gruffly.
 
 103 
 
 " I demand to know now." And instinctive- 
 ly Manners' right hand went to his sword hip ; 
 but he carried no sword, and had no weapon of 
 any kind. 
 
 The big man grinned, displaying a set of un- 
 even yellow teeth. 
 
 " A demand from a prisoner isn't of much 
 worth," he said in deep, guttural tones. 
 
 " A prisoner? " 
 
 " Ay, a prisoner." 
 
 "What place is this?" 
 
 " I am forbidden to answer questions ; there- 
 fore ask none. It will save trouble." 
 
 " By whose orders have I been made pris- 
 oner? " 
 
 " Again I tell you I cannot answer," 
 snapped the man. " And, hark ye, sir, make 
 yourself content. Yonder is a bundle of straw 
 for your bed ; many a fine gentleman has slept 
 on worse, and, should you be civil, a jug of 
 strong ale and a loaf shall be furnished for 
 your supper." 
 
 Without another word the two men retired, 
 the one who bore the lantern leaving it on the 
 table. The sounds the door made in closing 
 indicated that it was massive and heavy, and 
 the grating of the key in the lock left the pris- 
 oner no room to doubt that he was very effi-
 
 104 
 
 ciently secured. Somewhat dazed and ex- 
 hausted, Manners sat with his chin resting on 
 his hands. It was almost difficult for him to 
 realize that he was not the victim of a bad 
 dream. The whole affair had been so rapidly 
 and skillfully carried out that he had scarcely 
 had time for thought. 
 
 Presently he rose, took up the lantern, and 
 made an examination of his prison. Its dimen- 
 sions were about eighteen feet long by four- 
 teen wide. The ceiling was rough, vaulted 
 brickwork. The walls were damp. It was, 
 therefore, probably a cellar. He went to the 
 door and listened. Not a sound came to him. 
 It might have been a tomb. He pressed his 
 shoulders to the door, merely as a test. It was 
 evidently set in a massive framework of wood, 
 and was as solid as a wall. As regards the win- 
 dow, a medium-sized cat could hardly have 
 crept through. Escape, therefore, was impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Indignant as he was, John Manners had too 
 much common sense to try to accomplish the 
 impossible. He could not beat the massive 
 door down; he could not pass through stone 
 walls, therefore he accepted the inevitable. To 
 fret and chafe and fume would not aid him
 
 105 
 
 an atom. Enemies had encompassed him. 
 Who were they? 
 
 For a moment he thought it possible that 
 William Aleyne had had a hand in the busi- 
 ness. But he put the thought from him, and 
 was angry with himself for having entertained 
 it even for a moment. William Aleyne was a 
 man of noble mind, and would not lend himself 
 to any act of treachery. Since it was evident, 
 however, that there was a prime mover in the 
 business, what more likely than that Will Daw- 
 son was at the bottom of it all? He had be- 
 trayed Manners to Sir Falconer, who had taken 
 this dastardly course to free himself of a dan- 
 gerous rival. 
 
 This view of the case made the prisoner furi- 
 ous for the moment, so that he sprang to his 
 feet and paced up and down, stirred to his very 
 depths by a passion of anger, which had only 
 partially subsided when the door was opened, 
 and the big man appeared, carrying a jug of 
 ale, a loaf, and some cheese. 
 
 " Stay, fellow," cried the prisoner. " Tell 
 me by whose orders this outrage has been com- 
 mited upon me, and I will give you fifty 
 crowns." 
 
 The big man did not deign to make a reply. 
 He placed the things on the table, and moved
 
 io6 
 
 toward the door, where a second man stood on 
 guard. Manners contemplated a dash for free- 
 dom, but the hopelessness of such an attempt 
 was only too apparent, so he resigned himself, 
 and, being once more alone, he very sensibly 
 took a long drink of the beer, which he found 
 grateful and cooling to his parched throat. 
 Then, as hunger asserted itself, he discussed 
 the cheese and loaf, and by the time he had 
 finished his frugal repast he was in a calmer 
 frame of mind. 
 
 It seemed pretty clear at that stage that it 
 was not his life that was aimed at, otherwise it 
 would not have been difficult to hire an assas- 
 sin to make short work of the job. Such a 
 mode of getting rid of an enemy was common 
 enough at this period, and detection most diffi- 
 cult. But he had been deprived of liberty in an 
 unceremonious and illegal way, which pointed 
 to a secret enemy, and obviously one of power 
 and influence. And there was no one the pris- 
 oner could think of in the least likely to resort 
 to such desperate means, save Bracebridge. 
 It was a very disturbing thought. To be out- 
 witted and beaten is never conducive to calm- 
 ness of spirit, so his situation taxed Manners 
 to such a degree that it was long before he at- 
 tempted to find temporary oblivion in sleep.
 
 ID; 
 
 But at last he shook the bundle of straw out, 
 and, lying down, slept soundly for many hours. 
 
 When he awoke a long slanting beam of 
 light penetrated through a crack in the wooden 
 shutter, and illuminated a narrow strip of the 
 dripping wall opposite. Manners sat upright, 
 rubbed his eyes, and stared at the glittering 
 wet patch, and it at once recalled him to a 
 sense of his surroundings. 
 
 He rose, moved the stool beneath the win- 
 dow, and standing on it opened the shutter. 
 The small window was set in a deep recess in 
 the wall, and the light being focused by the 
 aperture, fell fan-like, illuminating the oppo- 
 site space widely, but leaving the rest in semi- 
 shadow. Nevertheless, there was light enough 
 everywhere to bring into bold prominence the 
 squalor of the apartment, with its moisture- 
 laden walls, its earth floor, and its undulated 
 brick roof, whitened here and there with a fun- 
 goid growth. Manners shuddered involunta- 
 rily as he noted the aspects of his prison house. 
 
 He was about to drag the table under the 
 little window in order that he might mount 
 and survey so much of the outer world as the 
 aperture would enable him to do, when his at- 
 tention was arrested by his morning meal, 
 which had evidently been brought while he
 
 io8 
 
 slept. It was frugal enough a mug of ale, a 
 small coarse loaf, and a lump of the hard, red 
 cheese peculiar to the district. 
 
 But there was something else on the table 
 that, hungry as he was, had more attraction 
 for him than the food. It was an oblong let- 
 ter, bearing his name, and tied round with a 
 strip of ribbon. With a thrill of nervous emo- 
 tion he cut the ribbon, unfolded the paper, and 
 read as follows: 
 
 " The liberty of which you have been de- 
 prived will be restored to you on one condition, 
 and one condition only; it is that you give a 
 solemn undertaking in writing on your oath 
 as a gentleman that you will at once quit Der- 
 byshire, and return not within a year at least. 
 Your refusal to do this will be your death war- 
 rant. You are safely bestowed. Escape is im- 
 possible. Your place of imprisonment is 
 known only to your captors, and they are 
 pledged to secrecy. Therefore beware how you 
 answer. A refusal to comply with this demand 
 will be fatal to you ; you will be left to rot, and 
 an unknown grave will be your portion. Treat 
 not this threat lightly, for it will be put into 
 execution within a few hours of refusal to ac- 
 cept freedom on the terms offered. Your 
 jailer will come for your reply at ten of
 
 log 
 
 the clock. Agree to the terms, and your prison 
 door will at once be open ; refuse and you will 
 never see another sun rise. Remember you 
 have to choose between life and death, so pon- 
 der well." 
 
 Manners burned with indignation as he pe-- 
 rused this threatening and mysterious letter, 
 but he had little doubt in his own mind that 
 his enemy was Sir Falconer Bracebridge, who 
 had found a ready tool in Will Dawson. In- 
 dignation gave place to a passionate outburst, 
 but his helplessness made itself only too ap- 
 parent. He recognized the futility of trying 
 to burst his prison walls. From what he knew 
 of Sir Falconer he felt perfectly sure he would 
 not hesitate to carry out his dastardly threat. 
 
 Nevertheless the prisoner was too coura- 
 geous, too proud, to accept his liberty and life 
 from the hands of a man whom he so utterly 
 despised. And since Bracebridge had resorted 
 to cowardly and treacherous means to entrap 
 him, Manners felt that he need not hesitate 
 to free himself by the power of his purse if 
 that were possible. Presently a key grated in 
 the lock, the door opened, and the big jailer 
 presented himself. 
 
 " Good-day, Master Manners," he said 
 gruffly. " I await your answer to the letter."
 
 110 
 
 " Who is your employer, fellow? " the pris- 
 oner demanded. 
 
 " I am not here to answer questions." 
 
 " Last night I offered you fifty crowns for 
 the information ; now I will give you a hundred 
 if you will give me the name of your employer, 
 and set me free." 
 
 " It is more than my life is worth. I await 
 your answer to the letter." 
 
 " I will make it two hundred crowns. Will 
 that not tempt you? " 
 
 " No. Your answer, quick." 
 
 The blood rushed into Manners' face. He 
 looked hard at the bull-like man, but was 
 forced to recognize the hopelessness of trying 
 conclusions with him. The man was a Her- 
 cules. 
 
 " What is your name? " he asked haughtily. 
 
 " You can call me Hal." 
 
 " Then listen, Hal. Go to your master and 
 tell him I scorn and defy him, and black- 
 hearted fiend as he is, I will meet him when 
 and where he pleases, and fight him to the 
 death." 
 
 Hal laughed. 
 
 " Your are a prisoner," he said. " But you 
 can have liberty on one condition." 
 
 " And that condition I decline to accept."
 
 Ill 
 
 " Then you're doomed. Farewell." With- 
 out another word the burly Hal turned on his 
 heel and left the unhappy prisoner to his own 
 reflections, which, needless to say, were of a 
 most depressing nature.
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PROSPECT DARKENS. 
 
 The day wore itself out somehow, but in the 
 whole course of his varied and somewhat ad- 
 venturous life, John Manners had never suf- 
 fered such mental agony as he did during those 
 leaden hours. The stillness of death reigned. 
 The chirp of a bird or the squeak of a rat 
 would have been a mighty relief in his awful 
 solitude. He was not quite the man to aban- 
 don himself to despair, hopeless though his 
 position seemed; but the hideous uncertainty, 
 and his ignorance of what was going on in the 
 living, breathing, palpitating world, which 
 must have been so near, and yet he could not 
 hear it, produced a sense of mental torture that 
 was all but unbearable. 
 
 The sun swung to the west, and he watched 
 the shadows creep along the glistening wall, 
 as on a sun dial, and he gathered some vague 
 idea of the time of day thereby. He had con- 
 sumed the morning food that he had found
 
 H3 
 
 upon the caole, and as the day faded a con- 
 sciousness of an internal gnawing caused him 
 occasionally to glance anxiously toward the 
 door. But no grate of key or creak of hinge 
 relieved the tension of his nerves. Then the 
 words of the letter flashed through his mind. 
 
 " You will be left to rot, and an unknown 
 grave will be your portion." 
 
 " The wretches intend that I shall slowly 
 starve to death, or, at any rate, they think to 
 break my spirits with hunger," he muttered. 
 " Starve me they may, but they will find I can 
 die like a man." The horror of the prospect of 
 slow starvation, shut off from all who knew 
 and loved him, so weighed upon his mind that 
 he flung himself upon his heap of straw, and 
 ground his teeth in a sort of spasm of delirium. 
 But the spasm passed, and there came to him 
 a remembrance of Jedaan, the strange weird 
 woman who had foretold his future. If there 
 was the slightest reliance to be placed on what 
 she had said, then he was not doomed to perish 
 in that miserable dungeon, and he would 
 triumph over his enemies in the end. But was 
 she to be relied upon? " 
 
 On the answer to that question his fate 
 seemed to hang. Between doubt and belief he 
 fluctuated for some time; until he recalled, as
 
 114 
 
 nearly as possible, all that she had said, and all 
 that had happened ; while from the happenings 
 he drew consolation. And by contrast with the 
 mental tumult, through which he had passed, 
 a comforting calm ensued; hope rose high 
 again. 
 
 Now it must be borne in mind that John 
 Manners lived in an age when a belief in 
 witchcraft, wise women, wizards, prophecy, and 
 the like was universal, and it was, therefore, 
 not a surprising thing that even he, with all 
 his learning and knowledge of the world, 
 should be superstitious enough to pin his faith 
 to Jedaan's utterances. That faith insured him 
 hours of sound sleep, despite his hunger, and 
 when he awoke and beheld his prison illumined 
 with the light of a new day, he felt relatively 
 cheerful; and his spirits rose still more as he 
 beheld a fresh supply of food. 
 
 The state of his appetite was such that he at- 
 tacked the food, coarse as it was, with ravening 
 haste, and never before had a draught of ale 
 seemed so delicious. So intent had he been 
 in satisfying nature's craving that it was not 
 until he began to experience a delightful sense 
 of repletion that he noticed another letter on 
 the table. He tore it open, and read this: 
 
 " A last chance is given you, and you will be
 
 "5 
 
 allowed one more day to decide whether you 
 will accept freedom on the conditions named, 
 or die like a rat in a trap where you are? 
 Your only hope in this world is to accept the 
 conditions." 
 
 Again a sense of burning anger stirred his 
 pulses, and he crushed the paper in his hands, 
 but the anger passed quickly. 
 
 " My enemy will be foiled," he thought, 
 " my role is not yet completed ; my destiny not 
 yet fulfilled." 
 
 He straightened the letter out again, and 
 stowed it in the inner pocket of his doublet, 
 and then in order to occupy his mind, and to 
 pass the time, he commenced to carve rude 
 characters on the table with the knife that 
 had been brought with the bread. While he 
 was thus occupied the door was suddenly 
 opened, and the huge bulk of Hal appeared. 
 
 " How goes it with you, Master Manners? " 
 asked the man. 
 
 " Well," answered the prisoner, " a book or 
 an inkhorn and some paper would very much 
 relieve the tedium of my enforced stay here. 
 Surely these things I may purchase, though a 
 hundred crowns will not purchase my free- 
 dom."
 
 " The terms of freedom are easy," said Hal 
 with a leer. 
 
 " What are they? " 
 
 " To do as you have been requested to do in 
 the letters." 
 
 Manners ground his teeth with rage. Be- 
 ing unable as yet to fully realize how thor- 
 oughly he was in the power of his enemy, he 
 was defiant and proud. 
 
 " Back to your dog of a master," he said, 
 with a fiery vehemence, " and tell him that I 
 scorn and spurn him, and absolutely refuse to 
 accept my liberty on any such terms as those 
 he proposes. And tell him further that 
 though I am in his power now, it will be but 
 for a short time, and then he shall learn that 
 a Manners knows how to avenge a deadly in- 
 sult." 
 
 Hal laughed unpleasantly as he answered: 
 
 " These are bold words, master, for one who 
 is caged as securely as thou art." 
 
 " But your cowardly employer will never 
 dare to carry out his threat." 
 
 Hal shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " False hopes of thine, master," he said. 
 " You are here, and here you will remain until 
 you are dead, when your body will be thrust 
 in a sack and buried in a hole where none can
 
 117 
 
 discover it, unless you are willing to depart on 
 the conditions named." 
 
 The prisoner had hard work to control him- 
 self in face of this menace; he looked angrily 
 on the bulky form of Hal, and was once more 
 almost tempted to hurl himself against him, 
 and pit his own strength against his. Possibly 
 he would have yielded to this tempting had 
 he not realized by certain sounds on the other 
 side of the door that Hal was not alone. And, 
 after all, Hal must surely have his price. It 
 was true he had refused two hundred crowns, 
 a very large sum surely to one in his position, 
 but an increase might be more effective. 
 
 It is easy to threaten a defenseless man," 
 he answered, " and it is cowardly to insult a 
 fallen foe, but no matter. Now listen, Hal. 
 In your custody it appears I have been placed. 
 Last night I offered you two hundred crowns 
 for my liberty. Now you shall name your 
 own price. Say, shall it be two hundred and 
 fifty? Three hundred? Three hundred and 
 fifty? Speak!" 
 
 " Spare thy breath, Master Manners," Hal 
 replied. " You have not wealth enough to 
 tempt me." 
 
 Manners was amazed, and said : 
 
 " Tell me, if for nothing else than the satis-
 
 faction of my curiosity, how comes it that you 
 are proof against such a sum as that I offer? 
 Unless appearances deceive me, you are 
 poor? " 
 
 " Ay," said Hal, " I am not weighted with 
 worldly wealth." 
 
 " Why then refuse three hundred and fifty 
 crowns? " 
 
 " Because I am stanch to him I serve." 
 
 " A noble virtue, truly. I wish I had a serv- 
 itor so faithful. But surely there is more 
 than an ordinary reason for such fidelity." 
 
 " That is so, master." 
 
 "Tell me what it is?" 
 
 " It is enough for you to know I am stanch. 
 The reason is my own business," Hal replied 
 saucily. 
 
 Manners recognized the uselessness of argu- 
 ment with the fellow; nor was he disposed to 
 try the effect of a much larger sum than any 
 he had yet named. At any rate, not at that 
 stage. 
 
 " Truly," he answered loftily, " your busi- 
 ness is your own, and since you are content to 
 be a fawning creature in the service of a knave, 
 so be it." 
 
 Hal's brow darkened, and he looked threat- 
 eningly at his prisoner, as he said :
 
 119 
 
 " Be careful, Master Manners, and speak 
 with more civil tongue, for I'll trounce you if 
 you speak ill of him I serve." 
 
 Manners' blood boiled. To be thus bearded 
 and threatened by a hireling was almost more 
 than his nature could stand. But, fortunately 
 for himself, he recognized that violence would 
 certainly fail where strategy might succeed. 
 
 " Go," he said, as calmly as he could. " To- 
 day you can insult me with impunity. But to- 
 morrow well, who knows what to-mor- 
 row will bring forth." 
 
 " You will have but few to-morrows, sir, 
 unless you show more reasonableness." 
 
 " We shall see," said Manners between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " We shall," answered the other derisively. 
 " And if you are fool enough not to under- 
 stand the position, so much the worse for 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, I understand it well enough." 
 
 " And your answer is " 
 
 " That I defy him, though he be the fiend 
 himself." 
 
 " Then your doom is sealed. Farewell." 
 
 Manners heard the key turn in the lock. He 
 was alone, and for a moment or two was he 
 victim to a feeling of blank despair, nor was it
 
 I2O 
 
 really to be wondered at, for his helplessness 
 at that moment was so very apparent. His 
 captors had evidently laid their plans so well 
 that his friends would never know what had 
 become of him. His feelings were still further 
 harrowed by the reflection that Dorothy Ver- 
 non, who had seemed so well disposd toward 
 him, would probably think he had departed 
 out of Derbyshire of his own accord, and un- 
 able to avoid the force of circumstances, she 
 might find herself linked in matrimony to the 
 hateful Bracebridge. 
 
 The day waned with terrible slowness, and 
 the want of some means of occupying himself 
 made his position very hard to bear. But he 
 summoned all his fortitude to his aid, and, as 
 darkness closed in, he sought his bed of straw, 
 and soon fell asleep. 
 
 His sleep was not altogether unbroken, and 
 he had dreary periods of wakefulness, when 
 thought with tumultuous confusion rushed 
 through his brain. And then out of the ka- 
 leidoscopic muddle of thought a sweet vision 
 was evolved, and beautiful Dorothy Vernon 
 smiled upon him, and with a graceful wave 
 of her hand lulled him to soothing slumber 
 again, and whispered in his ear: "Hope,
 
 121 
 
 Hope, Hope! 'Tis the dark hour before the 
 dawn." 
 
 It was full day when he next became con- 
 scious of his surroundings. An inward sink- 
 ing caused him to glance eagerly at the table ; 
 but this time it was bare. No food had been 
 brought while he slept. By the way the rays 
 of sunlight fell on the wall, he judged that the 
 morning was well advanced. Rising, he went 
 to the door, and applied his ear, trying to 
 catch some sound. But there was a grim si- 
 lence. It was like the silence of death. He 
 kicked the door, and his cell gave back an 
 echo. He paused and listened. The death- 
 like silence was unbroken save by his own 
 labored breathing. 
 
 Prompted by a sudden impulse, he seized 
 the stool and used it as a battering ram; but 
 it shivered to pieces in his hand, and the solid 
 oak door, save for several dints, remained un- 
 injured. He dragged the table beneath the 
 little window and climbed up, though all he 
 could discern was the topmost branches of a, 
 tree waving in the wind. Small as the window 
 was, it was protected on the outside by two 
 iron bars. The lonely prisoner descended ; 
 once again a sense of blank desolation came 
 over him; he felt as if he would go raving
 
 122 
 
 mad. The horrible suspense, the awful uncer- 
 tainty, were torturing. 
 
 And now added to his mental distress was 
 physical suffering caused by hunger and thirst. 
 No man could have viewed the situation as it 
 then presented itself to Manners' distracted 
 gaze without a sickening sense of despair. 
 And the unhappy prisoner was convinced that 
 he had nothing to hope for from Bracebridge, 
 who was not likely to scruple at committing 
 any deed to save himself from exposure and 
 defeat. That prophecy of Jedaan's, however, 
 was the counteracting influence that enabled 
 him to keep his mental balance despite the 
 tremendous strain to which he was subjected. 
 
 How he got through that day and the night 
 that succeeded he scarcely knew. He heard no 
 sound ; he saw no living thing. He passed the 
 by turns from mental stress to a strange calm, 
 the result of an iron will, and a belief, inclined 
 to waver at times, but growing strong again, 
 that his destiny was not be fulfilled in that 
 prison-house, and that Jedaan's forecast of his 
 future would be literally realized. 
 
 The new day found him weak and ill, as a 
 result of his enforced abstinence from food and 
 drink. Strangely enough, thirst did not 
 trouble him to any extent; but he was almost
 
 123 
 
 maddened by an internal gnawing. As the 
 day drew to its close he felt that unless some- 
 thing like a miracle happened soon his brain 
 would either give way or he would expire from 
 sheer exhaustion. But just as another fit of 
 blank despair was creeping upon him the 
 miracle did happen. 
 
 The sun had set, and he had thrown him- 
 self on his heap of straw in a state of semi- 
 unconsciousness, when suddenly he was 
 startled by a crash, and something falling on 
 the floor of his cell.
 
 124 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MIRACLE. 
 
 The unexpected crash, occurring when 
 Manners thought himself absolutely forgot- 
 ten by everybody in the world, roused him, 
 and he rose up and listened, but there was 
 again unbroken silence. He sank back with 
 a groan. 
 
 " My poor brain is giving way," he mut- 
 tered, and for a little while he lay perfectly 
 still. Then the idea gradually took possession 
 of him that he was not the sport of a delusion, 
 but that there really had been a crash, and 
 something had really fallen with a thud onto 
 the ground. He got up with difficulty. He 
 tottered a little from weakness. The light had 
 nearly all gone, but he groped about on the 
 floor, and at last his hand came in contact with 
 a hard substance. He seized it. It was a 
 stone, and he became conscious that some- 
 thing was attached to it. Instantly it dawned 
 upon him that the stone had been hurled
 
 125 
 
 through the window; that this was so he was 
 sure, for the air of his prison was fresher. 
 With difficulty he got the table under the 
 window, and managed by an effort to climb 
 up. 
 
 Yes; the glass of the window was smashed. 
 
 His heart beat against his ribs. His breath 
 came in gasps. 
 
 He held the stone up to the fast fading light. 
 Attached to it by a thong of leather was a 
 small bone tablet such as was used for writing 
 on. He strained his eyes. He saw there were 
 some characters on the tablet. They were 
 badly formed, but he managed with great diffi- 
 culty to decipher them and make out that a 
 message had been conveyed to him a mes- 
 sage of hope. This was the message: 
 
 " You will be set free to-night. Jedaan." 
 
 An involuntary cry of joy escaped from his 
 lips. His strength seemed to come back to 
 him as if by some act of magic. He found no 
 difficulty in dismounting from the table. His 
 faith in the witch woman was justified. Just 
 as despair was overwhelming him and all 
 seemed lost, she had sent him this message of 
 comfort. But he knew that sudden joy was 
 almost as dangerous as sudden sorrow, and 
 so he tried to suppress himself, and, lying
 
 126 
 
 down on his straw once more, he made a 
 mighty effort to summon patience to his aid. 
 Sleep was out of the question, for, though 
 he tried to be calm, he was excited. How 
 long he remained there with every nerve on 
 the rack, with wide open eyes staring into the 
 darkness, and ears strained to a painful state 
 of acuteness to catch the slightest sound, he 
 knew not. His reward came. Somebody 
 fumbled at the lock. The key was inserted. 
 It grated; it turned; the door swung on its 
 hinges; a gleam of light made a pathway 
 through the darkness ; a voice spoke. " John 
 Manners, are you there?" it asked. In that 
 moment it almost seemed like the voice of an 
 angel. The prisoner muttered a reply. Then 
 a curtain seemed to be dropped. A blank 
 ensued. 
 
 In the dreamy, out-of-the-world little village 
 of Eyam, a few miles to the north of Bakewell, 
 was a humble cottage, with heavy projecting 
 eaves of thatch, and a patch of garden in front 
 in which grew many sweet-scented flowers. In 
 this cottage, a man, pallid and haggard, lay 
 upon a low truckle bed, seemingly asleep, and 
 beside him sat a strange, weird, wild-looking 
 woman. At the door of the cottage, on a
 
 127 
 
 three-legged stool, busy with a spinning wheel, 
 was another woman, an ancient dame, with a 
 kindly, gnarled face, framed in a mass of white 
 hair. 
 
 Presently the sick man drew a deep breath, 
 He moved his arms, he opened his eyes, and 
 gazed around with a bewildered look. The 
 weird woman stroked his head, and passed her 
 hand soothingly over his face, saying at last: 
 
 " You have slept well." 
 
 " Where am I? " he asked, still bewildered. 
 
 " With friends." 
 
 " And you, who are you? " 
 
 "Jedaan, the Arabian." 
 
 " Ah, now it is clear," exclaimed John Man- 
 ners. " I was entrapped, I was carried away, 
 I was imprisoned, I was released ! " 
 
 " True." 
 
 " Tell me the story." 
 
 " It is better you should rest now. Drink 
 this cordial; it will give you strength." 
 
 He drained the drink, and soon sleep stole 
 upon him again. When he awoke the sun was 
 declining, and throwing long, slanting shafts 
 of golden fire athwart the village, while the 
 flowers exhaling their choicest fragrance made 
 the still air heavy. Refreshed and strength- 
 ened Manners sat upright, and as he did so a
 
 128 
 
 man came from the outer doorway, and, seiz- 
 ing his hand, wrung it warmly. The new- 
 comer was William Aleyne. His friend recog- 
 nized him at once, and, returning the greeting 
 with no less warmth, said : 
 
 " Surely I have been passing through some 
 hideous nightmare dream, and have come out 
 of the very shadow of death. Tell me the 
 whole story, dear friend, for my brain is still 
 confused. I can scarcely gather up the scat- 
 tered threads of events." 
 
 " First you must have some food," said 
 William heartily. " Oh, Dame, Dame Wort- 
 ley," he called. In obedience to the summons 
 the old woman whom we have seen spinning 
 at the cottage door came in with a wooden 
 bowl containing some hot soup, which she 
 gave to Manners. When he had finished it 
 another draught of cordial was handed to him, 
 and, having drunk it, he felt perfectly re- 
 stored. Thanking the old woman, who with- 
 drew, he turned to his friend, saying: " I beg 
 you now, keep me no longer in suspense. 
 Tell me what there is to be told? " 
 
 " Your enemies' designs very nearly suc- 
 ceeded," began Aleyne ; " but Fate decreed 
 that you should be delivered out of their 
 hands."
 
 I2Q 
 
 " And you have been Fate's instrument? " 
 
 " One of them. You will remember how 
 we parted. I rode away to Derby, but the fol- 
 lowing day I was seized with a feeling that it 
 was my duty to return and strive once more 
 to prevail upon you to abandon the hopeless 
 chasing of shadows. On reaching Derby I 
 heard to my consternation that you had dis- 
 appeared. Your horse was still in its stall; 
 your servant was distracted, and nobody could 
 or would give any tidings of you. Suspecting 
 mischief, I resolved to discover you if it were 
 possible. I fear, however, that I should have 
 failed had circumstances not aided me. The 
 day succeeding my return Will Dawson came 
 to the hostelry " 
 
 " It was Will Dawson who betrayed me, 
 eh?" exclaimed Manners, with warmth. 
 
 " No, Dawson is stanch as steel." 
 
 " Then I have deeply wronged the man by 
 thinking so." 
 
 " If you have thought evil of him you have 
 wronged him. He was the bearer of a mes- 
 sage to you." 
 
 " From Dorothy? " cried Manners, with 
 newborn eagerness. 
 
 " I don't know ; but when he learned of your 
 strange disappearance he hastened back to
 
 130 
 
 Haddon to see what news he could gather 
 there. But his inquiries were fruitless. Brace- 
 bridge had suddenly departed for London, 
 whither he had been summoned by special 
 messenger on urgent business of his own." 
 
 " But Bracebridge is surely at the bottom of 
 this business? " 
 
 " Perhaps it is so, but we do not know. 
 There is no proof." 
 
 " Failing to get tidings that would guide 
 him at Haddon, Dawson returned to me," 
 continued Aleyne, " and together we jour- 
 neyed to Bakewell, where we fell in with that 
 wonderful woman Jedaan, who by some magic, 
 or other means, discovered in two days' time 
 that you had been carried to an old mill in 
 Miller's Dale, and was guarded by a huge 
 beast known as Hal and a creature under his 
 orders. Although I found it hard to restrain 
 my impatience, I yielded to Jedaan's advice. 
 She counseled strategy instead of war, and un- 
 dertook to beguile your jailers. It was she 
 who sent you a cheering message by means 
 of a stone through your window, and that 
 night she went to the mill, while I and Daw- 
 son, and my servant and your servant lay in 
 wait. Into the men's supper broth she man- 
 aged to pour some drug that sent them into
 
 a heavy sleep, when she relieved them of the 
 keys, and, hailing me, I carried you forth from 
 out of what would have been your tomb, and 
 by good Will Dawson's request we carried 
 you here to the dwelling of his grandmother." 
 
 Manners was overwhelmed by a sense of his 
 indebtedness to his friends who had rescued 
 him from a hideous death, and he felt angry 
 with himself for having for a moment sus- 
 pected Dawson's fidelity. 
 
 For some little time he was speechless with 
 emotion, but he tried to express his gratitude 
 in the way he wrung Aleyne's hand. 
 
 At last he mastered his feelings to inquire 
 about Dawson. 
 
 " He will be here to-morrow," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " And Jedaan? " 
 
 " She has wandered away, impelled by the 
 restlessness of her nature, but will return soon. 
 Sleep and food will soon restore you to your 
 wonted vigor, and to-morrow we will discuss 
 our plans." 
 
 Manners recognized the soundness of this 
 advice, and, the suspense being ended, he soon 
 fell asleep.
 
 132 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A BOLD MOVE. 
 
 John Manners' state of mind his suspense 
 and anxiety during the dark hours preceding 
 the day which was to bring Will Dawson to 
 his grandmother's house at Eynam may be 
 more easily imagined than described. He 
 had suspected Dawson, but he knew now he 
 had been unfair to the humble man, and was 
 anxious to make such amends for that unfair- 
 ness as might lie in his power. There was 
 another reason also which led him to antici- 
 pate the coming of Dawson with an eagerness 
 that was like a fever in his veins. That rea- 
 son was that he would get news of Dorothy 
 Vernon. His friend Aleyne could give him 
 none, and Jedaan, who possibly might have 
 done so, had taken herself off before he had 
 had time even to thank her for the great serv- 
 ice she had rendered him. 
 
 The day had broken sullenly, and toward 
 high noon rain commenced to fall. William
 
 133 
 
 Aleyne had ridden into Bakewell in search of 
 news, and, as Dame Wortley busied herself in 
 such small household duties as claimed her at- 
 tention and came within her strength, John 
 was left to his own reflections, and now he was 
 moody and now sanguine. 
 
 Noon passed, and two hours of the afternoon 
 had slipped away. John now began to despair, 
 but at length Dawson put in an appearance. 
 He said that he had feared that he would not 
 be able to come, for a hawking party was ar- 
 ranged at Haddon. The rain, however, had 
 stopped it. Manners greeted Dawson with 
 unrestrained expressions of warmth, and asked 
 excitedly: "What news have you, Will?" 
 
 " I have no news, sir, or next to none, so 
 to speak." 
 
 Manners' spirits fell again. 
 
 " But how is Mistress Dorothy? " 
 
 " Not very well, I understand from Madge. 
 She has for some days kept her room on ac- 
 count of indisposition." 
 
 The heart of Manners seemed to rise up in 
 his throat at this information. 
 
 "Why is she ill?" It was a foolish ques- 
 tion, but the best that he could think of at the 
 moment. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I know not."
 
 134 
 
 "But is she not happy?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I know nothing of Mistress 
 Dorothy, except such scraps as I gather from 
 Madge; but, if such a humble man as I am 
 may venture on a remark, I would say she 
 would be happier if the bond between her and 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge were snapped for 
 ever." 
 
 John's brow darkened and his eyes flashed 
 at this mention of his enemy; but, from the 
 questions she had asked him on that memo- 
 rable day when he had an interview with her 
 at the woodman's hut, he knew perfectly well 
 that she bore Sir Falconer no love, and could 
 hardly regard him with respect. 
 
 " What of this Sir Falconer? " he exclaimed. 
 " I hear he is away." 
 
 " Ay, sir ; he has gone to London." 
 
 " And was it he who caused me to be car- 
 ried off and held prisoner? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you that, sir. It is a mys- 
 tery that may be solved anon. But, now that 
 we have found you again, I would like to 
 speak of a plan that was in my mind when last 
 I saw you." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I remember. You were to see 
 me the next day after you had discussed your
 
 135 
 
 plan with Madge. It has to do with Mistress 
 Dorothy, eh?" 
 
 " Tis this way, sir. Madge likes you, and 
 hates Sir Falconer; and she is of opinion that 
 Mistress Dorothy would like to see you again." 
 
 John's heart beat a quicker measure, and he 
 almost held his breath with suppressed excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " But there is the difficulty. Lady Vernon, 
 it is said, has caused Mistress Dorothy to be 
 watched, and the young lady can do little that 
 is not known. And, perhaps, your own goings 
 and comings may be noted." 
 
 "I see it," cried Manners; "a new light 
 breaks upon me." 
 
 Dawson was a little alarmed, fearing that 
 he had committed himself rashly, and he has- 
 tened to set matters right by saying: 
 
 " Remember, sir, that I have no grounds for 
 saying this; and, should it come to my lady's 
 ears that I had allowed my tongue to wag so 
 freely it would go ill with me indeed." 
 
 " Do you suppose, Dawson, that I am capa- 
 ble of betraying your confidence? I will never 
 do that." 
 
 Dawson breathed more freely. 
 
 " Coming to the point, sir, there seems to 
 be but one way by which you can have oppor-
 
 136 
 
 tunity of speech with Mistress Dorothy. And 
 that is by donning the dress of a woodman 
 and taking service under me." 
 
 " Dawson, you are a genius," cried Man- 
 ners delightedly. " I know little of woodcraft, 
 but I can rough it with the best. It may en- 
 able me to get the better of my enemies." 
 
 " I should be only too glad to see that," re- 
 plied Dawson, " for I bear this Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge no good-will, and I would like to 
 be even with him for the blow he once gave 
 me." 
 
 " Perhaps your revenge will come," said 
 John. " And now tell me, when shall this plan 
 be put into operation? " 
 
 " Within the week. We are miuch about a 
 build, and, if you will wear some clothes of 
 mine, I will bring you all that is necessary." 
 
 " In view of the object to be gained," re- 
 marked John with enthusiasm, " I would 
 wear rags and tatters, and live on beggar's 
 fare for a year and a day. Delay not an hour 
 longer than you can help, Dawson; and, 
 should fortune favor me in this adventure, 
 never fear but your future life shall be an easy 
 one."
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE DARKENING OF THE SUN. 
 
 When Sir Falconer Bracebridge returned 
 from Cheshire, having seen the body of his 
 friend, Sir Ralph Bardsdale, deposited in the 
 family vault, neither his temper nor his man- 
 ners had undergone any improvement. The 
 Bardsdale family were by no means disposed 
 to regard him with favor when they heard 
 how the representative of their house had 
 fallen. So great had been the shock to the 
 doting mother that her reason had left her; 
 and when the poor boy's body had been laid 
 in the family tomb the feelings of the relatives 
 found vent in violent abuse of Bracebridge, 
 who was accused of being morally responsible 
 for the boy's death. Sir Falconer, therefore, 
 left Cheshire in anything but a pleasant frame 
 of mind, for he knew that this unhappy affair 
 would almost certainly be productive of a bit- 
 ter feud between the two families. 
 
 He was, however, a reckless, daring, and
 
 138 
 
 ambitious man, and not the one to allow the 
 death of an insignificant youth to interfere with 
 his schemes of self-aggrandizement. His 
 union with Dorothy Vernon would not only 
 bring him great wealth, but power, and it was 
 astonishing, therefore, that he did not en-! 
 deavor to overcome his arrogance. But he 
 had not been back at Haddon more than two 
 or three days ere he allowed his weakness to 
 display itself. 
 
 He heard that John Manners was still lin- 
 gering in the neighborhood, and the Lady 
 Vernon hinted that there was some reason to 
 suspect that Dorothy had held communication 
 with him ; and that his presence in Derbyshire 
 was a standing menace. Whereupon Brace- 
 bridge took the poor girl to task, not with the 
 gentleness of the lover, but rather with the 
 sternness of an offended master. Overcome 
 with grief, she went to her father, and ap- 
 pealed to him to put an end to the engagement 
 between herself and Sir Falconer, as she was 
 sure she would never be happy with him. 
 
 Sir George Vernon could at times be iron- 
 willed and stubborn enough, though in a gen- 
 eral way he was an easy-going, good-tempered 
 man, who loved ease and comfort, and was 
 strongly opposed to contention in his family.
 
 139 
 
 He showed no inclination to take a serious 
 view of Dorothy's trouble. He pointed out 
 that a man could hardly love a woman with- 
 out being jealous of her, and if Bracebridge 
 had cause to suspect that she was not loyal to 
 him, what more natural than that he should 
 be hurt? But Dorothy protested tearfully that 
 if her lover domineered before marriage, he 
 was likely to attempt to rule with a rod of iron 
 after marriage, and she urged with the elo- 
 quence of despair that she should be released 
 from her troth. 
 
 Sir George was moved. The happiness of 
 his dear Doll was the study of his life, and he 
 promised to discuss the matter with his wife. 
 Lady Vernon listened impatiently to his argu- 
 ments, and then rated him soundly for being 
 so weak as to allow " an inexperienced and ir- 
 responsible girl to influence him." 
 
 " Surely," she exclaimed, " we are the best 
 judges of what is good for the child's welfare, 
 and this silly prejudice of hers must not be 
 taken seriously. Until that luckless day when 
 John Manners came to the house she was an 
 obedient and tractable daughter. And ill be- 
 comes it, my Lord, that you should encourage 
 her in her waywardness." 
 
 " I do not encourage her, dame."
 
 140 
 
 " But she thinks you do. Think what the 
 consequences would be if we were to give 
 countenance to this nameless beggar, John 
 Manners. The honor and pride of your house 
 are at stake, and Dorothy must not be allowed 
 to counteract the effect of our dutiful daugh- 
 ter Margaret's marriage. Doll is young, and 
 does not know her mind, and I say, sir, it is 
 your solemn duty to guide her." 
 
 " There is something in what you say," re- 
 marked her lord thoughtfully. 
 
 Encouraged by the advantage she had thus 
 gained, she drove home the argument with 
 greater force. 
 
 " Ay, in truth there is something in it," she 
 exclaimed loftily. " The family honor is at 
 stake. Is the whim and fancy of a child to be 
 allowed to override the sound judgment of a 
 father who has the child's welfare at heart? 
 And, above all, sir, talk not of indulgence. 
 'Tis a fatal error parents make with their chil- 
 dren." 
 
 Poor Sir George was completely subdued, 
 and his lady's specious reasoning had its ef- 
 fect. The result was that he gently, yet firm- 
 ly, led Dorothy to understand that no serious 
 notice could be taken of her complaint, and
 
 that her future interests and welfare were 
 bound up in Sir Falconer Bracebridge. 
 
 The poor girl was disheartened, and sought 
 consolation from her sister Margaret, but 
 failed to obtain it. Margaret was engrossed 
 and absorbed in her own affairs, and full of the 
 preparations that were being pushed forward 
 for her own wedding. She urged Dorothy to 
 hasten to make up her difference with Brace- 
 bridge, and to win and woo him to her feet by 
 those arts and wiles which were the legitimate 
 weapons of every woman. 
 
 Dorothy knew now that she had little to 
 hope for from her family, and she poured out 
 her heart's distress into the willing ears of 
 doting old Madge, who crooned over her dar- 
 ling, and bade her not take on so, and, betrayed 
 at last into passionate invective when she 
 found that she failed by fair argument to allay 
 the distress, she exclaimed: 
 
 " Tis shameful that your father and sister 
 and my lady should treat you with so small 
 concern for your happiness. It is selfish and 
 unmannerly, and ill becomes them, for truly 
 you are the bonniest bird in the nest. I care 
 not if they hear me. I would tell them my 
 thoughts, though they cast me out the next 
 moment."
 
 142 
 
 " Never mind, dear nurse. I shall get over 
 it. I must obey my father though I crush 
 myself." 
 
 " If I were you," cried Madge with fiery 
 vehemence, " I would defy even my father." 
 
 " Hush, Madge ; that is treason." 
 
 " I care not, and they may hang me on the 
 nearest tree if it pleases them. I have grown 
 gray in their service, and nursed you through 
 all these years, and it maddens me to see your 
 distress. If I be allowed to judge, I say that 
 the little finger of John Manners is worth all 
 the body of Sir Falconer Bracebridge." 
 
 " But how do I know that Manners hath 
 any regard for me? " queried Dorothy artfully, 
 and not sorry to make him the theme of the 
 argument. 
 
 " Well," replied the nurse sapiently, " if 
 signs are read aright, you have pierced Man- 
 ners' heart with your glances, else why lingers 
 he here? And, then, what says Will Dawson? 
 And, mark you, a man can read a man in such 
 matters. He declares that Master Manners 
 would carve his way through a multitude to 
 gain your approving smile." 
 
 " Heigho ! " sighed Dorothy. 
 
 " That sigh tells its own tale. Why not fol- 
 low the promptings of your heart? "
 
 143 
 
 " It cannot be, Madge ; it cannot, cannot ! " 
 moaned Dorothy in an outbreak of distress. 
 
 " Fudge ! I say that true love finds out a 
 way, and not locks nor bars can keep true 
 lovers apart." 
 
 Dorothy folded her arms around the faithful 
 old nurse's neck, and laid her dear head on 
 the withered old breast that rose and fell with 
 the passion of indignation that stirred Madge 
 as she had seldom been stirred before; and in 
 mufrled voice the girl said softly with a fret : 
 
 " Nurse, I would give much to see Master 
 Manners once again, for I would put some 
 further questions to him about Sir Falconer." 
 
 " And you shall see him, child, if I can bring 
 him to you."
 
 144 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A BARBED SHAFT AND ITS PRICKINGS. 
 
 Some days passed, then Madge was driven 
 to give Dorothy some disquieting news. Mas- 
 ter Manners had mysteriously disappeared. 
 Rumors were many and varied. Some said 
 he had had unholy dealings with a weird 
 woman, and she had spirited him away. Oth- 
 ers, that he had quarreled desperately with his 
 friend, who had gone off in high dudgeon; 
 while, in despair and chagrin, Manners had 
 drowned himself. 
 
 But the story which found most credence 
 with the rustics was that he had eloped. For, 
 by a strange coincidence, and synchronizing 
 with his own disappearance, the pretty and 
 willful daughter one Elfrida Wildgoose of 
 an honest farmer of Matlock had left her home 
 and gone, none knew whither. There was 
 nobody could say that John Manners and the 
 fair Elfrida had been seen together. But, in 
 the rustic logic, that counted for little; the
 
 145 
 
 fact remained, they were both away, and that 
 counted for much. 
 
 The news of his disappearance was like a 
 thunderbolt to Dorothy. During the past two 
 days she had been very bright and happy, be- 
 cause Sir Falconer Bracebridge had gone to 
 London on " urgent business," as he declared. 
 Doll was not interested in the urgency of his 
 departure, but she was relieved by his absence, 
 and the sun was bright again. Now came the 
 sudden tidings that Manners had gone, too, 
 and a dreadful thought tortured her perhaps 
 Sir Falconer had killed him. When she dark- 
 ly and shudderingly hinted this to her nurse, 
 Madge exclaimed hastily and with bitterness: 
 
 " I'll warrant you it is so. This same Sir 
 Falconer has the fiend's nature, with the cun- 
 ning of the serpent, and, having killed your 
 true lover, he has gone a journey that sus- 
 picion may not fall upon him." 
 
 Doll's distress was so keen and agonizing 
 that she said she would go to her father and 
 tell him that Bracebridge had killed John Man- 
 ners, but against this Madge resolutely set her 
 face. 
 
 " Proof would be demanded, my child, and 
 you have no proof," said Madge,
 
 146 
 
 " But Sir Falconer and John Manners have 
 already fought," urged Dorothy. 
 
 " Ay, ay, but it was a fair fight, as we are 
 told, and arose from Master Manners having 
 spoken ill of your wooer. But it would be a 
 serious business to accuse your lover of mur- 
 der. Have patience, sweet one, have patience, 
 and the truth may come out, and you may 
 have good grounds to get rid of Sir Falconer." 
 
 " I trust it may be so," sighed Dorothy, 
 thinking only of the relief she would expe- 
 rience if she could send about his business the 
 man to whom she was pledged, but who did 
 not, and never would, possess her heart. 
 
 Not many hours passed before Madge came 
 with a fresh version of Manners' disappear- 
 ance. The gossip and the tattle had spread, 
 and it ran from tongue to tongue in the serv- 
 ants' region at Haddon, that pretty Elfrida 
 Wildgoose, who had a local reputation as " a 
 fine, handsome wench, but flighty," had gone 
 off with John Manners. To these gossips John 
 Manners was of no interest, being only a 
 passer-by. But Elfrida was known ; stories of 
 her coquetry were current. It was said she 
 had trifled with this lad and flirted with that 
 one ; and many a village swain had broken his 
 heart about her. And now she had run away,
 
 147 
 
 and the stranger who had fought with Sir Fal- 
 coner and been worsted, and was known to 
 have been lingering in Darley, had gone as 
 well. What could be more certain than that 
 they had gone together? It was a fine piece 
 of rustic logic, and to shallow minds it was 
 proof " strong as Holy writ." 
 
 " He is an Earl's son, you see," remarked a 
 kitchen Solomon, " and that is the glamour ; 
 but right sure she'll come to her senses and 
 need somebody to console her then she'll find 
 none to do it in all Haddon, for who'd give 
 countenance to a slut? It will be a doleful 
 day for her when she comes to her senses, or 
 I'm no true man." 
 
 Madge, of course, heard this bit of village 
 scandal; and, being a fairly impartial chron- 
 icler, she carried it to her young mistress, but 
 when she saw the effect it had on Dorothy, 
 who turned pale, and seemed to be shocked, 
 she quickly added: 
 
 " If John Manners has bemeaned himself, 
 then I'll have no more faith in honest-looking 
 eyes." 
 
 " But might not the story be true, nurse? " 
 asked Doll under her breath. 
 
 " Why, yes, it might ; but I don't believe it. 
 These country folks are always ready with
 
 148 
 
 venom on their tongues to besmirch a reputa- 
 tion. Now, since we are discussing ' might,' 
 I say might it not be that Sir Falconer has 
 ta'en the maid away? " 
 
 Here Madge showed her inconsistency by 
 doing that which in the same breath she had 
 condemned. 
 
 " Oh, Madge ! " gasped Dorothy, the pale- 
 ness of her face giving place to a sudden flush 
 of excitement. 
 
 " Mark you, my treasure, I only say such a 
 thing might be." 
 
 " But, Madge, if we could but prove it." 
 
 " Ah, if we could it would be a bitter draught 
 for your lady mother to swallow. Eh?" and 
 Madge chuckled at the very thought, for noth- 
 ing would have delighted her more than to 
 see her new mistress humiliated. 
 
 Dorothy remained silent; she sank into a 
 state of absorbed pensiveness, and, as may be 
 imagined, her thoughts were not conducive to 
 tranquillity of mind. Nor was she comforted 
 when later on her stepmother sent a message 
 that she was to attend her in her private cham- 
 ber. 
 
 She found my lady busy with embroidery 
 work, and she said as an excuse for sending for 
 Dorothy that she wished her stepdaughter's
 
 149 
 
 advice in contrasting some colors. For a 
 time the conversation was entirely about the 
 work, until at last Lady Vernon gave it a more 
 general turn, and finally with artistic artful- 
 ness remarked : 
 
 " There seems to be a fine bit of scandal 
 going about affecting the reputation of that 
 flighty girl, the daughter of old Wildgoose." 
 She fixed her eyes on Dorothy's face to note 
 the effect of her words, but learned nothing. 
 " It appears," she continued, " the girl has 
 gone off, and her father is broken-hearted. It 
 was a sad thing her losing her mother. She 
 has never been under proper control since 
 then, and was always given to willfulness." 
 
 " Is there any word as to where she has gone 
 to? " asked Dorothy, bending over the work, 
 as if she was not in the least interested in El- 
 frida Wildgoose. 
 
 " Indeed, no. The hussy has left no trace, 
 but it's very curious that that young gallant, 
 John Manners, who for some reason has been 
 loitering in Darley, has also disappeared." 
 
 " And what does that point to? " asked 
 Dorothy in trepidation, and understanding 
 her stepmother's drift only too well. 
 
 " It is not for me to speak with certainty 
 when I have no warrant, but I do say the two
 
 ISO 
 
 things raise a grave suspicion, and from my 
 informations I believe Master Manners is loose 
 enough for any wickedness." 
 
 Dorothy knew that this shaft was aimed at 
 her, and she was no less pained than indig- 
 nant, though she made desperate efforts to pre- 
 vent any outward indication of what was pass- 
 ing through her mind. The opportunity, how- 
 ever, for a counter stroke was so good that 
 she could not possibly resist it, and with a 
 lowering of her eyes she remarked : 
 
 " Is it not curious, mother, that Sir Fal- 
 coner's going hence should also be timed with 
 Elfrida Wildgoose's disappearance? ' 
 
 If Doll had slapped her stepmother's face 
 the effect on that lady could hardly have been 
 more startling than was that of the barbed 
 question. Her work fell from her hand, she 
 grew pale and red by turns, and her eyes, 
 kindling with uncontrollable wrath, were bent 
 on Dorothy, to the poor girl's terror, for she 
 saw that a storm was about to burst upon her 
 devoted head. 
 
 " Oh, but this must go to your father," 
 shrieked the irate lady, " for, in truth, a more 
 shameless charge never fell from the lips of a 
 maid against her betrothed. 
 
 " But, mother, I did not make a charge,"
 
 pleaded Doll with a whimper, for her feelings 
 were overcoming her. 
 
 " What ! No charge ! What name do you 
 give it, then? " 
 
 Dorothy fired up ever so little. 
 
 " Madam," she said, " you insinuated that 
 John Manners had gone away with Elfrida 
 Wildgoose, and I only retorted by remarking 
 on the strangeness of Sir Falconer's going 
 from hence almost at the same time as Elfrida 
 disappeared from her home." 
 
 This did not mend matters; in fact, it only 
 served to excite Lady Vernon still more, and 
 she made that clear by saying: 
 
 " You add but fuel to the fire, and out of 
 your own mouth you convict yourself of pal- 
 tering with your lawful wooer, and letting 
 your mind run upon a wastrel " 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 " ' Mother ' not me. I say you bring dis- 
 grace upon your womanhood, for it is wicked, 
 and unworthy the daughter of my lord. Take 
 a lesson from your sister Margaret, who has 
 not so much as a pinhole in the armor of her 
 virtue. Indeed, my lord will be distraught 
 when he hears this. But I have no patience 
 to discuss this matter further. Heavy is my 
 heart to think that one so seeming fair should
 
 152 
 
 trifle so lightly with the honor of her house." 
 This brought Dorothy to her feet with a 
 jerk, so to speak, and for the first time she met 
 angry glance with angry glance. 
 
 " Madam, I will stay no longer to listen to 
 such harshness. I have done nothing to bring 
 the honor of my house into jeopardy, and I 
 swear I have done no wrong." 
 
 She could not trust herself to utter another 
 word, but rushed from the room to Lady Ver- 
 non's astonishment, for the haughty dame was 
 thunderstruck to find that she had raised the 
 spirit of retort in the hitherto meek and mild 
 Dorothy. Her pride and vanity were wounded, 
 too, for she liked to rule with an iron hand. 
 Then there was another reason why her feel- 
 ings were more than ruffled. It was clear to 
 her that Dorothy no longer had even respect 
 for Sir Falconer Bracebridge, and that after 
 all the match upon which she had set her 
 heart might not come off. If this were so, 
 she felt at that moment as if she would never 
 get over the defeat, so great would be the blow 
 to her pride. Of such vital importance was 
 the whole business as it seemed to her that she 
 lost not a moment in seeking her husband, 
 and laying before him a full statement of what 
 had passed between her and Dorothy ; nor did
 
 153 
 
 she fail to make much of Dorothy's remark 
 regarding Sir Falconer. 
 
 Sir George listened with a gravity not alto- 
 gether usual with him, and then provoked his 
 lady into a further outpouring of her vials of 
 wrath by saying that he thought she took too 
 exaggerated a view of the matter, and was prej- 
 udiced against Dorothy. 
 
 " My lord,' she said sternly, " do you call it 
 exaggeration to say that a maid can have but 
 small concern for her affianced lover when, un- 
 moved, she hints that he has gone off with 
 another? " 
 
 " Well, well, perhaps the lass spoke with but 
 a light mind. You cannot have a head choke- 
 ful of windows on young shoulders." 
 
 " No, my lord, but one looks for common- 
 sense even in the young," she answered iron- 
 ically. 
 
 " Do you charge my Doll with lacking com- 
 mon sense, madam?" cried Sir George irri- 
 tably, but his lady was not to be subdued by a 
 show of irritation. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " you fail to see the point of 
 my argument. It was only when I referred 
 to John Manners' strange disappearance from 
 Darley at the very time when Elfrida runs from 
 her home that Dorothy hints that Sir Fal-
 
 154 
 coner and the girl might have gone together." 
 
 Sir George broke into a laugh. 
 
 " Well, well, come, dame, don't be too 
 harsh. After all, it was only a jest." 
 
 " A poor jest it seems to me. It was ma- 
 lignancy, my lord, because she was aggrieved 
 at hearing aught said against this Manners. 
 Don't be willfully blind, my lord, and you will 
 see the matter in its true light." 
 
 Sir George became grave again, and stroked 
 his beard after the manner of a man who was 
 much troubled; and, being desirous of ending 
 an interview which was hardly likely to be 
 conducive to peace of mind, he said he would 
 think over what had passed, and if it seemed 
 to him necessary he would take Dorothy to 
 task. 
 
 Thus he left his angry lady, and went out 
 into the grounds, feeling more troubled than 
 he had been for many a long day.
 
 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BETTER THAN THE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Dorothy fled to her room when she left her 
 mother's chamber, and so intensely strained 
 were her feelings that she succumbed to a 
 passionate outburst of weeping. She was a 
 high-spirited girl, and to be snubbed and 
 treated as if she were merely a capricious and 
 irresponsible child was more than she could 
 endure. Nor was it unreasonable for her at 
 that stage to take a somewhat despairing view 
 of the situation as she saw it. 
 
 In the early stages of her acquaintance with 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge she had felt some 
 measure of admiration at least for him. He 
 was a fine man, physically; a daring rider, a 
 bold huntsman, an expert swordsman, and of 
 dauntless courage. He was ambitious, too, 
 and, according to his own showing, had power- 
 ful friends at Court. 
 
 As the acquaintance ripened the glamour dis- 
 solved away, and Dorothy began to think that
 
 156 
 
 her lover was not without a strong element of 
 the swashbuckler in his composition. He des- 
 canted with glib tongue on his own exploits, 
 and boasted roundly of his prowess both as a 
 fighter and a debater. To Dorothy Vernon 
 this weakness was something more than of- 
 fensive, though she might have tolerated it 
 had he been less masterful, less tyrannical, less 
 violent-tempered. Whatever others thought 
 of these faults of character, Doll regarded them 
 with grave misgivings, and, finding that she 
 could not hope for sympathy from her fam- 
 ily, derived some measure of consolation by 
 the discussion of her trouble with faithful old 
 Madge, who was singularly shrewd and far- 
 seeing, with a natural aptitude for judging 
 men. And in this instance her faculties had 
 been quickened by reason of her anxiety for 
 the happiness of Dorothy, who was all the 
 world to her. 
 
 Although Madge's opportunities of knowing 
 Sir Falconer were relatively few, she had seen 
 enough of him to be prejudiced against him; 
 and what she learned from her " love bird " 
 excited her to anger; but it was only when 
 John Manners appeared upon the scene that 
 she felt her opportunity had come. It must 
 not be supposed that she would have inter-
 
 157 
 
 fered even then but for two reasons. She was 
 much impressed with Manners. Figuratively, 
 she placed him and Bracebridge side by side. 
 She examined them carefully; she weighed 
 them, measured them, probed them, con- 
 trasted them, the result being that John came 
 off with flying colors, and his rival was en- 
 tirely overshadowed. She also detected in 
 Dorothy certain faint signs of admiration for 
 Manners, and that justified her, as she honestly 
 believed, in paying Manners off against Brace- 
 bridge. 
 
 It must not be supposed that she had any 
 foreknowledge of the tremendous changes that 
 would result from the forging of a link be- 
 tween the Vernons and the Manners. She only 
 understood destiny as if affected to-day's hap- 
 piness of the young girl upon whom she lav- 
 ished all the affections of her kindly nature. 
 She dreamed no dreams of the future. And 
 if she intrigued it was that Dorothy might 
 smile instead of weep. 
 
 It is safe to say that at this time Dorothy 
 Vernon herself did not understand the issues 
 at stake. What she did understand, and feel 
 to the quick, was that her people wished her 
 to marry a man for whom she instinctively felt 
 she could entertain no wifely regard. That
 
 158 
 
 was sore trouble enough, in all conscience, for 
 a young girl. At the same time, John Man- 
 ners was only a shadowy figure to her, in a 
 sense. Love is insidious, and takes possession 
 of us before we are aware of it, and the most 
 that the girl would have confessed to at this 
 stage was that she was interested in Manners. 
 But when a young woman admits interest in 
 a young man it is a sign that forces are at 
 work which may speedily change interest to 
 love. 
 
 Now, it chanced that while Dorothy Vernon 
 was weeping her eyes out, after that fateful 
 interview with her stepmother, Madge sought 
 her in order that she might impart an item 
 of momentous news. The missing John Man- 
 ners had been found. She had set Will Daw- 
 son on to worm out some information, if pos- 
 sible ; and he had allied himself with the weird 
 woman Jedaan and Manners' great friend, 
 William Aleyne. By the instrumentality of 
 Jedaan, principally, the prison house of Man- 
 ners had been discovered, and, by a fine bit 
 of strategy that overcame the cunning of his 
 captors, he had been rescued in the very nick 
 of time. 
 
 Dawson hurried to Madge with the particu- 
 lars, and she hobbled as fast as her aged limbs
 
 159 
 
 would carry her to Doll, to find her bowed 
 with a grief so violent that she was hysterical. 
 Terrified by Dorothy's sufferings, the nurse 
 forgot all about Manners, and fell to crooning 
 over the distracted girl, using all her feminine 
 craft to woo her back to calmness. Doll, how- 
 ever, had received such a shock that for once 
 Madge's magnetic powers failed, and, alarmed 
 by her dear one's burning face and bloodshot 
 eyes, she went off to her master and reported 
 matters. He, knowing of what had taken 
 place between his lady and his daughter, was 
 less alarmed than the nurse; counseled rest 
 and a hot posset. 
 
 The morning dawned, however, and found 
 poor Dorothy in a fever. Then the family 
 physician was sent for. He was grave and 
 solemn when he came forth from the sick 
 chamber; spoke of a shock to the nerves, of 
 overheated blood, of a tendency to a feverish 
 condition of the brain, which might necessi- 
 tate the clipping away of all the glorious hair. 
 He left a volume of orders embracing what 
 was to be done, and what not to be done, and 
 a stringent injunction that the fair patient was 
 to be kept perfectly quiet and free from all ex- 
 citement. 
 
 Sir George Vernon was much distressed,
 
 i6o 
 
 and his lady, on account of certain prickings of 
 conscience, wept. But old Madge, she buckled 
 to, and said " Fudge," and called the leech 
 quack-salver. She vowed by all the saints in 
 the calendar that no one should cut off the 
 glory of gold from the head of her darling. 
 So she set to work and bathed the head with 
 damask water. She concocted a poultice of 
 crushed mustard seeds and capsicums, and ap- 
 plied to the patient's feet, and gave her spiced 
 rice water to drink. And she sat by the bed- 
 side, and crooned such a soothing, low lullaby 
 that the sick girl fell into a deep sleep, and 
 was so sleeping when the learned doctor re- 
 turned. 
 
 Ah! How clever he was! He had been 
 poring over dusty tomes which he had reached 
 from his shelf to read up authorities on " A 
 tendency to a feverish condition of the brain," 
 and had come back armed with a dozen 
 specifics, and a formidable pair of shears, for 
 he expected, and possibly hoped, for could he 
 not then display his wondrous skill, to find 
 his patient raving; and he was further pro- 
 vided with scalpels for the blood-letting. But 
 here she was sleeping calmly, with normal tem- 
 perature and gentle pulse. 
 
 Madge, wiser in her ignorance than all the
 
 rest, guessed that there was no disease work- 
 ing in that sweet body, but that the poor 
 nerves had been played upon to their undoing 
 by the sharp tongue of " My Lady," and that 
 the blessed oblivion of sleep would bring the 
 needed balm. 
 
 The disciple of ^Esculapius went his way, 
 swelled with a sense of his own importance, 
 having left another sheaf of orders and the 
 comforting assurance that he would return on 
 the morrow. 
 
 Gloriously came in the new day. The 
 birds sang blithely, the scent of flowers as they 
 exhaled the morning dew saturated the air, 
 and the sun's broad beams flung a wealth of 
 gold over the land. Dorothy awoke refreshed, 
 but pale; she said she had enjoyed a perfect 
 night's rest. She bade Madge comb and 
 brush the wondrous tresses, and this operation 
 was being performed when the doctor sailed 
 in; and, with a glance of the eye, gathered 
 that there was no call for his operations. 
 Nevertheless, he subjected Dorothy to much 
 questioning, greatly to her surprise, and in- 
 sisted that she was very ill, although she her- 
 self was conscious of no illness, and told him 
 that when her hair was dressed she was going 
 into the grounds with her spaniels.
 
 162 
 
 But here the doctor rose to the occasion. It 
 was not every day he had such a patient as the 
 daughter of the King of the Peak, and he had 
 no intention of letting her slip through his 
 fingers like that. So he discoursed learnedly, 
 used a wealth of jargon, and hinted at a thou- 
 sand dangers she would run if she went forth 
 yet. For a week at least she must keep her 
 chamber, and drink various nostrums he would 
 send her; and so importunate did he become 
 that she yielded, particularly as she detected a 
 merry twinkle in old Madge's eye. So the 
 good man departed happy, and calculating the 
 amount of the bill he would render for his in- 
 valuable services. 
 
 " My dearest," said Madge, chuckling, 
 when the door had closed, and the sounds of 
 the wise physician's retreating feet had died 
 away, " we have won the game. For a week 
 you shall keep your chamber ; it will be a holi- 
 day from your lady mother's tongue. And 
 dainty meats you shall have, and a stoup of 
 good red wine each day, and venison steaks 
 for thy dawn-meat, and possets sweetened with 
 honey." 
 
 " Now, good Madge," cried Dorothy, 
 iaughing, " surely you don't want to fatten me 
 for the market? "
 
 163 
 
 " No, sweet one ; but you must support your 
 strength." 
 
 " My hurt is here, Madge," said Doll, 
 touching her head ; then seeing a look of con- 
 cern sweep over the old nurse's face, she added 
 quickly : " I mean I am much concerned at 
 my mother's anger. She scolds me harshly, 
 and would force me into Sir Falconer's arms, 
 whether I will or not." Doll then detailed 
 the previous day's occurrences, to which 
 Madge lent an impatient ear, and burst out at 
 last with an angry : 
 
 " Pshaw ! Your lady mother must be 
 taught manners " 
 
 " Don't forget your respect, Madge," 
 checked Doll reprovingly. 
 
 " Forgive me ; faith I lose temper to see you 
 treated so unseemly." 
 
 " Ah, Madge, how well I know your heart's 
 goodness. Come, let me kiss your dear old 
 wizened face. I am my father's daughter, 
 and must, by duty's law, do as my father bids 
 me." 
 
 " Though he bids thee wed with Sir Fal- 
 coner? " 
 
 " Ay, though he bids me wed with Sir Fal- 
 coner." 
 
 " Alas, if it be so, sorrow, dear heart, will
 
 164 
 
 be your portion," sighed Madge. " But surely 
 you are a weather-cock; and one minute it is 
 Sir Falconer and the next minute it is not Sir 
 Falconer. Which would you have? " 
 
 "Ah, don't hurt me, Madge. I have 
 thought upon it, and well I see that disobe- 
 dience will be only a firebrand among us. 
 Better that I should be sacrificed than be an 
 instrument of discord. I must honor my 
 father and my mother." 
 
 Seeing the humor of her young mistress, 
 and understanding well that it sprang from 
 heart sorrow, Madge deemed it wise to refrain 
 from discussion until the fit of the blues had 
 passed; nor was it an opportune moment to 
 refer to Manners, as she intended, so she with- 
 held the news she had been dying to impart, 
 and busied herself. 
 
 She dressed her lady's hair, and soothed her. 
 And, by tacit agreement, the subject that lay 
 nearest their hearts was tabooed. Presently 
 Sir George Vernon came to inquire after the 
 welfare of his daughter, and he was followed 
 by Margaret, and, later still, the Lady Vernon 
 put in an appearance. Madge was prudent 
 enough to withdraw. No love lay between 
 her and the haughty mistress of Haddon Hall,
 
 and harsh words to Dorothy might have set 
 the old nurse's tongue a-wagging, and so have 
 led to a rumpus. 
 
 For a whole week Mistress Dorothy kept 
 her room. Not that there was any real need 
 to do so, but as faithful old Madge said, it af- 
 forded her a holiday. That is to say, she was 
 free for the time being from " punishment 
 tasks " and nagging. She found much indus- 
 try for her deft fingers in embroidery work, or 
 the making of laces for Margaret. And, when 
 tired of this, she amused herself with her lute, 
 in the execution of which she was very skillful. 
 Toward the end of the week an advance mes- 
 senger reached the Hall to say that Sir Fal- 
 coner Bracebridge would arrive on the mor- 
 row. This was far from cheering news to 
 Doll. But when Madge allowed her feelings 
 to betray her into an expression of irritation, 
 the " love bird " checked her, and said she 
 was resolved to receive her future lord with all 
 gentleness and courtesy, for she was a " duti- 
 ful daughter." The nurse still kept the news 
 of Manners' escape and discovery to herself.
 
 i66 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MOVE AND COUNTERMOVE. 
 
 Madge had kept the news of Manners' dis- 
 covery and escape to herself, as she was anx- 
 ious that during the week of holiday Dorothy 
 should have no cause for mental distress; but 
 she smiled as Doll made known her resolve to 
 fall in with the wishes of her father and step- 
 mother. With a sigh full of meaning, she 
 said: 
 
 " Let it be so if you think it is right ; but I 
 could wish that your future husband were a 
 better man. There, now, rate me if it please 
 you ; but I'll say my say though you thrust me 
 out of the Hall as a vagrant woman." 
 
 Dorothy laughed, and fondled Madge. 
 
 " It will be long, dear nurse, before I thrust 
 you out; but I am pledged to Sir Falconer, 
 and must marry him. That is plain speaking, 
 and bars argument." 
 
 " Ay," cried Madge ; " but since we are 
 speaking plainly, answer me this. Would you
 
 i6 7 
 
 rather wed sorrow in the person of Sir Fal- 
 coner, who, though you tear out my tongue, I 
 will say it, is a mealy-mouthed hypocrite, or 
 yon gallant with the honest eyes, Master John 
 Manners? " 
 
 " Hush, Madge ! " cried Doll half angrily, 
 and growing very red in the face. " You must 
 not speak of Master Manners, for has he not 
 gone away, and does not my mother hint that 
 he may have gone with foolish Elfrida Wild- 1 
 goose? " 
 
 " I will not put a lock upon my tongue any 
 longer," replied the nurse, brisking up with a 
 strange energy that gave her dimmed eyes an 
 unusual brightness, " and, since your mother 
 so hints, I give the lie to it." 
 
 "Madge!" 
 
 " Let me go on, for I can disprove her 
 slander, since John Manners has been freed 
 out of an old mill in Miller's Dale, and was 
 nearly dead when they rescued him." 
 
 " Madge, what is this you are saying? " cried 
 Dorothy in great agitation. " What means 
 this madness? " 
 
 " It is no madness, but truth, as God wit- 
 nesseth. For days past the news hath burnt 
 my tongue, but I feared to distress you. and so 
 kept it back."
 
 Doll could scarcely speak, she was so agi- 
 tated, but she managed to gasp out the ques- 
 tion: 
 
 "How did you get this strange story? " 
 
 " From honest Will Dawson." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I tell thee, sweetheart, there is no but ; it 
 is gospel truth. I set Will on to learn all he 
 could; he consulted with Master Aleyne and 
 the witch woman Jedaan; they found him a 
 prisoner at the mill, and they say the death- 
 rattles were already in his throat. But they 
 saved him, and took him to Dawson's granny 
 at Eyham, where they cured him." 
 
 Dorothy was breathless. Her hand was on 
 her bosom. Her sweet face was very pale now, 
 and in her beautiful eyes tear mi.st showed it- 
 self. 
 
 " Who put him in the mill? " she asked in a 
 low tone, ending with something like a sob 
 begotten of fear. 
 
 " Ah, therein lies the mystery of it," re- 
 plied Madge, shaking her wise, old head with 
 some significance. " It is not known at pres- 
 ent; but it will come out, or Heaven's not 
 just. It would appear he was enticed out of 
 his inn at Darley, and, being suddenly smoth- 
 ered with a hood, was lifted to a horse's back,
 
 xfe 
 
 and borne helpless to Miller's Dale, where he 
 was thrown into the cave beneath the mill. 
 There he was shut up, and warded by two cun- 
 ning knaves, one of whom was of mighty 
 strength, and named himself Hal." 
 
 " But why did they imprison Master Man- 
 ners? " asked Dorothy, still breathless and agi- 
 tated, and looking at Madge with eager, 
 searching eyes. 
 
 " You shall judge, my child. They took a 
 letter to him, and he was warned to go out t)f 
 Derbyshire, and vow on the honor of his name 
 to return no more." 
 
 "Who writ the letter?" 
 
 " That is more mystery ; but it was written 
 by some scurvy knave, for he did not sign. 
 And when the poor young gentleman would 
 not give his promise they sought to terrify 
 him by keeping meat and drink from him until 
 he was like to die." 
 
 " Alas, poor Master Manners ! " sighed Doll 
 sympathetically. 
 
 " Ay, poor Master Manners ! " echoed 
 Madge, warming up to her subject. " It is a 
 mercy they did not kill him. But it will be 
 brought home to them." 
 
 " Who can have been guilty of this out- 
 rage? " sobbed Doll.
 
 170 
 
 " Ah, who? Perhaps your lady mother, who 
 is so good at hints, could give an answer." 
 
 " Madge ! Madge ! " screamed Dorothy. 
 " It cannot be that " 
 
 She hesitated to complete the sentence. 
 
 " That what? " 
 
 " That Lady Vernon has been guilty of this 
 outrage? " 
 
 " No, I do not think so evil of her as that," 
 answered Madge. " But I have a name on 
 my tongue, though I would prefer you gave it 
 utterance rather than me." 
 
 There was a dead silence between them 
 for many moments. Dorothy was evidently 
 sore distressed, and laboring under overmas- 
 tering emotion. At last, in a tone that was 
 only a note above a whisper, she spoke the 
 name. 
 
 " Sir Falconer Bracebridge? " 
 
 With a display of caution that was alto- 
 gether unusual with her old Madge re- 
 sponded : 
 
 " It may be he, and it may not be he. There 
 are those who know the truth, and it may slip 
 out when the time is ripe, but it would be bet- 
 ted to call no man rogue lacking the proof." 
 
 " My father shall see to this," said Dorothy 
 with growing indignation as she began to
 
 realize the cowardly nature of the outrage. 
 " I will go to him and lay bare the whole busi- 
 ness, and Sir Falconer shall be tested, for 
 should he have been guilty of this deed of 
 wrong I would rather die than marry him." 
 
 Madge took her charge in her arms, and as 
 she kissed the fair, white forehead and looked 
 into the depths of the clear blue eyes, reading 
 therein something of the thoughts that were 
 passing beneath the wealth of red-gold hair, 
 she said in the peculiar soothing tone she knew 
 so well how to employ : 
 
 " My heart's joy, you must not go to your 
 father. Put a seal upon your lips. Watch 
 with eye of hawk, and wait with Job's pa- 
 tience." 
 
 " But, Madge, it is my duty." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; you are keen on duty these few 
 days past. But you have a duty to yourself 
 first. If you should make this business known 
 to your father, and Sir Falconer should clear 
 himself, what then?" 
 
 " I see the point, nurse, but, alas ! I am ter- 
 ribly distressed, for how can I think Sir Fal- 
 coner guiltless, and if he be guiltless do I not 
 wrong him in my thoughts? " 
 
 " Watch and wait," crooned Madge. 
 
 Dorothy nestled closer in the sheltering
 
 172 
 
 arms, with a little nervous tremor thrilling 
 her, and, dropping her long lashes over her 
 bright eyes, she whispered as though she was 
 afraid of even the walls hearing her: 
 
 " Madge, do you think that Dawson could 
 arrange that I get speech with Master Man- 
 ners, for I would like to hear the story from his 
 own lips? " 
 
 The nurse smiled knowingly, and stroked 
 the bonnie head. 
 
 " Ay, I think so. If you saw him he might 
 give you items of which I know nothing, for 
 in these matters there are always many small 
 things that have a great bearing on the story, 
 and can but be told by the hero. Ay, ay, you 
 shall see Master Manners, for if he be going 
 beyond the seas, as he told you he would, it 
 is not unseemly that you should wish him 
 God-speed." 
 
 " But is he going beyond the seas? " asked 
 Dorothy quickly, as she looked up into the 
 time-grained face that bent over her so fondly. 
 
 " Indeed, I know not. Did he not tell you 
 so?" 
 
 " Ay." 
 
 " Then he no doubt spoke the thoughts that 
 were in his mind."
 
 173 
 
 " But why should he exile himself ? " aslced 
 Doll with a little whimper. 
 
 " That is his own business. But perhaps it 
 might be to better his fortunes, perchance for 
 blighted love." 
 
 " Blighted love ! " echoed Doll in a far-away 
 tone. 
 
 " Ay, for your love-sick swain is little bet- 
 ter than a moonling, and often breaks his life 
 because of a hopeless love. It is bad to be in 
 love and get no response." 
 
 Dorothy remained silent; but a little sigh 
 that escaped her lips indicated the line her 
 thoughts were taking. Madge smiled, and 
 seemed very pleased with herself and yet re- 
 flection would probably have convinced her 
 that she was playing a dangerous game that 
 had no possible chance of success as it seemed 
 then, unless the good-will of Dorothy's pa- 
 rents could be secured. But Madge was not 
 given much to reflection, and the sudden entry 
 of Lady Vernon into the room put reflection 
 at that moment out of the question. 
 
 " I am glad, Doll, to see that your health is 
 sound again," said Lady Vernon in the 
 haughty tone she knew so well how to adopt. 
 " And the good news I have will, I am sure, 
 give you unbounded joy. Sir Falconer will
 
 174 
 
 arrive to-morrow, and He will urge my lord, 
 your father, to consent to an early union. In- 
 deed, I see no reason why your own wedding 
 and Margaret's should not be celebrated to- 
 gether." 
 
 " But why such haste, mother? " asked, 
 Dorothy with a ring of distress in her tone. 
 
 " Well, that is a shameless remark," cried 
 the lady angrily, and opening her eyes to their 
 fullest extent. " Haste indeed ! How do you 
 make out, girl, that there is haste in the busi- 
 ness? You have yet full three months for 
 wooing, and for long your lover has waited 
 your sweet pleasure. Now, there shall be no 
 more delay, since it is for your welfare that Sir 
 Falconer takes you under his care. A stronger 
 hand than your father's is needed now to hold 
 you in check." 
 
 An angry flush leaped into Dorothy's face as 
 this thrust was made, and possibly she would 
 have replied in a way that would have set her 
 ladyship's pulses dancing had not a significant 
 look from Madge warned her not to bandy 
 words, so she meekly replied, though with in- 
 tentional irony in her words : 
 
 " Your judgment cannot err, mother, and I, 
 being a dutiful daughter, must follow as you 
 direct."
 
 175 
 
 Failing to note the irony of this, Lady Ver- 
 non fairly chuckled at what she considered her 
 triumph, and, kissing Dorothy coldly on the 
 forehead, she took herself off, much to Doro- 
 thy's and Madge's relief.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DIABOLO. 
 
 The morrow came, and with it Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge. Dorothy met him with such 
 graciousness and welcome as she was capable 
 of assuming, for it was assumption. Inwardly 
 she shrank from him, and her heart was heavy, 
 for, turn her eyes which way she would, it 
 seemed to her then that there was no escape 
 from this man unless she took her fate in her 
 hands, revolted against the wishes and author- 
 ity of her parents, and flatly refused to marry 
 Bracebridge. That course presented itself to 
 her as such a terrible alternative that in the 
 frame of mind by which she was then influ- 
 enced she dare not entertain it. Moreover, 
 since the previous evening, she had reflected 
 deeply, and asked herself over and over again 
 whether she was not unduly prejudiced against 
 this man. At any rate, she tried to believe she 
 was, and though she was painfully conscious 
 that she bore him no love she resigned herself
 
 with a sigh, and resolved to try; and respect 
 him at least. 
 
 Bracebridge greeted her with an effusive- 
 ness that struck her as being forced, and she 
 noticed that his face wore an unusual expres- 
 sion of anxiety. He also showed this anxiety 
 in the way in which he asked her if she had 
 no news to give him, and how she had passed 
 her time during his absence. And while he 
 questioned her he scanned her face with an 
 eager glance, which led her to the conclusion 
 that he was holding something from her. She 
 therefore hastened to question. She begged 
 to have particulars of his journey, to know 
 whom he had met in London, and the business 
 that had taken him there. 
 
 He answered her questions evasively, and 
 this was too apparent to escape her observa- 
 tion, although she did not outwardly indicate 
 that she disbelieved him. She felt perfectly 
 convinced, however, that he was juggling with 
 the truth, and in some way deceiving her. At 
 last he turned the conversation into an entire- 
 ly fresh channel by suddenly exclaiming: 
 
 " By the way, Doll, I have a surprise for 
 you. I have brought you a present from Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " A present ! "
 
 178 
 
 " Ay ; a live one." So saying, he put a sil- 
 ver whistle that hung by a chain round his 
 neck to his lips, and blew a shrill blast. In- 
 stantly the door was flung open, and there 
 rolled into the room like a ball an extraordi- 
 nary creature. The head was tucked between 
 the legs, the feet were over the shoulders, the 
 hands grasping the thighs, and thus doubled 
 up it rolled over and over, until it gained the 
 center of the room, where with marvelous agil- 
 ity it straightened itself out, assumed an erect 
 posture, and Dorothy beheld a manikin so 
 grotesque, so monkey-like, that a thrill of ter- 
 ror ran through her. 
 
 The dwarf was only a little over three feet 
 in height, but he had ponderous shoulders, 
 long, pendulous arms, with great flapper-like 
 hands, short knotted legs, and splay feet. The 
 top part of his skull was relatively enormous, 
 and covered with a mass of matted, curly red 
 hair. The eyes were small and deep, set under 
 pent house brows. The ears were twice the 
 size of ordinary ears, and curled over at the 
 top. The nose was without any apparent 
 bridge; the mouth cavernous, and filled with 
 perfectly even and dazzling white teeth. The 
 whole of this extraordinary being's face was 
 covered with a short reddish sort of down. He
 
 179 
 
 was fantastically dressed. His contorted lower 
 limbs were clothed in yellow stockings, sur- 
 mounted by trunks of crimson cloth slashed 
 with green, while his doublet was maroon 
 velvet, the sleeves being ribbed with white 
 satin. Round his neck was riveted a narrow 
 band of gold or silver gilt, this band being a 
 badge of servitude. 
 
 He made such a profound bow to Dorothy 
 that the top of his head almost touched the 
 floor. Then, straightening himself, and strik- 
 ing a grotesque attitude, he said : 
 
 " Mademoiselle, your humble servant." 
 
 Strangely enough, the voice of this mal- 
 formed human being was soft and musical, but 
 the small eyes that gleamed under the knitted, 
 overhanging brows were like the eyes of some 
 fierce animal. Altogether there was something 
 so uncanny in the creature's appearance that 
 Dorothy could not repress a feeling of fear, 
 and drew a little nearer to Sir Falconer, who 
 with a laugh exclaimed: 
 
 " Don't be afraid, sweet one ; my manikin 
 is as gentle as a dove, as harmless as a fawn." 
 
 The contrast was so ludicrous that Dorothy 
 broke into a laugh, whereupon the dwarf threw 
 a double somersault, and then walked the 
 whole length of the room on his hands.
 
 :8o 
 
 " And, pray, sir," asked Dorothy, turning 
 to Bracebridge, " where did you get that 
 strange being from? " 
 
 " Come here," cried Bracebridge command- 
 ingly. With a hop and a skip the dwarf stood 
 before Dorothy, and bowed. " Tell this lady 
 who you are and how I became possessed of 
 you." 
 
 " At your service, monsieur et mademoi- 
 selle." This with another profound bow. " I 
 am from France, ze beautiful France. I was 
 born at Corbigny, in the province of Nievre. 
 My mozer and my fazer, zey did make burn ze 
 charcoal, and vas ver poor, and drink mooch 
 vine for comfort. Zey did sell me to one Mon- 
 sieur Bianco, who travel with a troupe of joug- 
 leurs, mummers, and acrobats, and he did 
 bring me to zis great nation, so that I make 
 sport for ze English people. Zis grand lord he 
 did see me in ze booth at London, and did buy 
 me from my master. I am my lord's slave, and 
 mademoiselle's dog." At this he imitated the 
 barking and yelping of various dogs, spread 
 out his hands, threw a somersault, sat down, 
 tied his legs round his neck, and grinned like 
 a gargoyle until at a sign from his master he 
 assumed the upright position again. 
 
 " And what do they call you? " asked Doro-
 
 thy timidly, as she looked furtively at the mis- 
 shapen but agile elf. 
 
 " An it please you, lady fair, I am known as 
 Diabolo the Dwarf, jougler, mummer, acrobat, 
 and musician, a votre service. I can imitate 
 all ze animals and ze birds. I sing, oh, di- 
 vinely, and I dance like ze, like ze, what do 
 you call zat ah, ze sylphs. When I sing all 
 ze people hold ze breath. It is grand, oh, 
 so grand! Listen." He snatched up a lute 
 that lay upon the table, and, striking a few 
 preliminary chords, he trilled a little ballad 
 with extraordinary grace and feeling, and in a 
 voice that was bell-like and mellow. When 
 he had finished he bowed low again, and, lay- 
 ing one of his ungainly hands over his heart, 
 he said : " I am yours to command, mademoi- 
 selle. I make you mooch merriment, so zat 
 you laugh until your ribs zey crack." 
 
 " But, in truth, Monsieur Diabolo," replied 
 Doll, " it would be a calamity were my ribs to 
 crack." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Diabolo, " when zey crack 
 with laughter it is good, ver good." 
 
 " Indeed he is a merry manikin," added 
 Bracebridge as he dismissed the dwarf with a 
 wave of his hand. As Diabolo retired he exe- 
 cuted a dance so irresistibly funny that Doro-
 
 182 
 
 thy roared with laughter, and a strange ex- 
 pression of satisfaction spread itself over Brace- 
 bridge's face. 
 
 " And what think you of my purchase? '' he 
 asked. 
 
 " A most remarkable being, indeed, with a 
 wonderful voice that is a strange contrast to 
 his misshapen body. But oh, Sir Falconer, I 
 do not like his eyes. They glitter with a cruel 
 light, and I am sure he is capable " 
 
 " Tut, tut," broke in Bracebridge with a 
 peevish intonation. " He is absolutely with- 
 out guile, and so sensitive that if you but chide 
 him lightly he weeps as if his heart would 
 break." 
 
 " Then his eyes belie him," persisted Doro- 
 thy. 
 
 " Truly am I unfortunate, sweet mistress," 
 said Sir Falconer with a show of irritation, 
 " since I fail to please you. I thought that this 
 dwarf would afford you much amusement." 
 
 " Ah, forgive me," sighed Dorothy, seeing 
 that Sir Falconer was vexed. " It is foolish 
 of me to be prejudiced. I will try to like your 
 dwarf, and perchance Monsieur Diabolo and I 
 will become good friends." 
 
 " Well spoken, my lady," cried Bracebridge. 
 " That is as it should be, and I am sure that
 
 this misshapen sprite will be as faithful as a 
 hound." He smiled; it was a smile full of 
 meaning, and, bending down, he kissed her, 
 though the touch of his lips rather caused her 
 to shrink from him. He gave her no indica- 
 tion that he noticed this, and, handing her her 
 lute, he begged her to sing to him, a request 
 she complied with. Strangely enough, how- 
 ever, the ugly face of Diabolo haunted her, un- 
 til she became so nervous that she pleaded a 
 headache, and, begging to be excused, fled 
 from the room. 
 
 For some minutes afterward Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge paced up and down in an agitated 
 way, and his brow was darkened with a frown. 
 At last, as he struck his right fist against the 
 palm of his left hand as if to give emphasis to 
 his words, he muttered: 
 
 " You are clever, Mistress Dorothy, but not 
 clever enough to deceive me, and in the game 
 we are playing I'll wager I'll come off the win- 
 ner. You like not my dwarf, eh? Well, we'll 
 see " 
 
 His soliloquy was interrupted by the en- 
 trance of Lady Vernon, who seemed greatly 
 surprised to find him alone. He said that 
 Dorothy had been seized with a headache, and 
 had retired. Lady Vernon frowned, and ex-
 
 184 
 
 pressed an opinion that her stepdaughter found 
 it convenient to have a headache at times. 
 
 " The fact is," pursued the lady, " the girl 
 is willful, and likes too much of her own way. 
 This failing must be checked. It can be done 
 with firmness, and it is to her interest and the 
 interest of us all that this should be done." 
 
 " Truly so," answered Bracebridge with 
 thoughtful mien. " But much tact is required, 
 lest the very willfulness you speak of should 
 cause her to break away from all restraint." 
 
 " Surely she would hardly dare do that,'* 
 cried Lady Vernon sharply. 
 
 " It is not safe to rely upon her not daring. 
 She does not want for spirit, and might dare a 
 good many things. Now, there is one question 
 I should like to ask you, my Lady Vernon. 
 Do you think that Doll's thoughts still run 
 upon John Manners? " 
 
 " I really don't know what to say," an- 
 swered the lady after a reflective pause. " Of 
 course, you know that this Manners suddenly 
 disappeared from Darley at the same time that 
 Elfrida Wildgoose, the pretty daughter of 
 Farmer Wildgoose, went off? " 
 
 A strange expression flitted across Brace- 
 bridge's face as he asked quickly:
 
 " Is it believed, then, that the two have gone 
 off together? " 
 
 " It seems so." 
 
 " And does Dorothy believe it? " 
 
 " I talked to her, and told her the rumors, 
 and it seemed to me she was impressed." 
 
 " Perhaps," began Bracebridge with a cer- 
 tain hesitancy, and glancing furtively at the 
 lady's face, " perhaps it might be of advantage 
 to foster this belief in her mind, for nothing 
 could tend to disillusionize her with regard to 
 Manners so effectually as for her to think t'he 
 fellow had gone off with a plebeian's daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " True ; but if we could get actual proof that 
 that was so it would fill her with such a sense 
 of disgust that you would, I am sure, have no 
 further trouble." 
 
 " The proof must be sought for, my lady," 
 said Falconer, looking much concerned. 
 
 " Get proof by all means if it can be got. 
 But, after all, is it worth while concerning our- 
 selves about this John Manners. He will come 
 here no more, and what chance has Dorothy of 
 communicating with him? But even if she 
 could do so, I am fain to believe that she would 
 not so far forget her dignity and the honor of 
 her house as to practice deception. No, no,
 
 i86 
 
 with all her faults she is too high-minded for 
 that." 
 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge did not attempt to 
 negative this assertion, but there was a pecul- 
 iar shifty look in his eyes, a look that said as 
 plainly as words that his thoughts were not the 
 thoughts of Lady Vernon. He turned the drift 
 of the conversation, however, by asking some 
 questions bearing upon Margaret's approach- 
 ing marriage, and having pretty well exhausted 
 that subject he came back once more to his re- 
 lations with Dorothy, and set forth his own 
 view that it was desirable in more senses than 
 one that there should be a formal betrothal be- 
 tween them, and that their union should not 
 be delayed a day longer than necessary. On 
 this point her ladyship quite agreed with him, 
 and she promised to do everything in her 
 power to bring about a consummation of his 
 desires.
 
 187 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE MEETING AT THE HAZEL COPSE. 
 
 The truly remarkable dwarf that Sir Fal- 
 coner brought to the Hall proved to be a par- 
 ticularly amusing elf, being quick at repartee, 
 full of quips and cranks, and exceedingly clever 
 both as a juggler and an acrobat. As a mu- 
 sician, too, he could have held his own with 
 r good many, while the sweetness of his voice 
 astounded all who heard him sing. As might 
 be supposed, he soon ingratiated himself with 
 the household, though Dorothy herself, as well 
 as old Madge, regarded him with unconquer- 
 able repugnance.Diabolo, of course, must have 
 been aware of this ; but did everything he could 
 to make himself agreeable to both of them. 
 He paid Doll the most flattering compliments. 
 He composed ballads in favor of her hair, her 
 eyes, and her beauty, and he was never tired of 
 assuring her that he was her slave, her dog. 
 But while his antics and his wit made her 
 laugh, she could not get over the feeling of
 
 1 88 
 
 dislike and mistrust with which he inspired 
 her. 
 
 A fortnight passed, and there was scarcely a 
 day that Sir Falconer did not plead to Dorothy 
 to consent to a betrothal, and urge her father 
 to allow the marriage to take place, either at 
 the same time as Margaret's or very soon after. 
 She, on her part, argued against hastiness. She 
 reminded him that they were both young, and 
 could afford to wait, and that she wished to 
 preserve her freedom for some time longer. 
 Needless to say, this did not please him; but 
 he recognized that she had a will, and it would 
 not be wise to too stoutly oppose it. But he 
 was troubled. He seemed to have something 
 on his mind, and at last suddenly announced 
 that affairs of moment called him away; but, 
 beyond saying that he was going into Lanca- 
 shire, he volunteered no further information. 
 A little while before his departure he sum- 
 moned his dwarf Diabolo to him, and, in pres- 
 ence of Dorothy, told him that he should leave 
 him behind, and he charged him to be as faith- 
 ful as her shadow to the lady, to obey her 
 lightest wish, and devote all his energies to 
 amusing her. 
 
 Diabolo bowed to the ground, and, in his 
 broken English, vowed that his faithfulness
 
 should surpass anything that had ever been 
 heard of, and that if " ze gracious Mademoi- 
 selle liked to command his life it was at her 
 service." 
 
 The gracious mademoiselle told him that she 
 did not desire his life; and, much as she ap- 
 preciated his devotion, she thought his duty 
 lay with his master, with whom he had better 
 depart. To this Bracebridge said he had 
 brought the dwarf to Haddon for no other pur- 
 pose than to amuse her, and if he failed to do 
 that he could go about his business; at any- 
 rate, it was not convenient for him to take him 
 with him into Lancashire. So Diabolo re- 
 mained, and Sir Falconer set forth, accom- 
 panied by his squire and his body servant ; and 
 when Dorothy saw him disappear in the woods 
 through which the approach to the residence 
 ran she experienced a sense of relief as if a load 
 had been lifted from her mind, and later in the 
 day she joyfully joined her father, who rode 
 out with his falconers to try some new hawks 
 he had had sent to him from France. 
 
 It was late before the party returned; and, 
 as it was close onto the hour of the evening 
 meal, Dorothy flew to her room to change her 
 dress. She was red in the face and excited. 
 
 " Madge, Madge ! " she cried, " what do you
 
 IQO 
 
 think? As we rode through the upper rookery 
 we came upon Will Dawson and his men busy 
 cutting up the huge fir that was laid low in the 
 last gale, and among his men was one who 
 bore a striking likeness to John Manners. In- 
 deed, I could almost have sworn at first that 
 it was none other than Manners himself ; but I 
 knew it could not be possible. And yet, 
 Madge, the fellow stared at me with all his eyes 
 until I was nearly tempted into chiding him." 
 
 " Ah," replied Madge, " you see that even a 
 bumpkin of a woodcutter is fascinated with 
 your beauty." 
 
 " Oh ! cease this flattery," cried Doll, with 
 something like real anger. 
 
 " No, I will not cease, and may Satan run 
 away with me if I cease to speak the truth," 
 answered Madge loftily. " Would you have 
 me call you ugly? I say again that your 
 beauty throws a spell even over a bumpkin. 
 Now, then, my ladybird, rate your poor old 
 nurse; she does not care. Perhaps it would 
 please you to beat her. I will fetch a stick; 
 but when you have cracked every bone in my 
 body I will still cry if you do but leave breath 
 enough, you are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful." 
 
 Dorothy was highly amused ; and, throwing
 
 IQI < 
 
 her arms about the nurse's neck, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " You dear, silly old tease. Why will you 
 rave so about my beauty." 
 
 " I only repeat what your mirror tells you 
 every time those blue eyes look into it." 
 
 Dorothy put her hand over the old woman's 
 mouth. 
 
 " There, now, you are gagged," she said 
 laughingly. " But, Madge, do be sensible. 
 Now, is it not strange that Will Dawson should 
 have a laborer so like Manners that if he were 
 dressed better he would pass for him? " 
 
 " Ay, it is a marvel, but if you will promise 
 not to rate me more for telling you that you 
 are beautiful I'll give you a bit of news." 
 
 " There, I promise. Now, what's the news? 
 Quick, quick, I say. I am all ears." 
 
 " Can you not guess? " 
 
 " No yes." Dorothy caught her breath, 
 and she fixed the old woman with her eyes. 
 " The man I have seen to-day working as a 
 laborer is John Manners." 
 
 " A good guess," smiled Madge. 
 
 " What does it mean? " asked Dorothy with 
 breathless eagerness. 
 
 " I have held the news from you up to this 
 moment, dear lamb," said Madge, "but it is
 
 true that the man you have seen is Manners." 
 
 " What is he doing in such a position," 
 gasped Dorothy. 
 
 " He labors like the rest of them." 
 
 " But why? " 
 
 " That he may see you and speak to you be- 
 fore he goes beyond the seas for ever." 
 
 " Oh, Madge, but this is folly indeed," cried 
 the poor girl in real distress. " Think of the 
 risk he runs. Think what would happen if Sir 
 Falconer should discover him." 
 
 " Men have run greater risks for the love of 
 women," Madge replied. 
 
 " But, Madge, how do you know that this 
 John Manners loves me? " 
 
 " By many signs, dear one. Now, question 
 not, but take it from me that Master Manners 
 is breaking his heart about you." 
 
 Dorothy was so surprised, so overcome by 
 the revelation, that she held her peace while 
 Madge arranged her hair for her. But just 
 before leaving the room to join the family at 
 dinner Dorothy said : 
 
 " Poor Master Manners ! It would be a pity 
 if his heart should break." 
 
 " Send him a message, then." 
 
 " What would you have me say? "
 
 193 
 
 " Tell him he shall have an opportunity of 
 speaking to you." 
 
 " Yes " after a pause " you may tell him 
 that." 
 
 Dorothy sat next to her father at the dinner 
 table, and he talked much of the day's exploits, 
 and of the merits of the new hawks, frequent- 
 ly turning to her for confirmation of some- 
 thing he had said, or for her opinion. But she 
 was very absent-minded, and occasionally an- 
 swered yes when she should have said no ; and 
 glad she was when the meal was ended and 
 she was able to get to her room. 
 
 Two days of suspense passed, and on the 
 third morning Madge whispered to her that at 
 twelve of the clock John Manners would be 
 found by the gate of the hazel copse. The 
 hazel copse was a plantation of hazels grown 
 for the sake of their nuts. It was about three 
 miles from the house, in a lonely situation. 
 For a little while Dorothy struggled with her- 
 self. She would go and she wouldn't. It was 
 right and it was wrong. She owed it to Man- 
 ners to see him once again, as she had prom- 
 ised, and she owed it to herself and her family 
 to do nothing of which she might be ashamed. 
 
 The end of it all was that she decided to go, 
 and, telling Madge to prepare herself, she spent
 
 104 
 
 a little time with her father assisting him to 
 check some accounts, and when her task was 
 finished she slipped away. Her own horse and 
 Madge's were already saddled and waiting out- 
 side of the big gate under the Eagle Tower. 
 Dorothy tarried not a moment. She was 
 afraid that if she paused to reflect her courage 
 would fail her, and her purpose would not be 
 carried out. So she and Madge rode away at 
 once. 
 
 Dorothy felt that she was playing with Fate, 
 and for the first time in her life was deceiving 
 her father. She tried, however, to justify her- 
 self by mentally arguing that she was to keep 
 her promise to see Manners once more; only 
 once, for had she not promised, and was he not 
 going beyond the seas, and had he not suffered 
 on her account, and was it not perfectly right 
 that she should tell him that she was sorry for 
 him, and wouldn't even her father approve of 
 her doing what she had pledged herself to do? 
 
 It was a pretty argument, a sophism of 
 course ; but it was as sound as such arguments 
 are, generally speaking, and it served its pur- 
 pose for the time being as a conscience salver. 
 
 The three miles to the hazel copse were soon 
 covered, and by the gate a man in the garb of 
 a woodman was standing talking to another
 
 195 
 
 man similarly dressed. As Doll beheld them 
 her heart failed her for a moment or two, and 
 she whispered to Madge: 
 
 " Let us turn and ride home quickly." 
 
 " Why? " asked the nurse in amazement. 
 
 " Because I I cannot, I I dare not speak 
 to him." 
 
 Before she could carry out her intention the 
 two men separated One disappeared in the 
 wood that one was William Aleyne ; the other 
 came forward that one was John Manners. 
 Doffing his cap, he said : 
 
 " This is indeed an honor you have done me. 
 How can I express my appreciation of it? " 
 
 Dorothy was terribly agitated, and her beau- 
 tiful face was unusually pale. 
 
 " Sir, who was your companion? " she asked 
 in trembling accents, alluding to the man who 
 had disappeared in the wood. 
 
 " My true, faithful, and loyal friend, William 
 Aleyne. He, too, has become a woodman out 
 of the regard he bears me." 
 
 Dorothy's mind was relieved to some extent. 
 But still it was not without trepidation that 
 she asked: 
 
 " Did did your friend know that a meeting 
 had been arranged? "
 
 " He did, and he will give us warning of the 
 approach of anyone." 
 
 " If we are not in the wrong, why should we 
 be ashamed of being seen? " asked Dorothy. 
 
 For a moment Manners was somewhat dis- 
 concerted by the question, but at last he gave 
 a fitting answer. 
 
 " For myself it matters not, sweet lady, but 
 no breath of scandal must tarnish your spot- 
 less fame. It is a wicked world, and there are 
 tongues ever ready, with or without justifica- 
 tion, to speak evil" 
 
 Dorothy was pleased with the answer, but 
 she still felt uneasy ; and she noticed with alarm 
 that old Madge was at least a hundred yards 
 away. Her horse was feeding on the succulent 
 young grass, while she herself, having dis- 
 mounted, was making a posy of wild flowers. 
 
 " I pray you, sir, summon my nurse," said 
 Dorothy anxiously. 
 
 "And I pray you out of the depths of my 
 soul to let her remain where she is that I may 
 speak with you alone." 
 
 " This is boldness," she remarked shyly as 
 she let her eyes fall. 
 
 " And who would not be bold for duty's 
 sake " 
 
 "Sir!"
 
 197 
 
 " Slay me with your anger if you will, but 
 hear me first. Behold me in the garb of a 
 laborer. Why have I donned it? Because I 
 wished to look once again on your dear face, 
 to hear your sweet voice for the last time." 
 
 " For the last time," she echoed in a whisper, 
 her head bent low. 
 
 He was standing close to her horse, his hand 
 resting on the front of the saddle. 
 
 " Ay, lady, for what care I for England 
 now? I must seek excitement in some foreign 
 land. I must find a Lethean stream; I want 
 forgetfulness." 
 
 " And why forgetfulness, Master Manners? " 
 
 " I would forget you." 
 
 " But that is a pretty thing to say. Pray, 
 sir, what shameless deed have I done that you 
 are so eager to forget me? " 
 
 John sighed deeply. 
 
 " No shameless deed," he answered, with a 
 wail in his tone ; " but when a man has looked 
 upon that for which his heart yearns, but 
 yearns in vain, were it not well that he should 
 try to" forget it?" 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are 
 right," she murmured with downcast head. 
 
 " Ay, my Lady Dorothy, it is indeed so. Oh,
 
 why did Fate ever lead my steps to your fath- 
 er's house? " 
 
 " That seems to me to be a riddle, and I have 
 no talent as a riddle-guesser." 
 
 Manners grew desperate. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy, listen to me," he cried. 
 Since that fateful night when I first set eyes 
 on you, and the morning that followed, when 
 you sent me from you in anger, my life has 
 undergone a change. I have thought of you, 
 dreamed of you, and, may I add, suffered for 
 you." 
 
 The way that Dorothy's cheeks reddened 
 showed that his words had struck home. She 
 cast a furtive glance at his pale face, and noted 
 his pleading, yearning eyes, and then with 
 bashful hesitancy she asked in all but inaudible 
 tones, but they did not escape his eager ears: 
 
 " What would you have me do? What 
 would you have me say? " 
 
 " On what you say and do my happiness 
 nay, my life, depends." 
 
 She tried to look steadfastly at him, but 
 could not, and averted her gaze again. She 
 was evidently greatly agitated; her bosom 
 heaved and fell rapidly. 
 
 " Surely, sir," she said, " you exaggerate the 
 position, or seek to place an undue responsi-
 
 199 
 
 bility on my shoulders. To say that I am the 
 arbitrator of your life and happiness is " 
 
 What she intended to say further was never 
 uttered, for a shrill warning whistle rose with 
 startling distinctness on the still air. It came 
 from William Aleyne, who was keeping faith- 
 ful watch in the copse. Manners started away 
 from Dorothy's horse, and, glancing along the 
 track, he fairly held his breath in wonderment, 
 for an extraordinary, and he might have been 
 pardoned for thinking, a supernatural being 
 was approaching them. 
 
 It was Diabolo the Dwarf.
 
 200 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ON THE BRINK. 
 
 " What have we here? " asked Manners as 
 the dwarf approached. 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Dorothy. " It is Sir 
 Falconer's dwarf. I do not like him, so be 
 cautious." 
 
 This warning was not lost on John, but he 
 had no time to question further, for the impish 
 manikin approached rapidly, bowing and 
 scraping. He was out of breath. There was 
 a leer on his ugly face; he seemed excited, 
 though he held himself in check. As he made 
 obeisance to Dorothy he almost touched the 
 ground with his forehead. Then he straight- 
 ened his small figure out, and struck a comical 
 attitude, while his wicked little eyes glanced 
 furtively at Manners, and from Manners back 
 to Dorothy again. 
 
 " My lord and master bade me guard you 
 as if I were your shadow," he said, " but you 
 set off into the woods without me, and I have
 
 2OI 
 
 sped after you, mademoiselle, with such haste 
 that my bellows he have no more wind, and 
 my heart he go pit-a-pat with mooch quick- 
 ness." 
 
 " And, pray, sir," asked Dorothy loftily, 
 " since you have been constituted my guard 
 without my being consulted, I should like to 
 know the nature of the danger against which 
 you are to guard me? " 
 
 " Zey are many," answered Diabolo with a 
 grin. "Zere are ze wood demons, and ze mis- 
 chievous sprites zat bewitch maidens, and ze 
 dragons " 
 
 " Cease this silly chatter," cried Dorothy 
 with such warmth that the dwarf seemed as- 
 tonished ; " and know this, Master Diabolo, I 
 neither want your company nor your guardian- 
 ship." Then with great presence of mind she 
 turned to Manners, who stood apart, some- 
 what puzzled how to act, and, addressing him 
 with assumed haughtiness, said : " Your peti- 
 tion, fellow, shall have consideration, but I 
 can make no promise that my father will grant 
 your request." 
 
 This was clever, and Manners immediately 
 gathered the import of it, and as he made a 
 low bow he said :
 
 202 
 
 " I beseech you, lady, not to forget me." 
 They exchanged glances, and he walked away. 
 
 " Yon woodman has fine hands," remarked 
 Diabolo, " and has taken much care of his com- 
 plexion." 
 
 Madge, who had come up leading her horse, 
 and understood the situation, replied to the 
 dwarf banteringly: 
 
 " You have a pretty wit, master dwarf, for 
 so misshapen a body, and, though you are not 
 handsome, your own complexion might be im- 
 proved. Now, since you have come as a stran- 
 ger to our Haddon, I should like to know what 
 a woodman's complexion or his hands have got 
 to do with you? " 
 
 " Nozing," replied the dwarf with a merry 
 laugh ; " but it is not a wicked zing to make 
 a remark even in your Haddon, eh? " 
 
 " No ; the wickedness is in yourself, my small 
 image." 
 
 Diabolo laughed again. Then he turned a 
 somersault, and danced a few steps, and was so 
 irresistibly funny that Dorothy and Madge 
 could not restrain their laughter. Finally he 
 made a step of his hands by joining them to- 
 gether to enable Madge to mount her horse. 
 She accepted his assistance, and when she was 
 seated he caught hold of the horse's tail, and
 
 203 
 
 vaulted with astounding agility behind her. 
 She protested, called him a toad, and ordered 
 him to dismount at once, but he only laughed 
 and made jokes, said that his small body ached, 
 and that her nag was powerful enough to carry 
 his trifling additional weight. She was per- 
 force compelled to ride with himi behind her 
 until the towers of Haddon Hall came in view, 
 when he slipped off, and ran before to the great 
 gateway. 
 
 Dorothy was exceedingly annoyed, and 
 when she reached her room she complained bit- 
 terly to Madge of Bracebridge's dastardly con- 
 duct in placing a spy over her actions, for she 
 could no longer doubt that Diabolo had been 
 brought there as a spy, and in spite of his ec- 
 centric oddities, his humor and merriment, he 
 was dangerous. Doll declared her intention of 
 going at once to her father and making a 
 strong complaint. But against this shrewd old 
 Madge set her face. She pointed out that if 
 she did that it might lead to Manners being 
 discovered. For was it not evident from 
 Diabolo's remark about the fine hands and 
 complexion of the pseudo forester that he sus- 
 pected him? So Doll perforce restrained her 
 feelings, but her dislike of Bracebridge was in- 
 creased, and she resolved that when he re-
 
 204 
 
 turned she would insist on his sending the 
 dwarf away. 
 
 Of course, she was greatly disappointed that 
 her conversation with Manners had been inter- 
 rupted, as she intended to have questioned him 
 about his abduction and imprisonment, for 
 naturally she was anxious to find out if it were 
 possible if Bracebridge was responsible for the 
 imprisonment. She had no doubt in her own 
 mind that he was, but the thing was to get in- 
 contestable proof, though even if she succeeded 
 in doing that, would he not endeavor to justify, 
 his action in every way? 
 
 And should it come out, as in all probability 
 it would do, that Manners was lurking in the 
 woods disguised as a forester, no end of trouble 
 would arise, and Manners himself would be 
 disgraced. It follows that had she not felt 
 deeply interested in John Manners his discov- 
 ery would have given her no concern. But 
 she made no attempt now to disguise the fact 
 from herself that he not only bulked very 
 prominently in her thoughts, but she had so far 
 fallen under his spell that she was possessed of 
 a feverish anxiety to see him again. It is 
 highly probable that at this stage she would 
 hardly have confessed to being in love with
 
 205 
 
 him, but she stood on the brink, as it were, 
 and very little was needed to draw her for- 
 ward. 
 
 The day following that memorable meeting 
 at the hazel copse Lady Vernon took her to 
 task for riding about in the woods with only, 
 Madge as an attendant, and from trie tone and 
 manner of her Ladyship it was pretty clear 
 that she had received certain information from 
 Diabolo. Now, there were times when Doro- 
 thy Vernon could express herself with great 
 spirit, and on this occasion her indignation was 
 so strong that she spake her mind somewhat 
 freely. She could not understand, she said, 
 what harm or danger was likely to arise be- 
 cause she rode with her faithful nurse over her 
 father's private land. 
 
 " But you have never been in the habit of 
 doing so until lately," urged the lady mother. 
 
 " But you forget, Madam, that I am no 
 longer a child," answered Dorothy. 
 
 This provoked the lady to ironical laughter, 
 and she said some harsh things, the tendency 
 of which were that she considered it bad taste 
 on Dorothy's part, as well as undutiful, to lay 
 claim to womanhood yet awhile. 
 
 " And yet you consider me old enough to
 
 2O6 
 
 marry Sir Falconer," retorted Dorothy. This 
 did not advantage her much, however, as the 
 Lady Matilda said that Sir Falconer would 
 afford the very protection that was so much 
 needed. 
 
 Dorothy after this held her peace. She felt 
 that nothing was to be gained by prolonging 
 the discussion. Lady Vernon was a woman of 
 strong opinions, and was so fixed in her ideas 
 that no amount of argument could move her. 
 Had she been less puffed up with a sense of her 
 own infallibility she would have gained an in- 
 finitely stronger hold on the regard of those 
 around her, for she had many good qualities, 
 but she liked to rule supreme, and could not 
 brook contradiction. 
 
 As Dorothy Vernon sat in her chamber that 
 evening, and pondered over the events of the 
 day, her indignation knew no bounds as she 
 thought of Diabolo having been brought into 
 the household as a spy upon her movements, 
 nor did the conduct of her stepmother tend to 
 modify that indignation. And, needless to say, 
 she felt very unhappy, for the prospect of her 
 coming marriage with Bracebridge filled her 
 with alarm. But one thing she resolved upon, 
 and that was to see John Manners again, what-
 
 207 
 
 ever the consequences might be, and, having 
 made this known to Madge, the old woman de- 
 scended to the servants' quarters in search of 
 Will Dawson, so that she might intrust him 
 with a message.
 
 208 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE TRYST. 
 
 When William Aleyne heard that his friend 
 Manners was going to disguise himself as a 
 forester, he declared that he would do like- 
 wise. It was an adventure that appealed to 
 him. There was romance in it, and when. 
 John pointed out the discomfort and incon- 
 venience he would have to endure, he laughed, 
 and said he did not desire that his life should 
 be altogether a bed of roses, and as he had set 
 out with his friend he intended now to see him 
 through the affair whatever the end might be. 
 
 Both Manners and his friend adapted them- 
 selves admirably to their surroundings, and 
 made a not altogether unsuccessful attempt to 
 play their part to the life. After that meeting 
 with Dorothy at the Hazel Copse, Manners 
 could no longer doubt that he had produced a 
 deep impression upon her, but he could not 
 then bring himself to believe in the possibili- 
 ties of his being able to woo and win her.
 
 209 
 
 Moreover, the unexpected appearance of Dia- 
 bolo, Dorothy's note of warning rendering it 
 clear that there was danger, more than ordi- 
 nary caution would be needed if he wished to 
 avoid being unmasked. 
 
 In a subsequent conversation he had with 
 Dawson, the worthy head forester told all he 
 knew about Diabolo. It wasn't very much, and 
 had principally been gathered from Madge. 
 The dwarf was described as " a merry mum- 
 mer," whom Sir Falconer Bracebridge had 
 taken into his service for the sake of the amuse- 
 ment he was capable of affording, but Daw- 
 son was careful to make known that Miss Ver- 
 non and the nurse were suspicious of the mani- 
 kin, and believed he had been introduced into 
 the household as a spy. This information ex- 
 plained to John the reason of Dorothy's con- 
 fusion, and her warning, when the ugly little 
 monkey-like man so inopportunely interrupted 
 their tete-a-tete. 
 
 The next few days following the meeting 
 were dreary and sad ones to Manners ; sad, be- 
 cause he was in such a state of uncertainty and 
 doubt. But then the cheering intimation was 
 conveyed to him by Dawson that Mistress Ver- 
 non wished to see him again to make some ex- 
 planation, and he was to be at the end of the
 
 210 
 
 upper terrace of the grounds at an hour when 
 darkness would have set in. Needless to say 
 that Manners repaired to the rendezvous with 
 great eagerness, and waited in palpitating sus- 
 pense until a light footstep told him that she, 
 for whom he waited, was approaching. 
 
 It was a daring thing for Dorothy to do, but 
 she had become desperate as she realized the 
 difficulties that beset her in carrying out her 
 desire to see Manners again. And at last she 
 determined to make a bold plunge, and under 
 the sheltering wing of the old nurse, met John 
 in the grounds after nightfall, when there 
 would be less risk of being observed. The 
 upper terrace was lonely enough, particularly 
 at night, and as it was bordered by the woods 
 from which it was separated by a low wall only, 
 the chances of a meeting being disturbed by 
 unwelcome intruders were remote. 
 
 Dorothy was fully alive to the risks she ran, 
 and she was not without certain qualms of con- 
 science, for should by any chance it become 
 known that she had secretly met John Manners 
 disguised as a woodman, and at night, nothing 
 she could say, or nothing she could do, would 
 justify her act, and trouble of a very serious 
 and grave nature would result. She and 
 Madge had stolen from the house soon after
 
 211 
 
 the evening meal, and she tried to persuade 
 herself that, having promised Manners she 
 would see him once more, she was bound to 
 keep her promise, and by choosing night time 
 for the meeting she was compelled thereto by 
 the force of circumstances. 
 
 " You know, Madge," she said before they 
 left the house, " this is the last time, I sup- 
 pose, that I shall ever see Master Manners, for 
 the poor young man is going to some foreign 
 country, and I should not like him to depart 
 bearing me ill-will." 
 
 The nurse winked an eye as she replied : 
 
 " Do not be afraid, my child, that this bold 
 young man will think ill of you. And, of 
 course, if it be true that he is going beyond the 
 seas, it will comfort him, no doubt, to see you 
 once again. But I would wager a groat that it 
 will be long before he departs." 
 
 " But he told me he was going," cried 
 Dorothy, with sweet naivete. 
 
 " Ah, he is a wise young man," remarked 
 Madge with another wink which plainly indi- 
 cated what she herself thought. And in her 
 case the wish was father to the thought. She 
 desired to see her nursling happy, and she was 
 convinced there would be no happiness if she 
 married Bracebridge. And it seemed to the
 
 212 
 
 old woman that there was no way of defeating 
 Bracebridge except by Dorothy marrying 
 somebody else. She did not pause to consider 
 what this involved; hers was not a reflective 
 nature, but, in a vague sort of way, she had a 
 notion that the end justified the means. 
 
 As Doll reached the upper terrace, which 
 was shaded by wondrous oaks and yews, and 
 very ghostly and drear at nighttime, she clung 
 to Madge. The night wind made an eerie 
 melody in the branches of the trees, and, 
 though the stars were shining, nothing could 
 be discerned save the silhouetted trees, which 
 looked like solid blocks of shadow thrown into 
 relief by the starlit sky. Dorothy was nervous 
 and agitated, for though she might not have 
 been able to analyze her feelings at that stage 
 and, notwithstanding, she had endeavored to 
 make herself believe she was going to say fare- 
 well to John Manners, something told her, an 
 instinct if you like, that love was asserting it- 
 self in her heart for the first time. 
 
 In the early stages of her acquaintance with 
 Bracebridge she felt drawn toward him by 
 some peculiar fascination, but very soon she 
 realized that she did not love him. Manners, 
 on the contrary, had awakened in her an en- 
 tirely new sensation, and, try as she would,
 
 213 
 
 she could not dismiss him from her thoughts. 
 Strong, indeed, must have been the young 
 man's influence over her, when on that moon- 
 less night she could summon up courage to 
 steal forth to meet him in secret. Neverthe- 
 less, when she found herself on the ghostly ter- 
 race, and heard the dreary sighing of the wind 
 in the trees, and the hoarse moan of the river, 
 she was stirred with apprehension of some 
 vague danger that prompted her to whisper to 
 Madge. 
 
 " Let us go back, let us go back. I am do- 
 ing wrong, and am afraid." 
 
 " Of what? " asked Madge. " There is noth- 
 ing here can harm you, child, for you are 
 clothed in the armor of your own goodness 
 and virtue." 
 
 It was not often the aged servitor was ca- 
 pable of expressing such a sentiment as this, 
 but the occasion, the hour, and the solemn sur- 
 roundings drew it forth. She regarded her 
 "love bird " with so strong a regard that she 
 considered she was absolutely incapable of do- 
 ing wrong, and that very regard drew from 
 her the expression which might, with some 
 truth, be said to have sealed Mistress Vernon's 
 fate, for she faltered no more, but went on 
 bravely to the extreme end of the terrace, and,
 
 214 
 
 in a low, sweet tone, called out : " Master 
 Manners, are you there? " 
 
 From behind the wall, where he had been 
 crouching, up rose John Manners, and an- 
 swered : 
 
 " Ay, lady, for though a thousand fiends had 
 barred my way I would have kept the tryst." 
 
 This was a somewhat hyperbolical expres- 
 sion, no doubt, but had Manners sought for 
 something more fitting to indicate the strength 
 of the feeling he entertained for Mistress Ver- 
 non, he would have failed to find it. For great, 
 indeed, must have been the danger that would 
 have prevented him being there. 
 
 Dorothy had not let go of Madge's hand, 
 and she still held it, and the little tremor of 
 excitement that thrilled her made itself known 
 to Madge, who said: 
 
 " Why does your heart flutter so, my bird? 
 Master Manners will, I am sure, speak but fair 
 words to you, and shield you from harm with 
 his life." ' 
 
 " Ay, that would I ! " cried John with eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " Peace, Madge," whispered Dorothy ; 
 " how foolish you are. But let us return, for 
 should we be missed I dread to think what the 
 consequences will be."
 
 215 
 
 " Now it is you who are foolish," retorted 
 the nurse. " You came to say farewell to this 
 young gentleman, and, though you have not 
 said it, you talk of returning." 
 
 Although none could see it, Dorothy's face 
 was dyed scarlet, and so confused was she that 
 she was either not conscious that Madge had 
 brought her hand in contact with John's, or, 
 being conscious, was powerless to resist it. 
 But anyway Manners clasped her hand, not as 
 a courtier, but with the warm, nervous grasp 
 of one who was carried away by an excess of 
 feeling she could not control. 
 
 " Mistress Vernon," he whispered, " if it is 
 your purpose to say farewell, then is my life 
 done." 
 
 " But you told me you were going beyond 
 the seas." 
 
 " Ay, so I did when it seemed hopeless for 
 me to think of ever winning you." 
 
 " Oh, you must not talk like that," she 
 cried, catching her breath, and trying to dis- 
 engage her hand, but he held it in both of his 
 held it gently but firmly. 
 
 " And why should I not tell you now that 
 I love you? " 
 
 " Let me go," she murmured, struggling
 
 2l6 
 
 again, but he kept her captive. " You must 
 not love me ; indeed, indeed, you must not." 
 
 " Don't be cruel to me," he pleaded. " No, 
 cruel you are not, cruel you could not be. And 
 the feeling that prompted you to come forth 
 to-night and meet me here may surely lead me 
 to the belief that you do not regard me with 
 disfavor. Say but one little word to me that 
 will give me hope ; do not let me go from you 
 to-night a lonely, broken-hearted man." 
 
 " I would not have you lonely, I would not 
 have you broken-hearted," she murmured; 
 " but what would you have me say? " 
 
 " Say that you do not hate me." 
 
 " No, I do not hate you. Why should I? " 
 
 " Ah, how sweet to hear you say that ! Now, 
 add sweets to the sweet by telling me I may 
 hope that some day I shall not sigh in vain." 
 
 She struggled once more to free herself, and 
 her agitation was very marked. 
 
 " It is unkind of you to keep me here," she 
 said in a tone of distress; and it is not right 
 for you to talk to me like that. Let me go." 
 
 " So be it," he said with a sob. " We shall 
 meet no more. Farewell." 
 
 " No, no, Master Manners," she cried, " I 
 I did, did not quite mean that you should go 
 from me like that." He flung out his hands
 
 217 
 
 again, and caught hers. " But, oh," she con- 
 tinued, " I don't know what to do. I am sore 
 distressed, and very, very unhappy." 
 
 Madge interposed here. She had only with- 
 drawn to a short distance; not out of earshot, 
 and, though the dialogue had been carried on 
 in low tones, she had heard most of it. Now, 
 she understood that the psychological moment 
 had come when she might influence matters. 
 
 " Master Manners," she said, " have pa- 
 tience, have patience, good sir. My sweet child 
 holds you in good esteem, else she had not 
 given you this tryst to-night." 
 
 " Ah, thank you, thank you ; a thousand 
 thanks," cried Manners in a transport of de- 
 light ; " but urge your dear young mistress to 
 speak one word of comfort to me out of her 
 own sweet lips." 
 
 Dorothy fluttered and struggled like a bird 
 caught in a fowler's net; her heart beat 
 audibly, and her temples throbbed, for she was 
 laboring under intense, suppressed excitement. 
 At last she inclined her head until her face 
 was almost in contact with his, and there fell 
 on his ears these words: 
 
 " John Manners, you must not go across the 
 seas, but remain here for my sake." 
 
 She drew her hand away, and fled, and
 
 218 
 
 Madge hobbled after as fast as ever her old 
 limbs would allow her to go, and Manners, in 
 a transport, an ecstasy, of joy, waited until 
 there were no sounds to be heard save the song 
 of the river and the sigh of the wind. Then 
 he turned and walked through the night-en- 
 shrouded woods, repeating to himself : " She 
 loves me ; she loves me."
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 STOLEN MEETINGS. 
 
 That night was marked with a red letter in 
 the calendar of Dorothy Vernon's life. How 
 she traversed the gloom-enshrouded terrace; 
 how she gained the house and reached her 
 chamber, to find old Madge panting and blown 
 ing beside her, she scarcely knew. It was a 
 sort of waking dream in which everything was 
 vague. But one thing she most certainly did 
 know. Love had called to her ; love had whis- 
 pered in her ears; love had pierced her heart; 
 love had entered into her blood like a fever. 
 The dawn of love is to a woman a period of 
 ecstatic bliss. From that moment her whole 
 being undergoes a change, and Mistress Ver- 
 non was passing through that change. John 
 Manners had called forth from the depths of 
 her womanly nature a responsive chord, and 
 she thrilled with a sensation such as Brace- 
 bridge had never been able to arouse. With 
 an outburst of almost hysterical excitement she
 
 220 
 
 suddenly flung her arms round Madge's neck 
 and moaned, " Oh, Madge, what have I done, 
 what have I done? What will be the end of 
 this? How shall I look my father in the face 
 again? " 
 
 Ignorant and inexperienced though she was, 
 old Madge understood perfectly the girl's 
 state of mind, and the conflicting emotion that 
 was swaying her, as a leaf is swayed by the 
 wind. She attempted no argument. She 
 knew that argument would have been out of 
 place. She directed all her energies to calm- 
 ing and soothing the agitated nerves, and 
 when the " love-bird " exclaimed in a passion 
 of distress, " I won't see him again ; I won't, I 
 won't; I dare not; it would be wicked," the 
 old woman replied in the most matter-of-fact 
 way, " I would not, dearie, if it is going to up- 
 set you like this." 
 
 But no one knew better than Madge that the 
 paroxysm would be of short duration, and that 
 a few hours' rest would work wonders. And 
 it was so, for when on the morrow Dorothy 
 rose she was blithe and merry, and not for a 
 long time had the sweet face worn such a look 
 of perfect joyousness. But, strangely enough, 
 she did not refer to the incident of the previous 
 evening, and Madge wisely held her peace.
 
 221 
 
 Doll went off early with her father on a 
 hawking expedition, and did not return until 
 the day was well nigh spent, and as she sub- 
 mitted her beautiful tresses to Madge to be 
 combed and braided for the evening she said 
 with rapturous emphasis : 
 
 " I saw him again to-day, Madge, but not 
 to speak to; and, oh, how he did devour me 
 with his eyes. He is so handsome and manly, 
 and has such a noble head." 
 
 " And he loves you, birdie," responded old 
 Madge, very quietly. 
 
 Dorothy sighed deeply, but that sigh was 
 infinitely more eloquent than words would 
 have been, for it told too surely how deeply 
 the dart of the god of love had pierced her. 
 She was silent for some time, but her thoughts 
 were running in one groove, for suddenly she 
 said, as if to herself : 
 
 " Yes, I am sure John Manners loves me," 
 but as if these very words had recalled her to 
 a full sense of the dangerous situation thus 
 created, she turned to Madge, saying : " I 
 must not see him again, Madge. You shall 
 send him word that he is to think no more of 
 me, but must go away." 
 
 " If you will it so, so it shall be," the nurse 
 replied dolefully, though a smile lurked in the
 
 222 
 
 corners of her mouth, " but alas, poor young 
 gentleman, how he will suffer, and when he 
 passes beyond the seas his life will be a broken 
 one. Indeed, I do not wonder if it ceases al- 
 together." 
 
 This remark fell on fruitful soil. Doll 
 sprang up, and paced the room in an agitated 
 way, wringing her hands the while, her beau- 
 tiful face filled with an expression of grave con- 
 cern. 
 
 " Oh, what am I to do? " she cried. 
 
 " Be patient, and do as your heart prompts," 
 murmured the nurse. 
 
 " Tis all very well to counsel patience, but 
 think what a tangled skein I am making of 
 things. Were it not better that I went to my 
 father and told him all? " 
 
 " If you wish me to answer that to the point, 
 I say no." 
 
 " But give me your reasons." 
 
 " Sweet chick, we have discussed the reasons 
 over and over again. Your father would take 
 counsel with my lady, and my lady would be 
 furious. John Manners would fare badly, and 
 you would be taken to task severely, wedded 
 to that most worthy gentleman, Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge, and soon after your poor dear 
 heart would be broken. Alas, alas, it breaks
 
 223 
 
 mine to think of it ! But if you think it would 
 ease your mind by all means go to your father 
 and tell him everything." 
 
 This little speech did not tend to calm Doro- 
 thy's agitated nerves. She felt the force of 
 all the nurse urged, and she was conscious of 
 being on the horns of a dilemma, for John 
 Manners had made too deep an impression for 
 her to be indifferent to him, and so long as 
 she could not feel indifference, she could not 
 take a step that might, and, indeed, almost cer- 
 tainly would, lead to trouble. 
 
 By a slow and gradual process Mistress Ver- 
 non reconciled herself to what she was pleased 
 to think was the inevitable. In other words, 
 she made no attempt to juggle with her feel- 
 ings and act as if she did not care for John 
 Manners, when she knew well enough that she 
 did. 
 
 Day succeeded day, and yet Bracebridge did 
 not return. Dorothy was delighted, but she 
 knew now that beyond a shadow of doubt 
 Diabolo had been sent as a spy over her, and, 
 though the ugly manikin was amusing enough, 
 and paid her the most servile attention, she de- 
 tested him, as did also Madge. To the rest 
 of the household, however, he was a source of 
 endless delight ; his tricks, his mimicry, his wit,
 
 224 
 
 his singing, his acrobatic feats, and his con- 
 stant good humor made him very popular. 
 But to Mistress Vernon he was a source of con- 
 stant annoyance, for if she was going out, and 
 thought that he was at a safe distance, he 
 would suddenly bob up in her path, as though 
 he had risen through the earth, dropped from 
 the clouds, or come out of the trunk of a tree. 
 He almost seemed ubiquitous, and, do what 
 she could, she could not free herself from his 
 unwelcome presence, except it was at night. 
 She saw Manners frequently, but had little or 
 no opportunity of speaking to him. He kept 
 up the role he was playing with no little skill, 
 and with exemplary patience, and apparently 
 it was never suspected that this humbly garbed 
 woodman was the son of an earl and the lover 
 of the beauteous Dorothy Vernon. But lovers 
 they had become, and, however great their 
 patience, their powers of endurance were taxed 
 almost byond their extreme limit. 
 
 Three weeks had passed, and Bracebridge 
 had not returned, nor had he sent any mes- 
 sage. If Dorothy was delighted, and undoubt- 
 edly she was, her lady mother was just the re- 
 verse, and she questioned Diabolo very close- 
 ly to try and discover if he knew anything of 
 his master's movements or whereabouts. But
 
 225 
 
 the dwarf declared ignorance with such an air 
 of truth that she perforce believed him. 
 
 Sir George Vernon did not seem particularly 
 concerned; at any rate he gave no outward 
 sign that his mind was disturbed. As a mat- 
 ter of fact, it took a very great deal to upset 
 his equanimity; he was an easy-going, genial- 
 tempered man, upon whom the burden of life 
 sat lightly. When his wife remarked upon 
 Bracebridge's prolonged absence, and ex- 
 pressed surprise, he laughed, and said he saw 
 nothing very strange in it; Bracebridge had 
 much to attend to, and his estates required a 
 good deal of personal attention. This did not 
 satisfy the lady, though what could she say 
 against it? But she asked him if he didn't 
 think it peculiar that Dorothy should seem so 
 contented and so unusually cheerful. 
 
 " Surely, dame, you would not have her 
 moping and wailing, would you? " he asked. 
 
 " No, but methinks it would look more 
 gracious if she showed that she sometimes 
 thought of her absent lover." 
 
 " You cannot tell what the child thinks," he 
 returned. " She knows how to conceal her 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Wherein she takes after her father," the 
 lady said with a sneer.
 
 226 
 
 Sir George remained unruffled, for the shaft 
 failed to pierce him, and his lady did not pur- 
 sue the subject further, but her annoyance was 
 by no means lessened nor her amiability to- 
 ward Dorothy increased. 
 
 During all this time love had been growing 
 and strengthening between the disguised 
 earl's son and Haddon's fair daughter, and 
 yet they could do little more than regard each 
 other from a respectful distance. But at last 
 an intimation was conveyed to Manners by the 
 medium of the ever-ready Dawson that if he 
 would repair to a certain spot beneath the 
 lady's chamber when darkness had fallen, he 
 would probably be able to have an interview 
 with her, and so, while the faithful Aleyne 
 kept watch and ward outside, and the no less 
 faithful Madge rendered the same service in 
 the house, the fair Dorothy leaned out of her 
 window and conversed in low tones with the 
 eager wooer below. 
 
 Dorothy felt that she had now taken the 
 plunge, and, whatever the result, whatever the 
 consequences, there could be no retreat. This 
 clandestine wooing, however, was necessarily 
 the cause of much uneasiness on Doll's part, 
 for she went about in fear that at any moment 
 the little conspiracy against Bracebridge and
 
 K7 
 
 the Lady Vernon might be discovered and lead 
 to lifelong unhappiness. Often was she 
 tempted to take her father into her confidence, 
 but whenever she broached the subject to 
 Madge and there was little she would do 
 without Madge's knowledge the old woman 
 argued against it, and no doubt she was right, 
 for, apart from the fact that Sir George was 
 much under the influence of his wife, he would 
 hardly have been willing that his sweet Doll 
 should mate with a man whose prospects were 
 far from bright. 
 
 So Doll and her secret lover had to exchange 
 their vows by stealth, and under the cover of 
 the night, when, as they believed and hoped, 
 no eyes would be able to see them. She had 
 already given her pledge to John that she 
 would be true and faithful to him, but she 
 tried to shut her eyes to the consequences of 
 that pledge. Sooner or later her father would 
 have to know and, what then? She dare not 
 pause for a reply, and altogether the situation 
 was too complex for her to reflect upon it 
 calmly. 
 
 At length letters came from the long-absent 
 Bracebridge. He accounted for his absence by 
 unexpected demands that had been made upon 
 his time and attention by a family dispute that
 
 228 
 
 had arisen about the rightful ownership of a 
 certain property; but he was delighted as he 
 informed Doll, to be able to say that matters 
 were being amicably settled, and he hoped to 
 reach Haddon very soon after his letters. He 
 declared that he was sighing his heart out for 
 his " sweet love," and that every moment he 
 was absent from her seemed like an age. The 
 days were dreary and the nights long, he 
 vowed, and he was yearning with irresistible 
 desire to hear her silvery voice and look into 
 the depths of her liquid eyes once more. 
 
 There was much more to that effect in 
 Dorothy's letter, but it only served to produce 
 in her a feeling of disgust and a sense of dread 
 of his return. She did not withhold from her 
 true lover, John Manners, what Bracebridge 
 had written, and when she asked him how she 
 should act, and what she should do, he had 
 to confess that he could not advise her, but he 
 did not fail to remind her again and again that 
 she had solemnly vowed to be true to him, and 
 he expressed his willingness, notwithstanding 
 that he had been worsted in his encounter with 
 his rival in Darley Dale, to challenge him to 
 mortal combat and fight him to the death. 
 
 " And you may rely upon it," he added, 
 " love of thee would so nerve my arm and
 
 .229 
 
 quicken my eye that I should be sure to win." 
 Dorothy, however, only shuddered, and said 
 there would be no more fighting on her ac- 
 count; and yet she saw no way out of the di- 
 lemma. It was as clear as noonday to her that 
 if Bracebridge came to know that Manners was 
 secretly wooing her his fiery nature would be so 
 aroused that nothing short of his rival's death 
 would satisfy him.
 
 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ANOTHER AFFAIR OF HONOR. 
 
 It may be supposed that John Manners him- 
 self was no less anxious about the future and 
 the consequences of his actions than was 
 Dorothy. He would have had to have been 
 much less intelligent than he was if he had 
 failed to fully understand the risks and dan- 
 ger he ran. It wasn't thought of danger to 
 himself that concerned him, for his courage 
 was dauntless, but he was troubled about his 
 sweetheart, for she loved him, and if anything 
 occurred to keep them apart she would prob- 
 ably not survive the blow. Many and long 
 were the discussions he had with his devoted 
 friend Aleyne, who for his sake endured all 
 the hardships and discomfort inseparable from 
 the position of a common woodman. Aleyne 
 saw as a dispassionate outsider that his friend's 
 position was one of extraordinary difficulty, 
 and there were only two ways, as it seemed 
 to him, out of that difficulty. The one was to
 
 231 
 
 approach Sir George and Lady Vernon, and 
 make full and frank avowal of his passion for 
 their daughter, and plead to them for their 
 consent that he might woo her. The other 
 was to furnish such proof that Bracebridge was 
 little better than an adventurer, that they would 
 at once shut their doors against him. 
 
 The first way had already been examined 
 and talked over. Madge had resolutely set 
 her face against it, Dorothy was afraid, and 
 Manners had a strong feeling that his suit 
 would never be regarded favorably, and, after 
 all, it was very human for him to shrink from 
 taking a course that might probably separate 
 him for ever from the woman who had now be- 
 come dearer to him than life. The second was 
 more feasible. 
 
 The tongue of scandal, or mayhap spite, had 
 occasionally been busy with Bracebridge's 
 name. At any rate, Manners had felt justified 
 on that memorable occasion when he had met 
 Dorothy at the woodman's hut in Haddon 
 Chase in hinting at disreputable conduct on 
 the part of Sir Falconer. Now it was but fair 
 that he should take steps to prove his state- 
 ment, right or wrong. If Bracebridge could 
 be shown to be disreputable and unworthy, 
 there could be no doubt that Sir George Ver-
 
 232 
 
 non would never consent to his being mated 
 with Dorothy. 
 
 Yes, Manners would and must justify him- 
 self, and so he announced his intention of go- 
 ing forth to seek for the proof that was re- 
 quired. But his good friend laid a restraining 
 hand on his arm, and said : 
 
 " Let the task be mine. Remain you here, 
 to comfort your ladylove, while I, who have no 
 such cause for staying, will set forth and en- 
 deavor to trace Sir Falconer Bracebridge to 
 his lair. Possibly there is much to be learned 
 that is worth learning ; at any rate, on me shall 
 fall the duty, and as I value honor so you may 
 depend upon my bringing a true and faithful 
 report." 
 
 So it came to pass that John Manners 
 yielded to his friend, and they parted with 
 many adieus, and Aleyne promised to return 
 with all convenient speed. Still wearing his 
 forester's disguise, he set off in the afternoon, 
 intending to journey to the place in Lanca- 
 shire from whence Bracebridge had addressed 
 his letters. 
 
 The next day Diabolo had disappeared from 
 Haddon, and all inquiries failed to elicit when 
 he went and where he had gone to.
 
 233 
 
 In the interest of the reader who so far has 
 followed the fortunes of the characters who 
 play their part in this very human drama of 
 real life it is necessary to turn once more to 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge. It has already been 
 demonstrated that this gentleman was not only 
 very worldly, but very unprincipled. His am- 
 bition was boundless, and in order to gratify 
 it he was prepared to go to almost any ex- 
 treme. Added to this was an over-weening 
 vanity which made him intolerant of every- 
 one else's opinions and feelings. It was due 
 entirely to this vanity that he took young 
 Ralph Bardsdale with him to Haddon Hall. 
 
 The Bardsdales were a somewhat homely 
 family, with no very lofty aspirations, and it 
 pleased Bracebridge to pose before them as a 
 man of tremendous influence and great impor- 
 tance. The fame of the Vernons, and particu- 
 larly of Dorothy Vernon, King of the Peak, 
 had reached them, and they had also heard 
 much of the matchless beauty of Dorothy Ver- 
 non, and when Bracebridge boasted of his 
 power and influence over the Vernons, and 
 that he was the bridegroom-elect of Dorothy, 
 they probably indicated by their manner some 
 incredulity, which piqued the man's consum- 
 mate vanity. Hence it came about that he
 
 234 
 
 resolved to take the stripling, Ralph, with him 
 to Haddon, so that when the youth returned 
 he would tattle freely, and that would gratify 
 Bracebridge immensely. 
 
 But when he started off from Cheshire with 
 this raw youth he little dreamed of what the 
 results of his act would be. He was not the 
 man to be greatly moved or deeply touched by 
 the lad's untimely death, for, like the great 
 monarch, Henry VIII. , whom he resembled so 
 much in appearance, he did not indulge in 
 sentiment, and his conscience was so hide- 
 bound that nothing disturbed it. At the same 
 time he was not free from concern as to what 
 extent the boy's death might involve him in 
 trouble with the Bardsdales. When they 
 learned of Ralph's death, and the circumstances 
 which led up to the fatal encounter, they were 
 stunned by the shock, and before they had re- 
 covered to any extent Bracebridge had taken 
 his departure, and on returning to Haddon he 
 found that a new danger and difficulty con- 
 fronted him. 
 
 His rival and antagonist had not succumbed, 
 as he had hoped he would; and from what he 
 gathered from Lady Vernon he had reason to 
 fear that he might after all lose Dorothy. No 
 evidence was forthcoming that Dorothy and
 
 235 . 
 
 John Manners were in communication; old 
 Madge and Will Dawson had managed the 
 business so cleverly that they had given their 
 opponents no clue to go upon. But the fact 
 that Manners was still lingering in Darley, 
 where he had made himself a persona grata, 
 was in itself a fact sufficiently suspicious to 
 Bracebridge's mind to render it desirable that 
 he should be got out of the way. 
 
 But then came the question, how was that to 
 be effected? He could not have found a shad- 
 ow of excuse for again challenging him to 
 combat, and even if this could have been done 
 Manners had proved himself far too clever a 
 swordsman to be challenged lightly. Brace- 
 bridge knew only too well that it was only by 
 a lucky chance alone he had been enabled to 
 come out of the encounter successfully. He 
 might not be so fortunate on another occasion. 
 No, to fight his rival a second time would be 
 too risky. He must find some other way of re- 
 moving him. 
 
 Near Chorley, in Lancashire, Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge owned a small manor, which had 
 been bequeathed to him by a relative. It was 
 a profitless property, but there was an old 
 house dating back nearly two hundred years. 
 It had from time to time been restored and
 
 2 3 6 
 
 partly rebuilt, and the preceding owner had 
 converted it into something like a stronghold. 
 For that reason Bracebridge retained it, for as 
 a soldier of fortune he thought the time might 
 possibly come when it would be useful to him, 
 so he placed it in charge of a creature of his, 
 one Henry Sparbolt, who was conspicuous by 
 his enormous physical proportions and great 
 muscular strength. 
 
 This man had been in the service of Brace- 
 bridge's father, but on the death of that 
 gentleman had abandoned himself to evil ways, 
 and after a vicious course of some years he 
 killed a man in a brawl, and to escape the pen- 
 alty of his deed fled to France. Being un- 
 able, however, to speak French, and having no 
 means, he was glad enough to return, and, 
 going to Sir Falconer, he offered to be his 
 slave if he would protect him. Bracebridge 
 saw at once that this strong knave, who was 
 not lacking in shrewdness or intelligence, 
 might be useful, and so he placed him in 
 charge of the small manor in Chorley. When 
 the difficulty about Manners arose Bracebridge 
 sent for his factotum, who brought with him 
 a brother rascal, known as Peter Crabshaw, 
 who was also dependent upon Bracebridge's 
 bounty, and among them they concocted the
 
 237 
 
 dastardly plot of carrying Manners off to the 
 old mill in Miller's Dale, which had been se- 
 cured for the purpose. 
 
 It was hoped that by immuring John in this 
 place he could be coerced into pledging his 
 word of honor he would go out of Derbyshire. 
 But, failing that, the ruffian Hal, otherwise 
 Henry Sparbolt, received a hint that his pris- 
 oner might remain in Derbyshire, but not as 
 a living man. Just before the dastardly plot 
 was put into execution the cautious Brace- 
 bridge deemed it advisable that he should jour- 
 ney toward London, for naturally he was very 
 anxious that it should not be known he was re- 
 sponsible for Manners' abduction. 
 
 It was near London that he fell in with Dia- 
 bolo, who was one of a troupe of mountebanks 
 performing at a fair. Bracebridge took a 
 fancy to the manikin, and it suddenly occurred 
 to him that the fellow, apart from his ability 
 to amuse, and his oddities generally, might be 
 turned into a faithful spy. So he practically 
 purchased him under an indenture which gave 
 him absolute control of his services for a num- 
 ber of years. 
 
 Diabolo himself, being, of course, a contract- 
 ing party, Bracebridge soon found that in this 
 dwarf he had got a very pliable tool, who for
 
 2 3 8 
 
 the sake of gain would lend himself to any- 
 thing, and on the way back to Haddon he was 
 posted up in duties he would have to under- 
 take. In short, he was to be his master's 
 watchdog. 
 
 On arriving at Haddon, Bracebridge learned 
 to his alarm that John Manners had escaped 
 out of the net that had been so cunningly 
 spread for him, and it was not known where he 
 had flown to. On the top of this trouble came 
 another one. An uncle of young Ralph Bards- 
 dale, who had been greatly attached to the 
 youth, and who strongly disliked Bracebridge, 
 wrote to the latter saying that he should hold 
 him responsible for the lad's death. He used 
 some very abusive terms to Bracebridge, and 
 wound up by saying he would proceed at once 
 to Haddon, and have a full inquiry made into 
 all the circumstances attending the death of 
 Ralph. 
 
 As it would never have done for Bracebridge 
 to allow this peppery person to come to Had- 
 don, he dispatched an express messenger to 
 him to say that he was then on his way to his 
 property in Chorley, and there he would be 
 glad to meet him. The messenger was just in 
 time to stay the uncle, whose name, by the 
 way, was Featherstone, from starting for Had-
 
 239 
 
 don, and, full of fire and fury, he set out for 
 Chorley instead, accompanied by two servants. 
 Featherstone was the youngest brother of 
 Lady Bardsdale. He was a sturdy, lusty fel- 
 low, and quite as much of a fire-eater as was 
 Bracebridge himself. 
 
 At that period it did not take much to stir 
 up the blood of young gentlemen who wore 
 swords, for the wearers were as a rule only too 
 anxious to test the quality and temper of their 
 steel, while a desire to " show off " was often 
 responsible for a good deal of bloodshed and 
 much bitterness. But Featherstone felt that 
 he had a genuine cause of grievance. Apart 
 from the terrible distress of his sister at the 
 loss of her son, he held Bracebridge in no 
 esteem, and blamed him for having allowed 
 the young man to fight. Indeed, Featherstone 
 had got a notion that Bracebridge had set him 
 on to fight. 
 
 When Featherstone reached Chorley he 
 found Bracebridge in a conciliatory mood, and 
 he was received with a certain amount of re- 
 spectful deference. Bracebridge knew that he 
 had everything to lose and nothing to gain by 
 quarreling with this gentleman, and he was, 
 therefore, anxious to avoid a conflict, if possi- 
 ble. But though Featherstone listened patient-
 
 240 
 
 ly to the explanations that were offered he was 
 neither satisfied nor appeased. He bluntly 
 told Bracebridge that he had no business to 
 have taken Bardsdale with him, knowing as 
 he did he was going deliberately to force Man- 
 ners to fight, and that morally he was respon- 
 sible for the boy's death. 
 
 An argument of this kind between two men 
 who did not love each other, and who were 
 privileged to wear deadly weapons, in the use 
 of which they were both skilled, was hardly 
 likely to be confined to words and mutual re- 
 crimination. Bracebridge's vanity was very 
 easily pricked. He always believed himself the 
 better man, and was quick to resent any 
 charge brought against him, however well 
 founded it might be. The result of the words 
 of warfare was therefore that Sir Falconer's 
 limited stock of patience became exhausted, 
 and, tapping the hilt of his sword significantly, 
 he said : 
 
 " Look here, sir, I've given you my expla- 
 nation, and you refuse to accept it, and as it 
 seems to me you have come here with the de- 
 liberate intention to insult me, I beg to say I 
 am at your service, and with my sword I know 
 how to defend my honor." 
 
 ".It seems to me," answered the other,
 
 " that your honor is as easily put on and off 
 to suit your convenience as your cloak, but, 
 'nevertheless, if you think such a flimsy thing 
 as your honor is worth defending I am ready 
 to give you the opportunity." 
 
 Needless to say this taunt aroused the demon 
 in Bracebridge, as no doubt it was intended to 
 do. He said it was an insult no gentleman 
 would tolerate, and he bade his visitor name 
 a time and place when the final appeal should 
 be made. 
 
 Featherstone replied that there was no time 
 like the present; that that place was good 
 enough for him; that he had two trusty at- 
 tendants with him who would see fair play; 
 and he wound up by accusing his opponent of 
 being an adventurer and a dastard, and he 
 hurled his glove in his face. 
 
 That was the final straw. Much as Brace- 
 bridge desired to avoid an encounter, he could 
 not pocket such an affront as that; and so the 
 disputants descended to the courtyard, which 
 soon resounded with the clash of steel, while 
 each of the fighters strained every nerve and 
 sinew for mastery. 
 
 Bracebridge, whatever his moral character 
 was, could not be depised as a swordsman, but
 
 242 
 
 in this instance, notwithstanding his weight and 
 power of thrust, he had met more than his 
 match. 
 
 Featherstone was a perfect master of fence. 
 Hejplayed with his antagonist for a while as a 
 salmon fisher might play with a hooked salmon 
 until he was exhausted, then he gaffed him, 
 or, in other words, he ran him through the 
 body, and Bracebridge went to the ground like 
 a felled ox. The fight had been conducted in 
 a perfectly fair manner, and according to the 
 rules which were usually observed in such 
 cases. Therefore Mr. Featherstone, having 
 wiped his weapon, and the business which had 
 brought him being finished, went forth with 
 his attendants, unmolested, and returned to 
 his home very well pleased with his day's work. 
 
 In the meantime the wounded man was 
 borne with all speed to his chamber, a trail of 
 blood marking the way, and a surgeon was 
 procured without a moment's loss of time. 
 Bracebridge had been pierced below the ribs 
 on the left side, and when the learned leech 
 had made an examination of his patient he 
 looked grave, and let it be known that he con- 
 sidered the wound a very dangerous one. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe Brace-
 
 243 
 
 bridge's thoughts and feelings when he 
 realized that his life was in jeopardy, and that 
 death was likely to put a stop to his ambitious 
 schemes and dreams. 
 
 For several days his existence hung by a 
 thread. But he had youth and a strong will 
 in his favor, and these, combined with un- 
 doubted skill on the part of the surgeon, pulled 
 him from the brink of the grave, and having 
 passed the crisis he began to rapidly mend, 
 until he reached the convalescent stage. 
 
 Then he was able to write and dispatch let- 
 ters to Haddon, but he was careful to avoid 
 any reference to the causes which had kept him 
 away, and he cherished a hope that he might 
 be able to keep his Haddon acquaintances in 
 ignorance of what had happened since he left 
 them, for he was afraid that if the affair should 
 get noised abroad it might still further prej- 
 udice him in the eyes of Dorothy. 
 
 After his marriage with her it would not 
 matter. Then he would rule her as a woman 
 should be ruled, according to his way of think- 
 ing. With his return to health he began to 
 scheme again, and he resolved that when he 
 got back to Haddon he would make a formal 
 demand for Dorothy's hand, and urge his suit
 
 244 
 
 with all the eloquence he was capable of com- 
 rrtanding. Before he could start upon his re- 
 turn journey, however, Diabolo unexpectedly 
 arrived, and the news that the manikin 
 brought delayed the starting still longer,
 
 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE TIDE OF FATE. 
 
 Diabolo's sudden disappearance from Had- 
 don Hall did not cause either Mistress Vernon 
 or John Manners any concern. The fact of 
 his being a spy was made clear by his going, 
 because there could be little doubt that he had 
 followed Aleyne, who had got a good start, 
 however, and probably would be able to out- 
 maneuver the dwarf, cunning and clever as he 
 was. 
 
 A week later Sir Falconer Bracebridge was 
 back at Haddon, and Diabolo was with him. 
 In reply to very natural questions that were 
 put to him, the dwarf explained that he had 
 had a dream that his master was ill, and so 
 yielded suddenly to an irresistible desire to 
 go to him. 
 
 " And did you find him ill?" was asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he had been ill, but was recover- 
 ing." 
 
 This story was borne out by Bracebridge's
 
 246 
 
 looks, and, no doubt, had been prearranged to 
 account for the patient's pale face and wasted 
 appearance, which, of course, could not be 
 disguised. His own explanation was that he 
 had been seized with a fever. In a sense, this 
 was true, because fever had followed the 
 wound. He had refrained from sending news 
 of his illness, he said, as he was anxious to 
 avoid alarming his friends. 
 
 Lady Vernon scolded him severely for this 
 reticence, but expressed a hope that the air of 
 Haddon would speedily restore him to sound 
 health again, and, trading on her sympathies, 
 which had been thus aroused, he pleaded to 
 her to do all that she possibly could to hasten 
 on his nuptials with Dorothy. The result was 
 the lady began to importune Dorothy to con- 
 sent to an early marriage. 
 
 As may be supposed, Bracebridge's return 
 was not welcome to either Dorothy or John 
 Manners. To her it was hateful to have to 
 play the double part she was now called upon 
 to undertake, but she was fully aware that she 
 must play it unless she was prepared to aban- 
 don Manners and accept Bracebridge. 
 
 She felt now that rather than do that she 
 would die. As it became perfectly evident that 
 Diabolo was more vigilant than ever, and that
 
 247 
 
 he watched all her movements, she deemed it 
 desirable that for a time Manners should cease 
 to hold communication with her. He saw the 
 advisability of this himself, and consented to 
 go to a remote part of the Haddon estate where 
 a plantation was being made. 
 
 Naturally, John expected that within a day 
 or so of Bracebridge's return Aleyne would 
 come back also, but such was not the case ; and 
 when a week had passed he was still absent. 
 The only way to account for this was that the 
 inquiries he was pursuing were occupying more 
 time than he anticipated. Two weeks went by, 
 and still he was absent. Manners thought this 
 delay strange, and yet he felt no uneasiness. 
 When at the end of another week, however, 
 Aleyne failed to put in an appearance, his 
 friend could no longer repress a feeling of 
 anxiety. 
 
 In the meantime he heard that Jedaan had 
 reappeared, and had been seen at Bakewell, so 
 he set off to find her and enlist her services in 
 trying to ascertain what had become of his 
 friend. She had been wandering about the 
 country as usual, and was paying a final visit 
 to Bakewell preparatory to journeying to the 
 far north of Scotland. She expressed her 
 readiness, however, to go in search of Aleyne,
 
 and would use every endeavor to get tidings 
 of him. 
 
 The weird woman at once set off, directing 
 her steps in the first instance to Chorley. The 
 very next day, strangely enough, a messenger 
 arrived in hot haste to summon Bracebridge 
 to the deathbed of his mother, an old lady of 
 upward of eighty years of age. When Doro- 
 thy heard that he was going she insisted on 
 Diabolo's going, too. 
 
 Bracebridge reminded her that he had 
 brought him for her especial amusement, and 
 was surprised that she was dissatisfied with 
 him. 
 
 She hastened to explain that he didn't amuse 
 her. On the contrary he filled her with re- 
 pugnance, and she was afraid of him. 
 
 Bracebridge declared that he was as faithful 
 as a dog. 
 
 Dorothy retorted that that might be, but 
 some dogs were only agreeable to their mas- 
 ters, and could not be tolerated by other peo- 
 ple. Diabolo was one of these. 
 
 In the end she carried her point, and to her 
 intense relief saw the ugly little figure go off 
 with his employer, and she hoped she might 
 never more behold him. It was not until the 
 following night that she was enabled to con-
 
 249 
 
 verse again with John Manners, who could not 
 conceal from himself or her the distress he felt 
 by Aleyne's continued and mysterious absence. 
 
 A thought was uppermost in his mind 
 though he dare not give it utterance, that his 
 dear and devoted friend had come to an un- 
 timely end. On the principle that no news was 
 good news, Manners hoped for the best, and 
 yet a vague fear haunted him that all was not 
 well. Nevertheless he resolved to urge his own 
 suit with increased vigor. 
 
 He knew perfectly well that there must 
 speedily be an end one way or other to these 
 secret meetings. The risks of discovery were 
 so great that it would be almost impossible to 
 avoid them much longer. The laboring men 
 with whom he was compelled to associate had 
 at first wondered who he was, and now had be- 
 come suspicious of him. He had been plied 
 with questions, and something more than 
 veiled hints had been let drop that he was there 
 for no good purpose. If his identity should be 
 revealed it would probably not only separate 
 him for ever from Dorothy, but very seriously 
 compromise Will Dawson, who had been so 
 stanch and had done so much to help the 
 lovers. 
 
 A consideration- of these points, to which
 
 250 
 
 John Manners would not close his eyes with- 
 out being guilty of fatuous folly, determined 
 him to bring matters to a climax one way or 
 the other. The wedding day of Margaret was 
 fast approaching, and once that had passed his 
 chances of winning Dorothy would be still 
 further lessened. 
 
 Up to the present each of them had, by tacit 
 consent, avoided a discussion of what the end 
 of their clandestine courtship was likely to be. 
 Doll did not care to look ahead, and John 
 avoided the subject until he felt perfectly sure 
 that he had gained her heart. As he could no 
 longer doubt that such was the case, he felt 
 that the moment had come for an understand- 
 ing as to what they were going to do. A brief 
 meeting had been arranged in the woodman's 
 hut in the Chase, and, as no such favorable 
 opportunity might occur again, he embraced 
 it.
 
 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE SEAL OF COMPACT. 
 
 " Am I right, Doll, in supposing that I have 
 become essential to your happiness? " asked 
 John Manners, coming to the point at once, 
 as soon as the mutual greetings had been ex- 
 changed in the little arbor in the wood. 
 
 " Ah, John, need you ask such a question? " 
 she answered ; " you know you are." 
 
 " Very well, dear one ; then don't you think 
 the time has now come when I may fairly ask 
 what the end of this clandestine love-making 
 is to be? Behold me the son of an Earl, the 
 representative of an old and honored family, 
 garbed in leather jerkin, slouch hat, and boots 
 of untanned leather, and think of the weeks 
 of discomfort I have endured for the sake of 
 the love I bear you." 
 
 " You have done it all for sweet love, John. 
 Do I not love you? And have I not deceived 
 all nearest and dearest to me for your dear 
 sake? "
 
 252 
 
 " You have you have, my beloved," he 
 cried with rapturous joy as he folded her in 
 his arms, and the tender, sensitive beauty of 
 her young, fresh face was a study as the bright 
 eyes danced with joy, and a flush of excitement 
 encrimsoned the cheeks. 
 
 " But all things must have an end," he con- 
 tinued, " and since you have tested my fidelity 
 and devotion, may I not claim my reward? " 
 
 " Ah, dear me, have patience, patience," she 
 sighed. 
 
 " To what end, Doll? Only, perhaps, to be 
 separated from you at last, and never again to 
 see you." 
 
 " Oh, John, you frighten me when you say 
 that. What would become of me? I should 
 die or lose my senses were you to go from me." 
 
 " Then let us make our union so strong that 
 none shall be able to separate us." 
 
 " But how can we do it? " 
 
 " You must elope with me." 
 
 She shuddered and drew away from him. 
 
 " It is impossible, impossible," she whisper- 
 ed, her face filled with an expression of dis- 
 tress. " I say it is impossible, I dare not." 
 
 " Why impossible, heart of my heart? You 
 have to choose between the man you love and 
 the man you hate."
 
 253 
 
 " But, think," she cried, in a voice tremulous 
 with agitation, " think what an elopement 
 would mean. Disgrace to the family. The 
 breaking of my father's heart " 
 
 " No, I am sure he would soon became rec- 
 onciled when he found the decisive step had 
 been taken." 
 
 " I fear not," she sobbed, " and he has been 
 such a kind, loving, doting father to me. He 
 has worshiped me, placed me on a pedestal 
 above everything and everyone else." 
 
 " And yet he would wed you to Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge?" 
 
 " He thinks it is to my happiness." 
 
 " But make it clear to him that it is not." 
 
 " He would say I am too young to be able 
 to judge." 
 
 " Then take your fate in your hands." 
 
 " Ah, my beloved, tax your patience but yet 
 a little while longer." 
 
 " And if I do, how will it change the situ- 
 ation? No, Doll, we must look the difficulty 
 in the face. Either you must consent to fly 
 with me and become my wife, or I vow, in the 
 name of God, I will go away to the wars and 
 end my life, for without you I have nothing to 
 live for." 
 
 Again she shuddered, and her white fingers
 
 254 
 
 closed around his arm, as, half-choked with 
 emotion, she murmured : 
 
 " You must not, must not leave me. My 
 heart would break." 
 
 " Heaven knows that mine would be shat- 
 tered if I were parted from you. But there 
 is one way, and one way only, whereby we can 
 become united to part no more. That way is 
 flight. Say, will you brave it with me?" 
 
 She turned her eyes, suffused with tears, to 
 his with a look of ineffable love and trust, and 
 she struggled with herself for a brief space, as 
 she thought of the confiding, doting father, 
 who made a boast that his Doll could do no 
 wrong. She loved and honored her father, but 
 this man beside her had taken possession of her 
 woman's heart, and her love for him o'ershad- 
 owed all other love. Her arms stole around 
 his neck, her soft cheek was laid against his 
 cheek, and she sighed out these words : 
 
 ' Take me, John, and if I do wrong, may 
 God forgive me." 
 
 Their lips met in a passionate, entrancing 
 kiss. It was the seal of compact.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 
 
 On leaving Haddon, William Aleyne went 
 direct to Chorley, so did Diabolo, but on set- 
 ting out the dwarf had no idea that he was 
 following in the tracks of Aleyne. 
 
 His suspicions had been aroused. He had 
 watched in accordance with his instructions, 
 but in spite of his cunning was baffled. Being 
 suspected both by Dorothy and Manners, they 
 had exercised unusual precautions to throw 
 him off the scent. He had often come across 
 Aleyne when Aleyne was acting as scout for 
 his friend, but he couldn't quite make out 
 whether it was Aleyne himself who was pay- 
 ing court to Dorothy. Therefore the matter 
 became a little problem, and he wasn't quite 
 equal to its solution. 
 
 One evening the dwarf and one of the lower 
 servants at Haddon had been amusing them- 
 selves at a little inn in the hamlet of Rowsley. 
 They were hurrying back so as to reach the
 
 256 
 
 Hall before all the gates were closed for the 
 night. The servant had stowed away more 
 ale under his belt than he could comfortably 
 carry, so Diabolo left him to find his way as 
 best he could, and rapidly made for the tiny 
 bridge spanning the Wye, and on which the 
 crescent light from the slit in the chapel wall 
 still shone. 
 
 As Diabolo neared the bridge his attention 
 was arrested by voices men's voices in low 
 tones. The night was very dark. He stood 
 still in the long meadow grass and listened. 
 He strained his ears and caught this fragment 
 of conversation : 
 
 " At all costs Bracebridge must be outwit- 
 ted, but the utmost caution is needed. To 
 be discovered now would be our undoing." 
 
 The men were John Manners and William 
 Aleyne. They moved a little, and the ray of 
 light just fell upon them ; but one had his back 
 to Diabolo. That one was Manners. The 
 other's face was discernible. That one was 
 Aleyne. Another move, and they were in 
 darkness again. In a few minutes the bell in 
 the tower tolled ten. With the last strokes the 
 light was extinguished, in accordance with the 
 regulations, but the dwarf was aware that the 
 two men crossed the bridge. He allowed them
 
 257 
 
 a little start, then he followed, treading as if 
 his feet were shod in wool. 
 
 The friends made their way up through the 
 wood, passed round at a safe distance from the 
 Eagle Tower, or main entrance, then proceed- 
 ed to a door in the wall surrounding what was 
 known as the " Well Field," so called because 
 there was a well in it, from which part of the 
 household supply of water was drawn. One 
 of the two produced a key, opened the door, 
 and both passed in, gently locking the door 
 after them. 
 
 It was a feat of no difficulty whatever for the 
 acrobatic dwarf to mount the wall. He was 
 like a monkey. From his perch he saw a small 
 light burning at Miss Dorothy Vernon's win- 
 dow. He guessed at once that it was a signal, 
 so he waited and watched. Presently a man 
 stealthily crept along until he was beneath 
 the window, when he uttered a low whistle. 
 The dwarf thought, but he was wrong, that 
 the man was William Aleyne, whereas it was 
 Manners. 
 
 The whistle was a signal. 
 
 At once the light was put out, the window 
 was opened, and Dorothy Vernon spoke softly 
 for a few minutes with her lover, but Diabolo 
 was too far off to hear what was said. Then
 
 258 
 
 the window was closed, a curtain drawn across 
 it, and the man moved off. 
 
 Diabolo slipped from his perch, went to the 
 main entrance, and having answered satisfac- 
 torily the challenge of the sentry, was admitted, 
 inwardly chuckling at the discovery he had 
 made. But his mistaking Manners for Aleyne 
 was the means of bringing about a strange 
 tragedy. 
 
 It is necessary to explain that neither Man- 
 ners nor his friend was known by his proper 
 name. The first was called Dick Weaver, and 
 Aleyne passed as James Yoxall. In the course 
 of the next day Diabolo learned that James 
 Yoxall had gone away, and, believing him to 
 be the secret lover of Dorothy, he resolved 
 to speed to his master and tell him of his dis- 
 covery, and he disappeared the next morning 
 without breathing a word to any one. 
 
 On reaching Chorley William Aleyne, rep- 
 resenting himself as a woodman seeking em- 
 ployment, and on the tramp to Westmoreland, 
 found quarters at a humble inn called " The 
 Green Man." This inn, part of Bracebridge's 
 estate, was kept by a widower of the name of 
 Stang, while his daughter Mary, a pretty, silly, 
 light-headed wench, attended to the wants of 
 the customers.
 
 259 
 
 Mary Stang was a gossip, ready to chat with 
 any one, for scandal and gossip were dear to 
 her heart. Before he had been in Chorley two 
 hours William Aleyne came to the conclusion 
 that Mary Stang might unwittingly prove a 
 useful ally, nor was he wrong. The sturdy, 
 good-looking young woodman flattered Mary. 
 He praised her good looks, her hair, her eyes, 
 and declared she was fit to be wife to a man 
 of quality. Mary was pleased, and thought 
 the woodman a charming fellow. Having 
 thus paved the way, he began to ply her with 
 questions. 
 
 " Who lived in the old Manor House?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, didn't he know? Why, Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge, a gentleman of parts, but not a 
 saint by any means." 
 
 " Was he married?" 
 
 Mary grinned, and looked knowing. She 
 believed he wasn't a marrying sort, but a gen- 
 eral lover. He once tried to make love to 
 her, but she would have none of him. Her 
 opinion was that he was a sort of Bluebeard, 
 and she was quite prepared to hear that he 
 had taken a dozen ladies at least to his castle 
 and murdered them all. Lately, with bated 
 breath, it had been whispered that there had
 
 260 
 
 been strange doings at the old Manor. A 
 mysterious stranger had come there, and the 
 lord had fought a terrible duel, and the lord 
 had been well-nigh killed. Mary said she 
 wouldn't be a bit surprised if she were told 
 that the stranger was none other than his Sa- 
 tanic Majesty, for she was sure Bracebridge 
 was a very wicked man, and, as he was ac- 
 counted the finest swordsman in all England, 
 she was of opinion that no one could have 
 overcome him but the Evil One. 
 
 What Mary's father would have said if he 
 had heard her talking so disrespectfully of his 
 landlord can only be guessed, but she took 
 good care not to let him hear. Her gossip 
 was for the young woodman, who was such 
 a capital listener, and praised her pretty face 
 so, and spoke so nicely, and seemed so su- 
 perior to the generality of woodmen. 
 
 Aleyne was in no hurry to move on. And 
 as he had money enough and more than 
 enough to pay his daily score, he was a wel- 
 come guest at The Green Man, and to none 
 more so than Mary, who loved a little flirtation, 
 for Chorley was a dull place, and life was hard, 
 and it was seldom such an agreeable stranger 
 graced the humble hostelry with his presence. 
 
 By means of this gossiping girl Aleyne
 
 hoped to get in touch with some one in Brace- 
 bridge's employ who might be in possession 
 of more reliable information than she had, and 
 whose tongue could be unlocked with a gold- 
 en key. Possibly he might have succeeded in 
 accomplishing this desire had it not been for 
 the arrival of Diabolo. 
 
 Anyone coming from the south and going 
 to the Manor must of necessity pass through 
 the village, and anyone going through the 
 village would pass The Green Man. 
 
 It was toward the close of day. A glorious 
 day it had been ; cloudless and hot, and as the 
 evening drew on there was a splendor of color 
 in the western heavens, while a warm breeze 
 came toiling over the vast expanse of open 
 country and was as the breath of a furnace. 
 Few who could avoid it cared to remain inside 
 of their stuffy, ill-ventilated houses in such 
 weather, and they sought the open, where gos- 
 sip could be indulged in after the labor of the 
 day. 
 
 Outside of the inn were tables and benches, 
 and on one of the latter Mary, the gossip, and 
 the merry young woodman who had made 
 such an impression upon her sat together. 
 Mary was busy with a spinning-wheel, and the 
 woodman busy with his thoughts, his legs
 
 262 
 
 cased in long boots of rough hide stretched 
 straight out, his hands thrust deep into the 
 side pockets of his tanned jerkin, his chin 
 sunk on his breast. Mary's tongue kept time 
 to the whirr of her wheel, and Aleyne was 
 mersed in mental problems concerning the fu- 
 ture. Suddenly the girl exclaimed as she 
 ceased to spin: 
 
 " By all that's holy, what kind of beast is 
 this that's coming? " 
 
 Aleyne looked up, and to his amazement be- 
 held the monkey-like dwarf picking his way 
 over the cobble stones of the narrow street. 
 He was sure that the presence of the dwarf 
 there boded mischief, and, not wishing to be 
 recognized, he rose abruptly, and, mumbling 
 some lame excuse about procuring a jug of ale, 
 disappeared into the house. 
 
 But the quick ferret-like eyes of Diabolo had 
 already spotted him, and his surprise was as 
 great as that of Aleyne. Neither had dreamed 
 of meeting the other in Chorley, and yet here 
 they both were, and, each thinking his own 
 thoughts according to the circumstances of his 
 position, felt that the game was getting com- 
 plicated and inexplicable. 
 
 It had been Diabolo's intention to wash the 
 dust from his throat at the inn, but he
 
 263 
 
 changed his plan, and, utterly indifferent to 
 the sensation he caused among the rustic 
 population, and apparently deaf to the remarks 
 and chaff that greeted him, he passed on, paus- 
 ing for a minute only to inquire of an aged cot- 
 tager the route the Manor. When he was well 
 sway Aleyne came forth from the house again, 
 bearing a mug of beer. Mary was all agape, 
 and her eyes expressed the wonder of her mind. 
 
 " Did you see that thing, shaped like a man 
 and yet looking like a monkey? " she asked all 
 in a breath. 
 
 The woodman laughed. He laughed to dis- 
 guise his own surprise and annoyance. 
 
 " Oh, an abortion," he answered. " A mis- 
 shapen specimen of humanity. A cunning 
 juggler and tumbler, I should think." 
 
 " How do you know that? " 
 
 " I met him in a village where I was only a 
 short time ago. An amusing ape enough, but 
 I dislike these misformed creatures." 
 
 Mary was racked with curiosity. She rolled 
 out a dozen questions. What could the dwarf 
 do? Did he perform juggler's tricks, and so 
 on, and so on. Aleyne parried them as well 
 as he could, and finally diverted her thoughts 
 into another channel. 
 
 In the meantime Diabolo pursued his way
 
 264 
 
 to the Manor. Now, it must be remembered 
 that he was under the impression that this 
 sham woodman was the secret lover of Doro- 
 thy Vernon, and that was the burden of the 
 story he told to Bracebridge, whose amaze- 
 ment almost took away his breath. Never be- 
 fore in the whole course of his life had such a 
 puzzle been presented to him. 
 
 Dorothy Vernon had a secret lover dis- 
 guised as a woodman. This according to Dia- 
 bolo, the faithful spy. 
 
 The secret lover had come to Chorley, also 
 according to Diabolo. 
 
 Why had he come to Chorley? 
 
 That question seemed to admit of but one 
 answer. He was there for no good purpose. 
 He was there with evil intent. He was there 
 to work mischief against Dorothy Vernon's 
 affianced husband. 
 
 All this seemed so clear on the face of it to 
 Bracebridge after he had turned the puzzle 
 over and over in his mind that he deemed it 
 of the utmost importance that he should lose 
 no time in taking some steps to protect himself 
 from the machinations of this evil-disposed 
 knave who was masquerading as a woodman. 
 
 When, after much mental twisting, Brace- 
 bridge had come to this conclusion, he sum-
 
 moned his henchman, Henry Sparbolt, the 
 " Hal " of the Mill where John Manners had 
 been imprisoned. He bade this fellow repair 
 to The Green Man, accompanied by such as- 
 sistants as he might deem necessary, and by 
 strategy and cunning inveigle the woodman 
 out, and then at all risks and costs bring him 
 to the Manor. The host Stang was to be taken 
 into confidence, and, as he was a dependent of 
 the lord of the Manor, he might be relied upon 
 to render assistance. 
 
 Sparbolt understood his business, and, being 
 a willing tool, was not likely to err on the side, 
 of leniency. His interests were bound up with 
 his master's, therefore he was to be depended 
 upon. So he sallied forth when night had 
 fallen, taking two others with him. They were 
 provided with n quantity of cowhide thongs. 
 
 When the miscreants reached the inn Spar- 
 bolt made known his business to Stang, telling 
 the landlord he was unconsciously harboring 
 under his roof an arrant knave disguised as a 
 woodman, whose object in being there, it was 
 reasonable to say, was to take the life of the 
 worthy lord of the Manor. This dastardly 
 scheme had to be nipped in the bud. The 
 woodman must be conveyed to the Manor, and 
 there interrogated as to his purpose, and.
 
 266 
 
 should his answer be unsatisfactory, the lord 
 would be justified in visiting condign punish- 
 ment on him. The landlord knew, of course, 
 on which side his bread was buttered, and was 
 quite ready to assist in laying the wicked wood- 
 man by the heels. 
 
 All unconscious of the plot that was hatch- 
 ing against him, William Aleyne sat in the 
 kitchen with Mary, who was still spinning, and 
 greatly enjoying her flirtation with this very 
 agreeable young man, when Stang entered, 
 and ordered his daughter to light the lantern, 
 and repair to the dairy, and bring a jug of milk. 
 
 Then exactly what the landlord anticipated 
 would occur did occur. William Aleyne 
 jumped up, lit the lantern, and offered to ac- 
 company the maid. When they reached the 
 dairy, which was at the end of a barn, and 
 abutted on a field, Mary found that the key 
 her father had given her was the wrong key. 
 and she couldn't open the door. So she left 
 the lantern with the woodman, while she ran 
 back to the house. 
 
 No sooner had she disappeared than up 
 sprang Sparbolt and his men. Aleyne was 
 seized. The lantern was placed on the ground 
 by the door, he was gagged before he could 
 make a cry, bound in the vise-like grip of
 
 26 7 
 
 Sparbolt before he could offer any resistance, 
 and then, like a log of wood, was borne across 
 the open fields, and so brought to the Manor. 
 And, when Bracebridge came to see his cap- 
 tive, he was dumb with amazement as he rec- 
 ognized in the woodman William Aleyne, the 
 man who had fought and slain his young 
 friend, Ralph Bardsdale.
 
 268 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A PRISONER. 
 
 The surprise was mutual. When Aleyne re- 
 covered he demanded with red-hot indignation 
 to know what all this meant, and why he had 
 been made the victim of such an outrage. 
 Bracebridge, although weak and ill, was like 
 a volcano. His inward passion shook him. He 
 seethed with wrath, for he regarded Aleyne as 
 his rival. Had not Diabolo brought a report 
 to that effect, and Diabolo was to be relied 
 upon ; he was cunning as the serpent, and not 
 likely to be deceived. 
 
 Yes, this William Aleyne had had the un- 
 heard of audacity to disguise himself in order 
 that he might wile Dorothy from her affianced 
 husband. And, apart from that, William 
 Aleyne had fought and killed Ralph Bardsdale, 
 and for the death of Ralph Bracebridge had 
 suffered, and been well nigh killed himself. 
 And now William Aleyne, still disguised, was 
 found in Chorley. What did he there? On
 
 269 
 
 the face of it his presence was a menace. Brace- 
 bridge let himself go, and in a torrent of fiery 
 invective he made it clear what he thought of 
 his captive. 
 
 " And pray," demanded Aleyne haughtily, 
 " on what grounds do you bring me here as 
 your prisoner? " 
 
 " On the grounds of right and justice. You 
 are an impostor." 
 
 Aleyne's brow darkened as he said taunting- 
 ly, " It does not require much courage to in- 
 sult a defenseless man. I give you back the 
 accusation. I am no impostor, but you are un- 
 mistakably a coward. I tell you this to your 
 face, although I am bound and weaponless, 
 while you are free and armed." 
 
 Bracebridge winced. 
 
 " Have a care," he said ; " it would be well 
 for you to put a curb upon your saucy 
 tongue." 
 
 " I repeat that you are a coward ; and I add 
 to it now that you are a knave a scurvy, 
 treacherous, lying knave." 
 
 " These words come with ill grace from a 
 man who disguises himself in order that he 
 may corrupt a lady who is already pledged in 
 marriage." 
 
 Something like a smile played about
 
 270 
 
 Aleyne's mouth as he realized that Bracebridge 
 was in ignorance of Manners being the secret 
 lover, and he resolved that he would not en- 
 lighten him. 
 
 "Not to corrupt her," he said; "but to 
 save her from you." 
 
 " Again I say, have a care." 
 
 " And again I say you are a coward. If you 
 would prove yourself otherwise, order your 
 creatures to free my arms from these thongs, 
 place a sword in my hand, and meet me point 
 to point as a true man should. 
 
 " I fight not with an assassin." 
 
 " Assassin ! " 
 
 " Ay, else why do you come here in dis- 
 guise. You would probably have taken my 
 life in cold blood if opportunity had offered. 
 But your villainous design has been nipped 
 in the bud, and I'll warrant me I'll break your 
 pride and teach you a lesson ere we part." 
 
 " Poltroon and reptile," sneered Aleyne, his 
 indignation quite getting the better of him; 
 to be described as an assassin maddened him. 
 
 " Hard words break no bones," replied 
 Bracebridge, " and since you are neither gen- 
 tleman nor honest man, I shall treat you as a 
 cutthroat and ruffian, and exact from you a
 
 271 
 
 bitter reckoning for having slain by a foul blow 
 my honorable friend Bardsdale." 
 
 This was more than Aleyne could stand ; the 
 limit of his patience was reached, and, despite 
 the thongs that bound him, he made a dash at 
 his maligner, but instantly something sprang 
 upon him and bore him to the ground. The 
 " something " was the dwarf Diabolo, who had 
 been lurking in a corner of the room unper- 
 ceived by Aleyne, and sprang upon his back as 
 a monkey might have done, throwing him for- 
 ward on his face, and at the same moment al- 
 most the door opened and Sparbolt came in. 
 Lifting the bound man as if he had been a 
 mere bundle of straw, he carried him away and 
 placed him in a darkened room. 
 
 Bracebridge was faithfully served by his 
 creatures. In the case of Sparbolt it was a 
 matter of expediency, for he was in his master's 
 power ; but with Diabolo and the others it was 
 no doubt simply a matter of money. Brace- 
 bridge was a student of human nature, and 
 knew how to appraise a man's value. From 
 the first he felt sure that in the tricky, cunning 
 little mountebank he had a valuable tool, for 
 the manikin had been leading a hard life as 
 a roving mountebank, and the advantage that 
 would be his by faithful service to a wealthy
 
 272 
 
 patron were apparent to him, and so Brace- 
 bridge found he had not made a bad bargain. 
 
 This was more than confirmed by the dwarf 
 coming to Chorley with information about 
 Aleyne, who, unfortunately for himself, had 
 fallen into the power of an enemy utterly un- 
 scrupulous where his own interests were at 
 stake. Bracebridge had made up his mind to 
 marry Dorothy Vernon, and if he could pos- 
 sibly prevent it he was not going to allow any- 
 thing or anybody to come between him and 
 his object. 
 
 In making a prisoner of Aleyne, Bracebridge 
 was, of course, clearly guilty of an illegal act; 
 but such a man was not likely to be disturbed 
 in his mind by a trifle of that kind. Besides, 
 the law was lax and cumbersome, and a per- 
 son in Bracebridge's position wielded a power 
 which in the hands of an unprincipled person 
 became despotism. So he gave his orders to 
 his servants, and returned to Haddon under 
 the impression that he had got rid of a trouble- 
 some rival, whom he could keep out of the way 
 until he was no longer to be feared. It was 
 true that he had tried to do the same with 
 John Manners, but his victim had cleverly 
 escaped from the trap and got clear away. But 
 Bracebridge felt no uneasiness, strange to say,
 
 273 
 
 for, firstly, he was of opinion that the whole 
 affair had been managed so skillfully that, 
 though Manners had escaped, he did not, and 
 would not, know who had ensnared him. And 
 secondly, it seemed to Bracebridge, after what 
 had happened, highly improbable that Man- 
 ners would ever return to Haddon. 
 
 In this respect the cunning and craft of 
 Bracebridge overreached themselves, for he de- 
 ceived himself into believing that John Man- 
 ners was likely to hold his peace, notwithstand- 
 ing that he had been the victim of a gross out- 
 rage, and was a gentleman of position, as well 
 as a member of a noble and powerful family. 
 But, like most men of his stamp, Sir Falconer 
 Bracebridge was disposed to accept that for 
 granted, which a little reflection would have 
 convinced him was improbable. 
 
 It has already been stated that Mistress Ver- 
 non had by this time resolved that she would 
 never become wife to Bracebridge, but, acting 
 on the advice of faithful, devoted old Madge, 
 she refrained for the time being from showing 
 any open hostility to him. Nevertheless, he 
 was aware that he did not possess either her 
 confidence or her love, but the stake he was 
 playing for was so high that he was not de- 
 terred from pressing his suit, more particularly
 
 as he knew that Lady Vernon was on his side. 
 She was as much a partisan of him as ever, and 
 Doll had given up contending with her, since 
 nothing came of it save bitterness. 
 
 The days that passed after Sir Falconer's re- 
 turn were days of much anxiety to Dorothy, 
 for she knew that matters must shortly come to 
 a climax. He had told her of his determina- 
 tion to press her father for a public announce- 
 ment of the engagement, and he urged her so 
 importunately to consent to a betrothal that she 
 experienced great difficulty in keeping her feel- 
 ings under. But it was impossible for her to 
 close her eyes to the probable results if it was 
 discovered that she had a secret lover, and that 
 that lover was John Manners. 
 
 This period was undoubtedly the most try- 
 ing in her whole career, and the state of her 
 troubled mind was reflected in her face, so that 
 her father noticed it, and questioned her about 
 her unhappy looks. It was not an easy thing 
 for Dorothy Vernon to deceive her father, who 
 had been so good to her, but it had to be done 
 for the sake of the man to whom she had given 
 her heart. 
 
 It is quite probable that Dorothy labored 
 under fears, which were altogether unjustified, 
 and had she taken her father into her confi-
 
 275 
 
 dence and given him distinctly to understand 
 that she would have preferred death to being 
 wife to Bracebridge, he would have ranged 
 himself on her side. But past experience had 
 discouraged her, and Lady Vernon's severity, 
 no less than her influence with her husband, 
 caused the poor girl to shrink from a frank 
 avowal of her troubles, her hopes, and her fears. 
 As for her sister Margaret, she was shut off 
 from her, as it were, for Margaret was so ab- 
 sorbed in her own affairs and the preparation 
 for her approaching marriage that she could 
 converse of nothing else ; and so Doll perforce 
 had to pour her troubles into the ever open ears 
 of old Madge, whose passionate attachment to 
 the girl condoned for any misleading advice 
 she might have given her. 
 
 Perhaps the only point on which the nurse 
 was at fault was in not urging her charge to 
 lay the case before Sir George Vernon ; but like 
 Dorothy herself, she believed that the Lord of 
 Haddon was so much under the sway of his 
 lady that any appeal to him would not only be 
 useless, but utterly blight the girl's hope. And 
 so they held together, and played their respec- 
 tive parts in the plot of a story that was to live 
 for ever. 
 
 At last Bracebridge was called away, and he
 
 276 
 
 and the objectionable dwarf disappeared to the 
 intense relief of Dorothy Vernon. Lady Brace- 
 bridge had exceeded the allotted span of life, 
 and having been passionately fond of her un- 
 worthy son, though, of course, she never 
 deemed him unworthy, she sped an urgent 
 message to him when she felt her end ap- 
 proaching, and he, in spite of the evil of his 
 nature, loved her, and no second summons was 
 needed to tear him from the presence of his 
 hoped-for bride, and hurry him to the cham- 
 ber of death in Spring Head Castle, near 
 Blackburn, which had long been the residence 
 of his mother. 
 
 And while Sir Falconer Bracebridge jour- 
 neyed to Blackburn, Diabolo, acting on his 
 master's instructions, journeyed to Chorley, 
 where he was to await further orders.
 
 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A BID FOR FREEDOM. 
 
 When William Aleyne found himself in the 
 hands of his enemy at Chorley, his first feeling 
 was one of almost uncontrollable exasperation. 
 The cunning and artful manner in which he 
 had been trapped showed that in spite of his 
 disguise and his caution, the Lord of Chorley 
 had outwitted him, and the captive was 
 puzzled to understand how his identity had 
 been revealed. 
 
 At this stage he did not suspect Diabolo, but 
 it seemed clear to him that Bracebridge was 
 well served by spies. But, notwithstanding his 
 wounded pride and outraged feelings, Aleyne 
 smiled to himself at the thought of the error 
 Bracebridge had apparently made in suspect- 
 ing him of being Dorothy's lover, and it was 
 not likely he would go out of his way to en- 
 lighten him. 
 
 " My being here leaves John a clear course," 
 he thought; and this very thought afforded
 
 278 
 
 him so much satisfaction that his irritation 
 gave place to a jubilant delight, for Brace- 
 bridge would be caught in his own snare, and 
 Manners would bear off the prize. Viewing 
 the situation in this light, he did not give him- 
 self any concern about the future. He never, 
 for a moment, thought that his life was in dan- 
 ger. Bracebridge was a bold and unscrupu- 
 lous rascal, but he would surely hesitate before 
 lending himself to assassination. 
 
 All this was comforting philosophy for a 
 time until the prisoner began to suffer in health 
 from the confinement and restraint. He had 
 been used to activity; to an outdoor life, and 
 he felt the deprivation of liberty very keenly. 
 As day after day passed, and brought no 
 change, he grew irritable and moody, and con- 
 templated making a desperate bid for liberty. 
 Hal, the strong man, was his custodian, and 
 from this fellow he demanded angrily to know 
 why he was kept a prisoner there. But Hal 
 was a fitting representative of his master. He 
 was secretive, sullen, and cunning, and neither 
 threats nor persuasion could move him. In 
 reply to all questions he replied grumpily: 
 
 " I am not here to answer you but to carry 
 out my orders." 
 
 Aleyrie was kept in a tower that flanked a
 
 wing of the house, and he had the use of three 
 small rooms, communicating with each other, 
 though one of the rooms was nothing more 
 than a windowless closet. The other two were 
 poorly lighted; there was a window in each, 
 but deeply embayed in the thickness of the 
 wall. 
 
 One night, when the tax upon his patience 
 and endurance was more than could be borne, 
 Aleyne climbed up to one of the windows, and, 
 reckless of consequences, shattered the case- 
 ment to pieces, forced himself through the 
 aperture, and plunged into space and darkness. 
 
 Instead of striking the ground as he antici- 
 pated, Aleyne found himself floundering in 
 water. The water was deep, he could not 
 swim, and death by drowning seemed inevita- 
 ble. This inglorious way, however, of ending 
 his life, so alarmed him that he battled for his 
 existence with almost superhuman energy. 
 He succeeded at last in reaching the bank. 
 He drew himself out, but sank exhausted on 
 the ground, and a blank ensued. It appeared 
 that a stream of considerable volume flowed 
 through the grounds, and the windows of the 
 tower in which Aleyne had been confined, 
 actually projected over a part of this stream. 
 As he had descended over twenty feet in his
 
 280 
 
 desperate leap, the chances are, had he struck 
 the ground he would have been killed outright. 
 
 The noise of his fall and of his subsequent 
 struggles in the water did not escape the ear 
 of the gate warden, who got some of his mates 
 together, and, provided with lanterns, they 
 proceeded to make a search, with the result 
 that they discovered Aleyne lying drenched 
 and insensible on the bank. Hal was at once 
 communicated with, a short consultation fol- 
 lowed, and when Aleyne recovered his senses 
 he was stretched on a bed of straw, and a cold 
 icy blast seemed to be blowing upon him. He 
 felt weak and ill, and so dazed and confused 
 mentally that he couldn't quite realize the sit- 
 uation, and absolute exhaustion caused him to 
 fall asleep. 
 
 He awoke some time afterward, and then re- 
 membered what had occurred, but the rest was 
 a problem. Where was he? Certainly not in 
 the room he had previously occupied. In time 
 he made out that he was confined in what ap- 
 peared to be an underground dungeon. The 
 walls were irregular, and in places bulged. 
 The floor was the natural earth. In the roof, 
 which was high up, was a long, narrow shaft, a 
 ventilating hole merely, through which a tiny 
 strip of blue sky could be discerned. Down
 
 28l 
 
 this shaft came a current of cold, moist-laden 
 air. The atmosphere of the place was damp, 
 fusty, and there was a peculiar gaseous smell, 
 which caused the prisoner to cough, and the 
 coughing raised hollow echoes in the cavern- 
 ous chamber. The entrance to the place was 
 through an irregular, roughly hewn archway, 
 but this entrance was closed by pieces of tim- 
 ber rudely fastened together to form a door. 
 
 When Aleyne had come to a knowledge of 
 these things he could no longer take even a 
 philosophical view of his position, for it was 
 only too obvious that he was a victim of mach- 
 inations that afforded him little ground for 
 hoping that he would be able to free himself 
 from the toils of his enemies. It was a mad- 
 dening position. He felt chilled to the mar- 
 row, for his wet clothes had not been removed, 
 he was ill and exhausted, and sinking with 
 hunger. The walls and roof of his place of 
 confinement were the solid rock. The rough 
 door of the entrance was stout and strong, and 
 precluded all chance of escape in that way. 
 That he was far underground was proved by 
 the shaft or hole in the roof through which air 
 and light came, but while the wind rushed 
 down like the blast from a blacksmith's bel-
 
 282 
 
 lows, the feeble light that was admitted did lit- 
 tle more than make the darkness visible. 
 
 At length sounds fell upon the wretched 
 man's ears ; the sounds of tramping feet awak- 
 ening the booming echoes of some subter- 
 raneous and cavernous hollow. Then gleams 
 of light fell through the interstices of the door ; 
 a bar was removed, and Hal stood in the 
 threshold. Behind him were two or three oth- 
 er men with a couple of lanterns between them. 
 The giant was armed with a sort of halberd, 
 and he brought a supply of food and drink. 
 But liberty was the ruling thought in Aleyne's 
 brain at that moment ; he demanded to be re- 
 leased, and threatened Bracebridge with the 
 direct consequences for this outrage on a free 
 subject. 
 
 Hal laughed mockingly. He made it known 
 that in the absence of his master he was re- 
 sponsible for the prisoner's safe keeping, and 
 as he had made a desperate attempt to escape, 
 he had, for greater security, had him conveyed 
 to a storage chamber in one of the upper levels 
 of a disused mine on Bracebridge's estate. 
 
 Aleyne heard this with a sickening sense of 
 despair which seemed to render him so inert 
 for the moment that he was like a man stunned. 
 Taking advantage of this Hal placed the food
 
 283 
 
 and wine on the floor, and hurried away. Evi- 
 dently he was anxious to avoid argument or 
 discussion with his prisoner. For hours and 
 hours hours that stretched into days Aleyne 
 endured agony of mind and body. Immured in 
 that living tomb, he was tempted to beat his 
 brains out against the rock walls, and in all 
 probability he would have yielded to this if he 
 had not been upheld by a hope that he would 
 yet be able to wreak a terrible vengeance on 
 his pitiless foe. But he grew weaker natural- 
 ly, and brain and body suffered. 
 
 Then once more the rumbling echoes were 
 aroused by the tramp of feet in the external 
 gallery, and at last Hal and his myrmidons 
 stood in the doorway, and this time he was ac- 
 companied by the grinning, monkey-like Dia- 
 bolo, who had just returned from Haddon. 
 Aleyne sprang at the dwarf, who, taken un- 
 awares, was felled heavily to the ground. Then 
 Hal struck the prisoner with his halberd, but 
 Aleyne, with the strength of maddening de- 
 spair, seized the weapon from the giant's hand, 
 swung it round his head, and aimed a terrific 
 blow, which Hal dodged ; but the steel-headed 
 halberd struck the wall of rock with such force 
 that the lance wood shaft was shivered. 
 
 In a few seconds a strange sound arose;
 
 284 
 
 there was a great cracking as if mighty baulks 
 of timber were being wrenched, and then as if 
 millions of bees had been suddenly let loose. 
 Hal and his men heard this ominous and 
 deadly warning, and, knowing its significance, 
 and heedless of the prisoner and the stunned 
 dwarf on the ground, they sped for their lives, 
 and Aleyne rushed after them; but the earth 
 trembled; there was a rumble as of distant 
 thunder, that increased and swelled into one 
 appalling mighty uproar; a blast of air with 
 a speed greater than the fiercest hurricane that 
 ever blew swept through the mine, which was 
 rent, torn, and shattered by an explosion that 
 brought down tens of thousands of tons of 
 rock, and buried all the flying men for ever and 
 ever fathoms deep below. 
 
 And the eause of this tremendous explosion, 
 from which no living thing came forth, was 
 due to Aleyne having struck with the halberd 
 a vein of slickensides, or galena, to give it its 
 scientific name, in the rock wall. The effects 
 of a blow on this mysterious mineral, which is 
 found in abundance in some mines, is an ex- 
 plosion which shatters the earth to pieces like 
 an earthquake, and sweeps to immediate death 
 every living thing within the radius of its force. 
 Hal the giant, three men who accompanied
 
 him, Diabolo the dwarf, and poor William 
 Aleyne met with a swift and sudden end in the 
 mine which had been Aleyne's prison, and now 
 was his tomb. 
 
 For a long time the mine had not been 
 worked owing to the presence of veins of the 
 deadly " slickenside," which made the work- 
 ing of it too dangerous. Hal had regarded it 
 as an absolutely safe place of confinement for 
 his master's enemy. The object of Diabolo's 
 visit to the prisoner was to offer him, in the 
 name of Bracebridge, his freedom if he would 
 pledge himself to quit the country. But a 
 terrible and wholly unlooked-for retribution 
 had fallen upon the too willing tools of Brace- 
 bridge's villainy; though, unhappily, poor 
 William Aleyne had been involved in the 
 strange disaster.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 TRIUMPH. 
 
 Sir Falconer Bracebridge's absence at the 
 deathbed of his mother allowed Dorothy Ver- 
 non and her secret lover to make good prog- 
 ress with their wooing. Naturally Manners 
 was concerned by the strange silence of his 
 bosom friend, but he consoled himself with the 
 thought Aleyne had found the difficulty of 
 getting the information he desired greater 
 than he anticipated, and so was prolonging his 
 stay. Anyway Jedaan had set off after Aleyne, 
 and her readiness of resource and her wit would 
 probably enable her to bring back a good re- 
 port. 
 
 For some time no word came from Brace- 
 bridge. Then he wrote to Lady Vernon to say 
 that his mother had lingered, and had only 
 just died ; that he was broken down with grief, 
 and had much to attend to, but he hoped to be 
 back at Haddon in time for Margaret's wed- 
 ding, which was now close at hand. He added
 
 that he hoped Dorothy was not fretting too 
 much, and that he dreamed of her night and 
 day. 
 
 At Haddon Hall affairs were not likely to 
 stand still because of the absence of Sir Fal- 
 coner Bracebrrdge, however important he 
 might appear in Lady Vernon's sight; and so 
 the preparations for the marriage were pushed 
 forward with great vigor, and in the whirl 
 and hum of these preparations Dorothy was 
 overlooked and almost forgotten. Not that 
 that caused her any concern. On the con- 
 trary, she rejoiced, for it enabled her, John, 
 Will Dawson, and Madge to perfect their 
 scheme for utterly and forever defeating 
 Bracebridge. For good or for evil, Dorothy 
 Vernon had given her solemn pledge to John 
 Manners, and she had no intention of retract- 
 ing at the eleventh hour. 
 
 At length the fateful marriage morning 
 dawned, and in the private chapel of Haddon 
 Sir Thomas Stanley and Margaret Vernon 
 were joined together in the bonds of holy 
 matrimony in accordance with the Roman 
 Catholic ritual. In the history of Haddon there 
 had probably never before been gathered under 
 the hospitable roof such a number of distin- 
 guished guests. Every available room in the
 
 268 
 
 great pile of buildings had been utilized, and in 
 order to accommodate the fifty additional serv- 
 ants who had been engaged to minister to the 
 wants of the visitors a temporary wooden 
 house was erected outside of the main entrance. 
 A special and renowned band of musicians had 
 been brought down from London, and for days 
 an army of decorators had been at work, and 
 when the night came and dancing commenced 
 the scene in the great ballroom was one of sur- 
 passing brilliancy, and unique in Haddon's his- 
 tory. 
 
 No energy and no expense had been spared 
 to make the event one of such splendor that 
 future generations of Derbyshire people would 
 speak of it with pride. 
 
 All day long there had been feasting and 
 junketings. Scores of beggars had fed on the 
 fat of the land at great tables spread for them 
 under the trees in the wood near the main en- 
 trance. Extra fireplaces were contrived to 
 meet the strain of the demand in the cooking 
 department, and down in the valley by the 
 banks of the Wye the entire carcasses of cattle 
 and sheep and deer had been roasted in the 
 open air, for, fortunately, the weather was, 
 splendidly fine. With the falling of darkness 
 the Hall broke out into a blaze of light, and
 
 289 
 
 the sounds of revelry rose on the still night 
 air. And there was laughter and song, jest 
 and wit, and many an al fresco love scene un- 
 der the trees. 
 
 In the ballroom, ladies and gentlemen of 
 high degree danced with all the stateliness and 
 grace of the times, and many a gallant con-| 
 tended for the honor of treading a measure 
 with sweet Dorothy, who by common consent 
 was the belle of the room. Never had she 
 looked more beautiful than she did that night. . 
 She was simply but artistically attired, and 
 her glorious hair was adorned with flowers, 
 amid which glittered a band of gold set with* 
 diamonds and pearls, the gift of her brother- 
 in-law. Her face was flushed, her eyes bril- 
 liant, and it might have been noted that now 
 and again she gave a wistful glance at the face 
 of a quaint old clock that slowly ticked off the 
 hours in a recess in the room. 
 
 At last the hands marked eleven, and a few. 
 seconds later the great turret bell announced 
 to the little world that the eleventh hour had 
 ended. The revelry was at its height, and, tak- 
 ing advantage of everyone's attention being 
 absorbed, Doll slipped from the great ball- 
 room, and gained an ante-room, from which a 
 flight of eleven stone steps gave access to the
 
 290 
 
 terrace. Madge was waiting for her, with a 
 long cloak and a pair of strong shoes. 
 
 Dorothy tore the flowers from her hair, has- 
 tily put off her dancing shoes, and slipped on 
 those Madge had brought. The long cloak 
 covered her ball dress, and its hood hid her 
 masses of hair. And now the fateful and su- 
 preme moment had come. She flung her arms 
 round the neck of her dear, faithful old nurse, 
 who was choking and sobbing with emotion. 
 The nurse stammered a whispered blessing on 
 her love bird, and then the love bird flew down 
 the steps into the darkness of the night. A 
 haze was in the air, and the stars seemed to 
 twinkle through a veil of gauze. There was no 
 moon; the air was still, and with dreamy, 
 rhythmical murmur the Wye talked to the 
 veiled stars and the hushed trees of Dorothy 
 Vernon's flight. 
 
 Will Dawson was waiting at the end of the 
 terrace. He helped her over the wall, and 
 then guided her down the steep declivity to 
 the river. The tiny bridge was gained. The 
 crescent light still shone upon it, for on this 
 particular night the ordinary rule of extin- 
 guishing it at ten o'clock had not been ob- 
 served. 
 
 Doll pressed Dawson's hand, and murmured
 
 2QI 
 
 a " God bless you," then, like a spirit of the 
 woods, she ran or flew through the beam of 
 light to the darkness on the other side of the 4 
 river, where her lover with two horses awaited 
 her. A hurried kiss; he lifted her to her sad- 
 : dle, sprang onto his own horse, and went at 
 a walking pace until Rowsley was gained. 
 
 The village was nearly entirely deserted for 
 all the villagers who could go were at Haddon. 
 As soon as they left Rowsley the fugitives let 
 their horses go. They sped through the 
 dreamy vale of Darley, and past the little hos- 
 telry where John had fought the duel, and 
 where he had lain well-nigh stricken unto 
 death. On through Matlock and past the 
 great High Tor they went, and slackened not 
 their pace until the suburbs of Derby were 
 gained. John Manners managed to arouse the 
 people at a hostelry, and by means of liberal 
 payment silenced inquiry if he did not stop 
 curiosity. Food and fresh horses were pro- 
 cured, and once again the runaways were in 
 full flight. 
 
 Dorothy's flight from her home was not dis- 
 covered until more than two hours had passed 
 from the time she met her lover. Her father 
 missed her and asked for her. Some servant 
 said she was in her room. A message was sent,
 
 but the messenger came back to say she was 
 not there. Through the grounds and on the 
 terrace her name was called, but called in vain. 
 Anxiety began to manifest itself, a search was 
 made throughout the house, Madge was 
 roused from her bed, but gave no sign that she 
 knew of the flight. The mystery deepened. 
 
 Presently a half-drunken servitor of one of 
 the guests, who had been roystering by a fire 
 that burned in the valley, declared that he had 
 seen a cloaked woman and a man ride across 
 the valley from the direction of the bridge. 
 This information stirred everyone into action. 
 There was a call for horses, which were sad- 
 dled with all speed. Gentlemen guests buckled 
 on their swords, and retainers armed them- 
 selves with cudgels, though why heaven only 
 knew. Then through woods and valleys the 
 pursuers spread themselves, and parties rode 
 east, west, north, and south. 
 
 But they straggled back again in twos and 
 threes, in fours and fives, in the light of dawn- 
 ing day, but never a sign had they seen of 
 Dorothy. A gloom fell upon the bridal party, 
 and the festivities were brought abruptly to 
 a close. Lady Vernon was scornful and bitter, 
 and expressed her belief that her stepdaughter 
 had gone off with some ill-bred hind. Sir
 
 293 
 
 George was silent, and shut himself in his 
 room, for his sorrow cut him to the soul. His 
 favorite daughter, upon whom he had doted, 
 had gone from him, and when Margaret had 
 left he would be a lonely, broken-hearted old 
 man. He braced himself up to speed his part- 
 ing guests, and utter a blessing on his newly 
 married daughter and her husband, and when 
 all had gone he abandoned himself to his grief. 
 The proud man was humbled, and wept. His 
 child had gone the world was darkened for 
 him. 
 
 A little more than a week from Margaret's 
 wedding night had flown when there came a 
 mounted messenger to Haddon Hall. He had 
 ridden hard from Leicestershire, and he. 
 brought letters from John and Dorothy. 
 These letters told in outline the story of the 
 secret wooing, the flight, the marriage; the 
 writers prayed for forgiveness, and to be al- 
 lowed to return. Lady Vernon was obdurate 
 and scornful. She talked of broken pride, of 
 outraged honor, of sullied escutcheon, of the 
 disgrace to the family, and much more non- 
 sense to the same effect, and suggested that the 
 door of Haddon should be forever closed 
 against the " jade " who had brought this hu- 
 miliation and sorrow upon them.
 
 294 
 
 But Sir George rose strong in his might at 
 last. He was lord of his own house. He was 
 ruler even of his wife ; his word should be law. 
 Dorothy was the core of his heart, and he 
 didn't allow false pride to desolate his hearth. 
 So back a message was sent to the fugitives, 
 bidding them return, when all should be for- 
 given, and the boar's head and the peacock 
 should be blended ever more in the arms of the 
 Vernon and Rutland families. 
 
 As soon as ever the message reached them, 
 Dorothy Manners and her well-loved husband 
 started for Haddon, and so overjoyed was Sir 
 George to have his pet bird back again that he 
 ordered a second bridal feast to be prepared, 
 and once more revelry and song resounded 
 through the hall, and John Manners openly 
 took his place as the honored husband of the 
 youngest and most beauteous of the King of 
 the Peak's daughters. 
 
 A shadow fell upon him a few days later 
 when Jedaan brought him word that his true 
 and tried friend, William Aleyne, was sup- 
 posed to have perished in an explosion in one 
 of the mines on Bracebridge's estate. So much 
 she had gathered, but the rest was all mystery, 
 which even she was unable to solve. She 
 further said that she had learned that Sir Fal-
 
 295 
 
 coner was lying seriously ill at his late mother's 
 house. The wound which he had received in 
 his fight with Ralph Bardsdale's kinsman had 
 never properly healed, and in dismounting 
 from his horse, after returning from his moth- 
 er's funeral, he slipped and wrenched himself; 
 the wound opened afresh, and owing to the 
 unskilled treatment of a barber surgeon, symp- 
 toms of gangrene ensued, and spreading rapid- 
 ly blood poisoning was set up, and in a few 
 weeks' time the news reached Haddon that Sir 
 Falconer Bracebridge had paid the penalty of 
 mortality, and passed through the valley of the 
 shadow of death. To Lady Vernon the news 
 was a shock, and it caused her real distress, 
 for she could not detect the hand of Fate in 
 all the events of the last few months. Prob- 
 ably she was the only mourner Bracebridge 
 had at Haddon. 
 
 John Manners tried to induce the strangely 
 gifted Jedaan to settle down, but she laughed 
 and said the wild and restless spirit within her 
 rendered that impossible. She must move on, 
 and would continue moving, until the debt of 
 nature was paid. One night she disappeared 
 as suddenly as she had come, and Haddon 
 knew her no more. 
 
 Honest Will Dawson, who had rendered
 
 296 
 
 such yeoman service to the lovers in their se- 
 cret wooing, was not forgotten; while dear, 
 faithful, wise old Madge, was destined to pass 
 three happy, peaceful years more with her 
 " sweet love-bird," and then very suddenly one 
 night to fall into the sleep that hath no awaken- 
 ing. 
 
 Madge was a lowly born woman, but she 
 had helped, and, indeed, been mainly instru- 
 mental in changing the fortunes of two great 
 houses ; and she had saved the sweet and beau- 
 tiful Dorothy Vernon from the terrible fate of 
 being bride to a man who would probably have 
 wrecked her happiness and ruined her life. 
 
 THE END.
 
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