Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall Part 32

You never will know until I am your--your--wife." The last word was spoken in a soft, hesitating whisper, and her head sought shamefaced refuge on John's breast. Of course the magic word "wife" on Dorothy's lips aroused John to action, and--but a cloud at that moment pa.s.sed over the moon and kindly obscured the scene.

"You do not blame me, John," said Dorothy, "because I cannot go with you to-night? You do not blame me?"

"Indeed I do not, my G.o.ddess," answered John. "You will soon be mine. I shall await your pleasure and your own time, and when you choose to come to me--ah, then--" And the kindly cloud came back to the moon.

CHAPTER X

THOMAS THE MAN SERVANT

After a great effort of self-denial John told Dorothy it was time for her to return to the Hall, and he walked with her down Bowling Green Hill to the wall back of the terrace garden.

Dorothy stood for a moment on the stile at the old stone wall, and John, clasping her hand, said:--

"You will perhaps see me sooner than you expect," and then the cloud considerately floated over the moon again, and John hurried away up Bowling Green Hill.

Dorothy crossed the terrace garden, going toward the door since known as "Dorothy's Postern." She had reached the top of the postern steps when she heard her father's voice, beyond the north wall of the terrace garden well up toward Bowling Green Hill. John, she knew, was at that moment climbing the hill. Immediately following the sound of her father's voice she heard another voice--that of her father's retainer, Sir John Guild. Then came the word "Halt!" quickly followed by the report of a fusil, and the sharp clinking of swords upon the hillside. She ran back to the wall, and saw the dimly outlined forms of four men. One of them was John, who was retreating up the hill. The others were following him. Sir George and Sir John Guild had unexpectedly returned from Derby. They had left their horses with the stable boys and were walking toward the kitchen door when Sir George noticed a man pa.s.s from behind the corner of the terrace garden wall and proceed up Bowling Green Hill. The man of course was John.

Immediately Sir George and Guild, accompanied by a servant who was with them, started in pursuit of the intruder, and a moment afterward Dorothy heard her father's voice and the discharge of the fusil. She climbed to the top of the stile, filled with an agony of fear. Sir George was fifteen or twenty yards in advance of his companion, and when John saw that his pursuers were attacking him singly, he turned and quickly ran back to meet the warlike King of the Peak. By a few adroit turns with his sword John disarmed his antagonist, and rus.h.i.+ng in upon him easily threw him to the ground by a wrestler's trick. Guild and the servant by that time were within six yards of Sir George and John.

"Stop!" cried Manners, "your master is on the ground at my feet. My sword point is at his heart. Make but one step toward me and Sir George Vernon will be a dead man."

Guild and the servant halted instantly.

"What are your terms?" cried Guild, speaking with the haste which he well knew was necessary if he would save his master's life.

"My terms are easy," answered John. "All I ask is that you allow me to depart in peace. I am here on no harmful errand, and I demand that I may depart and that I be not followed nor spied upon by any one."

"You may depart in peace," said Guild. "No one will follow you; no one will spy upon you. To this I pledge my knightly word in the name of Christ my Saviour."

John at once took his way unmolested up the hill and rode home with his heart full of fear lest his tryst with Dorothy had been discovered.

Guild and the servant a.s.sisted Sir George to rise, and the three started down the hill toward the stile where Dorothy was standing. She was hidden from them, however, by the wall. Jennie Faxton, who had been on guard while John and Dorothy were at the gate, at Dorothy's suggestion stood on top of the stile where she could easily be seen by Sir George when he approached.

"When my father comes here and questions you," said Dorothy to Jennie Faxton, "tell him that the man whom he attacked was your sweetheart."

"Never fear, mistress," responded Jennie. "I will have a fine story for the master."

Dorothy crouched inside the wall under the shadow of a bush, and Jennie waited on the top of the stile. Sir George, thinking the girl was Dorothy, lost no time in approaching her. He caught her roughly by the arm and turned her around that he might see her face.

"By G.o.d, Guild," he muttered, "I have made a mistake. I thought the girl was Doll."

He left instantly and followed Guild and the servant to the kitchen door.

When Sir George left the stile, Dorothy hastened back to the postern of which she had the key, and hurried toward her room. She reached the door of her father's room just in time to see Sir George and Guild enter it.

They saw her, and supposed her to be myself. If she hesitated, she was lost. But Dorothy never hesitated. To think, with her, was to act. She did not of course know that I was still in her apartments. She took the chance, however, and boldly followed Sir John Guild into her father's room. There she paused for a moment that she might not appear to be in too great haste, and then entered Aunt Dorothy's room where I was seated, waiting for her.

"Dorothy, my dear child," exclaimed Lady Crawford, clasping her arms about Dorothy's neck.

"There is no time to waste in sentiment, Aunt Dorothy," responded the girl. "Here are your sword and cloak, Malcolm. I thank you for their use.

Don them quickly." I did so, and walked into Sir George's room, where that worthy old gentleman was dressing a slight wound in the hand. I stopped to speak with him; but he seemed disinclined to talk, and I left the room. He soon went to the upper court, and I presently followed him.

Dorothy changed her garments, and she, Lady Crawford, and Madge also came to the upper court. The braziers in the courtyard had been lighted and cast a glare over two score half-clothed men and women who had been aroused from their beds by the commotion of the conflict on the hillside.

Upon the upper steps of the courtyard stood Sir George and Jennie Faxton.

"Who was the man you were with?" roughly demanded Sir George of the trembling Jennie. Jennie's trembling was a.s.sumed for the occasion.

"I will not tell you his name," she replied with tears. "He is my sweetheart, and I will never come to the Hall again. Matters have come to a pretty pa.s.s when a maiden cannot speak with her sweetheart at the stile without he is set upon and beaten as if he were a hedgehog. My father is your leal henchman, and his daughter deserves better treatment at your hands than you have given me."

"There, there!" said Sir George, placing his hand upon her head. "I was in the wrong. I did not know you had a sweetheart who wore a sword. When I saw you at the stile, I was sure you were another. I am glad I was wrong."

So was Dorothy glad.

"Everybody be off to bed," said Sir George. "Ben Shaw, see that the braziers are all blackened."

Dorothy, Madge, and Lady Crawford returned to the latter's room, and Sir George and I entered after them. He was evidently softened in heart by the night's adventures and by the mistake he supposed he had made.

A selfish man grows hard toward those whom he injures. A generous heart grows tender. Sir George was generous, and the injustice he thought he had done to Dorothy made him eager to offer amends. The active evil in all Sir George's wrong-doing was the fact that he conscientiously thought he was in the right. Many a man has gone to h.e.l.l backward--with his face honestly toward heaven. Sir George had not spoken to Dorothy since the scene wherein the key to Bowling Green Gate played so important a part.

"Doll," said Sir George, "I thought you were at the stile with a man. I was mistaken. It was the Faxton girl. I beg your pardon, my daughter. I did you wrong."

"You do me wrong in many matters, father," replied Dorothy.

"Perhaps I do," her father returned, "perhaps I do, but I mean for the best. I seek your happiness."

"You take strange measures at times, father, to bring about my happiness,"

she replied.

"Whom G.o.d loveth He chasteneth," replied Sir George, dolefully.

"That manner of loving may be well enough for G.o.d," retorted Dorothy with no thought of irreverence, "but for man it is dangerous. Whom man loves he should cherish. A man who has a good, obedient daughter--one who loves him--will not imprison her, and, above all, he will not refuse to speak to her, nor will he cause her to suffer and to weep for lack of that love which is her right. A man has no right to bring a girl into this world and then cause her to suffer as you--as you--"

She ceased speaking and sought refuge in silent feminine eloquence--tears.

One would have sworn she had been grievously injured that night.

"But I am older than you, Doll, and I know what is best for your happiness," said Sir George.

"There are some things, father, which a girl knows with better, surer knowledge than the oldest man living. Solomon was wise because he had so many wives from whom he could absorb wisdom."

"Ah, well!" answered Sir George, smiling in spite of himself, "you will have the last word."

"Confess, father," she retorted quickly, "that you want the last word yourself."

"Perhaps I do want it, but I'll never have it," returned Sir George; "kiss me, Doll, and be my child again."

"That I will right gladly," she answered, throwing her arms about her father's neck and kissing him with real affection. Then Sir George said good night and started to leave. At the door he stopped, and stood for a little time in thought.

"Dorothy," said he, speaking to Lady Crawford, "I relieve you of your duty as a guard over Doll. She may go and come when she chooses."