beauty. I wonder if I shall ever again--again." Tears were in her voice
and almost in her eyes.

"Dorothy! My God, Dorothy!" I exclaimed in terror.

"Yes! yes! My God, Dorothy!" she responded, covering her face with her
hands and sighing deeply, as she dropped her head and left me.

Yes, yes, my God, Dorothy! The helpless iron and the terrible loadstone!
The passive seed! The dissolving cloud and the falling rain!

Less than a week after the above conversation, Dorothy, Madge, and I were
riding from Yulegrave Church up to the village of Overhaddon, which lies
one mile across the hills from Haddon Hall. My horse had cast a shoe, and
we stopped at Faxton's shop to have him shod. The town well is in the
middle of an open space called by the villagers "The Open," around which
are clustered the half-dozen houses and shops that constitute the village.
The girls were mounted, and I was standing beside them in front of the
farrier's, waiting for my horse. Jennie Faxton, a wild, unkempt girl of
sixteen, was standing in silent admiration near Dorothy. Our backs were
turned toward the well. Suddenly a light came into Jennie's face, and she
plucked Dorothy by the skirt of her habit.

"Look, mistress, look! Look there by the well!" said Jennie in a whisper.
Dorothy looked toward the well. I also turned my head and beheld my
friend, Sir John, holding a bucket of water for his horse to drink. I had
not seen him since we parted at The Peacock, and I did not show that I
recognized him. I feared to betray our friendship to the villagers. They,
however, did not know Sir John, and I need not have been so cautious. But
Dorothy and Madge were with me, and of course I dared not make any