to meet him. She had done for his sake that which she knew she should have
left undone, and he had refused the offering. A smarting conscience, an
aching heart, and a breast full of anger were Dorothy's rewards for her
evil doing. The day after her second futile trip to Overhaddon, I, to test
her, spoke of John. She turned upon me with the black look of a fury, and
hurled her words at me.

"Never again speak his despised name in my hearing. Curse him and his
whole race."

"Now what has he been doing?" I asked.

"I tell you, I will not speak of him, nor will I listen to you," and she
dashed away from me like a fiery whirlwind.

Four or five days later the girl rode out again upon Dolcy. She was away
from home for four long hours, and when she returned she was so gentle,
sweet, and happy that she was willing to kiss every one in the household
from Welch, the butcher, to Sir George. She was radiant. She clung to
Madge and to me, and sang and romped through the house like Dorothy of
old.

Madge said, "I am so glad you are feeling better, Dorothy." Then, speaking
to me: "She has been ill for several days. She could not sleep."

Dorothy looked quickly over to me, gave a little shrug to her shoulders,
bent forward her face, which was red with blushing, and kissed Madge
lingeringly upon the lips.

The events of Dorothy's trip I soon learned from her.