Oh, he said something about having seen Sir George Vernon's daughter at
Rowsley, and--and--I can't tell you what he said, I am too full of shame."
If her cheeks told the truth, she certainly was "full of shame."

"Tell me all, sweet cousin; I am sorry for you," I said. She raised her
eyes to mine in quick surprise with a look of suspicion.

"You may trust me, Dorothy. I say it again, you may trust me."

"He spoke of my beauty and called it marvellous," said the girl. "He said
that in all the world there was not another woman--oh, I can't tell you."

"Yes, yes, go on, Dorothy," I insisted.

"He said," she continued, "that he could think of nothing else but me day
or night since he had first seen me at Rowsley--that I had bewitched him
and--and--Then the other gentleman said, 'John, don't play with fire; it
will burn you. Nothing good can come of it for you.'"

"Did Jennie know who the gentleman was?" I asked.

"No," returned Dorothy.

"How do you know who he was?"

"Jennie described him," she said.

"How did she describe him?" I asked.

"She said he was--he was the handsomest man in the world and--and that he
affected her so powerfully she fell in love with him in spite of herself.
The little devil, to dare! You see that describes him perfectly."

I laughed outright, and the girl blushed painfully.

"It does describe him," she said petulantly. "You know it does. No one can
gainsay that he is wonderfully, dangerously handsome. I believe the woman
does not live who could refrain from feasting her eyes on his noble
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