few minutes he was standing in
front of his daughter, red with anger. Dorothy's face wore a look of calm
innocence, which I believe would have deceived Solomon himself,
notwithstanding that great man's experience with the sex. It did more to
throw Sir George off the scent than any words the girl could have spoken.

"Who has been with you?" demanded Sir George, angrily.

"When, father?" queried the girl, listlessly resting her head against the
wall.

"Now, this afternoon. Who has been with you? Ben Shaw said that a man was
here. He said that he saw a man with you less than half an hour since."

That piece of information was startling to Dorothy, but no trace of
surprise was visible in her manner or in her voice. She turned listlessly
and brushed a dry leaf from her gown. Then she looked calmly up into her
father's face and said laconically, but to the point:--

"Ben lied." To herself she said, "Ben shall also suffer."

"I do not believe that Ben lied," said Sir George. "I, myself, saw a man
go away from here."

That was crowding the girl into close quarters, but she did not flinch.

"Which way did he go, father?" she asked, with a fine show of carelessness
in her manner, but with a feeling of excruciating fear in her breast. She
well knew the wisdom of the maxim, "Never confess."

"He went northward," answered Sir George.

"Inside the wall?" asked Dorothy, beginning again to breathe freely, for
she knew that John had ridden southward.

"Inside the wall, of course," her father replied. "Do you suppose I could
see him through the stone wall? One should be able to see through a stone
wall to keep good watch on you."

"You might have thought you saw him through the wall," answered the girl.
"I sometimes think of late, father, that you are losing your mind. You
drink too much brandy, my dear father. Oh, wouldn't it be dreadful if you
were to lose your mind?" She rose as she spoke, and going to her father
began to stroke him gently with her hand. She looked into his face with
real affection; for when she deceived him, she loved him best as a partial
atonement for her ill-doing.

"Wouldn't that be dreadful?" she continued, while Sir George stood lost in
bewilderment. "Wouldn't that be dreadful for my dear old father to lose
his mind? But I really think it must be coming to pass. A great change has
of late come over you, father. You have for the first time in your life
been unkind to me and suspicious. Father, do