you realize that you insult
your daughter when you accuse her of having been in this secluded place
with a man? You would punish another for speaking so against my fair
name."

"But, Dorothy," Sir George replied, feeling as if he were in the wrong,
"Ben Shaw said that he saw you here with a man, and I saw a man pass
toward Bakewell. Who was he? I command you to tell me his name."

Dorothy knew that her father must have seen a man near the gate, but who
he was she could not imagine. John surely was beyond the wall and well out
of sight on his way to Rowsley before her father reached the crest of
Bowling Green Hill. But it was evident that Shaw had seen John. Evidence
that a man had been at the gate was too strong to be successfully
contradicted. Facts that cannot be successfully contradicted had better be
frankly admitted. Dorothy sought through her mind for an admission that
would not admit, and soon hit upon a plan which, shrewd as it seemed to
be, soon brought her to grief.

"Perhaps you saw Cousin Malcolm," said Dorothy, as the result of her
mental search. "He passed here a little time since and stopped for a
moment to talk. Perhaps you saw Malcolm, father. You would not find fault
with me because he was here, would you?"

"Dorothy, my daughter," said Sir George, hesitatingly, "are you telling me
the truth?"

Then the fair girl lifted up her beautiful head, and standing erect at her
full height (it pains me to tell you this) said: "Father, I am a Vernon. I
would not lie."

Her manner was so truthlike that Sir George was almost convinced.

He said, "I believe you."

Her father's confidence touched her keenly; but not to the point of
repentance, I hardly need say.

Dorothy then grew anxious to return to the Hall that she might prepare me
to answer whatever idle questions her father should put to me. She took
Dolcy's rein, and leading the mare with one hand while she rested the
other upon her father's arm, walked gayly across Bowling Green down to the
Hall, very happy because of her lucky escape.

But a lie is always full of latent retribution.

I was sitting in the kitchen, dreamily watching the huge fire when Dorothy
and her father entered.

"Ah, Malcolm, are you here?" asked Sir George in a peculiar tone of
surprise for which I could see no reason.

"I thought you were walking."

I was smoking. I took my pipe from my lips and said, "No, I am helping old
Bess and Jennie with supper."

"Have you not