ake out of it whatever you can. I shall again in the course of this
history have occasion to speak of Dorothy's strange power, and how it was
exerted over no less a person than Queen Elizabeth.

"Ask Malcolm," repeated the girl, leaning coaxingly upon her father's
breast. But I was saved from uttering the lie I was willing to tell; for,
in place of asking me, as his daughter had desired, Sir George demanded
excitedly of Dorothy, "What have you in your pocket that strikes against
my knee?"

"Mother of Heaven!" exclaimed Dorothy in a whisper, quickly stepping back
from her father and slowly lifting her skirt while she reached toward her
pocket. Her manner was that of one almost bereft of consciousness by
sudden fright, and an expression of helplessness came over her face which
filled my heart with pity. She stood during a long tedious moment holding
with one hand the uplifted skirt, while with the other she clutched the
key in her pocket.

"What have you in your pocket?" demanded Sir George with a terrible oath.
"Bring it out, girl. Bring it out, I tell you." Dorothy started to run
from the room, but her father caught her by the wrist and violently drew
her to him. "Bring it out, huzzy; it's the key to Bowling Green Gate. Ah,
I've lost my mind, have I? Blood of Christ! I have not lost my mind yet,
but I soon shall lose it at this rate," and he certainly looked as if he
would.

Poor frightened Dorothy was trying to take the key from her pocket, but
she was too slow to please her angry father, so he grasped the gown and
tore a great rent whereby the pocket was opened from top to bottom.
Dorothy still held the key in her hand, but upon the floor lay a piece of
white paper which had fallen out through the rent Sir George had made in
the gown. He divined the truth as if by inspiration. The note, he felt
sure, was from Dorothy's unknown lover. He did not move nor speak for a
time, and she stood as if paralyzed by fear. She slowly turned her face
from her father to me, and in a low tone spoke my name, "Malcolm." Her
voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but so piteous a cry for help I
have never heard from human lips. Then she stooped, intending to take the
letter from the floor, and Sir George drew back his arm as if he would
strike her with his clenched hand. She recoiled from him in terror, and he
took up the letter, unfolded it, and began to read:--

"Most gracious lady, I thank you for your letter, and with God's help