st. Dorothy did not answer, and Sir George continued
"I now understand how you came by the golden heart. You lied to me and
told me that Malcolm had given it to you. Lie upon lie. In God's name I
swear that I would rather father a thief than a liar."

"I did give her the heart, Sir George," I said, interrupting him. "It was
my mother's." I had caught the lying infection. But Sir George, in his
violence, was a person to incite lies. He of course had good cause for his
anger. Dorothy had lied to him. Of that there could be no doubt; but her
deception was provoked by his own conduct and by the masterful love that
had come upon her. I truly believe that prior to the time of her meeting
with Manners she had never spoken an untruth, nor since that time I also
believe, except when driven to do so by the same motive. Dorothy was not a
thief, but I am sure she would have stolen for the sake of her lover. She
was gentle and tender to a degree that only a woman can attain; but I
believe she would have done murder in cold blood for the sake of her love.
Some few women there are in whose hearts God has placed so great an ocean
of love that when it reaches its flood all other attributes of heart and
soul and mind are ingulfed in its mighty flow. Of this rare class was
Dorothy.

"God is love," says the Book.

"The universe is God," says the philosopher. "Therefore," as the
mathematician would say, "love is the universe." To that proposition
Dorothy was a corollary.

The servants were standing open-eyed about us in the kitchen.

"Let us go to the dining hall," I suggested. Sir George led the way by the
stone steps to the screens, and from the screens to the small banquet
hail, and I followed, leading Dorothy by the hand.

The moment of respite from her father's furious attack gave her time in
which to collect her scattered senses.

When we reached the banquet hall, and after I had closed the door, Sir
George turned upon his daughter, and with oath upon oath demanded to know
the name of her lover. Dorothy stood looking to the floor and said
nothing. Sir George strode furiously to and fro across the room.

"Curse the day you were born, you wanton huzzy. Curse you! curse you! Tell
me the name of the man who wrote this letter," he cried, holding toward
her the fragment of paper. "Tell me his name or, I swear it before God, I
swear it upon my knighthood, I will have you flogged in the upper court
till you bleed. I would do it if you