ain event,--Dorothy's
escape,--was easily satisfied that I was not accessory before the fact.

"What shall I do, Malcolm? What shall I do? Help me, quickly. My brother
will return in the morning--perhaps he will return to-night--and he will
not believe that I have not intentionally permitted Dorothy to leave the
Hall. I have of late said so much to him on behalf of the girl that he
suspects me already of being in sympathy with her. He will not believe me
when I tell him that I have been duped. The ungrateful, selfish girl! How
could she so unkindly return my affection!"

The old lady began to weep.

I did not believe that Dorothy intended to leave Haddon Hall permanently.
I felt confident she had gone out only to meet John, and was sure she
would soon return. On the strength of that opinion I said: "If you fear
that Sir George will not believe you--he certainly will blame you--would
it not be better to admit Dorothy quietly when she returns and say nothing
to any one concerning the escapade? I will remain here in these rooms, and
when she returns I will depart, and the guards will never suspect that
Dorothy has left the Hall."

"If she will but return," wailed Aunt Dorothy, "I shall be only too glad
to admit her and to keep silent."

"I am sure she will," I answered. "Leave orders with the guard at Sir
George's door to admit me at any time during the night, and Dorothy will
come in without being recognized. Her disguise must be very complete if
she could deceive you."

"Indeed, her disguise is complete," replied the tearful old lady.

Dorothy's disguise was so complete and her resemblance to me had been so
well contrived that she met with no opposition from the guards in the
retainer's room nor from the porter. She walked out upon the terrace where
she strolled for a short time. Then she climbed over the wall at the stile
back of the terrace and took her way up Bowling Green Hill toward the
gate. She sauntered leisurely until she was out of sight of the Hall. Then
gathering up her cloak and sword she sped along the steep path to the hill
crest and thence to the gate.

Soon after the first day of her imprisonment she had sent a letter to John
by the hand of Jennie Faxton, acquainting him with the details of all that
had happened. In her letter, among much else, she said:--

"My true love, I beg you to haunt with your presence Bowling Green Gate
each day at the hour of sunset. I cannot tell you when I shall be th