ere to
meet you, or surely I would do so now. But be there I will. Let no doubt
of that disturb your mind. It does not lie in the power of man to keep me
from you. That is, it lies in the power of but one man, you, my love and
my lord, and I fear not that you will use your power to that end. So it is
that I beg you to wait for me at sunset hour each day near by Bowling
Green Gate. You may be caused to wait for me a long weary time; but one
day, sooner or later, I shall go to you, and then--ah, then, if it be in
my power to reward your patience, you shall have no cause for complaint."

When Dorothy reached the gate she found it securely locked. She peered
eagerly through the bars, hoping to see John. She tried to shake the
heavy iron structure to assure herself that it could not be opened.

"Ah, well," she sighed, "I suppose the reason love laughs at locksmiths is
because he--or she--can climb."

Then she climbed the gate and sprang to the ground on the Devonshire side
of the wall.

"What will John think when he sees me in this attire?" she said half
aloud. "Malcolm's cloak serves but poorly to cover me, and I shall instead
be covered with shame and confusion when John comes. I fear he will think
I have disgraced myself." Then, with a sigh, "But necessity knows no
raiment."

She strode about near the gate for a few minutes, wishing that she were
indeed a man, save for one fact: if she were not a woman, John would not
love her, and, above all, she could not love John. The fact that she could
and did love John appealed to Dorothy as the highest, sweetest privilege
that Heaven or earth could offer to a human being.

The sun had sunk in the west, and his faint parting glory was but dimly to
be seen upon a few small clouds that floated above Overhaddon Hill. The
moon was past its half; and the stars, still yellow and pale from the
lingering glare of day, waited eagerly to give their twinkling help in
lighting the night. The forest near the gate was dense, and withal the
fading light of the sun and the dawning beams of the moon and stars, deep
shadow enveloped Dorothy and all the scene about her. The girl was
disappointed when she did not see Manners, but she was not vexed. There
was but one person in all the world toward whom she held a patient, humble
attitude--John. If he, in his greatness, goodness, and condescension,
deigned to come and meet so poor a person as Dorothy Vernon, she would be
thankful and happy; if he