figure. At first, the feeling of
recognition was indistinct, but when the riders drew near, something about
the man--his poise on the horse, a trick with the rein or a turn with his
stirrup, I could not tell what it was--startled me like a flash in the
dark, and the word "John!" sprang to my lips. The wonder of the thing
drove out of my mind all power to think. I could only feel happy, so I lay
down upon my bed and soon dropped off to sleep.

When I awakened I was rapt in peace, for I had again found my treasured
faith in womankind. I had hardly dared include Madge in my backsliding,
but I had come perilously near doing it, and the thought of my narrow
escape from such perfidy frightened me. I have never taken the risk since
that day. I would not believe the testimony of my own eyes against the
evidence of my faith in Madge.

I knew that Thomas was Sir John Manners, and yet I did not know it
certainly. I determined, if possible, to remain in partial ignorance,
hoping that I might with some small show of truth be able to plead
ignorance should Sir George accuse me of bad faith in having failed to
tell him of John's presence in Haddon Hall. That Sir George would sooner
or later discover Thomas's identity I had little doubt. That he would kill
him should he once have him in his power, I had no doubt at all. Hence,
although I had awakened in peace concerning Dorothy, you may understand
that I awakened to trouble concerning John.

CHAPTER XI

THE COST MARK OF JOY

Peace had been restored between Dorothy and her father. At least an
armistice had been tacitly declared. But, owing to Dorothy's knowledge of
her father's intention that she should marry Lord Stanley, and because of
Sir George's feeling that Dorothy had determined to do nothing of the
sort, the belligerent powers maintained a defensive attitude which
rendered an absolute reconciliation impossible. They were ready for war at
a moment's notice.

The strangest part of their relation was the failure of each to comprehend
and fully to realize the full strength of the other's purpose. Dorothy
could not bring herself to believe that her father, who had until within
the last few weeks, been kind and indulgent to her, seriously intended to
force her into marriage with a creature so despicable as Stanley. In fact,
she did not believe that her father could offer lasting resistance to her
ardent desire in any matter. Such an untoward happening had never befallen