hostilities should become actually
necessary.

Therefore, upon the second day after I had read the beribboned, besealed
contract to Sir George, he sent an advance guard toward the enemy's line.
He placed the ornamental piece of parchment in Lady Crawford's hands and
directed her to give it to Dorothy.

But before I tell you of the parchment I must relate a scene that occurred
in Aunt Dorothy's room a few hours after I recognized John as he rode up
the Wye with Dorothy. It was late in the afternoon of the day after I read
the contract to Sir George and saw the horrid vision on Bowling Green.

I was sitting with Madge at the west window of Dorothy's parlor. We were
watching the sun as it sank in splendor beneath Overhaddon Hill.

I should like first to tell you a few words--only a few, I pray
you--concerning Madge and myself. I will.

I have just said that Madge and I were watching the sun at the west
window, and I told you but the truth, for Madge had learned to see with my
eyes. Gladly would I have given them to her outright, and willingly would
I have lived in darkness could I have given light to her. She gave light
to me--the light of truth, of purity, and of exalted motive. There had
been no words spoken by Madge nor me to any one concerning the strange and
holy chain that was welding itself about us, save the partial confession
which she had whispered to Dorothy. But notwithstanding our silence, our
friends in the Hall understood that Madge and I were very dear to each
other. I, of course, saw a great deal of her; but it was the evening hour
at the west window to which I longingly looked forward all the day. I am
no poet, nor do my words and thoughts come with the rhythmic flow and
eloquent imagery of one to whom the talent of poesy is given. But during
those evening hours it seemed that with the soft touch of Madge's hand
there ran through me a current of infectious dreaming which kindled my
soul till thoughts of beauty came to my mind and words of music sprang to
my lips such as I had always considered not to be in me. It was not I who
spoke; it was Madge who saw with my eyes and spoke with my voice. To my
vision, swayed by Madge's subtle influence, the landscape became a thing
of moving beauty and of life, and the floating clouds became a panorama of
ever shifting pictures. I, inspired by her, described so eloquently the
wonders I saw that she, too, could see them. Now a flock of white-winged
angels rested on