or his chivalric help to Mary.

Elizabeth was loath to act on this advice, but Cecil worked upon her fears
and jealousies until her mind and her heart were in accord, and she gave
secret orders that his advice should be carried out. Troops were sent to
the Scottish border to watch for the coming of the fugitive queen. But
Mary was already ensconced, safely, as she thought, in Rutland Castle
under the assumed name of Lady Blanche. Her presence at Rutland was, of
course, guarded as a great secret.

Dorothy's mind dwelt frequently upon the fact that John and the beautiful
young Scottish queen lived under the same roof, for John had written to
Dorothy immediately after his return. Nothing so propagates itself as
jealousy. There were in Haddon Hall two hearts in which this
self-propagating process was rapidly progressing--Elizabeth's and
Dorothy's. Each had for the cause of her jealousy the same woman.

One night, soon after Cecil had obtained from Elizabeth the order for
Mary's arrest, Dorothy, on retiring to her room at a late hour found
Jennie Faxton waiting for her with a precious letter from John. Dorothy
drank in the tenderness of John's letter as the thirsty earth absorbs the
rain; but her joy was neutralized by frequent references to the woman who
she feared might become her rival. One-half of what she feared, she was
sure had been accomplished: that is, Mary's half. She knew in her heart
that the young queen would certainly grow fond of John. That was a
foregone conclusion. No woman could be with him and escape that fate,
thought Dorothy. Her hope as to the other half-John's part-rested solely
upon her faith in John, which was really great, and her confidence in her
own charms and in her own power to hold him, which in truth, and with good
reason, was not small, Dorothy went to bed, and Jennie, following her
usual custom, when at Haddon, lay upon the floor in the same room. John's
letter, with all its tenderness, had thrown Dorothy into an inquisitive
frame of mind. After an hour or two of restless tossing upon the bed she
fell asleep, but soon after midnight she awakened, and in her drowsy
condition the devil himself played upon the strings of her dream-charged
imagination. After a time she sprang from the bed, lighted a candle at the
rush light, and read John's letter in a tremor of dream-wrought fear. Then
she aroused Jennie Faxton and asked:--

"When were you at Rutland?"

"I spent yesterday and to-day there