he
night, and the clouds had banked up without a rift against the hidden
stars; but I could give her no further help, and my life would pay the
forfeit should I accompany her. She had brought the evil upon herself. She
was the iron, the seed, the cloud, and the rain. She was fulfilling her
destiny. She was doing that which she must do: nothing more, nothing less.
She was filling her little niche in the universal moment. She was a part
of the infinite kaleidoscope--a fate-charged, fate-moved, fragile piece of
glass which might be crushed to atoms in the twinkling of an eye, in the
sounding of a trump.

After leaving Dorothy I rode across the country and soon overtook the
yeoman guard whom I joined unobserved. Then I marched with them, all too
rapidly to suit me, to Rutland. The little army had travelled with greater
speed than I had expected, and I soon began to fear that Dorothy would not
reach Rutland Castle in time to enable its inmates to escape.

Within half an hour from the time I joined the yeomen we saw the dim
outlines of the castle, and Sir William St. Loe gave the command to hurry
forward. Cecil, Sir William, Sir George, and myself rode in advance of the
column. As we approached the castle by the road leading directly to the
gate from the north, I saw for a moment upon the top of the hill west of
the castle gate the forms of Dorothy and Dolcy in dim silhouette against
the sky. Then I saw them plunge madly down the hill toward the gate. I
fancied I could hear the girl whispering in frenzied hoarseness,--"On,
Dolcy, on," and I thought I could catch the panting of the mare. At the
foot of the hill, less than one hundred yards from the gate, poor Dolcy,
unable to take another step, dropped to the ground. Dolcy had gone on to
her death. She had filled her little niche in the universe and had died at
her post Dorothy plunged forward over the mare's head, and a cry of alarm
came from my lips despite me. I was sure the girl had been killed. She,
however, instantly sprang to her feet. Her hair was flying behind her and
she ran toward the gate crying: "John, John, fly for your life!" And then
she fell prone upon the ground and did not rise.

We had all seen the mare fall, and had seen the girl run forward toward
the gates and fall before reaching them. Cecil and Sir William rode to the
spot where Dorothy lay, and dismounted.

In a moment Sir William called to Sir George:--

"The lady is your daughter, Mistress Dorot