n me while you love me."

"Ah, that I do, John; only God knows how deeply, how desperately. My love
was the cause--my love was my curse--it was your curse."

"Do not weep, Dorothy," said John, interrupting her. "I would that I could
take all your suffering upon myself. Do not weep."

Dorothy buried her face upon his breast and tears came to her relief. She
was not alone in her weeping, for there stood I like a very woman, and by
my side stood rough old Sir William. Tears were coursing down the bronzed
cheek of the grand old warrior like drops of glistening dew upon the
harrowed face of a mountain rock. When I saw Sir William's tears, I could
no longer restrain my emotions, and I frankly tell you that I made a
spectacle of myself in full view of the queen's yeoman guard.

Sir George approached our little group, and when he saw Dorothy in John's
arms, he broke forth into oaths and stepped toward her intending to force
her away. But John held up the palm of his free hand warningly toward Sir
George, and drawing the girl's drooping form close to his breast he spoke
calmly:--

"Old man, if you but lay a finger on this girl, I will kill you where you
stand. No power on earth can save you."

There was a tone in John's voice that forced even Sir George to pause.
Then Sir George turned to me.

"This is the man who was in my house. He is the man who called himself
Thomas. Do you know him?"

Dorothy saved me from the humiliation of an answer.

She took one step from John's side and held him by the hand while she
spoke.

"Father," she said, "this man is Sir John Manners. Now you may understand
why he could not seek my hand openly, and you also know why I could not
tell you his name." She again turned to John, and he put his arm about
her. You can imagine much better that I can describe Sir George's fury. He
snatched a halberd from the hands of a yeoman who was standing near by and
started toward John and Dorothy. Thereupon the hard old warrior, Sir
William St. Loe, whose heart one would surely say was the last place where
sentiment could dwell, performed a little act of virtue which will balance
many a page on the debtor side of his ledger of life, he lifted his sword
and scabbard and struck Sir George's outstretched hand, causing the
halberd to fall to the ground.

"Don't touch the girl," cried Sir William, hoarsely.

"She is my daughter," retorted Sir George, who was stunned mentally as
well as physically by Sir Wil