if only she
might have sought her mother with her sorrow! Dorothy shivered; her
mother was the ally of her enemy. How Dorothy hated and feared that
black and savage man! What fiend's power must he possess to thus gain a
fearful mastery over her father! What could be his secret tipped with
terror? Dorothy again buried her face as though she would hide herself
from any blasting chance of its discovery.

When Dorothy was with Mr. Harley she had been in a maze, a whirl.
Wrapped in a cloud of fear, she had reached out blindly through the
awful fog of it and seized upon the dear fact of Richard. By Richard she
held on; by Richard she sustained herself. She entertained no quaking
doubts as to his loyalty; loyal herself, as ever was flower to sun, to
distrust Richard was to doubt the ground beneath her little feet. In her
innocence, she felt that sublime confidence which is the fruit, the
sweet purpose, of a young girl's earliest love. Dorothy must write
Richard a letter; she must tell him of the sad gap in their happiness.
Yes; she would put him in possession of the entire story so far as it
was known to her. He owned a right to hear it. Must his heart be broken,
and he not learn the secret or know the author of the blow?

When Dorothy was again mistress of herself, between sobs and tender
showers she blotted down those words which were to warn Richard from her
side. His love, like her own, would go on; there was to be no final
breaking away. It was faith in a dear day that should find them reunited
which upheld Dorothy through the ordeal of her letter; her prayer was
that the day might be close at hand.

Her letter finished, Dorothy, late as was the hour, sent for Bess; she
must have someone's love, someone's sympathy to lean upon. Bess came;
and, saying no more than she was driven to reveal of her father's
helplessness and Storri's baleful strength, Dorothy told Bess what
dolorous fate had overtaken her.

"I've written Richard to go to you, Bess," whispered Dorothy at the
woeful close. "Have him write me a letter every day; I shall write one
to him. I didn't promise not to write, you know, only not to see him.
But you must not let Richard go to Storri, that above all. Poor Richard!
he is very fierce; and if he were to arouse Storri's anger it would
provoke him to some awful step."

There was a man of robust curiosity who once suggested that it would
prove entertaining if one were to lift the roofs off a city as one migh