lips, the old, honest,
innocent, faithful heart! There was a Dorothy once who was not unfit to
ride with him, her heart as light as his, her life as clear as the
bright rivers we forded; he called her his Diana, he crowned her so with
rowan. Where is that Dorothy now? that Diana? she that was everything to
John? For O, I did him good; I know I did him good; I will still believe
I did him good: I made him honest and kind and a true man; alas, and
could not guide myself! And now, how will he despise me! For he shall
know; if I die, he shall know all; I could not live, and not be true
with him. (_She takes out the necklace and looks at it._) That he should
have bought me from my maid! George, George, that you should have
stooped to this! Basely as you have used me, this is the basest. Perish
the witness. (_She treads the trinket under foot._) Break, break like my
heart, break like my hopes, perish like my good name!

SCENE IV

_To her, FENWICK, C._

FENWICK (_after a pause_). Is this how you receive me, Dorothy? Am I not
welcome?--Shall I go then?

DOROTHY (_running to him, with hands outstretched_). O no, John, not
for me. (_Turning and pointing to the necklace._) But you find me
changed.

FENWICK (_with a movement towards the necklace_). This?

DOROTHY. No, no, let it lie. That is a trinket--broken. But the old
Dorothy is dead.

FENWICK. Dead, dear? Not to me.

DOROTHY. Dead to you--dead to all men.

FENWICK. Dorothy, I loved you as a boy. There is not a meadow on
Edenside but is dear to me for your sake, not a cottage but recalls your
goodness, not a rock nor a tree but brings back something of the best
and brightest youth man ever had. You were my teacher and my queen; I
walked with you, I talked with you, I rode with you; I lived in your
shadow; I saw with your eyes. You will never know, dear Dorothy, what
you were to the dull boy you bore with; you will never know with what
romance you filled my life, with what devotion, with what tenderness and
honour. At night I lay awake and worshipped you; in my dreams I saw you,
and you loved me; and you remember, when we told each other stories--you
have not forgotten, dearest--that Princess Hawthorn that was still the
heroine of mine: who was she? I was not bold enough to tell, but she was
you! You, my virgin huntress, my Diana, my queen.

DOROTHY. O silence, silence--pity!

FENWICK. No, dear; neither for your sake nor mine will I be silenced. I
have begu