ung knight, as
he approached her, longing for her company in another dance.

"Aye," she answered. "I have danced too much, sir knight, and my shoe
pinches too," she added, with perfect truth.

"Then by my troth," responded the gallant youth, "I swear you have a
full small shoe."

"Come, Dorothy," said Margaret as she came up to her sister's side,
"here is a gentle knight who would dance with thee," and she gravely
introduced the veteran cavalier De Lacey.

"You will forgive me awhile, will you not, Sir John?" said Dorothy,
"for I am wearied and the room is over hot," and smiling back at the
gracious reply of the old knight, who accepted her excuse, she retired
to the corner of the room, while the disappointed De Lacey proceeded
to join company with Sir Benedict a Woode, and found solace in
quaffing the baron's wine.

Dorothy's heart was beating fast; the critical moment had come. She
was close beside the door which led into the ante-chamber, and a
slight noise in that apartment recalled to her memory the fact that
her faithful maid Lettice was waiting for her there.

She lingered, and her resolution wavered. It was hard to go and
leave behind the scenes of merry childhood and all the pleasant
recollections connected with the home; and as she sat there undecided,
many pleasant recollections rushed back into her memory and pleaded
powerfully with her tender heart. But the greatest pang of all was the
parting from the baron. She loved him sincerely, and she knew that he
loved her dearly in return. This it was which now held her back, but
the movements of her maid in the adjoining room continually reminded
her that her lover would be waiting for her with an anxious heart.

The struggle which raged in her breast was bitter, but short
and decisive. The love she bore to Manners outweighed all other
considerations, and casting a last fond look at the scene from which
she was about to tear herself, she chose a moment when a peal of
laughter at the further end of the room attracted the attention of the
company, and slipping behind the tapestry curtain, she pushed the door
gently open and stole quietly through.

It was a desperate thing to do, and required all the nerve that
Dorothy had at her command. How the door creaked as she closed it
after her. It must, surely, call attention to the fact that she had
passed through. But no one came, and she flung herself into the arms
of her maid, trembling like an aspen leaf with