Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall. Charles Major
visit them. If we wandered from the banks for but a moment, the waters seemed to struggle and turn in their course until they were again by her side, and then would they gently flow and murmur their contentment as they travelled forward to the sea, full of the memory of her sweet presence. And during all that time I led her by the hand. I tell you, friends, 'tis sweet to write of it.
When we returned we crossed the Wye by the stone footbridge and entered the garden below the terrace at the corner postern. We remained for an hour resting upon the terrace balustrade, and before we went indoors Madge again spoke of Dorothy.
"I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed this walk, nor how thankful I am to you for taking me," she said.
I did not interrupt her by replying, for I loved to hear her talk.
"Dorothy sometimes takes me with her for a short walk, but I seldom have that pleasure. Walking is too slow for Dorothy. She is so strong and full of life. She delights to ride her mare Dolcy. Have you seen Dolcy?"
"No," I responded.
"You must see her at once. She is the most beautiful animal in the world. Though small of limb, she is swift as the wind, and as easy as a cradle in her gaits. She is mettlesome and fiery, but full of affection. She often kisses Dorothy. Mare and rider are finely mated. Dorothy is the most perfect woman, and Dolcy is the most perfect mare. 'The two D's,' we call them. But Dorothy says we must be careful not to put a—a dash between them," she said with a laugh and a blush.
Then I led Madge into the hall, and she was blithe and happy as if the blessed light of day were in her eyes. It was in her soul, and that, after all, is where it brings the greatest good.
After that morning, Madge and I frequently walked out when the days were pleasant. The autumn was mild, well into winter time, and by the end of November the transparent cheeks of the blind girl held an exquisite tinge of color, and her form had a new grace from the strength she had acquired in exercise. We had grown to be dear friends, and the touch of her hand was a pleasure for which I waited eagerly from day to day. Again I say thoughts of love for her had never entered my mind. Perhaps their absence was because of my feeling that they could not possibly exist in her heart for me.
One evening in November, after the servants had all gone to bed, Sir George and I went to the kitchen to drink a hot punch before retiring for the night. I drank a moderate bowl and sat in a large chair before the fire, smoking a pipe of tobacco, while Sir George drank brandy toddy at the massive oak table in the middle of the room.
Sir George was rapidly growing drunk. He said: "Dawson tells me that the queen's officers arrested another of Mary Stuart's damned French friends at Derby-town yesterday—Count somebody; I can't pronounce their miserable names."
"Can you not remember his name?" I asked. "He may be a friend of mine." My remark was intended to remind Sir George that his language was offensive to me.
"That is true, Malcolm," responded Sir George. "I beg your pardon. I meant to speak ill only of Mary's meddlesome friends, who are doing more injury than good to their queen's cause by their plotting."
I replied: "No one can regret these plots more than I do. They certainly will work great injury to the cause they are intended to help. But I fear many innocent men are made to suffer for the few guilty ones. Without your protection, for which I cannot sufficiently thank you, my life here would probably be of short duration. After my misfortunes in Scotland, I know not what I should have done had it not been for your generous welcome. I lost all in Scotland, and it would now be impossible for me to go to France. An attempt on my part to escape would result in my arrest. Fortune certainly has turned her capricious back upon me, with the one exception that she has left me your friendship."
"Malcolm, my boy," said Sir George, drawing his chair toward me, "that which you consider your loss is my great gain. I am growing old, and if you, who have seen so much of the gay world, will be content to live with us and share our dulness and our cares, I shall be the happiest man in England."
"I thank you more than I can tell," I said, careful not to commit myself to any course.
"Barring my quarrel with the cursed race of Manners," continued Sir George, "I have little to trouble me; and if you will remain with us, I thank God I may leave the feud in good hands. Would that I were young again only for a day that I might call that scoundrel Rutland and his imp of a son to account in the only manner whereby an honest man may have justice of a thief. There are but two of them, Malcolm—father and son—and if they were dead, the damned race would be extinct."
I believe that Sir George Vernon when sober could not have spoken in that fashion even of his enemies.
I found difficulty in replying to my cousin's remarks, so I said evasively:—
"I certainly am the most fortunate of men to find so warm a welcome from you, and so good a home as that which I have at Haddon Hall. When I met Dorothy at the inn, I knew at once by her kindness that my friends of old were still true to me. I was almost stunned by Dorothy's beauty."
My mention of Dorothy was unintentional and unfortunate. I had shied from the subject upon several previous occasions, but Sir George was continually trying to lead up to it. This time my lack of forethought saved him the trouble.
"Do you really think that Doll is very beautiful—so very beautiful? Do you really think so, Malcolm?" said the old gentleman, rubbing his hands in pride and pleasure.
"Surprisingly beautiful," I answered, seeking hurriedly through my mind for an excuse to turn the conversation. I had within two months learned one vital fact: beautiful as Dorothy was, I did not want her for my wife, and I could not have had her even were I dying for love. The more I learned of Dorothy and myself during the autumn through which I had just passed—and I had learned more of myself than I had been able to discover in the thirty-five previous years of my life—the more clearly I saw the utter unfitness of marriage between us.
"In all your travels," asked Sir George, leaning his elbows upon his knees and looking at his feet between his hands, "in all your travels and court life have you ever seen a woman who was so beautiful as my girl Doll?"
His pride in Dorothy at times had a tinge of egotism and selfishness. It seemed to be almost the pride of possession and ownership. "My girl!" The expression and the tone in which the words were spoken sounded as if he had said: "My fine horse," "My beautiful Hall," or "My grand estates." Dorothy was his property. Still, he loved the girl passionately. She was dearer to him than all his horses, cattle, halls, and estates put together, and he loved even them to excess. He loved all that he possessed; whatever was his was the best of the sort. Such a love is apt to grow up in the breasts of men who have descended from a long line of proprietary ancestors, and with all its materialism it has in it possibilities of great good. The sturdy, unflinching patriotism of the English people springs from this source. The thought, "That which I possess is the best," has beauty and use in it, though it leads men to treat other men, and, alas! women, as mere chattels. All this was passing through my mind, and I forgot to answer Sir George's question.
"Have you ever seen a woman more beautiful than Doll?" he again asked.
"I certainly have never seen one whose beauty may even be compared with Dorothy's," I answered.
"And she is young, too," continued Sir George; "she is not yet nineteen."
"That is very young," I answered, not knowing what else to say.
"And she will be rich some day. Very rich. I am called 'King of the Peak,' you know, and there are not three estates in Derbyshire which, if combined, would equal mine."
"That is true, cousin," I answered, "and I rejoice in your good fortune."
"Dorothy will have it all one of these days—all, all," continued my cousin, still looking at his feet.
After a long pause, during which Sir George took several libations from his bowl of toddy, he cleared his throat and said, "So Dorothy is the most beautiful girl and the richest heiress you know?"
"Indeed she is," I responded, knowing