"'Tis only what her Ladyship hath told us that I know, sir," said Philip. "That you were her cousin; that you had fallen amongst folks that ill-treated you; and that you had found her out and come hither. That is all, sir. But I thought that you might have other friends, and you were sure to wish to serve her." Dick said nothing. He was still thinking of life with John Dent. Would he let Dick stay with them? After the wedding, even if he had made her any promise about it, would he not try to get rid of Dick? Think of being always in the power of John Dent! In trying to avoid it he would run risk of danger, of failure, of disgrace, and also the loss of her faith in him. Philip took up his candle and left the room with a husky "Good-night, master", which Dick did not heed. He buried his face in the pillows. Stay with her as he had promised, and see her daily sacrificed to the selfishness and cruelty of John Dent? John Dent had caused the death of young Lord Byng, and he had caused her to quarrel with Dick's brother, who had left her, and gone away to die. And should she be married to this man, and must Dick stay with her always, bound by his promise, unable to help, but seeing her misery? Would that be keeping his faith with her? Would that be a return for her love? It was her Ladyship's custom to drink chocolate at eight every morning, and Dick always came to her room to have some with her. The morning after her birthday she waited a few minutes, and then told Bridget she might take away the tray. "Shall I send Philip to look for Master Richard?" the woman asked. "No," answered Lady Dorothy. "He hath gone away." "Gone away, my Lady?" cried Bridget. "Yes; he rode out at sunrise on the pony. I saw him. I was up." "But he should be back by now, my lady." "He is not coming back, Bridget. He stopped where the lane turns and looked back at the house. He was crying, I think. Poor Dickie! I didn't wave to him. He would have come back if I had. I--I--expected it. He fears his cousin, John Dent." Lorry had pushed his way into the room. He came up and laid his black head on his mistress's knee. With eyes and tail he told her what faithless beings boys were, and the creatures to be trusted were dogs, and dogs alone, his kind especially, and of his kind himself. "You may go, Bridget," said her Ladyship. Bridget flew downstairs, and flung herself, the tray, and her story into her husband's pantry. "But I'll never believe it of him--never! Him as we've nursed and cockered! Oh, no, man, no! Master Richard's too much of a gentleman born, I say. His pony's mayhap fallen with him, he's that venturesome with it. You mark my words, unless he's killed with his tricks and his jumpings, he'll be back at dinner-time." But at dinner-time there was no Richard. "He's dead, then, poor lamb!" cried Bridget.