"To the stable, Mistress," answered the servant. "Sir Malcolm says he will go with you." Dorothy's joyousness vanished. From radiant brightness her expression changed in the twinkling of an eye to a look of disappointment so sorrowful that I at once knew there was some great reason why she did not wish me to ride with her. I could not divine the reason, neither did I try. I quickly said to Thomas:-- "Do not bring my horse. If Mistress Vernon will excuse me, I shall not ride with her this morning. I forgot for the moment that I had not breakfasted." Again came to Dorothy's face the radiant look of joy as if to affirm what it had already told me. I looked toward Thomas, and his eyes, too, were alight. I could make nothing of it. Thomas was a fine-looking fellow, notwithstanding his preposterous hair and beard; but I felt sure there could be no understanding between the man and his mistress. When Thomas and Dorothy had mounted, she timidly ventured to say:-- "We are sorry, Cousin Malcolm, that you cannot ride with us." She did not give me an opportunity to change my mind, but struck Dolcy a sharp blow with her whip that sent the spirited mare galloping toward the dove-cote, and Thomas quickly followed at a respectful distance. From the dove-cote Dorothy took the path down the Wye toward Rowsley. I, of course, connected her strange conduct with John. When a young woman who is well balanced physically, mentally, and morally acts in a strange, unusual manner, you may depend on it there is a man somewhere behind her motive. I knew that John was in London. Only the night before I had received word from Rutland Castle that he had not returned, and that he was not expected home for many days. So I concluded that John could not be behind my fair cousin's motive. I tried to stop guessing at the riddle Dorothy had set me, but my effort was useless. I wondered and thought and guessed, but I brought to myself only the answer, "Great is the mystery of womanhood."