After leaving Dorothy I rode across the country and soon overtook the yeoman guard whom I joined unobserved. Then I marched with them, all too rapidly to suit me, to Rutland. The little army had travelled with greater speed than I had expected, and I soon began to fear that Dorothy would not reach Rutland Castle in time to enable its inmates to escape. Within half an hour from the time I joined the yeomen we saw the dim outlines of the castle, and Sir William St. Loe gave the command to hurry forward. Cecil, Sir William, Sir George, and myself rode in advance of the column. As we approached the castle by the road leading directly to the gate from the north, I saw for a moment upon the top of the hill west of the castle gate the forms of Dorothy and Dolcy in dim silhouette against the sky. Then I saw them plunge madly down the hill toward the gate. I fancied I could hear the girl whispering in frenzied hoarseness,--"On, Dolcy, on," and I thought I could catch the panting of the mare. At the foot of the hill, less than one hundred yards from the gate, poor Dolcy, unable to take another step, dropped to the ground. Dolcy had gone on to her death. She had filled her little niche in the universe and had died at her post Dorothy plunged forward over the mare's head, and a cry of alarm came from my lips despite me. I was sure the girl had been killed. She, however, instantly sprang to her feet. Her hair was flying behind her and she ran toward the gate crying: "John, John, fly for your life!" And then she fell prone upon the ground and did not rise. We had all seen the mare fall, and had seen the girl run forward toward the gates and fall before reaching them. Cecil and Sir William rode to the spot where Dorothy lay, and dismounted. In a moment Sir William called to Sir George:-- "The lady is your daughter, Mistress Dorothy." "What in hell's name brings her here?" cried Sir George, hurriedly riding forward, "and how came she?" I followed speedily, and the piteous sight filled my eyes with tears. I cannot describe it adequately to you, though I shall see it vividly to the end of my days. Dorothy had received a slight wound upon the temple, and blood was trickling down her face upon her neck and ruff. Her hair had fallen from its fastenings. She had lost her hat, and her gown was torn in shreds and covered with mud. I lifted the half-conscious girl to her feet and supported her; then with my kerchief I bound up the wound upon her temple. "Poor Dolcy," she said, almost incoherently, "I have killed her and I have failed--I have failed. Now I am ready to die. Would that I had died with Dolcy. Let me lie down here, Malcolm,--let me lie down." I still held her in my arms and supported her half-fainting form. "Why are you here?" demanded Sir George. "To die," responded Dorothy. "To die? Damned nonsense!" returned her father. "How came you here, you fool?" "On Dolcy. She is dead," returned Dorothy.