Through the influence of Dorothy and Madge, as I afterward learned, and by the help of a good word from Cecil, the queen was induced to order my liberation on condition that I should thenceforth reside in France. So one morning, three days after John's departure from Haddon, I was overjoyed to hear the words, "You are free." I did not know that Jennie Faxton had given Sir George her large stock of disturbing information concerning my connection with the affairs of Dorothy and John. So when I left the dungeon, I, supposing that my stormy cousin would be glad to forgive me if Queen Elizabeth would, sought and found him in Aunt Dorothy's room. Lady Crawford and Sir George were sitting near the fire and Madge was standing near the door in the next room beyond. When I entered, Sir George sprang to his feet and cried out angrily:-- "You traitorous dog, the queen has seen fit to liberate you, and I cannot interfere with her orders; but if you do not leave my Hall at once I shall set the hounds on you. Your effects will be sent to The Peacock, and the sooner you quit England the safer you will be." There was of course nothing for me to do but to go. "You once told me, Sir George--you remember our interview at The Peacock--that if you should ever again order me to leave Haddon, I should tell you to go to the devil. I now take advantage of your kind permission, and will also say farewell." I kissed Aunt Dorothy's cheek, took my leave, and sought Cecil, from whom I obtained a passport to France. Then I asked Dawson to fetch my horse. I longed to see Madge before I left Haddon, but I knew that my desire could not be gratified; so I determined to stop at Rowsley and send back a letter to her which Dawson undertook to deliver. In my letter I would ask Madge's permission to return for her from France and to take her home with me as my wife. After I had despatched my letter I would wait at The Peacock for an answer. Sore at heart, I bade good-by to Dawson, mounted my horse, and turned his head toward the Dove-cote Gate. As I rode under Dorothy's window she was sitting there. The casement was open, for the day was mild, although the season was little past midwinter. I heard her call to Madge, and then she called to me:-- "Farewell, Malcolm! Forgive me for what I said to you in the dungeon. I was wrong, as usual. Forgive me, and God bless you. Farewell!" While Dorothy was speaking, and before I replied, Madge came to the open casement and called:-- "Wait for me, Malcolm, I am going down to you." Great joy is a wonderful purifier, and Madge's cry finished the work of the past few months and made a good man of me, who all my life before had known little else than evil.