The girl's only assent was silence, but that was sufficient for so enterprising a gallant as the noble Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. So he at once went to seek Sir George. The old gentleman, although anxious to give Leicester a chance to press his suit with Dorothy, at first refused, but Leicester said:-- "My intentions are honorable, Sir George. If I can win your daughter's heart, it is my wish, if the queen's consent can be obtained, to ask Mistress Vernon's hand in marriage." Sir George's breast swelled with pride and satisfaction, for Leicester's words were as near an offer of marriage as it was in his power to make. So the earl received, for Dorothy, permission to leave the Hall, and eagerly carried it to her. "Your father consents gladly," said the earl. "Will you meet me half an hour hence at the stile?" "Yes," murmured the girl, with shamelessly cast down eyes and drooping head. Leicester bowed himself away, and fully fifteen minutes before the appointed time left the Hall to wait in the cold at the stile for Dorothy. Before the expiration of the tedious half hour our meek maiden went to her father and with deep modesty and affected shame said:-- "Father, is it your wish that I go out of the Hall for a few minutes to meet--to meet--" She apparently could not finish the sentence, so modest and shame-faced was she. "Yes, Doll, I wish you to go on this condition: if Leicester asks you to marry him, you shall consent to be his wife." "I promise, father," replied the dutiful girl, "if Lord Leicester asks me this night, I will be his wife." "That is well, child, that is well. Once more you are my good, obedient daughter, and I love you. Wear your sable cloak, Doll; the weather is very cold out of doors." Her father's solicitude touched her nearly, and she gently led him to a secluded alcove near by, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him passionately. The girl's affection was sweet to the old man who had been without it so long, and his eyes grew moist as he returned her caresses. Dorothy's eyes also were filled with tears. Her throat was choked with sobs, and her heart was sore with pain. Poor young heart! Poor old man! Soon after Dorothy had spoken with her father she left the Hall by Dorothy's Postern. She was wrapped in her sable cloak--the one that had saved John's life in Aunt Dorothy's room; but instead of going across the garden to the stile where Lord Leicester was waiting, which was north and east of the terrace, she sped southward down the terrace and did not stop till she reached the steps which led westward to the lower garden. She stood on the terrace till she saw a man running toward her from the postern in the southwest corner of the lower garden. Then down the steps she sped with winged feet, and outstretching her arms, fell upon the man's breast, whispering: "John, my love! John, my love!" As for the man--well, during the first minute or two he wasted no time in speech. When he spoke he said:--