"The universe is God," says the philosopher. "Therefore," as the mathematician would say, "love is the universe." To that proposition Dorothy was a corollary. The servants were standing open-eyed about us in the kitchen. "Let us go to the dining hall," I suggested. Sir George led the way by the stone steps to the screens, and from the screens to the small banquet hail, and I followed, leading Dorothy by the hand. The moment of respite from her father's furious attack gave her time in which to collect her scattered senses. When we reached the banquet hall, and after I had closed the door, Sir George turned upon his daughter, and with oath upon oath demanded to know the name of her lover. Dorothy stood looking to the floor and said nothing. Sir George strode furiously to and fro across the room. "Curse the day you were born, you wanton huzzy. Curse you! curse you! Tell me the name of the man who wrote this letter," he cried, holding toward her the fragment of paper. "Tell me his name or, I swear it before God, I swear it upon my knighthood, I will have you flogged in the upper court till you bleed. I would do it if you were fifty times my child." Then Dorothy awakened. The girl was herself again. Now it was only for herself she had to fear. Her heart kept saying, "This for his sake, this for his sake." Out of her love came fortitude, and out of her fortitude came action. Her father's oath had hardly been spoken till the girl tore her bodice from her shoulders. She threw the garment to the floor and said:-- "I am ready for the whip, I am ready. Who is to do the deed, father, you or the butcher? It must be done. You have sworn it, and I swear before God and by my maidenhood that I will not tell you the name of the man who wrote the letter. I love him, and before I will tell you his name or forego his love for me, or before I will abate one jot or tittle of my love for him, I will gladly die by the whip in your hand. I am ready for the whip, father. I am ready. Let us have it over quickly." The girl, whose shoulders were bare, took a few steps toward the door leading to the upper court, but Sir George did not move. I was deeply affected by the terrible scene, and I determined to prevent the flogging if to do so should cost Sir George's life at my hands. I would have killed him ere he should have laid a single lash of the whip upon Dorothy's back. "Father," continued the terrible girl, "are you not going to flog me? Remember your oaths. Surely you would not be forsworn before God and upon your knighthood. A forsworn Christian? A forsworn knight? A forsworn Vernon? The lash, father, the lash--I am eager for it." Sir George stood in silence, and Dorothy continued to move toward the door. Her face was turned backward over her shoulder to her father, and she whispered the words, "Forsworn, forsworn, forsworn!"