"Thank you." Dorothy spoke very quietly; and before he could know of her intention she snatched his hand and kissed it. She did it so suddenly and quickly that he knew not what to say or do. He felt the hot blood rush to his face, and found himself trembling from the storm aroused within him by her caress. Before he could speak, she was on her feet alongside him, smiling up into his burning face, and saying, "You are a good friend to me, Hugh, and I'll not forget it." Then, as she laid her hand on his arm, "Come, I will play something for you; I feel just in the humor for it." He followed her into the drawing-room, where a huge wood-fire leaped and crackled on the hearth. She bade him be seated in a big chair in front of the dancing flames, and then went over and perched herself upon the bench--roomy enough to hold three Dorothys--before the spinet. A moment later and there stole from beneath the skilful touch of her fingers one of those quaint melodies of which we in this generation know nothing, save as they have come down to us through the ear alone, never having been put upon paper. Hugh Knollys sat and watched her, noting the pretty curves of her cheeks and throat,--the firm white neck, so small and round, with the wayward hair breaking into rebellious little curls at the nape,--the slender wrists, and small, snowy hands. None of these escaped him, as he sat a little back of her, his hungry eyes absorbing each charming detail. He thought what a blessed thing it would be, could she and he always be together, and alone, like this, with peace smiling once more over the land, and they happy in the society of each other. The music seemed to fit exactly into his present mood, and he sat motionless for a time, listening to it. Then, scarcely conscious of what he was doing, he arose to his feet; and as the final cadence died softly away, he was in a chair beside the bench, with his arm clasping Dorothy's waist. She turned a startled face, to find his own bending close to her, and with a look in it such as she had never before known it to hold. "Dorothy," and his voice was almost a whisper, "you care more for me than for the Britisher?" An alarmed suspicion of the truth came to her. She saw a new meaning in all he had said, in what she had beheld in his face and manner; and realizing this, she sat white and motionless, her fingers still resting upon the keys. He now bent his head, and she was frightened to feel tears dropping on her wrist. She was possessed by a wild desire to fly,--to get away from him. But she found herself unable to stir, and sat rigid, feeling as if turned to marble, while his arm was still lying loosely about her waist. Then his hand stole up, and his fingers clasped her hand. "Oh, my God,"--his voice was hoarse and choked--"I cannot endure it!"