Having awakened Tyntie by tossing some bits of ice against her window, she soon gained entrance, and quieted the wonder of the faithful servant by telling her that there had been a street fight, and a gentleman had brought her home on his horse. Despite the terrible struggle going on in her childish heart, Dorothy kept up bravely until alone in her own room, whose very familiarity seemed almost a shock to her, for all that had been crowded into these few hours made it as though weeks had passed since she arrayed herself for her brother's wedding,--little dreaming that it was for her own as well. And such a wedding! How was it that the young Britisher had dared to do such a thing? How was it that she had come to sign the register so meekly? How could she ever dare tell of it? And if she did so, might not her revelation bring harm to him? Such were the questions that chased one another through her mind, only to return again and again with renewed importunity. She had told him to go, and yet--she loved him truly. And could she be loyal to her father's cause with such a love battling in her heart? With thoughts like these the few remaining hours of the night wore away, bringing to her but snatches of fitful sleep. Johnnie Strings appeared at the Devereux farm early the following morning. The red of his face was almost pale, and he was haggard and wild-eyed, with one of his arms in a sling. He came to report to John Devereux the happenings of the night before, and to consult with him as to the best way of imparting to his father the news of Dorothy's disappearance. The newly wedded pair had already been told by Tyntie of the girl's presence in the house; and Jack now hastened to assure the almost distracted pedler of her safety, adding that they had thought it best to leave her sleeping undisturbed until she should be ready to come down and join them. When Johnnie Strings heard this, he collapsed into a chair. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, as soon as he could find his voice, "I never was so dead beat out! My broken arm is pretty bad, to be sure, but my feelin's was a danged sight worse when I come to my senses last night. There they had me in fisher Doak's, an' naught could they tell o' Mistress Dorothy, for none had seen her. I went down to Storms's at daybreak, and then over to Horton's, an' she'd been seen at neither place. Comin' by Master Lee's, I first thought to make inquiry there, thinkin', ye know, she might o' flewed to her father. Then, thinks I, 'Hold on, Strings. If she did, then she's safe as safe; an' if she did n't, why, ye may be the death o' the old gentleman.'