"I won't go--I'll never go!" Dorothy exclaimed passionately. "But--" Her voice took a different note, and she stopped. "But--what?" asked Mary instantly, for she heard her husband's footsteps on the uncarpeted staircase. "I don't want any harm to befall him," was the tremulous answer. "Oh, Dot," Mary began in dismay, "can it be possible that, after all, you--" But Dorothy interrupted her. "Hush!" she whispered, "here comes Jack." Then beseechingly, "Oh, Mary, say once more that you'll not tell him yet." But her husband was already in the room, and all Mary could do was to press Dorothy's hand. A little later in the evening all the members of the family were again in the drawing-room. Dorothy, in order to relieve their anxiety, and especially on her father's account, had joined them; and the girl now made greater efforts than ever before to appear like herself. This was now easier for her, from having shared her burdensome secret with Mary, who seemed to have taken upon her shoulders a good part of the troublesome load. She carried herself with a much quieter mien than usual, but in a way not to excite comment, save when her husband said to her as they were closing the shutters to keep out the night and make the room still more cosey, "What is it, sweetheart,--are you troubled over Dot?" "Yes," she replied, thankful that she could answer so truthfully. "The child is going to be as she should, I am sure," he said, glancing over his shoulder to where his sister was sitting, close beside her father, her head resting against his shoulder. She was smiling at something Aunt Lettice had been telling of 'Bitha, whom she had just been putting to bed. Before Mary could say anything more, a sudden clatter of hoofs outside announced the arrival of horsemen, and a minute later the sounding of the heavy brass knocker echoed through the hall. Dorothy and Mary looked at each other in alarm, the same intuition making them fear what this might portend. "Whatever can it be at this hour!" exclaimed Joseph Devereux, as his son went to answer the noisy summons. "I hope nothing is wrong in the town." There came the sound of men's voices, low at first, but soon growing louder, and then almost menacing, as the outer door was sharply closed. "And I say, sirrah,"--it was the voice of John Devereux--"that you cannot see her." Dorothy sprang from her father's side and sped to the door, which she flung wide open, and stood, with widening eyes and pale cheeks, upon the threshold. A moment more, and Mary was alongside her; and then, his face filled with amazement and anger, Joseph Devereux followed them. Standing with his back against the closed door, was a stalwart young dragoon, his red uniform making a ruddy gleam in the dimly lit hall as he angrily confronted the son of the house.