Presently he said: "It is truly a sad tangle, my child,--one scarce proper to think any gentleman would seek to bring into your young life. But I am not yet old enough to hold that we should judge hot-headed youth with too great severity. Indeed," the grave lines of his face relaxing a little, "in this case I can see that the young man had strong temptation to forget himself, and to do as he did." He paused and looked at her keenly, as if searching for the answer to a question seeking solution in his own mind. She stood silently waiting, and he continued: "First of all, I must know of a certainty as to one matter, in order that I may act with discretion. My child," and he took one of her hands in his own, "do not fear to show me your heart. Show it to me as you would to your own dear father, were he, rather than I, asking you. Tell me--do you love this man who is really your husband?" "Yes, sir," she answered, with no sign of hesitancy, as she lifted her head and looked at him through the tears his words had brought to her eyes, "I do love him." Washington smiled, as if relieved of a perplexing problem. "This brings about a very different order of affairs," he said in a way that made her heart bound with hope. "Now it may be possible that this captain is not your Cornet Southorn, although I think there is small room for doubt in the matter. But, in order to solve the question, I will have him brought here. Do you, my child, conceal yourself behind the curtains of that window; and if he proves to be the officer of whom we have been speaking, you have but to show yourself to assure me of the fact. If not, then remain in hiding; and after putting a few questions to him, I will have him taken back to his room." Doak was despatched to carry out the order, while Dorothy hid herself in the curtains,--trembling with agitation when the sound of footsteps was heard again outside the door. The fisherman entered with the prisoner, and Dorothy, looking through the slightly parted drapery, saw the olive face and purple-blue eyes of the man she loved. His long boots were splashed with the mire of the highway, his uniform showed traces of the struggle of the night before, and his curly hair was dishevelled. More than this, his haggard face and dark-circled eyes gave proof of a sleepless and anxious night. But as he came into the room he drew himself erect, and met unflinchingly the stern eyes of the man in whose hands lay his fate. The door had no sooner closed upon Doak's retreating figure than Dorothy stepped from behind the curtains. The young man gave a violent start, and the arms that had been folded across his chest fell to his sides, as he uttered her name,--at the same time taking a step toward her. Then he came to a standstill, and passed his hand over his eyes, as if to clear them of something that impeded his vision.