"Why not let Dorothy be the one to give the signal?" asked Hugh Knollys, as from a sudden inspiration. "Just the one," said John Devereux, looking over at his father. "She fears nothing, and can be relied upon in such a matter." The old gentleman seemed a bit reluctant, and sat silent for a few moments. Then speaking to his son, he said: "Call the child in. This is no time to hold back one's hand from the doing of aught that be needful to help the cause of our land." It was not many minutes before Dorothy came into the room behind her brother; and her eyes opened wider than ever as their quick glance took in the solemn conclave about the table. Her father stretched out an inviting hand. "Come here, Dot," he said smilingly. "Do not look so frightened, my baby." And he patted her small hand in a loving way as he drew her close beside him. "No," added Hugh mischievously, his face having now regained its usual jollity, "we are not going to eat you, Dorothy." She deigned him no reply, not even a glance, but stood silently beside her father, while she looked questioningly into her brother's face. He explained in a few words the matter in hand; and the flash of her eyes, together with the smile that touched the upturned corners of her mouth, told how greatly to her liking was the duty to which she had been assigned. Jack had scarce finished speaking, when there was an interruption, in the person of Aunt Penine, who entered bearing a tray, upon which were tumblers and a bowl of steaming punch. She shot a glance of marked disapproval at Dorothy; then, as she placed the tray upon the table in front of her brother-in-law, she said in a tone of acidity, "Were it not better, think you, Joseph, that the girl went into the other room and stopped with Lettice and Mary Broughton?" Dorothy turned her eyes defiantly upon the elder woman, her soft brows suggesting the frown that came to her father's face as he said with grave severity: "The child is here, Penine, because I sent for her. Let the punch be as it is--and leave us, please." She tossed her head belligerently, and without speaking took her departure, casting a far from friendly look at the others. "I strongly suspect, father," said John, as he rose and crossed the room to close the door his aunt, either by accident or intent, had left ajar, "that we'd best have a care how we let Aunt Penine hear aught of our affairs. Her sympathies are very sure to be with the other side, if the struggle comes to blows." "I will see to Penine," his father answered quietly. "Do you go on instructing Dot as to what she is to do." His son bowed, and turned once more to the girl.