Heiress of Haddon Part 39

Manners was sternly forbidden her; the gates of Haddon were closed against him, and even an excuse was found to keep Crowleigh away as well. It was fondly hoped that these stringent measures would have the effect of bringing Dorothy to her senses, but their plans completely failed. The maiden began to sicken. The colour fled from her rosy cheeks, and she began to grow rapidly worse. Lady Vernon ascribed it to mere obstinacy, and grew impatient with her, and made her worse than she would otherwise have been by finding fault with everything she did; and by setting her long tasks of tenter-st.i.tching to perform, making her unhappy lot more miserable still. The only friend she had to whom she could unbosom her secrets was her maid Lettice, and during this time the hearts of the two girls were knitted closely together, the one by a craving for sympathy, and the other drawn to love by the dual bond of love and pity.

Many a night had these two wept together in the darkness and silence of an unlighted room, and many a time had Dorothy laid her head upon her tire-maid's knee and sobbed until with swollen eyes she had sobbed herself to sleep; and many a night had Dorothy sat alone, forbidden to leave the Hall, while her maid had gone out on a fruitless errand to discover if her lover had yet come.

"Not yet?" she would ask, as the maid returned, and Lettice had echoed "Not yet," in reply, until she hated the very sound of the words.

"O, Lettice, he has not forgotten me?" she would sob distractedly, as she saw the disappointed face return.

"No, never, my lady. Something has happened, surely."

"It must be so," her mistress would reply, and then she would relapse into silence.

To-night Dorothy sat alone. Her eyes were heavy, for she had been weeping long. Her sky seemed overcast; there was not a rift discoverable anywhere, and she was almost broken-hearted. Nearly two months had pa.s.sed, and no sign of her lover had she seen to brighten her. Edward had told her that her lover had renounced her, and in spite of herself she almost began to believe the story. Lettice had gone out on her mission once more, but she questioned whether she would ever go again, and she prepared herself, as the time for the maid's return drew nigh, to receive the usual answer, "No, my lady, not yet."

Later than usual Dorothy heard her well-known footstep lightly tripping along the pa.s.sage. The very lateness of her return inspired her with a ray of hope, and opening the door, she went out to meet her.

"Has he come, Lettice, has he come?" she eagerly exclaimed, varying for once her usual despondent query. And, as she asked, her heart fluttered wildly within her, and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks.

"I have news of him for thee," returned the maid, gaily.

Dorothy was too overcome to speak. The long-expected news had come at last; she fell upon the tire-maid's neck and wept tears of joy, while Lettice drew her unresistingly along, and led her to her little room again.

"There," she said, as she closed the doors so that none might hear.

"Master Manners sends his duty to thee, my lady."

"His _duty_, indeed," she exclaimed, with drooping eyes; "why not his love forsooth?"

"'Twas love he said," returned the maid. "He is a forester."

"A forester!" echoed Dorothy in amazement. "My John a forester! Not a common woodman, Lettice, surely?"

"Aye, but he is. He has done it for thy sake. It was the only way."

"And they told me he had forsaken me. Was ever man so n.o.ble as he?"

"He has sent thee this," said Lettice, as she handed a letter to her mistress. "'Tis but roughly done, but he said you would forgive it, and he sealed it with a score of kisses before he gave it me."

Dorothy hastily took up the note and read it. Evidently it pleased her well, for as she perused its contents her countenance flushed with pleasure.

"Lettice," she exclaimed, "only you and I, besides your father, know that Hubert is the same as Master Manners. We must keep it secret as the grave itself. Is he well disguised?"

"In truth, I knew him not until he called me by name."

"'Tis well. He runs a fearful risk. Edward or Thomas Stanley would as lief kill him as they would a dog did they but recognise him again."

"He has been ill, and he is deadly thin."

"Poor John. He tells me so. I understand all now."

"That will disguise him better than aught else, he said."

"Perhaps it is so, but 'tis a cruel disguise," said Dorothy sympathetically. "Did he give thee any word for me?"

"Naught, save that I was to tell thee he would write anon, as he could not see thee. He will hide the letters in the tree that Father Philip fell against; there is a hole in it, and he has shown it me. But you will see him soon; he wears a peac.o.c.k's feather in his cap."

"I should know him well enough without a sign," said Dorothy decisively, "and he were best without it, for it might lead him into peril."

"Father will send him with the logs," pursued Lettice. "He came but yesternight."

"Hush, Lettice, is not that Lady Maude coming?"

"Gramercy no, I hope not, or it might fare ill with us," said the maid, "but hide the letter, for the love of heaven do," she added quickly as the footsteps quickly approached.

Quick as thought Doll transferred the missive into her pocket, and, with a guilty look which she vainly strove to hide, she turned to brave Lady Vernon.

Lady Vernon it was, but she pa.s.sed hurriedly along the corridor, and having escaped thus luckily so far, they waited not to tempt fortune again, but bidding each other an affectionate "Good-night," Lettice withdrew, and left Dorothy alone with her newly-gotten joy.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

The moon in pearly light may steep The still blue air; The rose hath ceased to droop and weep, For lo! her joy is there.

He sings to her, and o'er the trees She hears his sweet notes swim, The world may weary--she but hears Her love, and hears but him.

P.J. BAILEY.

John Manners found life uncomfortable enough in the new condition of life in which he had placed himself. The work was hard, and the fare was rough. There was no difference between his lot and the lot of those around him, and yet, in spite of this, he was looked at askance by his new companions, while to crown all, he found very few opportunities of meeting or seeing his beloved Dorothy.

Often had he made arrangements to meet her at different trysting places, but, just as often had he waited patiently, only to be disappointed by the non-arrival of his lady-love. In this sorry plight he had been obliged to content himself with sending messages to her through Lettice, whom he constantly met at her father's hut; or, failing her, as a last resource he fell back upon communicating with his lover through the unsatisfactory medium of the tree, where, not unfrequently, as he placed a fresh note in he found the previous one untouched.

At last, however, after many fruitless attempts which would a.s.suredly have effectually daunted less ardent lovers, they found themselves once more together in the woods. What bliss, what rapture, what delight, filled the heart of each as they gazed fondly at the other!

Dorothy felt bright and lithesome as of yore, as she felt the touch of her lover's hands again. The weeks of misery through which she had just pa.s.sed seemed but as a dream to her as she once more heard his cheery voice, and the haggard, careworn look, which had settled upon her fair face of late, was instantly dispelled as her betrothed imprinted a warm kiss upon her blushing cheeks. As for Manners, he was completely transported with delight, and for some moments he bathed his hungry eyes in the sunshine of her beauty. To see her again had been his dearest wish, and now she stood before him, and he felt that all the sacrifices he had been called upon to make for the sake of his love were more than compensated for as he heard her gently call him by the old familiar name.

"John," she said.

"Well, dearest one; we are met once more."

"You can trust me now?"

"Aye, indeed, I can," he replied, with glistening eyes. "Forgive me, Doll, I know you will."

"I do; I did long ago. I knew you could not doubt me long. How good of you to come, and to risk so much--for my sake," she added, raising her l.u.s.trous eyes up to his.

"Nay, Doll, it were for my sake, too. I could not be far from thee long; the saints forfend I should. But tell me, Dorothy, how go our fortunes now; I fear not well?"

"Alas, no! Lady Maude is stricter than ever," she replied. "Were I a lazy serving-maid mine were a happier lot."