I did not believe that Dorothy intended to leave Haddon Hall permanently. I felt confident she had gone out only to meet John, and was sure she would soon return. On the strength of that opinion I said: "If you fear that Sir George will not believe you—he certainly will blame you—would it not be better to admit Dorothy quietly when she returns and say nothing to any one concerning the escapade? I will remain here in these rooms, and when she returns I will depart, and the guards will never suspect that Dorothy has left the Hall."
"If she will but return," wailed Aunt Dorothy, "I shall be only too glad to admit her and to keep silent."
"I am sure she will," I answered. "Leave orders with the guard at Sir George's door to admit me at any time during the night, and Dorothy will come in without being recognized. Her disguise must be very complete if she could deceive you."
"Indeed, her disguise is complete," replied the tearful old lady.
Dorothy's disguise was so complete and her resemblance to me had been so well contrived that she met with no opposition from the guards in the retainer's room nor from the porter. She walked out upon the terrace where she strolled for a short time. Then she climbed over the wall at the stile back of the terrace and took her way up Bowling Green Hill toward the gate. She sauntered leisurely until she was out of sight of the Hall. Then gathering up her cloak and sword she sped along the steep path to the hill crest and thence to the gate.
Soon after the first day of her imprisonment she had sent a letter to John by the hand of Jennie Faxton, acquainting him with the details of all that had happened. In her letter, among much else, she said:—
"My true love, I beg you to haunt with your presence Bowling Green Gate each day at the hour of sunset. I cannot tell you when I shall be there to meet you, or surely I would do so now. But be there I will. Let no doubt of that disturb your mind. It does not lie in the power of man to keep me from you. That is, it lies in the power of but one man, you, my love and my lord, and I fear not that you will use your power to that end. So it is that I beg you to wait for me at sunset hour each day near by Bowling Green Gate. You may be caused to wait for me a long weary time; but one day, sooner or later, I shall go to you, and then—ah, then, if it be in my power to reward your patience, you shall have no cause for complaint."
When Dorothy reached the gate she found it securely locked. She peered eagerly through the bars, hoping to see John. She tried to shake the heavy iron structure to assure herself that it could not be opened.
"Ah, well," she sighed, "I suppose the reason love laughs at locksmiths is because he—or she—can climb."
Then she climbed the gate and sprang to the ground on the Devonshire side of the wall.