"No, father, before God, he has been a true gentleman to me."
The poor old man struggled for a moment with his emotions; then tears came to his eyes and he covered his face with his hands as he started to leave the room.
Dorothy ran to him and clasped her arms about his neck. Those two, father and child, were surely of one blood as shown in the storms of violence and tenderness by which their natures were alternately swept.
"Father, you may believe me; you do believe me," said Dorothy. "Furthermore, I tell you that this man has treated me with all courtesy, nay, more: he has treated me with all the reverence he would have shown our queen."
"He can have no true purpose with you, Doll," said Sir George, who felt sure that Leicester was the man.
"But he has, father, a true purpose with me. He would make me his wife to-day would I consent."
"Why then does he not seek you openly?"
"That he cannot do," Dorothy responded hesitatingly.
"Tell me, Doll, who is the man?" asked Sir George.
I was standing behind him and Dorothy's face was turned toward me. She hesitated, and I knew by her expression that she was about to tell all. Sir George, I believe, would have killed her had she done so. I placed my finger on my lips and shook my head.