"He is all yours, Dorothy," I answered, "all yours, as surely as that death will some day come to all of us. Promise me, Dorothy, that you will never again allow a jealous thought to enter your heart. You have no cause for jealousy, nor will you ever have. If you permit that hateful passion to take possession of you, it will bring ruin in its wake."
"It was, indeed, foolish in me," cried Dorothy, springing to her feet and clasping her hands tightly; "and I promise never again to feel jealousy. Malcolm, its faintest touch tears and gnaws at my heart and racks me with agony. But I will drive it out of me. Under its influence I am not responsible for my acts. It would quickly turn me mad. I promise, oh, I swear, that I never will allow it to come to me again."
Poor Dorothy's time of madness was not far distant nor was the evil that was to follow in its wake.
John in writing to Dorothy concerning his journey to Scotland had unhesitatingly intrusted to her keeping his honor, and, unwittingly, his life. It did not once occur to him that she could, under any conditions, betray him. I trusted her as John did until I saw her vivid flash of burning jealousy. But by the light of that flash I saw that should the girl, with or without reason, become convinced that Mary Stuart was her rival, she would quickly make Derbyshire the warmest locality in Christendom, and John's life might pay the cost of her folly. Dorothy would brook no rival—no, not for a single hour. Should she become jealous she would at once be swept beyond the influence of reason or the care for consequences. It were safer to arouse a sleeping devil than Dorothy Vernon's jealousy. Now about the time of John's journey to the Scottish border, two matters of importance arose at Haddon Hall. One bore directly upon Dorothy, namely, the renewal by the Stanleys of their suit for her hand. The other was the announcement by the queen that she would soon do Sir George Vernon the honor of spending a fortnight under the roof of Haddon Hall. Each event was of great importance to the King of the Peak. He had concluded that Thomas, the man-servant, was not the Earl of Leicester in disguise, and when the Earl of Derby again came forward with his marriage project, Sir George fell back into his old hardness toward Dorothy, and she prepared her armament, offensive and defensive, for instant use if need should arise. I again began my machinations, since I can call my double dealing by no other name. I induced Dorothy to agree to meet the earl and his son James. Without promising positively to marry Lord Stanley, she, at my suggestion, led her father to believe she was ready to yield to his wishes. By this course she gained time and liberty, and kept peace with her father. Since you have seen the evils that war brought to Haddon, you well know how desirable peace was. In time of war all Haddon was a field of carnage and unrest. In time of peace the dear old Hall was an ideal home. I persuaded Sir George not to insist on a positive promise from Dorothy, and I advised him to allow her yielding mood to grow upon her. I assured him evasively that she would eventually succumb to his paternal authority and love.
What an inherent love we all have for meddling in the affairs of others, and what a delicious zest we find in faithfully applying our surplus energies to business that is not strictly our own! I had become a part of the Sir George-Dorothy-John affair, and I was like the man who caught the bear: I could not loose my hold.
CHAPTER XIII
PROUD DAYS FOR THE OLD HALL
Of course the queen's approaching visit threw Haddon Hall into a frenzy of scrubbing and furbishing. Aunt Dorothy was the busiest woman in England. Floors were newly polished. Draperies were taken down and were carefully washed with mysterious concoctions warranted to remove dirt without injury to color. Superfine wax was bought in great boxes, and candles were made for all the chandeliers and candelabra in the house. Perfumed oil was purchased for the lamp in the state bedroom. Elizabeth, by the way, when she came, did not like the odor of the oil, and with an oath tossed both the oil and the lamp out of the window. The fattest sheep, kine, and hogs were chosen from the flocks and were brought in to be stall-fed in such numbers that one might have supposed we were expecting an ogress who could eat an ox at a meal. Pipers and dancers were engaged, and a merry fool was brought down from London. At last the eventful day came and with it came our queen. She brought with her a hundred yeomen of her guard and a score of ladies and gentlemen. Among the latter was the Earl of Leicester, who was the queen's prime favorite.
Prior to the queen's announcement of her intention to visit Haddon Sir George had, with Dorothy's tacit consent, fixed a day upon which the Earl of Derby and his son, Lord James, should be received at the Hall for the purpose of signing the marriage contract. Dorothy, of course, had no intention of signing the contract, but she put off the evil hour of refusal as far as possible, hoping something might occur in the meantime to help her out of the dilemma. Something did occur at the last moment. I am eager to tell you about it, but it must wait its turn. Truly would the story of this ingenious girl's life make a romance if it were written by a poet. In her Guinevere and Elaine were moulded into one person with the tenderness, purity, and fierceness of each.