"I have tried all my life to be a just man," said Lord Rutland. "I have failed at times, I fear, but I have tried. That is all any man can do. I pray that God in His mercy will soon send light to you, John, whatever of darkness there may be in store for me."
I thought, "He will surely answer this just man's prayer," and almost before the thought was completed the dungeon door turned upon its hinges and a great light came with glorious refulgence through the open portal—Dorothy.
"John!"
Never before did one word express so much of mingled joy and grief. Fear and confidence, and, greater than all, love unutterable were blended in its eloquent tones. She sprang to John as the lightning leaps from cloud to cloud, and he caught her to his heart. He gently kissed her hair, her face being hidden in the folds of his doublet.
"Let me kneel, John, let me kneel," she murmured.
"No, Dorothy, no," he responded, holding her closely in his arms.
"But one moment, John," she pleased.
"No, no; let me see your eyes, sweet one," said John, trying to turn her face upward toward his own.
"I cannot yet, John, I cannot. Please let me kneel for one little moment at your feet."
John saw that the girl would find relief in self-abasement, so he relaxed his arms, and she sank to her knees upon the dungeon floor. She wept softly for a moment, and then throwing back her head with her old impulsive manner looked up into his face.