“Not that, quite, Baker, but just—”
“You will not think badly of me if I cannot listen to your offer, Miss? I am to serve you here, and I want you to like me, but I cannot do what you would ask. Pardon me if I speak plainly, but I cannot be bought.” There was no mistaking the honest expression in the maid's eyes. “Lady Saxondale is my mistress, and I love her. If she asks me to take you to your friends, I will obey.”
Dorothy's lips parted and a look of incredulity grew in her eyes. For a moment she stared with unconcealed wonder upon this unusual girl, and then wonder slowly changed to admiration.
“Would that all maids were as loyal, Baker. Lady Saxondale trusts you and so shall I. But,” wonder again manifesting itself, “I cannot understand such fidelity. Not for £5,000?”
“No, Miss; thank you,” respectfully and firmly.
“Ask Lady Saxondale if I may come to her.”
The maid departed, and soon returned to say that Lady Saxondale would gladly see her. Dorothy followed her down the long, dark hall and into the boudoir of Castle Craneycrow's mistress. Lady Jane sat on the broad window seat, looking pensively out at the blue sky. There was in the room such an air of absolute peace and security that Dorothy's heart gave a sharp, wistful throb.
“I'm glad you've come, Dorothy,” said Lady Saxondale, approaching from the shadowy side of the room. Dorothy turned to see the hands of her ladyship extended as if calling her to friendly embrace. For a moment she looked into the clear, kindly eyes of the older woman, and then, overcome by a strange, inexplicable longing for love and sympathy, dropped her hands into those which were extended.
“I've come to beg, Lady Saxondale—to beg you to be kind to me, to have pity for my mother. I can ask no more,” she said, simply.
“I love you, dear; we all love you. Be content for a little while, a little while, and then you will thank Heaven and thank us.”