“I had not thought of that,” said Miss Garrison, reflectively, and then she looked upon Dickey with a new interest. They crawled through the trap door and out upon the stone-paved, airy crown of the tower. She uttered an exclamation of awe and shrank back from the sky that seemed to press down upon her. Nothing but sky—blue sky! Then she peered over the low wall, down upon the rocks below, and shuddered.
“Hello, Phil! Great, isn't it?” exclaimed Dickey, and Dorothy realized that Quentin was somewhere behind her in the little rock-bound circle among the clouds. A chill fell upon her heart, and she would not turn toward the man whose very name brought rage to her heart.
“Magnificent! I have been up here in the sun and the gale for half an hour. Here are the newspapers, Lady Jane; Bob's man brought them an hour ago. There is something in them that will interest you, Dorothy. Pardon me, but I must go down. And don't fall off the tower, Lady Jane.”
“Don't worry, grandfather; I'll be a good little girl and I shan't fall off the tower, because I'm so afraid you'd find it out and beat me and send me to bed without my supper. Won't you stay up just a wee bit longer?”
“Now, don't coax, little girl. I must go down.”
“See you later,” Dickey called after him as he disappeared through the narrow opening. Dorothy turned her stony face slightly, and quick, angry eyes looked for an instant into the upturned face of the man who was swallowed in the darkness of the trap hole almost in the same second.
“Don't fall off the tower, Lady Jane,” came the hollow voice from the ladders far below, and, to Dorothy's sensitive ears, there was the most devilish mockery in the tones.
“I can forgive all of you—all of you, but—but—never that inhuman wretch! Oh, how I hate him!” cried she, her face ablaze, her voice trembling with passion.
“Oh, Dorothy!” cried Lady Jane, softly, imploringly.
“I wish from my soul, that this tower might tumble down and kill him this instant, and that his bones could never be found!” wailed the other.