"And I say, sirrah,"—it was the voice of John Devereux—"that you cannot see her."
Dorothy sprang from her father's side and sped to the door, which she flung wide open, and stood, with widening eyes and pale cheeks, upon the threshold. A moment more, and Mary was alongside her; and then, his face filled with amazement and anger, Joseph Devereux followed them.
Standing with his back against the closed door, was a stalwart young dragoon, his red uniform making a ruddy gleam in the dimly lit hall as he angrily confronted the son of the house.
But no sooner did he catch sight of the small figure in the open doorway than the anger left his face, and he stood before her with uncovered head, paying no more heed to the others than if they had been part of the furniture in the hall.
"Sweet Mistress Dorothy," he said,—and his eyes searched her face with a passionate inquiry—"we are ordered away, as you may have heard. I am leaving the town to-night, and could not go until I had seen you once more."
The eyes looking up into his were filled with many emotions, but Dorothy made no reply.
He waited a moment for her to speak. Then an eager, appealing look came to his face, and he asked, "Have you naught to say to me—no word for me before I go?"
Joseph Devereux now found his voice.
"Aught to say to ye, sirrah!" he demanded furiously. "What should a daughter o' mine have to say to one of His Majesty's officers, who has been to this house but once before, and then, as now, only by means of his own audacity?"
At the sound of this angry voice Dorothy shuddered, and tearing her eyes from those blue ones that had not once left her face, she turned quickly and clung to her father.