The young man stepped impetuously toward Washington, and was about to speak, but the latter raised his hand.
"You, sir, as an officer of the King," he said gravely, "know the weight of such a debt as this, and no words of mine can add to the sense of your obligation to her. This being so," and he glanced from one to the other of them, while the suggestion of a smile relieved the sternness of his face, "I will leave you with her for a short time, in order that you may express your gratitude in fitting terms, while I consider what course is best for me to pursue in carrying out the purpose I have in view."
With this he arose from his chair, and bowing to them, withdrew to the inner room, closing the door after him.
For a single moment there was silence between the two he had left alone, and no one could now accuse Dorothy of any lack of color in her cheeks.
"Dorothy—sweetheart, what does all this mean?"
The young man spoke in almost a whisper, looking at her as though she were a vision, a part of some strange dream. His voice faltered, and his eyes moved restlessly as he came toward her, walking slowly and uncertainly.
But Dorothy, her wonted self-possession and courage now fully restored, did not wait for him to come to her. She advanced smilingly, her eyes alight with happiness, and laid both her hands within his.
Then, while they stood face to face, she told him hurriedly of what she had done.
While she was speaking, he looked at her in that same queer way, his eyes wandering over her face and figure, while now and again he pressed her little soft hands, as though to gain through them still greater assurance of the blessed reality.
But when she finished, his eyes ceased their roaming, and became fixed upon her beaming face.