Heiress of Haddon

by W. E. Doubleday

You might esteem him
A child for his might,
Or you may deem him
A coward through his flight.
But if she whom love honours
Be concealed from the day,
Set a thousand guards on her,
Love will find out the way.

ANON.

If love cannot sharpen the faculties of mankind; if it cannot quicken the perceptions; if it has not the power to make the deaf hear, the blind see, the lame walk—at least, sufficient for its own success—then, indeed—! But it is possessed of all these virtues, and more. If necessity be the mother of invention, then is love the mother of both; and surely the most ingenious devices and the cleverest productions had been connected with this subtle passion.

Divers and many were the plans which Manners devised to meet his beloved Dorothy again, but the success he so richly merited was tardy in coming, and one after another his schemes were frustrated, until success seemed to have receded from his grasp for ever.

Dorothy, in fact, was too carefully watched to permit of her meeting her lover easily, and she was kept too busy at the tapestry frame to allow her much time for writing to him had she been so disposed. Whenever she went out she was well attended, and for a long time Manners was fain to content himself with an occasional glimpse of her pale face as she rode by, or by sending love-notes and receiving messages back by the kindly aid of the faithful Lettice.

Still he persevered, and was rarely absent from the trysting place at the appointed time, for Dorothy might come on any night, and when she came he was determined she should find him there. But she never came. Lettice occasionally he met, but even she was suspected and was kept indoors as much as possible, and more often than not he sat his weary vigils out alone.

Good Roger Morton did his utmost to further his friend's design, sending him up as often as possible on missions to the Hall, and he went so frequently both with messages and faggots, that, seeing him so often, no one suspected that the young woodsman was any other than what he professed to be.

Time flew on: weeks passed by. Autumn brought its coldest and chillest weather for the winter to take up and carry forward. The steers were fattening in the stalls, or salting in the troughs, for the Christmas festivities. The capacious larders of Haddon were replenished to the full, ready to withstand the attack of the cooks; large piles of wood lay stacked up in the yard, ready to supply the many fires which were to cook the victuals for the feast; and the servants themselves grew daily more surprised at the constant arrival of fresh stores, and wondered if ever so magnificent a feast had taken place before.

With Dorothy the time passed slowly and painfully along. Her position had not improved one whit, and she was wearied of the life of restraint and imprisonment to which she was subjected. Her fingers were sore and ached again with the continual tenter-stitching she had to perform, and her whole nature revolted at the system of espionage which Lady Vernon and Sir Edward Stanley had set upon her. The daily visits of that unfeeling and determined nobleman with whom they would force her into marriage, Edward Stanley, always left her with a sadder heart than she had had before.

With Manners the time flew by quickly. He sorely wanted to see Dorothy again, and as the days rapidly passed he recked not of the disappointments of the past, but only thought of the few days which intervened between them and Christmas.