seemingly unconscious that I was near her. I had known for some time
that Dorothy was interested in Manners; but I was not prepared to see such
a volcano of passion. I need not descant upon the evils and dangers of the
situation. The thought that first came to me was that Sir George would
surely kill his daughter before he would allow her to marry a son of
Rutland. I was revolving in my mind how I should set about to mend the
matter when Dorothy again spoke.

"Tell me, Cousin Malcolm, can a man throw a spell over a woman and bewitch
her?"

"I do not know. I have never heard of a man witch," I responded.

"No?" asked the girl.

"But," I continued, "I do know that a woman may bewitch a man. John
Manners, I doubt not, could also testify knowingly on the subject by this
time."

"Oh, do you think he is bewitched?" cried Dorothy, grasping my arm and
looking eagerly into my face. "If I could bewitch him, I would do it. I
would deal with the devil gladly to learn the art. I would not care for my
soul. I do not fear the future. The present is a thousand-fold dearer to
me than either the past or the future. I care not what comes hereafter. I
want him now. Ah, Malcolm, pity my shame."

She covered her face with her hands, and after a moment continued: "I am
not myself. I belong not to myself. But if I knew that he also suffers, I
do believe my pain would be less."

"I think you may set your heart at rest upon that point," I answered. "He,
doubtless, also suffers."

"I hope so," she responded, unconscious of the selfish wish she had
expressed. "If he does not, I know not what will be my fate."

I saw that I had made a mistake in assuring her that John also suffered,
and I determined to correct it later on, if possible.

Dorothy was silent, and I said, "You have not told me about the golden
heart."

"I will tell you," she answered. "We rode for two hours or more, and
talked of the weather and the scenery, until there was nothing more to be
said concerning either. Then Sir John told me of the court in London,
where he has always lived, and of the queen whose hair, he says, is red,
but not at all like mine. I wondered if he would speak of the beauty of my
hair, but he did not. He only looked at it. Then he told me about the
Scottish queen whom he once met when he was on an embassy to Edinburgh. He
described her marvellous beauty, and I believe he sympathizes with her
cause--that is, with her cause in Scotland. He says sh