inning,
guzzling giant whose chief delight is singing songs in a tavern or
wrestling with brawny clowns as empty-headed as himself!"

Windybank paused for breath, and Dorothy faced him as unflinchingly as
before, her lips curling in contempt.

"Hast nothing to say now?" he went on. "Have I not given thee matter
for contradiction, fuel to feed the fires of thine anger?"

"John Morgan needs no woman's help," she said quietly.

"Neither help of man nor woman shall avail him ere long. Hark'ee,
mistress" (he lowered his voice): "there is power awaiting the man bold
enough to make a venture to obtain it. Look for the day when I am thy
master. And tell some others to look to their heads. I'll break thy
spirit yet, and see fear in thy blue eyes instead of scorn. I am no
braggart!"

"But thou art a coward!" said Dorothy, whose face had grown very white.
"Think not that I shall feel anything save scorn for the man who
threatens a girl and slanders the absent. Thou art our neighbour, else
I would call a servant to put thee forth on to the highway. Begone!"

Master Windybank turned to go. It was time, for Johnnie Morgan and Sir
Walter could be seen making their way towards the house door. "Tell
thy long-legged swashbuckler of our meeting," he sneered.

"I do not fear thee enough to call in a champion," cried Dorothy
calmly. "Yonder is the gate."

The rejected suitor strode off. The maiden ran into a little arbour
and had a good cry. "Sweet seventeen" does not like to be bullied and
threatened by a man in whom her quick eyes have discerned the
possibilities of a thorough villain.

The little shower of anger and wounded pride lasted about three
minutes. Then sunny thoughts broke through the clouds, and presently
the sky was clear again. "Johnnie is come!" said Dorothy's heart.
"Sir Walter and Master Morgan are in the house," murmured Dorothy's
lips. "I must see to my duties as hostess, and I do not want to be
quizzed about tear-stains. Plague take that little Windybank!" A
dainty foot was stamped quite viciously. "I hope Johnnie will cudgel
him. A whipping would do him good!" Dorothy sat with folded hands and
pleasantly contemplated the corrective operation. Then a voice was
heard in the garden calling her name. She listened. "Only nurse!" she
murmured in a disappointed tone.

An old crone with a wrinkled but good-natured face came along to the
arbour. "Dolly, sweetheart," she cried, "dost thou no