premises. Richard
swept Dorothy with a gray glance like a flashlight. Her face was
troubled, but full of fortitude, and she was very white about the mouth.
At sight of Richard, however, Dorothy's fortitude gave way, and went
whirling down-stream in a tempest of tears and sobs. With her poor hands
outstretched as if for protection, she felt her way blindly into the
shelter of those arms; and Richard drew her close and closer, holding
her to his heart as though she were a child. He asked no question, said
no word, sure only as granite that, whatever the trouble, it should not
take her from him. These rock-founded natures, self-reliant,
world-defying, made all of love and iron, are a mighty comfort to weak
ones; and so thought Dorothy as she lay crying in Richard's embrace.

And now, since you have seen Dorothy safe across the harbor-bar of her
griefs, and she lies landlocked in the sure haven of the Pict arms, you
might cross the way for a space, and learn what abode at the foot of all
this disturbance of true lovers.

It was while Richard was closeted with Senator Hanway that the storm
broke. Mrs. Hanway-Harley, after reflection, had decided to speak to her
daughter upon the subject of Storri and that noble Russian's suit. To
this end, Mrs. Hanway-Harley called Dorothy into a little parlor which
opened off her bedchamber. It was that particular apartment where Mrs.
Hanway-Harley took her naps, and afterward donned war-paint and feathers
wherewith to burst upon society.

Dorothy came reluctantly, haunted with a forebode of impending griefs.
The room was a fashion of torture chamber to Dorothy. Mrs. Hanway-Harley
had summoned her to this room for admonition and reproach and punishment
since ever she was ten years of age. Wherefore, there was little in her
mother's call to engage Dorothy pleasantly; and she hung back, and
answered slowly, with soles of lead.

When Dorothy at last came in, Mrs. Hanway-Harley lost no time in
skirmishing, but at once opened the main battle.

"My child," said she, with a look that she meant should be ineffably
affectionate, and which was not, "Count Storri has been talking of you."

"Yes?" queried Dorothy, with sinking heart, but making a gallant effort
at childish innocence.

Mrs. Hanway-Harley lost patience. She observed and resented the childish
innocence, rebuking it smartly.

"Rub that baby look out of your face, instantly! You are not a child!"

Dorothy stiffened like a grenadie