face in the ample bosom.

"Now praise de good Lawd!" cried Mammy; "I knowed it dis longest time.
What's I done tole you, Miss Dolly? What's I done tole you, honey?"

But my lady flew from the room. Presently I heard the spinet playing
softly, and the words of that air came out of my heart from long ago.

"Love me little, love me long,
Is the burthen of my song.
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
Still, I would not have thee cold,
Nor too backward, nor too bold.
Love that lasteth till 'tis old
Fadeth not in haste."

CHAPTER LVI. HOW GOOD CAME OUT OF EVIL

'Twas about candlelight when I awoke, and Dorothy was sitting alone
beside me. Her fingers were resting upon my arm, and she greeted me with
a smile all tenderness.

"And does my Lord feel better after--after his excitement to-day?" she
asked.

"Dorothy, you have made me a whole man again. I could walk to Windsor
and back."

"You must have your dinner, or your supper first, sir," she answered
gayly, "and do you rest quiet until I come back to feed you. Oh, Richard
dear," she cried, "how delightful that you should be the helpless one,
and dependent on me!"

As I lay listening for the rustle of her gown, the minutes dragged
eternally. Every word and gesture of the morning passed before my mind,
and the touch of her lips still burned on my forehead. At last, when
I was getting fairly restless, the distant tones of a voice, deep and
reverberating, smote upon my ear, jarring painfully some long-forgotten
chord. That voice belonged to but one man alive, and yet I could not
name him. Even as I strained, the tones drew nearer, and they were mixed
with sweeter ones I knew well, and Dorothy's mother's voice. Whilst I
was still searching, the door opened, the voices fell calm, and Dorothy
came in bearing a candle in each hand. As she set them down on the
table, I saw an agitation in her face, which she strove to hide as she
addressed me.

"Will you see a visitor, Richard?"

"A visitor!" I repeated, with misgiving. 'Twas not so she had announced
Comyn.

"Will you see Mr. Allen?"--

"Mr. Allen, who was the rector of St. Anne's? Mr. Allen in London, and
here?"

"Yes." Her breath seemed to catch at the word. "He says he must see you,
dear, and will not be denied. How he discovered you were with us I know
not."

"See him!" I cried. "And I had but the half o