“My darling, my beloved;” he cried, as he rapturously embraced her in his arms.  “This is good of thee, ’tis more than I deserve.”

“Say not so,” she replied.  “I would do aught for thy dear sake.  I have endured much for thee, but I have been happy in it because it was for thee.”

“Thou would’st do aught for me, my precious one?” cried Manners.  “I have much to ask of thee.  ’Tis well for me thou art so ready.  None shall part us, Doll.”

“No, never,” she replied, firmly.

“Then, Dorothy, we must flee together.”

“What!” she exclaimed, in surprise.  “Leave Haddon?”

“Hush, Doll, I fear it must be so.”

“Oh, John,” she sobbed, “I cannot do it, indeed I cannot do it.  Is there no other way?  Have you no other plan?”

“Sir George will never relent,” Manners replied, “and in another month—­”

“Nay, nay, John, I have refused the one, I am resolved not to wed the other.”

There was a painful pause for a minute or two, but at length Manners spoke.  His voice trembled and betrayed the depth of his feelings plainly.

“’Tis a hard choice, Doll,” he said, “but you must choose betwixt Haddon and me.  If you say me nay, I shall lose you.”

“Wait, John, you can trust me?” she sobbed.

“Aye, that I can,” he returned, tenderly; “but the flower is withering, and will soon be gone.  This face was not so pale nor yet so thin before.  Dorothy, I cannot see thee droop like this before my eyes.”

“You can trust me,” she replied; “then wait awhile.”

“And then; what then?”

“If they are against us then, I will do thy will and go with thee.”

“Nay, Doll, I should lose thee, and that would break my heart; it must be yes or no, there is no other way of escape.”

Dorothy bowed her head upon his shoulders while the tears ran freely down her cheeks, and Manners stood over her, his breast heaving in fierce thrills of mingled emotions.

“Choose for thine own happiness, Doll,” he whispered, breaking again another painful spell of silence.

“I cannot leave my father so—­and Margaret,” she added, after a pause.

“Margaret will leave thee soon enough,” replied her lover, “and Sir George would wed thee to Sir Edward Stanley in a month.  Thou wilt have to leave them soon, anyhow—­why not with me?  I would brave the world for thy sake.”

“I know it,” she replied, “but I cannot say ‘yes.’  Do not persuade me, I will give thee an answer in a little while.

“I have made arrangements,” Manners answered.  “Everything is ready.  We shall go to Nottingham; all our plans are laid ready for the wedding.”

“I cannot refuse thee, John,” whispered Dorothy, as she dried her tears, “but I cannot consent—­not yet, at least.  Lettice shall bring thee word.”

“So be it, then,” he said.  “Kiss me, Doll, it may be for the last time; an you decide to stay, I shall go to the wars again.”