Dorothy's merriment was soon interrupted by a loud knock at the door,
and when she opened it, panting with her exertion of dancing around the
room, she found Mrs. Kemp standing there, with a white, frightened face.
"What in the world is the matter here, child?" she cried, in alarm. "I
was afraid there were burglars, or Heaven knows what, up here in this
room."
Dorothy burst into a peal of laughter that amazed the old lady and made
the very walls echo with her bright young voice.
"Oh, something so funny has just happened!" she gasped. "You will be as
much surprised as I was, Mrs. Kemp, when you hear it."
The housekeeper knew just what had happened, for, although unknown to
Dorothy, she was in the conservatory when she had entered; but before
she could make her presence known Kendal had appeared upon the scene,
and the proposal of marriage had followed so quickly upon the heels of
it that she felt she could not leave without embarrassing both, so she
waited there until they had quitted the conservatory.
As soon as she thought it practicable she followed Dorothy to her room
to congratulate her, and the sight that met her view surprised her--the
girl's face, instead of being flushed with tell-tale blushes and covered
with confusion, as she had expected, was convulsed with laughter.
"Oh, do come in!" cried Dorothy, excitedly. "I have something that I
want to tell you--I want you to decide for me what is best to do."
"I will give you the best advice I can," said the old housekeeper,
drawing the girl down beside her on the sofa, and putting her arm about
her.
"I've just had a--a proposal of--of marriage. There! the whole secret is
out!" cried Dorothy, breathlessly.
But the good old lady did not look a particle amazed, much to Dorothy's
surprise.
"You do not ask me who it is that wants me," cried the girl, in bitter
disappointment.
Mrs. Kemp smiled.
"It was very easy to see that for myself," she responded. "Every one
could tell that Harry Kendal was very fond of you, my dear, and that
sooner or later he would ask you to marry him. But tell me, what answer
did you make him?"
"I--I ran away without making any answer at all," confessed Dorothy,
shamefacedly. "I thought I could write him a note and put my answer in
it--ever so much better than to look up into his face and tell him," she
faltered. "I wonder that girls can ever say 'Yes' right up and down,
then and there; it seems so bold a thing to do. Why, I never felt so
embarrassed in my life. When I tried to say something my tongue cleaved
to the roof of my mouth. I trembled from head to foot, and--oh,
gracious!--he must have heard how my heart thumped. I know I must have
acted like the greatest simpleton the world ever held. Wasn't it
wonderful to think that he wanted to marry me? I can't understand it."
"It is not so very wonderful, but very natural," responded Mrs. Kemp,
warmly. "I do not know whether it is wise to tell you so or not, but you
are really beautiful. Every one thinks so hereabouts. And then you are
not too young to marry--you are seventeen."
"But I'm not a bit wise," persisted Dorothy.
"You are quite wise enough to suit the exacting eyes of love," declared
the housekeeper, reassuringly, "and that is all that is needed. The
greatest of all questions, however, is: Do you think you care for Mr.
Kendal? Let me tell you two things, my dear--never marry a man whom you
do not love; and if the one whom you do love asks you, do not coquet
with him."
"Will you help me to write the note to him?" cried Dorothy, drawing up a
hassock, and slipping down upon it at her companion's feet. "I want to
write it stiff and proud, as though I didn't care much, and I want to
get all the big words in it that I can."
"Of course I will help you," replied Mrs. Kemp. "But it's many a year
since I wrote a love letter, and I'm a little awkward at it now. But as
long as it conveys the idea of 'Yes' to him, your ardent lover will
think it the grandest epistle that ever a young girl wrote."
Such a time as there was over that letter!
Over and over again it was copied, this word erased, and that word
inserted, until at the very best it looked more like the map of Scotland
than anything else.
Dorothy was terribly in earnest over it.
One would almost have thought, to have seen her, that her life was at
stake over the result of it; but at last it was finished, and one of
the servants was called to take it to Mr. Kendal's room.
Harry was pacing restlessly up and down when it was delivered to him. He
took it eagerly and broke the seal, for he had recognized Dorothy's
cramped, school-girl chirography at once.
"She is mine!" he cried, triumphantly; and with the knowledge that he
had won her without a doubt, his ardor suddenly cooled; he did not know
whether he was pleased or sorry over the result of his wooing.
After he had read the letter over carefully, he fell to scrutinizing the
chirography.
"The first thing I shall have to do will be to teach the girl how to
write a legible letter," he thought.
Only the day before she had written a letter to Jack, which contained
but the few words that she was well and happy, and that a great change
of fortune had come into her life. But the letter bore neither date,
postmark, nor signature, and he could not tell where it had been posted.
But it was the first intimation which Jack had had that she was in the
land of the living, and to have seen his face as he read it would have
touched a heart of stone.
Tears sprang to his eyes, strong young man though he was, and he covered
the half-written page with burning kisses. To him those irregular,
girlish strokes were dearer than anything else this wide world held,
because they were Dorothy's.
Although she had suddenly disappeared, and all her friends had turned
against her in the bindery, declaring that she had eloped with the
handsome, dark-eyed stranger, he still believed her true. He had been
searching for her ever since, without rest--almost without food--day and
night, until he had almost worn himself out.
He believed she was in the city somewhere, that she had been ashamed to
return to the bindery after that scene on the steamer, and had gone some
place else to work, and he walked the streets for hours at a time,
searching for her among the crowds of working-girls as they trooped down
Broadway in laughing, chattering groups each evening, only to turn away,
alas! disappointed and almost broken-hearted.
And thus another month dragged its slow length by. It was well that he
did not know where Dorothy was, or what was occurring during those days
of suspense.
The news of her betrothal to handsome Harry Kendal had spread over the
entire village, and it caused no little sensation in Yonkers, on the
outskirts of which Gray Gables was situated; for every one had said that
this was the way the affair would terminate when the doctor brought the
handsome young stranger beneath the same roof with dashing, dark-eyed
Harry Kendal, the _beau-ideal_ of all the girls.
But there was some disappointment when they learned that the marriage
would not take place for nearly half a year yet.
"It's all very well _now_, with rosy love in their sky; but delays are
dangerous," said some people, shaking their heads ominously.
Dorothy was as happy as the day was long, for she was learning to fairly
adore her lover, and treated him in a childish fashion which rather
amused every one who saw them together.
If he brought her a box of _bonbons_ she would spring up and throw her
arms about his neck, like an overgrown baby, and end by giving him a
hearty smack straight on the lips--no matter who was present.
Once or twice he had attempted to expostulate with her sternly, coldly,
but his manner so frightened her that she almost went into hysterics,
and turning away with a white, set face, he would say no more.
What could he expect? he asked himself, grimly. He had asked an
untutored school-girl to be his wife--he had sown the wind, and now he
was commencing to reap the whirlwind. Every one else seemed highly
delighted over Dorothy's childish, romping ways; but as for himself,
they rankled upon his proud, sensitive, haughty nature.
He loved her in such a cool, lordly manner, and poor little Dorothy was
always impressed with his superiority. She was obliged to acknowledge
that Harry Kendal was her master. She could never make him her slave.
At this juncture an event happened that changed the current of poor
Dorothy's after life. It was election night, and the bonfires were
blazing on hill and vale, and all the young people of the village were
wild with enthusiasm over the affair.
A great bonfire had been built in the road in front of Gray Gables, as
had been the custom for years. The old doctor had been very patriotic.
"This year there is no one to cheer the boys on in their good work,"
said the housekeeper, sadly, as they were all standing out on the porch.
"I'll do it," cried Dorothy, and before the echo of her words had died
away rousing cheers broke from her lips, that were answered back
heartily by the crowd assembled with an enthusiastic "Hip, hip, hurrah,
and a tiger!" for the young lady of Gray Gables.
Kendal was mortally angry, and his face grew dark. He strode up to her
and grasped her shoulder, his fingers unwittingly clinching deeply into
the soft flesh.
"For Heaven's sake, stop, you tom-boy!" he cried. "Stop disgracing me!"
She flung up her little head proudly. If he had spoken to her alone she
would not have cared, but before all these people! Oh, it was
unbearable. She would resent it if it killed her.