He seemed as if by inspiration to understand all that Dorothy had felt and done, and he knew that if she had betrayed him she had done it at a time when she was not responsible for her acts.

He stepped quickly to the girl's side, and caring naught that we all should see him, caught her to his breast.

He held her in his arms, and the light of the flambeaux fell upon her upturned face.
"Dorothy," he said, "it matters not what you have done; you are my only love.

I ask no explanation.

If you have betrayed me to death, though I hope it will not come to that evil, you did not do it because you did not love me." "No, no, John, you know that," sobbed the girl.
"I do know it, Dorothy; I know all that I wish to know.