She was wrapped in her sable cloak--the one that had saved John's life in Aunt Dorothy's room; but instead of going across the garden to the stile where Lord Leicester was waiting, which was north and east of the terrace, she sped southward down the terrace and did not stop till she reached the steps which led westward to the lower garden.

She stood on the terrace till she saw a man running toward her from the postern in the southwest corner of the lower garden.

Then down the steps she sped with winged feet, and outstretching her arms, fell upon the man's breast, whispering: "John, my love! John, my love!" As for the man--well, during the first minute or two he wasted no time in speech.
When he spoke he said:-- "We must not tarry here.

Horses are waiting at the south end of the footbridge.

Let us hasten away at once." Then happened the strangest of all the strange things I have had to record of this strange, fierce, tender, and at time almost half-savage girl.
Dorothy for months had longed for that moment.