Oh! if only she might have sought her mother with her sorrow! Dorothy shivered; her mother was the ally of her enemy.

How Dorothy hated and feared that black and savage man! What fiend's power must he possess to thus gain a fearful mastery over her father! What could be his secret tipped with terror?
Dorothy again buried her face as though she would hide herself from any blasting chance of its discovery.
When Dorothy was with Mr.Harley she had been in a maze, a whirl.
Wrapped in a cloud of fear, she had reached out blindly through the awful fog of it and seized upon the dear fact of Richard.

By Richard she held on; by Richard she sustained herself.

She entertained no quaking doubts as to his loyalty; loyal herself, as ever was flower to sun, to distrust Richard was to doubt the ground beneath her little feet.

In her innocence, she felt that sublime confidence which is the fruit, the sweet purpose, of a young girl's earliest love.