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Updated: June 5, 2025
I did not interrupt her by replying, for I loved to hear her talk. "Dorothy sometimes takes me with her for a short walk, but I seldom have that pleasure. Walking is too slow for Dorothy. She is so strong and full of life. She delights to ride her mare Dolcy. Have you seen Dolcy?" "No," I responded. "You must see her at once. She is the most beautiful animal in the world.
Her hair had fallen from its fastenings. She had lost her hat, and her gown was torn in shreds and covered with mud. I lifted the half-conscious girl to her feet and supported her; then with my kerchief I bound up the wound upon her temple. "Poor Dolcy," she said, almost incoherently, "I have killed her and I have failed I have failed. Now I am ready to die. Would that I had died with Dolcy.
The afternoon of the day following the terrible scene between Sir George and his daughter at the supper table, Dorothy rode forth alone upon her mare Dolcy. From the window of my room in Eagle Tower I saw her go down the west side of the Wye toward Rowsley. I ascended to the roof of the tower, and from that elevation I saw her cross the river, and soon she was lost to sight in the forest.
"Yes, I know that also," I said. "How did you but never mind. I did not see him, and when I returned home I felt angry and hurt and and but never mind that either. One day I found him, and I at once rode to the well where he was standing by his horse. He drew water for Dolcy, but the perverse mare would not drink." "A characteristic of her sex," I muttered. "What did you say?" asked the girl.
She started and was about to speak, but I placed my fingers warningly upon my lips and she remained silent. "Where do you take us, Sir William?" asked John. "To Haddon Hall. There you will await the commands of the queen." "How came you here?" John asked gently of Dorothy. "I rode Dolcy," she whispered. "She dropped dead at the foot of the hill. Yonder she lies.
While journeying to Bowling Green Gate, John had formulated many true and beautiful sentiments of a personal nature which he intended expressing to Dorothy; but when the opportunity came for him to speak, the weather, his horse, Dorothy's mare Dolcy, the queens of England and Scotland were the only subjects on which he could induce his tongue to perform, even moderately well.
"When I could bear the gaze of the villagers no longer, I drew up my reins and started to leave The Open by the north road. After Dolcy had climbed halfway up North Hill, which as you know overlooks the village, I turned my head and saw Sir John still standing by the well, resting his hand upon his horse's mane. He was watching me.
Poor Dolcy seemed to understand my trouble and my despair, and she brought me with all the speed that a horse could make; but the road was too long and too rough; and she failed, and I failed. Would that I could have died in her place. She gave her life in trying to remedy my fault." Dorothy again began to weep, and John tenderly whispered:
Thus you see our beautiful pitcher went to the well and was broken. The day after Dorothy's first meeting with Manners at Overhaddon she was restless and nervous, and about the hour of three in the afternoon she mounted Dolcy and rode toward Bakewell.
She well knew that some one would follow her from the Hall; but she felt sure that in case the spy proved to be Dawson or myself, she could easily arrange matters to her satisfaction, if by good fortune she should find her lover at the gate. Tom rode so far behind his mistress that she could not determine who was following her. Whenever she brought Dolcy to a walk, Tom-Tom also walked his horse.
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