“Yes, yes, Jesu!” hissed Dorothy, clutching Jennie by the arm, “you thought, you thought.  Tell me!  Tell me!  What in hell’s name did you think?  Speak quickly, wench.”

“I be not sure, mistress, but I thought I saw his arm about her waist one evening on the ramparts.  It was dark, and for sure I could not tell, but—­”

“God’s curse upon the white huzzy!” screamed Dorothy.  “God’s curse upon her!  She is stealing him from me, and I am helpless.”

She clasped her hands over the top of her head and ran to and fro across the room uttering inarticulate cries of agony.  Then she sat upon the bedside and threw herself into Madge’s arms, crying under her breath:  “My God!  My God!  Think of it, Madge.  I have given him my heart, my soul, O merciful God, my love—­all that I have worth giving, and now comes this white wretch, and because she is a queen and was sired in hell she tries to steal him from me and coaxes him to put his arm around her waist.”

“Don’t feel that way about it, Dorothy,” said Madge, soothingly.  “I know Sir John can explain it all to you when you see him.  He is true to you, I am sure.”

“True to me, Madge!  How can he be true to me if she coaxes him to woo her and if he puts his arm—­I am losing him; I know it.  I—­I—­O God, Madge, I am smothering; I am strangling!  Holy Virgin!  I believe I am about to die.”  She threw herself upon the bed by Madge’s side, clutching her throat and breast, and her grand woman’s form tossed and struggled as if she were in convulsions.

“Holy mother!” she cried, “take this frightful agony from my breast.  Snatch this terrible love from my heart.  God!  If you have pity, give it now.  Help me!  Help me!  Ah, how deeply I love.  I never loved him so much as I do at this awful moment.  Save me from doing that which is in my heart.  If I could have him for only one little portion of a minute.  But that is denied me whose right it is, and is given to her who has no right.  Ah, God is not just.  If he were he would strike her dead.  I hate her and I hate—­hate him.”

She arose to a sitting posture on the edge of the bed and held out her arms toward Madge.

“Madge,” she continued, frenzied by the thought, “his arm was around her waist.  That was early in the evening.  Holy Virgin!  What may be happening now?”

Dorothy sprang from the bed and staggered about the room with her hands upon her throbbing temples.

“I cannot bear this agony.  God give me strength.”  Soon she began to gasp for breath.  “I can—­see—­them now—­together, together.  I hate her; I hate him.  My love has turned bitter.  What can I do?  What can I do?  I will do it.  I will.  I will disturb their sweet rest.  If I cannot have him, she shall not.  I’ll tell the queen, I’ll tell the queen.”

Dorothy acted on her resolution the moment it was taken, and at once began to unbolt the door.

“Stay, Dorothy, stay!” cried Madge.  “Think on what you are about to do.  It will cost John his life.  Come to me for one moment, Dorothy, I pray you.”  Madge arose from the bed and began groping her way toward Dorothy, who was unbolting the door.