Concerning this matter, it will suffice to say that lord Worcester—­who ruled his household with such authoritative wisdom that honest Dr. Bayly avers he never saw a better-ordered family—­never saw a man drunk or heard an oath amongst his servants, all the time he was chaplain in the castle,—­would have been scandalized to know the freedoms his favourite indulged himself in, and regarded as privileged familiarities.

There was much coming and going of visitors—­more now upon state business than matters of friendship or ceremony; and occasional solemn conferences were held in the marquis’s private room, at which sometimes lord John, who was a personal friend of the king’s, and sometimes lord Charles, the governor of the castle, with perhaps this or that officer of dignity in the household, would be present; but whoever was or was not present, lord Herbert when at home was always there, sometimes alone with his father and commissioners from the king.  His absences, however, had grown frequent now that his majesty had appointed him general of South Wales, and he had considerable forces under his command—­mostly raised by himself, and maintained at his own and his father’s expense.

It was some time after Dorothy had twice in one day met him darkling, before she saw him in the light, and was able to peruse his countenance, which she did carefully, with the mingled instinct and insight of curious and thoughtful girlhood.  He had come home from a journey, changed his clothes, and had some food; and now he appeared in his wife’s parlour—­to sun himself a little, he said.  When he entered, Dorothy, who was seated at her mistress’s embroidery frame, while she was herself busy mending some Flanders lace, rose to leave the room.  But he prayed her to be seated, saying gayly,

’I would have you see, cousin, that I am no beast of prey that loves the darkness.  I can endure the daylight.  Come, my lady, have you nothing to amuse your soldier with?  No good news to tell him?  How is my little Molly?’

During the conjugal talk that followed, his cousin had good opportunity of making her observations.  First she saw a fair, well-proportioned forehead, with eyes whose remarkable clearness looked as if it owed itself to the mingling of manly confidence with feminine trustfulness.  They were dark, not very large, but rather prominent, and full of light.  His nose was a little aquiline, and perfectly formed.  A soft obedient moustache, brushed thoroughly aside, revealed right generous lips, about which hovered a certain sweetness ever ready to break into the blossom of a smile.  That and a small tuft below was all the hair he wore upon his face.  Rare conjunction, the whole of the countenance was remarkable both for symmetry and expression—­the latter mainly a bright intelligence; and if, strangely enough, the predominant sweetness and delicacy at first suggested genius unsupported by practical faculty, there was a plentifulness and strength in the chin which helped to correct the suggestion, and with the brightness and prominence of the eyes and the radiance of the whole, to give a brave, almost bold look to a face which could hardly fail to remind those who knew them of the lovely verses of Matthew Raydon, describing that of sir Philip Sidney: