‘Oh my mother!’ she murmured,—­’an’ thou couldst hear me, thou wouldst help me an’ thou couldst.  Thy poor Dorothy is sorely sad and forsaken, and she knows no way of escape.  Oh my mother, hear me!’

As she spoke, she looked away from the moat to the sky, and spread out her arms in the pain of her petition.

There was a step behind her.

’What! what!  My little protestant praying to the naughty saints!  That will never do.’

Dorothy had turned with a great start, and stood speechless and trembling before lord Herbert.

‘My poor child!’ he said, holding out both his hands, and taking those which Dorothy did not offer—­’did I startle thee then so much?  I am truly sorry.  I heard but thy last words; be not afraid of thy secret.  But what hath come to thee?  Thou art white and thin, there are tears on thy face, and it seems as thou wert not so glad to see me as I thought thou wouldst have been.  What is amiss?  I hope thou art not sick—­but plainly thou art ill at ease!  Go not yet after my Molly, cousin, for truly we need thee here yet a while.’

‘Would I might go to Molly, my lord!’ said Dorothy.  ’Molly would believe me.’

’Thou need’st not go to Molly for that, cousin.  I will believe thee.  Only tell me what thou wouldst have me believe, and I will believe it.  What! think’st thou I am not magician enough to know whom to believe and whom not?  Fye, fye, mistress!  Thou, on thy part, wilt not put faith in thy cousin Herbert!’

His kind words were to her as the voice of him that calleth for the waters of the sea that he may pour them out on the face of the earth.  The poor girl burst into a passion of weeping, fell on her knees before him, and holding up her clasped hands, cried out in a voice of sob-choked agony—­for she was not used to tears, and it was to her a rending of the heart to weep—­

’Save me, save me, my lord!  I have no friend in the world who can help me but thee.’

‘No friend!  What meanest thou, Dorothy?’ said lord Herbert, taking her two clasped hands between his.  ’There is my Margaret and my father!’

’Alas, my lord! they mean well by me, but they do not believe me; and if your lordship believe me no more than they, I must go from Raglan.  Yet believing me, I know not how you could any more help me.’

’Dorothy, my child, I can do nothing till thou take me with thee.  I cannot even comfort thee.’

‘Your lordship is weary,’ said Dorothy, rising and wiping her eyes.  ’You cannot yet have eaten since you came.  Go, my lord, and hear my tale first from them that believe me not.  They will assure you of nothing that is not true, only they understand it not, and wrong me in their conjectures.  Let my lady Margaret tell it you, my lord, and then if you have yet faith enough in me to send for me, I will come and answer all you ask.  If you send not for me, I will ride from Raglan to-morrow.’