‘It shall be as thou sayest, Dorothy.  An’ it be not fit for the judge to hear both sides of the tale, or an’ it boots the innocent which side he first heareth, then were he no better judge than good king James, of blessed memory, when he was so sore astonished to find both sides in the right.’

‘A king, my lord, and judge foolishly!’

’A king, my damsel, and judged merrily.  But fear me not; I trust in God to judge fairly even betwixt friend and foe, and I doubt not it will be now to the lightening of thy trouble, my poor storm-beaten dove.’

It startled Dorothy with a gladness that stung like pain, to hear the word he never used but to his wife thus flit from his lips in the tenderness of his pity, and alight like the dove itself upon her head.  She thanked him with her whole soul, and was silent.

’I will send hither to thee, my child, when I require thy presence; and when I send come straight to my lady’s parlour.’

Dorothy bowed her head, but could not speak, and lord Herbert walked quickly from her.  She heard him run down the stair almost with the headlong speed of his boy Henry.

Half an hour passed slowly—­then lady Margaret’s page came lightly up the steps, bearing the request that she would favour his mistress with her presence.  She rose from the battlement where she had seated herself to watch the moon, already far up in the heavens, as she brightened through the gathering dusk, and followed him with beating heart.

When she entered the parlour, where as yet no candles had been lighted, she saw and knew nothing till she found herself clasped to a bosom heaving with emotion.

‘Forgive me, Dorothy,’ sobbed lady Margaret.  ’I have done thee wrong.  But thou wilt love me yet again—­wilt thou not, Dorothy?’

‘Madam! madam !’ was all Dorothy could answer, kissing her hands.

Lady Margaret led her to her husband, who kissed her on the forehead, and seated her betwixt himself and his wife; and for a space there was silence.  Then at last said Dorothy: 

’Tell me, madam, how is it that I find myself once more in the garden of your favour?  How know you that I am not all unworthy thereof?’

‘My lord tells me so,’ returned lady Margaret simply.

‘And whence doth my lord know it?’ asked Dorothy, turning to lord Herbert.

‘’An’ thou be not satisfied of thine own innocence, Dorothy, I will ask thee a few questions.  Listen to thine answers, and judge.  How came the young puritan into the castle that night?  But stay:  we must have candles, for how can I, the judge, or my lady, the jury, see into the heart of the prisoner save through the window of her face?’

Dorothy laughed—­her first laugh since the evil fog had ascended and swathed her.  Lady Margaret rang the bell on her table.  Candles were brought from where they stood ready in the ante-chamber, and as soon as they began to burn clear, lord Herbert repeated his question.