‘Will you open it then, madam?’ she said, turning to lady Margaret.

‘What my lord will not, why should I?’ rejoined her mistress.

Dorothy opened the letter without more ado, crimsoned, read it to the end, and handed it again to lord Herbert.

‘Pray read, my lord,’ she said.

He took it, and read.  It ran thus—­

’Mistress Dorothy, I think, and yet I know not, but I think thou wilt be pleased to learn that my Wound hath not proved mortal, though it hath brought me low, yea, very nigh to Death’s Door.  Think not I feared to enter.  But it grieveth me to the Heart to ride another than my own Mare to the Wars, and it will pleasure thee to know that without my Lady I shall be but Half the Man I was.  But do thou the Like again when thou mayest, for thou but didst thy Duty according to thy Lights; and according to what else should any one do?  Mistaken as thou art, I love thee as mine own Soul.  As to the Ring I left for thee, with a safe Messenger, concerning whom I say Nothing, for thou wilt con her no Thanks for the doing of aught to pleasure me, I restored it not because it was thine, for thy mother gave it me, but because, if for Lack of my Mare I should fall in some Battle of those that are to follow, then would the Ring pass to a Hand whose Heart knew nought of her who gave it me.  I am what thou knowest not, yet thine old Play-fellow Richard.—­When thou hearest of me in the Wars, as perchance thou mayest, then curse me not, but sigh an thou wilt, and say, he also would in his Blindness do the Thing that lay at his Door.  God be with thee, mistress Dorothy.  Beat not thy Dog for bringing thee this.

‘Richard Heywood.’

Lord Herbert gave the letter to his wife, and paced up and down the room while she read.  Dorothy stood silent, with glowing face and downcast eyes.  When lady Margaret had finished it she handed it to her, and turned to her husband with the words,—­

‘What sayest thou, Ned?  Is it not a brave epistle?’

‘There is matter for thought therein,’ he answered.  ’Wilt show me the ring whereof he writes, cousin?’

‘I never had it, my lord.’

’Whom thinkest thou then he calleth his safe messenger?  Not thy dog—­plainly, for the ring had been sent thee before.’

‘My lord, I cannot even conjecture,’ answered Dorothy.

’There is matter herein that asketh attention.  My lady, and cousin Dorothy, not a word of all this until I shall have considered what it may import!—­Beat not thy dog, Dorothy:  that were other than he deserveth at thy hand.  But he is a dangerous go-between, so prithee let him be at once chained up.’

‘I will not beat him, my lord, and I will chain him up,’ answered Dorothy, laughing.

Having then announced the discovery of the hidden passage, and given orders concerning it, lord Herbert retired yet again to his secret chamber, and that night was once more seen of many consulting the stars from the top of the library tower.