‘It says much, Margaret,’ returned lord Herbert, who had been listening intently; ’it tells me to love you for ever.-What poet is he who wrote the song, mistress Dorothy?  He is not of our day-that I can tell but too plainly.  It is a good song, and saith much.’

’I found it near the end of the book called “The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia,"’ replied Dorothy.

’And I knew it not!  Methought I had read all that man of men ever wrote,’ said lord Herbert.  ’But I may have read it, and let it slip.  But now that, by the help of the music and thy singing, cousin Dorothy, I am come to understand it, truly I shall forget it no more.  Where got’st thou the music, pray?’

’It says in the book it was fitted to a certain Spanish tune, the name of which I knew not, and yet know not how to pronounce; but I had the look of the words in my head, and when I came upon some Spanish songs in an old chest at home, and, turning them over, saw those words, I knew I had found the tune to sir Philip’s verses.’

‘Tell me then, my lord, why you are pleased with the song,’ said lady Margaret, very quietly.

‘Come, mistress Dorothy,’ said lord Herbert, ’repeat the song to my lady, slowly, line by line, and she will want no exposition thereon.’

When Dorothy had done as he requested, lady Margaret put her arm round her husband’s neck, laid her cheek to his, and said,

’I am a goose, Ned.  It is a fair and sweet song.  I thank you, Dorothy.  You shall sing it to me another time when my lord is away, and I shall love to think my lord was ill content with me when I called it a foolish thing.  But my Irish was a good song too, my lord.’

’Thy singing of it proves it, sweet heart.—­But come, my fair minstrel, thou hast earned a good guerdon:  what shall I give thee in return for thy song?’

‘A boon, a boon, my lord!’ cried Dorothy.

‘It is thine ere thou ask it,’ returned his lordship, merrily following up the old-fashioned phrase with like formality.

’I must then tell my lord what hath been in my foolish mind ever since my lady took me to the keep, and I saw his marvellous array of engines.  I would glady understand them, my lord.  Who can fail to delight in such inventions as bring about that which before seemed impossible?’

Here came a little sigh with the thought of her old companion Richard, and the things they had together contrived.  Already, on the mist of gathering time, a halo had begun to glimmer about his head, puritan, fanatic, blasphemer even, as she had called him.

Lord Herbert marked the soundless sigh.

‘You shall not sigh in vain, mistress Dorothy,’ he said, ’for anything I can give you.  To one who loves inventions it is easy to explain them.  I hoped you had a hankering that way when I saw you look so curiously at the cross-bow ere you discharged it.’

‘Was it then charged, my lord?’