"It is I, Lettice, your maid," replied a gentle voice. Lettice was of all people just the one whom she stood in need of most at such a moment, so she unfastened the door and let her in. "My lady is troubled," exclaimed the maid, as she entered. "Is there aught that I may do for thee?" "Oh, Lettice," she sobbed, as the tears chased each other down her cheeks in quick succession, "see that he does not come. Stop him, keep him outside. Don't let him come to me." "Who, my lady, whom shall I stop? No one dare follow thee here." Dorothy returned no answer, she was trembling all over with excitement; she fell upon the bed and wept, while the sympathetic Lettice could only look on in silence, and wonder what it all meant. "My lady is troubled," she repeated at length. "Someone has been frightening thee. Tell me who it was! Who is it thou art feared would try to come at thee here?" Still there was no answer. "You ran through the hall," the maid went on, "just like a frightened hare, and cast never a look at one of us, and now--the saints preserve us, thou look'st as if thou hadst seen the ghost of Mary Durden." "Was he following me, Lettice?" asked Dorothy, raising her head from the pillow. "Was he there?" "Following thee, no. Who's he? There was no one else went through." "I thought he was close behind." "Who?" "De la Zouch." "Sir Henry de la Zouch!" repeated the maid. "'Tis he then who has been treating thee so ill. Were he not a noble, my Will should thrash him soundly for daring to offend so sweet a lady." "Take these balls to Master Manners, Lettice," said her mistress, composing herself as well as she was able. "You will find him waiting for them on the bowling green. Tell him I will rejoin him soon." Lettice unfastened the door and disappeared down the passage in obedience to the command whilst Dorothy re-arranged her disordered head-dress, hesitating the while whether to venture out again or to stay within doors. Ere she had decided which course to take, Lettice returned. Her face was deeply flushed and her manner unusually agitated. "Why, what's the matter?" asked Dorothy. "Has he assailed thee, too?" "He is telling the baron such a tale," replied the maid. "He says thou lovest him, and he is asking Sir George and my lady for thy hand. O, Dorothy, believe me, 'tis only that thou art so fair and so rich that he seeks thee, and when he has thy gold and the bloom of thy beauty begins to fade (which God forfend!) he will care naught for thee, and leave thee for another." "I know it, Lettice." "They are in the little bower, and I could hear everything," pursued the maid. "That De la Zouch is jealous of another, and is seeking to get him out of the way. He says that Master Manners killed the pedlar, and 'fore heaven, we all know it was the witch." "Master Manners?" echoed Dorothy.