Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
'You shall, my good girl: hearken: I will read:--'My dear Heart,'--Who
is it from, think'st thou, Dorothy? Canst guess?--'My dear Heart, I hope
these will prevent any news shall come unto you of me since my
commitment to the Castle of Dublin, to which I assure thee I went as
cheerfully and as willingly as they could wish, whosoever they were by
whose means it was procured; and should as unwillingly go forth, were
the gates both of the Castle and Town open unto me, until I were
cleared: as they are willing to make me unserviceable to the king, and
lay me aside, who have procured for me this restraint; when I consider
thee a Woman, as I think I know you are, I fear lest you should be
apprehensive. But when I reflect that you are of the House of Thomond,
and that you were once pleased to say these words unto me, That I should
never, in tenderness of you, desist from doing what in honour I was
obliged to do, I grow confident, that in this you will now show your
magnanimity, and by it the greatest testimony of affection that you can
possibly afford me; and am also confident, that you know me so well,
that I need not tell you how clear I am, and void of fear, the only
effect of a good conscience; and that I am guilty of nothing that may
testify one thought of disloyalty to his Majesty, or of what may stain
the honour of the family I come of, or set a brand upon my future
posterity.'
The countess paused, and looked a general illumination at Dorothy.
'I told you so, madam,' returned Dorothy, rather stupidly perhaps.
'Little fool!' rejoined the countess, half-angered: 'dost suppose the
wife of a man like my Ned needs to be told such things by a green goose
like thee? Thou wouldst have had me content that the man was honest--me,
who had forgotten the word in his tenfold more than honesty! Bah, child!
thou knowest not the love of a woman. I could weep salt tears over a
hair pulled from his noble head. And thou to talk of TELLING ME SO,
hussy! Marry, forsooth!'
And taking Dorothy to her bosom, she wept like a relenting storm.
One sentence more she read ere she hurried with the letter to her
father-in-law. The sentence was this:
'So I pray let not any of my friends that's there, believe anything,
until ye have the perfect relation of it from myself.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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