But he was not suffered to finish the sentence; for a powerful, middle-aged man, unarmed, but booted and spurred, pushed past him into the room, and Lord Willoughby exclaimed, "Ha, Dorset! what brings you from France? Has aught gone amiss?"
There was some cause for the latter question; for there was more than haste in the expression of the Earl of Dorset's countenance: there was grief, and there was anxiety.
With a hasty step he advanced to Lord Willoughby, laid his hand upon his arm, and said something in a low voice which Agnes did not hear. The old lord started back with a look of sorrow and consternation. "Dead!" he exclaimed. "Dead! So young--so full of life--so needful to his people. Dorset, Dorset; in God's name, say that my ears have deceived me. Killed in battle, ha! Some random bolt from that petty town of Cone, whither he was marching when last I heard. It must be so. He, like the great Richard, was doomed to find such a fate--to fall before an insignificant hamlet by a peasant's hand. He exposed himself too much, Dorset--he exposed himself too much."
Dorset shook his head: "No," he replied, "he died of sickness in his bed; but like a soldier and a hero still--calmly, courageously, without a faltering thought or sickly fear. Heaven rest his soul: we shall never have a greater or a better king. But harkee, Willoughby, I must go on at once and summon the council. Come you up with all speed; for there will be much matter for anxious deliberation, and need of wise heads, and much experience."
"I will, I will," replied Lord Willoughby. "Ho, boy! without there. Get my horses ready with all speed. Farewell, Dorset; I will join you in half an hour. Now--Odds' life, my sweet young lady, I had forgot your presence. What was it we were saying? Oh, I remember now. The course of earthly events is very strange. That which brings tears to some eyes wipes them away from others. Come hither; I will write a note to your young guardian, and none but yourself shall be its bearer. My duty to my king is done, and I am free to act as I will. Stay for it; it shall be very short."
He then drew a scrap of paper toward him, and wrote slowly, "The ransom of the Baron De Brecy is diminished one half.
"In witness whereof I have set my hand.
"Willoughby."
"There, take it, dear child," he said, "and let him thank God, and thank you;" and drawing her toward him, he imprinted a kind and fatherly kiss upon her forehead, and then led her courteously to the door.