'Would to God it were either,' sighed lady Glamorgan. 'Then were it a small thing to bear.'
'What can it be, madam? You terrify me,' said Dorothy.
No words of reply, only a fresh outburst of agonised—could it also be angry?—weeping followed.
'Since you will tell me nothing, madam, I must take comfort that of myself I know one thing.'
'Prithee, what knowest thou?' asked the countess, but as if careless of being answered, so listless was her tone, so nearly inarticulate her words.
'That is but what bringeth him fresh honour, my lady,' answered
Dorothy.
The countess started up, threw her arms about her, drew her down on the bed, kissed her, and held her fast, sobbing worse than ever.
'Madam! madam!' murmured Dorothy from her bosom.
'I thank thee, Dorothy,' she sighed out at length: 'for thy words and thy thoughts have ever been of a piece.'
'Sure, my lady, no one did ever yet dare think otherwise of my lord,' returned Dorothy, amazed.