Darby halted and bowed low and long—very low and very long.
"Your ladyship does me too much honor," he said, with well assumed humility, "in even thinking of the Countess of Clare and my poor self in the same moment."
"Doubtless I do—since your devotion was too feeble even to send you to her rescue."
"And now you do me deep injustice; I sought the Countess from the day following the abduction until all hope was gone. Methinks alas! she has long since been gathered with the Saints."
The Countess of Ware—the Lady Mary Percy that was—laughed with gibing intonation.
"There is one, at least, who has not ceased to hope and to search," she said.
"And has been as successful as myself," he retorted, nor hid the sneer.
"But if he find her?"
Darby shrugged his shoulders. "Think you there is recognition in the spirit world?"
"Then you actually believe the Countess dead?" the Lady Lovel asked.