She stopped her sobbing and listened. Surely De la Zouch would never venture to follow her to her own boudoir! No, it was incredible, and she dismissed the idea.
The silence was broken only by a second rap at the door. It was too gentle for Sir Henry, it must be her tire-maid, Lettice, or her sister Margaret, maybe. She rose up, and in a tremulous voice inquired who was there.
"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.