"Why, what's the matter?" asked Dorothy. "Has he assailed thee, too?"
"He is telling the baron such a tale," replied the maid. "He says thou lovest him, and he is asking Sir George and my lady for thy hand. O, Dorothy, believe me, 'tis only that thou art so fair and so rich that he seeks thee, and when he has thy gold and the bloom of thy beauty begins to fade (which God forfend!) he will care naught for thee, and leave thee for another."
"I know it, Lettice."
"They are in the little bower, and I could hear everything," pursued the maid. "That De la Zouch is jealous of another, and is seeking to get him out of the way. He says that Master Manners killed the pedlar, and 'fore heaven, we all know it was the witch."
"Master Manners?" echoed Dorothy.
"Yes," returned the maid, "and he says he can prove it, but the good knight, your father, won't believe him. Master Manners denies it, of course—but lack-a-day, what ails thee now? Thou art as white as the veriest ghost!"
"'Tis nothing," replied Doll, as she sank down into a chair. "I am a trifle faint; give me some water, Lettice."
"Nay, but it is something," returned the other, as she speedily complied with her mistress's behest. "Thou canst not throw me off like that. Come, my good lady, tell me what it is; there are few things you hide from me."
"There is nothing to tell you, Lettice," she replied, "but prithee go on; what did Sir Henry de la Zouch make answer?"
"He said he had a witness, but I had to hasten away, for I heard footsteps approaching; but come, I can read your secret; Master Manners will make a worthy knight."