"I know not what I doubt, or what I believe," exclaimed Lady Roos distractedly.
"Then believe what I tell you, Bess," said her husband. "This is the countess's handmaiden, Gillian Greenford."
"An impudent lie!" cried Lady Lake.
"A truth, my lady," interposed Diego. "A truth to which I am ready to swear."
"No doubt of it, thou false knave, and double traitor! thou art worthy of thy lord. There is no lie, however absurd and improbable, which he can invent, that thou wilt not support. Thou art ready now to perjure thyself for him; but let him place little reliance on thee, for thou wilt do the same thing for us to-morrow."
"I scarcely think it probable, my lady," Diego replied, bowing.
Lady Lake turned from him in supreme disgust.
"Admitting for a moment the possibility of your lordship's assertion being correct," said Lady Roos, "how comes Gillian Greenford (for so methinks you name her) in her mistress's attire?"
"'T is easily explained, chuck," Lord Roos rejoined. "Anxious, no doubt, to set herself off to advantage, she hath made free with the countess's wardrobe. Your own favourite attendant, Sarah Swarton, hath often arranged herself in your finest fardingales, kirtlets, and busk-points, as Diego will tell you. Is it not so, rascal?"
"'T is precisely as my lord hath stated, my lady," said the Spaniard to Lady Roos. "When Sarah Swarton hath been so habited, I have more than once mistaken her for your ladyship."