To-night Dorothy sat alone. Her eyes were heavy, for she had
been weeping long. Her sky seemed overcast; there was not a rift
discoverable anywhere, and she was almost broken-hearted. Nearly two
months had passed, and no sign of her lover had she seen to brighten
her. Edward had told her that her lover had renounced her, and in
spite of herself she almost began to believe the story. Lettice had
gone out on her mission once more, but she questioned whether she
would ever go again, and she prepared herself, as the time for the
maid's return drew nigh, to receive the usual answer, "No, my lady,
not yet."

Later than usual Dorothy heard her well-known footstep lightly
tripping along the passage. The very lateness of her return inspired
her with a ray of hope, and opening the door, she went out to meet
her.

"Has he come, Lettice, has he come?" she eagerly exclaimed, varying
for once her usual despondent query. And, as she asked, her heart
fluttered wildly within her, and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks.

"I have news of him for thee," returned the maid, gaily.

Dorothy was too overcome to speak. The long-expected news had come at
last; she fell upon the tire-maid's neck and wept tears of joy, while
Lettice drew her unresistingly along, and led her to her little room
again.

"There," she said, as she closed the doors so that none might hear.
"Master Manners sends his duty to thee, my lady."