"His _duty_, indeed," she exclaimed, with drooping eyes; "why not his
love forsooth?"

"'Twas love he said," returned the maid. "He is a forester."

"A forester!" echoed Dorothy in amazement. "My John a forester! Not a
common woodman, Lettice, surely?"

"Aye, but he is. He has done it for thy sake. It was the only way."

"And they told me he had forsaken me. Was ever man so noble as he?"

"He has sent thee this," said Lettice, as she handed a letter to her
mistress. "'Tis but roughly done, but he said you would forgive it,
and he sealed it with a score of kisses before he gave it me."

Dorothy hastily took up the note and read it. Evidently it pleased
her well, for as she perused its contents her countenance flushed with
pleasure.

"Lettice," she exclaimed, "only you and I, besides your father, know
that Hubert is the same as Master Manners. We must keep it secret as
the grave itself. Is he well disguised?"

"In truth, I knew him not until he called me by name."

"'Tis well. He runs a fearful risk. Edward or Thomas Stanley would as
lief kill him as they would a dog did they but recognise him again."

"He has been ill, and he is deadly thin."