"It is not Dorothy, Master Manners," replied a gentle voice, "it is I,
Lettice, her maid."

His heart stood still; chilled with despair.

"Where is she?" he cried. "Tell me, will she come?"

"Nay, she cannot come; Dame Maude is with her, getting ready for the
feast.

"And Dorothy cannot come," he repeated, with downcast eyes. "Hast thou
seen her; has she had my message?"

"One may not speak with her when my lady is there," said the maid,
"but she read it in my eyes. I would, Master Manners, I could help
thee more, but I fear that cannot be."

"Bid her keep her tryst to-night, Lettice," he replied, "and thou wilt
serve thee well."

"I fear me she cannot. Oft has she tried and failed; she is watched
too well. An she were to pass the gate alone the whole Hall would know
of it."

"Look, then, Lettice, could you come?"

Lettice often had done so before to meet her own stalwart young lover
in the privacy of the wood, and she blushed at the question.