Curious, perhaps something more than
curious, to open it, she yet carried it straight to lord Herbert.
'Canst not break the seal, Dorothy, that thou bringest it to me? I
will not read it first, lest thou repent,' said his lordship.
'Will you open it then, madam?' she said, turning to lady Margaret.
'What my lord will not, why should I?' rejoined her mistress.
Dorothy opened the letter without more ado, crimsoned, read it to
the end, and handed it again to lord Herbert.
'Pray read, my lord,' she said.
He took it, and read. It ran thus--
'Mistress Dorothy, I think, and yet I know not, but I think thou
wilt be pleased to learn that my Wound hath not proved mortal,
though it hath brought me low, yea, very nigh to Death's Door. Think
not I feared to enter. But it grieveth me to the Heart to ride
another than my own Mare to the Wars, and it will pleasure thee to
know that without my Lady I shall be but Half the Man I was. But do
thou the Like again when thou mayest, for thou but didst thy Duty
according to thy Lights; and according to what else should any one
do? Mistaken as thou art, I love thee as mine own Soul.
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