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And all this time methought I was in an evil dream, and that Marian, for some spite, would not awaken me.

How it came about, to this day I recollect not, but ere two weeks had sped we were again at Amhurste, and my lady in her own bower, under Marian’s care. As to that, Marian had been with my lady ever since the fatal night whereon she was nigh done to death by that masked ruffian.

The earl did go himself to fetch her from Mistress Pepper’s, and after that she came neither of us saw the sloe-eyed woman any more.

None had known of my lady’s stay in town, saving my lady herself, Lord Denbeigh, the black-eyed woman (who never uttered word more, good or bad, after that she had said, “I will remember”), Marian, and me. So besides us five no one was the wiser.

It was towards the last of May that my lady did beg that we would lift her out to sit in a long-chair on the east terrace. The birds were at their morning gossiping in the shrubbery, and the air was most sweet with the breath of the white lilacs. My lady looked like a snow-wreath fallen suddenly among the greenery of spring, but her eyes did peep softly, like bluebells, from the snows of her face. Methought she was all white and blue, like the heavens above her, and her hair made sunshine over all. Herne, the blood-hound, lay at her feet, and would not be stirred, though for sport my lady had Marian to tempt him with some comfits.

While we were all there, and my lady showing us how the light shined through her thin hands, and discoursing right merrily, there came a page and handed her a letter. Back fell she among her pillows, and her eyelids dropped over her eyes, like snow-flakes fallen on violets. Anon she opened the letter, and having read it, said unto Marian, “Nurse, go bid him hither.” So Marian beckoned me, and we left her. As we entered the house, who should pass us but my Lord of Denbeigh, and o’ my word he was whiter than my lady, if anything, and wrapped as usual in a long cloak. He seemed not to see us, and we went on in silence.

Here transpires the only part of this narrative concerning which I am reluctant to write. I will out with it, however, and the Almighty knows that I have not done with repentance even yet. So be it. There was a window overhanging the terrace where my lady sat (the window out of which she had leaned to speak to me about repairing to the Red Deer). But let me not defer longer. I, Anthony Butter, of respectable parents, and counted among my fellows and betters an honest man, did go to this window, and did most deliberately listen to the words that passed between my mistress and the Earl of Denbeigh. In fact (for I have sworn to keep back no jot or tittle of the truth), I did speed me so fast that I was at the window ere his lordship reached my lady’s side.

He came slowly, but his look went before him, and was fast upon my lady’s face ere he himself was within ten yards of her. When at last he was come to her side, he did stand and look down on her, but uttered no word. And also my lady did look down, and there was a light like sunset on her cheek.

Then suddenly did he drop upon his knees beside her, and bowed down his head upon her knee and was silent. Then my lady (God forever keep her!) did turn her eyes quickly, and stole a look to see that no one was nigh (God forgive my dastardly presence!), and did reach out one pale hand, half fearfully as ’twere, and did let it rest upon the man’s bowed head, as a white rose-leaf falls and rests on the earth. And she said but two words, “My friend;” yet methought all love was in them. Whereat he raised his head and looked at her, and it is so that men look upward when they pray. He took her hands with his and held them to his breast, and he saith, “Dear saint, if thou forgivest me, wilt thou but kiss my brow?” And she bended forward and kissed him; and he trembled, calling her by name; and she asked him what he would with her. Then kneeling at her side, he spoke to her, and his words were as follows: