and she recognised the face of Richard—­very white and still, though not, as she supposed, with the whiteness and stillness of a spectre, but with the concentration of eagerness and watchful resolution.  The same moment she recognised Lady.  She trembled from head to foot.  What could it mean but that beyond a doubt they were both dead, slain in battle, and that Richard had come to pay her a last visit ere he left the world.  On they came.  Her heart swelled up into her throat, and the effort to queen it over herself, and neither shriek nor drop on the floor, was like struggling to support a falling wall.  When the spectre reached the marble fountain, he gave a little start, drew bridle, and seemed to become aware that he had taken a wrong path, looked keenly around him, and instead of continuing his advance towards her window, turned in the direction of the gate.  One thing was clear, that whether ghostly or mortal, whether already dead or only on the way to death, the apparition was regardless of her presence.  A pang of disappointment shot through her bosom, and for the moment quenched her sense of relief from terror.  With it sank the typhoon of her emotion, and she became able to note how draggled and soiled his garments were, how his hair clung about his temples, and that for all accoutrement his mare had but a halter.  Yet Richard sat erect and proud, and Lady stepped like a mare full of life and vigour.  And there was Marquis, not cowering or howling as dogs do in spectral presence, but madly bounding and barking as if in uncontrollable jubilation!

The acme of her bewilderment was reached when the phantom came under the marquis’s study-window, and she heard it call aloud, in a voice which undoubtedly came from corporeal throat, and that throat Richard’s, ringing of the morning and the sunrise and the wind that shakes the wheat—­anything rather than of the tomb: 

‘Ho, master Eccles!’ it cried; ’when? when?  Must my lord’s business cool while thou rubbest thy sleepy eyes awake?  What, I say!  When?  —­Yes, my lord, I will punctually attend to your lordship’s orders.  Expect me back within the hour.’

The last words were uttered in a much lower tone, with the respect due to him he seemed addressing, but quite loud enough to be distinctly heard by Eccles or any one else in the court.

Dorothy leaned from her window, and looked sideways to the gate, expecting to see the marquis bending over his window-sill, and talking to Richard.  But his window was close shut, nor was there any light behind it.

A minute or two passed, during which she heard the combined discords of the rising portcullis.  Then out came Eccles, slow and sleepy.

‘By St. George and St. Patrick!’ cried Richard, ’why keep’st thou six legs here standing idle?  Is thy master’s business nothing to thee?’

Eccles looked up at him.  He was coming to his senses.

‘Thou rides in strange graith on my lord’s business,’ he said, as he put the key in the lock.