Of that she began to think again, and not to believe her sorrow, except as a dream from the evil one, because it was too bad upon her, and perhaps she would awake in a minute, and her husband would have the laugh of her. And so she wiped her eyes and smiled, and looked for something.
'Madam, this is a serious thing,' Sir Ensor Doone said graciously, and showing grave concern: 'my boys are a little wild, I know. And yet I cannot think that they would willingly harm any one. And yet--and yet, you do look wronged. Send Counsellor to me,' he shouted, from the door of his house; and down the valley went the call, 'Send Counsellor to Captain.'
Counsellor Doone came in ere yet my mother was herself again; and if any sight could astonish her when all her sense of right and wrong was gone astray with the force of things, it was the sight of the Counsellor. A square-built man of enormous strength, but a foot below the Doone stature (which I shall describe hereafter), he carried a long grey beard descending to the leather of his belt. Great eyebrows overhung his face, like ivy on a pollard oak, and under them two large brown eyes, as of an owl when muting. And he had a power of hiding his eyes, or showing them bright, like a blazing fire. He stood there with his beaver off, and mother tried to look at him, but he seemed not to descry her.
'Counsellor,' said Sir Ensor Doone, standing back in his height from him, 'here is a lady of good repute--'
'Oh, no, sir; only a woman.'
'Allow me, madam, by your good leave. Here is a lady, Counsellor, of great repute in this part of the country, who charges the Doones with having unjustly slain her husband--'
'Murdered him! murdered him!' cried my mother, 'if ever there was a murder. Oh, sir! oh, sir! you know it.'
'The perfect rights and truth of the case is all I wish to know,' said the old man, very loftily: 'and justice shall be done, madam.'
'Oh, I pray you--pray you, sirs, make no matter of business of it. God from Heaven, look on me!'
'Put the case,' said the Counsellor.
'The case is this,' replied Sir Ensor, holding one hand up to mother: 'This lady's worthy husband was slain, it seems, upon his return from the market at Porlock, no longer ago than last Saturday night. Madam, amend me if I am wrong.'