Sir Mortimer

A Novel

BY

Mary Johnston

AUTHOR OF "TO HAVE AND TO HOLD""PRISONERS OF HOPE" ETC. 

1904

TO

J. A. J. AND W. A. J. 

Illustrations

"'OH, I ENVIED HER!' SHE CRIED" . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"SIR JOHN THRUST HIMSELF BETWEEN THE TWO" . . . . . . . . _Facing p_. 16

"IT WAS BALDRY'S SHIP, THE LITTLE _STAR_" . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52

"'DO YOU PURPOSE, THEN, THAT HE SHALL DIE?' DEMANDED BALDRY" . . . . 138

"'I BEG THE SHORTEST SHRIFT THAT YOU MAY GIVE'" . . . . . . . . . . 174

"'DAMARIS, THEY CALL HIM TRAITOR'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190

'"AH, LOOK NOT SO UPON ME!'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244

"THE FRIAR PRESENTED A BLANK COUNTENANCE TO SIR MORTIMER'S QUERIES" 260

"'LAD, LAD, ' HE WHISPERED, 'WHERE IS THY MASTER?'" . . . . . . . . . 284

_Sir Mortimer_

I

"But if we return not from our adventure, " ended Sir Mortimer, "if thesea claims us, and upon his sandy floor, amid his Armida gardens, thesilver-singing mermaiden marvel at that wreckage which was once a tallship and at those bones which once were animate, --if strange islandsknow our resting-place, sunk for evermore in huge and most unkindlyforests, --if, being but pawns in a mighty game, we are lost or changed, happy, however, in that the white hand of our Queen hath touched us, giving thereby consecration to our else unworthiness, --if we find nogold, nor take one ship of Spain, nor any city treasure-stored, --if wesuffer a myriad sort of sorrows and at the last we perish miserably--"

He paused, being upon his feet, a man of about thirty years, richlydressed, and out of reason good to look at. In his hand was a greatwine-cup, and he held it high. "I drink to those who follow after!" hecried. "I drink to those who fail--pebbles cast into water whose ringstill wideneth, reacheth God knows what unguessable shore where loss mayyet be counted gain! I drink to Fortune her minions, to Francis Drakeand John Hawkins and Martin Frobisher; to all adventurers and theirdeeds in the far-off seas! I drink to merry England and to the day whenevery sea shall bring her tribute!--to England, like Aphrodite, new-risen from the main! Drink with me!"

The tavern of the Triple Tun rang with acclamation, and, the windowsbeing set wide because of the warmth of the June afternoon, the noiserushed into the street and waylaid the ears of them who went busily toand fro, and of them who lounged in the doorway, or with folded armsplayed Atlas to the tavern walls. "Who be the roisterers within?"demanded a passing citizen of one of these supporters. The latter madeno answer; he was a ragged retainer of Melpomene, and he awaited thecoming forth of Sir Mortimer Ferne, a notable encourager of all whowould scale Parnassus. But his neighbor, a boy in blue and silver, squatted upon a sunny bench, vouchsafed enlightenment. 

"Travellers to strange places, " quoth he, taking a straw from his mouthand stretching long arms. "Tall men, swingers in Brazil-beds, parcel-gilt with the Emperor of Manoa, and playfellows to the nymphs ofDon Juan Ponce de Leon his fountain, --in plain words, my master, SirMortimer Ferne, Captain of the _Cygnet_, and his guests to dinner, towit, Sir John Nevil, Admiral of our fleet, with sundry of us captainsand gentlemen adventurers to the Indies, and, for seasoning, a handfulof my master's poor friends, such as courtiers and great lordsand poets. "

"Thinkest to don thy master's wit with his livery?" snapped thepoetaster. "'Tis a chain for a man, --too heavy for thy wearing. "

The boy stretched his arms again. "'Master' no more than in reason, "quoth he. "I also am a gentleman. Heigho! The sun shineth hotter herethan in the doldrums!"

"Well, go thy ways for a sprightly crack!" said the citizen, preparingto go his. "I know them now, for my cousin Parker hath a venture in the_Mere Honour_, and that is the great ship the Queen hath lent Sir John, his other ships being the _Marigold_, the _Cygnet_, and the _Star_, andthey're all a-lying above Greenwich, ready to sail on the morrow for theSpanish Main. "

"You've hit it in the clout, " yawned the boy. "I'll bring you an emeraldhollowed out for a reliquary--if I think on't. "

Within-doors, in the Triple Tun's best room, where much sherris sack wasbeing drunk, a gentleman with a long face, and mustachios twirled to apoint, leaned his arm upon the table and addressed him whose pledge hadbeen so general. "_Armida gardens_ and _silver-singing mermaiden_ and_Aphrodite England_ quotha! _Pike and cutlass and good red gold!_ saiththe plain man. O Apollo, what a thing it is to be learned and a makerof songs!"

Athwart his laughing words came from the lower end of the board a deepand harsh voice. The speaker was Captain Robert Baldry of the _Star_, and he used the deliberation of one who in his drinking had gone far andfast. "I pledge all scholars turned soldiers, " he said, "all courtierswho stay not at court, all poets who win tall ships at the point of acanzonetta! Did Sir Mortimer Ferne make verses--elegies and epitaphs andsuch toys--at Fayal in the Azores two years ago?"

There followed his speech, heard of all in the room, a moment of amazedsilence. Mortimer Ferne put his tankard softly down and turned in hisseat so that he might more closely observe his fellow adventurer. 

"For myself, when an Armada is at my heels, the cares of the moon do notconcern me, " went on Baldry, with the gravity of an oracle. "Had Neronot fiddled, perhaps Rome had not burned. "

"And where got you that information, sir?" asked his host, in a mostcourtier-like voice. 

"Oh, in the streets of Rome, a thousand years ago! 'Twas common talk. "The Captain of the _Star_ tilted his cup and was grieved to findit empty. 

"I have later news, " said the other, as smoothly as before. "At Fayal inthe Azores--"

He was interrupted by Sir John Nevil, who had risen from his chair, andbeneath whose stare of surprise and anger Baldry, being far from actualdrunkenness, moved uneasily. 

"I will speak, Mortimer, " said the Admiral, "Captain Baldry not being myguest. Sir, at Fayal in the Azores that disastrous day we did what wecould--mortal men can do no more. Taken by surprise as we were, shipswere lost and brave men tasted death, but there was no shame. He whoheld command that lamentable day was Captain--now Sir Mortimer--Ferne;for I, who was Admiral of the expedition, must lie in my cabin, illalmost unto death of a calenture. I dare aver that no wiser head everdrew safety for many from such extremity of peril, and no readier swordever dearly avenged one day's defeat and loss. Your news, sir, wasfalse. I drink to a gentleman of known discretion, proved courage, unstained honor--"

It needed not the glance of his eye to bring men to their feet. Theyrose, courtiers and university wits, soldiers home from the LowCountries, kinsmen and country friends, wealthy merchants who had stakedtheir gold in this and other voyages, adventurers who with Frobisher andGilbert had sailed the icy seas, or with Drake and Hawkins had gazedupon the Southern Cross, Captain Baptist Manwood, of the _Marigold_, Lieutenant Ambrose Wynch, Giles Arden, Anthony Paget, good men and tall, who greatly prized the man who alone kept his seat, smiling upon themfrom the head of the long table in the Triple Tun's best room. Baldry, muttering in his beard that he had made a throw amiss and that the winewas to blame, stumbled to his feet and stood with the rest. "SirMortimer Ferne!" cried they all, and drank to the seated figure. Thename was loudly called, and thus it was no slight tide of sound whichbore it, that high noon in the year 158-, into the busy London street. Bow Bells were ringing, and to the boy in blue and silver upon the benchwithout the door they seemed to take the words and sound them again andagain, deeply, clearly, above the voices of the city. 

Mortimer Ferne, his hand resting upon the table before him, waited untilthere was quiet in the tavern of the Triple Tun, then, because he feltdeeply, spoke lightly. 

"My lords and gentlemen, " he said, "and you, John Nevil, whom Ireverence as my commander and love as my friend, I give you thanks. Didwe lose at Fayal? Then, this voyage, at some other golden island, weshall win! Honor stayed with us that bloody day, and shall we not nowbring her home enthroned? Ay, and for her handmaidens fame and nobleservice and wealth, --wealth with which to send forth other ships, houndsof the sea which yet may pull down this Spanish stag of ten! By myfaith, I sorrow for you whom we leave behind!"

"Look that I overtake you not, Mortimer!" cried Sidney. "Walter Raleighand I have plans for next year. You and I may yet meet beneath apalm-tree!"

"And I also, Sir Mortimer, " exclaimed Captain Philip Amadas. "Sir Walterhath promised me a ship--"

"When the old knight my father dies, and I come into my property, " putin, loudly, a fancy-fired youth from Devon, "I'll go out over bar in aship of my own! I'll have all my mariners dressed like Sir HughWilloughby's men in the picture, and when I come home--"

"Towing the King of Spain his plate-fleet behind you, " quoth themustachioed gentleman. 

"--all my sails shall be cloth of gold, " continued wine--flushedone-and-twenty. "The main-deck shall be piled with bars of silver, andin the hold shall be pearls and pieces of gold, doubloons, emeralds asgreat as filberts--"

"At Panama saw I an emerald greater than a pigeon's egg!" cried one whohad sailed in the _Golden Hind_. 

Sir Mortimer laughed. "Why, our very speech grows rich--as did thinelong since, Philip Sidney! And now, Giles Arden, show these stay-at-homegentlemen the stones the _Bonaventure_ brought in the other day fromthat coast we touched at two years agone. If we miss the plate-fleet, mymasters, if we find Cartagena or Santa Marta too strong for us, there isyet the unconquered land, the Hesperidian garden whence came thesegolden apples! Deliver, good dragon!"

He of the mustachios laid side by side upon the board three pieces ofglittering rock, whereat every man bent forward. 

"Marcasite?" said one, doubtfully. 

"El madre del oro?" suggested another. 

"White spar, " said Arden, authoritatively, "and containeth of gold tenpounds to the hundredweight. Moreover--" He sifted down upon the darkwood beside the stones a thimbleful of dull yellow grains. "The sands ofPactolus, gentlemen! Sure 'twas in no Grecian river that King Midasbathed himself!"

Those of the company to whom had never before been exhibited thesesamples of imperial riches craned their necks, and the looks of somewere musing and of others keenly eager. The room fell silent, and stillthey gazed and gazed at the small heap of glistening stones and thosefew grains of gold. They were busy men in the vanguard of a quickenedage, and theirs were its ardors, its Argus-eyed fancy and potentimagination. Show them an acorn, and straightway they saw a forest ofoaks; an inch of a rainbow, and the mind grasped the whole vast arch, zenith-reaching, seven-colored, enclosing far horizons. So now, inaddition to the gleaming fragments upon the table before them, they sawmountain ranges with ledges of rock all sparkling like this ore, deepmines with Indian workers, pack-trains, and burdened holds of ships. 

After a time one lifted a piece of the ore, hesitatingly, as though hemade to take up all the Indies, scrutinized it closely, weighed it, passed it to his neighbor. It went the round of the company, each manhandling it, each with the talisman between his fingers gazing throughthe bars of this present hour at a pageant and phantasmagoria of his owncreating. At last it came to the hand of an old merchant, who held it amoment or two, looking steadfastly upon it, then slowly put it down. 

"Well, " said he, "may God send you furthering winds, Sir Mortimer andSir John, and make their galleons and galliasses, their caravels andcarracks, as bowed corn before you! Those of your company who are todie, may they die cleanly, and those who are to live, live nobly, andmay not one of you fall into the hands of the Holy Office. "

"Amen to that, Master Hudson, " quoth Arden. 

"The Holy Office!" cried a Banbury man. "I had a cousin, sirs, --anhonest fellow, with whom I had gone bird's-nesting when we were boystogether! He was master of a merchantman--the _Red Lion_--that by foultreachery was taken by the Spaniards at Cales. The priests put forththeir hands and clutched him, who was ever outspoken, ever held fast tohis own opinion!. . . To die! that is easy; but when I learned what wasdone to him before he was let to die--" The speaker broke off with anoath and sat with fixed gaze, his hand beating upon the table anoiseless tattoo. 

"To die, " said Mortimer Ferne slowly. "To die cleanly, having livednobly--it is a good wish, Master Hudson! To die greatly--as did yourcousin, sir, --a good knight and true, defending faith and loyalty, whatmore consummate flower for crown of life? What loftier victory, supremertriumph? Pain of body, what is it? Let the body cry out, so that itbetray not the mind, cheat not the soul into a remediless prison ofperdition and shame!"

He drank of his wine, then with a slight laugh and wave of his handdismissed a subject too grave for the hour. A little later he arose withhis guests from the table, and since time was passing and for some therewas much to do, men began to exchange farewells. To-morrow would see theadventurers gone from England; to-day kinsmen and friends must saygood-by, warmly, with clasping of hands and embracing, even with tears, for it was an age when men did not scorn to show emotion. A thousandperils awaited those who went, nor for those who stayed would time ortide make tarrying. It was most possible that they who parted now wouldfind, this side eternity, no second inn of meeting. 

From his perch beside the door, the boy in blue and silver watched hismaster's guests step into the sunlight and go away. A throng hadgathered in front of the tavern, for the most part of those within weremen of note, and Sir John Nevil's adventure to the Indies had long beengeneral talk. Singly or in little groups the revellers issued from thetavern, and for this or that known figure and favorite the crowd had itscomment and cheering. At last all were gone save the adventurersthemselves, who, having certain final arrangements to make, stayed tohold council in the Triple Tun's long room. 

Their conference was not long. Presently came forth Captain BaptistManwood of the _Marigold_ with his lieutenants, Wynch and Paget, andCaptain Robert Baldry of the _Star_. The four, talking together, started towards the waterside where they were to take boat for the shipsthat lay above Greenwich, but ere they had gone forty paces Baldry felthis sleeve twitched. Turning, he found at his elbow the blue and silversprig who served Sir Mortimer Ferne. 

"Save you, sir, " said the boy. "There's a gentleman at the Triple Tundesires your honor would give him five minutes of your company. "

"I did expect a man of my acquaintance, a Paul's man with a good rapierto sell, " quoth Baldry. "Boy, is the gentleman a lean gentleman with aDuke Humphrey look? Wait for me, sirs, at the stairs!"

Within the Triple Tun, Sir John Nevil yet sat at table pondering certainmaps and charts spread out before him, while Mortimer Ferne, havingre-entered the room after a moment's absence, leaned over hiscommander's shoulder and watched the latter's forefinger tracing thecoastline from the Cape of Three Points to Golden Castile. By the windowstood Arden, while on a settle near him lounged Henry Sedley, lieutenantto the Captain of the _Cygnet_; moreover a young gentleman of greatpromise, a smooth, dark, melancholy beauty, and a pretty taste indress. In his hands was a gittern which had been hanging on the wallabove him, and he played upon it, softly, a sweet and plaintive air. 

In upon these four burst Baldry, who, not finding the Paul's man andtrader in rapiers, drew himself up sharply. Sir Mortimer came forwardand made him a low bow, which he, not to be outdone in courtesy, anymore than in weightier matters, returned in his own manner, fierce andarrogant as that of a Spanish conquistador. 

"Captain Robert Baldry, I trusted that you would return, " said Ferne. "And now, since you are no longer guest of mine, we will resume our talkof Fayal in the Azores. Your gossips lied, sir; and he who, not stayingto examine a quarrel, becomes a repeater of lies, may chance upon asummer day, in a tavern such as this, to be called a liar. Mycartel, sir!"

He flung his glove, which scarce had felt the floor before the othersnatched it up. "God's death! you shall be accommodated!" he cried. "Here and now, is't not? and with sword and dagger? Sir, I will spit youlike a lark, or like the Spaniard I did vanquish for a Harry shillingat El Gran' Canario, last Luke's day--"

The three witnesses of the challenge sprang to their feet, the gitternfalling from Sedley's hands, and Sir John's papers fluttering to thefloor. The latter thrust himself between the two who had bared theirweapons. "What is this, gentlemen? Mortimer Ferne, put up your sword!Captain Baldry, your valor may keep for the Spaniards! Obey me, sirs!"

"Let be, John Nevil, " said Ferne. "To-morrow I become your sworn man. To-day my honor is my Admiral!"

"Will you walk, Sir Mortimer Ferne?" demanded Baldry. "The Bull andBear, just down the street, hath a little parlor--a most sweet retiredplace, and beareth no likeness to the poop of the _Mere Honour_. SirJohn Nevil, your servant, sir--to-morrow!"

[Illustration: "SIR JOHN THRUST HIMSELF BETWEEN THE TWO"]

"My servant to-day, sir, " thundered the Admiral, "in that I will forceyou to leave this quarrel! Death of my life! shall this get abroad? Notthat common soldiers or mariners ashore fall out and cudgel each otheruntil the one cannot handle a rope nor the other a morris-pike! notthat wild gallants, reckless and broken adventurers whose loss the nextdaredevil scamp may supply, choose the eve of sailing for a duello, inwhich one or both may be slain; but that strive together my captains, men vowed to noble service, loyal aid, whose names are in all mouths, who go forth upon this adventure not (I trust in God) with an eye singleto the gain of the purse, but thinking, rather, to pluck green laurelsfor themselves, and to bring to the Queen and England gifts of waningdanger, waxing power! What reproach--what evil augury--nay, perhaps, what maiming of our enterprise! Leaders and commanders that you are, with your goodly ships, your mariners and soldiers awaiting you, andabove us all the lode-star of noblest duty, truest honor--will you thusprefer to the common good your private quarrel? Nay, now, I might say'you shall not'; but, instead, I choose to think you will not!"

The speech was of the longest for the Admiral, who was a man of goldensilences. His look had been upon Baldry, but his words were for MortimerFerne, at whom he looked not at all. "I have been challenged, sir, "cried Baldry, roughly. "Draw back? God's wounds, not I!"

His antagonist bit his lip until the blood sprang. "The insult wasgross, " he said, with haughtiness, "but since I may not deny the truthof your words, John Nevil, I will reword my cartel. Captain RobertBaldry, I do solemnly challenge you to meet me with sword and daggerupon that day which sees our return to England!"

"A far day that, perhaps!" cried Baldry. "But so be it! I'll not failyou, Sir Mortimer Ferne. Look that you fail not me!"

"Sir!" cried Ferne, sharply. 

The Admiral struck the table a great blow. "Gentlemen, no more of this!What! will you in this mood go forth side by side to meet a common foe?Nay, I must have you touch hands!"

The Captain of the _Cygnet_ held out his hand. He of the _Star_ firstswore, then burst into a great laugh; finally laid his own upon it. 

"Now we are turtle-doves, Sir John, nothing less! and the _Star_ and the_Cygnet_ may bill and coo from the Thames to Terra Firma!" Suddenly heceased to laugh, and let fall his hand. "But I have not forgotten, " hesaid, "that at Fayal in the Azores I had a brother slain. "

He was gone, swinging from the room with scant ceremony, loudly orderingfrom his path the loiterers at the inn door. They whose company he hadquitted were silent for a moment; then said Sir Mortimer, slowly: "Iremember now--there was a Thomas Baldry, master of the _Speedwell_. Well, it was a sorry business that day! If from that muck of blood andhorror was born Detraction--"

"The man was mad!" thrust in young Sedley, hotly. "Detraction and youhave no acquaintance. "

Ferne, with a slight laugh, stooped to pick up the fallen gittern. "Shekept knighthood and me apart for a year, Henry. 'Tis a powerful dame, amost subtle and womanish foe, who knoweth not or esteemeth not the rulesof chivalry. Having yielded to plain Truth, she yet, as to-day, raisethunawares an arm to strike. " He hung the gittern upon its peg, then wentacross to the Admiral and put both hands upon his shoulders. The smilewas yet upon his lips, but his voice had a bitter ring. "John, John, "he said, "old wounds leave not their aching. That tall, fanfaronadingfellow hath a power to anger me, --not his words alone, but the manhimself. . . . Well, let him go until the day we come sailing back toEngland! For his words--" He paused and a shadow came over his face. "Who knows himself?" he said. "There are times when I look within anddoubt my every quality that men are pleased to give me. God smiles uponme--perhaps He smiles with contempt!. . . I would that I had followed, notled, that day at Fayal!"

Arden burst into a laugh. The Admiral turned and stared at him who hadspoken with a countenance half severity, half deep affection. "What!stings that yet?" he said. "I think you may have that knowledge ofyourself that you were born to lead, and that knowledge of higher thingsthat shame is of the devil, but defeat ofttimes of God. How idly do wetalk to-day!"

"Idly enough, " agreed Ferne with a quick sigh. He lifted his hands fromthe other's shoulders, and with an effort too instantaneous to beapparent shook off his melancholy. Arden took up his hat and swung hisshort cloak over his shoulder. 

"Since we may not fight, " he said, "I'll e'en go play. There's a prettylady hard by who loves me dearly. I'll go tell her tales of the Caribbeauties. Master Sedley, you are for the court, I know. Would the godshad sent me such a sister! Do you go to Leicester House, Mortimer? Ifnot, my fair Discretion hath a mate--"

"I, " answered Ferne, "am also for Greenwich. "

Arden laughed again. "Her Grace gives you yet another audience? Or is itthat hath come to court that Nonpareil, that radiant Incognita, thatbe-rhymed Dione at whose real name you keep us guessing? I thought theviolet satin was not for naught!"

"In that you speak with truth, " said the other, coolly, "for thirtyacres of good Devon land went to its procuring. Since you are for thecourt, Henry Sedley, one wherry may carry the two of us. "

When the two adventurers and the boy in blue and silver had made halfthe distance to the pleasant palace where, like a flight of multicoloredbirds, had settled for the moment Elizabeth's migratory court, thegentlemen became taciturn and fell at length to silent musing, each uponhis own affairs. The boy liked it not, for their discourse had been ofarmor and devices, of war-horses and Spanish swords, and such knightlymatters as pleased him to the marrow. He himself (Robin-a-dale theycalled him) meant to be altogether such a one as his master in violetsatin. Not a sea-dog simply and terrible fighter like Captain Manwood orAmbrose Wynch, nor a ruffler like Baldry, nor even a high, coldgentleman like Sir John, who slew Spaniards for the good of God and theQueen, and whose slow words when he was displeased cut like a rope'send. But he would fight and he would sing; he would laugh with his foeand then courteously kill him; he would know how to enter the presence, how to make a great Queen smile and sigh; and then again, amid thethunder and reek of the fight, on decks slippery with blood, he wouldstrain, half naked, with the mariners, he would lead the boarders, hewould deal death with a flashing sword and a face that seen through thesmoke wreaths was so calm and high!--And the Queen might knighthim--one day the Queen might knight him. And the people at home, turningin the street, would look and cry, "'Tis Sir Robert Dale!" as now theycry "Sir Mortimer Ferne!"

Robin-a-dale drew in his breath and clenched his hands withdetermination; then, the key being too high for long sustaining, camedown to earth and the contemplation of the bright-running Thames, itsshifting banks, and the shipping on its bosom. The river glided betweentall houses, and there were voices on the water, sounding from statelybarges, swift-plying wherries, ships at anchor, both great and small. Over all played mild sunshine, hung pale blue skies. The boy thought ofother rivers he had seen and would see again, silent streams glidingthrough forests of a fearful loveliness, miles of churned foam rushingbetween black teeth of jagged rock to the sheer, desperate, earth-shaking cataract, liquid highways to the realms of strange dreams!He turned involuntarily and met his master's eye. Between these two, master and boy, knave and knight, there was at times so strange acomprehension that Robin-a-dale was scarcely startled to find that histhoughts had been read. 

"Ay, Robin, " said Ferne, smiling, "other and stranger waters than thoseof Father Thames! And yet I know not. Life is one, though to-day weglide through the sunshine to a fair Queen's palace, and to-morrow westrive like fiends from hell for those two sirens, Lust of Gold and Lustof Blood. Therefore, Robin, an you toss your silver brooch into theThames it may come to hand on the other side of the world, swirlingtowards you in some Arethusa fountain. "

"I see the ships, master!" cried the boy. "Ho, the _Cygnet_, the bonnywhite _Cygnet!_"

They lay in a half-moon, with the westering sun striking full upon thewindows of their high, castellated poops. Their great guns gleamed; mastand spar and rigging made network against the blue; high in air floatedbright pennants and the red cross in the white field. To and fro pliedsmall boats, while over the water to them in the wherry came a pleasanthum of preparation for the morrow's sailing. Upon the _Cygnet_, lyingnext to the _Mere Honour_, and a very noble ship, the mariners beganto sing. 

"Shall we not row more closely?" cried Sedley. "The _Cygnet_ knows notthat it is you who pass!"

Sir Mortimer laughed. "No, no; I come to her arms from the Palaceto-night! Trouble her not now with genuflections and salutings. " Hiseyes dwelt with love upon his ship. "How clearly sounds the singing!"he said. 

So clearly did it sound over the water that it kept with them when theships were passed. Robin-a-dale had his fancies, to which at times hegave voice, scarce knowing that he had spoken. "'Tis the ship herselfthat sings, " he now began to say to himself in a low voice, over andover again. "'Tis the ship singing, the ship singing because she goes ona voyage--a long voyage!"

"Sirrah!" cried his master, somewhat sharply. "Know you not that theswan sings but upon one voyage, and that her last? 'Tis not the _Cygnet_that sings, but upon her sing my mariners and soldiers, for that they goforth to victory!"

He put his hands behind his head, and with a light in his eyes lookedback to the dwindling ships. "Victory!" he repeated beneath his breath. "Such fame, such service, as that earthworm, that same Detraction, shallraise no more her lying head!" He turned to Sedley: "I am glad, Harry, that your lot is cast with mine. For we go forth to victory, lad!"

The younger man answered him impetuously, a flush of pride mounting tohis smooth, dark cheek. "I doubt it not, Sir Mortimer, nor of mygathering laurels, since I go with you! I count myself most fortunate. "He threw back his head and laughed. "I have no lady-love, " he said, "andso I will heap the laurels in the lap of my sister Damaris. "

By now, the tide being with them, they were nearing Greenwich House. Ferne dipped his hand into the water, then, straightening himself, shookfrom it the sparkling drops, and looked in the face of the youth who wasto make with him his maiden voyage. 

"You could heap laurels in the lap of no sweeter lady, " he said, courteously. "I thought you went on yesterday to say farewell toMistress Damaris Sedley. "

"Why, so I did, " said the other, simply. "We said farewell with oureyes in the presence, while the Queen talked with my Lord of Leicester;in the antechamber with our hands; in the long gallery with our lips;and when we reached the gardens, and there was none at all to see, wee'en put our arms about each other and wept. It is a right noble wench, my sister, and loves me dearly. And then, while we talked, one of herfellow maids came hurriedly to call her, for her Grace would goa-hawking, and Damaris was in attendance. So I swore I would see heragain to-day though 'twere but for a moment. "

The rowers brought the wherry to the Palace landing. Sir Mortimer, stepping out upon the broad stairs, began to mount them somewhat slowly, Sedley and Robin-a-dale following him. Half-way up, Sedley, noting therich suit worn so point-device, and aware of how full in the sunshine ofthe Queen's favor stood for the moment his Captain, asked if he were forthe presence. Ferne shook his head: "Not now. . . . May I know, Henry, where you and your sister meet?"

"In the little covert of the park where we said good-by on yesterday. "There were surprise and some question in the youth's upward glance atthe man in violet satin, standing a step or two above him, his handresting upon the stone balustrade, a smile in his eyes, but none uponthe finely cut lips, quite grave and steady beneath the slight mustache. 

Ferne, reading the question, gave, after just a moment's pause, theanswer. "My dear lad, " he said, and the smile in his eyes grew moredistinct and kindly, "to Mistress Damaris Sedley I also would sayfarewell. " He laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder. "For I wouldknow, Henry--I would know if through all the days and nights that awaitus over the brim of to-morrow I may dream of an hour to come when thatdear and fair lady shall bid me welcome. " His eyes looked into thedistance, and the smile had crept to his lips. "It was my meaning tospeak to her to-night before I left the Palace, but this chance offersbetter. Will you give me precedence, Henry? let me see and speak to yoursister alone in that same covert of which you tell me?"

"But--but--" stammered Sedley. 

Sir Mortimer laughed. "'But . . . Dione!' you would say. 'Ah, faithlesspoet, forsworn knight!' you would say. Not so, my friend. " He looked faraway with shining eyes. "That unknown nymph, that lady whom I praise inverse, whose poet I am, that Dione at whose real name you all do vainlyguess--it is thy sister, lad! Nay, --she knows me not for her worshipper, nor do I know that I can win her love. I would try . . . "

Sedley's smooth cheek glowed and his eyes shone. He was young; he lovedhis sister, orphaned like himself and the neglected ward of a decayinghouse; while to his ardent fancy the man above him, superb in his violetdress, courteous and excellent in all that he did, was a very Palmerinor Amadis de Gaul. Now, impetuously, he put his hand upon that otherhand touching his shoulder, and drew it to his lips in a caress, ofwhich, being Elizabethans, neither was at all ashamed. In the dark, deeply fringed eyes that he raised to his leader's face there was aboyish and poetic adoration for the sea-captain, the man of war who wasyet a courtier and a scholar, the violet knight who was to lead him upthe heights which long ago the knight himself had scaled. 

"Damaris is a fair maid, and good and learned, " he said in a whisper, half shy, half eager. "May you dream as you wish, Sir Mortimer! For theway to the covert--'tis by yonder path that's all in sunshine. "

II

Beneath a great oak-tree, where light and shadow made a checkered round, Mistress Damaris Sedley sat upon the earth in a gown of rose-coloredsilk. Across her knee, under her clasped hands, lay a light racket, forshe had strayed this way from battledore and shuttlecock and thesprightly company of maids of honor and gentlemen pensioners engagedthereat. She was a fair lady, of a clear pallor, with a red mouth verysubtly charming, and dark eyes beneath level brows. Her eyes had depthson depths: to one player of battledore and shuttlecock they were merelylarge brown orbs; another might find in them worlds below worlds; athird, going deeper, might, Actæon-like, surprise the bare soul. Acuriously wrought net of gold caught her dark hair in its meshes, andpearls were in her ears, and around the white column of her throatrising between the ruff's gossamer walls. She fingered the racket, idlylistening the while for a foot-fall beyond her round of trees. Hearingit at last, and taking it for her brother's, she looked up with a proudand tender smile. 

"Fie upon thee for a laggard, Henry!" she began: "I warrant thy Captainmeets not his Dione with so slow a step!" Then, seeing who stood beforeher, she left her seat between the oak roots and curtsied low. "SirMortimer Ferne, " she said, and rising to her full height, met his eyeswith that deeper gaze of hers. 

Ferne advanced, and bending his knee to the short turf, took and kissedher hand. "Fair and sweet lady, " he said, "I made suit to your brother, and he has given me, his friend, this happy chance. Now I make mysupplication to you, to whom I would be that, and more. All this weekhave I vainly sought for speech with you alone. But now these blessedtrees hem us round; there is none to spy or listen--and here is a mossybank, fit throne for a faery queen. Will you hear me speak?"

The maid of honor looked at him with rose bloom upon her cheeks, and inher eyes, although they smiled, a moisture as of half-sprung tears. "Isit of Henry?" she asked. "Ah, sir, you have been so good to him! He isvery dear to me. . . . I would that I could thank you--"

As she spoke she moved with him to the green bank, sat down, and claspedher hands about her knees. The man who on the morrow should leave behindhim court and court ways, and all fair sights such as this, leanedagainst the oak and looked down upon her. When, after a little silence, he began to speak, it was like a right courtier of the day. 

"Fair Mistress Damaris, " he said, "your brother is my friend, but to-dayI would speak of my friend's friend, and that is myself, and yourservant, lady. To-morrow I go from this garden of the world, thisno-other Paradise, this court where Dian reigns, but where Venus comesas a guest, her boy in her hand. Where I go I know not, nor what threadClotho is spinning. Strange dangers are to be found in strange places, and Jove and lightning are not comfortable neighbors. Ulysses took molyin his hand when there came to meet him Circe's gentlemen pensioners, and Gyges's ring not only saved him from peril, but brought him wealthand great honor. What silly mariner in my ship hath not bought or beggedmithridate or a pinch of achimenius wherewith to make good his voyage?And shall not I, who have much more at stake, procure me anenchantment?"

The lady's fringed lids lifted in one swift upward glance. "Your valor, sir, should prove your surest charm. But there is the new alchemist--"

"He cannot serve my need, hath not what I want. I want--" He hesitatedfor a moment; then spoke on with a certain restrained impetuosity thatbecame him well: "There is a honey-wax which, being glazed about theheart, holdeth within it, forever, a song so sweet that the chanting ofthe sirens matters not; there is that precious stone which, as themagnet draweth the iron, so ever constraineth Honor, bidding him mountevery breach, climb higher, higher, higher yet! there is that fragrantleaf which oft is fed with tears, and often sighing worn, yet, so worn, inspireth valor more heroical than that of Achilles! Such a charm Iseek, sweet lady. "

Mistress Damaris Sedley, a favorite of the Countess of Pembroke, and acourt lady of some months' standing, could parley euphuism with thebest, and yet to-day it seemed to her that plain English might betterserve the turn. However:

"Good gentleman, " she answered, sedately, "I think that few are the beesthat gather so dainty a wax, but if they be flown to Hymettus, then toHymettus might one follow them; also that precious stone may be found, though, alack! often enough a man is so poor a lapidary that, seeingonly the covering of circumstances, he misses the true sapphire! and forthat fragrant leaf, I have heard of it in my day--"

"It is called truelove, " he said. 

Damaris kept to the card: "My marvel, sir, is to hear you speak asthough you had not the charm you seem to seek. One blossom of the treeAlpina is worth all store of roses; one ruby outvalueth many pearls; hewho hath already the word of magic needeth to buy no Venus's image; andSir Mortimer Ferne, secure in Dione's love, saileth, methinks, incrystal seas, with slight danger from storm and wreck. "

"Secure in Dione's love!" repeated Ferne. "Ah, lady, your shaft hasgone wide. I have sailed, and sailed, and sailed--ay, and in crystalseas--and have seen blooms fairer than the tree Alpina, and have been inthe land of emeralds and where pearls do grow, and yet have nevergathered the fragrant leaf, that leaf of true and mutual love. It shouldgrow with the laurel and blend with the bay--ay, and be not missing fromthe cypress wreath! But as yet I have it not--as yet I have it not. "

Damaris gazed upon him with brown, incredulous eyes, and when she spokeher words came somewhat breathlessly, having quite outgone the courtlyaffectation of similes run mad. 

"What mean you, sir? Not the love of Astrophel for Stella is betterknown than that of Cleon for Dione! And, lo! now your own lines--MasterDyer showed them to me but the other day copied into his book of songs:

 'Nor in my watery wanderings am I crossed; Where haven's wanted, there I haven find, Nor e'er for me is star of guidance lost--'"

Her voice breaking a little, Ferne made nearer approach to the greenbank where she rested. "Do you learn by heart my verses, lady?"he asked. 

"Ay, " she answered, "I did ever love sweet poetry. " Her voice thrilled, and she gazed past him at the blue heaven showing between the oakleaves. "If prayer with every breath availeth, " she said, "no doubt yourDione will bring your safe return. "

"Of whom do I write, calling her Dione?"

She shook her head. "I know not. None of us at court knows. Master Dyersaith--but surely that one is not worthy--" She ceased to speak, norknew there had been in her tone both pain and wistfulness. Presently shelaughed out, with the facile gayety that one in her position must needsbe practised in. "Ah, sir, tell me her name! Is she of the court?"

He nodded, "Yes. "

Damaris clapped her hands. "What lovely hypocrite have we among us? WhatLady Pure Innocence, wondering with the rest of the world?--and all thewhile Cleon's latest sonnet hot against her heart! Is she tall, sir, or short?"

"Of your height. "

The lady shrugged. "Oh, I like not your half-way people! And herhair--but halt! We know her hair is dark:

 'Ah, darkness loved beyond all light!'

Her eyes--"

He bent his head, moving yet nearer to her. "Her eyes--her eyes arewonderful! Where got you your eyes, Dione--Dione?"

Crimsoning deeply, Damaris started up, the racket escaping her clasp, and her hands going out in a gesture of dismay and anger. "Sir, --sir, "she stammered, "since you make a mock of me, I will begone. No, sir; letme pass! Ah, . . . How unworthy of you!"

Ferne had caught her by the wrists. "No, no! Dear lady, to whom I amwellnigh a stranger--sweetheart with whom I have talked scarce thrice inall my life--my Dione, to whom my heart is as a crystal, to whom I havewritten all things! I must speak now, now before I go this voyage! Thinkyou it is in me to vex with saucy words, to make a mock of anygentle lady?"

"I know not what to think, " she answered, in a strange voice. "I am toodull to understand. "

"Think that I tell you God's truth!" he cried. "Understand that--" Hechecked himself, seeing how pale she was and how flutteringly came herbreath; then, trained as she herself to instantly draw an airy veilbetween true feeling and the exigency of the moment, he became once morethe simple courtier. "You read the songs that I make, sweet lady, " hesaid, "and now will you listen while I tell you a story, a _novelle_? SoI may make you to understand. "

As he spoke he motioned to the mossy bank which she had quitted. Sheraised her troubled eyes to his; then, with her scarlet lip between herteeth, she took her seat again. For a minute there was silence in thelittle grove, broken only by the distant voices of the players whosecompany she had forsworn; then Ferne began his story:

"In a fair grassy plain, not many leagues removed from the hillParnassus, a shepherd named Cleon sat upon a stone, piping to himselfwhile he watched his sheep, and now and then singing aloud, so that theother shepherds and dwellers of the plain, and travellers through it, paused to hear his song. He sang not often, and often he laid his pipeaside, for he had much to think of, having been upon the other side ofthe mountain, and having seen cities and camps and courts, --for indeedhe was not always shepherd. And now, because his thoughts left the plainto hover over the place where danger is, to visit strange coasts andUltima Thule, to strain ever towards those islands of the blest wheregoes the man who has endured to the end, his notes when he sang or whenhe played became warlike, resolved, speaking of death and fame and sternthings, or of things of public weal. . . . But all the time the shepherdwas a lonely man, because his spirit was too busy to find ease foritself, and because, though he had helped other shepherds in thebuilding of their cottages, his own heart had no hearthstone where hemight warm himself and be content. Sometimes as he lay alone upon thebare earth, counting the stars, he caught the gleam from such a homeclear shining over the plain, and he told himself that when he hadnumbered all the stars like sheep in a fold, then would he turn and givehis heart rest beside some lower light. . . . So he kept on with hisPhrygian melodies, and they brought him friends and enemies; but nolover hastening over the plain stayed to listen, and the shepherd wassorry for that, because he thought that the others, though they heard, did not fully understand. "

The narrator paused. The maid of honor's hands were idle in her lap;with level gaze she sat in a dream. "Yet some there be who might haveunderstood, " she said, and scarce knew that she had spoken. 

"Now Cleon had a friend whom he loved, the shepherd Astrophel, who sangmore sweetly than any in all that plain, and Astrophel would oft urgeCleon to his dwelling, which was a fair one, with shady groves, sunnylawns, and springing fountains. "

"Ah, sweet Sidney, dear Penshurst!" breathed the lady, softly. 

"Now upon a day--indeed, 'tis little more than a year ago--Cleon, returning to the plain from a far journey, found Astrophel, who, takingno denial, would have him to those sunny lawns and springing fountains. There was dust upon the spirit of the shepherd Cleon: that had happenedwhich had left in his mouth the taste of Dead Sea fruit; almost was heready to break his pipe across, and to sit still forever, covering hisface. But Astrophel, knowing in himself how he would have felt in hisdearest part that wound which his friend had received, was skilled toheal, and with wise counsel and honeyed words at last won Cleon tovisit him. "

"A year and more ago, " said Damaris, dreamily. 

"On such a day as this, Cleon and Astrophel came to the latter's home, where, since Astrophel was as a magnet-stone to draw unto him thenoblest of his kind, they found a goodly gathering of the chiefest ofthe dwellers in the plain. Nor were lacking young shepherdesses, nymphs, and ladies as virtuous as they were fair, for Astrophel's sister wassuch an one as Astrophel's sister should be. "

"Most dear, most sweet Countess, " murmured Damaris. 

"Cleon and Astrophel were made welcome by this goodly company, afterwhich all addressed themselves to those sports of that country for whichthe day had been devised. But though he made merry with the rest, norwas in anything behind them, Cleon's heart was yet heavy within him. . . . Aurora, fast flying, turned a rosy cheek, then the night hid her pathwith his spangled mantle, and all this company of shepherdish folk leftthe gray lawns for Astrophel's house, that was lit with clear wax andsmelled sweet of roses. And after a while, when there had been comfittalk and sipping of sweet wine, one sang, and another followed, whilethe company listened, for they were of those who have ears to hear. Colin sang of Rosalind; Damon, of Myra; Astrophel, of Stella; Cleon, of--none of these things. 'Sing of love!' they cried, and he sang offriendship;' Of the love of a woman!' and he sang to the honor ofa man. "

"But in that contest he won the Countess's pearl, " said the maid ofhonor, her chin in her hands; "I knew (dear lady!) what, being woman, was her inmost thought, and in my heart I did applaud her choice. "

The man bent his eyes upon her for a moment, then went on with hisstory, but somewhat slowly. 

"When it had thus ended the day, that goodly company betook itself torest. But Cleon tossed upon his bed, and at the dawn, when the birdsbegan to sing, he arose, dressed himself, and went forth into the dewygardens of that lovely place. Here he walked up and down, for his unrestwould not leave him, and his heart hungered for food it had nevertasted. . . . There was a fountain springing from a stone basin, and allaround were set rose-bushes, seen dimly because of the mist. Presently, when the light was stronger, issued from the house one of those nymphswhom Astrophel's sister delighted to gather around her, and coming tothe fountain, began to search about its rim for a jewel that had beenlost. She moved like a mist wreath in that misty place, but Cleon sawthat her eyes were dark, and her lips a scarlet flower, and that gracewas in all her motions. He remembered her name, and that she was lovedof Astrophel's sister, and how sweet a lady she was called. Now hewatched her weaving paces in the mist, and his fancy worked. . . . The mistlifted, and a sudden sunshine lit her into splendor; face, form, spirit, all, all her being into fadeless splendor--into fadelesssplendor, Dione!"

The maid of honor left once more her grassy throne, and turning fromhim, moved a step away, then with raised arms clasped her hands behindher head. Her upturned face was hidden from him, but he saw her whitebosom rise and fall. He had made pause, but now he continued his story, though with a changed voice. 

"And Cleon, going to her with due greeting, knelt: she thought (sweetsoul!) to aid her in her search, but indeed he knelt to her, for now heknew that the gods had given him this also--to love a woman. But becausethe blind boy's shaft, designed to work inward ever deeper and deeperuntil it reached the heart's core, did now but ensanguine itself, hemade no cry nor any sign of that sweet hurt. He found and gave the nymphthe jewel she had lost, and broke for her the red, red roses, and whilethe birds did carol he led her through the morning to the entrance ofthe house. Up the stone stairs went she, and turned in splendor at thetop. A red rose fell . . . The sunlight passed into the house. "

The voice of the speaker altered, came nearer the ear of her who stoodwith heaving bosom, with upturned face, with hands locked tight upon thewonder of this hour. 

"The rose, the rose has faded, Dione, " said the ardent voice. "Look howdead it lies upon my palm! But bend and breathe upon it, and it willbloom again! Ah, that day at Penshurst! when I sought you and they toldme you were gone--a brother ill and calling for you--a guardian, nofriend of mine, to whose house I had not access! And then the Queen mustsend for me, and there was service to be done--service which got me myknighthood. . . . The stream between us widened. At first I thought to spanit with a letter, and then I wrote it not. 'Twas all too frail a bridgeto trust my hope upon. For what should have the paper said? _I am sonear a stranger to thee that scarce have we spoken twicetogether--therefore love me! I am a man who hath done somewhat in thebusy world, and shall, God willing, labor once again, but now a cloudovershadows me--therefore love me! I have no wealth or pomp of place togive thee, and I myself am of those whom God hath bound towander--therefore love me! I chanced upon thee beside a fountain ringedwith roses, gray with mist; the sun came out and I saw thee, golden inthe golden light--therefore love me!_ Ah no! you would have answered--Iknow not what. Therefore I waited, for I have at times a strangepatience, a willingness to let Fate guide me. Moreover, I ever thoughtto meet you, to speak with you face to face again, but it fell not so. Was I with the court, the country claimed you; went I north or west, needs must I hear of you a lovely star within that galaxy I had left. Thrice were we in company together--cursed spite that gave us only timefor courtly greeting, courtly parting!"

The voice came nearer, came very near: "Have I said that I wrote not toyou? Ay, but I did, my only dear! And as I wrote, from the court, fromthe camp, from my poor house of Ferne, I said: 'This will tell her howin her I reverence womankind, ' and, 'These are flowers for hercoronal--will she not know it among a thousand wreaths?' and, 'This, ah, this, will show her how deeply now hath worked the arrow!' and, 'Now shecannot choose but know--her soul will hear my soul cry!' And that thoseletters might come to your eyes, I, following the fashion, sealed themonly with feigned names, altered circumstance. All who ran might read, but the heartbeat was for your ear . . . Dione! Didst never guess?"

She answered in a still voice without moving: "It may be that my soulguessed. . . . If it did so, it was frightened and hid its guess. "

"I have told you, " said the man. "But, ah, what am I more to you nowthan on that morn at Penshurst--a stranger! I know not--even you maylove another. . . . But no, I know that you do not. As I was then, so am Inow, save that I have served the Queen again, and that cloud I spoke ofis overpast. I must go forth to-morrow to seek, to find, to win, tolose--God He knoweth what! I would go as your knight avowed, your favorin my helm, your kiss like holy water on my brow. See, I kneel to youfor some sign, some charm to make my voyage good!"

Very slowly the rose-clad maid of honor let fall her gaze from theevening skies to the man before her; as slowly unclasped her hands sotightly locked behind her upraised head. Her eyes were wide and filledwith light, her bosom yet rose and fell quickly; in all her mien therewas still wonder, grace supreme, a rich unfolding like the opening of aflower to the bliss of understanding. Trembling, her hand went down, andresting on his shoulder, gave him her accolade. She bowed herselftowards him; a knot of rosy velvet, loosened from her dress, fell uponthe turf beside his knee. Ferne caught up the ribbon, pressed it to hislips and thrust it in the breast of his doublet. Rising, he took her inhis arms and they kissed. Her breath came pantingly. 

"Oh, I envied her!" she cried. "Now I know that I envied while I blessedher--that unknown Dione!"

"My lady and my only dear!" he said. "Oh, Love is as the sun! So thesunshine bide, let come what will come!"

"I rest in the sunshine!" she said. "Oh, Love is bliss . . . But anguishtoo! I see the white sails of your ships. "

She shuddered in his arms. "All that go return not. Ah, tell me that youwill come back to me!"

"That will I do, " he answered, "an I am a living man. If I die, I shallbut wait for thee. I see no parting of our ways. "

One hour was theirs. Bread and wine, and flower and fruit, and meetingand parting it held for them. Hand in hand they sat upon the grassybank, and eyes met eyes, but speech came not often to their lips. Theylooked and loved, against the winter storing each moment with sweetknowledge, honeyed assurance. Brave and fair were they both, gallantlovers in a gallant time, changing love-looks in a Queen's garden, abovethe silver Thames. A tide of amethyst fell the sunset light; theswallows circled overhead; a sound was heard of singing voices; violetknight and rose-colored maid of honor, they came at last to sayfarewell. That night in the lit Palace, amid the garish crowd, theymight see each other again, might touch hands, might even have slightspeech together, but not as now could heart speak to heart. They rosefrom the green bank, and as the sun set, as the moon came out, and thesinging ceased, and the world grew ashen, they said what lovers say onthe brink of absence, and at the last they kissed good-by. 

III

They were not far north of the Canary Islands, when the sky, which forseveral days had been overcast, grew very threatening, and the _MereHonour_, the _Cygnet_, the _Marigold_, and the _Star_ made ready to meetwhat fury the Lord should be pleased to loose upon them. It came, amaniac unchained, and scattered the ships. Darkness accompanied it, andthe sea wrinkled beneath its feet. The ships went here and went there;throughout the night they burned lights, and fired many great pieces ofordnance, --not to prevail against their enemy, but to say each to theother: "Here am I, my sister! Go not too far, come not too near!" Theirvoices were as whispers to the shouting of their foe; beneath therolling thunders the sound of cannon and culverin were of less accountthan the grating of pebbles in a furious surge. 

Day came and the storm continued, but with night the wind fell andquiet possessed the deep. The sea subsided, and just before dawn theclouds broke, showing a waning moon. Below it suddenly sprang out twolights, one above the other, and to the _Cygnet_, safe, though with herplumage sadly ruffled, came the sound of a gun twice fired. 

The darkness faded, the gray light strengthened, and showed to thewatchers upon the _Cygnet's_ decks the ship in distress. It was Baldry'sship, the little _Star_. She lay rolling heavily in the heavy sea, hermasts gone, her boats swept away, her poop low in the water, herbeak-head high, sinking by the stern. Her lights yet burned, ghastly inthe dawning; her people, a black swarm upon her forecastle, layclinging, devouring with their eyes the _Cygnet's_ boats coming fortheir deliverance across the gray waste. Of the _Mere Honour_ and the_Marigold_ nothing was to be seen. 

The swarm descended into the boats, and all pushed off from the doomedship save a single craft, less crowded than the others, which waited, its occupants gesticulating angry dismay, for the one man who had notleft the _Star_. He stood erect upon her bowsprit, a dark figureoutlined against the livid sky. 

[Illustration: "IT WAS BALDRY'S SHIP, THE LITTLE _STAR_"]

The watchers upon the _Cygnet_, from Captain to least powder-boy, drewquick breath. 

"Ah, sirs, he loved the _Star_ like a woman!" ejaculated Thynne themaster, and, "He swore terribly, but he was a mighty man!" testified thechief gunner. Robin-a-dale swung himself to and fro in an ecstasy ofterror. "He rides--he rides so high!" he shrilled. "Higher than thegallows-tree! And he stands so quiet while he rides!"

Upon the poop young Sedley, standing beside his Captain, veiled his eyeswith his hand; then, ashamed of his weakness, gazed steadfastly at thelifted figure. Arden, drumming with his fingers upon the rail, lookedsidewise at Sir Mortimer Ferne. 

"It seems that your quarrel will have to wait some other meeting-placethan England, " he said. "Perhaps the laws of that _terra incognita_ towhich he goes forbid the duello. "

"He will not leave our company yet awhile, " answered Ferne, withcalmness. "As I thought--. "

The dark figure had dropped from the bowsprit of the _Star_ into thewaiting boat, which at once put after its fellows. Behind the desertedship suddenly streamed out a red banner of the dawn; stark and blackagainst the color, lonely in the path that must be trod, she awaited herend. To the seafaring men who watched her she was as human asthemselves--a ship dying alone. 

"All that a man hath will he give for his life, " quoth Arden, somewhatgrimly, for he was no lover of Baldry, and he was now ashamed of theemotion he had shown. 

"To go down with her, " said Ferne, slowly, --"that had been the act of amadman. And if to live is a thing less fine than would have been thatmadness, yet--"

He broke off, and turning from the _Star_, now very near her death, swept with his gaze the billowing ocean. "I would we might see the _MereHonour_ and the _Marigold_, " he said, impatiently. "What is lost islost, and Captain Baldry as well as we must stand this crippling of ourenterprise. But the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_ are of more accountthan the _Star_. "

Out of a cluster of mariners and landsmen rose Robin-a-dale's shrillcry: "She's going down, down, down! Oh, the white figurehead looks nomore into the sea--it turns its face to the sky! Down, down, the _Star_has gone down!"

A silence fell upon the decks of the _Cygnet_ and upon the overfreightedboats laboring towards her. Overhead mast and spar creaked and the lowwind sang in the rigging, but the spirit of man was awed within him. Aship was lost, and the sea was lonely beneath the crimson dawn. Wherewere the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_, and was all their adventurebut a mirage and a cheat? Far away was home, and far away the Indies, and the _Cygnet_ was a little feather tossed between red sky andheaving ocean. 

The thought did not last. As the crowded boats drew alongside, up sprangthe sun, cheering and warming, and at the Captain's command themusicians of the _Cygnet_ began to play, as at the setting of the watch, a psalm of thanksgiving. Sailors and volunteers, there had been butsixty men aboard the _Star_, and all were safe. As they clambered overthe side, a cheer went up from their comrades of the _Cygnet_. 

The boat that carried Baldry came last, and that adventurer was thelatest to set foot upon the _Cygnet's_ deck. Her Captain met him withbared head and outstretched hand. 

"We grieve with you, sir, for the loss of the _Star_, " he said, gravelyand courteously. "We thank God that no brave man went down with her. The_Cygnet_ gives you welcome, sir. "

The man to whom he spoke ignored alike words and extended hand. Atowering figure, breathing bitter anger at this spite of Fortune, heturned where he stood and gazed upon the ocean that had swallowed up hisship. Uncouth of nature, given to boasting, a foster-child of Violenceand Envy, he yet had qualities which had borne him upward and onwardfrom mean beginnings to where on yesterday he had stood, owner andCaptain of the _Star_, leader of picked men, sea-dog and adventurer asfamed for daredevil courage and boundless endurance as for hisbraggadocio vein and sullen temper. Now the _Star_ that he had loved wasat the bottom of the sea; his men, a handful beside the _Cygnet's_force, must give obedience to her officers; and he himself, --what was hemore than a volunteer aboard his enemy's ship? Captain Robert Baldry, grinding his teeth, found the situation intolerable. 

Sir Mortimer Ferne, biting his lip in a sudden revulsion of feeling, wasof much the same opinion. But that he would follow after courtesy was ascertain as that Baldry would pursue his own will and impulse. Thereforehe spoke again, though scarce as cordially as before:

"We will shape our course for Teneriffe, where (I pray to God) we mayfind the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_. If it please Captain Baldryto then remove into the _Mere Honour_, I make no doubt that the Admiralwill welcome so notable a recruit. In the mean time your men shall becared for, and you yourself will command me, sir, in all things thatconcern your welfare. "

Baldry shot him a look. "I am no maker of pretty speeches, " he said. "You have me in irons. Pray you, show me some dungeon and give me leaveto be alone. "

Young Sedley, hotly indignant, muttered something, that was echoed bythe little throng of gentlemen adventurers sailing with Sir MortimerFerne. Arden, leaning against the mast, coolly observant of all, beganto whistle, "'Of honey and of gall in love there is store: The honey is much, but the gall is more, '"

thereby bringing upon himself one of Baldry's black glances. 

"Lieutenant Sedley, " ordered Ferne, sharply, "you will lodge thisgentleman in the cabin next mine own, seeing that he hath all needfulentertainment. Sir, I do expect your company at dinner. "

He bowed, then stood at his full height, while Baldry sufficientlybethought himself to in some sort return the salute, even to givegrudging, half--insolent acknowledgment of the debt he owed the_Cygnet_. At last he went below--to refuse the bread and meat, but todrink deep of the _aqua vita_ which Sedley stiffly offered; then to lockhimself in his cabin, bite his nails with rage, and finally, when he hadstared at the sea for a long time, to sink his head into his hands andweep a man's tears for irrevocable loss. 

Of his fellow adventurers whom he left upon the poop, only MortimerFerne held his tongue from blame of his insupportable temper, orrefrained from stories of the _Star's_ exploits. The _Cygnet_ was underway, the wind favorable, her white and swelling canvas like cloudsagainst a bright-blue sky, the dolphins playing about her rushing prow, where a golden lady forever kept her eyes upon the deep. In the wind, timber and cordage creaked and sang, while from waist and main-deck camea cheerful sound of men at work repairing what damage the storm hadwrought. Thynne the master gave orders in his rumbling bass, then thedrum beat for morning service, and, after the godly fashion of the time, there poured from the forecastle, to worship the Lord, mariners andlandsmen, gunners, harquebusiers, crossbow and pike men, cabin andpowder boys, cook, chirurgeon, and carpenter--all the varied force ofthat floating castle destined to be dashed like a battering-ram againstthe power of Spain. The Captain of them all, with his gentlemen andofficers about him, paused a moment before moving to his accustomedplace, and looked upon his ship from stem to stern, from the throngeddecks to the topmost pennant flaunting the sunshine. He found it good, and the salt of life was strong in his nostrils. Inwardly he prayed forthe safety of the _Mere Honour_, and the _Marigold_, but that picture ofthe sinking _Star_ he dismissed as far as might be from his mind. Shehad been but a small ship--notorious indeed for fights against greatodds, for sheer bravado and hairbreadth escapes, but still a small ship, and not to be compared with the _Cygnet_. No life had been forfeited, and Captain Robert Baldry must even digest as best he might his privateloss and discomfiture. If, as he walked to his place of honor, and as hestood with English gentlemen about him, with English sailors andsoldiers ranged before him giving thanks for deliverance from danger, the Captain of the _Cygnet_ held too high his head; if he at that momentlooked upon his life with too conscious a pride, knew too well thedifference between himself, steadfast helmsman of all his being, andthat untutored nature which drove another from rock to shoal, from shoalto quicksand--yet that knowledge, detestable to all the gods, dragged athis soul but for a moment. He bent his head and prayed for the missingships, and most heartily for John Nevil, his Admiral, whom he loved;then for Damaris Sedley that she be kept in health and joyousness ofmind; and lastly, believing that he but plead for the success of anEnglish expedition against Spain and Antichrist, he prayed for gold andpower, a sovereign's gratitude and man's acclaim. 

Three days later they came to Teneriffe, and to their great rejoicingfound there the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_. The Admiral signalleda council; and Ferne, taking with him Giles Arden, Sedley, and theCaptain of the sunken _Star_, went aboard the _Mere Honour_, where hewas shortly joined by Baptist Manwood from the _Marigold_, with hislieutenants Wynch and Paget. In his state-cabin, when he had given hisCaptains welcome, the Admiral sat at table with his wine before him andheard how had fared the _Cygnet_ and the _Marigold_, then listened toBaldry's curt recital of the _Star's_ ill destinies. The story ended, hegave his meed of grave sympathy to the man whose whole estate had beenthat sunken ship. Baldry sat silent, fingering, as was his continualtrick, the hilt of his great Andrew Ferrara. But when the Admiral, withhis slow, deliberate courtesy, went on to propose that for thisadventure Captain Baldry cast his lot with the _Mere Honour_, helistened, then gave unexpected check. 

"I' faith, his berth upon the _Cygnet_ liked him well enough, and thoughhe thanked the Admiral, what reason for changing it? In fine, he shouldnot budge, unless, indeed, Sir Mortimer Ferne--" He turned himselfsquarely so as to face the Captain of the _Cygnet_. 

The latter, in the instant that passed before he made any answer toBaldry's challenging look, saw once again that vision of the othermorning--the flare of dawn, and high against it one desperate figure, aman just balancing if to keep his life or no, seeing that for the thinghe loved there was no rescue. Say that the doomed ship had been the_Cygnet_--would Mortimer Ferne have so cheapened grief, have grown sobitter, be so ready to eat his heart out with envy and despite? Perhapsnot; and yet, who knew? The _Cygnet_ was there, visible through the portwindows, lifting against serenest skies her proud bulk, her castellatedpoop and forecastle, her tall masts and streaming pennants. The _Star_was down below, a hundred leagues from any lover, and the sea was deepupon her, and her guns were silent and her decks untrodden. . . . He waswearied of Baldry's company, impatient of his mad temper and peasantbreeding, very sure that he chose, open-eyed, to torment himself fromTeneriffe to America with the sight of a prospering foe merely that thatfoe might feel a nettle in his unwilling grasp. Yet, so challenged, whenhad passed that moment, he met Baldry's gloomy eyes, and again assuredthe adventurer that the presence of so brave a man and redoubted fightercould but do honor to the _Cygnet_. 

His words were all that courtesy could desire: if tone and manner wereof the coldest, yet Baldry, not being sensitive, and having gained hispoint, could afford to let that pass. He turned to the Admiral with ashort laugh. 

"You see, sir, we are yoke-brothers--Sir Mortimer Ferne and I, --thoughwhether God or the devil hath joined us!. . . Well, the two of us may sendsome Spanish souls to hell!"

With his yoke-brother, Arden, and Sedley he returned to the _Cygnet_, and that evening at supper, having drunken much sack, began to loudlyvaunt the deeds of the drowned _Star_, magnifying her into a beingsentient and heroical, and darkly-wishing that the luck of theexpedition be not gone with her to the bottom of the sea. 

"Luck!" exclaimed Ferne at last, haughtily. "I hate the word. Yourluck--my luck--the luck of this our enterprise! It is a craven word, overmuch upon the lips of Christian gentlemen. "

"I was not born a gentleman, " said Baldry, playing with his knife. "Youknow that, Sir Mortimer Ferne. "

"I'll swear you've taken out no patent since, " muttered Arden, whereathis neighbor laughed aloud, and Baldry, pushing back his stool, glaredat each in turn. 

"I know that a man's will, and not a college of heralds, makes him whathe is, " said Ferne. "I have known churls in honorable houses and trueknights in the common camp. And I submit not my destinies to thatgamester Luck: as I deserve and as God wills, so run my race!"

"Oh, every man of us knows our Captain's deserving!" quoth Baldry. "Well, gentlemen, on that occasion of which I was speaking, the devil'sown luck being with me, I sunk both the carrack and the galley, andheaded the _Star_ for the castle of Paria. "

On went the wondrous tale, with no further interruption from SirMortimer, who sat at the head of the table, playing the part of host toCaptain Robert Baldry, listening with cold patience to the adventurer'srhodomontade. When spurred by wine there was wont to awaken in Baldry acertain mordant humor, a rough wit, making straight for the mark andclanging harshly against an adversary's shield, a lurid fancy dullyilluminating the subject he had in hand. The wild story that he wastelling caught the attention of the more thoughtless sort at table; theyleaned forward, encouraging him from flight to flight, laughing at eachsally of boatswain's wit, ejaculating admiration when the _Star_ and herCaptain fairly left the realm of the natural. One splendid lie followedanother, until Baldry was caught by his own words, and saw himself thus, and thus, and thus!--a sea-dog confessed, a gatherer of riches, a dealerof death from the poop of the _Star_! In his mind's eye the lost barkswelled to a phantom ship, gigantic, terrible, wrapped with the mist ofthe sea; while he himself--ah! he himself--

 "He struck the mainmast with his hand, The foremast with his knee--"

All that he had been and all that he had done, if man were onlysomething more than man, if devil's luck and devil's power would come tohis whistle, if the seed of his nature could defy the iron stricture ofthe flesh, reaching its height, shooting up into a terribleupas-tree--so for the moment Baldry saw himself. Into his voice came adeep and sonorous note, his black eyes glowed; he began to gesture withhis hand, stately as a Spaniard. And then, chancing to glance towardsthe head of the board, he met the eyes of the man who sat there, hisCaptain now, whom he must follow! What might he read in their depths?Half-scornful amusement, perhaps, and the contempt of the man who hasdone what man may do for the yoke-fellow who habitually made claim tosupernatural prowess; in addition to the scholar's condemnation ofblatant ignorance, the courtier's dislike of unmannerliness, thesoldier's scorn of unproved deeds, athwart all the philosophic smile!Baldry, flushing darkly, hated with all his wild might, for that hechose to hate, the man who sat so quietly there, who held with so muchease the knowledge that by right of much beside his commission he wasleader of every man within those floating walls. The Captain of the_Star_ struck the table with his hand. 

"Ah, I had good help that time! My brother sailed with me--ThomasBaldry, that was master of the _Speedwell_ that went down at Fayal inthe Azores. . . . Didst ever see a ghost, Sir Mortimer Ferne?"

"No, " answered Ferne, curtly. 

"Then the dead come not to haunt us, " said Baldry. "I would have sworn amany had passed before your eyes. Now had I been Thomas Baldry I wouldhave won back. "

"That also?" demanded Sir Mortimer. His tone was of simple wonder, andthere went round the board a laugh for Baldry's boasting. Thatadventurer started to his feet, his eyes, that were black, deep-set, andvery bright, fixed upon Ferne. 

"That also, " he answered. "An I should die before our swords cross, thatalso!"

He turned and left the cabin. 

"Now, " said Arden, as his heavy footsteps died away, "I had rathergather snow for the Grand Turk than rubies with some I wot of!"

Henry Sedley, a hot red in his cheek, and his dark hair thrown back, turned from staring after the retreating figure. "If I send him mycartel, Sir Mortimer, wilt put me in irons?"

"Ay, that will I, " said Ferne, calmly. "Word and deed he but doth afterhis kind. Well, let him go. For his words, that a man's deeds do haunthim, rising like shadows across his path, I believe full well--but forme the master of the _Speedwell_ makes no stirring. . . . Take thy lute, Henry Sedley, and sing to us, giving honey after gall! Sing to me ofother things than war. "

As he spoke he moved to the stern windows, took his seat upon the benchbeneath, and leaning on his arm, looked out upon the low red sun and thedarkening ocean. 

 "'Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread: For love is dead: Love is dead, infected With plague of deep disdain--'"

sang Sedley with throbbing sweetness, depth of melancholy passion. Thelistener's spirit left its chafing, left pride and disdain, and driftedon that melodious tide to far heavens. 

 "'Weep, neighbors, weep; do you not hear it said That Love is dead? His death-bed peacock's folly; His winding sheet is shame; His will false-seeming wholly; His sole executor blame!'"

rang Sedley's splendid voice. The song ended; the sun sank; on came theinvader night. Ferne took the lute and slowly swept its strings. 

"How much, how little of it all is peacock's folly, " he said; "whoknoweth? Life and Living, Love and Hate, and Honor the bubble, and Shamethe Nessus-robe, and Death, which, when all's done, may have no answerto the riddle!--Where is the fixed star, and who knoweth depth fromshallow, or himself, or anything?" He struck the lute again, drawingfrom it a lingering and mournful note. 

"Now out upon the man who brought melancholy into fashion!" ejaculatedArden. "In danger the blithest soul alive, when all is well you do askyourself too many questions! I'll go companion with Robert Baldry, whokeeps no fashions save of Mars's devising. "

"Why, I am not sad, " said Ferne, rousing himself. "Come, I'll dice withthee for fifty ducats and a gold jewel--to be paid from the firstship we take!"

On sailed the ships through tranquil seas, until many days had falleninto their wake, slipping by them like painted clouds of floatingseaweed or silver-finned vagrants of the deep. Great calms brooded uponthe water, and the sails fell idle, flag and pennant drooped; then thetrade-wind blew, and the white ships drove on. They drove into the bluedistance, towards unknown ports--known only in that they would surelyprove themselves Ports of All Peril. At night the sea burned; a field ofgold it ran to horizons jewelled with richer stars than shone at home. Above them, in the vault of heaven, hung the Great Ship, blazed theSouthern Cross. Every hour saw the flight of meteors, and their trains, golden argosies of the sky, faded slowly from the dark-blue depths. Whenthe moon arose she was ringed with colors, but the men who gazed uponher said not, "Every hue of the rainbow is there. " They said, "See thered gold, the pearls and the emeralds!" The night died suddenly and theday was upon them, an aureate god, lavish of splendor. They hailed himwith music; as they pulled and hauled, the seamen sang. Other winds thanthose of heaven drove them on. High purpose, love of country, religiousecstasy, chivalrous devotion, greed of gain, lust of aggrandizement, lust of power, mad ambitions, ruthless intents--by how strong a current, here crystal clear, there thick and denied, were they swept towardstheir appointed haven! In cruelty and lust, in the faith of littlechildren and the courage of old demi-gods, they went like homingpigeons; and not a soul, from him who gave command to him who, faraloft, looked out upon the deep, recked or cared that another age wouldcall him pirate or corsair, raising brow and shoulder over the moralityof his deeds. 

In the realms which they were entering, Truth, shattered into a thousandgleaming fragments, might be held in part, but never wholly. There man'squarry was the false Florimel, and she lured him on and he saw withmagically anointed eyes. Too suddenly awakened, the imagination of thetime was reeling; its sap ran too fast; wonders of the outer, revelations of the inner, universe crowded too swiftly; the heady winemade now gods, now fools of men. The white light was not for the heirsof that age, nor yet the golden mean. Wonders happened, that they knew, and so like children they looked for strange chances. There was nomiracle at which their faith would balk, no illusion whose cobweb tissuethey cared to tear away. Give but a grain whereon to build, a phenomenonbefore which started back, amazed and daunted, the knowledge of the age, and forthwith a mighty imagination leaped upon it, claimed it for itsown. There had been but a grain of sand, an inexplicable fact--lo! now, a rounded pearl shot with all the hues of the morning, a miracle ofgrace or an evidence of diabolic power, to doubt which was heresy!

Adventurers to the Spanish Main believed in devil-haunted seas, inflying islands, in a nation of men whose eyes were set in theirshoulders, and of women who cut off the right breast and slew every malechild. They believed in a hidden city, from end to end a three days'march, where gold-dust thickened the air, and an Inca drank with hisnobles in a garden whose plants waved not in the wind, whose flowersdrooped not, whose birds never stirred upon the bough, for all alikewere made of gold. They believed in a fair fountain, hard indeed tofind, but of such efficacy that the graybeard who dipped in its shiningwaters stepped forth a youth upon ever-vernal banks. 

So with these who like an arrow now clave the blue to the point ofdanger. In this strange half of the world where nature's juggling handdealt now in supernal beauty, now in horror without a name, how mightthey, puppets of their age, hold an even balance, know the mirage, knowthe truth? Inextricably mingled were the threads of their own being, andnone could tell warp from woof, or guess the pattern that was weaving orstay the flying shuttle. What if upon the material scroll unrollingbefore them God had chosen to write strange characters? Was not theparchment His, and how might man question that moving finger?

One day they discerned an island, fair and clear against thehorizon--undoubtedly there, although no chart made mention of it. Allsaw the island; but when one man cried out at the amazing height of itssnowy peak another laughed him to scorn, declaring the peak a cloud, andspoke of sand-dunes topped with low bushes. A third clamored of a fairwhite city, an evident harbor, and the masts of great ships; a fourth, every whit as positive, stood out for unbroken forests and surf upon alonely reef. While they contended, the island vanished. Then they knewthat they had seen St. Brandon's Isle, and in his prayer at the settingof the watch the chaplain made mention of the matter. On a night whenall the sea was phosphorescent, Thynne the master saw in the wake of the_Cygnet_ a horned spirit, very black and ugly, leaping from one fieryripple to another, but when he called on Christ's name, rushing madlyaway, full tilt into the setting moon. Again, Ferne and young Sedley, pacing the poop beneath a sky of starry splendor, and falling silentafter talk that had travelled from Petrarch and Ariosto to that _FaerieQueene_ which Edmund Spenser was writing, heard a faint sweet singingfar across the deep. "Hark!" breathed Sedley. "The strange sweetsound. . . . Surely mermaiden singing!"

"I know not, " replied Ferne, his hands upon the railing. "Perchance 'tisso. They say they are fair women. . . . The sound is gone. I would I mighthear thy sister singing. "

"How silver and how solemn is the sky!" said his companion. "Perhaps itwas the echo of some heavenly strain. There goeth a great star! They saythat the fall of such stars is portentous, speaking to men of doom. "

His Captain laughed. "Hast added so much astrology to thy store oflearning? Now, good-wife Atropos may cut her thread by the light of acomet; but when the comet has flared away and the shearer returned toher place, then in the deep darkness, where even the stars shine not, the shorn thread may feel God's touch, may know it hath yet its uses. . . . How all the sea grows phosphorescent! and the stars do fall so thicklythat there may be men a-dying. Well, before long there will be othergiving of swords to Death!"

In the silence which followed his words, lightly spoken as they were, young Sedley, who indeed owed very much to Mortimer Ferne, laidimpulsively his hand upon his Captain's hand. "On the night you giveyour sword to Death, how great a star shall fall! An I go first, I shallknow when the trumpet sounds for your coming. "

"When I give my sword to Death, " said Ferne, absently. "Ay, lad, when Igive my sword to Death. . . . There again, do you not hear the singing? Itis the wind, I think, and not the people of the sea. It hath a mockingsound. . . . When I give my sword to Death. "

From the tops above them fell a voice of Stentor. "Sail ho! sail ho!"Upon which they gave for the remainder of the tropic night smallattention to aught but warlike matters. With the morning the three shipscounted to the general gain the downright sinking of a small fleet fromHispaniola, and the taking therefrom porcelain, many bales of rich silkand rosaries of gold beads, a balass-ruby, twenty wedges of silver, anda chest well lined with ducats. 

With this treasure to hark them forward, on and on sailed the ships; andnow land birds came to them, and now they passed, floating upon thewater, the leafy branch of a strange tree with red, cuplike blossoms. Full--sailed upon the quiet sea they held their course, while the menupon them, eager-eyed and keen, watched for land and for the galleons ofSpain. Content with the taking of the _Star_, calamity now kept awayfrom the ships. None upon them died, few were sick, master and captainswere kind, mariners and landsmen trusted in their tried might andwealthy promises, and all the gales of heaven prospered the voyage. 

On the last day of July, seven weeks from that leave-taking in thetavern of the Triple Tun, they came to the rocky island of Tobago;watered there; then, driven by the constant wind, went on until faintupon the horizon rose the coast of the mainland. 

The mountains of Maccanoa in the island of Margarita loomed before them;they passed Coche, and on a night when light clouds obscured the moonapproached the pearl islet of Cubagua. With the dawn the _Mere Honour_and the _Marigold_ entered the harbor of New Cadiz, and began to bombardthat much-decayed town of the pearl-fishers. The _Cygnet_ kept on to theslight settlement of La Rancheria, and met, emerging in hot haste froma little bay of blue crystal, the galleon _San José_, one thousand tons, commanded by Antonio de Castro, very richly laden, sailing from PuertoBello to Santo Domingo, and carrying, moreover, a company of soldiersfrom Nueva Cordoba on the mainland to Pampatar in Margarita. 

IV

Myriads of sea-birds, frightened by the thunder of the guns, fledscreaming; the palm-fringed shores of the bay showed through the smokebrown and dim and far removed; hot indeed was the tropic morning in thecore of that murk and flame and ear-splitting sound. Each of thecombatants carried three tiers of ordnance; in each the guns were servedby masters at their trade. Cannons and culverins, sakers and falcons, rent the air; then the _Cygnet_, having the wind of the Spaniard, laidher aboard, and the harquebusiers, caliver, and crossbow-men also beganto speak. Together with the great guns they spoke to such effect thatthe fight became very deadly. Twice the English strove to enter the huge_San José_, and twice the Spaniards, thick upon her as swarming bees, beat them back with sword and pike and blinding volleys from theirmusketeers. From the tops fell upon them stones and heated pitch; thehail-shot mowed them down; swordsmen and halberdiers thrust many fromtheir footing, loosening forevermore their clutching fingers, foreverstayed the hoarse shout in their throats. Many fell into the sea andwere drowned before the soul could escape through gaping wounds; othersreached their own decks to die there, or to lie writhing at the feet ofthe unhurt, who might not stay for the need of any comrade. At thesecond repulse there arose from the galleon a deafening cry of triumph. 

Ferne, erect against the break of the _Cygnet's_ poop, drawing a clothtight with teeth and hand above a wound in his arm from which the bloodwas streaming, smiled at the sound, knotted his tourniquet; then for thethird time sprang upon that slanting, deadly bridge of straining ropes. His sword flashed above his head. 

"Follow me--follow me!" he cried, and his face, turned over hisshoulder, looked upon his men. A drifting smoke wreath obscured hisform; then it passed, and he stood in the galleon's storm of shot, poised above them, a single figure breathing war. Seen through theglare, the face was serene; only the eyes commanded and compelled. Thevoice rang like a trumpet. "St. George and Merry England! Come on, men!--come on, come on!"

They poured over the side and across the chasm dividing them from theirfoes. A resistless force they came, following the gleam of a liftedsword, the "On--on!" of a loved leader's voice. Sir Mortimer touched thegalleon's side, ran through the body a man of Seville whose sword-pointoffered at his throat, and stood the next moment upon the poop of the_San José_ Robert Baldry, a cutlass between his teeth, sprang after him;then came Sedley and Arden and the tide of the English. 

The Spanish captain met his death, as was fitting, at Ferne's hand; thecommandant of the soldiers fell to the share of Henry Sedley. The youngman fought with dilated eyes, and white lips pressed together. SirMortimer, who fought with narrowed eyes, who, quite ungarrulous bynature, yet ever grew talkative in such an hour as this, found time tonote his lieutenant's deeds, to throw to the brother of the woman heloved a "Well done, dear lad!" Sedley held his head high; his leader'spraise wrought in him like wine. He had never seen a man who did not hisbest beneath the eyes of Sir Mortimer Ferne. . . . There, above theopposite angle of the poop, red gold, now seen but dimly through thereek of the guns, now in a moment of clear sunshine flaunting itundefiled, streamed the Spanish flag. Between him and that emblem ofworld-power the press was thick, for around it at bay were gathered manyvaliant men of Spain, fighting for their own. They who by the law of thestrong were to inherit from them had yet to break that phalanx. Sedleythrew himself forward, beat down a veteran of the Indies, swept ontowards the goal of that hated banner. His enemies withstood him, closedaround him; in a moment he was cut off from the English, was gazing intoDeath's eyes. With desperate courage he strove to thrust aside thespectre, but it came nearer, --and nearer, --and nearer. The blood from acut across his temple was blinding him. He dashed it from him, andthen--that was not Death's face, but his Captain's. . . . Death slunk away. Ferne, whose dagger had made that rescue, whose sword was rapidlyachieving for the two of them a wizard's circle, chided and laughed ashe fought:

"What, lad! wouldst have played Samson among the Philistines? A manshould better know his strength. --There, señor! a St. George for yourSan Jago!--Well done again, Henry Sedley! but I must show you a better_passado_. --Have at _thee_, Don Inches!--Ah, Captain Baldry, GilesArden, good Humphrey, give you welcome! Here's room forEnglishmen. --Well, die, then, pertinacious señor!--Now, now, HenrySedley, there are lions yet in your path, but not so many. Have at theirgolden banner an you prize the toy! No, Arden, no--let him take itsingle-handed. Our first battle is far behind us. . . . Now who leads here, since I think that he who did command is dead? Is it you, señor?"

The poop was a shambles, the _San José_ from stem to stern in sorrycase. Underfoot lay the dead and wounded, her guns were silenced, hermen-at-arms overmastered. They had fought with desperate bravery, butthe third attack of the English had been elemental in its force. Arushing wave, a devastating flame, they had swept the ship, and defeatwas the portion of their foes. Waist and forecastle were won, but uponthe poop a remnant yet struggled, though in weakness and despair. It wasto one of this band that the Captain of the _Cygnet_ addressed hislatest words. Even as he spoke he parried the other's thrust, and feltthat it had been given but half-heartedly. He had used the Spanishtongue, but when an answer came from the mailed figure before him it wascouched in English. 

"Not so, valiant sir, " it said, and there was in the voice some hasteand eagerness. "Say rather I am led. Alas! when a man fights with hissword alone, his will being traitor to his hand!"

"Since it is with the sword alone you fight, Spaniard with an Englishtongue, " replied his antagonist, "I do advise you to go seek your sword, seeing that without it you are naught. " As he spoke he sent the other'sweapon hurtling into the sea. 

Its owner made a gesture of acquiescence. "I surrender, " he said; thenin an undertone: "He yonder with the plume, now that De Castro liesdead, is your fittest quarry. Drag him down and the herd is yours. "

Ferne stared, then curled his lip. "Gramercy for your hint, " he said. "Ipray you that henceforth we become the best of strangers. "

A shout arose, and Sedley bore down upon them, his right arm high, crumpled in his hand the folds, tarnished with smoke, riddled by shot, of the great ensign. It was the beginning of the end. Half an hour laterthe red cross of St. George usurped the place of the golden flag. Thatsame afternoon the _Cygnet_ and the _San José_--the latter now manned byan English crew, with her former masters under hatches--appeared beforeLa Rancheria, stormed the little settlement, and found there a slighttreasure of pearls. More than this was accomplished, for, boat-loadafter boat-load, the Spanish survivors of the fight were transferredfrom the galleon to a strip of lonely shore, and there left to shift forthemselves. One only of all that force the Captain of the _Cygnet_detained, and that was the man who had used the tongue of England andthe sword of Spain. With the sunset the _Mere Honour_ and the_Marigold_, having left desolation behind them at New Cadiz, joined the_Cygnet_ and her prize where they lay at anchor between the two spitsof sand that formed the harbor of La Rancheria. 

In the _Mere Honour's_ state-cabin the Admiral of the expeditionformally embraced and thanked his Captain, whose service to the commoncause had been so great. It was, indeed, of magnitude. Not many hourshad passed between the frenzy of battle and this sunshiny morning; buttime had been made and strength had been found to look to the cargo ofthe _San José_". If wealth be good, it was worth the looking to, for notthe _Cacafuego_ had a richer lading. Gold and silver, ingots and barsand wrought images, they found, and a great store of precious stones. Tocap all fortune, there was the galleon's self, a great ship, seaworthyyet, despite the wounds of yesterday, mounting many guns, well suppliedwith powder, ammunition, and military stores, English now in heart, andlacking nothing but an English name. This they gave her that same day. In the smoke and thunder of every cannon royal within the fleet _SanJosé_" vanished, and in his place arose the _Phoenix_. 

Exultant, flushed, many of them bearing wounds, the officers of theexpedition and the gentlemen adventurers who had staked with themcrowded the cabin of the _Mere Honour_. The sunshine streaming throughthe windows showed in high light bandaged heads or arms and faceshaggard with victory. Wine had been spilled, and in the air there wasyet the savor of blood. About each man just breathed some taint ofsavagery that was not yet beaten back after yesterday's wild outburstand breaking of the bars. In some it took the form of the sleekstillness of the tiger; others were loud-voiced, restless, biting attheir nails. Only to a few was it given to bear triumph soberly, withroom for other thoughts; to the most it came as a tumultuous passion, anirrational joy, a dazzling bandage to their eyes, beneath which theysaw, with an inner vision, wealth a growing snowball and victory theirfamiliar spirit. Among the adventurers from the _Cygnet_ there was, moreover, an intoxication of feeling for the man who had led them inthat desperate battle, whose subtle gift it was to strike fire fromevery soul whose circle touched his own. He was to them among tenthousand the Captain of their choice, not loved the least because ofthat quality in him which gave ever just the praise which bred stronglonging for desert of fame. Now he stood beside the Admiral, and spokewith ardor of the Englishmen who had won that fight, and very tenderlyof the dead. They were not a few, for the battle had been long anddoubtful. Simply and nobly he spoke, giving praise to thirsty souls. When he had made an end, there was first a silence more eloquent thanspeech, pregnant with the joy a man may take in his deed when he looksupon it and sees that it is good; then a wild cheer, thrice repeated, for Sir Mortimer Ferne. The name went out of the windows over the sea, and up to every man who sailed the ship. One moment Ferne stood, tastinghis reward; then, "Silence, friends!" he said. "To God the victory! AndI hear naught of New Cadiz and other fortunate ships. " He drew swiftlyfrom its sling his wounded arm and waved it above his head. "TheAdmiral!" he cried, and then, "The _Marigold_!"

When at last there was quiet in the cabin, Nevil, a man of HumphreyGilbert's type, too lofty of mind to care who did the service, so thatthe service was done, began to speak of the captured galleon. "A nobleship--the _Star_ come again, glorious in her resurrection robes! Whoshall be her captain, teaching her to eschew old ways and serve theQueen?" His eyes rested upon the galleon's conqueror. "Sir MortimerFerne, the election lies with you. "

Ferne started sharply. "Sir, it is an honor I do not desire! As Admiral, I pray you to name the Captain of the _Phoenix_. "

A breathless hush fell upon the cabin. It was a great thing to becaptain of a great ship--so great a thing, so great a chance, that ofthe adventurers who had bravely fought on yesterday more than one felthis cheek grow hot and the blood drum in his ears. Arden cared not forpreferment, but Henry Sedley's eyes were very eager. Baldry, having nohopes of favor, sat like a stone, his great frame rigid, his nails whiteupon the hilt of his sword, his lips white and sneering beneath hisshort, black, strongly curling beard. 

The pause seemed of the longest; then, "Not so, " said the Admiral, quietly. "It is your right. We know that you will make no swerving fromyour duty to God, the Queen, and every soul that sails upon thisadventure, which duty is to strengthen to the uttermost this new sinewof our enterprise. Mailed hand and velvet glove, you know their severaluses, and the man whom you shall choose will be one to make thegalleon's name resound. "

Ferne signed to the steward, and when the tankard was filled, raised thesherris to his lips. "I drink to Captain Robert Baldry, of the_Phoenix_!" he said, bowed slightly to the man of his nomination, thenturned aside to where stood Henry Sedley. 

Around the cabin ran a deep murmur of reluctant assent to the wisdom ofthe choice and of tribute to the man who had just heaped before hispersonal enemy the pure gold of opportunity. Few were there from whomBaldry had not won dislike, but fewer yet who knew him not for a captainfamous for victory against odds, trained for long years in the school ofthese seas, at once desperate and wary, a man of men for adventure suchas theirs. He had made known far and wide the name of that his shipwhich the sea took, and for the _Phoenix_ he well might win a yetgreater renown. 

Now the red blood flooded his face, and he started up, speaking thickly. "You are Admiral of us all, Sir John Nevil! I do understand that it isyours to make disposition in a matter such as this. I take no favor fromthe hand of Sir Mortimer Ferne!"

"I give you none, " said Ferne, coldly. "Favors I keep for friendship, but I deny not justice to my foe. "

The Admiral's grave tones prevented Baldry's answer. "Do you appeal tome as Admiral? Then I also adjudge you the command of the galleon. The_Star_ did very valiantly; look to it that the _Phoenix_ proveno laggard. "

"Hear me swear that I will make her more famous than is Drake's _GoldenHind_!" cried Baldry, his exultation breaking bounds. "Sir John, youhave knowledge of men, and I thank you! Sir Mortimer Ferne, I will giveaccount--"

"Not to me, sir, " interrupted Ferne, haughtily. "I have but one accountwith you, and that my sword shall hereafter audit. "

"Sir, I am content!" cried the other, fiercely, then turning again tothe Admiral, broke into a laugh that was impish in its glee. "Ah, I'veneeded to feel my hand on my ship's helm! Sir John, shall I have mysixty tall fellows again, with just a small levy from the _Mere Honour_, the _Marigold_, and the _Cygnet_?"

"Yes, " answered the Admiral, and presently, by his rising, declared thecouncil ended, whereupon the adventurers dispersed to their severalships where they lay at anchor in the crystal harbor, the watchmen inthe tops straining eyes, on the decks mariners and soldiers as jubilantas were ever men who did battle on the seas. Only the _Cygnet's_ boat, rocking beneath the stern of the _Mere Honour_, waited for its Captain, who tarried with the Admiral. 

In the state-cabin the two men sat for some moments in silence, theAdmiral covering with his hand his bearded lips, Ferne with head thrownback against the wall and half-closed eyes. In the strong light withwhich the cabin was flooded his countenance now showed of a somewhatworn and haggard beauty. Drunken and forgotten was the wine of battle, gone the lofty and impassioned vein; after the exaltation came themelancholy fit, and the man who, mailed in activities, was yet, beneaththat armor, a dreamer and a guesser of old riddles, had let the fireburn low, and was gone down into the shadowy places. 

"Mortimer, " spoke the Admiral, and waited. The other moved, drew a longbreath, and then with a short laugh came back to the present. 

"My friend . . . How iron is our destiny! Do I hate that man too greatly?One might say, I think, that I loved him well, seeing that I have lentmy shoulder for him to climb upon. "

"Mortimer, Mortimer, " said Nevil, "you know that I love you. My friend, I pray you to somewhat beware yourself. I think there is in your veins asubtle poison may work you harm. "

Ferne looked steadfastly upon him. "What is its name?"

The other shook his head. "I know not. It is subtle. Perhaps it ispride--ambition too inwrought with fairest qualities to show assuch, --security of your self of selves too absolute. Perhaps I mistakeand your blood doth run as healthfully as a child's. But you are ofthose who ever breed in others speculation, wilding fancies. . . . When aman doth all things too well, what is there left for God to do but tobreak and crumble and remould? If I do you wrong, blame, if you will, mylove, which is jealous for you--friend whom I value, soldier and knightwhom I have ever thought the fair ensample of our time!"

"I hold many men, known and unknown, within myself, " said Ferne, slowly. "I think it is always so with those of my temper. But over that hundredI am centurion. "

"God forgive me if I misjudge one of their number, " answered the other. "The centurion I have never doubted nor will doubt. "

Another silence; then, "Will you see that Spaniolated Englishman, myprisoner?" asked Sir Mortimer. "He is under charge without. "

The Admiral put to his lips a golden whistle, and presently there stoodin the cabin a slight man of not unpleasing countenance--blue eyes, brown hair, unfurrowed brow, and beneath a scant and silky beard a chinas softly rounded as a woman's. --His name and estate? Francis Sark, gentleman. --English? So born and bred, cousin and sometime servant to mylord of Shrewsbury. --And what did my English gentleman, my cousin to anEnglish nobleman, upon the galleon _San José_? Alack, sirs! wereEnglishmen upon Spanish ships so unknown a spectacle?

"I have found them, " quoth the Admiral, "rowing in Spanish galleys, naked, scarred, chained, captives and martyrs. "

Said Ferne, "You, sir, fought in Milan mail, standing beside the captainof soldiers from Nueva Cordoba. "

"And if I did, " answered boldly their prisoner, "none the less was Islave and captive, constrained to serve detested masters. Where needsmust I fight, I fought to the purpose. Doth not the galley-slave pullstrongly at the oar, though the chase be English and of his own blood?"

"He toils under the whip, " said Ferne. "Now what whip did the Spaniarduse?"

"He is dead, and his men await succor on that lonely coast where youleft them, " was Master Francis Sark's somewhat singular reply. "There isleft in the fortress of Nueva Cordoba a single company of soldiers; thebattery at the river's mouth hath another. Luiz de Guardiola commandsthe citadel, and he is a strong man, but Pedro Mexia at the Bocca is soeasy-going that his sentinels nod their nights away. In the port ridetwo caravels--eighty tons, no more--and their greatest gun ademi-cannon. The town is a cowardly place of priests, women, and richmen, but it holds every peso of this year's treasure gathered againstthe coming of the plate-fleet. There is much silver with pearls fromMargarita, and crescents of gold from Guiana, and it all lies in a houseof white stone on the north side of the square. Mayhap De Guardiola upin the fortress watches, but all else, from Mexia to the last muleteer, think themselves as safe as in the lap of the Blessed Virgin. Theplate-fleet stays at Cartagena, because of the illness of its Admiral, Don Juan de Maeda y Espinosa. . . . I show you, sirs, a bird's nest worththe robbing. "

"You are a galley-slave the most circumstantial I have ever met, " saidFerne. "If there are nets about this tree, I will wring your neck forthe false songster that you are. "

"You shall go with us bird's-nesting, " said the Admiral. 

"That falls in with my humor, " Master Sark made answer. "For, look you, there are such things as a heavy score and an ancient grudge, to saynothing of true service to a true Queen. "

"Then, " quoth the other, "you shall feed fat your grudge. But if whatyou have told me is leasing and not truth, I will hang you from theyard-arm of my ship!"

"It is God's truth, " swore the other. 

Thus it was that, having, like all English adventurers upon Spanishseas, to trust to strange guides, the _Mere Honour_, the _Cygnet_, the_Marigold_, and the _Phoenix_ shaped their course for the mainland andNueva Cordoba, where were bars of silver, pearls, and gold crescents, and up in the castle that fierce hawk De Guardiola, who cared little forthe town that was young and weak, but much for gold, the fortress, andhis own grim will and pleasure. 

V

Luiz De Guardiola, magnificent Castilian, proud as Lucifer, still as thewater above the reef offshore, and cruel as the black fangs beneath thatserenity, looked over the wall of the fortress of Nueva Cordoba. Helooked down into the moat well stocked with crocodiles, great fish hismercenaries, paid with flesh, and he looked at the tunal which ringedthe moat as the moat ringed the squat white fortress. A deadly girdlewas the tunal, of cactus and other thorny things, thick, wide, dark, andimpenetrable, a forest of stilettoes, and for its kings the rattlesnakeand viper. Nor naked Indian nor mailed white man might traverse thatthicket, where wall on wall was met a spiked and iron growth. Oneopening there was, through which ran the road to the town, but a batterydeemed impregnable commanded this approach, forming an effectual claspfor that strong cestus which the fecund, supple, and heated land madepossible to all Spanish fortifications. Beyond the tunal the nakedhillside fell steeply to a narrow plain, all patched with goldenflowers, and from this yellow carpet writhed tall cacti, fantastic astrees seen in a dream. Upon the plain, pearl pink in the sunset light, huddled the town. Palm-trees and tamarinds overhung it; palm-trees, mimosas, and mangroves marked the course of a limpid river. Above thebattery at the river's mouth drooped a red cross in a white field. Caravels there were none in the road, but riding there, close inshore, the four ships that had sunk the caravels and silenced the battery. 

High in the air of evening, blown from the town, a trumpet sounded. DeGuardiola ground his teeth, for that jubilant silver calling was not forSan Jago, but St. George. The notes gathered every memory of the pastfew days and pressed them upon him in one cup of chagrin. The caravelswere gone, the battery at the Bocca gone, the town surrendered to theseEnglish dogs who now daily bared their teeth to the fortress itself. DeGuardiola admitted the menace, knew from experience in the LowCountries that this breed of the North sprang strongly, held firmly. "Hounds of hell!" he muttered. "Where is the fleet from Cartagena?"

The tropic ocean answered not, and the words of the wind wereunintelligible. The sun dropped lower; the plain appeared to move, toroll and welter in the heated air and yellow light. Tall starvelings, the cacti spread their arms; from a mimosa wood arose a cloud ofvultures; it was the hour of the Angelus, but no bells rang in thechurches of the town. The town sat in fear, shrinking into corners fromits cup of trembling. "Ransom!" cried the English from their ships andfrom their quarters in the square. "Pay us ransom, or we burn anddestroy!" "Mother of God!" wailed Nueva Cordoba. "Why ask but fiftythousand ducats? As easy to give you the revenue of all the Indies!Moreover, every peso is housed in the fortress. Day before yesterday wecarried there--oh, señors, not our wealth, but our poverty!" Quoth theEnglish: "What has gone up may come down, " and sent messengers, bothSpanish and English, to Don Luiz de Guardiola, Governor of NuevaCordoba, who from his stronghold swore that he found himself willing tohang these pirates, but not to dispense to them the King of Spain histreasure. Ransom! What word was that for the lips of Lutheran dogs!

A sea bird flew overhead with a wailing cry; down in the moat acrocodile raised his horrible, fanged snout, then sank beneath the stillwater. Don Luiz turned his bloodshot eyes upon the town in jeopardy andthe bland and mocking ocean, so guileless of those longed-for sails. Thefour ships in the river's mouth!--silently he cursed their every mastand spar, the holds agape for Spanish treasure, the decks whereon he sawmen moving, the flags and streaming pennants flaunting interrogation ofSpain's boasted power. A cold fury mounted from Don Luiz's heart to hisbrain. Of late he had slept not at all, eaten little, drunken no greatamount of wine. Like a shaken carpet the plain rose and fell; a miragelifted the coasts of distant islands, piling them above the horizon intocastles and fortifications baseless as a dream. The sun dipped; up fromthe east rushed the night. The tunal grew a dark smudge, drawn by awizard forefinger around De Guardiola, his men-at-arms, the silver barsand the gold crescents from Guiana. Out swung the stars, blazing, mighty, with black spaces in between. Again rang the trumpet, a highvoice proclaiming eternal endeavor. The wind began to blow, and on theplain the cacti, gloomy and fantastic sentinels, moved their stiffbodies, waved their twisted arms in gestures of strangeness and horror. The Spaniard turned on his heel, went down to his men-at-arms where theykept watch and ward, and at midnight, riding like Death on a great, palesteed, led a hundred horsemen out of the fortress, through the tunal, and so down the hillside to the town. 

The English sentries cried alarm. In the square a man with a knot ofvelvet in his helm swung himself into the saddle of a capturedwar-horse, waved aside the blue-jerkined boy at the rein, in a word ortwo cried over his shoulder managed to impart to those behind him sheerassurance of victory, and was off to greet Don Luiz. They met in thewide street leading from the square, De Guardiola with his hundredcavaliers and Mortimer Ferne with his chance medley of horse and foot. The hot night filled with noise, the scream of wounded steeds and theshouting of men. Lights flared in the windows, and women wailed to allthe saints. Stubbornly the English drove back the Spanish, foot by foot, the way they had come, down the street of heat and clamor. In the darkhour before the dawn De Guardiola sounded a retreat, rode with hisdefeated band up the pallid hillside, through the serpent-haunted tunal, over the dreadfully peopled moat into the court of the white stonefortress. There, grim and gray, with closed lips and glowing eyes, hefor a moment sat his horse in the midst of his spent men, then heavilydismounted, and called to him Pedro Mexia, who, several days before, hadabandoned the battery at the river's mouth, fleeing with the remnant ofhis company to the fortress. The two went together into the hall, andthere, while his squire unarmed De Guardiola, the lesser man spokefluently, consigning to all the torments of hell the strangers inNueva Cordoba. 

"Go to; you are drunken!" said De Guardiola, coldly. "You speak what youcannot act. "

"I have three houses in the town, " swore the other. "A reasonableransom--"

"There is no longer any question of ransom, " answered Don Luiz. "Fellow"--to the armorer, --"fetch me a surgeon. "

Mexia sat upright, his eyes widening: "No question of ransom! I thankthe saints that I am no hidalgo! Now had simple Pedro Mexia beensomewhat roughly handled, unhorsed mayhap, even the foot of an Englishheretic planted on his breast, I think that talk of the ransom of NuevaCordoba would not have ceased. But Don Luiz de Guardiola!--quite anothermatter! Santa Teresa! if the town is burnt I will have payment for mythree houses!" His superior snarled, then as the surgeon entered, madesigns to the latter to uncover a bruised shoulder and side. 

At sunrise a trumpet was blown without the tunal, and the English againmade demand of ransom money. The fortress crouching upon the hilltopgave no answer, stayed silent as a sepulchre. Shortly afterwards fromone quarter of the town arose together many columns of smoke; a littlelater an explosion shook the earth. The great magazine of Nueva Cordobalay in ruins, while around it burned the houses fired by Englishtorches. "Shall we destroy the whole of your city?" demanded theEnglish. "Judge you if fifty thousand ducats will build it again!"

Nueva Cordoba, distracted, sent petitioners to their Governor. "Paythese hell-hounds and pirates and let them sail away!" "Pay, " advisedalso Pedro Mexia, "or presently they may have the fortress as well asthe town! The squadron--it is yet at Cartagena! Easier to torment thecaciques until more gold flows than to build another Nueva Cordoba. Scarpines and strappado won't lay stone on stone!"

Don Luiz kept long silence where he stood, a man of iron, cold as thestone his long fingers pressed, venomous as any snake in the tunal, proud as a Spaniard may be, and like the rest of his world very mad forgold; but at last he turned, and despatching to the English camp a whiteflag, proposed by mouth of his herald a brief cessation of hostilities, and a meeting between himself, Don Luiz de Guardiola, Governor of NuevaCordoba, and the valorous Señor John Nevil, commandant of Englishmen. Whereto in answer came, three-piled with courtesy, an invitation to DonLuiz de Guardiola and ten of his cavaliers to sup that evening in NuevaCordoba with John Nevil and his officers. Truce should be proclaimed, safe-conduct given; for table-talk could be no better subject than thequestion of ransom. 

Facing the square of Nueva Cordoba was a goodly house, built by theChurch for the Church, but now sacrilegiously turned to other uses andbecome the quarters of Sir John Nevil and Sir Mortimer Ferne, who heldthe town and menaced the fortress, while Baptist Manwood and RobertBaldry kept the fleet and conquered battery. The place had a greatarched refectory, and here the English prepared their banquet. 

Indian friends by now had they, for in the town they had found and setat liberty three caciques, penned like beasts, chained with a singlechain, scored with marks sickening to look upon. The caciques proved notungrateful. Down the river this very day had come canoes rowed by men ofbronze and filled with spoils of the chase, fish of strange shapes andbrilliant hues, golden, luscious fruits, flowers also fairer thanamaranth or asphodel, gold beads and green stones. Gold and gems wentinto the treasure-chests aboard the ships, but all besides came kindlyin for the furnishing of that rich feast. Nor were lacking other viands, for grain and flesh and wine had been abundant in Nueva Cordoba, whosestorehouses now the English held. They hung their borrowedbanqueting-hall with garlands of flowers, upon the long table put greatcandles of virgin wax, with gold and silver drinking-vessels, andbrought to the revel of the night a somewhat towering, wild, andfreakish humor. Victory unassuaged was theirs, and for them Fortune hadcogged her dice. They had taken the _San José_ and sunk the caravels, they had sacked the pearl-towns and Nueva Cordoba, they had gatheredlaurels for themselves and England. For the fortress, they deemed thatthey might yet drain it of hoarded treasure. The poison of the land andtime had touched them. The wind sang to them of conquest; morn and eve, the sun at noon, and at night the phosphorescent sea, were of the colorof gold, and the stars spoke of Fame. The great mountains also, to thesouth, --how might the eye leap from height to height and the soul notstir? In Time's hornbook ambition is an early lesson, and thesescholars had conned it well. Of all that force, scarce one simplesoldier or mariner in whom expectation ran not riot, while the gentlemenadventurers in whose company were to sup De Guardiola and his tencavaliers saw that all things might be done with ease and that evilchances lurked not for them. 

The Captain of the _Cygnet_ and the Captain of the _Phoenix_, with Ardenand Sedley, awaited beside the great window of the hall their guests'appearance. The sunset was not yet, but the moment was at hand. Thelight, dwelling upon naked hillside and the fortress crowning it, madeboth to seem candescent, hill and castle one heart of flame against thepurple mountains that stretched across the south. Very high were themountains, very still and white that fortress flame; the yellow plaincould not be seen, but the palm-trees were gold green above the walls ofNueva Cordoba. The light fell from the hilltop, a solitary trumpet blew, and forth from that guarded opening in the tunal rode De Guardiola onhis pale horse, and at his back ten Spanish gentlemen. 

"The dark line of them is like a serpent creeping from the tunal, " saidHenry Sedley. "Last night I dreamed a strange thing. . . . It concerned mysister Damaris. She came up from the sea, straight from the water likeblown spray, and she was dressed in white. She looked down through thesea and her tears fell, and falling, they made music like themermaiden's singing that we heard. '_Lie still_, ' she said. '_Thou underthe sea and I under the sod. Lie still: dream well: all's over_. ' Towhom did she speak?"

"If I were a dead man and she called my name, I would answer, " saidFerne. "She under the sod and I under the sea. . . . So be it! But firstone couch, one cup, one garland, the sounded depths of love--"

"I dreamed of home, " quoth Baldry, "and of my mother's calling me, alittle lad, when at twilight work was done. '_Robert, Robert_!'she called. "

"I had no dreams, " said Sir Mortimer. "Now sounds John Nevil'strumpets--our guests have made entry. "

"Why, señors, " answered Mexia, flattered and flown with wine, "I learnedto speak your tongue from a man of your country, who also gave me thatknowledge of English affairs which you are pleased to compliment. I makemy boast that I am no traveller--I have not been home to Seville thesetwenty years--yet, as you see, I have some trifling acquaintance--"

"Your learning is of so shining a quality, " quoth Sir Mortimer, withcourteous emphasis, "that here and there a flaw cannot mar its curiousworth. Smerwick Fort lies in Ireland, señor, not in England. Thoughverily the best thing I know of Edmund Campion is the courageousness ofhis end; yet indeed he died not with a halo about his head, nor weremiracles wrought with his blood. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen ofEngland hath no such distemperature as that you name, and keepeth nosort of familiar fiend. The Queen of Scots, if a most fair and mostunfortunate, is yet a most wicked lady, who, alas! hath trained many agallant man to a bloody and disastrous end. "

"Who is that Englishman, your teacher?" came from the head of the boardthe Admiral's grave voice. 

"He is dead, " said De Guardiola at his right hand. 

"Of his fate, valiant señors, " began the fuddled Mexia, "you alone maybe precisely aware--"

"He is dead, " again stated with deliberation Don Luiz. "I know, señors, the pool where these fish were caught and the wood where alone growsthis purple fruit. So you set at liberty those three slaves, thecaciques?. . . Well, I had reason to believe that they had hidden gold. "

"Where is Master Francis Sark?" demanded Nevil, of Ferne. "I did commandhis attendance here to-night. "

"He plead a tertian fever--would not mar our warmth with his shivering, "said the other. "I sent the chirurgeon to his cell--for indeed the manshook like a reed. "

It would appear that Francis Sark was an unknown name to their guests, for no flicker of recognition passed over the countenance of anySpaniard. They sat at the long table, and foe drank to foe while fiddleand hautboy made music and the candles slowly wasted and in the hotnight the garlands withered. Perfumes were lit in the room, and thesmoke of their burning made a violet haze through which quivered theheart-shaped candle flames. The music had a wild ring, and laughter aswild came easily to a man's lips. The English laughed for that theirspirits were turned thistle-down, and the Spaniards laughed because aman's foe should not see his chagrin. 

For a while compliment and courtesy led each party in chains; theymasked distrust and hatred beneath cloth-of-gold ceremoniousness, punctiliously accepted a Roland for an Oliver, extravagantly praised theprowess of men and nations whom they much desired to sweep from the faceof the earth. But as time wore on and the wine went round, this cloak ofpunctilio began to grow threadbare and the steel beneath to gleamdangerously. There was thunder in the air, and men were ready to play atball with the apples of discord, though as yet they but tossed to eachother the poisonous flowers which should grow that fruit. "How mightilyon such a day did your little island!" cried the Spaniards. "Ah, señors, the invincibleness of your conquistadores!" ran the English testimony. "El Draco, Juan Acles, yourselves, valorous gentlemen, what daring pastmost pirates to sail the King of Spain his seas!" came theSpanish retort. 

"The King of Spain his seas!" an Englishman echoed, softly. 

"Why, had you not heard?" said Arden. "God gave them to him on creationmorning. "

"Pirates! That is a prickly word!" swore Baldry. 

"Why do you smile, señor?" demanded De Guardiola of the gentlemanopposite him, this being Sir Mortimer Ferne. 

"Did I smile, señor? I but chanced to think of a hound of mine who oncewas king of the pack, but now grows old. " The Englishman shrugged. "Truehe thinks himself yet the fleetest and the strongest, but the youngerdogs outstrip him. Presently they will snatch from him every bone. "

"Now, by the Mother of God, I agree not with you!" said De Guardiola. 

"Now, by the power of God, yet will it come to pass!" affirmed SirMortimer. 

The Admiral, to whom Pedro Mexia, an easy man, was making volublenarration of the latest futile search for Manoa, turned his glance fora moment from that frank Spaniard. But Mortimer Ferne sat at ease, asmile upon his beautiful mouth, and his hand, palm uppermost, upon theboard. Opposite him Don Luiz de Guardiola also smiled, and if thatwidening of the lips was somewhat tigerish, why, if all accounts weretrue, the man himself was of that quality, as cruel, stealthy, andremorseless as any jaguar in those deep woods behind his castle. TheAdmiral returned to his discourse with Mexia, who might drop some usefulhints as to the road to El Dorado. 

"We have met before, " said De Guardiola. "It was you who led yourlanding-party, capturing the battery. "

"The fortune of war, senior! What says your proverb--"

"I gave ground, it is true. . . . There may come an hour when with a whipof iron I will drive you from Nueva Cordoba. Did you lead the attackupon the town?"

"Not so, señor. Sir John Nevil very valiantly held that honor, and tohim Nueva Cordoba surrendered. "

"Last night--when I thought to take you by-surprise--were you theleader then?"

"Yes, señor. "

"Wore you, " the Spaniard spoke slowly--"wore you black armor? Wore youin your helm a knot of rose-colored velvet?. . . Ah, it was you unhorsedme, then!"

"Again, señor, the fortune of war. "

A spasm distorted for the moment De Guardiola's every feature. So oftenof late had chagrin been pressed to his lips that the cup had grownpoisonous. When he spoke it was with a hollow voice: "Had not Mexia comein between us!. . . The light caught the velvet knot upon your helm and itflamed like a star. I, Luiz de Guardiola, lying at your feet, looked upand saw it blaze above me like an evil star!" His hand fell heavily uponthe table. "The star may fall, Englishman!"

"The helm that bore the star may decline to earth, " answered Ferne. "Thestar is fixed--beyond thy snatching, Spaniard!"

Thrust in Mexia, leaving El Dorado for the present less gilded plight ofthe Spanish: "Fifty thousand ducats! Holy Virgin! Are we Incas ofPeru--Atahualpas who can fill a hall with gold? Now, twenty thousand--"

"I will not pay one peso, " said De Guardiola. His voice, low andvibrant, was as a warder thrown down. On the instant, all the length ofthe table, the hurried speech, the growing excitement, the interchangeof taunt and bravado, ceased, and men leaned forward, waiting. Thesilence was remarkable. Down in the square was heard the sentinel'stread; from a bough that drooped against the wall a globe of vegetablegold fell with the noise of stone-shot. 

"Raze every house in Nueva Cordoba, " went on the Spaniard, "play theearthquake and the wave--then sail away, sail away, marauders! and leavethe fortress virgin, and the treasure no lighter by one piece, and Luizde Guardiola to find a day when English dogs shall cringe before him!"

He had risen from his place, and at that movement sprang also to theirfeet his ten cavaliers. At once arose a tumult that might have resultedin the severance of the truce with sharp steel had not the leaders ofthe several parties stayed with lifted arm and stern command thatthreatened disgrace. At last was compelled a stillness sinister as thatof the air before a storm. 

"I bid our guests good night, " said the Admiral. "Our enemies we shallmeet again. I think that so slight a ransom will not now content us. Asyou ride through the streets of Nueva Cordoba look your last, señors, upon her goodly houses and pleasant places. "

"Do thy worst!" answered De Guardiola, grinning like a death's-head. 

Mexia wiped the sweat from his brow. 

"Let us go--let us go, Don Luiz! I stifle here. There's a strangeness inthe air--my heart beats to bursting! Holy Teresa, give that the wine wasnot poisoned!"

Back to their fortress rode the Spaniards, up the bare, steep, pallidhillside, through the tunal, past their strong battery; back to the townrode the English, who with the punctilio of the occasion had accompaniedtheir foes to the base of the hill. They rode through the streets whichthat morning they had laid waste, and through those that the sternAdmiral had sworn to destroy. There black ruin faced them starkly; heredoomed things awaited mutely. The town was little, and it seemed tocower before them like a child. Almost in silence did they ride, liftedand restless in mind, thought straining at the leash, but finding nowords that should free it. 

"How hot is the night!" spoke Baldry at last. "Hast noticed the smell ofthe earth? We killed a great serpent coming across the plain to-day. "

"How the sea burns!" said Henry Sedley. "There is a will-o'-the-wispupon the marsh yonder. "

"Here they call it the soul of the tyrant Aguirre, " answered Ferne. "Alost soul. "

A little longer and they parted for the night to meet early next morningin the council with the Admiral. If to Nueva Cordoba, stripped andbeaten, trembling beneath the fear of worse things to come, an army withbanners held the land, so, in no lesser light, did the English seethemselves, and they meant to have the treasure and to humble that whitefortress. But it must be done quickly, quickly! Pampatar in Margarita, the castle of Paria or Berreo's settlement in Trinidad, could send noships that might contend with the four swinging yonder in the river'smouth, but from the west at any hour, from La Guayra or Santa Marta, thunderbolts might fall. Would they indeed be wholly victors, then ageneral and overwhelming attack must soon be planned, soon made. 

Weary enough from the day's work, yet, when he and his fellowadventurers had exchanged good night, Mortimer Ferne went not to hisquarters. Instead he passed through a dim corridor to the littlecell-like room where was lodged Master Francis Sark, whom the Englishkept under surveillance, and who, under another name, had given to PedroMexia his knowledge of English speech and English history. Whatpersuasion the Captain of the _Cygnet_ used, what bribe or promise orthreat, what confidence that there was more to tell thereby like amagnet compelling any wandering information, is not known; nor is knownwhat hatred of his conqueror, of a gallant form and a stainless name, may have uncoiled itself to poisonous ends in the soul of the small, smug, innocent-seeming man to whom he spoke; but at the end of ahalf-hour the Captain of the _Cygnet_ left his prisoner of the _SanJosé_, moved swiftly and lightly down the corridor to his own apartment, where he crossed to the window and stood there with his eyes upon thefortress of Nueva Cordoba, rising shadowy upon its shadowy hill. Sooften had he looked upon it that now, despite the night, he saw withprecision the squat, white walls, the dark sweep of the encirclingtunal, and, strong clasp for that thorny girdle, the too formidablebattery defending the one apparent opening. "Another path!" he said tohimself. "Masked and hidden, unguarded, known only to their leaders. . . . To come upon them from the rear while, catlike, they watch the highwayyonder!" His breath came in a long sigh of satisfaction. "What if helies? Why should he lie, seeing that he is in our power? But if hedoes . . . "

Minutes passed and yet he stood there, gazing with thoughtful eyes athill and fortress rising above the silent town. Finally he went over toRobin-a-dale, asleep upon a pallet, and shaking him awake, bade the ladto follow him but make no noise. To the sentinels at the great door, inthe square, at the edge of the town, he gave the word of the night, andso issued with the boy from the huddle of flat-roofed houses, overhungby palm-trees, to the open plain. 

Overhead innumerable stars, between heaven and earth incalculable swarmsof luminous insects, from the soil a heavy exhalation as of musk, herearid places, there cacti like columns, like candelabra, like darkwrithing fingers thrust from the teeming earth;--Robin-a-dale liked notthe place, wondered what dangerous errand his master was upon, but sincehe as greatly feared as greatly loved the man he served, cared not toask. Presently Ferne turned, and a few moments found them climbing thelong western slope of the hill, above them the dim outline of thefortress, the dark fringe of the tunal. Half-way up they came to alittle rocky plateau, and here Ferne paused, hesitated a moment, thensat down upon a great stone and looked out to sea. He was waiting forthe moon to rise, for with her white finger she must point out that oldway through the tunal of which Master Francis Sark had told him. Was itindeed there? The man, he thought, had all the marks of a liar. Again, why should he lie, being in their power?--unless treachery were soingrained that it was his natural speech. By all the tokens Sark hadgiven, the opening should not be fifty yards away. When the moon rose hewould see for himself. . . . 

A pale radiance in the east proclaimed her approach. Since wait he musthe waited patiently, and by degrees withdrew his mind from his errandand from strife and plotting. The boy crouched in silence beside him. There was air upon these heights, and the stir of it made Robin-a-daleto shiver. He gazed about him fearfully, for it was a dismal place. Frombehind those piled rocks, from the shadow of those strange trees, whatthings might creep or spring? Robin thought it time that the adventurewere ended, and had he dared had said as much. Lights were burning uponthe _Cygnet_ where she rode in the pale river, near to the _Phoenix_, with the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_ just beyond, and there cameover the boy a great homesickness for her decks. He crept as closely ashe might to her Captain, sitting there as quietly as if the teeming, musky soil were good Devon earth, and that phosphorescent ocean the graywaves of English seas, and he laid his hand upon Sir Mortimer's bootedknee, and so was somewhat comforted. 

Upon Ferne, waiting in inaction, looking out over the vast, dim panoramaof earth and ocean, there fell, after the fever and exaltation, thestress and exertion of the past hours, a strange mood of quiet, ofdreaming, and of peace. Sitting there in listless strength, he thoughtin quietude and tenderness of other things than gold, and fame, and thefortress which must be taken of Nueva Cordoba. With his eyes upon thegleaming sea he thought of Damaris Sedley, and of Sidney, and of a dayat Windsor when the Queen had showed him much favor, and of a little, windy knoll, near to his house of Ferne, where, returning from huntingor hawking, he was wont to check his horse that he might taste the sweetand sprightly air. 

Now this man waited at the threshold of an opening door, and like achild his fancy gathered door-step flowers, recking nothing of thewidening space behind, the beckoning hands, the strange chambers intowhich shortly he must go. Some faint and far monition, some breath ofcolder air may have touched him, for now, like a shriven man drowsinginto death, his mind dwelt lightly upon all things, gazed quietly upon awide, retreating landscape, and saw that great and small are one. He waswont to think of Damaris Sedley with ardor, imagining embraces, kisses, cries of love, sweet lips, warm arms, --but to-night he seemed to see herin a glass, somewhat dimly. She stood a little remote, quiet, sweet, andholy, and his spirit chastened itself before her. Dear were his friendsto him; his heart lodged them in spacious chambers and lapped them withobservance; now he thought whimsically and lightly of his guests asthough their lodgings were far removed from that misty central hallwhere he himself abode. Loyal with the fantastic loyalty of an earliertime, practiser of chivalry and Honor's fanatic, for a moment thosethings also lost their saliency and edge. Word and deed of this lifeappeared of the silver and the moonlight, not of gold and sunlight;existence a dream and no matter of moment. He plucked the flowers one byone, looked at them tranquilly, and laid them down, nor thought, Thisis Farewell. 

Nueva Cordoba lay still amongst her rustling palms; the ocean rippledgold, and like gold-dust were the scintillating clouds of insects; thelimpid river palely slid between its mangrove banks, a low wind sighed, a night-bird called; far, far in the forest behind the hill a muffledroar proclaimed that the jaguar had found its meat. The moon rose--sucha moon as never had England looked upon. Pearl, amethyst, and topaz wereher rings; she made the boss of a vast shield; like God's own candle shelit the night. "At home the nightingales would sing, " thought SirMortimer. "Ah, Philomela, here befits a wilder song than thine!" Helooked towards the _Cygnet_, still as a painted ship upon the silversluggish flood. "When there shall be no more sea, what will seamen do?"Over the marsh wandered the _ignes fatui_. "How restlessly and to nobourne dost thou move, lost soul!" The boy at his feet stirred andsighed. "Poor Robin! Tired and sleepy and frightened, art not? Why, dearknave, the jaguar is not roaring for thee!" Bending, he put an arm aboutthe lad and drew him to his side. "I only wait for the brightness togrow, " he said. "Do not shiver so! In a little while we shall be gone. "

The moon rose higher and the plain grew spectral, the town a dream town, and the ships dream ships. Ferne turned slightly so that he might beholdthe Cordillera. In mystery and enormity the mountains reared themselves, high as the battlements of heaven, deep as those of hell. TheElizabethan looked long upon them, and he wreathed that utter wall, thatsombre and terrific keep, with strange imaginings. 

At last the two, master and boy, arose, and climbing the farther slopeto the tunal, began to skirt that spiked and thorny circlet, movingwarily because to the core it was envenomed. Beneath the sun it swarmedwith hideous life; beneath the moon the poison might yet stir. The moonsilvered the edge of things, drew illusion like a veil across thehaunted ring; below, what hidden foulness!. . . Did the life there knowits hideousness? Those lengths and coils, those twisting locks ofMedusa, might think themselves desirable. These pulpy, starkly branchingcacti, these shrubs that bred poignards, these fibrous ropes, dark andknotted lianas, binding all together like monstrous exaggerations of thetenants of the place, like serpents seen of a drunkard, were they notto themselves as fair as the fairest vine or tree or flower? Thedwellers here deceived themselves, never dreamed they were so thwart anddistorted. 

As he walked, the halo of the moon seemed to widen until it embraced aquarter of the heavens. The sea beneath was molten silver. A low soundof waves was in his ears, and a wind pressed against him faintly, like aghost's withstanding. From the woods towards the mountains came a long, bestial cry, hoarse and mournful. "O God, " said Sir Mortimer, "whitherdost Thou draw us? What am I? What is my meaning and my end?"

Beyond loomed the fortress, all its lineaments blurred, softened, qualitied like a dream by the flooding moonlight. A snake stretchingacross their path, Sir Mortimer drew his sword, but the creature slippedaway, kept before them for a while, then turned aside into its safehome. They came to the place they were seeking. Here was the cactus, taller than its fellows, and gaunt as a gallows-tree, and here theprojecting end of a fallen cross. Between showed no vestige of anopening; dark, impervious, formidable as a fortress wall, the tunal metthe eye. Ferne, attacking it with his sword, thrust aside a heavycurtain of broad-leaved vine, came upon a network of thorn and spike andprickly leaf, hewed this away, to find behind it a like barrier. Evidently the man had lied!--to what purpose Sir Mortimer Ferne wouldpresently make it his business to discover. . . . There overtook him asudden revulsion of feeling, depression of spirit, cold and sickdistaste of the place. Tom and breathless, in very savagery over hisdefeated hope and fool's errand, he thrust with all his strength at theheart of this panoplied foe. His blade, piercing the swart curtain, metwith no resistance. With an exclamation he threw himself against thatthick-seeming barrier, and so, with Robin-a-dale behind him, burst intoa narrow, secret way, masked at entrance and exit, and winding like aserpent through the tunal which surrounded the fortress ofNueva Cordoba. 

VI

"Now Neptune keep the plate-fleet at Cartagena!" whistled Arden. "When Igo home I'll dress in cloth of gold, eat tongues of peacocks, and drinkdissolved pearls!"

"When I go home I'll build again my father's house, " cried Henry Sedley. 

"In Plymouth port there's a bark I know, " quoth Baldry. "When I go homeshe's mine, --I'll make of her another _Star_!"

"When I go home--" said Sir Mortimer, and paused. The early light was onhis face, a deeper light within his eyes that saw the rose which heshould gather when he went home. Then, since he would not utter so deepand dear a thought--"When we go home, " he said, and began to speak--halfin earnest, half in relief from the gravity of the past council--of thatreturning. By degrees the fire burned, and he whose spirit the livecoal touched as it touched Sidney's and, more rarely, Walter Raleigh's, bore his listeners with him in a rhapsody of anticipation. Long frondsof palm drooped without the room which held them, Englishmen in a worldor savage or Spanish, but their spirits followed the speaker to greenfields of Kent or Devon. They saw the English summer, saw the twilightfall, heard the lonely tinkle of far sheep-bells, heard the nightingalessinging beneath the moon that shone on England. Friends' homes opened tothem; Grenville welcomed them to Stowe, Sidney to charmed Penshurst. Then to London and the Triple Tun! Bow Bells rang for them; they drankin the inn's long-room; their names were in men's mouths. What welcome, what clashing of the bells, when they should sail up the Thamesagain--the _Mere Honour_, the _Cygnet_, the _Marigold_, and the_Phoenix_--with treasure in their holds, and for pilot that bright angelFame! What should they buy with their treasure? what should they do withtheir fame? Treasure should beget stout ships, stout hearts to sailthem; fame, laid to increase, might swell to deathless glory!Sea-captains now, sea-kings would the English be, gathering tributefrom the waters and the winds, bringing gifts to England--frankincenseof wealth, myrrh of knowledge, spikenard of power!--till, robed andcrowned, she rose above the peoples, Joseph's sheaf, Joseph's star!

On went the charmed words, each a lantern flashed on thought, grave, poetic, telling of triumph, yet far removed from gross optimism, notwithout that strange, melancholy note sounding now and again amongst theage's crashing chords. Abruptly his voice fell, but presently with alighter note he broke the silence in which his listeners gazed upon thestately vision he had conjured up. "Ah, we will talk to Frank Drake ofthis night! Canst not hear Richard Hawkins laugh in the Triple Tun'slong-room? The Queen, too, in her palace will laugh, --like a man withthe flash in her eye and her white hand clenched! And they whom welove. . . . What is the word for to-night, John Nevil? I may give it?Then--Dione!"

It was the red dawn after his vigil on the fortress hill: in the greatroom of the stone house the leaders of the expedition had followed, lineby line, his sword point as it drew upon the flagging a plan of attack, to which they gave instant adoption; Master Francis Sark had beendismissed, and to the Admiral's grave hint of possible treachery Fernehad answered, "Ay, John Nevil, I also think him a false--hearted craven, Spaniolated and perverse, a huckster, whose wares do go to the highestbidder! Well, with our hand at his throat we do not bid the highest?"

Now as he raised his tankard to thirsty lips, suddenly from the squarebelow, shattering all the languid stillness of the tropic dawn, brayed atrumpet, arose a noise of hurrying steps and hasty voices. Baldry, atthe window, wheeled, color in his cheeks, light in his deep eyes. 

"War is my mistress! Down the hillside come those to whom I canspeak--can speak as well as thou, Sir Mortimer Ferne!" The door wasflung open, and Ambrose Wynch, a mighty man in a battered breastplateand morion, looked joyfully in upon them. 

"The Dons supped so well last night, Sir John, that now they're comingto breakfast! 'Tis just a flourish--no great sortie. Shall a handful ofus go out against them?"

That sally from the fortress was led by Mexia, who somewhat burned towipe out the memory of his lost battery at the river's mouth. And asblind Fortune's dearest favor flutters often to the lackey while themaster snatches vainly, so it befell in this case, for Mexia's chanceraid, a piece of mere bravado to which De Guardiola had given grudgingconsent, was productive of results. Bravado for bravado, interchange ofchivalric folly, of magnificence that was not war, --forth to meet theSpaniard and his company must go no greater force of Englishmen! Luiz deGuardiola, Governor of Nueva Cordoba, kept his state in his fortress;therefore, Sir John Nevil, Admiral of the English and of no less worththan the Castilian, remained for this skirmish inactive. On both sidestheir captains played the game. 

Sir Mortimer Ferne and Robert Baldry at the head of threescore men, somemounted, some on foot, deemed themselves and this medley sufficient forPedro Mexia. Nor can it be said that their reckoning was at fault, sinceMexia, deep in curses, had at last to make hasty way across the stripof plain between Nueva Cordoba and its fortress. Too easily did theEnglish repel an idle sortie, too eagerly did they follow Mexia inretreat, for suddenly Chance, leaving all neutrality, threw herself, agoddess armed, upon the Spanish side. In the very shadow of the hill, the mounted English, well ahead of those on foot, Mexia's disorderedband making for the shelter of the tunal, a Spaniard turned, raised hisharquebus and fired. The great bay steed which bore Sir Mortimer Fernereared, screamed, then fell, hurling its rider to earth, where he lay, senseless, stark in black armor, with a knot of rose-colored velvet inhis crest. 

No hawk like De Guardiola was Pedro Mexia, but when luck pinioned hisprey his talons were strong to close upon it. Now on the instant hewheeled, swooped with all his might upon the disordered vanguard of theEnglish. Baldry and those with him fought madly, the English on footmade all haste; the prostrate figure, pinned beneath the dying bay, became the centre of a wild melee, the hotly contested prize of friendand foe! Then burst from the tunal, came at a run down the hill, re-enforcements for Mexia. . . . 

Erelong, Don Luiz de Guardiola sent to inform Sir John Nevil that he hadfor his prisoner one of the latter's captains. It appeared to theGovernor of Nueva Cordoba that the English held the man in someesteem, --perchance even that he was their leader's close friend. SirJohn Nevil would understand that to a Spanish soldier and good son ofthe Church the prisoner was, inevitably, mere pirate and heretic, to bedealt with as such. 

To this announcement John Nevil returned curt answer. Nueva Cordoba layin the hollow of his hand, and at his disposal were some Spanish livesperhaps not altogether valueless in the eyes of Don Luiz de Guardiola, since their kindred and friends and Spain herself might hold himresponsible for their sudden and piteous taking off. 

When an hour had dragged itself away the fortress spoke again, and itsspeech was of a piece with the Governor's mind. The peril of the townand the lives within it were ignored. Bluntly, the price of Sir MortimerFerne's life was this--and this--and this!

The Admiral made reply that Honor was too dear a price for the life ofany English gentleman. He and Sir Mortimer Ferne declined the terms ofDon Luiz de Guardiola. The safety of his friend should, however, ransoma city. Deliver the captive sound in life and limb, and the Englishwould withdraw from Nueva Cordoba, and proceed with their ships upontheir way. Reject this offer, let harm befall the prisoner, and Don Luizde Guardiola should see how John Nevil mourned his friends!

The Governor answered that his terms held. The evening before, theEnglish leader had been pleased to announce that if by moonrise of thisnight he had not in hand fifty thousand ducats, Nueva Cordoba should liein ashes; now Don Luiz de Guardiola, more generous, gave Sir John Neviluntil the next sunrise to heap upon the quay at the Bocca all gold andsilver, all pearls, jewels, wrought work and other treasure stolen fromthe King of Spain, to withdraw every English soul from the galleon _SanJosé_, leaving her safe anchored in the river and above her the Spanishflag, to abandon town and battery and retire to his ships, under oath, upon the delivery to him of the prisoner, to quit at once and foreverthese seas. Did the first beams of the sun find the English yet in NuevaCordoba, then the light should also behold the death with ignominy ofthe prisoner. 

"He will not die with ignominy, " spoke the Admiral when the herald hadcome and gone. "Death cannot wear a form so base that he, nobly dying, will not ennoble. "

"Do you purpose, then, that he shall die?" demanded Baldry, roughly. 

"I purpose that if he lives I may look him in the face, " answered theother. "We may not buy his life with the dishonor of us all. " His sternface working, he covered his bearded lips with his hand. "But as Godlives, he shall not die! We have until the next sunrising. "

"There is more in it than meets the eye, " said Arden. "These monstrousconditions!. . . One would say that the Spaniard means there shall beno rescue. "

Henry Sedley broke in passionately. "Ay, that is it! Did you not heartheir talk last night?"

"For many a year, as I have gone jostling up and down, I have studiedthe faces of men, " pursued Arden. "With this Governor the cart draws thehorse, and his particular quarrel takes precedence of his public duty. Ithink that in the wreaking of a grudge he would stand at nothing. "

The Admiral paced the floor. Arden, eying him, spoke again with emotion. 

"Mortimer Ferne is as dear to me as to you, John Nevil!. . . I think ofthe men of the _Minion_ and of John Oxenham. "

In the silence that followed his words each man had his vision of themen of the _Minion_ and of John Oxenham. Then Baldry spoke, roughly andloudly, as was his wont:

"I think not of the dead, for whom there's no help. For the living man, he and I have yet to meet! There is to-night--there is the path hefound--no doubt he counts upon our attacking as was planned! He issubtle with his words--no doubt he'll hold them off--insinuate--makethem look only to the seaward--"

[Illustration: "'DO YOU PURPOSE, THEN, THAT HE SHALL DIE?' DEMANDEDBALDRY"]

The Admiral, coming to the table, leaned his weight upon it. "Gentlemen, you all do know that this is my friend, whom I love as David of oldloved Jonathan. Of the value of his life, of that great promise whichhis death would cut short, I will not speak. I also think that thisGovernor, believing himself, the treasure, and his men-at-arms secure, careth naught for the town whose protector he is called. Therefore an wewould save the man who is dear to us and to England from I know not whatfate, from the fate perhaps of John Oxenham, this night must we take bystorm the fortress, using the plan of attack, the hour, ay and the wordof the night, which he gave us. If it is now less simple a thing, ifthis Spaniard will surely keep watch and ward to-night, yet there isnone to tell him that, offering at his face, we do mean to strike him inthe back. If our onslaught be but swift and furious enough we may, Godwilling, bring forth in triumph both the treasure and the man whosewelfare so outweighs the treasure. "

"Amen to that, " answered Arden; "but I have a boding spirit. It seems tome that the blessed sun himself hath shrunken, and I would I might wringthe neck of yonder yelling bird!. . . That Englishman, that FrancisSark--he is well guarded?"

"Ralph Walter guards him, " said the Admiral, briefly. "There is but theone door--the window is barred and too narrow for the passage of achild. . . . Yea, I grant, as did Mortimer Ferne, his knavery, but now, asnearly as we can sail to the wind of the truth, the man, desiringrestitution and reward, speaks plain honesty. "

"He spoke 'plain honesty' after the taking of the _San José_, " mutteredArden. "Yet we found a hawk where we looked for a wren's nest. Oh, Igrant you there were explanations enough to stand between him and theyard-arm, and that Fortune, having turned her wheel in our favor, apparently left her industry and fell asleep! She awakenedthis morning. "

"Wring thine own neck for a bird of ill omen!" began Baldry, to be cutshort by the Admiral's grave "Where all's danger, whatever course weshape, who gives a safer chart?" Then, as no one spoke: "To our loss wehave found both shoal and reef between us and yonder castle. Think younot that I know, as knew Sir Mortimer Ferne, that we are shown adoubtful channel by a shifty pilot? But beyond is the open sea of allour hopes. Fortune and her wheel, Giles Arden!--nay, rather God and Hishand over the issues of life and death!"

Up in his white fortress that same hour De Guardiola heard in silencethe Admiral's message of defiance, then when he and Mexia were againalone frowned thoughtfully over a slip of paper which by devious wayshad shortly before reached his hand. With all their vigilance not everyhole and crevice could the English stop; Spanish was the town andSpanish the overhanging fortress, and the former was the place of manywomen and priests. The conquerors strove to secure the place as with afowler's net, yet now and again a bird of the air fluttered throughtheir meshes. The paper which Don Luiz held ran as follows: "May not acountryman of heretics choose his own king? When Death peers tooclosely--as was the case upon the galleon _San José_--may not a man turnhis coat and send Death seeking elsewhere? Death gone by, may not theman be willing (if it be so that he is not well entreated of his newmasters) to take again the colors to which on a Corpus Christi day ofwhich you wot he swore fealty? At sunrise this morning the English laidtoils for you. I have knowledge to sell. Will you buy my wares with fivethousand pesos of silver and the letter to Cartagena which I desired?. . . I wrap this in a fig-leaf and drop it from the window to Doloreslaughing with the seamen below. If you will buy, then raise above thebattery a pennant of red that may be seen from the room with the hiddendoor in the Friar's House. "

"The dog! I thought that he perished with Antonio de Castro!" spokeMexia. 

"That he did not, " answered the Governor. "He is so false that werethere none else with whom to play the traitor, his right hand wouldbetray his left. . . . The English called him Francis Sark. "

"You'll pay?"

"He shall think I'll pay, " said the other. "So they lay their toils!--itneeds not this paper to tell me that;" he tapped it as it lay beforehim. "Somewhat will this Englishman, this Nevil, do to-night. He hathhis game in his mind, --his hand on this piece, his eye on that, thesepawns in reserve, those advanced for action. " De Guardiola leaned backin his chair and studied the ceiling. "Ha, Pedro! we must discover whathe would do! When I know his dispositions, blessed Mother of God, whatcheck may I not give him!"

"But if Desmond escapes not, " began the duller Mexia, "we may learn notat all, or we may learn too late. Then all's conjecture. They fight likefiends, and day by day we lose. What if they overbear us yet?"

Don Luiz brought his gaze from the ceiling to meet the look of thelesser man. Mexia fidgeted, at last burst forth: "There are times whenthe devil dwells in your eye and upon your lip! 'Twas so you smiled inthe Valdez matter and when that slave girl died! What do you mean?"

"Mean?" answered De Guardiola, still smiling. "I mean, my friend, thatwe must know what traps they bait down yonder. " He called to those whowaited without, wrote an order and sent it to the officer in command atthe battery. "Up goes one traitor's signal!. . . Good Pedro, when Fategives to you your enemy; says, 'Now! Revenge yourself to theuttermost!'--what do you do?"

"Why, I take his life, " answered Mexia. "Then shall he trouble me nomore. "

"Now I, " said Don Luiz, "I give him memories of me. Mayhap the dead donot remember. So live my foe! but live in hell, remembering the brandupon thy soul and that it was I who set it glowing there!"

"Well, I am thy friend, am I not?" quoth Mexia, comfortably. "I am notEnglishman nor Valdez nor Cimmaroon slave, and so I fear not thy smile. It is twelve of the clock. . . . Do you think that Desmond knows so much?"

"Not more than one other, " answered De Guardiola, and called for a flaskof wine. 

The day wore on in heat and light, white glare from the hill, and fromthe sea fierce gleams of blue steel. The coasts loomed, the plain movedin the hot air. Here the plain was arid, and there yellow flowers turnedit to a ragged Field of Cloth of Gold. The gaunt cacti stood rigid, andthe palms made no motion where they dropped against the blue. In cohortsto and fro went the colored birds; along the sandy shores, rose pink andscarlet and white, crowded the flamingoes. Crept on the noondaystillness; came the slow afternoon, the sun declined, and every hour ofthat day had been long, long! One would have said that it was thelongest day of the year. Throughout it, dominant upon its ascendingground, white, impregnable, and silent as a sepulchre, rose thefortress. Before the fortress, slumberous also, couched the long, lowfortification of stone and earthwork commanding in its turn the roadthrough the tunal. In the town below, alcalde and friar waited tremblingupon the English Admiral with representations that the quality of mercyis not strained. The slight rills of gold yet hidden in Nueva Cordobaburst forth and began to flow fast and more fast towards the Englishquarters. From the churches, Dominican and Franciscan, wailed the_miserere_, and the women and children trembled beneath the roofs whichat any moment might no longer give them sanctuary. For all the blazingsunshine, the place began to wear a look of doom. 

During the day the English dragged Mexia's conquered guns to the edge ofthe town, and under their cover threw up earthworks and planted theirartillery where it might speak with effect. Spanish soldiery appearedbefore the battery, and, according to the tactics of the time, began tomake thorny with abattis, poisoned stakes, and other devices the way ofthe enemy across the open space which it guarded. English marksmenpicked them off, others took their place; they falling also, one greatgun from the fort bellowed defiance. Its echoes ceasing, silence againwrapped the white ascent and all that crowned it. For days now eachantagonist had that knowledge of the other that ammunition was the pearlof price only to be fully shown by warrant of circumstance. 

The sun in sinking cast a strange light. It stained the sea, and the airso partook of that glow that town and fortress sprang into redsignificance. The river also, where swung the dark ships, wasensanguined, as was every ripple upon the shore, where now the birdsgrew very clamorous. There were no clouds; only the red ball of the sundescending, and a clear field for the stars. The evening wind arose; atlast the day died; unheralded by any dusk, on came the night. Color ofblood changed to color of gold, gleamed and glistened the sea, sparkledthe fire-flies, shone the deep stars; over the marsh flared thewill-o'-the-wisp like a torch lit to bad ends. 

Nueva Cordoba was held by two-thirds of the English force; now for theSpaniards' greater endangering down from each ship's side came, man byman, wellnigh all of that division which looked to the safety of thefleet. So great was the prize, so intolerable any idea of defeatedpurpose, that for this night--this night only--the balances could not beevenly held. Precaution lifted from one side added weight to the other, and the borrowing from Peter became of less moment than the paying ofPaul. Day by day, north and east and west, watchmen in the tops of the_Mere Honour_, the _Cygnet_, the _Marigold_, and the _Phoenix_ had seenno hostile sail upon the bland and smiling ocean. The river ran inmazes; undulating like a serpent it came from hidden sources, and itsheavy borders of tamarind and mangrove sent long shadows out towardsmidstream. The watchmen looked to the river also; but no greater thingever appeared than some Indian canoe gliding down from illimitableforests. Now the ships were left maimed for what was meant to be thebriefest while. The sick manned them; together with a handful of theunhurt they looked down from the decks and whispered envious farewellsto their comrades in the boats below. High above the boats towered theblack hulls; the topmasts overlooked sea and land; the bold figureheads, that had drunk the brine of many a storm and looked unmoved upon strangesights, gazed into the darkness with inscrutable, blank eyes. 

Silently the boats made landing, swiftly and silently through thedarkness two hundred men crossed the little plain, and their leader wasRobert Baldry. Out from Nueva Cordoba, stealing through the ruined anddepopulated quarter of the town, came a shadowy band, and they from thetown and they from the river met at the base of the long, westward slopeof the hill. Thence they climbed to the rocky plateau where, the nightbefore, Sir Mortimer Ferne had made pause. Here they halted, while HenrySedley and ten men went on to the tunal as, the night before, one manhad gone. By the signs that Ferne had given them they found the entrancewhich they sought, and when they had thrust aside the curtain of branchand vine, saw the clearing through the tunal. It lay beneath the stars, a narrow defile much overgrown, walled on either side by impenetrablewood. On went Sedley and his men, cautiously, silently, until they hadwellnigh pierced the tunal, that was scarce wider, indeed, than anEnglish copse. Before them, quiet as the tomb, rose the fortress--nosound save their stealthy movement and the stir of the life that wasnative to the woods, no sign of sentience other than their own. Backthey went to the plateau and made report, then with Baldry and half ofall the English force waited for the Admiral's attack upon that notablefortification which guarded the known entrance through the tunal. 

Rising ground and the bulk of the fortress hid from them the battery;they would hear, not see, John Nevil's onslaught, so now they watchedthe east for the silver signal of attack. Not long did they watch. Abovethe waters the firmament became milk white; an argent line appeared, thickened:--one moment of the moon, then tumult, shouting, the blast ofa trumpet, the sound of small arms, and the roar of those guns whichmust be rushed upon and silenced! Noises of bird and beast had thetropic night, all the warfare and the wrangling with which life exactstribute from life, but now the feud of man with man voiced itself to thestars. So great and stern was the uproar that it seemed as though JohnNevil might oversweep with his iron determination that too formidablebattery and unaided seize upon the fortress. 

No tarrying after the burst of sound and light made Baldry and his men. Up the steep ground they swept towards that pale, invulnerable castleborne upon the shoulder of the hill, faintly outlined against the pallideast. On they came, a long thin line of men of England to that secretpath through the tunal. Devon was there, and Kent and Sussex, and many agoodly shire beside. Men of land-fights and of sea-fights were they, andof old adventures to alien countries, strong of heart and frame, andvery fiercely minded towards the fortress of Nueva Cordoba. It withheldfrom them the gold they wanted, and now within its grasp was a life theyvalued. To-night their will was set to take the one and rescue theother. They saw the treasure heaped and gleaming, and they saw the faceand waved hand of Mortimer Ferne. They heard him laugh and gayly cryhis thanks. 

They entered the defile. To the right and the left rose the impenetrablewood; before them wound a path thorny and difficult, where not more thanthree men might go abreast; beyond, was the mass of the fortress. Onthrough the impeding growth, where passage was just possible, rushedBaldry and his men. The way was not long, larger loomed the fortress, louder grew the noise of attack and defence. At last the edge of thetunal was reached, and they in the van, freed from hindrance and delay, sprang forward over open ground, marked here and there by low bushes andsome trailing growth, sweeping around the fortress to the rear of thebattery, and apparently of a solidity with the universal frameof things. 

Suddenly, beneath the footing of the foremost, the earth gave way and aline of men stumbled, and pitched forward into a trench which had beendigged, which had been planted with pointed stakes, which had beencunningly covered over by a leafy roof so thin that a child had brokenthrough. Not until towards the sunset of that day had Don Luiz deGuardiola received information which enabled him to lay snares, butsince that hour he had worked with frantic haste. Now he knew the momentwhen his springe would be trodden upon, the number of them who wouldcome stealthily through the tunal to that gin, the nature of Nevil'sattack upon the front, what guard had been left in the town, what uponthe ships. His information was minute and accurate, and, hawk andserpent, he acted upon it with fierceness and with guile. 

The onward rush of the English had been impetuous. They in the rear ofthe first upon that frail bridge, unable to stay their steps, plungedalso into the trench; those who were latest to clear the tunal surgedforward in consternation and confusion. Suddenly, from a low earthworkhastily raised in the shadow of the fortress wall, and masked by bushes, burst a withering fire of chain-shot from cannon and culverin, ofslighter missiles from falcon and bastard and saker, caliver andharquebus. The trench, dug in a half-circle, either end touching thetunal, made with the space it enclosed, and which was now crowded bythe English, an iron trap, into which with thunder and flame the Spanishordnance was pouring death. 

VII

They who saw the full promise of the night in one instant of time dashedfrom their lips and lost in desert sands struggled fiercely with theirfate. Baldry's great figure at their head, Baldry's great voice shoutingencouragement, they strove to pass the trench, to rush upon andoverwhelm the masked batteries, the hidden marksmen. An effectual_chevaux-de-frise_, the pointed stakes withstood them, tore them, andthrew them back. Effort upon effort, a wild crossing over the interlacedbodies of the fallen, a forward rush upon the guns, a loud "'Ware thevines!" from Baldry--another and a wider ditch, irregular and shallow, but lined with thorns like stilettos, and strung from side to side withlianas strong as ropes to entangle, to bring prone upon the thorns thedesperate men who strove in the snare. A small band won to the fartherside, but the shot was as a blast of winter among sere leaves, andterribly thinned their ranks. All was vain, all hopeless; to advance, destruction, to tarry in that arena amidst the deadly thunder of theguns, no less a thing. 

"Back, back!" shouted Baldry. "Back through the tunal--back to theAdmiral at the main battery! Here all's lost!"

Above the din rose his voice. Back to the one door of safety surged theEnglish, but the way was narrow from that pit into which they had beenbetrayed. The guns yet spoke; men dropped with an answering groan orwith a wild cry to their comrades not to leave them behind in that fataltrench, upon Death's harvest-field. How in the murk and rain of deathcould the whole gather the maimed, know the living from the dead? Barelymight the uninjured save themselves, give support perhaps to some hurtand staggering comrade. Happy were the dead, for the fallen whose woundswere not mortal, perhaps the fate of the men of the _Minion_! Of thecompany which had come with Robert Baldry through the tunal to take bysurprise the fortress of Nueva Cordoba hardly a third found again itsshelter, turned drawn faces to the sea, rushed from that death-trap, through the bitter and fatal wood, towards hillside and plain, and theAdmiral's attack upon that fortification which with all their force theyhad twice endeavored to storm and found impregnable. 

Baldry himself? Surely he was among them!--in that shadowy pass was notthis his great form--or this--or this?

"Baldry! Robert Baldry!" cried Sedley, and there came no answer. Highand shrill as a woman's wail rang again the young man's voice. "CaptainRobert Baldry!"

"He's not here, sir, " said a Devon man, softly. "God rest his soul!"

Sedley raised his white face to the stars, then: "On men, on! We've tohelp Sir John, you know!" Tone of voice, raised arm, and waving hand, subtle and elusive likeness to the leader whom he worshipped, upon whomhe had moulded himself--for the moment it was as though Sir MortimerFerne had cried encouragement to their sunken hearts, was beckoning themon to ultimate victory plucked from present defeat. A cheer, wavering, broken, touched with hysteria, broke from throats that were dry withthe horror of past moments. On with Henry Sedley, their leader now, theystruggled, making what mad haste they might through the tunal. 

In wrath and grief, set of face, hot of heart, they burst at last fromthe tunal into the open with sky and sea, the plain, the town and theriver before them--the river where the ships lay in safety, the _Cygnet_and the _Phoenix_ close in shore, the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_in midstream. The ships in safety--then what meant those distant cries, that thrice repeated booming of a signal gun, that glare upon the river, those two boats filled with rowers making mad haste up the stream, thatvolley from the _Mere Honour's_ stern guns beneath which sank one of thehurrying craft?

Turned to stone they upon the hillside watched disaster at her work. The_Cygnet_ was a noble ship, co-equal in size and strength with the _MereHonour, _ well beloved and well defended. Now for one instant of time agreat leap of flame from her decks lit all the scene and showed her inher might; it was followed by a frightful explosion, and the great ship, torn from her anchorage, wrecked forever, a flaming hulk, a torch, apyre, a potent of irremediable ruin, bore down the swift current andstruck the _Phoenix_. . . . Once more the _Mere Honour's_ cannon thunderedloud appeal and warning. In the red light cast by her destroyer thegalleon began to sink, and that so rapidly that her seamen threwthemselves overboard. Yet burning, the _Cygnet_ kept on her way. Borneby the tide she passed from the narrow to the wider waters; to-night awaning star, the morn might find her a blackened derelict, if indeedthere was sign of her at all upon the surface of the sea. 

Around the base of the hill swept the Admiral and his force. Vain hadbeen the attack upon the fortress, heavy the loss of the English, but itwas not the Spanish guns which had caused that retreat. Where wereRobert Baldry and his men? What strange failure, unlooked-for disaster, portended that heavy firing at the rear of the fortress?. . . The signalgun! The ships!

John Nevil and his company left attacking forever the fortress of NuevaCordoba, and rushed down the hillside towards plain and river. Forthfrom the town burst Ambrose Wynch with the guard which had been left inthe square--but where were Robert Baldry and his men? Were thesethey--this dwindled band staggering, leaping down from the heights, ledby Henry Sedley, gray, exhausted, speaking in whispers or in strained, high voices? No time was there for explanation, bewildered conjecture, tragic apprehension. Scarcely had the three parties joined, when hardupon their heels came De Guardiola and all his men-at-arms. Nevilwheeled, fought them back, set face again to the river, but hisadversaries chose not to have it so. 

They achieved their purpose, for he gave them battle on the plain, athis back the red light from the river, before him that bitter, triumphant fortress. Hard and long did they fight in a death struggle, fierce and implacable, where quarter was neither asked nor given. Nevilhimself bore a charmed life, but many a gentleman adventurer, many asimple soldier or mariner gasped his last upon Spanish pike or sword. Not fifty paces from the river bank Henry Sedley received his quietus. He had fought as one inspired, all his being tempered to a fine agong ofendeavor too high for suffering or for thought. So now when Ardencaught him, falling, it was with an unruffled brow and a smile remoteand sweet that he looked up at the other's haggard, twisted features. 

"My knighthood's yet to seek, " he said. "It matters not. Tell my Captainthat as I fought for him here, so I wait for him in Christ His court. Tell my sister Damaris--" He was gone, and Arden, rising, slew theswordsman to whom his death was due. 

Still fighting, the English reached the brim of the river and the boatsthat were hidden there. The _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_ were nowtheir cities of refuge. Lost was the town, lost any hope of the fortressand what it contained, lost the _Cygnet_ and the _Phoenix_, lost HenrySedley and Robert Baldry and many a gallant man besides, lost SirMortimer Ferne. Gall and vinegar and Dead Sea fruit and frustratedpromise this night held for them who had been conquerors and confident. 

They saw the _Cygnet_, yet burning, upon her way to the open sea; fromthe galleon _San José_ it was gone to join the caravels. Wreckagestrewed the river's bosom, and for those who had manned the two ships, destroyer and destroyed, where were they? Down with the _allegartos_ andthe river slime--yet voyaging with the _Cygnet_--rushing, a paleaccusing troop towards God's justice bar?. . . The night was waxing old, the dawn was coming. Upon the _Mere Honour_ Baptist Manwood, a brave andhonest soul who did his duty, steered his ship, encouraged his men, fought the Spaniard and made no more ado, trained his guns upon thelanding, and with their menace kept back the enemy while, boatload afterboatload, the English left the bank and reached in safety the two shipsthat were left them. 

The day was breaking in red intolerable splendor, a terrible gloryilluminating the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_, the river and thesandy shore where gathered the flamingoes and the herons and the egrets, as the Admiral, standing on the poop of the _Mere Honour_, pressed thehands of those his officers that were spared to him, and spoke simplyand manfully, as had spoken Francis Drake, to the gentlemen adventurerswho had risked life and goods in this enterprise, and to the soldiersand mariners gathered in the waist; then listened in silence to thestory of disaster. Nor Robert Baldry nor Henry Sedley was there to makereport, but a grizzled man-at-arms told of the trap beyond the tunalinto which Baldry had been betrayed. "How did the Dons come to know, SirJohn? We'll take our oath that the trench was newly dug, and sure nosuch devil's battery as opened on us was planted there before thisnight! 'Twas a traitor or a spy that wrought us deadly harm!" He endedwith a fearful imprecation, and an echo of his oath came from hisfellows in defeat. 

Michael Thynne, Master of the _Cygnet_, a dazed and bleeding figure, snatched from the water by one of the _Marigold's_ boats, spoke for hisship. "Came to us that were nearest the shore a boat out of theshadow--and we saw but four or maybe five rowers. 'Who goes there?'calls I, standing by the big culverin. 'The word or we fire!' One in theboat stands up. '_Dione_, ' says he, and on comes the boat under ourstern. " He put up an uncertain hand to a ghastly wound in hisforehead. . . . "Well, your Honor, as I was saying, they were Spaniards, after all, and a many of them, for they were hidden in the bottom ofthe boat. '_Dione_, ' says they, and I lean over the rail to see if'twere black Humphrey clambering up and to know what was wanted. . . . After that I don't remember--but one had a pistolet, I think. . . . Therewas another boat that came after them--and we were but twenty men inall. They swarmed over the side and they cut us down. They must ha'found the magazine, for they fired the ship--they fired the _Cygnet_, Sir John, and it bore down with the tide and struck the _Phoenix_. " Hisvoice falling, one caught and drew him aside to the chirurgeon's care. 

The Admiral turned to Ambrose Wynch, who burst forth with: "Sir JohnNevil, as I have hope of heaven, I swear I did guard that man as youbade me do! The room was safe, the window high and barred, thedoor locked--"

"I doubt not that you did your duty, Ambrose Wynch, " spoke the Admiral. "But the man escaped--"

"At the nooning he was safe enough, " pursued the other, with agitation. "I, going the rounds, looked in and saw him sitting on his bed, smilingat me like a woman--Satan take his soul! I left Ralph Walter in the hallwithout, and you know him for a stanch man. . . . When we heard the _MereHonour's_ guns, and the town rose against us who were left within it, and I and my handful were cutting our way out to join you, Walter got tomy side for a moment. 'He's gone!' says he. 'When I heard the alarum Iwent to fetch him forth to the square with me--and he was not there!When he went and how, except the devil aided him, I know no morethan you!'"

"Where is Ralph Walter?" said the Admiral. 

"Dead on the plain yonder!" groaned his lieutenant, and sitting down, covered his face with his hands. 

From the main-deck arose a long, shrill cry. Arden drew a shudderingbreath. 

"It's that boy Robin! Had they not bound him he would have thrownhimself overboard. I doubt you'll have to flog his senses back to him. "

Robin-a-dale's voice again, this time from the break of thepoop;--Robin-a-dale himself upon them, his bonds broken, his eyeballsstarting, a wild blue-jerkined Ariel filled with tidings. In this momenta scant respecter of persons, he threw himself upon Nevil, pointing andstammering, inarticulate with the wealth of his discovery. The eyes ofthe two men followed his lean, brown finger. . . . Above the quay whereboats made landing a sand-spit ran out from the tamarind-shadowed bank, and now in the red dawning the mist that clung to it lifted. A man whofor an hour had lain heavily in the heavy shadow where he had been leftby De Guardiola's picked men had arisen, and with feeble and uncertainsteps was treading the sand-spit in the direction of the ships. Even asNevil and Arden looked where Robin's shaking forefinger bade them look, he raised and waved his hand. It was the shadow of an oldfamiliar gesture. 

Before the cockboat reached the point he had fallen, first to his knee, then prone upon the sand. It was in that deep swoon that he was broughtaboard the _Mere Honour_ and laid in the Admiral's cabin, whence Arden, leaving the chirurgeon and Robin-a-dale with the yet unconscious man, presently came forth to the Admiral and to Ambrose Wynch and asked foraqua vitae, then drew his hand across his brow and wiped away the coldsweat; finally found voice with which to load with curses Luiz deGuardiola and his ministers. The Admiral listening, kept his still lookupon the fortress. When Arden had ended his imprecations he spoke with aquiet voice:

"I love a knightly foe, " he said. "For that churl and satyr yonder, mayGod keep him in safety until we come again!"

"Till we come again!" Arden cried, in the fierceness of his unwontedpassion. "Are we not here? Why is the boatswain calling? Why do we makesail, and that so hastily?"

"Look!" said Ambrose Wynch, gruffly, and pointed to the west. "Theplate-fleet!"

Those many white flecks upon the horizon grew larger, came swiftly on. Forth from the river's mouth, out to sea, put the _Mere Honour_ and the_Marigold_, for they might not tarry to meet that squadron. None thatlooked upon Nevil's face doubted that though now he went, he would comeagain. But he must gather other ships, replace his dead, renew hisstrength by the touch of his mother earth. Home therefore to England, tothe friends and foes of a man's own house! To the eastward turned theprows of the English ships; the sails filled, the shores slipped past. In the town the bells were ringing, on the plain were figures moving;from the fortress boomed a gun, and the sound was like a taunt, was likea blow upon the cheek. Swift answer made the cannon of both ships, andthe sullen, defiant roar awoke the echoes. Taunt might they give fortaunt. Three ships had the English taken, three towns had they sacked;in sea-fights and in land-fights they had been victors! Where were thecaravels, where the ruined battery at the river's mouth, where the greatmagazine of Nueva Cordoba? Where was Antonio de Castro?--and the galleon_San José_ was lost to friend as well as foe--and Spaniard no more thanEnglishman might gather again the sunken treasure. Thus spake the guns, but the hearts of the men behind were wrung for the living and the dead. The shores slipped by, the fortress hill of Nueva Cordoba lessened to asilver speck against the mountains; swift-sailing ships they feared nochase by those galleons of Spain. Islands were passed, behind them fellbold coasts, before them spread the waste of waters. Beyond the wastethere was home, where friend and foe awaited tidings of the expeditionwhich had gone forth big with promise. 

In the _Mere Honour's_ state-cabin upon the evening of that decisive daywere gathered a number of the adventurers who had staked life and goodsin this enterprise. Not all were there who had sailed from England tothe Spanish seas. Then as now England paid tithes of her younger sons toviolent death. Many men were missing whose voices the air seemed yet tohold. They had outstripped their comrades, they had gone before: whatbustling highways or what lonely paths they were treading, what farethey were tasting, for what mark they were making, and upon what long, long adventure bound--these were hidden things to the travellers leftbehind in this murky segment of life. But to the strained senses of themen upon whom, as yet, had hardly fallen the upas languor of accepteddefeat, before whose eyes, whether shut or open, yet passed insistentvisions of last night's events, like an echo, like a shade, oldpresences made themselves felt. Swinging lanterns dimly lit the cabin ofthe _Mere Honour_, and in ranks the shadows rose and fell along itsswaying walls. From without, the sound of the sea came like aninarticulate murmur of far-away voices. There were vacant places at thetable, and upon the long benches that ran beneath the windows; yet, indefinably, there seemed no less a company than in the days before thetaking of the galleon _San José_ and the town of Nueva Cordoba. Onearose restlessly and looked out upon the star-rimmed sea, then in hasteturned back to the lit cabin and passed his hand before his eyes. "Ithought I saw the _Phoenix_, " he said, "huge and tall, with RobertBaldry leaning over the side. " Another groaned, "I had rather see the_Cygnet_ that was the best-loved ship!" At the mention of the _Cygnet_they looked towards a door. "How long his stupor holds!" quoth AmbroseWynch. "Well, God knows 'tis better dreaming than awaking!" The dooropened and Sir Mortimer Ferne stood before them. 

From the Admiral to the last ne'er-do-weel of a noble house all sprangto their feet. "God!" said one, under his breath, and another's tankardfell clattering from his shaking hand. Nevil, the calm accustomed state, the iron quiet of his nature quite broken, advanced with agitation. "Mortimer, Mortimer!" he cried, and would have put his arms about hisfriend, but Ferne stayed him with a gesture and a look that none mightunderstand. Behind him came Robin-a-dale, slipped beneath hisoutstretched arm, then with head thrown back and wild defiant eyes facedthe little throng of adventurers. "He's mad!" he shrilled. "My master'smad! He says strange things--but don't you mind them, gentles. . . . Oh!Sir John Nevil, don't you mind them--"

"Robin!" said Ferne, and the boy was silent. 

Arden pushed forward the huge and heavy chair from the head of theboard. "Stand not there before us like the shade of him who was MortimerFerne, " he cried, his dark face working. "Sit here among us who dearlylove you, truest friend and noblest gentleman!--Pour wine for him, one of you!"

Ferne made no motion of acquiescence. He stood against the door whichhad shut behind him and looked from man to man. "Humphrey Carewe--andyou, Gilbert--and you, Giles Arden--why are you here upon the _MereHonour_? The _Cygnet_ is your ship. " None answering him, his eyestravelled to others of the company. "You, Darrell, and you, Black WillCotesworth, were of the _Phoenix_. What do you here?. . . The water rushesby and the timbers creak and strain. Whither do we go under pressof sail?"

Before the intensity of his regard the men shrank back appalled. Amoment passed then. "My friend, my friend!" cried Nevil, hoarsely, "youhave suffered. . . . Rest until to-morrow. "

The other looked steadfastly upon him. "Why, 'tis so that I have beenthrough the fires of hell. Certain things were told me there--but I havethought that perhaps they were not true. Tell me the truth. "

The silence seemed long before with recovered calmness the Admiralspoke. "Take the truth, then, from my lips, and bear it highly. As wehad plotted so we did, but that vile toad, that engrained traitor, learning, we know not how, each jot and tittle of our plan and escapingby some secret way, sold us to disaster such as has not been since Fayalin the Azores! For on land we fought to no avail, and by treachery theSpaniards seized the _Cygnet_, slew the men upon her, and fired herpowder-room. Dressed in flame she bore down upon, struck, and sunk the_Phoenix_. . . . Now we are the _Mere Honour_ and the _Marigold_, and we gounder press of sail because behind us, whitening the waters that we haveleft, is the plate-fleet from Cartagena. "

"Where is Robert Baldry?" asked Ferne. 

"In the hands of Don Luiz de Guardiola--dead or living we know not. Heand a hundred men came not forth from the tunal--stayed behind in thesnare the Spaniard had set for them. "

"Where is Henry Sedley?"

"He died in my arms, Mortimer, thrust through by a pike in that bitterfight upon the plain!" Arden made reply. "I was to tell you that hewaited for you in Christ His court. "

"Then will he wait for aye, " said the man who leaned so heavily againstthe door. "Or till Christ beckons in Iscariot. "

They looked at him, thinking his mind distraught, not wondering that itshould be so. He read their thought and smiled, but his eyes that smilednot met Arden's. "Great God!" cried the latter, shrank back against thetable and put out a shaking hand. 

Slowly Ferne left the support of the wood and straightened his rackedframe until he stood erect, a figure yet graceful, yet stately, butpathetic and terrible, bearing as it did deep marks of Spanish hatred. The face was ghastly in its gleaming pallor, in its effect of abeautiful mask fitted to tragedy too utter for aught but stillness. Hewore no doublet, and his shirt was torn and stained with blood, but inlast and subtlest mockery De Guardiola had restored to him his sword. Hedrew it now, held the blade across his knee, and with one effort of allhis strength broke the steel in twain, then threw the pieces from him, and turned his sunken eyes upon the Admiral. "I beg the shortest shriftthat you may give, " he said. "It was I who, when they tormented me, toldthem all. Hang me now, John Nevil, in the starlight. "

The Admiral's lips moved, but there came from them no sound, nor wasthere sound in the cabin of the _Mere Honour_. Not the _Cygnet_ or the_Phoenix_ were more quiet far away, far below, on the gray levels of thesea. At last a voice--Ambrose Wynch's--broke the silence that had growntoo great to bear. "It was Francis Sark, " he said, and againmonotonously, "It was Francis Sark--it was Francis Sark. " Another sworewith a great oath, "'Tis as the boy says--they've crazed him with theirtorments!" Humphrey Carewe, a silent and a dogged man, who wore not hisheart upon his sleeve, broke into a passionate cry: "Sir Mortimer Ferne!Sir Mortimer Ferne!"

To them all it seemed that the name broke the spell that was upon them. The name stood for very much. Carewe's outcry called up a cloud ofwitnesses--the deeds of a man's lifetime--and marshalled them againstthis monstrous accusation of a sick and whirling hour. "You know notwhat you say!" spoke Nevil, harshly. "Good and evil are blent in you asin all men, but God used no traitorous or craven stuff in your making!Rest now, --speak to us to-morrow!"

[Illustration: "'I BEG THE SHORTEST SHRIFT THAT YOU MAY GIVE'"]

Again he would have advanced, but the man at the door waved him back, smiled once more with his lips alone. "Ah, you all are dear to me! Butdo you know I prefer your hatred to your love! Give me your hatred andlet me go. I am not mad nor do I lie to you. . . . Before the sunset, when I had borne torment through the day, I bore it no longer. Theyloosed me and dashed water in my face, and Luiz de Guardiola said overto me the words that I had spoken. Then he went forth and laid hissnares. . . . And so Robert Baldry is lost, he and a hundred men besides?And Spaniards coming down the river took the _Cygnet_ because they knewthe word of the night?" A spasm distorted the masklike features, but ina moment it was gone. "I should be a madman, " he said, "for once Iwalked before you with a high head and a proud heart. It seems that Iknew not myself. . . . Now, John Nevil, enact Drake and send me to joinThomas Doughty!"

The Admiral answered not where he stood, covering his eyes with hishand. "But Francis Sark--" began Wynch, in a shaking voice. 

"I know naught of Francis Sark, " Ferne replied. "As I have said so Idid. I ask no other court than this, no further mercy than my presentdeath. . . . John Nevil, for the sake of all that's dead and gone forever, I pray you to keep me here no longer!"

He staggered as he spoke and put his hand to his head. "Mortimer, Mortimer. Mortimer!" cried the Admiral. "Oh, my God, let thisdream pass!"

"Why, the matter needs not God, " said Ferne, and laughed. "I am atraitor, am I not? Then do to me what was done to Thomas Doughty. Onlyhasten, for dead men wait to clutch me, and your looks do sear myvery brain. "

Again he reeled. With a cry Robin-a-dale sprang towards him. Arden, too, was there in time to support the sinking figure and guide it to the seathe had pushed forward. Some one held wine to the lips. . . . Slow momentspassed, then Sir Mortimer's eyes unclosed. The boy hung over him, and hesmiled upon him, smiled with eye and lip. "Ay, ay, ay, Robin, " he said, "we'll to the court! And sweep away these rhymes, for the queen of allmy songs dwells there, and I shall look into her eyes--and that's betterthan singing, lad! Ay, I'll wear the violet, and we'll ride beneath theblossoms of the spring. . . . But there's a will-o'-the-wisp on the marshout yonder, and here they call it a lost soul--the soul of thetraitor Aguirre!"

"Master, master!" cried the boy. 

Ferne laughed, touching the young cheek with long, supple fingers. "Fame is a bubble, lad--let me tell thee that! But then it israinbow-hued and mirrors the sky, --so we'll ride for the bubble, lad!and we'll stoop from the saddle and gather up Love! And when the bubblehas vanished and Love is dead there's Honor left!" He leaned forward, seeing and hearing where was neither sound nor sight. There was gayetyin his face. To the men who stared upon him it was a fearful thing thathe who had lost his battle should wear once more the look which they hadseen a thousand times. He raised his hand. 

"Do you not hear the drums beat and the trumpets blow--far away, faraway? Let me whisper--there's one that comes home in triumph. . . . Ay, your Grace, 'twas I that took Santo Domingo in Hispaniola, and on themainland the very rich cities of Puerto Cabello, Santa Marta, La Guayra, Cartagena, Nombre de Dios and San Juan de Ulloa. Manoa I reserve, --'tisa secret city, and all who know a secret must keep it, else. . . . Robin!Robin, rid me of these babblers. She's coming!--all in white--like blownspray--but she bears no roses. Lilies, lilies!--white samite like herrobe--but her eyes are turned away. Let her pass, ye fools! She's theword of the night!" He staggered to his feet, swaying forward, clutchingat the empty air as at a man's throat, and again his laugh rang throughthe cabin. "So you twisted it from me, Spanish dog!--so I raved out myheart as to a woman? Then, Don Sathanas, we'll go home together and allthe soldiery of hell shall not unlock our embrace!" He grappled with aninvisible foe--bent him backward farther and farther over the brink ofthe world--went down with him into unplumbed darkness. . . . 

They judged not the Captain of the _Cygnet_ for a craven and a traitor, for, day after day and day after day, he lay in the Admiral's cabin, soill a man that the coasts of Death seemed nearer than those of England, and man's condemnation an idle thing, seeing that so soon he must faceanother Justiciar. So near at times to that ultimate shore did he driftthat those who watched him saw the shadow on his face. When the shadowwas deep they waited with held breath; when it somewhat lifted theysorrowed that the tide had brought him back. He was of thosechangelings from a fortunate land to whom Love clings when Faith hascovered her head and turned away. They that in heaviness of heart lovedhim still grieved that he might not touch the dark shore. Better, farbetter, to lay hold of it so, to go quietly in the not unhappyfever-dream, wandering of old days, recking naught of the new. So thematter might be adjudged elsewhere, but in this world glozedand softened. 

The days went on and still Fate played with him, drew him forward, plucked him back. What fancies he had; what wild excursions he made intodizzy, black, and horror-haunted regions; what æons he lived beneath theseas that stifled; by what winds he was whirled, through space, pastburning orbs that neither warmed nor lighted the all-surrounding night;in what Titanic maze he was lost, lost forever, he and Pain that was hisbrother from whom he might not part;--the sick brain made a hell andlanguished in the world it had created! At other times, when the darkcoasts were near and the current very swift, pale paradises opened tohim where he lay for centuries, nor hot nor cold, neither waking norsleeping, not in joy and not in sorrow. Then the stopped pendulum swungagain, and the dreams came fast and faster. At times his brain turnedfrom its mad clash with gigantic, formless, elemental things to rest inthe beaten ways. They that listened heard the adventurer speak, heardthe courtier and the poet and the lover, but never once the traitor. Ofthe fortress of Nueva Cordoba and of what had happened therein, of aSpaniard, noble but in name, of an English knight and leader who had notendured, who, where many a simple soul had stood fast to the end, hadredeemed his body with his honor, the man who raved of all things elsemade no mention. Now with the sugared and fantastic protestationdemanded by court fashion and the deep, chivalric loyalty of his type hespoke to the Queen of England, and now he was with Sidney at Penshurst, Platonist, poet, Arcadian. Now he lived over old adventures, oldvoyages, past battles, wrongs done and wrongs received, unrememberedloves and hatreds, and now he walked with Damaris Sedley in the gardenof his ancient house of Ferne. 

Then at last he came to a land where he lay and watched always a smallround of azure wave and sky, lay idly with no need of thought ormemory, until after a lifetime of the sapphire round it occurred to himto put forth a wasted hand, touch a sun-embrowned one, and whisper, "Robin!" It was a day later, the ships nearing the Grand Canary, andland birds flying past his circlet of sky and ocean, when, after lyingin silence for an hour with a faint frown upon his brow, he at lastremembered, and turned his face to the wall. 

VIII

In a small withdrawing-room at Whitehall an agreeable young gentlemanpensioner, in love with his own voice, which was in truth mellifluous, read aloud to a knot of the Queen's ladies. The room looked upon thepark, and the pale autumn sunshine flooding it made the most of richcourt raiment, purple hangings, green rushes on the floor, lengths ofcrimson velvet designed for a notable piece of arras, and kindled intoflame the jewels upon white and flying fingers embroidering upon thevelvet the history of King David and the wife of Uriah. 

"'It is not the color that commendeth a good painter, '" read thegentleman pensioner, "'but the good countenance; nor the cutting thatvalueth the diamond, but the virtue; nor the gloze of the tongue thattryeth a friend, but the faith, '"

Mistress Damaris Sedley put the needle somewhat slowly through thevelvet, her fancy busy with other embroidery, not so much listening tothe spoken words as pursuing in her mind a sweet and passionate rhetoricof her own. 

"'Of a stranger I can bear much, '" went on the Lydian tones, "'for Iknow not his manners; of an enemy more, for that all proceedeth ofmalice; all things of a friend if it be but to try me, nothing if it beto betray me. I am of Scipio's mind, who had rather that Hannibal shouldeat his heart with salt than that Laelius should grieve it withunkindness; and of the like with Laelius, who chose rather to be slainwith the Spaniards than suspected of Scipio. '"

Damaris quite left her work upon Bathsheba's long gold tresses and satwith idle hands, her level gaze upon nothing short of the great highwayof the sea and certain ships thereon. Where now was the ship?--off whatgreen island, what strange, rich shore?

On went the gentleman pensioner. "'I can better take a blister of anettle than a prick of a rose; more willing that a raven should peck outmy eyes than a dove. To die of the meat one liketh not is better thanto surfeit of that he loveth; and I had rather an enemy should bury mequick than a friend belie me when I am dead. '"

The reader made pause and received his due of soft plaudits. But Damarisdreamed on, the gold thread loose between her fingers. She was thefairest there, and the gentleman was piqued because she looked not athim, but at some fine Arachne web of her own weaving. 

"Sweet Mistress Damaris--" he began; and again, "Fair MistressDamaris--" but Damaris was counting days and heard him not. A lesserbeauty left her work upon King David's crown to laugh aloud, with somemalice and some envy in her mirth. "Prithee, let her alone! She willdream thus even in the presence. But I have a spell will make herawaken. " She leaned forward and called "_Dione_!" then with renewedlaughter sank back into her seat. "Lo! you now--"

The maid of honor, who at her own name stirred not, at the name of apoet's giving had started from her dream with widened eyes and anexquisite blush. The startled face which for one moment she showed herlaughing mates was of a beauty so intelligent and divine that, was it soshe looked, a many King Davids had found excuse for loving oneBathsheba. Then the inner light which had so informed every featuresought again its shrine, and Mistress Damaris Sedley, who was of anature admirably poised and a wit most ready, lifted with the latestFrench shrug the jest from her own shoulders to those of another: "Oh, madam! was it you who spoke? Surely I thought it was your dead starlingthat you taught to call you by that name--but whose neck you wrung whenit called it once too often!"

Having shot her forked shaft and come off victor, she smiled so sweetlyupon the gentleman pensioner that for such ample thanks he had beenreading still had she not risen, laid her work aside, and with a deepand graceful courtesy to the merry group left the room. When she wasgone one sighed, and another laughed, and a third breathed, "O theheavens! to love and be loved like that!"

Damaris threaded the palace ways until she reached the chamber which sheshared with a laughter-loving girl from her own countryside. Closed anddarkened was the little room, but the maid of honor, moving to thewindow, drew the hangings and let the sunshine in. From a cabinet shetook a book in manuscript, then with it in her hands knelt upon thewindow-seat and looked out upon the Thames. She did not read what waswritten upon the leaves; those canzones and sonnets that were herlove-letters were known to her by heart, but she liked to feel them inher hands while her gaze went down the river that had borne his ship outto sea. Where was now the ship? Like a white sea-bird her fancy followedit by day and by night, now here, now there, through storm and sunshine. It was of the dignity of her nature that she could look steadfastly uponthe vision of it in storm or in battle. There were times when she wassure that it was in danger, when her every breath was a prayer, andthere were times, as on this soft autumnal day, when her spirit drowsedin a languor of content, a sweet assurance of all love, all life tocome. His words lay beneath her hand and in her heart; she pressed herbrow against the glass, and as from a watch-tower looked out upon theearth, a fenced garden, and the sea a sure path and Time a strong allyspeeding her lover's approach. For a long time she knelt thus, lapped inhappy dreams; then the door opened and in came her chamber-fellow. "Damaris!" she said, and again, "Oh, Damaris, Damaris!"

Damaris arose from the window-seat and laid her love-letters away. "Introuble again, Cecily?" she asked, and her voice was like a caress, forthe girl was younger than herself. "I know thy 'Oh, Damaris, Damaris!'"She closed the cabinet, then turning, put her arm around her fellowmaid. "What is't, sweeting?"

Cecily slipped to her knees, hiding her face in the other's shimmeringskirts. "Thou'rt so dear, so good, and so proud. . . . As soon as I might Iran hither, for every moment I feared to see thee enter! Thou wouldsthave died hadst thou heard it there in the great antechamber, where theycrowd and whisper and talk aloud--and some, I know, are glad. . . . Theships, Damaris--yesternight two of the ships came home. "

She spoke incoherently, with sobbing breath, but gradually the form towhich she clung had grown rigid in her embrace. "Two of the ships havecome home, " repeated Damaris. "Which came not home?"

"The _Cygnet_ and the _Star_. "

The maid of honor, unclasping the girl's hands, glided from her reach. "Let me go, good Cis! Why, how stifling is the day!" She put her hand toher ruff, as though to loosen it, but the hand dropped again to herside. The silken coverlet upon the bed was awry; she went to it and laidit smooth with unhurried touch. From a bowl of late flowers crimsonpetals had fallen upon the table; she gathered them up, and going to thecasement, gave them, one by one, to the winds outside. 

"Damaris, Damaris, Damaris!" cried the frightened girl. 

"Ay, I have heard him call me that, " answered the other. "SometimesDamaris, sometimes Dione. When did he die?"

"Oh, I bring no news of his death!" exclaimed Cecily. "Sir MortimerFerne is here--in London. "

Damaris, swaying forward, caught at a heavy settle, sank to her knee, and laid her brow against the wood. Cecily, gazing down upon her, sawher cheek glow pure carnation, saw the quivering of the long eyelashesand the happy trembling of the lip. Presently the wave of color fled;she unclosed her eyes, raised her head. "But there was something, wasthere not, to be borne?. . . God forgive me, I had forgot that I havea brother!"

Cecily, whose courage was ebbing, began to deal in evasions. "Indeed Iknow not as to thy brother. I am not sure . . . Mayhap I did not hear himnamed. . . . They said so many things--all might not be true. "

Damaris arose from the settle. "I will have thy meaning, Cis. 'They saidso many things. '--Who are they'?"

Cecily bit her lip, and dashed away fast-starting tears. "Oh, Damaris, all who have heard--all the court--his friends and thine and his foes. The matter's all abroad. The Queen hath letters from Sir John Nevil--hehath been sent for to the Privy Council--"

"Sir John Nevil hath been sent for?--Why not Sir Mortimer Ferne?. . . Ishe ill? Is he wounded?"

Cecily wrung her hands. "Now I must tell thee. . . . It is his honor thatdoth suffer. There is a thing that he did. --He hath confessed, or surelythere were no believing . . . Damans, they call him traitor. . . . Ah!"

"Ay, and I'll strike thee again an thou say that again!" cried Damaris. 

The younger woman shrank before the angry eyes, the disdain of thesmiling lips. Abruptly Damaris moved from the frightened girl. Upon thewall, above a dressing-table, hung a Venetian mirror. The maid of honorlooked at her image in the glass, then with flying fingers undid andlaid aside her ruff, substituting for it a structure of cobweb lace, between whose filmy walls were displayed her white throat and bosom. Around her throat she clasped three rows of pearls, and also wound withpearls her dark-brown hair. Her eyes were very bright, but there was nocolor in her face. Delicately, skilfully, she remedied this, until withshining eyes and that false bloom upon her oval cheeks one would havesworn she was as joyous as she was fair. 

[Illustration: "'DAMARIS, THEY CALL HIM TRAITOR'"]

Cecily, watching her with a beating heart, at last broke silence:"Oh, Damaris, whither are you going?"

Damaris looked over her shoulder. "After a while I will be sorry that Istruck thee, Cis. . . . I am going to talk with men. " She clasped a goldchain about her slender waist, dashed scented water upon her hands, glanced at her full and sweeping skirts of green silk shot with silver. "I have broken my fan, " she said; "wilt lend me thy great plumed one?"Cecily brought the splendid toy. The maid of honor took it from her;then, with a last glance at the mirror, swept towards the door, but onthe threshold turned and came back for one moment to her chamber-fellow. "Forgive me, Cis, " she said, and kissed the girl's wet cheek. 

The great anteroom had its usual throng of courtiers, those of a day andthose whose ghosts might come to haunt the floors that their mortal feetso oft had trodden. Men of note and worth were there, and men of noother significance than that wrought by rich apparel. Here men broughttheir dearest hopes and fears, and here they came to flaunt a feather orto tell a traveller's tale. It was the place of deferred hopes and theplace of poisoned tongues, and the place in which to suck the lastsweet drop in an enemy's cup of trembling. It was the haunt of laughterand of fevered wit and of rivalry in all things, and here the heaviestof heart was not unlike to be the lightest of wit. The spirit of partynever left its walls, and Ambition was its chamberlain. The envied andthe envious walked there, and there hung the sword of Damocles and theinvisible balances. Here, in one corner, might lord it one on whomFortune broadly smiled, while around him buzzed the gilded parasites, and here, ten feet away, his rival felt the knife turn in his heart. To-morrow--to-morrow's old trick of legerdemain! there the knife, herethe smiling face, and for the cloud of sycophants mere change of venue. It was a land of air-castles and rainbow gold, a fool's paradise and thegarden where grew most thickly the apples of Sodom. In it were caged allgreed, all extravagance, all jealousies; hopes, fears, passions that maybe born of and destroy the soul of man; and within it also flamedsplendid folly and fealty to some fixed star, and courage pastdisputing, and clear love of God and country. Yonder glass of fashionand mould of form had stood knee-deep in an Irish bog keeping through awinter's night a pack of savages at bay; this jester at a noble's elbowknew when to speak in earnest; and this, a suitor with no present in hishand, so lightly esteemed as scarce to seem an actor in the pageant, might to-night take his pen and give to after-time a priceless gift. Soldiers, idle gallants, gentlemen and officers of the court; men of lawand men of affairs; churchmen, poets, foreigners, spendthrifts, gulls, satellites, and kinsmen of great lords; the wise, the foolish, the nobleand the base--up and down moved the restless, brilliant throng. Someexcitement was toward, for the great room buzzed with talk. Thecourtiers drew together in groups, and it seemed that a man's name wasbeing bandied to and fro, dark shuttlecock to this painted throng. Damans Sedley, entering the antechamber by a small side door, swam intothe ken of a number of eager players gathered around a gentleman offlushed countenance, who, with much swiftness and dexterity, waswreaking old grudges upon the shuttlecock. One of the audience trod uponthe player's toe; each courtier bowed until his sword stood out astraight line of steel; the maid of honor curtsied, waved her fan, lether handkerchief fall to the floor. To seize the piece of lawn allentered the lists, for the lady was very beautiful, and of a seductive, fine, and subtle charm; a favorite also of the Queen, who, Narcissus-like, saw only her own beauty, and believed that Sir MortimerFerne's veiled divinity was rather to be found on Olympus than upon theplains beneath. In sheer loveliness, with lips like a pomegranateflower, mobile face of clear pallor, and beneath level brows eyes whosecolor it was hard to guess at and whose depths were past all sounding, Mistress Damaris Sedley held her small head high and went her gracefulway, moving as one enchanted over the thorny floor of the court. She hadgreat charm. Once it had been said beneath a royal commissioner's breaththat here in this portionless girl was a twin sorceress to the Queen whodwelt at Tutbury. 

Sorceress enough, at least, was she to draw to herself speech andthought of this particular group; to make those who were ignorant of herrelation to the shuttlecock think less of the treasure of Spain than ofthe treasure which their eyes beheld, and those who had been hisfriends, who guessed at whom had been levelled those fair arrows ofsong, to start full cry (when they had noted that she was merry) uponother matters than lost ships and men. It was not long that she wouldhave it so. "As I entered, sir, I heard you name the _Star_. That wasone of Sir John Nevil's ships. Is there news of his adventure?"

The man to whom she spoke, some mere Hedon of the court, fluttered inthe frank sunshine of her look. "Fair gentlewoman, " he began, pomander-ball in hand, "had you a venture in that ship? Then the lessbeauteous Amphitrite hath played highwayman to your wealth. Now if Imight, drawing from the storehouse of your smiles inveterate Courage, dub myself your Valor, and so to the rescue--"

"Oh, sir, at once I dismiss you to Amphitrite's court!" cried the lady. "Master Darrell, "--to a dark-browed, saturnine personage, --"tell me lessof Amphitrite and more of the truth. The _Star_--"

He whom she addressed loved not the shuttlecock, thought one woman butfalser than another, and made parade of blunt speech. Now a shrug of theshoulder accompanied his answer. "The _Star_ went down months ago, offthe Grand Canary, in a storm by night. "

"Alack the day!" cried Damaris. "But God, not man, sendeth the storm!Was none saved?"

"All were saved, " went on her grim informant; "but well for them hadthey died with their ship, in the salt sea--Captain Robert Baldry andhis men--"

A murmur ran through the group, which now numbered more than one whocould have shrewdly guessed to whom this lady had given her love. Somewould have stayed Black Darrell, but not the Queen herself could havebidden him on with more imperious gesture than did Damaris. "Saved fromthe sea--but better they had drowned! You speak in riddles, MasterDarrell. Where are Captain Robert Baldry and his men?"

A young man hurriedly approached her from another quarter of the room. Men bowed low as he passed, and the circle about the maid of honorreceived him with a deference it scarce had shown to Beauty's self. 

"Ha, Mistress Damaris!" he cried, with somewhat of a forced gayety, "mysister sends messages to you from Wilton! The day is fair--wilt walkwith me in the garden and hear her letter?"

The maid of honor gave him no answer; stood smiling, the plumed fanwaving, her eyes fixed upon Black Darrell, who scorned to budge an inchfor any court favorite and friend of the shuttlecock's. Damaris repeatedher question, and he answered it with relish. 

"Betrayed to the Spaniard, madam, --they and many a goodly gentleman andtall fellow beside! If they died, they died with curses on their lips, and if they live, they bide with the Holy Office or in the galleysof Spain. "

He who had joined the group interrupted him sternly. "This, sir, is nospeech for gentle ears. Madam, beseech you, come with me into thelong walk. "

The courage of a fighting race looked from the maid of honor's darkeningeyes. The small head and slender, aching throat were held with pride, and the hand scarce trembled with which she waved Cecily's plumed fan. "I have a venture in this voyage, " she said. "Certes, the value of apearl necklace, and I will know if I am beggared of it! Moreover, dearSir Philip, English courage and English tragedy do move me more than allthe tangled woes of Arcadia. . . . Master Darrell, I have hopes of thybeing no courtier, thou dost speak so to the point. Again, again, --therewere three ships, the _Mere Honour_, the _Marigold_, and the _Cygnet_--"

"They took a great galleon of Spain, " said Black Darrell, "veryrich, --enough so to have paid your venture a hundred times over, lady, and they stormed a town, and might have taken a great castle, for theylanded all their forces, of which Sir John Nevil made admirabledisposition. But there was an Achan in the camp, a betrayer high inplace, who laid his body and his life in the balance against his honor. The Spanish guns mowed down the English; they fell into pits uponpointed stakes; Spanish horsemen rode them under. Meanwhile the_Cygnet_, traitorous as its Captain--"

"Traitorous as its Captain?" flamed the maid of honor. "But on, sir, on!Afterwards there will be accounting for so vile a falsehood!"

Another movement and murmur ran through the group, checked by Damaris'sraised hand and burning eyes. "On, sir, on!"

Darrell shrugged. "Oh, madam, the _loyal Cygnet_ would have it that thatfair cockatrice the galleon was her own! So in flame and thunder theykissed, but now, quiet enough, they lie upon the sea-floor, they and thespilled treasure. "

Damaris moistened her lips. "Where are the brave and gallant gentlemenwho led this venture? Where is Sir John Nevil? Where is SirMortimer Ferne?"

Darrell would have answered blithe enough, but the man who hadinterfered now pushed the other aside, came close to the maid of honor, and spoke with decision. "Gentlemen, this lady had a brother of muchpromise who sailed upon the _Cygnet_. . . . Ah! you perceive that suchconverse in her presence is not gentle nor seemly. " He took Damaris'shand; it was quite cold. "Sweet lady, " he said, in a low voice, "comewith me from out this gallimaufry. " He bent nearer, so that none but shecould hear. "I will tell you all. It fits not with the dignity of yoursorrow that you should remain here. "

Damaris's bosom rose and fell in a long shuddering sigh. The room thatwas so large and bright swam before her, appeared to grow narrow, dark, and stifling. A hateful and terrible presence overshadowed her; it wasas though she had but to put forth her hand to touch a coffin-lid. Sheno longer saw the forms about her, scarce felt the pressure of Sidney'shand, knew not, so brave a lady was she, so fixed her habit of thecourt, that she smiled upon the group she was leaving and swept them aformal curtsy. She found herself in the deserted outer gallery withSidney, --they were in the recess of a window, and he was speaking. Sheput her hand to her brow. "Is Henry Sedley dead?" she asked. 

He answered her as simply: "Yes, lady, bravely dead--a good knight whorode steadfastly to that noblest Court of which all earthly courts arebut flawed copies. "

As he spoke he regarded her anxiously, fearing a swoon or a cry, butinstead she smiled, looking at him with dazed eyes, and her white handyet at her forehead. "I am his only sister, " she said, "and we have nofather nor mother nor brother. We have been much together--all ourlives--and we are tender of each other. . . . Death! I never thought thatdeath could touch him; no, not upon this voyage. --There was one whoswore to guard him. "

Her companion made no answer, and she stood for a few moments withoutfurther word or motion, slowly remembering Darrell's words. Then aslight lifting of her head, a gradual stiffening of her frame; her handfell, and the expression of her face changed--no speech, but partedlips, and eyes that at once appealed and commanded. She might have beensome dark queen of a statelier world awaiting tidings that would make ormar. He was the most chivalric, the best-loved, spirit of his time, andhis heart ached that, like his own Amphialus, he must deal so sweet asoul so deadly a blow. Seeing that it must be so, he told quietly andwith proper circumstance, not the wild exaggeration and tales ofaforethought treason which rumor had caught up and flung into the court, but the story as Sir John Nevil had delivered it to the Privy Council. Even so, it was, inevitably, to this man and this woman, the story ofone who had spoken where he should have bitten out his tongue; who, allunwillingly it might be, had yet betrayed his comrades, who had set aslur and a stain upon his order. 

"He himself accuseth himself, " ended the speaker, with a groan. "Avoweththat, wrung by their hellish torments, he made his honor of no account;prayeth for death. "

Damaris stood upright against the mullioned window. 

"Where is he?" she asked, and there was that in her voice which a manmight not understand. He paused a moment as for consideration, then drewfrom his doublet a folded paper, gave it to her, and turned aside. Themaid of honor, opening it, read:

_To Sir Philip Sidney, Greeting_:

_Doubtless thou hast heard by now of how all mischance and disasterbefell the adventure. For myself, who was thy friend, I will show theein lines of thy own making what men hereafter (and justly) will say ofme who am thy friend no longer_:

 "_His death-bed peacock's folly. His winding-sheet is shame. His will, false-seeming wholly. His sole executor blame_. "

_Lo! I have given space enough to a coward's epitaph. Of our friendshipof old I will speak no farther than to cry to its fleeing shadow for onelast favor_--_then all's past_. 

_I wish to have speech, alone, with Mistress Damaris Sedley. It must bequickly, for I know not what the Queen's disposition of me may be. ForGod's sake, Philip Sidney, get me this! I am not yet under arrest_--_Iam hard by the Palace, at the Bell Inn_. --_You may effect it if youwill. God knows you have a silver tongue and she a heart of gold! Itrust her to give me speech with her as I trust you to find the way_. 

_Time was, thy friend; time is, thy suppliant only_. 

_MORTIMER FERNE_. 

_O Sidney, Sidney! I am not altogether base_!

The maid of honor folded the letter, keeping it, however, in her hand. Her companion, turning towards her, chanced to see her face of sombrehorror, of wide, tearless eyes, and would look no more. To themselvesthe two were modern of the moderns, ranked in the forefront of thepresent; courtier, statesman, and poet of the day, exquisite maid ofhonor whose every hour convention governed, --yet the face upon which inone revealing moment he had gazed seemed not less old than the face ofHelen--of Medea--of Ariadne; not less old and not less imperishablybeautiful. Neither spoke of her idyll turned to a crowder's song. Knowing that there were no words which she could bear, he waited, hismind filled with deep pity, hers with God knows what complexity, whatsingleness of feeling, until at last a low sound--no intelligibleword--came from her throat. The plumed fan dropped the length of itssilken cord, and her hands went out for help that should yet bevoiceless, assuming everything, expressing nothing. He met her call, asthree years later he met, at Zutphen, the agony of envy, the appealagainst intolerable thirst, in the eyes of a common soldier. 

"No command concerning him has yet been given, " he said, gently. "I senthim mask and cloak--he came by yonder way, --met me here. . . . There werefew words. . . . His humor is that of glancing steel. "

"That is as it should be, " answered the maid of honor. 

Her companion parted the hangings which separated the two from thegallery. "He awaits behind yonder door where stands the boy. "Ceremoniously he took her hand and led her to an entrance beside whichleaned a slender lad in a ragged blue jerkin and hose. "Robin, you willwatch yonder at the great doors. Sweet lady, I stand here, and noneshall enter. But remember that the time is short--at any moment thegallery may fill. "

"There is no long time needed, " said Damans. In her voice there was noanger nor shame nor poignant grief, but she spoke as in a dream, and herface when she turned it towards him was strange once more, like the faceof Fatal Love rising clear from the crash of its universe. She had drunkthe half of a bitter cup, and the remainder she must drink; but when allwas said, she was going, after weary months, to see the face of the manshe loved. Philip Sidney lifted the latch of the door, saw her enter, and let it fall behind her. 

The room in which she found herself was ruddy with firelight, the flamescoloring the marble chimney-piece and causing faint shadows to chase oneanother across an arras embroidered with a hunting scene. Upon a heavytable were thrown a cloak and mask. 

The man who had worn them turned from the window, came forward a fewpaces, and stood still. Damans put forth her hand, and leaned forstrength against the chimney-piece--a beautiful woman in the heart ofthe glow from the fire. At first she said no word, for she was thinkingdully. "If he comes no nearer, it must be true. If he crosses not theshadow on the floor between us, it must be true. " At last she asked, ina low voice, "Is it true?"

In the profound silence that followed she made a step forward out of thered glow towards the bar of shadow. Ferne stayed her with a gestureof his hand. 

"Yes, it is true, " he said. "It is true, unless, indeed, there be noanswer to Pilate's 'What is truth?' For myself, I walk in a whirlingworld and a darkness shot with fire. Did I do this thing? Yea, verily, Idid! Then, seeing that I dwell not in Edmund Spenser's faerie-land norbelieve that an enchanter's wand may make white seem black and blackseem white, I now see myself nakedly as I am, --a man who knew nothimself; a sword, jewel--hilted, with a blade of lath; a gay maskerwhom, his vizard torn away, the servants thrust forth into the cold! Iam my own assassin, forger, abhorred fool!"

He paused, and the embers fell, growing gray in the silence. At last hespoke again, in a changed voice. "Thy brother, lady. . . . There will notlack those to tell thee that I tripped him with my foot, that I slew himwith my dagger. It is not true, and yet I count myself his murderer. . . . See the shadow at thy feet, the heavy shadow that lies between you andme!. . . How may I say that I would have given my life for him who was thybrother and my charge, whom for his own sake I loved, when I gave not mylife, when I bought my life with his and many another's?. . . Thou dostwell to say no word, but I would that thou didst not press thy handsagainst thy heart, nor look at me with those eyes. A little longer and Iwill let thee go, and Sidney's sister will comfort thee and be kindto thee. "

"What else?" said Damaris, beneath her breath. "What else? O God! nomore!"

Ferne drew from his doublet a knot of soiled ribbon. Again he wasspeaking, but not with the voice he had used before. "Thy favor. . . . Ihave brought it back to thee--but not stainless, not worn in triumph. . . . There is a fortress and a town that I see sometimes in a dream, and thegovernor of them both is a nobleman of Spain--Don Luiz de Guardiola, Governor of Nueva Cordoba. He filched from me my honor, but left me lifethat I might taste death in life. He set me on the river sands that Imight call to the ships I had not sunken and to the comrades I had notslain. He gave me back my sword that in the cabin of the _Mere Honour_, in my leader's presence, I might break the blade in twain. He restoredme _this_ when he had ground it beneath his heel!--No, no, I will nothave you speak! But was he not a subtle gentleman?. . . Now, by yourleave, I shall burn the ribbon. "

He crossed to the great fireplace and threw the length of velvet ribboninto a glowing hollow. It caught and blazed and illuminated his face. Damaris moved also, groping with her hands for the chair beside thetable. Finding it, she sank down, outstretched her arms upon the board, and bowed her head upon them. Through the faintness and the leadenhorror that weighed her down she heard Ferne's voice, at first yetmonotonous and low, at the last an irrepressible cry of passion:

"Now there is no longer troth between us, and all thy days, by summerand by winter, thou mayst listen unabashed to tales of such as I. If Iam named to thee, thou needst not blush, for now I have seared away thateve above the river, that morn at Penshurst. And there will be no moresinging, and men will soon forget, as thou too--as thou too must forget!I loved; I love; but to thy lips and thy dark, dark eyes, and thy wholesweet self I say farewell. . . . Farewell!"

She was aware of his step beside her; knew that he had lifted the cloakand mask from the table; thought that but for this all-enfoldingheaviness she would speak. . . . The door opened, and Sidney's voicereached her in a low, peremptory "At once!" A pause that seemed filledwith laboring breath, then footsteps passed her; the door closed. Alone, she rose to her feet, stood for a moment with her hands at her temples, then moved with an uncertain step to the fire, where she sank down uponthe rushes and tried to warm herself. Something among the ashes drewher attention. In went her hand, and out came a charred end ofvelvet ribbon. 

She sat before the fire for some time, dully conscious of sound andmovement in the gallery without, but caring nothing. When at last shearose and left the room all was quiet enough, and she reached her ownchamber unmolested. Towards evening Cecily, fluttering in after longhours of attendance, found her in her night-rail, half kneeling besidethe bed, half fallen upon the floor. . . . The Countess of Pembroke was notat court, and there was none besides whom Cecily cared or dared to call;so, terrified, she watched out the night beside a Damaris she hadnever known. 

Philip Sidney's low voice had been urgent, and the man who owed to him aperilous assignation made no tarrying. With his cloak drawn about hisface, and his hand busy with the small black mask, he passed swiftlyalong the gallery towards the door through which he had obtainedentrance and where Sidney now waited with an anxious brow. It was toolate. Suddenly before him, at the head of a short flight of stairs, themassive leaves of the great doors swung open and halberdiersappeared--beyond them a confused yet stately approach of sound and colorand indistinguishable forms. The halberdiers advanced, a double lineforming an aisle for the passage of some brilliant throng, and cuttingoff the door of escape. Ferne looked over his shoulder. From doors nowopened at the farther end of the gallery people were entering, wereranging themselves along the walls. There was a glimpse of a crowdwithout; beyond them, the palace stairs and the silver Thames. A trumpetblew, and the crowd shouted, _God save the Queen!_

The tide of color rolled through the great inner doors, down to thelevel of the gallery, and so on towards the river and the waitingbarges. It caught upon its crest Philip Sidney, who, striving in vain tomake his way back to where Ferne was standing, had received from thelatter a most passionate and vehement gesture of dissuasion. On came thebright wave, with menace of discomfiture and shame, towards the man who, surrounded though he was by petty courtiers, citizens, and countryknights, could hardly fail of recognition. Impossible now was hisdisguise, where every hat was off, where a velvet cloak swung from ashoulder was one thing, and a mantle of frieze quite another. He droppedthe latter at his feet, crushed the light mask in his hand, and waited. 

It was not for long. Down upon him swept the cortege--the heart of thecourt of a virgin Queen. At once keenly and as in a dream he viewed it. Not less withdrawn was it now than a fairy pageant clear cut againstrosy skies and watched by him from the stony bases of inaccessiblecliffs--and yet it was familiar, goodly, his old accustomed company. This face--and that--and that! how he startled from it laughter orindifference or vagrant thought. There were low exclamations, a woman'sslight scream, pause, confusion, and from the rear an authoritativevoice demanding reason for the delay. Past him, staring and murmuring, swept the peacock-tinted vanguard; then, Burleigh on one hand, Leicesteron the other, encompassed and followed by the greatest names and thefairest faces of England, herself erect, ablaze with jewels, consciousof her power and at all times ready to wield it, came the daughter ofHenry the Eighth. 

A noble presence moving in the full lustre of sovereignty, a princesswho, despite all womanish faults, was a wise king unto her people, amaiden ruler to whom in that aftermath of chivalry men gave a personalregard, rose-colored and fanciful; the woman not above coquetry, vanity, and double-dealing, the monarch whose hand was heavy upon the councilboard, whose will perverted law, whose prime wish was the welfare of herpeople--she drew near to the man to whom she had shown fair promise ofsettled favor, but to whose story, told by his Admiral and commentedupon by those about her, she had that day listened between bursts of hergreat oaths and with an ominous flashing of jewels upon her hands. 

Now her quick glance singled him out from the lesser folk with whom hestood. She colored sharply, took two or three impetuous steps, then, indignant, stayed with her lifted hand the progress of her train. Ferneknelt. In the sudden silence Elizabeth's voice, shaken with anger, madeitself heard through half the length of the gallery. 

"What make you here? Who has dared to do this--to place this man here?"

"Myself alone, madam, " answered quickly the man at her feet. With amotion of his hand he indicated the long cloak beside him. "I had butmade entrance into the gallery--I was taken unawares--"

"Hast a knife beneath your cloak?" burst forth the Queen. "I hear thatright royally you gave my subjects' lives to the Spaniard. There's adeath that would more greatly please those that mastered you!. . . Answer me!"

"I have no words, " said Ferne, in a low voice. As he spoke he raised hishead and looked Majesty in the face. 

Again Elizabeth colored, and her jewels shook and sparkled. "If notthat, what then?" she cried. "God's death! Is't the Spanish fashion towear disgrace as a favor? Again, sir, what do you here?"

"I came as a ghost might come, " answered Ferne. "Thinks not your Gracethat the spirits of disgraced and banished men, or men whose fault, mayhap, brought forfeiture of their lives, may strain to make return tothat spot where they felt no guilt, where they were greatly happy? Assuch an one might come and no man see him, hurt or to be hurt of him, socame I, restless, a thing of naught, a shade drawn to look once moreupon old ways, old walls, the place where once I freely walked. Nonebrought me; none stayed me, for am I not a ghost? I only grieve thatyour Grace's clear eyes should have marked this shade of what I was, formost unwittingly I, uncommanded, find myself in your Grace's presence. "He bent lower, touched the hem of her magnificent robe, and his voice, which had been quite even and passionless, changed in tone. "For therest--whether I am yet to hold myself at your Grace's pleasure, orwhether you give me sentence now--God save your Majesty and prevent yourenemies at home and abroad--God bring downfall and confusion upon theSpaniard and all traitors who abet him--God save Queen Elizabeth!"

There followed a pause, during which could be heard the murmur of thewaiting throng and the autumnal rustle of the trees without thegallery. At last:

"Yours was ever an eloquent tongue, Sir Mortimer Ferne, " said the Queen, slowly. "Hadst thou known when to hold it, much might have beendifferent. . . . Thy father served us well, and once we slept at hisancient house of Ferne, rich only in the valor and loyal deeds of itsmasters, from old times until our own. . . . What is lost is lost, andother and greater matters clamor for our attention. Go! hold thyself aprisoner, at our pleasure, in thy house of Ferne! If thou art but ashade with other shadows, then seek the company of thy dead father andof other loyal and gallant gentlemen of thy name. Perchance, one andall, they would have blenched had the pinch but been severe enough. Ihave heard of common men--ay, of thieves and murderers--whose lips therack could not unlock! It seems that our English knights grow lessresolved. . . . My lords, the sun is declining. If we would take the waterto-day, we must make no farther tarrying. Your hand, my Lord ofLeicester. "

Once more her train put itself into motion. Lords and ladies, lips thatsmiled and hearts all busy with the next link in Ambition's goldenchain, on they swept into the pleasant outer air. The one man of themotley throng of suitors to whom Elizabeth had spoken rose from hisknee, picked up his frieze coat, and turned a face that might have goneunrecognized of friend or foe towards the door by which he had enteredthe gallery. 

IX

Giles Arden, having ridden far as required the tale of miles from thetavern of the Triple Tun, came, upon a sunshiny afternoon of earlyspring, to an oak knoll where one might halt to admire a fair picture ofan old house set in old gardens. Old were the trees that shadowed it, and ivy darkened all its walls; without sound a listless beauty breathedbeneath the pale blue skies; for all the sunshine and the bourgeoning ofthe spring, the picture seemed but sombrely rich, but sadly sweet. Tothe lips of a light-of-heart there was that in its quality had brought asigh: as for Arden, when he had checked his horse he looked upon thescene with a groan, then presently for very mirthlessness, laughed. 

"That day, " he said to himself with a grimace--"that day when we forsookour hawking, and dismounting on this knoll, planned for him his newhouse! There should be the front, there the tower, there the great roomwhere the Queen should lie when she made progress through these ways!All to be built when, like a tiercel-gentle to his wrist, came morefame, more gold!"

The speaker turned in his saddle and looked about him with a ruefulsmile. 

"I on yonder mossy stone, and Sidney, chin in hand, full length beneaththat oak, and he standing there, his arm about the neck of his gray! Andwhat says monsieur the traitor? 'I like it well as it stands, nor will Itear down what my forefathers built. Plain honor and plain truth are thewalls thereof, and encompassed by them, the Queen's Grace may lie downwith pride. ' Brave words, traitor! Gulls, gulls (saith the world), friend Sidney! For a modicum of thy judgment, Solomon, King of Jewry, Iwould give (an he would bestow it upon me) my cousin the Earl'sgreat ruby!"

He laughed again, then sighed, and gathering up his reins, left thelittle eminence and trotted on through sun and shade to a vacant, ruinous lodge and a twilit avenue, silent and sad beneath the heavyinterlacing of leafy boughs. Closing the vista rose a squat doorway, ivy-hung; and tumbled upon the grass beside it, attacking now a greatbook and now a russet pippin, lay a lad in a blue jerkin. 

At the sound of the horse's hoofs the reader marked his page with hisapple, and with a single movement of his lithe body was on his feet, a-stare to see a visitor where for many days visitors had been none. Declining autumn and snowy winter and greening spring, he could countupon the fingers of one hand the number of those who had come that waywhere once there had been gay travelling beneath the locked elms. Another moment and he was at Arden's side, clinging to that gentleman'sjack-boot, raising to his hard-favored but not unkindly countenance aface aflame with relief and eagerness. Presently came the big tears tohis eyes, he swallowed hard, and ended by burying his head in the foldsof the visitor's riding-cloak. 

"Where is your master, Robin-a-dale?" Arden demanded. 

The boy, now red and shamefaced because of his wet lashes, stood up, andsquaring himself, looked before him with winking eyes, nor would answeruntil he could speak without a quaver. Then: "He sits in the northchamber, Master Arden. This side o' the house the sun shines. " Despitehis boyish will the tears again filled his eyes. "'Tis May-time now, andthere's been none but him above the salt since Lammas-tide. Sir Johncame and Sir Philip came, but he would not let them stay. 'Tis lonesomenow at Ferne House, and old Humphrey and I be all that serve him. Ofnights a man is a'most afeard. . . . I'll fasten your horse, sir, andmayhap you'll have other luck. "

Arden dismounted, and presently the two, boy and adventurer, passed intoa hall where the latter's spur rang upon the stone flooring, and thenceinto a long room, cold and shadowy, with the light stealing in throughdeep windows past screens of fir and yew. Touched by this waneffulgence, beside an oaken table on which was not wine nor dice norbooks, a man sat and looked with strained eyes at the irrevocable past. 

"Master, master!" cried Robin-a-dale. "Here be company at last. Master!"

Sir Mortimer passed his hand across brow and eyes as though to brushaway thick cobwebs. "Is it you, Giles Arden?" he asked. "It was toldme, or I dreamed it, that you were in Ireland. "

"I was, may God and St. George forgive me!" Arden answered, withdetermined lightness. "Little to be got and hard in the getting! Eventhe Muses were not bountiful, for my men and I wellnigh ate EdmundSpenser out of Kilcolman. He sends you greeting, Mortimer; swears he isno jealous poet, and begs you to take up that old scheme which heforsook of King Arthur and his Knights--"

"He is kind, " said Ferne, slowly. "I am well fitted to write of old, heroic deeds. Nor is there any doubt that the man-at-arms who hath losthis uses in the struggle of this world should take delight in quietexile, sating his soul with the pomp of dead centuries. "

"Nor he nor I meant offence, " began Arden, hastily. 

"I know you did not, " the other answered. "I have grown churlish oflate. Robin! a stirrup-cup for Master Arden!"

A silence followed, then said Arden: "And if I want it not, Mortimer?And if, old memories stirring, I have ridden from London to Ferne Housethat I might see how thou wert faring?"

"Thou seest, " said Ferne. 

"I see how bitterly thou art changed. "

"Ay, I am changed, " answered Sir Mortimer. "Your thought was kindly, andI thank you for it. Once these doors opened wide to all who knocked, butit is not so now. Ride on to the town below the hill, and take your restin the inn! Your bedfellow may be Iscariot, but if you know him not, andas yet he knows himself but slenderly, you may sleep withoutdreaming. Ride on!"

"The inn is full, " answered Arden, bluntly. "This week the Queen restsin her progress with your neighbor, the Earl, and the town will becrowded with mummers and players, grooms, cutpurses, quacksalvers, andcockatrices, travellers and courtiers whom the north wind hath nipped!'Sblood, Mortimer, I had rather sleep in this grave old place!"

"With Judas who knows himself at last?" asked Ferne, coldly, withoutmoving from his place. The door opened, and old Humphrey, shufflingacross the floor to the table, placed thereon a dish of cakes and agreat tankard of sack, then as he turned away cast a backward glanceupon his master's face. Arden noted the look, that there was in it fear, overmastering ancient kindness, and withal a curiosity as ignoble as itwas keen. Suddenly, as though the fire of that knowledge had leaped tohis own heart from that of his host, he knew in every fibre howintolerable was the case of the master of the house, sitting alone inthis gloomy chamber, served by this frightened boy, by that old manwhose gaze was ever greedy for the quiver of an eyelid, the pressingtogether of white lips, whose coarse and prying hand ever strayedtowards the unhealed sore. He strode to the table and laid hands uponthe tankard. "The dust of the road is in my throat, " he explained, anddrank deep of the wine, then put the tankard down and turned to thefigure yet standing in the cold light as in an atmosphere all its own. 

"Mortimer Ferne, " he said, "I came here as thy aforetime friend. I willnot believe that it is my stirrup-cup that I have drunk. "

"Ay, your stirrup-cup, " answered the other, steadily. "Nowadays I see nocompany--my aforetime friend. "

"That word was ill chosen, " began Arden, hastily. "I meant not--"

"I care not what you meant, " said Sir Mortimer, and sitting down at thetable, shaded his eyes with his hand. "Of all my needs the least is nowa friend. Go your ways to the town and be merry there, forgetting thislimbo and me, who wander to and fro in its shadows. " Suddenly he struckhis hand with force against the table and started to his feet, pushingfrom him with a grating sound the heavy oaken settle. "Go!" he cried. "The players and mummers are there. Go sit upon the stage, and in themiddle of the play cry to your neighbors: 'These be no actors! Why, onceI knew a man who could so mask it that he deceived himself!' There arequacksalvers who will sell you anything. Go buy some ointment for youreyes will show you the coiled serpent at the bottom of a man's heart!Travellers!--ask them if Prester John can see the canker where the fruitseems fairest. Nipped courtiers! laugh with them at one against whomblow all the winds of hell, blast after blast, driving his soul beforethem! Ballad-mongers--"

He paused, laughed, then beckoned to him Robin-a-dale. "Sirrah, " hesaid, "Master Arden ever loved a good song. Now sing him the ballad weheard when the devil drove us to town last Wednesday. "

"I--I have forgotten it, master, " answered the boy, and cowered againstthe wall. 

"You lie!" cried Ferne, and the table shook again beneath his hand. "DidI not exercise you in it until you were perfect? Sing!"

The boy opened his mouth and there came forth a heart-broken sound. Hismaster stamped upon the floor. "Shall I not also torture where I can?Sing, Robin, my man! Fling back your head and sing like the lark in thesky! What! am I fallen so low that my very page flouts me, kicksobedience out-of-doors?"

Robin-a-dale straightened himself and began to sing, with bravado, afierce red in his cheeks, and his young voice high and clear:

 "Now list to me, ladies, and list to me, gentles; I've a story for your ears of a false, false knight, Whom England held in honor, but he treasured Spain so dearly That he sold into her hands his comrades in fight. 

 "'Twas before a walled city with the palm-trees hanging over; He was Captain of the _Cygnet_, and it sank before his eyes; The Englishmen ashore, they're taken in the pitfall, Good lack! they toil in galleys or their souls to God arise. 

 "He sees them in his sleep, the craven and the traitor. The sea it keeps their bones, their bloody ghosts they pass--"

"For God's sake!" cried Arden; and the boy, snatching with despairinghaste at the interruption, ceased his singing, and in the heavy silencethat followed crept nearer and nearer to his master until he touched alistless hand. 

"Ay, Robin, " said Ferne, absently, and laid the hand upon his head. "Andthe bloody ghosts they pass. "

Arden spoke with emotion: "All men when their final account is made upmay have sights to see that now they dream not of. Thou art both toomuch and too little what thou wast of old, and thou seest not fairly inthese shadows. I know that Philip Sidney and John Nevil have come toFerne House, and here am I, thy oldest comrade of them all. A sheet ofpaper close written with record of noble deeds becomes not worthlessbecause of one deep blot. "

Ferne, his burst of passion past, arose and moved from table to window, from window to great chimney-piece. There was that in the quiet, almoststealthy regularity of his motions that gave subtle suggestion of daysand nights spent in pacing to and fro, to and fro, thisdeep-windowed room. 

At last he spoke, pausing by the fireless hearth: "I say not that it isso, nor that there is not One who may read the writing beneath the blot. But from the time of Cain to the present hour if the blotted sheet bebound with the spotless the book is little esteemed. "

"Cain slew his brother wilfully, " said Arden. 

"That also is told us, " answered the other. "Jealousy constrained him, while constancy of soul was lacking unto me. I know not if it was buttaken from me for a time, or if, despite all seeming, I never didpossess it. I know that the dead are dead, and I know not to whatambuscade I, their leader, sent them. . . . I fell, not wilfully, butthrough lack of will. Now, an the Godhead within me be not flown, I willrecover myself, --but never what is past and gone, never the deadflowers, never the souls I set loose, never one hour's eternal scar!. . . Enough of this. Ride on to the inn, for Ferne House keepeth guests nolonger. To-morrow, an you choose, come again, and we will say farewell. Why, old school-fellow! thou seest I am sane--no hermit or madman, asthe clowns of this region would have me. But will you go?--will you go?"

"It seems that you yourself journey to the town upon occasion, " saidArden. "Ride with me now, Mortimer. No country lass more sweet than theair to-day!"

The other shook his head. "Business has taken me there. But now that Ihave sold this house I at present go no more. "

"Sold this house!" echoed Arden, and with a more and more perturbedcountenance began to pace the floor. "I did never think to hear of FerneHouse fallen to strange hands! Your father--" He paused before a pictureset in the panelled wall. "Your father loved it well. "

"My father was of pure gold, " said Sir Mortimer, "but I, his son, am ofiron, or what baser metal there may be. Now I go forth to my kind. "

"Oh! in God's name, leave Plato alone!" cried the other. "'Tis not bythat pagan's advice that you divest yourself of house and land!"

"I wanted money, " said Ferne, dully. 

The man whom ancient friendship had brought that way stopped short inhis pacing to gaze upon the figure standing in the light of the highwindow. For what could such an one want money? Courtier, no moreforever; patron of letters, friend of wise men, no more forever; soldierand sea-king, comrade and leader of brave men never, never again, --whatwanted he so much, what other was his imperative need than this old, quiet house sunk in the shadows of its age-old trees, grave with acertain solemnity, touched upon with tragedy, attuned to a sorrowfulpatience? For a moment the room and the man who made its core wereblurred to Arden's vision. He walked to the window and stood there, twirling his mustachios, finally humming to himself the lines of a song. 

"That is Sidney's, " said Ferne, quietly. "I hear that he does the Queennoble service. . . . Well, even in the old times he was ever a lengthbefore me!"

"Why do you need money?" demanded the visitor. "What more retired--whatbetter house than this?"

The man who leaned against the chimney-piece turned to gaze at hisvisitor with that which had not before showed in mien or words. It waswonder, slight and mournful, yet wonder. "Of course you also would thinkthat, " he said at last. "Even Robin thinks that the stained blade shouldrust in its scabbard, --that here I should await my time, training therose-bushes in my garden, listening to the sere leaves fall, singing ofother men's harvests. "

The boy cried out: "I don't, I don't! You've promised to take me withyou!" and flung himself down upon the pavement, with his head beside hismaster's knee. 

"I have bought me a ship, " said Ferne, "together with a crew of beggaredmariners and cast soldiers. I think they be all villains and desperatefolk, or they would not sail with me. Some that seemed honest havefallen away since they knew the name of their Captain. . . . We mustbegone, Robin! If we would not sail the ship ourselves we mustbegone--we must begone. "

"Begone where?" demanded Arden, and wheeled from the window. 

"To fight the Spaniard, " said Ferne. "The Queen hath been my very goodmistress. John Nevil and Sidney have procured me leave to go--if it sobe that I go quietly. I think that I will not return--and England willforget me, but Spain may remember. . . . For the rest, I go to search forRobert Baldry; to seek if not to find my enemy, the foe that I held incontempt, whom in my heart I despised because he was not poet andcourtier, as I was, nor knight and gentleman, as I was, nor very wise, as I was, and because all his vision was clouded and gross, while I--Imight see the very flower o' the sun. . . . Well, he was a brave man. "

"He is dead, " whispered Arden. "Surely he is dead. "

"Maybe, " answered the other. "But I nor no man else saw him die. And weknow that these Spanish tombs do sometimes open and give up the dead. I'll throw for size-ace. "

"If he lived they would have sent him to Cartagena, --to the HolyOffice!" cried the other. "One ship--a scoundrel crew. . . . Mortimer, Mortimer, some other ordeal than that!"

Ferne raised his eyes. "I call it by no such fine name, " he said. "I butknow that if he yet lives, then he and what other Englishmen are leftalive do cry out for deliverance, looking towards the sea, thinking, 'Where is now a friend?'" He left the table and came near to Arden. "'Twas a kindly impulse sent you here, old comrade of mine; but now willyou go? The dead and I hold Ferne House of nights. To-morrow come againand say good-by. "

"I will sail with you to the Indies, Mortimer, " said the visitor. 

There was silence in the room; then, "No, no, " answered Ferne, in astrange voice. "No, no. "

Arden persisted, speaking rapidly, carrying it off with sufficientlightness. "He was just home from Ireland and stood in need of the sun. His cousin wanted him not; John Nevil was in the north and had helpersenough. The slaying of Spaniards was at once good service and goodsport. Best take him along for old time's sake. Indeed, he asked nobetter than to go--" On and on he talked, until, looking up, his speechwas cut short by the aspect of the man before him. 

If in every generation the house of Ferne, father and son, could wear adark face when occasion warranted, certainly in this moment that of thelatest of his race was dark indeed. "And at the first pinch be betrayed. Awake, or here, or there, in the torments of Spain or in another world!Awake and curse me by all your gods! Speak not to me--I am not hungryfor a friend! I have no faith to pledge against your trust! The rabblewhich await me upon my ship, I have bought them with my gold, and theyknow me, who I am. For Robin--God help the boy! He had a fever, and hewould not cease his cries until I sware not to part from him. Robin, Robin! Master Arden will take horse! Go, Arden, go! or as God lives Iwill strike you where you stand. No, --no hand-touching! Can you not seethat you heat the iron past all bearing? A moment since and I could havesworn I saw behind you Henry Sedley! Go, go!"

He sank upon the settle beneath the window, and buried his head in hisarms. For a long minute Arden stood with a drawn face, then turning, left the house and left the place, for the knowledge was borne in uponhim that here and now friendship could give no aid. When, half an hourlater, he arrived at the Blue Swan in the neighboring town and calledfor _aqua-vitæ_, mine host, jolly and round and given over tofacetiousness, swore that to look so white and bewitched-like thegentleman must have gathered mandrakes from Ferne church-yard, or havedined with the traitor knight himself. 

That same afternoon, when the rays of the sun were lower, Ferne wentinto his garden and lifted his bared brow, that perchance the air mightcool it. It was the quiet hour when the goal of the sun is in view, andthe shadows of the fruit trees lay long upon the grass. There werebreaches in the garden walls where they had crumbled into ruin, andthrough these openings, beyond dark masses of all-covering ivy, sightmight be had of old trees set in alleys, of primrose-yellowed downs, andof a distant cliff-head where sheep grazed, while far below gleamed asapphire line of sea. Tender quiet, fair stillness, marked the spot. Daymused as she was going: Evening, drawing near, held her finger to herlips. A tall flower, keeping fairy guard beside three ruinous steps, moved not her slightest bell, but there came one note of ahidden thrush. 

Full in the midst of a grass-plot was set a semi-circular bench ofstone. To this Ferne moved, threw himself down, and with a moaning sighclosed his eyes. There had been long days and sleepless nights; therehad been, once his brain had ceased to whirl, the growth of a purposeslowly formed, then held like iron; there had been the humble pleadingfor freedom, the long delay, the hope deferred; then, his petitiongranted, the going forth to mart and highway, the bargaining, amidstcurious traffickers, for that rotting ship, for those lives, asworthless as his own, which yet must have their price. This going forthwas very bad; like hot lead within the gaping wound, like searingsunshine upon the naked eye. And now, to-day, not an hour since, Arden!to mock, to goad, to torture--

Slowly, slowly, the sun went down the west, and the peace of the gardendeepened. Very stealthily the quiet stole upon him; softly, silently, with spirit touch, it brought him healing simples. Utterly weary as hewas, the balm of the hour at last flowed over him, faintly soothing, faintly caressing. He opened his eyes, and breathing deeply, lookedabout him with a saner vision than he had used of late. 

The lily by the broken stair slept on, but the thrush sang once again. The bell-like note died into the charmed stillness, and all things wereas they had been. Thirty paces away, stark against the evening sky, rosethe western wall of Ferne House, and it was shaggy with ivy that wasrooted like a tree, wide-branched, populous with birds' nests, and high, high against the blue a thing of tenderest sprays and palest leaves. Thelong ridge of them kept the late sunshine, and so far was it liftedabove the earth, so still in that dreamy hour, so touched with palegold, so distant and so delicate against high heaven, that it caught andheld eye and soul of the man for whom Fate had borrowed Ixion's wheel. He gazed until the poet in him sighed with pure pleasure; then cameforgetfulness; then, presently, he looked into his heart and began tomake a little song, amorous, quaint, and honey-sweet, just such a songas in that full dawn of poesy Englishmen struck from the lyre andthought naught of it. His lips did not move; had he spoken, at the soundof his own voice the charm had cracked, the little lyric had shrunk awaybefore tragedy that was yet as fierce as it was profound, that had asyet few other notes than those of primal pain. 

With the final cadence, the last sugared word, the ivy sprays somewhatdarkened against the eastern sky. His fancy being yet aloft, he turnedthat he might behold the light upon the downs, and then he saw DamarisSedley where she stood upon the lowest of the ruined steps, stiller thanthe flower beside her, and with something rich and strange in herbearing and her dress. Cloth of silver sheathed her body, while theflowing sleeves that half revealed, half hid her white and rounded armswere of silver tissue over watchet blue, and of watchet was the mantlewhich she had let fall upon the step beside her. A net of wire of goldcrossing her hair that was but half confined, held high above herforehead a golden star. In one hand she bore a silvered spear welltipped with gold, the other she pressed above her heart. Her face waspale and grave, her scarlet lip between her teeth, her dark eyes intentupon the man before her. 

Ferne sprang to his feet and started forward, very white, his armoutstretched and trembling, crying to her if she were spirit merely. Sheshook her head, regarding him gravely, her hand yet upon her heart. "Iattend the Queen upon her progress, " she said. "This day at the Earl'sthere is a great masque of Dian and her huntresses, satyrs, fauns, allmanner of sylvan folk. At last I might steal aside unmissed. . . . By thefavor of a friend I rode here through the quiet lanes, for I wished tosee you face to face, to speak to you--to you who gave me no answer whenI wrote, and wrote again!. . . I am weary with the joys of this day. May Irest upon yonder seat?"

He moved backward before her, slowly, across the grass-plot to the benchof stone, and she followed him. Their gaze met the while. There was nowonder in his look, no consciousness of self in hers. In the spacesbeyond life their souls might meet thus; each drawing by the veil, eachrecognizing the other for what it was. They took their seat upon thewide stone bench, with the primroses at their feet, and above them theempurpling arch of the sky. Throughout the past months, when he dreamedof her, when he thought of her, he bowed himself before her, he raisednot his eyes to hers. But now their looks met, and his countenance of ahaggard and ravaged beauty did not change before her still regard. Thefloating silver gauze of her open sleeve lying upon the stone betweenthem he lightly, with no pressure that she might notice, let rest hishand upon it. In the act of doing this he wondered at himself, but thenhe thought, "I am on my way to death. . . . "

She was the first to speak. 

"Seven months have gone since that day at Whitehall. "

"Ay, " he answered, "seven months. "

She went on: "I have learned not to reckon life that way. Since that dayat Whitehall life has lasted a very long time. "

Again he echoed--"A very long time. " Then, after a pause: "I have madefor you a long, long life. If to have done so is to your irreparableloss, then this, also, is to be forgiven. . . . Long life! now in thewatches of one night I live to be an old man! For you may forgetfulnesscome at last!"

She turned slightly, looking at him from beneath the gold star. "Wish meno such happy wishes! Let me not think that such wishes dwell in yourheart. Since that day at Whitehall I have written to you--written twice. Why did you never answer?"

He looked down upon his clasped hands. "What was there to be said? Ithought, 'I have sorely wounded her whom I love, and with my own words Ihave seared that wound as with white heat of iron. Now God keep me manenough to say no farther word!'"

"I was benumbed that day, " she said; "I was frozen. My brother's facecame between us. . . . Oh, my brother!. . . Since that day I have seen SirJohn Nevil--"

"Then a just man told you my story justly, " he began, but sheinterrupted him, her breath coming faster. 

"I have also made other inquiry; on my knees, on my face, in the dead ofthe night when I knew that thou, too, waked, I have asked of God, and ofour Lord the Christ who suffered. . . . I know not if they heard me, therebe so many that clamor in their ears. . . . " With a quick movement shearose from the stone seat and began to pace the grass-plot, her handsclasped behind her head, the gold star yet bright in the late, latesunshine. "I would they had answered me distinctly. Perhaps they did. . . . But be that as it may be I will follow my own heart, I will go myown way--"

He arose and began to walk with her. "And thy heart led thee this way?"he asked in a whisper. 

She flashed upon him a look so bright that it was as if high noon hadreturned to the garden. "Pluck me yonder lily, " she said. "It is thefirst I have smelled this year. "

He brought it to her, trembling. "Presently it will close, " he said, "never to open again. "

"That also is among the things we know not, " she answered. "Think younot there is one who revives the souls of men?"

"Ay, I believe it, " he answered. They paced again the green to itsflowery margin. 

"Give me yon spray of love-lies-bleeding, " she said; then as it restedagainst the lily in her hand, "Wounds may be cured, " she said. "I haveheard talk here, there, at the court even, else, beshrew me, if I hadcome this way to-day! I know that thou goest forth--" Her voice brokeand the gold star shook with the trembling of her frame. "I know thatthou mayst never, never, never return. I will pray for thy soul'swelfare. . . . See! there is a heartsease at my feet. "

He knelt, but touched not the floweret, instead caught at the long foldsof her silver gown and held her where she stood. "For my soul's welfare, thou balm from heaven!" he cried. "For only my soul's welfare?"

"No, no, " she answered. "For the welfare of all of thee, soul andbody--soul and body!" She bent over him, and there fell from her eyes abright rain of tears, quickly come, quickly checked. "Ah, a contraryworld of queens and guardians!" she cried. "Oh, my God! if thou mightstonly make me thy wife before thou goest!"

He arose and drew her into his arms. "The story is true, " he whispered, to which she answered:

"I care not! Sayest thou, 'A thing was done. ' Say I, '_Thou_ didst it!'and high above the deed I love thee!"

Suddenly she fell into a storm of weeping, then broke from him, andsomewhat blindly sought the garden seat, sank down upon it, and buriedher face in her arms. He kneeled beside her, and presently she wascrouching against his breast, that rose and fell with his answeringemotion. She put up her hand and touched the deep lines of pastsuffering in the face above her. 

"I know that thou must go, " she said. "I would not have thee stay. But, Mortimer, if it were possible . . . He forgave you long, long ago, for heloved you above all men. I, his sister, answer for him. Ah, God wot!brother and sister we have loved you well. . . . If I could keep tryst, after all, if thou couldst make me thy wife before thou goest--or ifkindred and the Queen be too powerful, I could escape, could follow theeas thy page, trusting thy honor . . . Ah, look not so upon me! Ah, to be awoman and do one's own wooing! Ah, think what thou wilt of me, only knowthat I love thee to the uttermost!"

[Illustration: "'AH, LOOK NOT SO UPON ME!'"]

Ferne left her side, and moving to the garden wall, looked out over thefar-away downs to the far-away sea--the sea that, for weary monthshad called and-thundered in his ears. Now he saw it all halcyon, stretching fair and mute to the boundless west, the sinking sun, thelovers' star. They two--could they two, lying with closed eyes, butdrift out over bar, floating away through golds and purples towards thekiss of heaven and sea--flotsam of this earth, jetsam of age-distantshores, each to the other paradise and all in all! How profound thestillness--how deep the fragrance of the lily--what indifference, whatquiet as of scorn did the Maker of man, having placed his creature inthe lists, turn aside to other spectacles!. . . Should man be more carefulthan his God? Right! Wrong!--to die at last and find them indeed wordsof a length and the prize of sore striving a fool's bauble:--to die andmiss the rose and wine cup!--to die and find not the struggle and thestar!--to loose the glorious bird in the hand and beyond the portals tofeel no fanning of a vaster wing! What use--what use--to be at once thefleeing Adam and the dark archangel at Eden's gates?

He turned to behold the woman whom now, with no trace of thefancifulness, the idealism of his time, he loved with all depth, passion, actuality; he set wrist to teeth and bit the flesh until bloodstarted; he moved towards her where she sat with her hands clasped aboveher knee, her head thrown back, watching his coming with those deep eyesof hers. He reached her side; she rose to meet him, and the two stoodembraced in the flattering sunshine, the odor of the lilies, the paleglory of the failing day. 

"My dear love, it is not possible, " he said. "Flower of women! didstdream that I would leave thee here blasted by my name, or that I wouldcarry thee where I must go? Star of my earth, to-day we say a cleanfarewell!"

"Then God be with thee, " she said, brokenly. 

"And with thee!" he answered. Hand in hand they moved to the brokenwall, and leaning upon it, looked out to that far line of sea. Herunder-sleeve of silver gauze fell away from her arm. 

"How white is thy arm!" he breathed. "How branched with tender blue!"

"Wilt kiss it?" she answered, "so I shall grow to love myself. "

"Thou art the fairest thing the sun shines on, " he said. "Thy lips arelike flowers I have never seen in the West. "

"Gather the flowers, " she said, and raised her face to his. "The gardenis kept for thee. "

The sun began to decline, the earth to darken, swallows circled past. "It grows late, " she said, "late, late! When goest thou?"

"Within the week. "

"By then her Grace will have whirled me leagues away. . . . I would I werea queen. If thou goest to death--oh God! we'll not speak of that!--Giveme that chain of thine. "

He unclasped it, laid it in her hands. Raising her arms, she drew itover her neck. 

"Seest thou thy prisoner?" she asked. "Forever thy prisoner!" From itsfellow of watchet blue she detached her floating silver sleeve. "It ismy favor, " she whispered. "Wear it when thou wilt. "

He folded the gauze and thrust it within his doublet. "When I may, mylady, " he said, with his eyes upon the sunset that held the colors ofthe dawning. "When I may. "

A sickle moon swung in the gold harvest-fields of the west, then agreat star came out to watch that reaping. The thrush was silent now, but from a covert rushed suddenly the full tide of a nightingale's song. With a cry the maid of honor put hands to her ears. "Ay me, my heart itwill break! Tell me that thou goest but to come again!"

He took her hands, pressing them to his heart, to his lips. "No, no, mydearest dear, since God no longer worketh miracles! I go more surelythan ever went John Oxenham; I would not have thee cheat thyself, spendthy days in watching, listening. I kiss thee a lifetime good-by. . . . Ohchild, seest thou how broken I am? I that myself loosed all the winds--Ithat kneel, a penitent, before the just and the unjust, before my loverand my foe! But when all's said, all's done, all's quiet:--the arrowsped, the stone fallen, the curfew rung, the dust returned to dust! thenshall stand my soul. . . . A ruined man, a man in just disgrace, who hathplayed the coward, who hath sinned against thee and against others, thatam I--yet our souls endure, and thou art my mate; queenly as thoustandest here, thou art my mate! I love thee, and in life, in death, Iclaim thee still: Forget me not when I am gone!"

"When thou art gone!" she cried. "When thou art gone with all my mindI'll hold myself thy bride! In those strange countries beneath the sunif bitterness comes over thee"--she put her hand to her heart--"think ofthy fireside here. Think, 'Even in this wavering life I have an abidinghome, a heart that's true, true, true to me!' When thou diest--if thoudiest first--linger for me; where a thousand years are as a day travelnot so far that I may not overtake thee. Mortimer, Mortimer, Mortimer!I'll not believe in a God who at the last says not to me, 'That path hetook. ' When He says it, listen for my flying feet. Oh, my dear, listenfor my flying feet!"

"Star and rose!" he said. "If we dream, we dream. Better so, even thoughwe pass to sleep too deep for dreaming. For we plan a temple though webuild it not. . . . That falconer's whistle! is it thy signal? Then thoumust make no tarrying here. I will put thy cloak about thee. "

He brought from the ruinous steps her watchet mantle, and she let himclasp it about her throat. In the raised air of that isolate peak wheretrue lovers take farewell there are few words used at the last. Sighs, kisses, broken utterance, --"Forever, " . . . "Forever, " . . . "I lovethee, " . . . "I love thee"; the eternal "I will come"; the eternal "I willwait"! Possessors of an instant of time, of an atom of space, they senttheir linked hopes, their mailed certainties forth to the unseen, untrenched fields of the future, and held their love coeval withexistence. Then, slowly, she withdrew herself from his clasp, and asslowly moved backward to the broken stair. He waited by the stone seat, for she must go secretly and in silence, and he might not, as in oldtimes, lead her with stateliness through the ways of Ferne House. Uponthe uppermost step she paused a moment, and he, lifting his eyes, sawabove him her mantled figure, her outstretched arms with the lily ofher body in between, the gold star swimming above her forehead. Onebreathless moment thus, then she turned, and folding her mantle abouther, passed from her lover's sight towards the darkening orchard. 

He stayed an hour in the garden, then went back to his great, old, dimly lighted hall. Here, half the night, chin in one hand, the otherhanging below his booted knee, he brooded over the now glowing, nowashen chimney logs; yet Robin-a-dale, who believed in Master Arden, andvery mightily in visions as beautiful as that which had been vouchsafedto him going through the orchard that eventide, felt as light a heart asif no shadowy ship awaited in the little port down by the little town, whose people either cursed or looked askance. Waking in the middle ofthe night, he thought he saw a knight at prayer--one of the old stoneTemplars from Ferne church, where they lay with palm to palm, awaitingwith frozen patience the last trumpet-call that ever they should hear. This knight, however, was kneeling with bowed head and hidden face, athing against all rule with those other stark and sternly waiting forms. So Robin, being too drowsy to reason, let the matter alone and went tosleep again. 

X

The _Sea Wraith_, an ancient ship, gray and patched of sail, batteredand worn with a name for all disaster, sailed the Spanish seas as thoughshe bore a charmed life--and her crew that was the refuse of land andsea, used to license, to whom mutiny was no uglier a word than another, kept the terms of an iron discipline--and her Captain waked and slept asone aware of when to wake and when to sleep. 

There was fever between the decks; there was fever in black hearts; ofdark nights a corposant burned now at this masthead, now at that. Mariner and soldier knew the story of the shadowy figure keeping companywith the stars there above them on the poop-royal. Did he keep companyonly with the stars and with the boy, his familiar? The sick, tossingfrom side to side, raved out curses, and the well saw many omens. Dissatisfaction, never far from their unstayed minds, crept at timesvery near, and superstition sat always amongst them. But they reckonedwith a Captain stronger for this voyage than had been Francis Drake orJohn Hawkins, and stranger than any under whom they had ever sailed. Hewas so still a man that they knew not how to take him, but beneath hiseyes vain imaginings and half-formed conspiracies withered like burntpaper. He called upon neither God nor devil, but his voice blew like anicy wind upon the heat of disloyal intents, and like the white fire thattouched now stem, now stern, so his will held the ship, driving it likea leaf towards the mainland and the fortress of Nueva Cordoba. 

The ship that seemed so aged and disgraced yet had a strength of sinewwhich made her formidable. All things had been patiently cared for bythe man who, selling his patrimony, had labored against wind and tide tothe end that he might carry forth with him such an armament as scarcehad been the _Cygnet's_ own. Tier on tier rose the _Sea Wraith's_ordnance; she carried warlike stores of all sorts that might serve forbattle by sea or land. If his money could not buy such men as stoodready to ship with Drake and Hawkins, yet in his wild, sin-stained crewhe had purchased experience, the maddest bravery, and a lust of Spanishgold that might not be easily sated. The qualities of a captain over menhe himself supplied. 

In his confidence neither before nor after their sailing, yet the twohundred men of the _Sea Wraith_ guessed well his destination, but forthemselves preferred the island towns--Santiago and Santo Domingo inHispaniola. There were wealth and wine and women, there the fringingislets where booty might be hidden, and there the deep caves whereforegathered many small craft misnamed piratical. "Lord! the _SeaWraith_ would soon make herself Admiral of that brood, leading themforth from those hidden places to pounce upon Santo Domingo, that wasthe seat of government and as wealthy a place as any in the Indies!--the_Sea Wraith_ and her Captain, that was a good Captain and a tall!--ay, ay, that would they maintain despite all land talk--a good Captain and atall, 'spite of Dick Carpenter's dream--"

"What was Dick Carpenter's dream?" asked the Captain, seated, sword inhand and hat on head, before a deputation from the forecastle. 

The speaker fidgeted, then out came the clumsy taunt, the carpenter'sdream. "Why, sir, he dreamed he saw the women of the islands, sitting bythe shores, a-sifting gold-dust and a-weighing of pearls;--and then hedreamed that he looked along the sea-floor, leagues and leagues to thesouth'ard, until he saw the very roots of the mainland, and the greatfish swimming in and out. And a many and a many dead men were there, drawn into ranks, very strange to see, for their swollen flesh yet hungto their bones, and they beckoned and laughed; and Captain RobertBaldry, that was once, on a Guinea voyage, Dick Carpenter's Captain, helaughed the loudest and beckoned the fastest. And, Sir Mortimer Ferne, an it please you, we've no longing to follow that beckoning. "

"Thou dog!" said the Captain, with no change of mien. "Presently DickCarpenter and thou shall have food for dreams--bad dreams, bad dreams, man! Thou fool, have I set thee quaking who, forsooth, would mutiny!Begone, the whole of ye, and sail the whole of ye wheresoever I listto go!"

Seeing that the _Sea Wraith_ obeyed him still, her crew believed yetmore devoutly that a secret voice spoke in his ear and a dark hand gavehim aid. It was later, when he began to feed them gold, that they whoowned caps threw them up for him, and they whose brains had onlynature's thatching shouted for him as for a demigod. A Spanish squadronbound for The Havannah was met by a hurricane, several of its shipslost, and the remainder widely separated. The hurricane past, forth froman island harbor stole the _Sea Wraith_ that so many storms hadbeleaguered. Gray as with eld, lonely as the ark, a haggard ship mannedby outcasts, she spread her vampire wings and flitted from herenshadowed anchorage. An hour later, like a vampire still, she hookedherself to a gay galleon and sucked from it life that was cheap and goldthat was dear; then descrying other sails, she left that ruined hulk fora long and fierce struggle with a Portuguese carrack. The battle waxedso fell that the carrack also might have been worked by men who had allto win and naught to lose, and captained by one who bared his brow tothe thunder-stone. 

Like harpies they fought, but when night came there was only the _SeaWraith_ scudding to the south, and that pied crew of hers knocking atthe stars with the knowledge that ever and always their judgment (eventhough he asked it not) jumped with the Captain's, and that before themlay the gilded cities and the chances of Pizarro. It was of his subtletythat the Captain never used to them fair promises, spake not once asennight of gold, never bragged to them of what must be. Oh! a subtlecaptain, whose very strangeness was his best lieutenant upon thateldritch, nine-lived ship, through days and days of monstrous luck. "Baldry's luck, " quoth the mariner who had sailed with the _Star_, thenheld his breath and looked askance at his present Captain, who, however, could never have heard him up there on the poop-deck! Natheless thatnight the man was ordered forward, and finding Sir Mortimer Fernesitting alone, save for the boy, in the great cabin, was bidden to talkof Robert Baldry. "Speak freely, Carpenter, --freely! Why, thou art oneof his friends, and I another, and we go, somewhat at our peril, tohale him from perdition! Why, thou thyself saw him beckoning to us tohasten and do our friendly part! So praise thy old Captain to me withall thy might. We'll fill an empty hour with stories of his valor!" Heput forth his hand and turned the hour-glass, and the carpenter began tostammer and make excuses, which no whit availed him. 

At last, one afternoon, they came to Margarita, and, the ship needingwater, they entered a placid bight, where a strip of dazzling sand laybetween the rippling surf and a heavy wood, but found beforehand withthem a small bark from the mainland, her crew ashore filling barrelsfrom a limpid spring, and her master and a Franciscan friar eating fruitupon her tiny poop. The dozen on land showed their heels; the worthlessbark was taken, a party with calivers landed to complete the filling ofthe abandoned casks, and the master and the friar brought before theCaptain of the _Sea Wraith_ where he sat beneath a great tree, tastingthe air of the land. An insatiable gatherer of Spanish news, it was hiscustom to search for what crumbs of knowledge his captives mightpossess, but hitherto the yield, pressed together, had not made even asmall cake of enlightenment. He was prepared to have shortly done withthe two who now stood before him. The seaman cringed, expecting torture, furtively watching for some indication of what the Englishman wished himto say. A fellow new to these parts and ignorant, he would have sworn ahighway to El Dorado itself if that was the point towards which hisinquisitor's quiet, unemphatic questions tended; but he knew not, andhis lies fell dead before the grave eyes of the man beneath the tree. Atlast he was tossed aside like a squeezed sponge and the Franciscanbeckoned forward, who, being of sturdier make, twisted his thumbs in hisrope girdle and prepared to present a blank countenance to those queriesof armaments and treasure which an enemy to Spain would naturally make. But the Englishman asked strange questions; so general that they seemedto encompass the mainland from Tres Puntas to Nombre de Dios, and soparticular that it was even as if he were interested in the friarhimself, his order, and his wanderings from town to town, the sightsthat he had seen and the people whom he had known. The questions seemedharmless as mother's milk, but the friar was shrewd; moreover, in hisyouth had been driven to New Spain by flaming zeal for the conversion ofcountless souls. That fire had burned low, but by its dying light heknew that this man, who was young and yet so still, whose lowered voicewas but as sheathed steel, whose eyes it was not comfortable to meet, had set his hand to a plough that should drive a straight furrow, wassending his will like an arrow to no uncertain mark. But what was themark the Franciscan could not discover, therefore he gave the truth or alie where seemed him best, increasingly the truth, as it increasinglyappeared that lies would not serve. He also, seeing that with gatheringyears he had begun to set value upon flesh and bone, wished to pleasehis captor. He glanced stealthily at the scarred and ancient craft inthe windless harborage, idly flapping her mended sails, before he saidaught of the great English ships that in pomp and the fulness of pridehad entered these waters now months agone. The Englishman had heard ofthis adventure--so much was evident--but details would seem to haveescaped him. He knew, however, that there had been first victory andthen defeat, and he too looked at his ship and at the guns she carried. 

[Illustration: "THE FRIAR PRESENTED A BLANK COUNTENANCE TO SIRMORTIMER'S QUERIES"]

"The town was sacked, but the castle not taken, " he said. "What, goodbrother, if I should break a lance in these same lists?"

"It would be broken indeed, " said the friar, grimly. "An it please you, I will bear your challenge to Don Juan de Mendez. "

"To Don Luiz de Guardiola, " said the man beneath the tree. 

"Pardon, señor, but Juan de Mendez is at present Governor of NuevaCordoba. Don Luiz de Guardiola has been transferred to Panama. "

The Englishman arose and looked out to sea, his hand above his eyesbecause of the flash and sparkle of the sun upon the water. TheFranciscan, having told the truth, wondered forthwith if falsehood hadbetter served his turn. Face and form of his interlocutor were turnedfrom him, but he saw upon the hot, white sand the shadow of a twitchinghand. Moments passed before the shadow was still; then said theEnglishman, in a changed voice:

"Since you know of its governors, old and new, I judge you to be ofNueva Cordoba. So you may inform me of certain matters. "

"You mistake, señor, you mistake, " began the Franciscan, somewhathastily. "The master of the bark will bear witness that I came toMargarita upon the _Santa Maria_, sailing directly from Cartagena, butthat, being ill, I chose to recover myself at Pampatar before proceeding(as you now behold me, valorous señor) to Hispaniola, and thence by thefirst vessel home to Spain, to the convent of my order at Segovia, whichis my native town. I know naught of Nueva Cordoba beyond that which Ihave told you. "

"Why, I believe thee, " answered the Englishman, his back still turned. "You go from Cartagena, where, Franciscan and Dominican, you play solarge a part in this world's affairs, to your order at Segovia, which isan inland town, and doubtless hath no great knowledge of theseoutlandish parts. Your tongue will tire with telling of wonders. "

"Why, that is true, " answered the other. "One lives not fifteen years inthese parts to carry away but a handful of marvels. " Relieved by theeasiness of his examination and the courtesy of his captor, he evensmiled and ventured upon a small pleasantry. "You cannot take from me, redoubtable señor, that which my eyes have seen and my ears have heard. "

Ferne wheeled. "Give me the letter which you bear from your superior atCartagena to the head of your order at Segovia. "

As he recoiled, the Franciscan's hand went involuntarily to the breastof his gown, and then fell again to his side. The Captain of the _SeaWraith_ whistled, and several of the mariners, who were now rolling thewater-casks down the little beach to the waiting boats, came at hiscall. "Seize him, " ordered the Captain. "Robin, take from him the packethe carries. "

When he had from the boy's hand a small, silk-enwrapped packet, and hadgiven orders for the guarding of the two prisoners, he turned and strodealone into the woods, which stretched almost to the water's edge. It wasas though he had plunged into a green cavern far below the sea. In slowwaves, to and fro, swayed the firmament of palms; lower, floweringlianas, jewel-colored, idle as weeds of the sea, ran in tangles andgaudy mazes from tree to tree. He sat himself down in the green gloom, broke seal, unwrapped the silk, and read the letter, which he hadacutely guessed could not fail of being sent by so responsible a hand asthe friar's from one dignitary of the order to another. Much statelinessof Latin greeting, commendation of the returning missionary, mention ofa slight present of a golden dish wrought in alacrity and joy by Indianconverts; lastly, and with some minuteness, the gossip, political andecclesiastical, of the past twelfth month. The sinking of the Spanishships and the sacking of the town of Nueva Cordoba by English pirates, together with their final defeat, were touched upon; but more was madeof the yield to the Church of heretic souls, in all of whom Satan stoodfast. The Holy Office had delivered them to the secular arm, and theletter closed with a circumstantial account of a great _auto-de-fé_ inthe square of Cartagena. Without the wood, upon the edge of white sand, the men of the _Sea Wraith_ waited for their Captain. At last he came, so quiet of mien and voice that only Robin-a-dale stared, caught hisbreath, and gazed hard upon an ashen face. 

Ferne's orders were of the curtest: Begone, every man of them, to the_Sea Wraith_, and lie at anchor waiting for the morning. For himself, heshould spend the night ashore; they might leave for him the cockboat, and with the first light he would come aboard. The two prisoners, --placethem in the ransacked bark and let them go whither they would or could. He glanced in their direction, then turning sharply, crossed the sand tostand for a moment beside the Franciscan. 

"Prithee, thou brown-robed fellow, how looked he in a _sanbenito_--thattall, fierce, black-bearded Captain that your Provincial mentions here?"The parchment rustled in his hand. 

The friar quailed before the narrowed eyes; then, the old flame in himleaping up, he answered, boldly enough, "It became him well, señor, --well as it becomes every enemy to Spain and the Church!"

The other slightly laughed. "Why, go thy ways for a man of courage! butgo quickly, while as yet in all this steadfast world I find no faultsave with myself. "

He stood to watch the embarkment of the mariners, who, if they wonderedat this latest command, had learned at least to wonder in silence. ButRobin-a-dale hung back, made protest. "Go!" said his master, whereuponRobin went indeed--not to the awaiting boat, but with a defiant cry enda rush across the sloping sand into the thick wood. The green depthswhich received him were so labyrinthine, so filled with secret placeswherein to hide, that an hour's search might not dislodge him. Thesometime Captain of the _Cygnet_ let pass his wilfulness, signed to theboats to push off, awaited in silence the fulfilment of all hiscommands; then turning, rounded the eastern point of the tiny bay, andwas lost to sight in the shadows of the now late afternoon. 

The sun went down behind the lofty trees; the brief dusk passed, and thelittle beach showed faintly beneath the stars, great and small, of amoonless night. Above the western horizon clouds arose and the lightningconstantly flashed, but there was no thunder, and only the sound of thelow surf upon the shore. Robin, creeping from the wood, saw the _SeaWraith_ at anchor, and by the distant lightning the bark from Pampatardrifting far away without sail or rudder. Rounding the crescent ofgleaming sand, he lost the _Sea Wraith_ and the bark, but found whom hesought. Finding him, he made no sign, but sat himself down in the lee ofa sand-dune, and with a memory swept clear of later prayers, presentlybegan in a frightened whisper to say his

 "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John--"

Half-way down the pallid beach stood Ferne, visible enough even by thestarlight, now and then completely shown by one strong lightning flash. His doublet was thrown aside, his right arm advanced, his hand graspingthe hilt of his drawn sword. But the sword point was lowered, his breastbared; he stood like one who awaits, who invites, the last thrust, inmortal surrender to an invisible foe. The lines of the figure expresseda certain weariness and suspense, as of one who would that all was over, and who finds the victor strangely tardy. The face, seen by theoccasional lightning flash, was a little raised, a little expectant. 

Robin-a-dale, seeing and comprehending, buried his head in his arms andwith his fingers dug into the sand. Now and then he looked up, butalways there was the pallid slope of the beach, the intermittent breakof the surf that was like the inflection of a voice low and far away, the stars and the groups of stars, strange, strange after those of home, the lightning from the western heavens, the duellist awaiting withlowered point the coming of that antagonist who had so fiercely lived, so fiercely died, so fiercely hated that to the reeling brain of hischallenger it well might seem that Death, now holding the door betweenbetrayed and betrayer might not prevail. 

The boy's heart was a stone within him, and he saw not why God allowedmuch that went on beneath His throne. A long time he endured, half proneupon the sand, hating the sound of the surf, hating the flash of thelightning; but at last, when a great part of the night had passed, hearose and went towards his master. The shadow of the dune disguised theslightness of his form, and his foot struck with some violence against ashell. The lightning flashed, and he saw Ferne's waiting face. 

"Master, master!" he cried. "'Tis only Robin, --not him! not him!Master--"

Stumbling over the sand, he fell beside the man whose soul cried invain unto Robert Baldry to return and claim his vengeance, and wrenchedat the hand that seemed to have grown to the sword-hilt. "You are notkind!" he wailed. "Oh, let me have it!"

"Kind!" echoed Ferne, slowly. "In this sick universe there is nokindness--no, nor never was! There is the space between rack and torch. "In the flashing of the lightning he loosed his rigid clasp, and thesword, clanking against the scabbard, fell upon the sand. The lightningwidened into a sheet of pale violet and the surf broke with a deepervoice. "Canst thou not find me, O mine enemy?" cried Ferne, aloud. 

Presently, the boy yet clinging to him, he sank down beside him on thesand. "Sleep, boy; sleep, " he said. "Now I know that the gulf is fixedindeed, and that they lie who say the ghost returns. "

"It is near the dawning, " said the boy. "Do you rest, master, and I willwatch. "

"Nay, " answered the other. "I have pictures to look upon. . . . Well, well, lay thy head upon the sand and dream of a merry world, and I myselfwill close my eyes. An he will, he may take me sleeping. "

Robin slept and dreamed of Ferne House and the horns of the hunters. Atlast the horns came so loudly over the hills that he awakened, to findhimself lying alone on the sand in a great and solemn flush of dawn. Hestarted up with a beating heart; but there, coming towards him from abath in the misty sea, was his master, dressed, and with his sword againin its sheath. As he made closer approach, the strengthening dawn showedthe distinction of form and countenance. To the latter had returned thestillness and the worn beauty of yesterday, before the bark fromPampatar had brought news. The head was bared, and the light fellcuriously upon the short and waving hair, imparting to it, as it seemed, some quality of its own. Robin, beholding, stumbled to his feet, staringand trembling. 

"Why dost thou shake so?" asked the Captain of the _Sea Wraith_. "Andthou art as white as is the sand! God forfend that the fever beon thee!"

More nearly the old voice of before these evil days of low, sternutterance! More nearly the old, kindly touch! Robin-a-dale, suddenlyemboldened, caught at hand and arm and burst into a passionate outcry, afrenzy of entreaty. "Home! home! may we not go home now? They're alldead--Captain Robert Baldry and Ralph Walter and all! And you meant noharm by them--O Jesu! you meant no harm! There's gold in the hold of the_Sea Wraith_ for to buy back Ferne House, and now that you've won, andwon again from the Spaniard, the Queen will not be angry any more! AndSir John and Sir Philip and Master Arden will bid us welcome, and menwill come to stare at the _Sea Wraith_ that has fought so many battles!Master, master, let us home to Ferne House, where, at sunset, in thegarden, you and the lady walked! Master--"

His voice failed. Sir Mortimer loosed the fingers that yet clung to hisarm. "When I am king of these parts, thou shalt be my jester, " he said. "Come! for it's up sail and far away this morning, --far away as Panama. I am thirsty. We'll drink of the spring and then begone. "

When they had rounded once more the wooded point they saw the _SeaWraith_, and drawn up upon the sand its cockboat. The sun had risen, sothat now when they entered the forest there was ample light by which tofind out the slowly welling spring, so limpid in its basin as to servefor mirror to the forest creatures who drank therefrom. All the tenantsof the forest were awake. They hooted and chattered, screamed and sang. Orange and green and red, the cockatoos flashed through the air, orperched upon great boughs beside parasitic blooms as gaudy asthemselves. Giant palms rustled; monkeys slid down the swinging lianas, to climb again with haste, chattering wildly at human intrusion;butterflies fluttered aside; the spotted snake glided to its deeperhaunts. Suddenly, in the distance, a wild beast roared, and when thethunder ceased there was a mad increase of the lesser voices. Sound waseverywhere, but no sweetness; only the mockery, gibing, and laughter ofan unseen multitude. From the topmost palm frond to the overcoloredfungi patching the black earth arrogant Beauty ruled, but to the wearyeyes that looked upon her she was become an evil queen. Better one bladeof English grass, better one song of the lark, than the gardens ofPersephone!

Ferne, kneeling beside the spring, stooped to drink. Clear as thatfountain above which Narcissus leaned, the water gave him back eachlineament of the man who, accepting his own earthly defeat, had yetgathered all the powers of his being to the task of overmastering thatbitter Fate into whose hands he had delivered, bound, both friend andfoe; the man for whom, now that he knew what he knew, now that thefierce victrix had borne away her prey, was left but that remainingpurpose, that darker thread which since yesterday's snapping of itsfellow strands had grown strong with the strength of all. Before thewater could touch his lips he also saw the mark one night had set uponhim, and drew back with a slight start from his image in the pool; then, after a moment, bent again and drank his fill. 

When Robin-a-dale had also quenched his thirst the two left the forest, and together dragged the cockboat down the sand and launched it over thegentle surf. Ferne rowed slowly, with a mind that was not for Robin, northe glory of the tropic morning, nor the shock of yesterday, nor thenight's despair. He looked ahead, devising means to an end, and hisbrows were yet bent in thought when the boat touched the _SeaWraith's_ side. 

As much a statesman of the sea as Drake himself, he knew how to gildauthority and hold it high, so that they beneath might take indeed thegolden bubble for the sun that warmed them. He kept state upon the _SeaWraith_ as upon the _Cygnet_, though of necessity it was worn with adifference. For him now, as then, music played while he sat at table inthe great cabin, alone, or with his rude lieutenants, in a silenceseldom broken. Now, as he stepped upon deck, there was a flourish oftrumpets, together with the usual salute from mariners and soldiersdrawn up to receive him. But their eyes stared and their lips seemeddry, and when he called to him the master who had fought with Barbarypirates for half a lifetime, the master trembled somewhat as he came. 

It was the hour for morning prayer, and the _Sea Wraith_ lacked not herchaplain, a man honeycombed with disease and secret sin. The singing toa hidden God swelled so loud that it rang in the ears of the sick below, tossing, tossing, muttering and murmuring, though it pierced not thesenses of them who lay still, who lay very, very still. The hymn ended, the chaplain began to read, but the gray-haired Captain stopped him witha gesture. "Not that, " he commanded. "Read me a psalm of vengeance, SirDemas, --a psalm of righteous vengeance!"

XI

In England, since the stealing forth of one lonely ship, heard of nomore, three spring-times had kissed finger-tips to winter and bourgeonedinto summer, and three summers had held court in pride, then shrivelledinto autumn. In King Philip of Spain his Indies, blazing sunshine, cataracts of rain, had marked off a like number of years, when SirFrancis Drake with an armada of five-and-twenty ships, fresh from thespoiling of Santiago and Santo Domingo, held the strong town ofCartagena, and awaited the tardy forthcoming of the Spanish ransom. Weekpiled itself upon week, and the full amount was yet lacking. Whennegotiations prospered and the air was full of promise, Sir Francis andall his captains and volunteers were most courteous, exchanging withtheir enemies compliment and entertainment; when the Spanishcommissioners drew back, or when the morning report of the English deadfrom fever or old injuries was long, half the day might be spent in thedeliberate sacking of some portion of the town. With the afternoon thecommissioners gave ground again, and like enough the evening ended withsome splendid love-feast between Spaniard and Englishman. On the morrowcame the usual hitch, the usual assurances that the gold of the town hadbeen buried (one knew not where) by its fleeing people, the usual proudwheedling for the naming by the victors of a far lower ransom. Drakehaving reaped more glory than gain from Santiago and Santo Domingo, wasnow obstinate in his demand, but Carlisle, the Lieutenant-General, counselled less rigorous terms, and John Nevil, who with two ships ofhis own had joined Drake at the Terceiras, spoke of the fever. 

"It is no common sickness. Each day sees a battle lost by us, won by theSpaniard. You have held his strongest city for now five weeks. There areother cities, other adventures upon which thou wilt fight again, andagain and again until thou diest, Frank Drake. "

"There were a many dead this morning, " put in Powell, thesergeant-major. "There had been a many more were't not for thefriar's remedy. "

Drake moved impatiently. "I would your miracle of St. Francis his returnhad wrought itself somewhat sooner. Now it is late in the day, --thoughGod knows I am glad for the least of my poor fellows if he be raisedfrom his sickness through this or any other cure. . . . Captain Carlisle, you will see to it that before night I have the opinion of all the landcaptains touching our contentment with a moiety of the ransom and ourleave-taking of this place. Captain Cecil, you will speak for theofficers of the ships. Three nights from now the Governor feasts us yetagain, and on that night this matter shall be determined. Gentlemen, thecouncil is over. "

As the group dissolved and the men began to move and speak with freedom, Giles Arden touched Captain Powell upon the sleeve. 

"What monk's tale is this of a Spanish friar who wastes the elixir oflife upon Lutheran dogs? I' faith, I had bodeful dreams last night, andwaked this morning now hot, now cold. I'll end my days with no foulfever--an I can help it! What's the man and his remedy?"

"Why, " answered Powell, doubtfully, "his words are Spanish, but at timesI do think the man is no such thing. He came to the camp a week agone, waving a piece of white cloth and supporting a youth, who, it seems, waslike to have pined away amongst the Indian villages, all for lack ofChristian sights and sounds. The friar having brought him to thehospital, wished to leave him with the chirurgeons and himself return tothe Indians, whom, we understand, he has gathered into a mission. Butthe youth cried out, and clutching at the other's robe (i' was a pity tosee, for he was very weak), dragged himself to his feet and set his facealso to the forest. Whereupon the elder gave way, and since then hasnursed his companion--ay, and many another poor soul who longs no morefor gold and the strange things of earth. As for the remedy--he goes tothe forest and returns, and with him two or maybe three stout Indiansbearing bark and branch of a certain tree, from which he makes aninfusion. . . . I only know that for wellnigh all the stricken he hathlightened the fever, and that he hath recalled to life many an one whomthe chirurgeon had given over to the chaplain. "

"What like is the youth?" queried Arden. 

"Why, scarce a boy, nor yet a man in years; and, for all his illness, watcheth the other like any faithful dog. English, moreover--"

"English!"

"At times he grows light-headed, and then his speech is English, but thegowned fellow stills him with his hand, or gives him some potion, whereupon he sleeps. "

"What like is this Spanish friar?" broke in suddenly and with harshnessSir John Nevil's voice. 

"Why, sir, " Powell answered, "his cowl overshadows his face, but goingsuddenly on yesterday into the hut where he bides with the youth, I sawthat as he bent over his patient the cowl had fallen back. My gran'ther(rest his soul!), who died at ninety, had not whiter hair. "

"An old man!" exclaimed Sir John, and, sighing, turned himself in hischair. Arden, rising, left the company for the window, where he lookeddown upon the city of Cartagena and outward to the investing fleet. Thestreets of the town were closed by barricades, admirably constructed bythe Spaniards, but now in English possession. Beyond the barricades andnear the sea, where the low and narrow buildings were, lay the woundedand the fever-stricken;--rude hospital enough! to some therein but abaiting-place where pain and panic and the miseries of the brain werebecome, for the time, their bed-fellows; to others the very house ofdissolution, a fast-crumbling shelter built upon the brim of the world, with Death, the impartial beleaguer, already at the door. Arden turnedaside and joined the group about Drake, the great sea-captain in whosecompany nor fear nor doubting melancholy could long hold place. 

That night, shortly after the setting of the watch, Sir John Nevil, witha man or two behind him, found himself challenged at the barricade of acertain street, gave the word, and passed on, to behold immediatelybefore him and travelling the same road a dark, unattended figure. Tohis sharp "Who goes there?" a familiar voice made answer, and Ardenpaused until his friend and leader came up with him. 

"A common road and a common goal, " spoke Nevil. 

"Ay!--common fools!" answered the other. "Who hearing of gray geese, must think, forsooth, of a swan whose plumage turned from white toblack! And yet, God knows! to one, at least, the selfsame splendid swan;if lost, then lost magnificently. . . . This is an idle errand. "

"The youth is English, " replied Nevil. 

"Did you speak to Powell?"

"Ay; I told him that I should visit the hospital this night. We areclose at hand. Hark! that was the scream of a dying man. Christ restwhatever soul hath taken flight!"

"There is a pale light surrounds this place, " said Arden. "It comes fromthe fires which they burn as though the black death were upon us. Do youhear that groaning?--and there they carry out a weighted body. War!. . . "

A group of men moved towards them--Powell, a chirurgeon, a soldier ortwo. Another minute and all were gathered before the hut of which Powellhad made mention. That worthy officer waved back their following, andthe three alone entered the dimly lighted place. 

"The friar is not here, " said Powell, in a tone of vexation. "Passingthis way, I did but look within to cheer the youth by some mention ofthe honor that was intended him to-night. Now they tell me that the manwent to the forest ere sunset and hath not returned. Also that he gavethe youth a sleeping potion--"

"Which hath not brought sleep, " answered Arden, who was keen of sight. 

"I took it not!" cried out the half-risen form from its pallet in thecorner of the hut. "He thought I drank it, but when his head was turnedI threw it away. Master Arden! Master Arden! come over to me!"

Arden raised, embraced, supported the figure that, quivering withweakness and excitement, might also feel the heaving breast, thequickened heart-beats, of the man who held him. Nevil, in whom deepemotion was not apt to show itself, knelt beside the pallet, and takingthe thin hands, caressed them like a very woman. 

"Lad, lad, " he whispered, "where is thy master? Is he dead? Or did heleave thee here but now to search for simples?"

Robin-a-dale looked from one to the other, great eyes shining in athin, brown face. "Three years, " he said, --"three years since we creptaway from Ferne House in a ship that was called--that was called--thatwas called the _Sea Wraith. _ But no trumpets sounded, and there was nothrong to shout farewell. Why was that? But I remember it was threeyears ago. " He laughed weakly. "I'm a man grown, Master Arden, buthere's still the rose noble which you gave me once. . . . No; I must havelost it in the woods. " He nodded sagely. "I remember; I lost it wherethe river came over the great rock with a noise that made me think of alittle, sliding stream at home. It was Yuletide, but the flowers smelledtoo sweet, and the great apes and the little monkeys sat in the redtrees and mocked me. "

"He wanders again, " said Powell, with vexation. "The friar can bring himback with voice or touch, but not I!"

"Where is the _Sea Wraith_, Robin-a-dale? Answer me!" Nevil's voicerose, cold and commanding, questioning this as any other derelict haledbefore him. 

[Illustration: "'LAD, LAD, ' HE WHISPERED, 'WHERE IS THY MASTER?'"]

Instinctively Robin brought his wits somewhat together. "The _SeaWraith_, " he echoed. "Why, that was long ago . . . Sixscore men, we lefther hidden between the islet and the land until we should return. . . . Hermariners were willing to be left--ay, and when I'm a knight I'llmaintain it!--their blood is not upon his hands. . . . But when six menfrom that sixscore came again to the coast there was no ship, --so Ithink that she sank some night, or maybe the Spaniards took her, ormaybe she grew tired and sailed away, --we were so long in winning backfrom Panama. "

There was a deep exclamation from his listeners. "From Panama!"

Robin regarded them anxiously, for to Nevil at least he had alwaysspoken truth, and now he dimly wondered within himself if he were lying. "The nest at Nueva Cordoba was empty, " he explained. "The hawk hadkilled the sparrows and flown far away to Panama. "

"And the eagle followed the hawk, " muttered Arden. "Was there not onesparrow left alive, Robin?"

Robin mournfully shook his head. "The commoner sort went to the galleys;others were burned. . . . Is this city named Cartagena? Then 'twas in thiscity Captain Robert Baldry and Ralph Walter and more than they, dressedin _sanbenitos_, burning in the market-place. . . . We learned this atMargarita, so my master would go to Panama to wring the hawk's neck. . . . But the _Sea Wraith_ was heavy with gold and silver, and all thescoundrels upon her wished to turn homewards. But he bore them down, andthere was a compact made and signed. For them all the treasure that wehad gotten or should get, and for him their help to Panama that he mighttake his private vengeance. . . . And so we put on all sail and we coasteda many days, sometimes fighting and sometimes not, until we drew intowards the land and found a little harbor masked by an islet and nearto a river. And a third of our men we left with the _Sea Wraith_. ButSir Mortimer Ferne and I--my name is Robin-a-dale--we took all the boatsto go as far as we might by way of the river. And my master rowedstrongly in the first boat, and I rowed strongly in the second, for werowed for hate and love; but the other boats came on feebly, for theywere rowed by ghosts--"

Arden moved beneath the emaciated form he held, and Powell uttered anejaculation. But John Nevil used command. 

"Back, sirrah! to the truth, " and the crowding fancies gave groundagain. 

"It was the Indians who shot at us poisoned arrows. They made ghosts ofmany rowers. Ha! in all my nineteen years I have not seen an uglierdeath! That was why we must leave the river, hiding the boats againstthe time that we returned that way . . . Returned that way. "

"You went on through the woods towards Panama. And then--" Nevil's voicerose again. 

"The wrath of God!" answered the boy, and turning within Arden's clasp, began to babble of London streets and the Triple Tun. The claw-likehands had dragged themselves from Nevil's hold, and the spirit could beno longer caught by the voice of authority, but wandered where it would. 

The men about him waited long and vainly for some turn of the tide. Itdrew towards midnight, and Robin yet babbled of all things under the sunsaving only of a man that had left England now three years agone. Atlast Nevil arose, spoke a few words to Arden, who nodded assent; then, with Powell, moved to the door. 

"When will this friar return?" he asked, as they crossed the threshold. 

"I do not know, " Powell answered. "With the dawn, perhaps. He will notbe long gone. "

"Perhaps he will not come at all, " said the other. "You say that the boyis out of danger. Perhaps he hath returned to the Indians whom you sayhe teacheth. "

Powell shook his head. "Here are too many sick and dying, " he said, simply. "He will come back. I swear to you, Sir John Nevil, that in thispestilent camp between the city and the sea we do think of this man notas a Spaniard--if he be Spaniard--nor as monk--if he be monk! He hathpower over this fever, and those whom he cannot cure yet cry out for himto help them die!"

There was a silence, followed by Sir John's slow speech. "When hereturns send him at once under guard to my quarters--I will make goodthe matter with Sir Francis. Speak the man fair, good Powell, give himgentle treatment, but see to it that he escape you not. . . . Here are mymen. Good-night. "

Three hours later to Nevil, yet dressed, yet sitting deep in thoughtwithin his starlit chamber, came a messenger from the captain of thewatch. "The man whom Sir John Nevil wot of was below. What dispositionuntil the morning--"

"Bring him to me here, " was the answer. "Stay!--there are candles uponthe table. Light one. "

The soldier, drawing from his pouch flint, steel, and tinder-box, obeyed, then saluted and withdrew. There was a short silence, followedby the sound of feet upon the stone stairs and a knock at the door, andupon Nevil's "Enter!" by the appearance of a sergeant and severalsoldiers--in the midst of them a figure erect, composed, gowned, and cowled. 

The one candle dimly lit the room. "Will you stand aside, sir?" saidNevil to his captive. "Now, sergeant--"

The sergeant made a brief report. 

"Await, you and your men, in the hall below, " ordered Nevil. "You havenot bound your prisoner? That is well. Now go, leaving him here alone. "

The heavy door closed to. Upon the table stood two great giltcandelabra bearing many candles, a fragment of the spoil of Cartagena. Nevil, taking from its socket the one lighted taper, began to apply theflame to its waxen fellows. As the chamber grew more and more brilliant, the friar, standing with folded arms, made no motion to break theprofound stillness, but with the lighting of the last candle he thrustfar back the cowl that partly hid his countenance, then moved with aneven step to the table, and raising with both hands the greatcandelabrum, held it aloft. The radiance that flooded him, showing everyline and lineament, was not more silvery white than the hair upon hishead; but brows and lashes were as deeply brown as the somewhat sunkeneyes, nor was the face an old man's face. It was lined, quiet, beautiful, with lips somewhat too sternly patient and eyes too sad, forall their kindly wisdom. The friar's gown could not disguise the formbeneath; the friar's sleeve, backfallen from the arm which held on highthe branching lights, disclosed deep scars. . . . Down-streaming light, thehour, the stillness--a soul unsteadfast would have shrunk as from anapparition. Nevil stood his ground, the table between him and his guestof three years' burial from English ken. Both men were pale, but theirgaze did not waver. So earnestly did they regard each other, eyeslooking into eyes, that without words much knowledge of inner thingspassed between them. At last, "Greet you well, Mortimer Ferne, " camefrom one, and from the other, "Greet you well, John Nevil. "

The speaker lowered the candelabrum and set it upon the table. "Youmight have spared the sergeant his pains. To-day I should havesought you out. "

"Why not before to-day?"

"I have been busy, " said the other, simply. "Long ago the Indians taughtme a sure remedy for this fever. There was need down yonder for thecure. . . . Moreover, pride and I have battled once again. To-night, in thedarkness, by God's grace, I won. . . . It is good to see thy face, to hearthy voice, John Nevil. "

The tall tapers gave so great and clear a light that there was no shadowfor either countenance. In Nevil's agitation had begun to gather, buthis opposite showed as yet only a certain worn majesty of peace. Neither man had moved; each stood erect, with the heavy wood like ajudgment bar between them. Perhaps some noise among the soldiers below, some memory that the other had entered the room as a prisoner, broughtsuch a fancy to Nevil's mind, for now he hastily left his position andcrossed to the bench beneath the wide window. The man from the grave ofthe South-American forest followed. Sir John stretched out his hand andtouched the heavy woollen robe that swept from bared throat to rudelysandalled feet. 

"This?" he questioned. 

The other faintly smiled. "I found it many months agone in a village ofthe Chaymas. I was nigh to nakedness, and it has served me well. It isonly a gown. This"--he touched the knotted girdle--"but a pieceof rope. "

"I have seen the boy, Robin-a-dale, " said Nevil. 

The other inclined his head. "Captain Powell told me as much an hourago, and also that by some slip my poor knave slept not, as I had meanthe should, but babbled of old things which have wellnigh turned hiswits. He must not stay in this land, but back to England to feel thesnow in his face, to hear the cuckoo and the lark, to serve you or Ardenor Philip Sidney. What ancient news hath he given you?"

"You went overland to Panama. "

"Ay, --a dreadful journey--a most dreadful return . . . Don Luiz deGuardiola was not at Panama. With a strong escort he had gone three daysbefore to San Juan de Ulloa, whence he sailed for Spain. "

A long silence; then said Nevil: "There is no passion in your face, andyour voice is grave and sweet. I thank God that he was gone, and thatyour soul has turned from vengeance. "

"Ay, my soul hath turned from vengeance, " echoed the other. "It is now along time that, save for Robin, I have dwelt alone with God His beautyand God His terror. I have taught a savage people, and in teaching Ihave learned. " He moved, and with his knee upon the window-seat, lookedout upon the fading stars. "But the blood, " he said, --"the blood upon myhands! I know not if one man who sailed with me upon the _Sea Wraith_ bealive. Certes, all are dead who went with me a fearful way to find thatSpaniard who is safe in Spain. Six men we reached again the seashore, but the ship was gone. One by one, as we wandered, the four men died. . . . Then Robin and I went upward and onward to the mountains. "

"When you left England your cause was just, " said Nevil, with emotion. 

"Ay, I think it was so, " Sir Mortimer replied. "At home I was forevernaught; on these seas I might yet serve my Queen, though with a shrunkenarm. And Robert Baldry with many another whom I had betrayed might yetlanguish in miserable life. God knows! perhaps I thought that God mightwork a miracle. . . . But at Margarita--"

"I know--I know, " interrupted Nevil. "Robin told us. "

"Then at Margarita, " continued the other, "I forgot all else but myrevenge upon the man who had wrought disaster to my soul, who had dashedfrom my hand even that poor salve which might and might not havesomewhat eased my mortal wound. Was he at Panama? Then to Panama would Igo. In Ultima Thule? Then in Ultima Thule he should not escape me. . . . Ibent the mariners and soldiers of the _Sea Wraith_ to my will. Ipromised them gold; I promised them joyous life and an easy task--I knownot what I promised them, for my heart was a hot coal within my breast, and there seemed no desirable thing under the sun other than a shortenedsword and my hand upon the throat of Don Luiz de Guardiola. They wentwith me upon my private quarrel, and they died. Ah, well! It has beenlong ago!" His breath came in a heavy sigh. "I am not now so keen ahunter for my own. In God's hands is justice as well as mercy, and whendeath throws down the warder I shall understand. In the mean while Iawait--I that speak to you now and I that betrayed you fouryears agone. "

He turned from the window, and the two again stood face to face. 

"I am a child at school, " said Ferne. "There was a time when I thoughtto keep for bed-fellow pride as well as shame; when I said, 'I amcoward, I am traitor, ' and put to my lips the cup of gall, but yet Idrank it not with humility and a bowed heart. . . . I do not think, John, that I ever asked you to forgive me. . . . Forgive me!"

On the part of each man there was an involuntary movement, ending in along and mute embrace. Each touched with his lips the other's cheek, then they sat with clasped hands in eloquent silence, while the candlespaled in the approaching dawn. At last Sir Mortimer spoke:

"You will let me go now, John? There are many sick men down by the sea, and Robin will grow restless--perhaps will call my name aloud. "

Arising from the window-seat, Nevil paced the room, then returned to thesometime Captain of the _Cygnet_. "Two things and I will let you gowhere you do the Queen and Francis Drake yeoman service. You will notslip a silken leash, but will abide with us in this town?"

"Ay, " was the answer, "until your sick are recovered and your marinersare making sail I will stay. "

Nevil hesitated. "For the present I accept your 'until. ' And now I askyou to throw off this disguise. We are men of a like height and make. Yonder within the chamber are suits from which you may choose. Pray youdress at once. "

A faint red swept into the other's countenance. "If I do as you bid, Imay not go unrecognized. I say not, 'Spare me this, John Nevil!' I onlyask, 'Is it wise?'. . . Sir Francis Drake is commander here. Four yearsago he swore that you were too merciful, that in your place he wouldhave played hangsman to me more blithely than he played headsman toThomas Doughty. "

"I sail not under Francis Drake, " Nevil answered. "Meeting me with twogoodly ships at the Terceiras, he was fain enough to have me join myforce to his. Over my own I hold command, and I shall claim you as myown. But you have no fear of Francis Drake! Is it your thought that yourshield is forever reversed, and that you are only welcome, onlyunashamed, yonder where sickness stretches forth its hands, and Deathgives back before you? If it is so, yet be that which you are!--NoSpanish friar, but English knight and gentleman. If it be known to highand low that once you fell, then face that knowledge with humility ofheart, with simplicity, but with the outward ease and bearing of thatestate in which God placed you. This garb becomes you not, who are yeta soldier of England. Away with it!--then in singleness of mind pressonward along thy rocky road until God calls thee at last to His greenmeadows, to His high city. Ah, my friend! I give but poor and meagrewords to that I read within thy eyes. There is no need for me to speakat all when thy lit soul looks out upon me!"

The dawn began to show faint splendors, and the winds of morning droveaslant the candle flames. Ferne shook his head and his countenancedarkened somewhat with vain regrets and sharp memories of old agonies. "Not that, my friend! I am changed, but God knows--not I--what otherchange would come did He lift His rod. Once I thought I knew all rightfrom all wrong, all darkness from all light--yea, and I strove topractise that knowledge. . . . I think now that to every man may come anhour when pride and assurance go down--when for evermore he hath thatwisdom that he no longer knows himself. " He smiled. "But I will do whatyou ask, John. It were strange, were it not, if I refused you this?" Ashe passed Nevil, the two touched hands again. Another moment and thedoor of the inner room closed upon him. Sir John, awaiting his return, began to quench the candles one by one, for there was no need of otherlight than the flooding dawn. 

Some minutes had passed, when a knock at the outward door interruptedhis employment. Crossing the floor, he opened to Sir Francis Drake, whostood alone upon the threshold, his escort trampling down the stonestairs to the hall beneath. Nevil uttered an exclamation, which theother met with his bluff, short laugh. 

"So you as well as I have let the jade Sleep slip by this night!" Hebrushed past Nevil into the room. "I gave it up an hour agone, and amcome to take counsel before breakfast. At the nooning Carlisle and Cecilwill bring me the opinions of the captains, land and sea. I know alreadytheir conclusion and my answer. But I deny not that 'twill be a bitterdraught. " He did not take the great chair which Nevil indicated, butkept on to the window, where with a sound, half sigh, half oath, heflung himself down upon the broad seat. 

"I' faith, John Nevil, I know not why I am here, seeing that yourcounsel has been given us, unless it be that you have more wisdom thanmost, and may somewhat sweeten this course which, mark you! I standready to take, or sweet or bitter, if thereby the Queen is bestserved. . . . The officer whom this Governor sent out days ago in search ofthese wealthy fugitives from the town--these rich people who starve ongold and silver dishes--hath returned with some report or other as tothe treasure. What think you if at this coming feast--"

Said Nevil abruptly: "Let us not speak of such matters here, Frank! I amfully dressed; let us go into the air!"

Drake stared. "And be observed of all that we hold counsel together!What's wrong with the room?" Glancing narrowly from wall to wall, hecame suddenly to a realization of the presence of a third person--astranger, dressed in some dark, rich stuff, who stood with folded armsagainst the door which he had closed behind him. Distinction of form, distinction of the quiet face, distinction of white hair, so incongruousand yet, strangely enough, the last and stateliest touch of all--after amoment of startled scrutiny Drake leaned forward, keen eyes beneathshaggy brows, one hand tugging at his beard. "Who are you, sir?"he asked. 

Nevil interposed. "He is under my command--a volunteer for whom I aloneam responsible. "

The figure against the door advanced a pace or two. "I am MortimerFerne, Sir Francis Drake. "

There was a pause, while Drake, staring as at one just risen from thedead, got slowly to his feet. 

"Long ago, " continued the apparition, "we had some slightacquaintance--but now 'tis natural that you know me not. . . . I pray youto believe me that until you drew near the window I thought Sir JohnNevil alone in the room; moreover, that I have heard no word of counsel, saving only the word itself. "

"I hear you, sir, " answered Drake, icily. "Fair words and smooth--oh, very courtier-like words! Oh, your very good assurance!--but I choose myown assurance, which dwells in the fact that naught has been said towhich the Spaniard is not welcome!"

Nevil drew in his breath with a grieved, impatient sigh, but SirMortimer stood motionless, nor seemed to care to find answering words. The blood had mounted to his brow, but the eyes which gazed past thespeaker into the magnificent heart of the dawn were very clear, verypatient. Moments passed while Drake, the great sea-captain, sat, striking his booted foot upon the floor, looking from Nevil, who hadregained his usual calm, to the man with whom oblivion had no more todo. Suddenly he spoke:

"You are he who in the guise of a Spanish friar hath nursed our sick?Give you thanks!. . . Which of your ships, John Nevil, do you make over tothis--this gentleman?"

Nevil, drawing himself up, would have answered with haughtiness, butwith a quick gesture of entreaty Ferne himself took the word. 

"Sir Francis Drake--Sir John Nevil, " he said, "I pray that, because ofme, you come not to cold words and looks which sort not with your noblefriendship! I shall never again, Sir Francis Drake, command any shipwhatsoever, hold any office, be other than I am, --a man so broken, soholpen by Almighty God, that he needs not earthly praise or blame. . . . Ihave a servant ill within the camp who will fret at my absence. Wilt letme begone, John?--but you must first explain to the sergeant this mytransformation. Sir Francis Drake, so long as you tarry in Cartagena Isubmit myself to what restriction, what surveillance, upon which you andmy former Admiral may determine. "

"I will let you go but for a time, " Nevil answered, firmly. "Later, Ishall send for you and Robin to some fitter lodging. " He turned toDrake. "Frank--Frank Drake, I but give again to all our sick the man towhom, under God, is owed this abatement of the fever. I pray you toawait me here while I myself deliver him to the sergeant below. It isnecessary, for he entered this room in disguise, who goes forth cladagain as an English gentleman. Then will I tell you a story which Ithink that, four years agone, may have been given you rather by a man'sfoes than by his friends--and another story of deep repentance and ofGod's path, which is not our path;--and Francis Drake hath indeedchanged overnight if he make of this a quarrel between him and JohnNevil, or if he be not generously moved towards this gentleman whom Icount as my friend and follower!"

"I will wait, " said Drake, after a pause. "Give you good-day, sir. Yourservice to our sick is known, and for it our thanks are due. At thepresent I can say no more. "

Ferne bowed in silence, then, with Nevil, left the room for the hallbelow, where the startled sergeant and his men saluted indeed Sir JohnNevil, but kept their eyes upon the figure at his side. 

Nevil, beckoning to the sergeant, drew off a few paces and gave in alowered voice instructions to be borne to Captain Powell. Then the oneknight mounted to the room where Drake awaited him, and the other went, guarded, through the tropic morn to the fevered and the restless, whoyearned for him as the sick may yearn, and to the hut where Arden stroveto restrain Robin-a-dale's cries for his master. 

XII

During the afternoon came an order to Captain Powell that the sick youthshould be taken to Sir Mortimer Ferne's apartment in the house wherelodged Master Arden. Thus it was that in the cooler air before sunset alitter was borne through the streets of Cartagena. In addition to thebearers and some other slight attendance there walked with it Sir JohnNevil and Captain Powell, Giles Arden and Sir Mortimer Ferne. Sometimesthe latter laid his hand upon the youth's burning forehead, sometimesupon the lips which would have babbled overmuch. Bearers and escortstared and stared. One who had been about the spital, and had seen abrother brought from under the shadow of death, repeatedly stumbledbecause he could not take his eyes from the friar become Englishgentleman--become friend of so great a gentleman as Sir John Nevil. 

The little procession turned one corner, then another. Sir Mortimertouched Nevil's arm. "There's a shorter way--down this narrow street weare passing. "

"Ay, " Nevil answered; "but let us go by the way of the market-place. "

His thought was that none too soon could occur general recognition thatSir Mortimer Ferne dwelt in the English camp and walked with Englishleaders. The square, as it proved, was no desert. The hour was one ofsome relaxation, relief from the sun, and from the iron discipline ofDrake, who, for the most part of the day, created posts and kept men atthem. Carlisle was there seated in the shade of a giant palm, watchingthe drilling of a yet weak and staggering company whose very memory thatburning calenture had enfeebled. At one side of the place, which was notlarge, others were examining a great heap of booty, the grosser spoilsof rich men's houses, furniture of precious woods, gilt and inlaidcabinets, chests of costly apparel, armor, weapons, trappings ofhorses, --all awaiting under guard assortment and division. In the centreof the square a score or more of adventurers were gathered about thewide steps of a great stone market-cross, while from a point opposite tothe street by which the party from the hospital must make entry advancedwith some clanking of steel, talking, and sturdy laughter no lesser menthan Francis Drake and some of his chiefest captains. Carlisle leftwatching the drilling and walked over to them. The adventurers loungingbelow the cross sprang up to greet their Admiral. A sudden puff ofevening wind lifted Drake's red cap, and bearing it across to a smallbattery where a gunner and his mates examined a line of Spanishordnance, placed it neatly over the muzzle of the smallest gun. Franklaughter arose; the gunner, with the red cap pressed against his hairybreast, and grinning with pleasure at his service, came at a run torestore to the great Sir Francis his property. Drake, whom the meresoldier and mariner idolized, found for the gunner both a peso of silverand jesting thanks; then, when he had donned the cap, turned and loudlycalled to the passing company. "Come over to us, John Nevil, " cried thesea-king. "No, no, let us have your companions also, and that sick youthwe have heard of"

"You do not understand, " muttered Ferne, hastily, to Nevil. "This placelikes me not. Go you and Arden--"

Sir John shook his head. Alone with Drake that morning, he had told inits completeness the story that in many details was strange to him whowas seldom in England, seldomer at court, and who had heard the story ina form which left scant room for pity or any dream of absolution. Onceand again the great sea-captain had softly sworn to himself, and at theend Nevil had gone forth satisfied. Now he saw that Drake must havetimed this meeting in the square, and with a smile he ignored theentreaty in the eyes of the man who, if his friend, was also hiscaptive. He motioned to the bearers, and presently the company about themarket-cross was enlarged. 

Drake, after his hearty fashion, clapped his arm about Sir John'sshoulder, calling him "dear Nevil. " Arden, with whom he had slighteracquaintance, he also greeted, while Powell was his "good Powell, histrusty Anthony. " There was a slight shifting in the smaller group, Nevilby a backward step or two bringing into line the man who stood besidethe litter. Drake turned. "Give you godden, Sir Mortimer Ferne! Ourhearty thanks, moreover, for the good service you have done us. "

He spoke loudly, that all might hear. If beneath the bluffgood-fellowship of word and voice there was any undercurrent of coldnessor misliking, only one or two, besides the man who bowed to him insilence, might guess it. By now every man about the market-cross was atattention. Rumors had been rife that day. Neither at home in England norhere in Spanish dominions was there English soldier or sailor who knewnot name and record of Sir Mortimer Ferne. Among the adventurers aboutthe market-cross were not lacking men who in old days had viewed, admired, envied, and, for final tribute, contemned him. These brokeranks, pressing as closely as was mannerly towards the group about thelitter. All gaped at Drake's words of amity, at Sir John Nevil's gravesmile, and Carlisle's friendly face, but most of all at that one who hadbeen the peer of great captains, but who now stood amongst themundetached, ghost-like, a visitant from the drear world of thedishonored dead. The palm-trees edging the square began to wave andrustle in the wind; the youth upon the litter moved restlessly, utteringmoaning and incomprehensible words. Drake was speaking to Arden andothers of the gentlemen adventurers. 

"What ails you?" murmured Nevil, at Ferne's ear. "There is sweat uponyour forehead, and you hold yourself as rigid as the dead. Your touch isicy cold. "

"I burn, " answered the other, in as low a tone. "Let us go hence. "

Nevil motioned to the bearers, who raised the litter and began againtheir progress across the square. Drake turned from those to whom he hadbeen speaking. "Will ye be going? You shall sup with us to-night, JohnNevil! Master Arden, I do desire your better acquaintance. CaptainPowell, you will stay with me who have some words for your ear. SirMortimer Ferne, I trust you will recover your servant, as you haverecovered so many of our poor fellows"--his voice dropped until it wasaudible only to the three or four who made his immediate circle, --"asyou have wellnigh recovered yourself. "

Generous as he was, he had not meant to go so far. He had yet hisdoubts, his reversions, in mind, to those sheer facts which none denied. This was a recreant knight--but also a man who had suffered long andgreatly, who, if eye and intuition could be trusted, suffered now. Hehesitated a moment, then abruptly held out his hand. 

All saw the gesture, and a sudden hush fell upon the company. If thesetwo touched hands, then in that moment would be spanned the distancebetween the star in the ascendant and the wavering marsh-light, betweenthe sea-colossus and his one-time rival, now so long overwhelmed andchained to sterile earth. 

In the short silence the wind seemed to take with a rushing sound thepalm tops overhead. Then Ferne spoke. "With all my heart I thank you, "he said. "I may not take your hand until you know"--he raised his voiceso that all who chose might hear--"until you know that here where Istand, here before this cross, died in the torment of fire that CaptainRobert Baldry who was my private foe, who lay beneath my challenge, whom I betrayed to his agony and to his martyr's death. . . . Ah! I willhold you excused, Sir Francis Drake!"

With the deep exclamation, the involuntary recoil, that followed on theheels of such an avowal, there appeared to descend upon the place a darkshadow, a veritable pall, a faint murk of driven smoke, through whichmen saw, to-day, the spectacle of nigh four years agone. . . . The silencewas broken, the spell dissolved, by Robin-a-dale's feeble cry from thelitter: "Master, master; come with me, master!"

Drake, who, with a quick intake of his breath, had drawn sharply back, was the first to recover. He sent his lightning glance from thefrowning, the deeply flushed and horror-stricken, countenances about himto the man whose worn cheek showed no color, whose lips were locked, whose eyes were steadfast, though a little lifted to the blue sky abovethe cross. "Now death of my life!" swore the sea-king. "The knave didwell to call you 'Master. ' Whatever there may have been, here is now nocoward!" He turned to the staring, whispering throng. "Gentlemen, wewill remove from this space, which was the death-bed of a brave man anda true martyr. This done, each man of you will go soberly about hisbusiness, remembering that God's dealings are not those ofmen;--remembering also that this gentleman is under my protection. "Doffing his red cap, he stepped slowly backward out of the wide ringabout the market-cross. His example was followed by all; a few momentsand the last rays of the sinking sun lay only upon bare stone and earth. 

Some hours later, Robin-a-dale asleep in the bed, and his master keepingmotionless watch at the window, Arden entered the room which had beenassigned to Sir Mortimer Ferne, and crossing the floor, sat himself downbeside his friend. Presently Ferne put forth his hand, and the two satwith interlacing fingers, looking out upon the great constellations. Arden was the first to speak. 

"Dost remember how, when we were boys at school, and the curfew longrung, we yet knelt at our window and saw the stars come up over themoorland? Thou wert the poet and teller of tales--ah! thy paladins andpaynims and ladies enchanted!--while I listened, bewitched as they, butwith an ear for the master's tread. It was a fearful joy!"

"I remember, " said the other. "It was a trick of mine which too oftenbrought the cane across our shoulders. "

"Not mine, " quoth Arden. "You always begged me off. I was thesmallest--you waked me--made me listen, forsooth!. . . Welladay! Old timesseem near to-night!"

"Old times!" repeated the other. "Pictures that creep beneath the shuteyelid!--frail sounds that outcry the storm!--Shame's most delicate, most exquisite goad!. . . You cannot know how strange this day has beento me. "

"You cannot know how glad this day has been to me, " replied Arden, witha break in his voice. "Do you remember, Mortimer, that I would havesailed with you in the _Sea Wraith?_"

"I forget nothing, " said the other. "I think that I reviled you then. . . . See how far hath swung my needle!" He lifted his school-fellow's hand tohis cheek in a long, mute caress, then laying it down. "There is one athome of whose welfare I would learn. She is not dead, I know. Herbrother comes to me in my dreams with all the rest--with all therest, --but she comes not. Speak to me of Mistress Damaris Sedley. "

A short pause; then, "She is the fairest and the loveliest, " said Arden. "Her beauty is a fadeless flower, but her eyes hold a history it werehard to read without a clue. One only knows the tale is tragical. She ismost gentle, sweet, and debonair. The thorns of Fortune's giving she hastwisted into a crown, and she wears it royally. I saw her at Wilton sixmonths ago. "

"At Wilton! With the Queen?"

"No; she left the court long ago. You and the _Sea Wraith_ were scarce amonth gone when that grim old knight, her guardian, would have made forher a marriage with some spendthrift sprig of more wealth than wit. ButSidney, working through Walsingham and his uncle Leicester, and most ofall through his own golden speech, got from the Queen consent to thelady's retirement from the court, and so greatly disliked a marriage. With a very noble retinue he brought her to his sister at Wilton, where, with that most noble countess, she abides in sanctuary. When you takeher hence--"

Sir Mortimer laughed. "When I take the rainbow from the sky--when I leapto meet the moon and find the silver damsel in my arms indeed--whenyonder sea hath washed away all the blood of the earth--when I findPonce de Leon's spring and speak to the nymph therein: 'Now free me fromthis year, and this, and this, and this! Make me the man that once Iwas!' Then I will go a pilgrimage to Wilton. "

He rose and paced the room once or twice, then came back to Arden at thewindow. "Old school-fellow, we are not boys now. There be no enchanters;and the giant hugs himself in his tower, nor will come forth at anychallenge; and the dragon hath so shrunken that he shows no larger thana man's self;--all illusion's down!. . . I thank thee for thy news of alady whom I love. I am full glad to know that she is in health andsafety, among old friends, honored, beloved, fairer than the fairest--"His voice shook, and for the moment he bowed his face within his hands, but repression came immediately to his command. He raised his head andbegan again with a quiet voice, "I will write to her a letter, and youwill be its bearer--will you not, old friend? riding with it by thegreen fields and the English oaks to noble Wilton--"

"And where, when the ships have brought us home, do you go, Mortimer?"

"To the Low Countries. Seeing that I go as a private soldier, John Nevilmay easily gain me leave. And thou, Giles, I know, wilt give me moneywith which I may arm me and may cross to the English camp. I am gladthat Philip Sidney becomes my general. Although I fight afoot, in thelong trenches or with the pike-men and the harquebusiers, yet may I joyto look upon him, flashing past, all gilded like St. George, with thegreat banner flying, leading the wild charge--the shouts of his horsemenbehind him--"

Arden sprang to his feet, pushed the heavy settle aside, and with asomewhat disordered step went to the bed where lay Robin-a-dale. "Hewill recover?" he asked, in a low voice, as Ferne came to his side. 

"Ay, I think so, " answered the other. "He will sleep throughout thenight, and the morn should find him stronger, more clear in mind. . . . Iam going now to the spital--no, no; I need no rest, and I have leave tocome and go. "

The two descended together to the door of the great hall, whence Fernewent his solitary way, and Arden stood to watch him out of sight. As thelatter turned to re-enter the house, he was aware of a small band ofmen, English and Spanish, proceeding from Drake's lodging towards thecitadel, which, robbed of all ordnance and partly demolished, yetsheltered the Governor, his officers, and sundry Spanish gentlemen. To-day the envoy from the wealthy fugitives and owners of buried goldhad returned, and, evidently, to-night Drake and the Spanishcommissioners had again discussed the matter of ransom. 

Arden, within the shadow, watched the little torchlit company of Englishsoldiery and Spanish officials cross his plane of vision. There was sometalking and laughter; an Englishman made a jest, and a Spaniard answeredwith a proverb. The latter's voice struck some chord in Arden's memory, but struck it faintly. "Now where have I heard that voice?" he asked, but found no answer. The noise and the light passed onward to thecitadel, and with a brief good-night to a passing sentinel he himselfturned to take his rest. 

The next day at noon Ferne deliberately, though with white lips andhalf-closed eyelids, crossed the market square, and sought out Sir JohnNevil's quarters. By the soldiers in the great hall he was told that SirJohn was with the Admiral--would he wait? He nodded, and sat himselfdown upon a settle in the hall. The guard and those who came and wenteyed him curiously; sometimes whispered words reached his ears. Once, when he had waited a long time, a soldier brought him a jack of ale. Hedrank of it gratefully and thanked the donor. The soldier fidgeted, lowered his voice. "I fought under you, Sir Mortimer Ferne, at Fayal inthe Azores. You brought us that day out of the jaws of death, and weswore you were too much for Don or devil!--and we drank to you thatevening, full measure of ale!--and we took our oath that we had servedfar and near under many a captain, but none like you--"

Ferne smiled. "Was it so, soldier? Well, may I drink to you now whodrank to me then?"

He drew the ale towards him but kept his eyes upon the other'scountenance. The man reddened from brow to bared throat, but his wordscame at once, and there was moisture in his blue eyes. "If my oldcaptain will do me so much honor--" he began, unsteadily. Ferne with asmile raised his jack to his lips and drank to him health and happy lifeand duty faithfully done. 

When, after stammered thanks, the man was gone, the other waited hourafter hour the appearance of Sir John Nevil. At last he came stridingdown the hall to the stair, but swerving suddenly when he caught sightof Ferne, crossed to the settle, and gave him quiet greeting. "SirFrancis kept me overlong, " he said. "How has gone the day, Mortimer?"

"The fever lessens, " answered the other. "There are not many now willdie. . . . May I speak to you where there are fewer eyes?"

A few moments later, in Sir John's room, he took from his doublet a slipof paper. "This was brought to me some hours ago. Is it an order?"

"Ay, " said Nevil, without touching the out-held paper. "An order. "

Ferne walked to the window and stood there, looking out upon thepassers-by in the street below. One and all seemed callow souls who hadmet neither angel nor devil, heard neither the thunderbolt nor the stillsmall voice. Desperately weary, set to a task which appalled him, hefelt again the sting of a lash to which he had thought himself inured. There was a longing upon him that this insistent probing of his woundshould cease. Better the Indians and the fearful woods, and Death evera-tiptoe! better the stupendous strife of the lonely soul to maintainits dominion, to say to overtoppling nature, to death, and to despair, _I am_. There was no man who could help the soul. . . . This earthlypropping of a withered plant, this drawing of tattered arras over ablood-stained wall, what was it to the matter? For the moment all hisbeing was for black, star-touching mountains, for the wild hurry ofleague-long rapids, the calling and crying of the forest;--the next heturned again to the room with some quiet remark as to the apparentbrewing of a storm in the western skies. Nevil bent upon him atroubled look. 

"It was my wish, Mortimer, to which Drake gave ready assent. It is, asyou see, an order for your presence to-night, with other gentlemenvolunteers, at this great banquet with which the Spaniard takes leave ofus. Shall I countermand it?"

"No, " answered the other. "My duty is to you--I could not pay my debt ifI strove forever and a day. You are my captain, --when you order I obey. "

A silence followed, during which Sir Mortimer stood at the window andSir John paced the floor. At last the former spoke, lightly: "There willbe a storm to-night. . . . I must go comfort that knave of mine. At timeshe doth naught but babble of things at home--at Ferne House. This mornit was winter to him, and in this burning land he talked of snowflakesfalling beneath the Yule-tide stars; yea! and when he has spoken pertlyto the sexton he needs must go a-carolling:

 "'There comes a ship far sailing then, -- St. Michael was the steersman; St. John sate in the horn; Our Lord harped; Our Lady sang, And all the bells of heaven rang. '"

He sang the verse lightly, as simply and sweetly as Robin had sung it, then with a smile turned to go; and in passing Nevil laid a slightcaressing touch upon his shoulder. "Until to-night then, John!--and, by'r Lady! seeing that you will be at the top of the board and I at thebottom, I do think that I may hear nothing worth betraying!"

Sir John uttered an ejaculation, and would have taken again the foldedpaper, but the other withstood him, and quietly went his way to kneelbeside Robin-a-dale, give up his hand to tears and kisses (for Robin wasvery weak, and thought his master cruel to leave him so long alone), tothe youth's unchecked babble of all things that in his short lifeappertained to Ferne House and to its master. 

Sir Francis Drake and Alonzo Brava had come to a mind in regard to theransom for the town. If the English gained not so large a sum as theyhad hoped for, yet theirs was the glory of the enterprise, and Drake'seye was yet upon Nombre de Diòs. If the Spaniards had lost money and menand had looked on day by day at the slow dilapidation of their city, yetthey had riches left, and the life of the Spanish soldier was cheap, andthat ruined portion of the town might be built again. Agreements hadbeen drawn as to the ransom of the city of Cartagena and signed by eachleader, --by Brava with the pious (but silent) wish that the fleet mightbe miraculously destroyed before the drying of the ink; and by Drakewith one of his curious mental reservations, concerning in this case theblock-house and the great priory just without the city. Matters beingthus settled and the next morning named for the British evacuation ofChristendom, needs must pass the usual courtesies between the thenstateliest people of Cartagena and the bluntest. Alonzo Brava, in allhonesty, invited to supper with him in his dismantled citadel SirFrancis Drake, Sir John Nevil, and all officers and gentlemen within theEnglish forces. Drake as frankly accepted the courtesy for himself andall who might be spared from the final labors of the night. 

In the late evening, by a stormy light which, seen through the high, wide, and open windows, seemed to pit itself against the approachingdarkness, Brava, motioning to right and left, seated himself with hisprincipal guests at the head of the table, while his chamberlains busiedthemselves with serving the turn of lesser names. Captains andofficers, gentlemen and volunteers of wealth and birth, fell into place, while the end of the table left was for needier adventurers, scapegraceand out-at-elbow volunteers. Noiseless attendants went to and fro. Greatnumbers of candles, large as torches, were lighted, but the prolongedorange glare which entered the western windows seemed to have somequality distinct from light, by virtue of which men's features were notclearly seen. Distant thunder rolled, but when it passed one heard fromthe gallery above the hall Spanish music. The feast marched on intriumph, much as it might have done in any camp (where Famine was notKing) beneath any flag of truce. Here the viands were in quantity, andthere was wine to spill even after friend and foe had been loudlypledged. Free men, sea-rovers, and soldiers of fortune, it was for themno courtier's banquet. Only the presence at table of their leaders keptthe wassail down. Now and again the thunder shook the hall, making allsounds beneath its own as the shrilling of a cicada; then, the long rollpast, the music took new heart, while below it went on the laughter andthe soldier wit, babble of sore wounds, of camp-fires, and high-deckedships--tales wild and grim or broadly humorous. At the cross-tableopposite and a little below Sir John Nevil, who was seated at Brava'sleft hand, was a vacant seat. It awaited (the Governor explained) theenvoy whom he had sent out to hardly gather the remainder of the ransomof Cartagena. The length, the heat, and danger of the journey hadoutwearied the envoy, who was a gentleman of as great a girth as spirit. Later, despite his indisposition, he would join them. 

He came, and it was Pedro Mexia. From Nevil and Arden and several of SirJohn's old officers of the _Mere Honour_ burst more or less suppressedexclamations. Nevil, from his vantage-point, sent a lightning glance fardown the table, where were gathered those whose rank or station barelybrought them within this hall, but what with the massed fruit, thecandles, this or that outstretched hand and shoulder, he could not seeto the lowest at the table, and he heard no sound to match his own orArden's ejaculation. Mexia, who had lingered with his own wine-cup andassociates, now, after the moment of general welcome, seated himselfheavily. His first gaze had been naturally for Francis Drake, the manwhose name was waxing ever louder in Spanish ears, but now in the act ofraising his tankard his eyes and those of the sometime conqueror ofNueva Cordoba came together. For a second his hand shook, then he tossedoff the wine, and putting down his tankard with some noise, leanedhalf-way across the table. 

"Ha! we meet again, Sir John Nevil--and after four years of mortal lifewe be a-ransoming yet! You see I have not lost your tongue--although Ilost my teachers!" He laughed at the tag to his speech, being drunkenough to make utter mischief, out of sheer good nature. 

"Doth Master Francis Sark still teach you English?" asked Nevil, coldly. 

"Francis Sark--who is Francis Sark?" maundered the fuddled envoy. "Therewas the fool Desmond, who overreached himself trying to bargain withLuiz de Guardiola. Those who do that have strange fates!"

Arden from a place or two below put in lightly: "Well, our Sark equalsyour Desmond. And so he bargained with Don Luiz de Guardiola?"

Mexia's eyes wandered to the other's face. "Ha, señor! I remember yourface at Nueva Cordoba! Have we here more of our conquered?" His speechbegan with the pomp of the frog in the fable, but at this point becamemaudlin again and returned to the one-time Governor of Nueva Cordoba'sdealings with his creatures. "Why, Desmond was a fool to name such aprice. One hundred pesos, perhaps--but four thousand! But Don Luizsmiled and paid down the silver, and the fool that was traitor to us andtraitor to you and traitor to himself told all things and was hanged forhis pains. " Up went his tankard to his lips, and as it descended winewas spilt upon his neighbor's sleeve. The victim drew away with asmothered oath, and Brava eyed with displeasure his drunken associate. 

"Why, for what could the man ask such a price?" Arden asked, with lightsurprise. 

In a moment the other's large and vacuous countenance became soberenough. "For a trap to catch flies, " he said, shortly, and turning hisshoulder to all but the men of highest rank, again wetted his throat, then let his empty tankard touch the board with a clattering sound. 

From the first he had drawn attention, and now at the drumming of thetankard most faces turned his way. Nevil spoke to Drake beneath hisbreath; the latter bending towards Alonzo Brava, addressed him in a verylow tone. Brava, deeply annoyed, on the point of signalling hisservitors to "quietly persuade from the table his drunken guest, listened, though still frowning. A final whisper from Drake:

"In no way toucheth your honor, a private matter--favors--ransom--"

The governor, leaning forward, playing with his wine, gave some sign ofacquiescence--perhaps, indeed, may have had his own indifferences to anyblackening of the character of Don Luiz de Guardiola, now nourishing atMadrid like a green bay-tree. 

Mexia was displaying profound skill in the nice balancement of histankard as the servant behind him refilled the measure. "Ha, Don Pedro!"cried Drake, with his bluff laugh, "art on that four-years-gone matterof Nueva Cordoba? Methinks Sir John Nevil brought off a knightlysufficiency of credit--"

"Sir John Nevil--Oh! Ay!" said Mexia, and with both hands carefullylowered the tankard to the level of the table. "Did Sir Mortimer Fernebring forth such a--what's the word?--knightly sufficiency? Now I'veoften wondered--'Tis true I had my grudge against him also, but in suchmatters I go not so far as De Guardiola, who brands the soul. . . . I toldDon Luiz as much four years ago. 'Why, I kill my man, ' quoth I, 'and goon my way singing. '"

"And what said he to that?" queried Arden, lightly and easily drawing onMexia, who, in his cups, became merely a garrulous old man. 

"Why, " continued the envoy, "he said, 'Mayhap the dead do not remember. So live, my foe! but live in hell, remembering the brand upon thy soul, and that 'twas I who set it glowing there!'"

A murmur ran the length of the table. Mexia suddenly found himself of asteadier brain with somewhat stronger interest in rencontres new or old. "Ha! Sir Mortimer Ferne and his knot of velvet! Don Luiz ground _that_beneath his heel. . . . Well, the man's dead, no doubt. I've wondered morethan once if he lived or died; if he beat out his brains as he strove todo; if, thinking better o't, he merely held his tongue and nursed hisbroken body; or if he cried aloud that which the old serpent DeGuardiola made him believe, and henceforth travelled life's highway alazar!. . . And that's a curious thought: leper to himself--leper to hisworld--leper's cry--leper's mantle, with the cloth across his face--andbeneath it, all cleanliness, with not a soul but God to know it!" Hegave his small, chuckling laugh. "Oh, I, too, have thoughts; I, too, watch the play, --Pedro Mexia, señors, is not so gross of wit as he isthought to be!"

Nevil leaned across the table. "Leper to himself, and to his world! Butto God all cleanly beneath that mantle which he drew over his foreheadand his eyes! What do you mean? Sir Mortimer Ferne declared himself acoward and a traitor!"

"So!" said Mexia. "Well! 'Twas falsely sworn. Desmond was the man. "

Sir John turned with rapid speech to his host. Alonzo Brava addressedMexia, who roused himself to a fair appearance of sobriety. "Worthy DonPedro, all here, on both sides, have heard somewhat of this story. Iunderstand that the English hidalgo concerned is dead. Don Luiz deGuardiola is in Spain. We all know that a simple vengeance neversufficed for him who was of those who by their cruelties have broughtsuch defamation upon our name in the Indies. I see not that you doinjury to Spanish honor by giving to our friends of one night as much asyou know of this history. "

"Your relation will make us so greatly your debtor, Don Pedro, " saidDrake, "that to-morrow, ere we sail, we will think of some such token asmay justly show our appreciation of the trouble we now give you. Wiltdrink with me?"

The tankards clinked, the wine went down, and the flattered Mexia turnedhis round, empurpled countenance to Nevil. "Why, see you, " he said, "'twas easy for Desmond to find the secret door in the upper room inthe Friar's house, and, stealing down by the stair between the walls tolisten at the hidden grating until he had by heart your every plan--but'twas not so easy to escape to us! It lacked half an hour of sunset whenbe brought that news which since noon Don Luiz had sought with fury towring from the other. "

"From the other?"

"From Sir Mortimer Ferne. "

An Englishman cried out, "Then were there two traitors?" but Mexia, whoby now was somewhat in love with his part of raconteur, had a grimsmile. "There was one Don Luiz de Guardiola. . . . Oh, I will tell you whatyou wish to know, señors! Be not so impatient. It was without the roomwhere lay his prisoner that he gathered from Desmond news indeed; and itwas from that room that he sent Desmond away, and wrote very swiftlyorder after order to his lieutenants. Then he went to the other door andcalled out Miguel, who says, 'Now and then he raves, but nothing to thepoint!' to which Don Luiz: 'I am going to stand beside him. You areskilful. Make him babble like a child, scarce knowing what he says. What I wanted from him matters no longer; but make him speak--words, broken sentences, cries!--I care not what. Make him aware that he holdshis tongue no longer, make him struggle for silence there beneathmy eyes. '

"'He calls on God at present, ' answers Miguel. 'I thought theseLutherans held with Satan. '

"'When I sign to you--thus, ' goes on De Guardiola, 'bring him withsuddenness into a short swoon. Then at once dash water upon his face andbreast. When he cometh to himself, which (look you) must be shortly, busy yourself with putting away your engines, or be officious to loosenhis bonds, keeping a smiling mien as of one whose day's work is done; inshort, in what subtle fashion you may, do you and your helpers add tothat assurance that I myself shall give him. Do your part well and therewill be reward, for I have at heart a whim that I would gratify. ' So wewent into the next room. "

"We!" said Nevil deeply, and "By God, this man was there!" breathedDrake, and Arden ground his teeth. The silence which had spellbound thecompany broke sharply here or there, then, breathless, men again bentforward, waiting for the last word of the story whose ending theyalready guessed. Alonzo Brava, a knightly soul enough, sat grim and red, repentant that he had given loose rein to Mexia's tongue. Mexia, undisturbed, genial with his wine, and of a retrospective turn of mind, went smoothly, even dreamily on with his episode of a four-years-paststruggle. He had scarcely noticed the slip of the tongue by which he hadincluded himself with Luiz de Guardiola and his ministers. 

"Well. . . . He lay there indeed, and called upon God; and now and then hecried to men and women we knew not of. But when he saw that De Guardiolawas in the room, he fell silent--like that!

"'Tell me this--and this--and this, ' says Don Luiz at his side. 'Thenshall you go free. You are your Admiral's dearest friend; you are highin the English council. Even before you became my prisoner was there nota general attack planned for to-night? Tell me its nature and the hour. What force will be left upon the ships? What will be the word of thenight? Tell me if you know aught of a secret way by which the batterymay be flanked!'

"Well, he was silent, and Don Luiz stamped upon the floor. 'You are tooslow of speech, señor. Miguel, make him speak. I have no time toloiter here!'"

Mexia moistened his lips with his wine. "What do you ask with your whitefaces and great eyes, señors?. . . Oh, yes, he was made to speak--to cryout to the Lutheran's God, to gasp his defiance to Don Luiz waiting withfolded arms--to wander, as they sometimes do, thinking friends abouthim, making appeal to the living and the dead to pluck him out of hell!at last, with froth upon his lips, to murmur like a child who knows notWar nor one of its usages; like a heretic who communes with Goddirect. . . . I am no better than I am, but I know courage when I see it, and I tell you, Don Alonzo, that in his torment and his weakness thatman was strong to sweep clear his mind of aught that was to DeGuardiola's purpose. If nature must give voice to her anguish, then, with bound hands, he kept her far from the garden of his honor. Thisuntil the very last, when he lost knowledge indeed of what the tonguemight say, and bit at his bound arms struggling to hold his peace. ThenDe Guardiola signed for the turn of the screw. "

At the end of the table, a few moments before, a man had left his placewith no noise, and stooping was now slowly making his way behind theforward bent row of guests, towards the table of honor. Mexia, makingfull stop, drank his wine, and, leaning back in his chair, staredthoughtfully before him. Amongst his auditors there was an instant ofbreathless expectation, then Drake cried impatiently, "Make afinish, man!"

"There is no more, " said Mexia. "He never told, never betrayed. When heawoke from that momentary swoon there was surcease of torment, therewere Miguel and his fellows making ready to take leave of the day'swork; his bonds were loosed, wine held to his lips; Don Luiz stood overhim with a smile, and still smiling sent for the Commandant of thebattery. All that Desmond had brought to Don Luiz was told over, orderswere written and sent in haste, naught was left undone that DeGuardiola's guile might suggest. He believed--he could not choose butto believe--that in his madness of words and half-conscious utterances, from very failure of will and weakness of soul and lack of knightlyhonor, he had refused to endure, and had betrayed the English tosurprise and death. "

The man who had moved from his seat was now so near to the notableguests that when, drawing himself up, he placed his hand upon Arden'sshoulder, he came face to face with Pedro Mexia. The latter, uttering astrangled cry, threw up his hands as though to ward off an apparition. With a sudden spring, one booted foot upon Arden's heavy chair, thefigure leaped upon the table, disarranging all its glittering array, andfor a second facing the company which had arisen with excitement andoutcry. The next, like a dart, he crossed the intervening space andthrew himself upon Mexia, dragging the bulky form from the table andhurling it to the floor. Weaponless, the assaulter had used his hands, and now with a knee upon Mexia's breast he strove to throttle him. When, Spanish and English, those that were nearest of Don Alonzo's guests wereupon him, the face that he turned over his shoulder showed anintolerable white fury of wrath. "Thy sword, John Nevil!" he gasped. "Thou seest I wear none! Arden, thou'rt no friend of mine if thouflingst me not thy dagger!. . . Ah dog! that companied with the hell-houndof the pack, loll _thy_ tongue out now! Let _thy_ eyeballs start fromthe socket--"

When the two men were separated, the one lay huddled and unconsciousagainst his chair, and the other stood with iron composure, glancingfrom the unconscious envoy to his host Alonzo Brava. "I know not who youare, señor, " spoke the latter, with anger hardly controlled, "but youhave broken truce and done bodily injury to my guest, who not being ableat the moment to speak for himself--"

"Your pardon, señor, for any discourtesy towards my host, " answeredFerne. "And I would give you satisfaction here and now if--if--" Helooked down upon his empty hands. The gesture was seen of all. Made byhim, it came as one of those slight acts which have a power to piercethe heart and enlighten the understanding. Unconscious as it was, themovement rent away the veil of four years, broke any remnant of thespell that was upon the English, set him high and clear beforethem--the peer of Francis Drake, of John Nevil, of Raleigh and ofSidney. This was Sir Mortimer Ferne, and there was that which he lacked!Up and down the room there ran a sudden sound of steel drawn swiftlyfrom metal, leather, or velvet sheaths. "My sword, Sir Mortimer Ferne!""Mine!" "And mine!" "Do mine honor, Sir Mortimer Ferne!" "Sir MortimerFerne, take mine!"

Ferne's hand closed upon the hilt which Nevil had silently offered, andhe turned to salute his antagonist, whose pallor now matched his own. "Are you that English knight?" demanded Brava with dry lips. "Then incourtesy alone will we cross blades--no more!"

The steel clashed, the points fell, and Spaniard and Englishman bowedgravely each to the other. "I thank you, " said Ferne hoarsely. "Withyour permission, señor, I will say good-night. You will understand, Ithink, that I would be alone. "

"That we must all understand, " said Alonzo Brava. "Our good wishestravel with you, señor. "

Sir Mortimer turned, and from the younger, more heedless adventurersbroke a ringing shout, a repeated calling of his name until it echoedfrom the lofty roof, but his friends spoke not to him, only made anaisle through which he might pass. His arm was raised, Nevil's sword agleaming line along the dark velvet of his sleeve. The face seen belowthe lifted arm was very strange, written over with a thousand meanings. The poise of the figure and the light upon the sword increased theeffect of height, the effect of the one-night-whitened hair. There was, moreover, the gleam and shadow of the countenance, evident forgetfulnessof time or place, the desire of the soul to be out with night and stormand miracles. The English drew farther back, and he went by them like anapparition. 

Later in the night Nevil and Arden, after fruitless search, came upon aspace where the wall of Cartagena rose sheer above the water. To-nightthe sea roared in their ears, but the storm had gone by, leaving uponthe horizon a black and rugged bank of cloud rimmed by great beaconstars. Down through a wide rift in the clouds streamed light from ahaloed moon. Beneath it, seated upon the stone, his hands clasped abouthis knees and a gleaming sword laid across them was the man they sought. His head was lifted and the moon gave light enough by which to read thelineaments of a good knight and true, brave, of stainless honor, a loverof things of good repute, pure gold to his friends, generous to hisfoes, gentle to the weak, tender and pitiful of all who sinned orsuffered. He heard their footsteps on the stone, and, rising, went tomeet them. "It hath been a wonderful night, " he said. "Look, how greatis the ring about the moon! and the air after the storm blows from farcountries. . . . They have come to me one after another--all the men of the_Cygnet_, and the _Phoenix_, and the land force. Henry Sedley sat besideme, with his arm about my shoulder; and Captain Robert Baldry and I haveclasped hands, foregoing our quarrel. And the crew of the _Sea Wraith_went by like shadows. I know not if I did wrongly by them, but if it beso I will abide God's judgment between us when I, too, am dead. And I amnot yet for the Low Countries, Arden! I am for England--England, England!"

They leaned against the parapet and looked out upon the now gleamingsea, the rack of the clouds and the broken cohorts of the stars. Theylooked out to the glistening line where the water met the east. "Homeward to-morrow!" said Arden, and Ferne asked, "What are thy ships, John?" and Nevil answered, "The one is the _Mere Honour_, the other Ihave very lately renamed the _Cygnet_. Wilt be her captain, Mortimer, from here to Plymouth Port?"

 * * * * *

The Countess of Pembroke, in mourning for her parents, was spending amidsummer month in leafy Penshurst. It was a drowsy month, of rosesfully blown and heavy lilies, of bees booming amongst all honey flowers, of shady copses and wide sunlit fields; and it was a quiet month becauseof the Countess's mourning and because Philip Sidney was Governor ofFlushing. Therefore, save for now and then a messenger bringing newsfrom London or Wilton or from that loved brother in the Netherlands, theCountess, her women, and a page or two made up the company at Penshurst. The pages and the young gentlewomen (all under the eye of an agedmajordomo) moved sedately in the old house, pacing soberly the gardensbeneath the open casements; but when they reached the sweet rusticity ofthe outward ways, fruit-dropping orchards and sunny spaces, they werefor lighter spirits, heels, and wits. With laughter young hand caught atyoung hand, and fair forms circled swiftly an imaginary May-pole. Tallflowers upon the Medway's brim next took their eye, and they gatheredpink and white and purple sheaves; then, limed by the mere joy of work, caught up and plied the rakes of the haymakers. The meadows becamelists, their sudden employment a joust-at-arms, and some slender youthcrowned the swiftest workwoman with field flowers, withering in thenearest swathe. All wove garlands, then made for the shade of the treesand shared a low basket of golden apples. One had a lute and anothersang a love ditty with ethereal passion. They were in Arcadia, --silkenshepherdesses, slim princes in disguise, --and they breathed thesweetness, the innocent yet lofty grace which was the country'snatal air. 

"Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother, " kept much, in her gentle, filialsorrow, to her great chamber above the gardens, where she wrote andstudied, and to her closet, where before an eastern window was set thelow chair beside which she kneeled in prayer for her living and herdead. She prayed much alone, but once a day, when the morn was young, she sent for one who was named her gentlewoman indeed, but to whom allher train gave deference, knowing of the love between this lady andtheir mistress. The lady came, beautiful, patient, with lips that smiledon life, and wonderful dark eyes in which the smile was drowned. TheCountess took her morning kiss and the fair coolness of her pressedcheek, then praised the flowers in her hands, all jewelled with thedew--a lovely posy to be set amongst the Countess's little library ofpious works. Then on this as on other days the two fair women readtogether, their soft voices making tremulous music of the stately Latin. The reading done, they kneeled side by side, dark hair against light, praying silently, each her own prayers. It was a morning rite, poignantly dear to them both; it began and helped upon its way thelivelong lingering day. They arose and kissed, and presently theCountess spoke of letters which she must write. "Then, " said the other, "I will go sit by the fountain until you wish for me. "

"The fountain!" answered Mary Sidney. "Ah, Damaris! I would that thoumightst forget the fountain. I would that other blooms than red roseswere planted there!"

"That would not I!" the other answered. "I love the fountain. And once ared rose meant to me--Paradise!"

"Then go thy ways, and gather thy roses, " said the Countess fondly. "Iwould give thee Heaven an I could--so that thou stayed upon earth withthy fairing!"

The Countess sat herself down to write to Philip Sidney, not knowingthat he was so near the frontier whence no living messenger, no warm andloving cry could ever draw him back. Damaris, a book in her hand, passedthrough the silent, darkened house out to the sunlit lawns. Her skirtswept the enamelled turf; she touched the tallest flowers as she passed, and they bloomed no worse for that light caress. Poetry was in her everymotion, and she was too beautiful a thing to be so sad. She made noparade of grief. Faint smiles came and went, and all things added to herbirthright of grace. She was the Countess's almoner: every day she didgood, lessening pain, whispering balm to the anguish-stricken, speakingas with authority to troubled souls. Back from the hovel to statelyhouses she went, and lo! the maid of honor, exquisite, perfect as aflower. Men wooed, but might not win her. They came and went, but to herit was no matter. In her eyes still burned the patient splendor withwhich she waited for the tide to take her, bearing her out beyond theshallows to one who also tarried. 

With a gentle sound the fountain rose and fell in a gray stone basin. Around it were set the rose-trees, and beyond the roses tall box and yewmost fantastically clipped screened from observation the fairy spot. Damaris, slowly entering, became at once the spirit of the place. Shepaced the fountain's grassy rim to a rustic seat and took it for herchair of state, from which for a while, with her white hands behind herhead, she watched the silver spray and the blue midsummer sky. A larksang, but so high in the blue that its joyous note jarred not thelanguor of the place. Damaris opened her book--but what need of writtenpoesy? The red roses smelled so sweet that 'twas as though she layagainst the heart of one royal bloom. She left her throne and trod thecircle, and in both hands she took the heavy blossoms and pressed themto her lips. The odor was like warm wine. "Now and for all my life, "said Damaris, "for me one faded rose! Afterwards, two in a garden likethis--like this!"

The grass was so green and warm that presently she lay down upon it, herhead pillowed upon her arm, her eyes gazing through the fountain mistand down the emerald slopes to where ran the elmwood avenue. She gazedin idleness, through half-shut eyelids, wrapped in lullabies and drowsywarmth. Hoof-beats between the elms troubled her not. When through themist of falling water and the veil of drooping leaves she saw ridingtowards the house a youth clad in blue, the horse and rider seemed butfigures in a piece of tapestry. Her satin eyelids closed, and if otherriders presently showed in the tapestry she saw them not, for she wassound asleep. She dreamed of a masque at Hampton Court, long ago, and ofthe gown she had worn and how merry she had been, and she dreamed of theQueen. Then her dream changed and she sat with Henry Sedley on the sandsof a lost sea-coast, stretching in pale levels beyond the ken of man. The surf raced towards them like shadowy white horses, and a red moonhung low in the sky. There was music in the air, and his voice wasspeaking, but suddenly the sea and its champing horses and the red moonpassed away. She stirred, and now it was not her brother's voice thatspoke. Green grass was beneath her; splendid roses, red and gold, werecensers slowly swinging; the silver fountain leaped as if to meet theskylark's song. Slowly Damaris raised herself from her grassy bed andlooked with widening eyes upon an intruder. "I--I went to sleep, " shesaid. "Is't Heaven or will this rose also fade?" She closed her eyes fora moment, then, opening them, "O my dream!" she cried. "Go not away!"

The sunlight fell upon his lifted head, and on his dress, that was asrich as any bridegroom's, and on a sword-knot of silver gauze. "Look youthus in Heaven, O my King?" she breathed. 

Sir Mortimer approached her very slowly, for he saw that her sensesstrayed. As he came nearer she shrank against the wall of bloom. "Dearheart, " he said, "I am a living man, and before all the world I now maywear thy silver sleave. " But the rose you gave me once before hathwithered into dust. I could not hold it back. "Break for me anotherrose--_Dione_!"

She put out her hand and obeyed. Into her eyes had come a crescentsplendor, upon her lips the dawn of an ineffable smile; but yettroubled, yet without full understanding, she, trembling, held out theflower at arm's length. But when Ferne's hand closed upon hers, when shefelt herself drawn into his arms and his kiss upon her lips, his whisperin her ears, she awoke, and thought not less of Heaven, but only thatHeaven had come to earth. 

THE END