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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37152-h.zip b/37152-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..98d1113 --- /dev/null +++ b/37152-h.zip diff --git a/37152-h/37152-h.htm b/37152-h/37152-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..948c9e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/37152-h/37152-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5116 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of A Maid of Many Moods, by Virna Sheard +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +P.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +P.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +P.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 50%; + text-align: center } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +H4.h4center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Maid of Many Moods, by Virna Sheard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Maid of Many Moods + +Author: Virna Sheard + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37152] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAID OF MANY MOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-cover"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-cover.jpg" ALT="Cover art" BORDER=""> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?"" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +"Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?" +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-title"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-title.jpg" ALT="title page art" BORDER=""> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t1"> +A MAID +<BR> +OF +<BR> +MANY +<BR> +MOODS +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +<I>By</I> VIRNA SHEARD +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +Toronto, THE COPP, CLARK<BR> +COMPANY, Ltd. MCMII<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +Copyright, 1902, By James Pott & Co. +<BR><BR> +Entered at Stationers' Hall, London +<BR><BR><BR> +<I>First Impression, September, 1902</I> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +</P> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +"Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?" . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-002"> +"Thou'lt light no more" +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-062"> +She followed the tragedy intensely +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-098"> +"I liked thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad" +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-150"> +"It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick" +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-172"> +Darby went lightly from one London topic to another +</A> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="img-001"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-001.jpg" ALT="Chapter I headpiece" BORDER=""> +</CENTER> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H4> + +<P> +It was Christmas Eve, and all the small diamond window panes of One +Tree Inn, the half-way house upon the road from Stratford to Shottery, +were aglitter with light from the great fire in the front room +chimney-place and from the many candles Mistress Debora had set in +their brass candlesticks and started a-burning herself. The place, +usually so dark and quiet at this time of night, seemed to have gone +off in a whirligig of gaiety to celebrate the Noel-tide. +</P> + +<P> +In vain had old Marjorie, the housekeeper, scolded. In vain had Master +Thornbury, who was of a thrifty and saving nature, followed his +daughter about and expostulated. She only laughed and waved the +lighted end of the long spill around his broad red face and bright +flowered jerkin. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, Dad!" she had cried, teasing him thus, "I'll help thee save thy +pennies to-morrow, but to-night I'm of another mind, and will have such +a lighting up in One Tree Inn the rustics will come running from +Coventry to see if it be really ablaze. There'll not be a candle in +any room whatever without its own little feather of fire, not a dip in +the kitchen left dark! So just save thy breath to blow them out later." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, mend thy saucy speech, thou'lt light no more, I tell thee," +blustered the old fellow, trying to reach the spill which the girl held +high above her head. "Give over thy foolishness; thou'lt light no +more!" +</P> + +<A NAME="img-002"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-002.jpg" ALT=""Thou'lt light no more"" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +"Thou'lt light no more" +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Ay, but I will, then," said she wilfully, "an' 'tis but just to +welcome Darby, Dad dear. Nay, then," waving the light and laughing, +"don't thou dare catch it. An' I touch thy fringe o' pretty hair, +dad—thy only ornament, remember—'twould be a fearsome calamity! I' +faith! it must be most time for the coach, an' the clusters in the long +room not yet lit. Hinder me no more, but go enjoy thyself with old +Saddler and John Sevenoakes. I warrant the posset is o'erdone, though +I cautioned thee not to leave it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art a wench to break a man's heart," said Thornbury, backing away +and shaking a finger at the pretty figure winding fiery ribbons and +criss-crosses with her bright-tipped wand. "Thou art a provoking +wench, who doth need locking up and feeding on bread and water. Marry, +there'll be naught for thee on Christmas, and thou canst whistle for +the ruff and silver buckles I meant to have given thee. Aye, an' for +the shoes with red heels." Then with dignity, "I'll snuff out some o' +the candles soon as I go below." +</P> + +<P> +"An' thou do, dad, I'll make thee a day o' trouble on the morrow!" she +called after him. And well he knew she would. Therefore, it was with +a disturbed mind that he entered the sitting-room and went towards the +hearth to stir the simmering contents of the copper pot on the crane. +</P> + +<P> +John Sevenoakes and old Ned Saddler, his nearest neighbours and +friends, sat one each side of the fire in their deep rush-bottomed +chairs, as they sat at least five nights out of the week, come what +weather would. Sevenoakes held a small child, whose yellow, curly head +nodded with sleep. The hot wine bubbled up as the inn-keeper stirred +it and the little spiced apples, brown with cloves, bobbed madly on top. +</P> + +<P> +"It hath a savoury smell, Thornbury," remarked Saddler. "Methinks 'tis +most ready to be lifted." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twill not be lifted till Deb hears the coach," answered Sevenoakes. +"'Twas so she timed it. 'On it goes at nine,' quoth she, 'an' off it +comes at ten, Cousin John. Just when Darby will be jumping from the +coach an' running in. Oh! I can't wait for the hour to come!' she +says." +</P> + +<P> +"She's a headstrong, contrary wench as ever heaven sent a man," put in +Thornbury, straightening himself. "'Twere trouble saved an' I'd broken +her in long ago." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas she broke thee in long ago," said Saddler, rubbing his knotty +hands. "She hath led thee by the ear since she was three years old. +An' I had married now, an' had such a lass, I'd a brought her up +different, I warrant. Zounds! 'tis a show to see. She coaxes thee, +she bullies thee, she comes it over thee with cajolery and +blandishments an' leads thee a pretty dance." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art an old fool," returned Thornbury, mopping his face, which was +sorely scorched, "What should thou know of the bringing up of wenches? +Thou—a crabbed bachelor o' three score an' odd. Thou hast no way with +children;—i' truth I've heard Will Shakespeare say the tartness of +that face o' thine would sour ripe grapes." +</P> + +<P> +Sevenoakes trotted the baby gently up and down, a look of troubled +apprehension disturbing his usually placid features. His was ever the +office of peace-maker between these two ancient cronies, and he knew to +a nicety the moment when it was wisest to try and adjust matters. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis well I mind the night this baby came," he began retrospectively, +looking up as the door opened and a tall young fellow entered, stamping +the snow off his long boots. "Marry, Nick! thou dost bring a lot o' +cold in with thee," he ended briskly, shifting his chair. "Any news o' +the coach?" +</P> + +<P> +"None that I've heard," replied the man, going to the hearth and +turning his broad back to the fire. "'Tis a still night, still and +frosty, but no sound of the horn or wheels reached me though I stood +a-listening at the cross-roads. Then I turned down here an' saw how +grandly thou had'st lit the house up to welcome Darby. My faith! I'll +be glad to see him, for 'tis an age since he was home, Master +Thornbury, an' he comes now in high feather. Not every lad hath wit +and good looks enough to turn the head o' London after him. The stage +is a great place for bringing a man out. Egad! I'm half minded to try +it myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt not thou wilt, Nick, sooner or later; thou art a +jack-o'-all-trades," answered Thornbury, in surly tones. +</P> + +<P> +Nicholas Berwick laughed and shrugged his well-set shoulders, as he +bent over and touched the child sleeping sweetly in old Sevenoakes' +arms. +</P> + +<P> +"What was't I heard thee saying o' the baby as I came in; he is not +ailing, surely?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not he!" answered Sevenoakes, stroking the moist yellow curls. "He's +lusty as a year-old robin, an' as chirpy when he's awake; but he's in +the land o' nod now, though his will was good to wait up for Darby like +the rest of us." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a rarely beautiful little lad," said Berwick. "I've asked Deb +about him often, but she will tell me naught." +</P> + +<P> +"I warrant she will na," piped up old Ned Saddler, in his reedy voice. +"I warrant she will na; 'tis no tale for a young maid's repeating. +Beshrew me! but the coach be late," he wound up irrelevantly. +</P> + +<P> +"How came the child here?" persisted the young fellow, knocking back a +red log with his foot. "An' it be such a tale as you hint, Saddler, I +doubt not it's hard to keep it from slipping off thy tongue." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis a tale that slips off some tongue whenever this time o' year +comes," answered Thornbury. "I desire no more Christmas Eves like that +one four years back—please God! We were around the hearth as it might +be now, and a grand yule log we had burning, I mind me; the room was +trimmed gay an' fine with holly an' mistletoe as 'tis to-night. +Saddler was there, Sevenoakes just where he be now, an' Deb sitting +a-dreaming on the black oak settle yonder, the way she often sits, her +chin on her hand—you mind, Nick!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" said the man, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"She wore her hair down then," went on Thornbury, "an' a sight it were +to see." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twere red as fox-fire," interrupted Saddler, aggrieved that the +tale-telling had been taken from him. "When thou start'st off on Deb, +Thornbury, thou know'st not where to bring up." +</P> + +<P> +"An' Deb was sitting yonder on the oak settle," continued the innkeeper +calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"An' she had not lit the house up scandalously that year as 'tis +now—for Darby was home," put in Saddler again. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! Darby was home—an' thou away, Nick—but the lad was worriting to +try his luck on the stage in London, an' all on account o' a play +little Judith Shakespeare lent him. I mind me 'twas rightly named, +'The Pleasant History o' the Taming o' a Shrew,' for most of it he read +aloud to us. Ay, Darby was home, an' we were sitting here as it might +be now, when the door burst open an' in come my lad carrying a bit of a +baby muffled top an' toe in a shepherd's plaid. 'Twas crying pitiful +and hoarse, as it had been long in the night wind." +</P> + +<P> +"'Quick, Dad!' called Darby, 'Quick,' handing the bundle to Deb, 'there +be a woman perished of cold not thirty yards from the house.' +</P> + +<P> +"I tramped out after him saying naught. 'Twas a bitter night an' the +road rang like metal under our feet. The country was silver-white with +snow, an' the sky was sown thick with stars. Darby'd hastened on ahead +an' lifted the wench in his arms, but I just took her from him an' +carried her in myself. Marry! she were not much more weight than a +child. +</P> + +<P> +"We laid her near the fire and forced her to drink some hot sherry +sack. Then she opened her eyes wild, raised herself and looked around +in a sort o' terror, while she cried out for the baby. Deb brought it, +an' the lass seemed content, for she smiled an' fell back on the pillow +holding a bit of the shepherd's plaid tight in her small fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"She was dressed in fashion of the Puritans, with kirtle of +sad-coloured homespun. The only bright thing about her was her hair, +and that curled out of the white coif she wore, golden as ripe corn. +</P> + +<P> +"Well-a-day! I sent quickly for Mother Durley, she who only comes to a +house when there be a birth or a death. I knew how 'twould end, for +there was a look on the little wench's face that comes but once. She +lived till break o' day and part o' the time she raved, an' then 'twas +all o' London an' one she would go to find there; but, again she just +lay quiet, staring open-eyed. At the last she came to herself, so said +Mother Durley, an' there was the light of reason on her face. 'Twas +then she beckoned Deb, who was sitting by, to bend down close, and she +whispered something to her, though what 'twas we never knew, for my +girl said naught—and even as she spoke the end came. +</P> + +<P> +"Soul o' me! but we were at our wits' end to know what to do. Where +she came from and who she was there was no telling, an' Deb raised such +a storm when I spoke o' her being buried by the parish, that 'twas not +to be thought of. One an' another came in to gaze at the little +creature till the inn was nigh full. I bethought me 'twould mayhap +serve to discover whom she might be. And so it fell. A lumbering +yeoman passing through to Oxford stood looking at her a moment as she +lay dressed the way we found her in the sad-coloured gown an' white +coif. +</P> + +<P> +"'Why! Od's pitikins!' he cried. 'Marry an' Amen! This be none but +Nell Quinten! Old Makepeace Quinten's daughter from near Kenilworth. +I'd a known her anywhere!' +</P> + +<P> +"Then I bid Darby ride out to bring the Puritan in all haste, but he +had the devil's work to get the man to come. He said the lass had +shamed him, and he had turned her out months before. She was no +daughter o' his he swore—with much quoting o' Scripture to prove he +was justified in disowning her. +</P> + +<P> +"Darby argued with him gently to no purpose; so my lad let his temper +have way an' told the fellow he'd come to take him to One Tree Inn, an' +would take him there dead or alive. The upshot was, they came in +together before nightfall. The wench was in truth the old Puritan's +daughter, and he took her home an' buried her. But for the child, he'd +not touch it. +</P> + +<P> +"''Tis a living lie!' he cried. ''Tis branded by Satan as his own! +Give it to the Parish or to them that wants it, or marry, let it bide +here! 'Tis a proper place for it in good sooth, for this be a public +house where sinful drinking goeth on an' all worldly conversation. +Moreover I saw one Master William Shakespeare pass out the door but +now—a play actor, an' the maker o' ungodly plays. 'Twas such a one +who wrought my Nell's ruin!' +</P> + +<P> +"So he went on an' moore o' the sort. Gra'mercy! I had the will to +horsewhip him, an' but for the little dead maid I would. I clenched my +hands hard and watched him away; he sitting stiff atop o' Stratford +hearse by the driver. Thus he took his leave, calling back at me bits +o' Holy Writ," finished Thornbury grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"And Debora told naught of what the girl said at the last?" asked +Nicholas Berwick. "That doth seem strange." +</P> + +<P> +"Never a word, lad, beyond this much—she prayed her to care for the +child till his father be found." +</P> + +<P> +"By St. George! but that was no modest request. What had'st thou to +say in the matter? Did'st take the heaven-sent Christmas box in good +part, Master Thornbury?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, Nick! thou should know him some better than to ask that," said +Saddler. "Gadzooks, there were scenes! 'Twas like Thornbury to +grandfather a stray infant now, was't not?" rubbing his knees and +chuckling. "Marry! I think I see the face he wore for a full month. +''Twill go to the Parish!' he would cry, stamping around and speaking +words 'twould pass me to repeat. 'A plague on't! Here be a kettle of +fish! Why should the wench fall at my door in heaven's name? Egad! I +am a much-put-upon man.' Ay, Nick, 'twas a marvellous rare treat to +hear him." +</P> + +<P> +"How came you to keep the child, sir?" asked Berwick, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders. "'Twas Deb would have it so," he +answered. "She was fair bewitched by the little one. Thou knowest her +way, Nick, when her heart is set on anything. Peradventure, I have +humoured the lass too much, as Saddler maintains. But she coaxed and +she cried, an' never did I see her cry so before, such a storm o' +tears—save for rage," reflectively. +</P> + +<P> +"Well put!" said Saddler. "Well put, Thornbury!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ever had she wished for just such a one to pet, she pleaded, an' well +I knew no small child came in sight o' the inn but Deb was after it for +a plaything. Nay, there never was a stray beast about the place, that +it did not find her and follow her close, knowing 'twould be best off +so. +</P> + +<P> +"Well do I mind her cuffing a big lad she found drowning some day-old +kittens in the stable—and he minds it yet I'll gainsay! She fished +out the blind wet things, an' gathering them in her quilted petticoat +brought them in here a-dripping. I' fecks! she made such a moan over +them as never was." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, Deb always has a following o' ugly, ill-begotten beasts that +nobody wants but she," said Sevenoakes. "There be old Tramp for one +now—did'st ever see such an ill-favoured beast? An' nowhere will he +sit but fair on the edge o' her gown." +</P> + +<P> +"He is a dog of rare discernment—and a lucky dog to boot," said +Berwick. +</P> + +<P> +"So, the outcome of it, Master Thornbury, was that the little lad is +here." +</P> + +<P> +"What could a man do?" answered Thornbury, ruefully. "Hark!" starting +up as the old housekeeper entered the room, "Where be the lass, +Marjorie? An' the candles—are they burning safe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Safe, but growing to the half length," she answered, peering out of +the window. "The coach must a-got overtipped, Maister." +</P> + +<P> +"Where be Deb—I asked thee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Soul o' me! then if thou must know, Mistress Debora hath just taken +the great stable lantern and gone along the road to meet the coach. +'An' thou dost tell my father I'll pinch thee, Marjorie!' she cried +back to me. 'When I love thee—I love thee; an' when I pinch—I pinch! +So tell him not.' But 'tis over late an' I would have it off my mind, +Maister." +</P> + +<P> +"Did Tramp go with her?" asked Berwick, buttoning on his great cape and +starting for the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Odso! yes! an' she be safe enow. Thou'lt see the lantern bobbing long +before thou com'st up with her." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis a wench to break a man's heart!" Thornbury muttered, standing at +the door and watching the tall figure of Berwick swing along the road. +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper waited there though a light snow was powdering his scanty +fringe of hair—white already—and lying in sparkles on his bald pate +and holiday jerkin. He was a hardy old Englishman and a little cold +was nought to him. +</P> + +<P> +The night was frosty, and the "star-bitten" sky of a fathomless purple. +About the inn the snow was tinted rosily from the many twinkling lights +within. +</P> + +<P> +The great oak, standing opposite the open door and stretching out its +kindly arms on either side as far as the house reached, made a network +of shadows that carpeted the ground like fine lace. +</P> + +<P> +Thornbury bent his head to listen. Far off sounded the ripple of a +girl's laugh. A little wind caught it up and it +echoed—fainter—fainter. Then did his old heart take to thumping +hard, and his breath came quick. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! they be coming!" he said half aloud. "My lad—an' lass. My +lad—an' lass." He strained his eyes to see afar down the road if a +light might not be swaying from side to side. Presently he spied it, a +merry will-o'-the-wisp, and the sound of voices came to him. +</P> + +<P> +So he waited tremblingly. +</P> + +<P> +Darby it was who saw him first. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis Dad at the door!" he called, breaking away from Debora and +Berwick. +</P> + +<P> +The girl took a step to follow, then stopped and glanced up at the man +beside her. "Let him go on alone, Nick," she said. "He hath not seen +Dad close onto two years, an' this play-acting of his hath been a +bitter dose for my father to swallow. In good sooth I have small +patience with Dad, yet more am I sorry for him. I' faith! I would +that maidens might also be in the play. Judith Shakespeare says some +day they may be—but 'twill serve me little. One of us at that +business is all Dad could bear with—an' my work is at home." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, Deb!" he answered; "thy work is at home, for now." +</P> + +<P> +"For always," she answered, quickly; then, her tone changing, "think'st +thou not, Nick, that my Darby is taller? An' did'st note how handsome?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is a handsome fellow," answered Berwick. "Still, I cannot see that +he hath grown. He will not be of large pattern." +</P> + +<P> +"Marry!" cried the girl, "Darby is a good head taller than I. Where +dost thou keep thine eyes, Nick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, verily, then, he is not," answered the other; "thou art almost +shoulder to shoulder, an' still as much alike—I saw by the lantern—as +of old, when save for thy dress 'twas a puzzle to say which was which. +'Tis a reasonable likeness, as thou art twins." +</P> + +<P> +Debora pursed up her lips. "He is much taller than I," she said, +determinedly. "Thou art no friend o' mine, Nicholas Berwick, an' thou +dost cut three full inches off my brother's height. He is a head +taller, an' mayhap more—so." +</P> + +<P> +They were drawing up to the inn now, and through the window saw the +little group about the fire, Darby with the baby, who was fully awake, +perched high on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Berwick caught Deb gently, swinging her close to him, as they stood in +the shadow of the oak. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Deb!" he said, bending his face to hers, "thou could'st make me +swear that black was white. As for Darby, the lad is as tall as thou +dost desire. Thou hast my word for't." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis well thou dost own it," she said, frowning; "though I like not +the manner o' it. Let me go, Nick." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, I will not," he said, passionately. "Be kind; give me one kiss +for Christmas. I know thou hast no love for me; thou hast told me so +often enough. I will not tarry here, Sweet; 'twould madden me—but +give me one kiss to remember when I be gone." +</P> + +<P> +She turned away and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou know'st me better than to ask it," she said, softly. "Kisses are +not things to give because 'tis Christmas." +</P> + +<P> +The man let go his hold of her, his handsome face darkening. +</P> + +<P> +"Dost hate me?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, then, I hate thee not," with a little toss of her head. "Neither +do I love thee." +</P> + +<P> +"Dost love any other? Come, tell me for love's sake, sweetheart. An' +I thought so!" +</P> + +<P> +"Marry, no!" she said. Then with a short, half-checked laugh, +"Well—Prithee but one!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" cried Berwick, "is't so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Verily," she answered mockingly. "It is so in truth, an' 'tis just +Dad. As for Darby, I cannot tell what I feel for <I>him</I>. 'Twould be +full as easy to say were I to put it to myself, 'Dost love Debora +Thornbury?' 'Yea' or 'Nay,' for, Heaven knows, sometimes I love her +mightily—and sometimes I don't; an' then 'tis a fearsome '<I>don't</I>,' +Nick. But come thee in." +</P> + +<P> +"No!" answered Berwick, bitterly. "I am not one of you." Catching her +little hands he held them a moment against his coat, and the girl felt +the heavy beating of his heart before he let them fall, and strode away. +</P> + +<P> +She stood on the step looking after the solitary figure. Her cheeks +burned, and she tapped her foot impatiently on the threshold. +</P> + +<P> +"Ever it doth end thus," she said. "I am not one of you," echoing his +tone. "In good sooth no. Neither is old Ned Saddler or dear John +Sevenoakes. We be but three; just Dad, an' Darby, an' Deb." Then, +another thought coming to her. "Nay <I>four</I> when I count little Dorian. +Little Dorian, sweet lamb,—an' so I will count him till I find his +father." +</P> + +<P> +A shade went over her face but vanished as she entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"I have given thee time to take a long look at Darby, Dad," she cried. +"Is't not good to have him at home?" slipping one arm around her +brother's throat and leaning her head against him. +</P> + +<P> +"Where be the coach, truant?" asked Saddler. +</P> + +<P> +"It went round by the Bidford road—there was no other traveller for +us. Marry, I care not for coaches nor travellers now I have Darby safe +here! See, Dad, he hath become a fine gentleman. Did'st note how +grand he is in his manner, an' what a rare tone his voice hath taken?" +</P> + +<P> +The handsome boy flushed a little and gave a half embarrassed laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, Debora, I have not changed; 'tis thy fancy. My doublet hath a +less rustical cut and is of different stuff from any seen hereabout, +and my hose and boots fit—which could not be said of them in olden +times. This fashion of ruff moreover," touching it with dainty +complacency, "this fashion of ruff is such as the Queen's Players +themselves wear." +</P> + +<P> +Old Thornbury's brows contracted darkly and the girl turned to him with +a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—Dad! Dad! thou must e'en learn to hear of the playhouses, an' +actors with a better grace than that. Note the wry face he doth make, +Darby!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have little stomach for their follies and buffooneries—albeit my +son be one of them," the innkeeper answered, in sharp tone. Then +struggling with some intense inward feeling, "Still I am not a man to +go half-way, Darby. Thou hast chosen for thyself, an' the blame will +not be mine if thy road be the wrong one. Thou canst walk upright on +any highway, lad." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" put in old Saddler, "Ay, neighbour, but a wilful lad must have +his way." +</P> + +<P> +Soon old Marjorie came in and clattered about the supper table, after +having made a great to-do over the young master. +</P> + +<P> +Thornbury poured the hot spiced wine into an ancient punch-bowl, and +set it in the centre of the simple feast, and they all drew their +chairs up to the table as the bells in Stratford rang Christmas in. +</P> + +<P> +Never had the inn echoed to more joyous laughing and talking, for +Thornbury and his two old friends mellowed in temper as they refilled +their flagons, and they even added to the occasion by each rendering a +song. Saddler bringing one forth from the dim recesses of his memory +that related, in seventeen verses and much monotonous chorus, the love +affairs of a certain Dinah Linn. +</P> + +<P> +The child slumbered again on the oak settle in the inglenook. The +firelight danced over his yellow hair and pretty dimpled hands. The +candles burned low. Then Darby sang in flute-like voice a carol, that +was, as he told them, "the rage in London," and, afterwards, just to +please Deb, the old song that will never wear out its welcome at +Christmas-tide, "When shepherds watched their flocks." +</P> + +<P> +The girl would have joined him, but there came a tightness in her +throat, and the hot stinging of tears to her eyes, and when the last +note of it went into silence she said good night, lifted the sleeping +child and carried him away. +</P> + +<P> +"Deb grows more beautiful, Dad," said the young fellow, looking after +her. "Egad! what a carriage she hath! She steps like a very princess +of the blood. Hark! then," going to the latticed window and throwing +it open. "Here come the waits, Dad, as motley a crowd as ever." +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper was trimming the lantern and seeing his neighbours to the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep well hold of each other," called Darby after them. "I trow 'tis +a timely proverb—'United we stand, divided we fall.'" +</P> + +<P> +Saddler turned with a chuckle and shook his fist at the lad, but +lurched dangerously in the operation. +</P> + +<P> +"The apples were too highly spiced for such as thee," said Thornbury, +laughing. "Thou had'st best stick to caudles an' small beer." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, then, neighbour," called back Sevenoakes, with much solemnity, +"Christmas comes but once a year, when it comes it brings good +cheer—'tis no time for caudles, or small beer!" +</P> + +<P> +At this Darby went into such a peal of laughter—in which the waits who +were discordantly tuning up joined him—that the sound of it must have +awakened the very echoes in Stratford town. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H4> + +<P> +During the days following Christmas, One Tree Inn was given over to +festivity. It had always been a favoured spot with the young people +from Stratford and Shottery. In spring they came trooping to Master +Thornbury's meadow, bringing their flower-crowned queen and +ribbon-decked May-pole. It was there they had their games of +barley-break, blindman's buff and the merry cushion dance during the +long summer evenings; and when dusk fell they would stroll homeward +through the lanes sweet with flowering hedges, each one of them all +carrying a posy from Deb Thornbury's garden—for where else grew such +wondrous clove-pinks, ragged lady, lad's love, sweet-william and Queen +Anne's lace, as there? So now these old playmates of Darby's came one +by one to welcome him home and gaze at him in unembarrassed admiration. +</P> + +<P> +Judith Shakespeare, who was a friend and gossip of Debora's, spent many +evenings with them, and those who knew the little maid best alone could +say what that meant, for never was there a gayer lass, or one who had a +prettier wit. To hear Judith enlarging upon her daily experiences with +people and things, was to listen to thrilling tales, garnished and +gilded in fanciful manner, till the commonplace became delightful, and +life in Stratford town a thing to be desired above the simple passing +of days in other places. +</P> + +<P> +No trivial occurrence went by this little daughter of the great poet +without making some vivid impression upon her mind, for she viewed the +every-day world lying beside the peaceful Avon through the wonderful +rose-coloured glasses of youth, and an imagination bequeathed to her +direct from her father. +</P> + +<P> +It was on an evening when Judith Shakespeare was with them and Deb was +roasting chestnuts by the hearth, that they fell to talking of London, +and the marvellous way people had of living there. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden storm had blown up, flakes of frozen snow came whirling +against the windows, beating a fairy rataplan on the frosted glass, +while the heavy boughs of the old oak creaked and groaned in the wind. +Darby and the two girls listened to the sounds without and drew their +chairs nearer the fire with a sense of the warm comfort of the long +cheery room. They chatted about the city and the pleasures and +pastimes that held sway there, doings that seemed so extravagant to +country-bred folk, and that often turned night into day—a day moreover +not akin to any spent elsewhere on top of the earth. +</P> + +<P> +"Dost sometimes act in the same play with my father, Darby, at the +Globe Theatre?" asked Judith, after a pause in the conversation, and at +a moment when the innkeeper had just left the room. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was sitting in a chair whose oaken frame was black with age. +Now she grasped the arms of it tightly, and Darby noted the beautiful +form of her hands and the tapering delicate fingers; he saw also a +nervous tremor go through them as she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I would know somewhat of my father's life in London," continued +Judith, "and of the people he meets there. He hath acquaintance with +many gentlemen of the Queen's Court and Parliament, for he hath twice +been bidden to play in Her Majesty's theatre in the palace at +Greenwich. Yet of all those doings of his and of the nobles who make +much of him he doth say so little, Darby." +</P> + +<P> +Debora, who was standing by the high mantel, turned towards her brother +expectantly. She said nothing, but her eyes—shadowy eyes of a blue +that was not all blue, but had a glint of green about it—her eyes +burned as though they held imprisoned a bit of living light, like the +fire in an opal. +</P> + +<P> +The young player smiled; he was looking intently into the glowing coals +and for the instant his thoughts seemed far away from the tranquil home +scene. +</P> + +<P> +There was no pose of Darby's figure which was not graceful; he was +always a picture even to those who knew him best, and it was to this +unconscious grace probably more than actual talent that his measure of +success upon the stage was due. Now as he leant forward, his elbow on +his knee, his chin on his white, almost girlish hand, the burnished +auburn love-locks shading his oval face, and matching in colour the +outward sweeping lashes of his eyes, Judith could not look away from +him the while she waited his tardy answer. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment he came out of his brown study with a little start, and +glanced over at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Judith, an' the master will give you but scant information on +those points, why should I give more? As for the playhouses where he +is constantly, now peradventure he is fore-wearied of them when once at +home, or," with a slight uplifting of his brows, "or else he think'th +them no topics for a young maid," he ended somewhat priggishly. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis ever so!" Judith answered with impatience. "Thou wilt give a +body no satisfaction either. Soul o' me! but men be all alike. If +ever I have a husband—which heaven forbid!—I shall fare to London +<I>four</I> times o' the year an' see for myself what it be like." +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to London with Darby when he doth go back again," said +Debora, speaking with quiet deliberation. Thornbury entered the room +at the moment and heard what his daughter said. The man caught at the +edge of the heavy table by which he stood, as though needing to hold by +it. He waited there, unheeded by the three around the hearth. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art joking, Deb," answered her brother after an astonished pause. +"Egad! how could'st thou fare to London?" +</P> + +<P> +"I' faith, how could I fare to London?" she said with spirit, mimicking +his tone. "An' are there no maids in London then? An' there be not, +my faith, t'were time they saw what one is like! Prithee, I have +reason to believe I could pass a marvellous pleasant month there if all +I hear be true. What say'th thou, Judith, to coming with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sweetheart," answered the girl, rising, "for all I have +protested, I would not go save my father took me. His word is my will +always, know'st thou not so? An' if it be his pleasure that I go not +to London—well then, I have no mind to go. That is just my thought of +it. But," sighing a little, "thou art wiser than I, for thou can'st +read books, an' did'st keep pace with Darby page for page, when he went +to Stratford grammar school. Furthermore, thou art given thy own way +more than I, and art so different—so vastly different—Deb." +</P> + +<P> +"Truly, yes," Debora answered. Then, flinging out her arms, and +tossing her head up with a quick, petulant gesture, "Oh, I wish, I wish +ten thousand-fold that I were a man and could be with thee, Darby. +'Tis so tame and tantalizing to be but a maid with this one to say +'Gra'mercy! Thou can'st not go <I>there</I>,' an' that one to add 'Alack! +an' alack! however cam'st thou to fancy thou could'st do so? Art void +o' wit? Beshrew me but ladies never deport themselves in such +unmannerly fashion—no, nor even think on't. There is thy little +beaten track all bordered with box—'tis precise, yet pleasant—walk +thou in it thankfully. Marry, an' thou must not gaze over the hedges +neither!'" +</P> + +<P> +A deep, sweet laugh followed her words as an echo, and a man tall and +finely built came striding over from the door where he had been +standing in shadow, an amused listener. He put his two hands on the +girl's shoulders and looked down into the beautiful, rebellious face. +</P> + +<P> +"Heigho, and heigho!" he said. "Just listen to this mutinous one, good +Master Thornbury! Here is a whirlwind in petticoats equal to my pretty +shrew who was so well tamed at the last. Marry, an' I could show them +such a brilliant bit of acting at the new Globe—such tone! such +intensity! 'twould surely inspire the Company and so lighten my work by +a hundred-fold. But, alas! while we have but lads to play the parts +that maidens should take, acting is oft a very weariness and giveth one +an ache o' the heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thou would'st not have me upon the stage, father?" said Judith, +looking at him. +</P> + +<P> +The man smiled down at her, then his face grew suddenly grave and his +hazel eyes narrowed. +</P> + +<P> +"By all the gods—No!—not <I>thee</I> sweetheart. But," his voice +changing, "but there are those I would. We must away, neighbour +Thornbury. I am due in London shortly, and need the night's rest." +</P> + +<P> +They pressed him to stay longer, but he would not tarry. So Judith +tied on her hooded cloak, and many a warm good-bye was spoken. +</P> + +<P> +The innkeeper, with Darby and Debora, stood on the threshold and +watched the two take the road to Stratford; and the sky was pranked out +with many a golden star, for the storm had blown over, and the night +winds were at peace. +</P> + +<P> +After they entered the house a silence settled over the little group. +The child Dorian slept on the cushioned settle, for he was sorely +spoilt by Debora, who would not have him go above stairs till she +carried him up herself. The girl sat down beside him now and watched +Darby, who was carving a strange head upon a stout bit of wood cut from +the tree before the door. +</P> + +<P> +"What art so busy over, lad?" asked Thornbury. His voice trembled, and +there was an unusual pallor on his face. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis but a bit of home I will take away with me, Dad. In an act of +'Romeo and Juliet,' the new play we are but rehearsing, I carry a +little cane. I am a dashing fellow, one Mercutio. I would thou +could'st see me. Well-a-day! I have just an odd fancy for this bit o' +the old tree." +</P> + +<P> +Debora rose and went over to her father. She laid one hand on his arm +and patted it gently. +</P> + +<P> +"I would go to London, Dad," she said coaxingly. "Nay, I must go to +London, Dad. I pray thee put no stumbling blocks in the way o' it—but +be kind as thou art always. See! an' thou dost let me away I will stay +but a month, a short month—but four weeks—it doth seem shorter to say +it so—an' then I'll fare home again swiftly an' bide in content. Oh! +think of it, Dad! to go to London! It is to go where one can hear the +heart of the whole world beat!" +</P> + +<P> +The old man shook his head in feeble remonstrance. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou wilt fare there an' thou hast the mind, Deb, but thou wilt never +come back an' bide in peace at One Tree Inn." +</P> + +<P> +The girl suddenly wound her arms about his neck and laid her cool sweet +face against his. When she raised it, it glistened with tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I will, Dad! I will, I will," she cried softly, then bent and caught +little Dorian up and went swiftly out of the room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H4> + +<P> +The house in London where Darby Thornbury lodged was on the southern +side of the Thames in the neighbourhood of the theatres, a part of the +city known as Bankside. The mistress of the house was one Dame +Blossom, a wholesome-looking woman who had passed her girlhood at +Shottery, and remembered Darby and Debora when they were but babies. +It was on this account, probably, that she gave to the young actor an +amount of consideration and comfort he could not have found elsewhere +in the whole of Southwark. When he returned from his holiday, bringing +his sister with him, she welcomed them with a heartiness that lacked no +tone of absolute sincerity. +</P> + +<P> +The winter had broken when the two reached London; there was even a +hint of Spring in the air, though it was but February, and the whole +world seemed to be waking after a sleep. At least that was the way it +felt to Debora Thornbury. For then began a life so rich in enjoyment, +so varied and full of new delights that she sometimes, when brushing +that heavy hair of hers before the little copper mirror in the high +room that looked away to the river, paused as in a half dream, vaguely +wondering if she were in reality the very maid who had lived so long +and quietly at the old Inn away there in the pleasant Warwickshire +country. +</P> + +<P> +Her impulsive nature responded eagerly to the rapid flow of life in the +city, and she received each fresh impression with vivid interest and +pleasure. There was a new sparkle in her changeful blue eyes, and the +colour drifted in and out of her face with every passing emotion. +</P> + +<P> +Darby also, it struck the girl, was quite different here in London. +There was an undefined something about him, a certain assurance both of +himself and the situation that she had never noticed before. Truly +they had not seen anything of each other for the past two years, but he +appeared unchanged when he came home at Christmas. A trifle more manly +looking perchance, and with a somewhat greater elegance of manner and +speech, yet in verity the same Darby as of old; here in the city it was +not so, there was a dashing way about him now, a foppishness, an +elaborate attention to every detail of fashion and custom that he had +not burdened himself with at the little half-way house. The hours he +kept moreover were very late and uncertain, and this sorely troubled +his sister. Still each morning he spoke so freely of the many +gentlemen he had been with the evening before—at the Tabard—or the +Falcon—or even the Devil's Tavern near Temple Bar—where Debora had +gazed open-eyed at the flaunting sign of St. Dunstan tweaking the devil +by the nose—indeed, all these places he mentioned so entirely as a +matter of course, that she soon ceased to worry over the hour he +returned. The names of Marlowe and Richard Burbage, Beaumont, +Fletcher, Lodge, Greene and even Dick Tarleton, became very familiar to +her, beside those of many a lesser light who was wont to shine upon the +boards. It seemed reasonable and fair that Darby should wish to pass +as much time with reputable players as possible, and moreover he was +often, he said, with Ned Shakespeare—who was playing at +Blackfriars—and the girl knew that where <I>he</I> was, the master himself +was most likely to be for shorter or longer time, for he ever shadowed +his brother's life with loving care. +</P> + +<P> +Through the day, when he was not at the theatre, Darby took his sister +abroad to see the sights. The young actor was proud to be seen with +her, and though he loved her for her own sweet sake, perhaps there was +more than a trifle of vanity mixed with the pleasure he obtained from +showing the city to one so easily charmed and entertained. +</P> + +<P> +The whispered words of admiration that caught his ear as Debora stood +beside him here and there in the public gardens and places of +amusement, were as honey to his taste. And it may be because they were +acknowledged to be so strikingly alike that it pleased his fancy to +have my lord this—and the French Count of that—the beaus and young +bloods of the town who haunted the playhouses and therefore knew the +actors well—plead with him, after having seen Debora once, to be +allowed to pay her at least some slight attention and courtesy. +</P> + +<P> +But Darby Thornbury knew his time and the men of it, and where his +little sister was concerned his actions were cool and calculating to a +degree. +</P> + +<P> +He was careful to keep her away from those places where she would +chance to meet and become acquainted with any of the players whom she +knew so well by name, and this the girl thought passing strange. +Further, he would not take her to the theatres, though in truth she +pleaded, argued, and finally lost her temper over it. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, Deb," said her brother loftily, "let me be the best judge of +where I take thee and whom thou dost meet. I have not lived in London +more than twice twelve months for naught. Thou, sweeting, art as fresh +and dew-washed as the lilac bushes under Dad's window—and as green. +Therefore, I pray thee allow me to decide these matters. Did I not +take thee to Greenwich but yesterday to view the Queen's Plaisance, as +the place is rightly named?—Methinks I can smell yet that faint scent +of roses that so pervaded the place. Egad! 'tis not every lass hath +luck enow to see the very rooms Her Majesty hath graced. Marry no! +Such tapestries and draperies laced with Spanish gold-thread! Such +ancient portraits and miniatures set on ivory! Such chairs and tables +inlaid thick with mother o' pearl and beaten silver! That feast of the +eye should last thee awhile and save thy temper from going off at a +tangent." +</P> + +<P> +Debora lifted her straight brows by way of answer, and her red curved +mouth set itself in a dangerously firm line; but Darby appeared not to +notice these warning signals and continued in more masterful tone:— +</P> + +<P> +"Moreover, I took thee to the Paris Gardens on a day when there was a +passable show, and one 'twas possible for a maid to view, yet even then +much against my will and better judgment. I have taken thee to the +notable churches and famous tombs. Thou hast seen the pike ponds and +the park and palace of the Lord Bishop of Winchester! And further, +thou hast walked with me again and again through Pimlico Garden when +the very fashion of the city was abroad. Ah! and Nonsuch House! Hast +forgotten Nonsuch House on London Bridge, and how we climbed the gilded +stairway and went up into the cupola for a fair outlook at the river? +'Tis a place to be remembered. Why, they brought it over from France +piecemeal, so 'tis said, and put it together with great wooden pegs +instead of nails. The city was sorely taxed for it all, doubtless." +He waited half a moment, apparently for some response, but as none +came, went on again: +</P> + +<P> +"As for the shops and streets, thou know'st them by heart, for there +has not been a day o' fog since we came to keep us in. Art not +satisfied, sweet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay then I am not!" she answered, with an impatient gesture. "Thou +dost know mightily well 'tis the playhouses, the playhouses I would +see!" +</P> + +<P> +"'Fore Heaven now! Did a man ever listen to such childishness!" cried +Darby. "And hast not seen them then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Marry, no!" she exclaimed, her lovely face reddening. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, by St. George! Then 'twas for naught I let thee gaze so long on +'The Swan,' and I would thou could'st just have seen thine eyes when +they ran up the red flag with the swan broidered upon it. Ay! and also +when their trumpeter blew that ear-splitting blast which is their +barbarous unmannerly fashion of calling the masses in and announcing +the play hath opened." +</P> + +<P> +The girl made no reply, but beat a soft, quick tattoo with her little +foot on the sanded floor. +</P> + +<P> +After watching her in amused silence Darby again returned to his +tantalising recital. +</P> + +<P> +"And I pointed out, as we passed it, the 'Rose Theatre' where the Lord +High Admiral's men have the boards. Fine gentlemen all, and +hail-fellow-well-met with the Earl of Pembroke's players, though they +care little for our Company. Since we have been giving Will +Shakespeare's comedies, the run of luck hath been too much with us to +make us vastly popular. Anon, I showed thee 'The Hope,' dost not +remember the red-tiled roof of it? 'Tis a private theatre, an' +marvellous comfortable, they tell me. An' thou has forgotten all +those; thou surely canst bring to mind the morning we were in +Shoreditch, how I stopped before 'The Fortune' and 'The Curtain' with +thee? 'Tis an antiquated place 'The Curtain,' but the playhouse where +Master Shakespeare first appeared, and even now well patronised, for +Ben Jonson's new comedy 'Every Man in his Humour' is running there to +full houses, an' Dick Burbage himself hath the leading part." +</P> + +<P> +He paused again, a merry light in his eyes and his lips twitching a +little. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou didst see 'The Globe' an' my memory fails me not, Deb? 'Tis our +summer theatre—where I fain we could play all year round—but that is +so far impossible as 'tis open to the sky, and a shower o' cold rain or +an impromptu sprinkling of sleet on one, in critical moments of the +play, hath disastrous effect. Come, thou surely hast not forgotten +'The Globe,' where we of the Lord High Chamberlain's Company have so +oft disported ourselves. Above the entrance there is the huge sign of +Atlas carrying his load and beneath, the words in Latin, '<I>All the +world acts a play</I>.'" +</P> + +<P> +Debora tossed her head and caught her breath quickly. "My patience is +gone with thee, since thou art minded to take me for a very fool, Darby +Thornbury," she said with short cutting inflection. "Hearts mercy! +'Tis not the outside o' the playhouses I desire to see, as thou dost +understand—'tis the inside—where Master Shakespeare is and the great +Burbage, an' Kemp, an' all o' them. Be not so unkind to thy little +sister. I would go in an' see the play—Marry an' amen! I am beside +myself to go in with thee, Darby!" +</P> + +<P> +The young actor frowned. "Nay then, Deb," he answered, "those ladies +(an' I strain a point to call them so) who enter, are usually masked. +I would not have thee of <I>them</I>. The play is but for men, like the +bear-baiting and bull-baiting places." +</P> + +<P> +"How can'st thou tell me such things," she cried, "an' so belittle the +stage? Listen now! this did I hear thee saying over and over last +night. So wonderful it was—and rarely, strangely beautiful—yet +fearful—it chilled the blood o' my heart! Still I remembered." +</P> + +<P> +Rising the girl walked to the far end of the room with slow, pretty +movement, then lifted her face, so like Darby's own—pausing as though +she listened. +</P> + +<P> +Her brother could only gaze at her as she stood thus, her plain grey +gown lying in folds about her, the sun burnishing the red-gold of her +hair; but when she began to speak he forgot all else and only for the +moment heard Juliet—the very Juliet the world's poet must have dreamed +of. +</P> + +<P> +On and on she spoke with thrilling intensity. Her voice, in its full +sweetness, never once failed or lost the words. It was the long +soliloquy of the maid of Capulet in the potion scene. After she +finished she stood quite still for a moment, then swayed a little and +covered her face with her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"It taketh my very life to speak the words so," she said slowly, "yet +the wonder of them doth carry me away from myself. But," going over to +Darby, "but, dear heart, how dost come thou art studying such a part? +'Tis just for the love of it surely!" +</P> + +<P> +The player rose and walked to the small window. He stood there quite +still and answered nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Debora laid one firm, soft hand upon his and spoke, half coaxingly, +half diffidently, altogether as though touching some difficult question. +</P> + +<P> +"Dost take the part o' Juliet, dear heart?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" he answered, with a short, hard laugh. "They have cast me for +it, without my consent. At first I was given the lines of Mercutio, +then, after all my labour over the character—an' I did not spare +myself—was called on to give it up. There has been difficulty in +finding a Juliet, for Cecil Davenant, who hath the sweetest voice for a +girl's part of any o' us, fell suddenly ill. In an evil moment 'twas +decided I might make shift to take the character, for none other in the +Company com'th so near it in voice, they say, though Ned Shakespeare +hath a pink and white face, comely enow for any girl. Beshrew me, +sweetheart—but I loathe the taking of such parts. To succeed doth +certainly bespeak some womanish beauty in one—to fail doth mar the +play. At best I must be as the Master says, 'too young to be a man, +too old to be a boy.' 'Tis but the third time I have essayed such a +role, an 't shall be the last, I swear." +</P> + +<P> +"I would I could take the part o' Juliet for thee, Darby," said the +girl, softly patting the sleeve of his velvet tabard. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art a pretty comforter," he answered, pinching her ear lightly +and trying to recover himself. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twould suit thee bravely, Deb, yet I'd rather see thee busy over a +love affair of thine own at home in Shottery. Ah, well! I'd best +whistle 'Begone dull care,' for 'twill be a good week before we give +the people the new play, though they clamour for it now. We are but +rehearsing as yet, and 'Two Gentlemen of Verona' hath the boards." +</P> + +<P> +"I would I could see the play if but for once," said Debora, clasping +her hands about his arm. "Indeed," coaxingly, "thou could'st manage to +take me an' thou did'st have the will." +</P> + +<P> +Darby knit his brows and answered nothing, yet the girl fancied he was +turning something in his mind. With a fair measure of wisdom for one +so eager she forebore questioning him further, but glanced up in his +face, which was grave and unreadable. +</P> + +<P> +Perchance when she had given up all hope of any favourable answer, he +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a way—though it pleases me not, Deb—whereby thou might be +able to see the rehearsals at least. The Company assembles at eight of +the morning, thou dost know; now I could take thee in earlier by an +entrance I wot of, at Blackfriars, a little half-hidden doorway but +seldom used—thence through my tiring-room—and so—and so—where dost +think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay! I know not," she exclaimed. "Where then, Darby?" +</P> + +<P> +"To the Royal Box!" he answered. "'Tis fair above the stage, yet a +little to the right. The curtains are always drawn closely there to +save the tinselled velvet and cloth o' gold hangings with which 't hath +lately been fitted. Now I will part these drapings ever so little, yet +enough to give thee a full sweeping view o' the stage, an' if thou +keep'st well to the back o' the box, Deb, thou wilt be as invisible to +us as though Queen Mab had cast her charmed cloak about thee. Egad! +there be men amongst the High Chamberlain's Players I would not have +discover thee for many reasons, my little sister," he ended, watching +her face. +</P> + +<P> +For half a moment the girl's lips quivered, then her eyes gathered two +great tears which rolled heavily down and lay glittering on her grey +kirtle. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis ever like this with me!" she exclaimed, dashing her hand across +her eyes, "whenever I get what I have longed and longed for. First +com'th a ball i' my throat, then a queer trembling, an' I all but cry. +'Tis vastly silly is't not, but 'tis just by reason o' being a girl one +doth act so." Then eagerly, "Thou would'st not fool me, Darby, or +change thy mind? Thou art in earnest? Swear it! Cross thy heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! I am in earnest," he replied, smiling; "in very truth thou shalt +see thy brother turn love-sick maid and mince giddily about in +petticoats. I warrant thou'lt be poppy-red, though thou art hidden +behind the gold curtains, just to hear the noble Romeo vow me such +desperate lover's vows." +</P> + +<P> +"By St. George, Deb! we have a Romeo who might turn any maid's heart +and head. He is a handsome, admirable fellow, Sherwood, and hath a way +with him most fascinating. He doth act even at rehearsals as though +'twere all most deadly passionate reality, and this with only me for +inspiration. I oft' fancy what 'twould be—his love-making—an' he had +a proper Juliet—one such as thou would'st make, for instance." +</P> + +<P> +"I will have eyes only for thee, Darby," answered Debora, softly, "but +for thee, an', yes, for Master Will Shakespeare, should he be by." +</P> + +<P> +"He is often about the theatre, sweet, but hath no part in this new +play. No sooner hath he one written, than another is under his pen; +and I am told that even now he hath been reading lines from a wonderful +strange history concerning a Jew of Venice, to a party of his +friends—Ben Jonson and Dick Burbage, and more than likely Lord +Brooke—who gather nightly at 'The Mermaid,' where, thou dost remember, +Master Shakespeare usually stays." +</P> + +<P> +"I forget nothing thou dost tell me of him," said the girl, as she +turned to leave the room. "O wilt take me with thee on the morrow, +Darby? Wilt really take me?——" +</P> + +<P> +"On the morrow," he answered, watching her away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H4> + +<P> +Thus it fell that each morning for one heavenly week Debora Thornbury +found herself safely hidden away in what was called by courtesy "The +Royal Box." In truth her Majesty had never honoured it, but commanded +the players to journey down to Greenwich when it was her whim to see +their performances. Now, in 1597, the Queen had grown too world-weary +to care much for such pastimes, and rarely had any London entertainment +at Court, save a concert by her choir boys from St. Paul's—for these +lads with their ofttimes beautiful faces, and their fine voices, she +loved and indulged in many ways. +</P> + +<P> +At first Debora felt strangely alone after Darby left her in the little +compartment above the stage at Blackfriars. Lingering about it was a +passing sweet odour, for the silken cushions were stuffed with fragrant +grasses from the West Indies, and the hand-railings and footstools were +of carven sandalwood. Mingled with these heavy perfumes was the scent +of tobacco, since the young nobles who usually filled the box indulged +much in the new weed. +</P> + +<P> +The girl would lean back against the seat in this dim, richly coloured +place, and give her mind up to a perfect enjoyment of the moment. +</P> + +<P> +From her tiny aperture in the curtains, skilfully arranged by Darby, +she could easily see the stage—all but the east wing—and, +furthermore, had a fair view of the two-story circular building. +</P> + +<P> +How gay it must be, she thought, when filled in gallery and pit with a +merry company! How bright and glittering when all the great cressets +and clusters of candles were alight! How charming to feel free to come +and go here as one would, and not have to be conveyed in by private +doorways like a bale of smuggled goods! +</P> + +<P> +Then she would dream of olden times, when the sable friars went in and +out of the old Dominican friary that stood upon the very place where +the theatre was now built. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas marvellous strange," she thought, "that it should be a playhouse +that was erected on this ground that used to be a place of prayer." +</P> + +<P> +So the time would pass till the actors assembled. They were a jovial, +swaggering, happy-go-lucky lot, and it took all their Master-player's +patience to bring them into straight and steady work. But when the +play once began each one followed his part with keen enthusiasm, for +there was no half-hearted man amongst the number. +</P> + +<P> +Debora watched each actor, listened for each word and cue the prompter +gave them with an absorbed intensity she was scarcely conscious of. +</P> + +<P> +She soon discovered that play-goers were not greatly beguiled through +the eye, for the stage-settings changed but little, and the details of +a scene were simplified by leaving them to the imagination. Neither +did the music furnished by a few sad-looking musicians who appeared to +have been entrapped in a small balcony above the stage appeal to her, +for it was a thing the least said about the soonest mended. +</P> + +<P> +The actors wore no especial dress or makeup during these rehearsals, +save Darby, and he to grow better accustomed to such garments as +befitted the maid of Capulet, disported himself throughout in a +cumbersome flowing gown of white corduroy that at times clung about him +as might a winding sheet, and again dragged behind like a melancholy +flag of truce. Yet with the auburn love-locks shading his fair oval +face, now clean shaven and tinted like a girl's, and his clear-toned +voice, even Debora admitted, he was not so far amiss in the role. +</P> + +<P> +What struck her most from the moment he came upon the stage was his +wonderful likeness to herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I' faith," she half whispered, "did I not know that Deb Thornbury were +here—an' I have to pinch my arm to make that real—I should have no +shadow of a doubt but that Deb Thornbury were there, a player with the +rest, though I never could make so sad a tangle of any gown however bad +its cut—an' no woman e'er cut that one. Darby doth lose himself in it +as if 'twere a maze, and yet withal doth, so far, the part fair +justice." +</P> + +<P> +When Don Sherwood came upon the boards the girl's eyes grew brilliant +and dark. Darby had but spoken truth regarding this man's fascinating +personality. He was a strong, straight-limbed fellow, and his face was +such as it pleased the people to watch, though it was not of perfect +cast nor strictly beautiful; but he was happy in possessing a certain +magnetism which was the one thing needful. +</P> + +<P> +Yet it was not to manner or stage presence that Sherwood owed his +success, but rather to his voice, for there was no other could compare +to it in the Lord Chamberlain's Company. Truly the gods had been good +to this player—for first of all their gifts is such a golden-toned +voice as he had brought into this world of sorry discords. Never had +Debora listened to anything like it as it thrilled the stillness of the +empty house with the passionate words of Romeo. +</P> + +<P> +She followed the tragedy intensely from one scene to another till the +ending that stirs all tender hearts to tears. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-062"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-062.jpg" ALT="She followed the tragedy intensely" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +She followed the tragedy intensely +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +The lines of the different characters seemed branded upon her brain, +and she remembered them without effort and knew them quite by heart. +Sometimes Darby, struggling with the distressing complications of his +detested dress, would hesitate over some word or break a sentence, +thereby marring the perfect beauty of it, and while Sherwood would +smile and shrug his shoulders lightly as though as to say, "Have I not +enough to put up with, that thou art what thou art, but thou must +need'st bungle the words!" Then would Debora clench her hands and tap +her little foot against the soft rugs. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I would I had but the chance to speak his lines," she said to +herself at such times. "Prithee 'twould be in different fashion! 'Tis +not his fault, in sooth, for no living man could quite understand or +say the words as they should be said, but none the less it doth sorely +try my patience." +</P> + +<P> +So the enchanted hours passed and none came to disturb the girl, or +discover her till the last morning, which was Saturday. The rehearsal +had ended, and Debora was waiting for Darby. The theatre looked gray +and deserted. At the back of the stage the great velvet traverses +through which the actors made their exits and entrances, hung in dark +folds, sombre as the folds of a pall. A chill struck to her heart, for +she seemed to be the only living thing in the building, and Darby did +not come. +</P> + +<P> +She grew at last undecided whether to wait longer or risk going across +the river, and so home alone, when a quick step came echoing along the +passage that led to the box. In a moment a man had gathered back the +hangings and entered. He started when he saw the slight figure +standing in the uncertain light, then took a step towards her. +</P> + +<P> +The girl did not move but looked up into his face with an expression of +quick, glad recognition, then she leaned a little towards him and +smiled. "Romeo!" she exclaimed softly. "Romeo!" and as though +compelled to it by some strange impulse, followed his name with the +question that has so much of pathos, "Wherefore," she said, "Wherefore +art thou Romeo?" +</P> + +<P> +The man laughed a little as he let the curtains drop behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, an' I be Romeo," he answered in that rare voice of his, full and +sweet as a golden bell, "then who art thou? Art not Juliet? Nay, +pardon me, mademoiselle," his tone changing, "I know whom thou art +beyond question, by thy likeness to Thornbury. 'Fore Heaven! 'tis a +very singular likeness, and thou must be, in truth, his sister. I +would ask your grace for coming in with such scant announcement. I +thought the box empty. The young Duke of Nottingham lost a jewelled +pin here yestere'en—or fancied so—and sent word to me to have the +place searched. Ah! there it is glittering above you in the tassel to +the right." +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen naught but the stage," she said, "and now await my +brother. Peradventure he did wrong to bring me here, but I so desired +to see the play that I persuaded and teased him withal till he could no +longer deny me. 'Twas not over-pleasant being hidden i' the box, but +'twas the only way Darby would hear of. Moreover," with a little proud +gesture, "I have the greater interest in this new tragedy that I be +well acquainted with Master William Shakespeare himself." +</P> + +<P> +"That is to be fortunate indeed," Sherwood answered, looking into her +eyes, "and I fancy thou could'st have but little difficulty in +persuading a man to anything. I hold small blame for Thornbury." +</P> + +<P> +Debora laughed merrily. "'Tis a pretty speech," she said, "an' of a +fine London flavour." Then uneasily, "I would my brother came; 'tis +marvellous unlike him to leave me so." +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell thee somewhat," said Sherwood, after a moment's thought. +"A party o' the players went off to 'The Castle Inn'—'tis hard by—an' +I believe their intention was to drink success to the play. Possibly +they will make short work and drink it in one bumper, but I cannot be +sure—they may drink it in more." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis not like my brother to tarry thus," the girl answered. "I wonder +at him greatly." +</P> + +<P> +"Trouble nothing over it," said Sherwood; "indeed, he went against his +will; they were an uproarious lot o' roisterers, and carried him off +willy-nilly, fairly by main force, now I think on't. Perchance thou +would'st rather I left thee alone, mademoiselle?" he ended, as by +afterthought. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twould be more seemly," she answered, the colour rising in her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I do protest to that," said the man quickly. "And <I>I</I> found thee +out—here alone—why, marry, so might <I>another</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"An' why not another as well?" Debora replied, lifting her brows; "an' +why not another full as well as thee, good Sir Romeo? There is no harm +in a maid being here. But I would that Darby came," she added. +</P> + +<P> +"We will give him license of five minutes longer," he returned. "Come +tell me, what dost think o' the play?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis a very wonder," said Debora; "more beautiful each time I see it." +Then irrelevantly, "Dost really fancy in me so great a likeness to my +brother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art like him truly, and yet no more like him than I am +like—well, say the apothecary, though 'tis not a good instance." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! the poor apothecary!" she cried, laughing. "Prithee, hath he been +starved to fit the part? Surely never before saw I one so altogether +made of bones." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" said Sherwood. "He is a very herring. I wot heaven forecasted +we should need such a man, an' made him so." +</P> + +<P> +"Think'st thou that?" she said absently. "O heart o' me! Why doth +Darby tarry. Perchance some accident may have happened him or he hath +fallen ill! Dost think so?" +</P> + +<P> +The player gave a short laugh, but looked as suddenly grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not vex thyself with such imaginings, sweet mistress Thornbury. He +hath not come to grief, I give thee my word for it. There is no youth +that know'th London better than that same brother o' thine, an' I do +not fear that he is ill." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, then, I will not wait here longer," she returned, starting. "I +can take care o' myself an' it be London ten times over. 'Tis a simple +matter to cross in the ferry to Southwark on the one we so oft have +taken; the ferry-man knoweth me already, an' I fear nothing. Moreover, +many maids go to and fro alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou shalt not," he said. "Wait till I see if the coast be clear. By +the Saints! 'twill do Thornbury no harm to find thee gone. He doth +need a lesson," ended the man in a lower tone, striding down the narrow +passage-way that led to the green-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," he said, returning after a few moments, "we have the place to +ourselves, and there is not a soul between Blackfriars an' the river +house, I believe, save an old stage carpenter, a fellow short o' wit, +but so over-fond of the theatre he scarce ever leaves it. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +As the girl stepped eagerly forward to join him, Sherwood entered the +box again. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," on second thought—"wait. Before we go, I pray thee, tell me +thy name." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis Debora," she said softly; "just Debora." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" he answered, in a tone she had heard him use in the play—passing +tender and passionate. "Well, it suiteth me not; the rest may call +thee Debora, an' they will—but I, I have a fancy to think of thee by +another title, one sweeter a thousand-fold!" So leaning towards her +and looking into her face with compelling eyes that brought hers up to +them, "Dost not see, an' my name be Romeo, thine must be——?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay then," she cried, "I will not hear, I will not hear; let me pass, +I pray thee." +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon, mademoiselle," returned the player with grave, quick courtesy, +and holding back the curtain, "I would not risk thy displeasure." +</P> + +<P> +They went out together down the little twisted hall into the green-room +where the dried rushes that strewed the floor crackled beneath their +feet; through the empty tiring rooms, past the old half-mad stage +carpenter, who smiled and nodded at them, and so by the hidden door out +into the pale early spring sunshine. Then down the steep stairs to +Blackfriars Landing where the ferryman took them over the river. They +did not say a word to each other, and the girl watched with +unfathomable eyes the little curling line of flashing water the boat +left behind, though it may be she did not see it. As for Sherwood, he +watched only her face with the crisp rings of gold-red hair blown about +it from out the border of her fur-edged hood. He had forgotten +altogether a promise given to dine with some good fellows at Dick +Tarleton's ordinary, and only knew that there was a velvety sea-scented +wind blowing up the river wild and free; that the sky was of such a +wondrous blue as he had never seen before; that across from him in the +old weather-worn ferry was a maid whose face was the one thing worth +looking at in all the world. +</P> + +<P> +When the boat bumped against the slippery landing, the player sprang +ashore and gave Debora his hand that she might not miss the step. +There was a little amused smile in his eyes at her long silence, but he +would not help her break it. +</P> + +<P> +Together they went up and through the park where buds on tree and bush +were showing creamy white through the brown, and underfoot the grass +hinted of coming green. Then along the Southwark common past the +theatres. Upon all the road Sherwood was watchful lest they should run +across some of his company. +</P> + +<P> +To be seen alone and at mid-day with a new beauty was to court endless +questions and much bantering. +</P> + +<P> +For some reason Thornbury had been silent regarding his sister, and the +man felt no more willing to publish his chance meeting with Debora. +</P> + +<P> +He glanced often at her as though eager for some word or look, but she +gave him neither. Her lips were pressed firmly together, for she was +struggling with many feelings, one of which was anger against Darby. +So she held her lovely head high and went along with feverish haste. +</P> + +<P> +When they came to the house, which was home now out of all the others +in London, she gave a sweeping glance at the high windows lest at one +might be discovered the round, good-tempered, yet curious face of Dame +Blossom. But the tiny panes winked down quite blankly and her return +seemed to be unnoticed. +</P> + +<P> +Running up the steps she lifted her hand to the quaint knocker of the +door, turned, and looked down at the man standing on the walk. +</P> + +<P> +"I give thee many thanks, Sir Romeo," said the girl; "thou hast in +verity been a most chivalrous knight to a maiden in distress. I give +thee thanks, an' if thou art ever minded to travel to Shottery my +father will be glad to have thee stop at One Tree Inn." Then she +raised the knocker, a rap of which would bring the bustling Dame. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly the man sprang up the steps and laid his hand beneath it, so +that, though it fell, there should be no sound. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, wait," he said, in a low, intense voice. "London is wide and the +times are busy; therefore I have no will to leave it to chance when I +shall see thee again. Fate has been marvellous kind to-day, but 'tis +not always so with fate, as peradventure thou hast some time +discovered." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" she answered, gently, "Ay! Sir Romeo. Thou art right, fate is +not always kind. Yet 'tis best to leave most things to its +disposal—at least so it doth seem to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Egad!" said Sherwood, with a short laugh, "'tis a way that may serve +well enow for maids but not for men. Tell me, when may I see thee? +To-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"A thousand times no!" Debora cried, quickly. "To-night," with a +little nod of her head, "to-night I have somewhat to settle with Darby." +</P> + +<P> +"He hath my sympathy," said Sherwood. "Then on the morrow?——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, nay, I know not. That is the Sabbath; players be but for +week-days." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Monday? I beseech thee, make it no later than Monday, and thou +dost wish to keep me in fairly reasonable mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Monday, an' it please the fate thou has maligned," she answered, +smiling. Noticing that the firm, brown hand was withdrawn a few inches +from the place it had held on the panelling of the door, the girl gave +a mischievous little smile and let the knocker fall. It made a loud +echoing through the empty hall, and the player raised his laced +black-velvet cap, gave Debora so low a bow that the silver-gray plume +in it swept the ground, and, before the heavy-footed Mistress Blossom +made her appearance, was on his way swiftly towards London Bridge. +</P> + +<P> +Debora went up the narrow stairs with eyes ashine, and a smile curving +her lips. For the moment Darby was forgotten. When she closed the +chamber door she remembered. +</P> + +<P> +It was past high noon, and Dame Blossom had been waiting in impatience +since eleven to serve dinner. Yet the girl would not now dine alone, +but stood by the gabled window which looked down on the road, watching, +watching, and thinking, till it almost seemed that another morning had +passed. +</P> + +<P> +Along Southwark thoroughfare through the day went people from all +classes, groups of richly-dressed gentlemen, beruffled and befeathered; +their laces and their hair perfuming the wind. Officers of the Queen +booted and spurred; sober Puritans, long-jowled and over-sallow, living +protests against frivolity and light-heartedness. Portly aldermen, +jealous of their dignity. Swarthy foreigners with silver rings +swinging in their ears. Sun-browned sailors. Tankard-bearers carrying +along with their supply of fresh drinking water the cream of the hour's +gossip. Keepers of the watch with lanterns trimmed for the night's +burning adangle from oaken poles braced across their shoulders. Little +maidens whose long gowns cut after the fashion of their mothers, +fretted their dancing feet. Ruddy-hued little lads, turning Catherine +wheels for the very joy of being alive, and because the winter time was +over and the wine of spring had gone to the young heads. +</P> + +<P> +Debora stood and watched the passing of the people till she wearied of +them, and her ears ached with sounds of the street. +</P> + +<P> +Something had gone away from the girl, some carelessness, some content +of the heart, and in its place had come a restlessness, as deep, as +impossible to quiet, as the restlessness of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +After a time Mistress Blossom knocked at the door, and coaxed her to go +below. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no sight o' the young Master, Mistress Debora. Marry, but he +be over late, an' the jugged hare I made ready for his pleasuring is +fair wasted. Dost think he'll return here to dine or hast gone to the +Tabard?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know not," answered Debora, shortly, following the woman down +stairs. "He gave me no hint of his intentions, good Mistress Blossom." +</P> + +<P> +"Ods fish!" returned the other, "but that be not mannerly. Still thou +need'st not spoil a sweet appetite by tarrying for him. Take thee a +taste o' the cowslip cordial, an' a bit o' devilled ham. 'Tis a +toothsome dish, an' piping hot." +</P> + +<P> +"I give thee thanks," said Debora, absently. Some question turned +itself over in her mind and gave her no peace. Looking up at the busy +Dame she spoke in a sudden impulsive fashion. +</P> + +<P> +"Hath my brother—hath my brother been oft so late? Hath he always +kept such uncertain hours by night—and day also—I mean?" she ended +falteringly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sometimes. Now and again as 'twere—but not often. There be gay +young gentlemen about London-town, and Master Darby hath with him a +ready wit an' a charm o' manner that maketh him rare good company. I +doubt his friends be not overwilling to let him away home early," said +the woman in troubled tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Hath——he ever come in not—not—quite himself, Mistress Blossom? +'Tis but a passing fancy an' I hate to question thee, yet I must know," +said the girl, her face whitening. +</P> + +<P> +"Why then, nothing to speak of," Mistress Blossom replied, bustling +about the table, with eyes averted. "See then, Miss Debora, take some +o' the Devonshire cream an' one o' the little Banbury cakes with +it—there be caraways through them. No? Marry, where be thy appetite? +Thou hast no fancy for aught. Try a taste of the conserved cherries, +they be white hearts from a Shottery orchard. Trouble not thy pretty +self. Men be all alike, sweet, an' not worth a salt tear. Even +Blossom cometh home now an' again in a manner not to be spoken of! Ods +pitikins! I be thankful to have him make the house in any form, an' +not fall i' the clutch o' the watch! They be right glad of the chance +to clap a man i' the stocks where he can make a finish o' the day as a +target for all the stale jests an' unsavoury missiles of every scurvy +rascal o' the streets. But, Heaven be praised!—'tis not often Blossom +breaks out—just once in a blue moon—after a bit of rare good or bad +luck." +</P> + +<P> +Debora took no heed but stared ahead with wide, unhappy eyes. The old +blue plates on the table, the pewter jugs and platters grew strangely +indistinct. Then 'twas true! So had she fancied it might be. He had +been drinking—drinking. Carousing with the fast, unmannerly youths +who haunted the club-houses and inns. Dicing, without doubt, and +gambling at cards also peradventure, when she thought he was passing +the time in good fellowship with the worthy players from the Lord +Chamberlain's Company. +</P> + +<P> +"He hath never come home <I>so</I> by day, surely, good Mistress Blossom? +Not by day?" she asked desperately. +</P> + +<P> +"Well—truly—not many times, dearie. But hark'e. Master Darby is one +who cannot touch a glass o' any liquor but it flies straightway to his +brains; oft hath he told me so, ay! often and over often; 'I am not to +blame for this, Blossom,' hath he said to my goodman when he worked +over him—cold water and rubbing, Mistress Debora—no more, no less. +'Nay, verily—'tis just my luck, one draught an' I be under the table, +leaving the other men bolt upright till they've swallowed full three +bottles apiece!" +</P> + +<P> +Debora dropped her face in her hands and rocked a little back an' +forth. "'Tis worse than I thought!" she cried, looking up drawn and +white. "Oh! I have a fear that 'tis worse—far, far worse. I have +little doubt half his money comes from play an' betting, ay! an' at +stakes on the bear-baiting, an'—an'—anything else o' wickedness there +be left in London—while we at home have thought 'twas earned +honestly." As she spoke a heavy rapping sounded down the hall, loud, +uneven, yet prolonged. +</P> + +<P> +Mistress Blossom went to answer it quickly, and Debora followed, her +limbs trembling and all strength seeming to slip away from her. +Lifting the latch the woman flung the outer door open and Darby +Thornbury lurched in, falling clumsily against his sister, who +straightened her slight figure and hardly wavered with the shock, for +her strength had come swiftly back with the sight of him. +</P> + +<P> +The man who lay in the hall in such a miserable heap, had scarce any +reminder in him of Darby Thornbury, the dainty young gallant whose +laces were always the freshest, and whose ruffs and doublets never bore +a mark of wear. Now his long cordovan boots were mud-stained and +crumpled about the ankles. His broidered cuffs and collar were +wrenched out of all shape. But worse and far more terrible was his +face, for its beauty was gone as though a blight had passed across it. +He was flushed a purplish red, and his eyes were bloodshot, while above +one was a bruised swelling that fairly closed the lid. He tried to get +on his feet, and in a manner succeeded. +</P> + +<P> +"By St. George, Deb!" he exclaimed in wrath, "I swear thou 'r a fine +sister to take f' outing. I was a double-dyed fool e'er to bring thee +t' London. Why couldn't y' wait f' fellow? When I go f' y'—y' not +there." +</P> + +<P> +Then he smiled in maudlin fashion and altered his tone. "Egad! I'm +proud o' thee, Deb, thou art a very beauty. All the bloods i' town ar' +mad to meet thee—th' give me no peace." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Mistress Blossom," cried Debora, clasping her hands, "can we not +take him above stairs and so to bed? Dear, dear Mistress Blossom, +silence him, I pray thee, or my heart will break." +</P> + +<P> +"Be thee quiet, Master Darby, lad," said the woman, persuasively. +"Wait, then, an' talk no more. I'll fetch Blossom; he'll fix thee into +proper shape, I warrant. 'Tis more thy misfortune than thy fault. +Yes, yes, I know thou be sore upset—but why did'st not steer clear o' +temptation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Temp-ation, Odso! 'tis a marvellous good word," put in Thornbury. +"Any man'd walk a chalk—line—if he could steer clear o' temptation." +So, in a state of verbose contrition, was he borne away to his chamber +by the sympathetic Blossom, who had a fellow-feeling for the lad that +made him wondrous kind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H4> + +<P> +All Saturday night Debora waited by her window—the one that looked +across the commonland to the Thames. The girl could not face what +might be ahead. Darby—her Darby—her father's delight. Their +handsome boy come to such a pass. "'Twas nothing more than being a +common drunkard. One whom the watch might have arrested in the Queen's +name for breaking the peace," she said to herself. "Oh! the horror of +it, the shame!" In the dark of her room her face burned. +</P> + +<P> +Never had such a fear come to her for Darby till to-day. When was it? +Who raised the doubt of him in her mind? Yes, she remembered; 'twas a +look—a strange look—a half smile, satirical, pitying, that passed +over the player Sherwood's face when he spoke of Darby's being +persuaded to drink with the others. In a flash at that moment the fear +had come, though she would not give it room then. It was a dangerous +life, this life in the city, and she knew now what that expression in +the actor's eyes had meant; realised now the full import of it. So. +It was all summed up in what she had witnessed to-day. But if they +knew—if Master Shakespeare and James Burbage knew—these responsible +men of the Company—how did they come to trust Darby with such parts as +he had long played. What reliance could be placed upon him? +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, then, 'twas a thing not known save by the few. He had not yet +become common gossip. Oh! he must be saved from himself—he must be +saved from himself," she said, wildly, and then fell to crying. +Resting her face, blanched and tear-washed, on the window ledge, she +gazed across the peaceful openland that was silvered by the late moon. +Truly such a landscape might one see in a dream. Away yonder over the +river was the city, its minarets and domes pointing to the purple, +shadowless sky, where a few scattered stars made golden twinkling. "In +London," she had said to her father, "one could hear the world's heart +beat." It seemed to come to her—that sound—far +off—muffled—mysterious—on the wings of the night wind. Away in +Stratford it would be dark and quiet now, save where the Avon dappled +with moonlight hurried high between its banks on its way to the +sea—and it would be dark and quiet in Shottery. The lights all out at +One Tree Inn, all but the great stable lantern, that swayed to and fro +till morning, as a beacon for belated travellers. How long—how very, +very long ago it seemed since she had unhooked it and gone off down the +snowy road to meet the coach. Ah! yes, Nicholas Berwick had caught up +with her, and they came home together. Nicholas Berwick! He was a +rarely good friend, Nick Berwick, and 'twas sweet and peaceful away +there in Shottery. She had not known this pain in her heart for Darby +when she was at home, no, nor this restless craving for the morrow, +this unhappy waiting that had stolen all joy away. Nay then, 'twas not +so. There in the little room a gladness came over the girl such as had +never touched her short, happy life before. A long, fluttering sigh +crossed her lips, and they smiled. The troubled thoughts for Darby +drifted away, and a voice came to her passing in sweetness all voices +that ever she had heard or dreamt of. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow?" it said. "Nay, I will not leave it to Fate." And again +with steady insistence—"Then Monday?" The words sung themselves over +and over till her white eyelids drooped and she slept. And the gray +dawn came creeping up the world, while in the eastern sky it was as +though an angel of God had plucked a red rose of heaven and scattered +its leaves abroad. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H4> + +<P> +When Debora awoke, the sunlight was flooding the chilly room, and on +the frosty air sounded a chiming of church bells. A confusion of +thoughts stormed her mind as she sprang up and found herself dressed +and by the window. Her eyes ached as eyes will that have wept +overnight, and her heart was heavy. Still it was not her way to think +long; so she bathed in fair water till her face got back its shell-pink +tints. She put on the white taffeta kirtle and farthingale that was +always kept for Sunday, and fastened a fluted ruff about her throat. +When all was finished, her hair coiled freshly and puffed at the sides +as Darby would have it dressed to follow the new fashion; when her +shoes, with their great silver buckles and red heels, were laced and +tied, and when the frills at her wrist were settled, she looked in the +mirror and felt better. It was not possible to view such a vision, +knowing that it was one's self, without taking comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"Things be past their worst surely," she said. "An' I have no heart in +me this morning to give Darby a harsh word. Marry! men take not kindly +to upbraiding, and hate a shrew at best o' times. So will I talk to +him in sweeter fashion, but in a tone that will be harder to endure +than any scolding." +</P> + +<P> +She went down the hall and stopped at her brother's door. No faintest +sound came from the room, so she entered and looked about. On the huge +four-post bed, from which the funereal-looking curtains were drawn +back, lay Darby, in a slumber deep and unrefreshing. Now and again a +heavy sigh broke from his lips. His bright locks were tossed and +ruffled about his face, and that was dead white, save for the violet +rings beneath the eyes and the unabated swelling on his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a doleful sight," said Debora, gazing down at him, her spirits +sinking, "a woful, doleful sight! Ods pitikins! 'tis worse than I +thought. What a pass 't has come to that this should be Darby +Thornbury. Heart o' me!" a flickering sarcastic little smile going +over her face, "Heart o' me, but here be a pretty Juliet!" Then she +grew grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Juliet!" verily it would not be possible! That part was out of the +question for Darby, at least on the morrow. The bruise on his brow +settled it, for the eye beneath was fairly closed. +</P> + +<P> +Alack! alack! she thought, how ever would things fall out at +Blackfriars? What of the new play that had already been put off some +months and had cost the Company heavily in new dresses, new scenery, +even new actors? Oh! was ever such a coil? 'Twould be the lad's +undoing upon the London stage. No Master-player would e'er trust him +with part or place again. +</P> + +<P> +Debora stood by the bed foot, still and sad, a thousand wild thoughts +and questions tangling themselves in her brain. Should she away to +Master Shakespeare, who had but just returned to London for the opening +day? He was at the Mermaid Inn, and peradventure 'twas best to tell +him all. She grew faint at the thought. Had not Judith told her what +a very fever of unrest possessed her father before one of these new +plays was shown! Debora fancied she could see his sensitive face, with +the eyes so wise and kindly, change and grow cold and forbidding as the +tale was unfolded. +</P> + +<P> +"Then what is left to do?" she said, desperately. "What is left to do? +The play must be saved, Darby must be saved, his reputation, his +standing among the players cannot be lost thus." Oh! for some one to +turn to—to advise. Oh! for Nick Berwick and his fair cool judgment. +Should she report at the theatre that her brother was ill? No, for he +had been seen with a merry party drinking at the Castle Tavern on +Saturday. If this outbreak could be tided over 'twould be his last, +she thought, passionately, her woman's faith coming to the rescue. +Some way she must find to save him. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly an idea took possession of the girl and it faded the colour from +her cheeks, and set a light in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Debora Thornbury! Ay! there was one could play the part of Juliet." +The very life seemed to go out of her at the thought, and she slipped +down to the floor and buried her face in the coverlet. Slowly the cold +room, the great four-poster, the uneasy sleeper all faded away, and she +was alone upon a high balcony in the stillness of a moonlit garden. +The tree tops were silver-frosted by the light, and the night was sweet +with a perfume from the roses below. She was not Debora Thornbury, but +Juliet, the little daughter of the Capulets. The name of her lover was +on her lips and a strange happiness filled her soul. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly rising she went to a heavy press that stood against the wall, +swung back the door, and sought out a suit of her brother's. It was of +Kendal green cloth, faced about the doublet with tan-coloured leather. +The long, soft boots were of the same, and the wide-brimmed hat bore a +cluster of white plumes and a buckle of brilliants, while a small lace +handkerchief was tucked into the band, after a fashion followed by +gentlemen of the court. Opening the door beneath the press the girl +selected cuffs and collar wrought in pointed lace. +</P> + +<P> +"In very truth," she said, with a little bitter smile. "Darby +Thornbury hath a pretty taste, an' must have coined many rose-nobles in +London—or won them. He hath certainly spent them, for never saw I +such store o' finery! Here be two velvet tabards slashed and puffed +with satin; and a short cloak o' russet silk laid upon with Flemish +lace fit for a prince! 'Truth what with his clocked hose, an' scented +gloves with stitchery o' silver thread on the backs methinks he hath +turned to a very dandy." +</P> + +<P> +Gathering the garments she desired together across her arm, she went +again to the bed, and looked down, her eyes growing tender. "I fear me +'tis an unmaidenly thing to even dream o' doing, but if 'tis done, 'tis +done for thee, dear heart, albeit without thy consent or Dad's. There +will be scant risk o' discovery—we be too much alike. People have +wearied us both prating of the likeness. Now 'twill serve; just two or +three nights' masquerade for me an' thou wilt be thyself again." +Stooping, she kissed the bruised face and went away. +</P> + +<P> +In her own room Debora made quick work of changing her dress. It was +an awkward business, for the doublet and green tabard seemed fairly +possessed to go contrariwise; the hose were unmanageable, and the +cordovan long boots needed stuffing at the toes. Here and there upon +the suit was broidered the Lord Chamberlain's coat of arms in gold +thread, and when all was finished Deb looked at herself and felt she +was a gorgeous and satisfying sight. "Marry! but men be fond o' fine +feathers," she thought, studying her reflection. +</P> + +<P> +Then, letting down the coils of auburn hair, she drew the glittering +strands through her fingers. "I would it might just be tucked up—it +pleasures one little to cut it off. Beshrew me! If I so resemble +Darby with such a cloud o' hair about me, what will I be like when 'tis +trimmed to match his?" Taking the shears she deliberately severed it +to the very length of her brother's. The love-locks curled around her +oval face in the self-same charming way. +</P> + +<P> +"My heart! 'tis all most vastly becoming," she exclaimed, fastening the +pointed collar. "I liked thee as a girl, Deb, but I love thee, nay, I +dote on thee as a lad! Now must I stride an' speak in mannish fashion +('tis well there go'th a long cloak with the suit, for on that I rely +to hearten my courage); also I bethink me 'twould be wise to use some +strong flavoursome words to garnish my plain speech. By Saint George! +now, or Gad Zooks! Heart's mercy! stay'th the hat so? or so? Alack! +my courage seem'th to ooze from my boot-heels. Steady, true heart, +steady! Nay then, I cannot do it. I will not do it—it look'th a very +horror to me. Oh! my poor, pretty hair; my poor, pretty hair!" +</P> + +<A NAME="img-098"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-098.jpg" ALT=""I like thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad"" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +"I like thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad" +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +On a sudden the girl was down on the floor, and the long locks were +caught together and passionately held against her lips. But it was +only for a moment. When the storm was over she rose and dashed the +mist of it from her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"What must be, must be! I cannot think on any other plan. I would +there were an understudy, but there be none. So must I take the part +for Darby—and for Master William Shakespeare." +</P> + +<P> +So saying, Debora went below to the room where the table was laid for +breakfast, walking along the hall with a firm step, for her mind was +made up and she was never one to do things by halves. +</P> + +<P> +Taking her brother's place she knocked briskly on the little gong and +waited. Master Blossom started to answer the summons in a slow-footed, +ponderous way peculiar to him, yawning audibly at intervals upon the +way. +</P> + +<P> +The Sabbath morn was one whereon good folk should sleep long, and not +look to be waited on early, according to him. Dame Blossom herself was +but just astir, and lodgers were at best but an inconsiderate lot. +Cogitating on these things he entered the room, then stood stock still +as though petrified, his light blue eyes vacant with astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +The dainty figure at the table swinging one arm idly over its chair +back made no sign, unless the impatient tapping of a fashionable +boot-toe upon the sanded floor might be taken for one. +</P> + +<P> +"Ods fish!" exclaimed Blossom, moving heavily a few steps nearer. "I' +fecks! but thee art a very dai-asy, young Maister! Dost mind how 'A +put 'e to bed? Thou'st pulled tha' self together marvellous, all +things considered! +</P> + +<P> +"Marry, where be tha' black eye? 'twere swelled big as a ribstone +pippin!" +</P> + +<P> +"Beefsteak," answered Deb, laconically. "Beefsteak, my lively Blossom. +Tie a piece on tight next time thou hast an eye like mine—an' see what +thou shalt see." +</P> + +<P> +"But where gottest thou the beefsteak?" +</P> + +<P> +"Egad! where does any one get it? Don't stand there chattering like a +magpie, but bring me my breakfast. This head I have doth not feel like +the head o' Darby Thornbury. 'Tis nigh to breaking. Fetch me my +breakfast and give over staring at a man. See'st aught odd enough +about me to make thee go daft?" +</P> + +<P> +"I' fecks! 'tis the first time 'A ever heard thee call so loud for +breakfast after such a bout as thine o' yestere'en! I wonder thou hast +stomach for 't. Howbeit, 'tis thine own affair." +</P> + +<P> +The girl bit her lip. "Nay," she said with cool accent, "I may have +small appetite for it—but, as thou say'st, 'tis mine own affair." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou need'st good advice more than breakfast, young Maister," said +Blossom, solemnly. "Thy sister was in a way, 'A tell thee. Thou art +become a roisterer, a drinker an' a gambler that lives but to hear the +clink o' gold against the table. Ay! Such a devil-may-care gambler, +an' thou had'st a beard an' no money thou would'st stake that o'er the +dice. Being these things, an' a player o' plays, marry! 'A see no +fair end ahead o' thee." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! get thee away an' send thy good wife—thou dost make my nerves +spin with thy prating. Get thee away," said Deb, petulantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Zounds! but thou art full like thyself in speech. Too much wine i' +thy stomach one day makes a monstrous uncivil tongue i' thy head next." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay then! I ask thy pardon, Blossom," cried the girl, laughing, and +holding out a crown piece she had discovered in a pocket of the +doublet, "thou art a friend I have no will to offend. Now send thy +good Dame." +</P> + +<P> +Shortly Mistress Blossom came bustling in, rosy in the face from +bending over an open fire. She carried high in one hand a platter from +which drifted a savoury smell, and a steaming flagon was in the other. +Setting these down she smoothed her voluminous skirt and stood waiting, +an expression of severe displeasure hardening her face. +</P> + +<P> +"A goodly day to you, and a fresh morning, mistress," Deb said +shortly—"I pray thee shut the door—an' see it be latched." +</P> + +<P> +The woman did so without speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Now look at me well. Come"—smiling—"did'st ever see me more like +myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," replied the Dame, after a slow scrutiny of the charming figure. +"In looks thou art well enow. An' thy manners matched, 'twere cause +for rejoicing. Thou wer't a disgrace yestere'en to thy sister, ay! an' +to the hamlet o' Shottery that saw thee raised." +</P> + +<P> +"Make a finish, good Dame," answered Deb, mockingly; "say a disgrace to +myself an' the company o' players I have the honour of belonging to." +</P> + +<P> +"Hoity-toity! Play actors!" quoth the other. "Little care I for what +disgrace thou be'st to them! But what o' thy broken head, lad? Hath +it sore pained thee? Why, my faith, the swelling be quite gone!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl gave way to a short peal of laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Marry! I laugh," she said, struggling for composure, "yet feel little +like it. Look well again, Mistress Blossom. Look well. Surely there +be small triumph in befooling thee, for thou art too easy hoodwinked +withal. Gaze steady now. Dost still say 'tis Darby Thornbury?" +</P> + +<P> +The woman stared while her complexion went from peony red to pale pink. +"Thou giv'st me a turn, an' I be like to swoon," she gasped. "What +prank has't afoot, lad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thou wilt go a bit farther before thou dost faint. Hark then, an' +prythee hold by the table an' thou turn'st giddy. Now doth it come. +See then, this handsome, well-favoured youth thou art breakfasting," +rising and making a pretty bow, "is—is none other than <I>Deb +Thornbury</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ods pitikins!" cried the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down," answered Deb, growing sober. "I would talk with thee, for +I need thy good-will and, peradventure, thy help. Things with my +brother are in a very coil. He will not be able to take his part i' +the new play on the morrow. His face is too sorely marred. Beshrew +me, he looks not one half as much like himself as I look like him. Now +there be no understudy i' the cast for the character Darby hath +taken—further, 'tis an all important one. To have him away would mean +confusion and trouble to Blackfriars and I gainsay nothing rejoicing to +the Admiral's Company and Lord Pembroke's men. 'Tis not to be +contemplated. By the Saints! I would not have trouble come to Master +Will Shakespeare through my brother, no, not for the crown jewels! +Dost follow me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, that I do not nor what thou'rt coming at," was the dazed response. +</P> + +<P> +Debora shrugged her shoulders. "I hoped 't would have dawned on thee. +Why, 'tis just this, I will play the part myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou?" cried Dame Blossom, agape. "Thou, Mistress Debora?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! yes! Nay, ply me not with questions. My mind is set. There be +not one in London who will discover me, an' thou dost not break faith, +or let thy good man scent aught on the wind. But I wanted to tell +thee, dear Mistress Blossom, and have thy good word. Pray thee say I +am not doing wrong, or making any error. I have been so bewildered." +</P> + +<P> +"I will not say thou art i' the right, for I know not. Has't asked +Master Darby's consent?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl turned impatiently. "Heart o' me! but thou art able to +provoke one. His consent!" with a short laugh. "Nay then—but I will +show him his face i' the mirror, an' on sight of it he will leave +things for me to settle." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" the dame returned, blankly, "I warrant he will. But art not +afeared o' the people? What if they should discover thou art a +<I>woman</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll say they are of quicker wit than one I could name," returned +Debora. "As for the play—well, I know the play by heart. Now one +thing more. I would have thee go with me to Blackfriars. The theatre +opens at four o'clock. Say thou wilt bear me company dear, dear +Mistress Blossom. Say thou wilt." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay then, I will <I>not</I>. Ods fish! Thou hast gotten thyself in this +an' thou can'st get out alone. I will keep a quiet tongue, but ask me +to do naught beside." +</P> + +<P> +"Well-a-day! 'Tis as I thought. Now I will go and dress in maidenly +clothes. These fearsome things be not needed till the morrow." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H4> + +<P> +By Monday noon Darby Thornbury was unable to lift his head from the +pillow by reason of its aching. He remembered nothing about receiving +the blow over his eye, and talked little. Dame Blossom and Debora +tended him faithfully, keeping Master Blossom away from a true +knowledge of affairs. Debora would have had a physician, but Darby +would not listen to it. +</P> + +<P> +"I will have no leeching, blood-letting nor evil-smelling draughts," he +cried, irritably; "no poultices nor plasters neither! I have misery +enough without adding to it, Egad!" +</P> + +<P> +Being brought to this pass and having seen his face in the mirror, he +bade Debora find the Master-player of the Company and make what excuse +she could for him. +</P> + +<P> +"I be a thrice-dyed fool, Deb," he said with a groan. "Work is over +for me in London. I'll ship to the Indies, or America, an' make an +ending." Then starting up—"Oh! Deb, could naught be done with me so +that I could play this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know not, dear heart," she answered gently, "perchance thy looks +might not count an' thou wer't able to act. Art better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, worse!" he said, falling back. "My head maddens me! An' not a +word o' the lines sticks i' my memory." So he raved on, fiercely +upbraiding himself and wearying Debora. After a time she slipped on +her hooded cloak, bade him good-bye, and went out. Returning, she told +Darby that he could take courage, for a substitute had been found in +his place. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask no questions, dear heart. Nay—an' trouble no more, but rest. +Thou wilt be on the boards by Wednesday, an' thy luck is good." +</P> + +<P> +"Dost think so, sweet?" he asked, weakly. "An' will the mark be gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, nearly," she answered; "an' if it still be a little blue, we will +paint it. In any case, thine eye will be open, which it is not now." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art a very angel, Deb, an' I am a brute. I know not where they +got one to take my part—an' Marry! I seem not to care. Never will I +drink aught but water. Nay, then, thou shalt not go. Stay by me till +I sleep, for there be queer lights before my eyes, an' I see thee +through them. Thou art so beautiful, Deb, so beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +She waited till he slept, sometimes smiling to herself in a wise way. +What children men were when they were ill, she thought. Even Dad would +not let her out of his sight when the rheumatism crippled him all last +winter. Why, once Nick Berwick came in with a sprained wrist, and +naught would be but Deb must bathe and bind it. Nick Berwick! he was +so strong and tall and straight. A sigh broke over her lips as she +rose and went away to her room. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later Debora came down the stairs dressed in the suit of +Kendal green. Dame Blossom met her in the hallway. +</P> + +<P> +"Dost keep to thy mad plan, Mistress Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +"Truly," answered the girl. "See, I will be back by sundown. Have no +fear for me, the tiring-room hath a latch, an' none know me for myself. +Keep thy counsel an' take care o' Darby." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<SPAN STYLE="letter-spacing: 4em">*****</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +Blackfriars was filled that March afternoon. The narrow windows in the +upper gallery had all been darkened, and the house was lit by a +thousand lights that twinkled down on eager faces turned towards the +stage. Even then at the edge of the rush-strewn boards was a line of +stools, which had been taken at a rose-noble apiece by some score of +young gallants. +</P> + +<P> +Those who watched the passing of the Master's new romance remembered it +while life was in them. Many told their children's children of the +marvel of it in the years that followed. +</P> + +<P> +"There was a maid i' the play that day," said a man, long after, "whom +they told me was no maid, but a lad. The name was written so on the +great coloured bill i' the play-house entrance. 'Marry! an' he be not +a maid,' said I, ''tis little matter.' He played the part o' Juliet, +not as play-acting, but reality. After the curtain was rung down the +people stole away in quiet, but their tongues loosened when they got +beyond the theatre, for by night the lad was the talk o' London. +</P> + +<P> +"So it went the next day, an' the next, I being there to see, an' fair +fascinated by it. Master Will Shakespeare was noticed i' the house the +third evening for the first time, though peradventure he had been with +the Company behind the scenes, or overhead in the musicians' balcony. +Howbeit, when he was discovered there was such a thunder o' voices +calling his name that the walls o' the play-house fairly rocked. +</P> + +<P> +"So he came out before the curtain and bowed in the courtly way he hath +ever had. His dress was all of black, the doublet o' black satin +shining with silver thread, an' the little cloak from his shoulders o' +black velvet. He wore, moreover, a mighty ruff fastened with a great +pearl, which, I heard whispered, was one the Queen herself had sent +him. Report doth says he wears black always, black or sober grays, in +memory o' a little lad of his—who died. Well-a-day; I know not if 't +be true, but I do know that as he stood there alone upon the stage a +quiet fell over the theatre till one could hear one's own heart beat. +He spoke with a voice not over-steady, yet far-reaching and sweet and +clear, an', if my memory hath not played me false, 'twas this he said:— +</P> + +<P> +"'Good citizens, you who are friendly to all true players of whatever +Company they be, I give you thanks, and as a full heart hath ever few +words, perchance 'tis left me but to say again and again, I give you +thanks. Yet to the gentlemen of my Lord Chamberlain's Company I owe +much, for they have played so rarely well, the story hath indeed so +gained at their hands, I have dared to hope it will live on. +</P> + +<P> +"''Tis but a beautiful dream crystallised, but may it not, +peradventure, be seen again by other people of other times, when we, +the players of this little hour, have long grown weary and gone to +rest; and when England is kindlier to her actors and reads better the +lessons of the stage than now. When England—friends of mine—is older +and wiser, for older and wiser she will surely grow, though no +dearer—no dearer, God wots—than to-day.' +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" said he who told of this, "in such manner—though perchance I +have garbled the words—he spoke—Will Shakespeare—in the old theatre +of Blackfriars, and for us who listened 'twas enough to see him and +know he was of ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +Behind the scenes there was much wonderment over the strangely clever +acting of Darby Thornbury. Two players guessed the truth; another knew +also. This was a man, one Nicholas Berwick. +</P> + +<P> +He stood down by the leathern screenings of the entrance, and three +afternoons he was there, his face white as the face of the dead, his +eyes burning with an inward fire. He watched the stage with mask-like +face, and his great form gave no way though the throng pressed and +jostled him. Now and again it would be whispered that he was a little +mad. If he heard, he heeded nothing. To him it was as though the end +of all things had been reached. +</P> + +<P> +He saw Debora, only Debora. She was there for all those curious eyes +to gaze upon, an' this in absolute defiance of every manner and custom +of the times. Slowly it came to Berwick's mind, distraught and +tortured, that she was playing in Darby's stead, and with some good +reason. "That matters not," he thought. "If it be discovered there +will be no stilling o' wicked tongues, nor quieting o' Shottery +gossip." As for himself, he had no doubt of her. She was his +sovereign lady, who could do no wrong, even masquerading thus. But a +very terror for her possessed him. Seeming not to listen, he yet heard +what the people said in intervals of the play. They were quick to +discover the genius of the young actor they called Thornbury, and +commented freely upon his wonderful interpretation of lines; but, well +as he was known by sight, not a word—a hint, nor an innuendo was +spoken to throw a doubt on his identity. Debora's resemblance to him +was too perfect, the flowing, heavy garments too completely hid the +girlish figure. Further, her accent was Darby's own, even the trick of +gesture and smile were his; only the marvel of genius was in one and +not in the other. +</P> + +<P> +What the girl's reasons could be for such desperate violation of custom +Berwick could not divine, yet while groping blindly for them, with +stifled pain in his heart and wild longing to take her away from it +all, he gave her his good faith. +</P> + +<P> +Just after sundown, when the play was ended, the man would watch the +small side door the actors alone used. Well he knew the figure in the +Kendal green suit. Debora must have changed her costume swiftly, for +she was among the first to leave the theatre, and twice escaped without +being detained by any. On the third evening Berwick saw her followed +by two actors. +</P> + +<P> +"Well met, Thornbury!" they called. "Thou hast given us the slip often +enough, and further, Master Shakespeare himself was looking for thee as +we came out. Hold up, we be going by the ferry also and are bound to +have thee for company. 'Fore Heaven, thou art a man o' parts!" +</P> + +<P> +Debora halted, swinging half round toward them with a little laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Hasten, then," she said. "I have an appointment. Your lines be +lighter than mine, in good sooth, or your voices would need resting." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou hast been a very wonder, Thornbury," cried the first. "Talking +of voices, what syrup doth use, lad? Never heard I tones more smooth +than thine. Thou an' Sherwood together! Egad! 'Twas most singular +an' beautiful in effect. Thy modulation was perfect, no wretched +cracking nor breaking i' the pathetic portions as we be trained to +expect. My voice, now! it hath a fashion of splitting into a thousand +fragments an' I try to bridle it." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis all i' the training," responded Debora, shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"Beshrew me!" said the other; "if 'tis not pity to turn thee back into +these clothes, Thornbury. By Saint George! yes—thou dost make too +fine a woman." +</P> + +<P> +Berwick clenched his hands as he followed hard behind. The players +decided to cross by London Bridge, as the ferries were over-crowded, +and still the man kept his watch. Reaching Southwark, the three +separated, Debora going on alone. As she came toward Master Blossom's +house a man passed Berwick, whom he knew at a glance to be the actor +Sherwood. He was not one to be easily forgotten, and upon Nicholas +Berwick's memory his features were fixed indelibly; the remembrance of +his voice was a torture. Fragments of the passionate, immortal lines, +as this man had spoken them at Blackfriars, went through his mind +endlessly. +</P> + +<P> +Now Sherwood caught up to the boyish figure as it ran up the steps of +the house. +</P> + +<P> +Berwick waited in shadow near by, but they gave him no heed. He saw +the girl turn with a smile that illumined her face. The actor lifted +his hat and stood bareheaded looking upward. He spoke with eager +intensity. Berwick caught the expression of his eyes, and in fancy +heard the very words. +</P> + +<P> +Debora shook her head in a wilful fashion of her own, but, bending +down, held out her hand. Sherwood raised it to his lips—and—but the +lonely watcher saw no more, for he turned away through the twilight. +</P> + +<P> +"The play is ended for thee, Nick Berwick," he said, half aloud. "The +play is ended; the curtain dropped. Ay—an' the lights be out." He +paced toward the heart of the city, and in the eastern sky, that was of +that rare colour that is neither blue nor green, but both blended, a +golden star swung, while in the west a line of rose touched the gray +above. A benediction seemed to have fallen over the world at the end +of the turbulent day. But to Nicholas Berwick there was peace neither +in the heavens nor the earth. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H4> + +<P> +Debora went to her own room swiftly that third evening, and, turning +the key, stood with her two hands pressed tight above her heart. "'Tis +over," she said—"'tis over, an' well over. Now to tell Darby. I' +faith, I know not rightly who I am. Nay, then, I am just Deb +Thornbury, not Darby, nor Juliet, for evermore. Oh! what said he at +the steps? 'I know thee, I have known thee from the first. See, thou +art mine, thou art mine, I tell thee, Juliet, Juliet!'" +</P> + +<P> +Then the girl laughed, a happy little laugh. "Was ever man so +imperative? Nay, was ever such a one in the wide, wide world?" +</P> + +<P> +Remembering her dress, she unfastened it with haste and put on the +kirtle of white taffeta. +</P> + +<P> +The thought of Sherwood possessed her; his face, the wonderful golden +voice of him. The words he had said to her—to her only—in the play. +</P> + +<P> +Of the theatre crowded to the doors, of the stage where the Lord +Chamberlain's Company made their exits and entrances, of herself—chief +amongst them—she thought nothing. Those things had gone like a dream. +She saw only a man standing bareheaded before the little house of Dame +Blossom. "I know thee," he had said, looking into her eyes. "Thou art +mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Verily, yes—or will be no other's," she had answered him; "and as for +Fate, it hath been over-kind." So, with her mind on these thoughts, +she went to Darby's room. +</P> + +<P> +He was standing idly by the window, and wheeled about as the girl +knocked and entered. +</P> + +<P> +"How look I now, Deb?" he cried. "Come to the light. Nay, 'tis hardly +enough to see by, but dost think I will pass muster on the morrow? I +am weary o' being mewed up like a cat in a bag." +</P> + +<P> +Debora fixed her eyes on him soberly, not speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"What is't now?" he said, impatiently. "What art staring at? Thine +eyes be like saucers." +</P> + +<P> +"I be wondering what thou wilt say an' I tell thee somewhat," she +answered, softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Out with it then. Thou hast seen Berwick, I wager. I heard he was to +be in town; he hath followed thee, Deb, an'—well, pretty one—things +are settled between thee at last?" +</P> + +<P> +"Verily, no!" she cried, her face colouring, "an' thou canst not better +that guessing, thou hadst best not try again." +</P> + +<P> +"No? Then what's to do, little sister?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dost remember I told thee they had found one to take thy part at +Blackfriars?" +</P> + +<P> +"Egad, yes, that thought has been i' my head ever since. 'Fore Heaven, +I would some one sent me word who 'twas. I ache for news. Hast heard +who 'twas, Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas I," she answered, the pink going from her face. "'Twas I, +Debora!" +</P> + +<P> +The young fellow caught at the window ledge and looked at her steadily +without a word. Then he broke into a strange laugh. Taking the girl +by the shoulder he swung her to the fading light. +</P> + +<P> +"What dost mean?" he said, hoarsely. "Tell me the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"I' faith, that is the truth," she answered, quietly. "The only truth. +There was no other way I could think of—and I had the lines by heart. +None knew me. All thought 'twas thee, Darby. See, see! when I was +fair encased in that Kendal green suit o' thine, why even Dad could not +have told 'twas not thy very self! We must be strangely alike o' face, +dear heart—though mayhap our souls be different." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay!" he exclaimed, "'tis past belief that thou should'st take my +part! My brain whirls to think on't. I saw thee yesternight—the day +before—this noon-day—an' thou wert as unruffled as a fresh-blown +rose. Naught was wrong with thy colour, and neither by word or sign +did'st give me an inkling of such mad doings! 'Gad!—if 'tis true it +goes far to prove that a woman can seem most simple when she is most +subtle. An' yet—though I like it not, Deb—I know not what to say to +thee. 'Twas a venturous, mettlesome thing to do—an' worse—'twas +vastly risky. We be not so alike—I cannot see it." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I, <I>always</I>," she said, with a shrug, "but others do. Have no +fear of discovery, one only knows beside Dame Blossom, and they will +keep faith. Neither fear for thy reputation. The people gave me much +applause, though I played not for that." +</P> + +<P> +Darby threw himself into a chair and dropped his face in his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is't that knows?" he asked, half-roughly, after a pause. "Who +is't, Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +"He who played Romeo," she said, in low tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Sherwood?" exclaimed Darby. "Don Sherwood! I might have guessed." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" replied the girl. "He only, I have reason to believe." A +silence fell between them, while the young fellow restlessly crossed to +the window again. Debora went to him and laid her hand upon his +shoulder, as was her way. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou wilt not go thy own road again, Darby?" she said, coaxingly. +"Perchance 'tis hard to live straightly here in London—still promise +me thou wilt not let the ways o' the city warp thy true heart. See, +then, what I did was done for thee; mayhap 'twas wrong—thou know'st +'twas fearsome, an' can ne'er be done again." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twill not be needed again, Deb," he answered, and his voice trembled. +"Nay, I will go no more my own way, but thy way, and Dad's. Dost +believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" she said, smiling, though her lashes were wet, "Dad's way, for +'tis a good way, a far better one than any thy wilful, wayward little +sister could show thee." +</P> + +<P> +Out of doors the velvety darkness deepened. Somewhere, up above, a +night-hawk called now and again its harsh, yet plaintive, note. A +light wind, bearing the smell of coming rain and fresh breaking earth, +blew in, spring-like and sweet, yet sharp. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Debora spoke, half hesitatingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I would thou wert minded to tell me somewhat," she started, "somewhat +o' Sherwood, the player. Hath he—hath he the good opinion o' Master +Will Shakespeare—now?" +</P> + +<P> +"In truth, yes," returned the actor. "And of the whole profession. It +seems," smiling a little, "it seems thou dost take Master Shakespeare's +word o' a man as final. He stand'th in thy good graces or fall'th out +o' them by that, eh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, peradventure, 'tis so," she admitted, pursing up her lips. "But +Master Don Sherwood—tell me——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! as for him," broke in Darby, welcoming any subject that turned +thought from himself, "he is a rare good fellow, is Sherwood, though +that be not his real name, sweet. 'Tis not often a man makes change of +his name on the handbills, but 'tis done now and again." +</P> + +<P> +"It doth seem an over-strange fashion," said Debora, "an' one that must +surely have a reason back o' it. What, then, is Master Sherwood called +when he be rightly named?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now let me think," returned Darby, frowning, "the sound of it hath +slipped me. Nay, I have it—Don—Don, ah! Dorien North. There 'tis, +and the fore part is the same as the little lad's at home, an uncommon +title, yet smooth to the tongue. Don Sherwood is probably one Dorien +Sherwood North, an' that too sounds well. He hath a rare voice. It +play'th upon a man strangely, and there be tones in it that bring tears +when one would not have them. Thou should'st hear him sing Ben +Jonson's song! 'Rare Ben Jonson,' as some fellow hath written him +below a verse o' his, carved over the blackwood mantel at the Devil's +tavern. Thou should'st hear Sherwood sing, 'Drink to me only with +thine eyes.' I' faith! he carries one's soul away! Ah! Deb," he +ended, "I am having a struggle to keep my mind free from that escapade +o' thine. Jove! an' I thought any other recognised thee!" +</P> + +<P> +"None other did, I'll gainsay," Debora answered, in a strangely quiet +way; "an' he only because he found me that day i' the Royal Box—so +long ago. What was't thou did'st call him, Darby? Don Sherwood? Nay, +Dorien North. Dorien North!" +</P> + +<P> +Her hand, which had been holding Darby's sleeve, slipped away from it, +and with a little cry she fell against the window ledge and so to the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +Darby hardly realised for a moment that she had fainted. When she did +not move he stooped and lifted her quickly, his heart beating fast with +fear. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Deb!" he cried. "What is't? Heaven's mercy! She hath swooned. +Nay, then, not quite; there, then, open thine eyes again. Thou hast +been forewearied, an' with reason. Art thyself now?" as his sister +looked up and strove to rise. +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever came over thee, sweet? Try not to walk. I will lift thee to +the bed an' call Dame Blossom. Marry! what queer things women be." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! truly," she answered, faintly, steadying herself against him. +"Ay! vastly queer. Nay, I will not go to the bed, but will sit in your +chair." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art white as linen," anxiously. "May I leave thee to call the +Dame? I fear me lest thou go off again." +</P> + +<P> +"Fear naught o' that," said Deb, with a little curl of her lips. "An' +call Mistress Blossom an' thou wilt, but 'tis nothing; there—dear +heart, I will be well anon. Hast not some jaunt for to-night? I would +not keep thee, Darby." +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis naught but the players' meeting-night at The Mermaid. It hath no +great charm for me, and I will cry it off on thy account." +</P> + +<P> +"That thou wilt not," she said, with spirit, a bit of pink coming to +her face with the effort. "I can trust thee, an' thou must go. 'Twill +ne'er do to have one an' another say,—'Now, where be Darby Thornbury?' +There might be some suspicions fly about an' they met thee not." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou hast a wise head. 'Twould not do,—and I have a game o' bluff to +carry on that thou hast started. Thou little heroine!" kissing her +hand. "What pluck thou did'st have! What cool pluck. Egad!" +ruefully, "I almost wish thou had'st not had so much. 'Twas a +desperate game, and I pray the saints make me equal to the finish." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas desperate need to play it," she answered, wearily. "Go, then, I +would see Mistress Blossom." +</P> + +<P> +Thornbury stood, half hesitating, turned, and went out. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twill ever be so with him," said the girl. "He lov'th me—but he +lov'th Darby Thornbury better." +</P> + +<P> +Then she hid her face. "Oh! heart o' me! I cannot bear it, I cannot +bear it—'tis too much. I will go away to Shottery to-morrow. I mind +me what Dad said, an' 't has come to be truth. 'Thou wilt never bide +in peace at One Tree Inn again.' Peace!" she said, with bitter accent. +"Peace! I think there be no peace in the world; or else 't hath passed +me by." +</P> + +<P> +Resting her chin on her hand, she sat thinking in the shadowy room. +Darby had lit a candle on the high mantel, and her sombre eyes rested +on the yellow circle of light. +</P> + +<P> +"Who was't I saw 'n the road as I came out o' Blackfriars? Who +was't—now let me think. I paid no more heed than though I had seen +him in a dream, yet 'twas some one from home—Now I mind me! 'Twas +Nicholas Berwick. His eyes burned in his white face. He stared +straightway at me an' made no sign. An' so he was in the theatre also. +Then he <I>knew</I>! Poor Nick! poor Nick!" she said, with a heavy sigh. +"He loved me, or he hath belied himself many times; an' I! I thought +little on't." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Mistress Blossom," as the door opened. "Is't thou? Come over +beside me." As the good Dame came close, the girl threw her arms about +her neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sweet lamb!" exclaimed the woman. "What hath happened thee? +Whatever hath happened thee?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is one to do when the whole world go'th wrong?" cried Debora. +"Oh! gaze not so at me, I be not dazed or distraught. Oh! dear +Mistress Blossom, I care not to live to be as old as thou art. I am +forewearied o' life." +</P> + +<P> +"Weary o' life! an' at thy time! My faith, thou hast not turned +one-and-twenty! Why, then, Mistress Debora, I be eight-an'-forty, yet +count that not old by many a year." +</P> + +<P> +Deb gave a tired little gesture. "Every one to their fancy—to me the +world and all in it is a twice-told tale. I would not have more o' +it—by choice." She rose and turned her face down toward the good +Dame. "An' one come to ask for me—a—a player, one Master Sherwood of +the Lord Chamberlain's Company—could'st thou—would'st thou bid him +wait below i' the small parlour till I come?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, truly," answered the woman, brightening. "Thou art heartily +welcome to receive him there, Mistress Debora." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank thee kindly. He hath business with me, but will not tarry long." +</P> + +<P> +"I warrant many a grand gentleman would envy him that business," said +the Dame, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +Debora gave a little laugh—short and hard. Her eyes, of a blue that +was almost black, shone like stars. +</P> + +<P> +"Dost think so?" she said. "Nay, then, thou art a flatterer. I will +to my room. My hair is roughened, is't not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art rarely beautiful as thou art; there be little rings o' curls +about thy ears. I would not do aught to them. Thy face hath no +colour, yet ne'er saw I thee more comely." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that is well," she answered. "That giveth my faint heart +courage, an' marry! 'tis what I need. I would not look woe-begone, or +of a cast-down countenance, not I! but would bear me bravely, an' there +be cause. Go thou now, good Mistress Blossom; the faintness hath quite +passed." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed but a moment before Debora heard the Dame's voice again at +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"He hath come," she said, in far-reaching whisper fraught with burden +of unrelieved curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"He doth wait below, Mistress Deb. Beshrew me! but he is as goodly a +gentleman as any i' London! His doublet is brocaded an' o'er brave +with silver lacings, an' he wear'th a fluted ruff like the quality at +Court. Moreover, he hold'th himself like a very Prince." +</P> + +<P> +"Doth he now?" said Debora, going down the hallway. "Why, then he hath +fair captivated thee. Thou, at thy age! Well-a-day! What think'st o' +his voice," she asked, pausing at the head of the stairs. "What +think'st o' his voice, Mistress Blossom?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that 'twould be fine an' easy for him to persuade one to his way +o' thinking with it—even against their will," answered the woman, +smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! good Dame, I agree not with thee in that," said Debora. "I think +he hath bewitched thee, i' faith." So saying, she went below, opened +the little parlour door, and entered. +</P> + +<P> +Sherwood was standing in the centre of the room, which was but dimly +lit by the high candles. Deb did not speak till she had gone to a +window facing the deserted common-land, pulled back the curtains and +caught them fast. A flood of white moonlight washed through the place +and made it bright. +</P> + +<P> +The player seemed to realise there was something strange about the +girl, for he stood quite still, watching her quick yet deliberate +movement anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +As she came toward him from the window he held out his hands. +"Sweetheart!" he said, unsteadily. "Sweetheart!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," she answered, with a little shake of her head and clasping her +hands behind. "Not thine." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" he cried, passionately, "thou art—all mine. Thine eyes, so +truthful, so wondrous; the gold-flecked waves of thine hair; the white +o' thy throat that doth dazzle me; the sweetness of thy lips; the +little hands behind thee." +</P> + +<P> +"So," said the girl, with a catch of the breath, "so thou dost say, but +'tis not true. As for my body, such as it is, it is my own." +</P> + +<P> +Sherwood leaned toward her, his eyes dark and luminous. "'Fore Heaven, +thou art wrong," he said. "Thou dost belong to me." +</P> + +<P> +"What o' my soul?" she asked, softly. "What o' my soul, Sir Romeo? Is +that thine, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," he answered, looking into her face, white from some inward +rebellion. "Nay, then, sweetheart, for I think that is God's." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, thou hast left me nothing," she cried, moving away. +"Oh!"—throwing out her hands—"hark thee, Master Sherwood. 'Tis a far +cry since thou did'st leave me by the steps at sundown. A far, far +cry. The world hath had time to change. I did not know thee then. +Now I do." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I love thee," he answered, not understanding. "I love thee, thou +dost know that surely. Come, tell me. What else dost know, +sweetheart? See! I am but what thou would'st have—bid me by what +thou wilt. I will serve thee in any way thou dost desire. I have +given my life to thee—and by it I swear again thou art mine." +</P> + +<P> +"That I am not," she said, standing before him still and unyielding. +"Look at me—look well!" +</P> + +<P> +The man bent down and looked steadfastly into the girl's tragic face. +It was coldly inflexible, and wore the faint shadow of a smile—a smile +such as the lips of the dead sometimes wear, as though they knew all +things, having unriddled life's problem. +</P> + +<P> +"Debora!" he cried. "Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed, a little rippling laugh that broke and ended. "Nay, thou +traitor—that I will not tell thee—but go—go!" +</P> + +<P> +The player stood a moment irresolute, then caught her wrists and held +them. His face had turned hard and coldly grave as her own. Some look +in his eyes frightened her. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis a coil," he said, "and Fate doth work against me. Yet verily +'tis a coil I will unravel. I am not easily worsted, but in the end +bend things to my will. An' thou wilt not tell me what stands i' my +road, I will discover it for myself. As for the Judas name thou hast +called me—it fits me not. Should'st thou desire to tell me so thyself +at any time—to take it back—send me but a word. So I go." +</P> + +<P> +The long, swift steps sounded down the hall; there was the opening and +shutting of a door, and afterward silence. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H4> + +<P> +The night wore on and the moonlight faded. The stars shone large and +bright; the sound of people passing on the street grew less and less. +Now and then a party of belated students or merry-makers came by, +singing a round or madrigal. A melancholy night-jar called incessantly +over the house-tops. As the clocks tolled one, there was a sound of +rapid wheels along the road and a coach stopped before goodman +Blossom's. +</P> + +<P> +Young Thornbury leaped from it, and with his heavy knocking roused the +man, who came stumbling sleepily down the hallway. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! pray thee, make haste, Blossom," called the young fellow; "keep me +not waiting." Then, as the door flew open, "My sister!" he said, +pushing by, "is she still up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gra'mercy! Thou dost worrit sober folk till they be like to lose +their wits! Thy sister should be long abed—an' thou too. Thou art +become a pranked-out coxcomb with all thy foppery—a coxcomb an' a +devil-may-care roysterer with thy blackened eyes—thy dice-playing an' +thy coming in o' midnight i' coaches!" +</P> + +<P> +Darby strode past, unheeding; at the stairs Debora met him. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou art dressed," he said, hoarsely. "Well, fetch thy furred cloak; +the night turns cold. Lose no moment—but hasten!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" she cried. "Oh! what now hath gone amiss?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell thee i' the road; tarry not to question me." +</P> + +<P> +It was scarcely a moment before the coach rolled away again. Nothing +was said till they came to London Bridge. The flickering links flashed +by them as they passed. A sea-scented wind blew freshly over the river +and the tide was rising fast. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no heart for more trouble," said the girl, tremulously. "Oh! +tell me, Darby, an' keep me not waiting. Where go'th the coach? What +hath happened? Whatever hath happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just this," he said, shortly. "Nicholas Berwick hath been stabbed by +one he differed with at 'The Mermaid.' He is at the point o' death, +an' would not die easy till he saw thee." +</P> + +<P> +"Nick Berwick? Say'th thou so—at the point o' death? Nay, dear +heart, it cannot be. I will not believe it—he will not die,—he is +too great and strong—'tis not so grievous as that," cried Deb. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis worse, we think. He will be gone by daybreak. He may be gone +now. See! the horses have turned into Cheapside. We will soon be +there." +</P> + +<P> +"What was the cause?" the girl asked, faintly. "Tell me how he came by +the blow." +</P> + +<P> +There was no sound for a while but the whirling of wheels and the +ringing of the horses' feet over cobble-stones. +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell thee, though 'tis not easy for either thou nor I. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas the players' night at 'The Mermaid,' and there was a lot of us +gathered. Marry! Ben Jonson and Master Shakespeare, Beaumont and +Keene. I need not give thee names, for there were men from 'The Rose' +playhouse and 'The Swan.' 'Twas a gay company and a rare. Ay! +Sherwood was there for half an hour, though he was overgrave and +distraught, it seemed to me. They would have him sing 'Drink to me +only with thine eyes.' 'Fore Heaven, I will remember it till I die." +</P> + +<P> +"Nick Berwick," she said. "Oh! what of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! he was there; he came in with Master Will Shakespeare, and he sat +aside—not speaking to any, watching and listening. He was there when +the party had thinned out, still silent. I mind his face, 'twas white +as death at a feast. Not half an hour ago—an' there were but ten of +us left—a man—one from 'The Rose,' they told me—I knew him not by +sight—leaped to a chair and, with a goblet filled and held high, +called out to the rest— +</P> + +<P> +"'Come,' he cried above the noise of our voices. 'Come, another toast! +Come, merry gentlemen, each a foot on the table! I drink to a new +beauty. For as I live 'twas no man, but a maid, who was on the boards +at Blackfriars i' the new play, and the name o' her——'" +</P> + +<P> +The girl caught her breath—"Darby!—Darby!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, he said no more, sweet; for Nick Berwick caught him and swung him +to the floor." +</P> + +<P> +"'Thou dost lie!' he cried. 'Take back thy words before I make thee.' +While he spoke he shook the fellow violently, then on a sudden loosened +his hold. As he did so, the player drew a poniard from its sheath at +his hip, sprang forward, and struck Berwick full i' the throat. That +is all," Thornbury said, his voice dropping, "save that he asked +incessantly for thee, Deb, ere he fainted." +</P> + +<P> +The coach stopped before a house where the lights burned brightly. +Opening the door they entered a low, long room with rafters and +wainscoting of dark wood. In the centre of it was a huge table, in +disorder of flagons and dishes. The place was blue with smoke, and +overheated, for a fire yet burned in the great fireplace. On a settle +lay a man, his throat heavily bound with linen, and by him was a +physician of much fame in London, and one who had notable skill in +surgery. +</P> + +<P> +Debora went swiftly toward them with outstretched hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Nick! Nick!" she said, with a little half-stifled cry. "Oh! +Nick, is't thou?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, 'twas like thee to come," he answered, eagerly, raising up on his +elbow. "'Twill make it easier for me, Deb—an' I go. Come nearer, +come close." +</P> + +<P> +The physician lowered him gently back and spoke with soft sternness. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a care, good gentleman," he said. "We have stopped the bleeding, +and would not have it break out afresh. Thy life depends upon thy +stillness." So saying, he withdrew a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! move not, Nick," said the girl, slipping to the floor beside him +and leaning against the oaken seat; "neither move nor speak. I will +keep watch beside thee. But why did'st deny it or say aught? 'Twould +have been better that the whole o' London knew than this! Nay, answer +me not," she continued, fearfully; "thou may not speak or lift a +finger." +</P> + +<P> +Berwick smiled faintly, "Ah! sweet," he said, pausing between the +words, "I would not have thy name on every tongue—but would silence +them all—an' I had lives enough. Yet thou wert in truth upon the +stage at Blackfriars—in Will Shakespeare's play—though I denied it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Deb, softly, "but 'twas of necessity. We will think no +more of it. It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick," she ended, +with quivering lips, her eyes wide and pitiful. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-150"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-150.jpg" ALT=""It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick"" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +"It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick" +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Now that need not trouble thee," answered the man, a light breaking +over his gray, drawn face. "'Fore Heaven, I mind it not." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou wilt be better soon," said the girl. "I will have it so, Nick. +I will not have thee die for this." +</P> + +<P> +"Dost remember what I asked thee last Christmas, Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, not meeting his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Wilt kiss me now, Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +For answer she stooped down and laid her lips to his, then rose and +stood beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Deb," he said, looking up at her adoringly. "'Twill be something +to remember—should I live—an' if not, well—'tis not every man who +dies with a kiss on his lips." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou must not talk," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he answered, faintly, "nor keep thee. Yet promise me one thing." +</P> + +<P> +"What would'st have me promise?" +</P> + +<P> +"That thou wilt return on the morrow to Shottery. London is no place +for thee now." +</P> + +<P> +"I will go," answered the girl; "though I would fain take care of thee +here, Nick." +</P> + +<P> +"That thou must not think of," he replied. "I will fare—as God wills. +Go thou home to Shottery." +</P> + +<P> +The physician crossed over to them and laid his white fingers on +Berwick's wrist. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou dost seem set upon undoing my work," he said. "Art so over-ready +to die, Master Berwick? One more swoon like the last and thou would'st +sleep on." +</P> + +<P> +"He will talk no more, good Doctor," said Debora, hastily. "Ah! thou +wilt be kind to him, I pray thee? And now I will away, as 'tis best, +but my brother will stay, and carry out thy orders. Nay, Nick, thou +must not even say good-bye or move thy lips. I will go back to Dame +Blossom quite safely in the coach." +</P> + +<P> +"An' to Shottery on the morrow?" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" she said, looking at him with tear-blinded eyes, "as thou wilt +have it so." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H4> + +<P> +It was early morning of the next day and Debora Thornbury was in the +upper room at Mistress Blossom's house. She folded one garment after +another and laid them away in the little trunk that had come with her +from home. +</P> + +<P> +Darby entered the room before she had finished, and threw himself +wearily into a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou hast brought news," she said, eagerly; "he is better—or——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, there is no great change. The Leech is still with him and makes +no sign; yet I fancy he hath a shade of hope, for no further hemorrhage +hath occurred. Nick sent me back to thee; he would not be denied." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" she cried, "I am afraid to take heart. I dare not hope." Then, +after a moment's pause, "Tell me, Darby; I must know. Who was it that +struck him?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas a player I know by reputation," replied Darby, "yet, as I told +thee, never met till yesternight. He is one Dorien North, and hath the +very name that Sherwood discarded—with ample reason, if what report +says of this man be true. It seems they be first cousins, but while +Sherwood is a most rarely good fellow, this other, albeit with the same +grace o' manner and a handsome enough face, is by odds the most +notorious scamp out of Newgate to-day. He hath a polish an' wit that +stands him in place o' morals. Of late he hath been with the Lord High +Admiral's men at 'The Rose'; but they were ever a scratch company, and +a motley lot." +</P> + +<P> +The girl moved unsteadily across to her brother. She grasped the +velvet sleeve of his tabard and gazed into his face with eyes great and +darkening. +</P> + +<P> +"One thing follows on another o'er fast. I am bewildered. Is't true +what thou hast just said, Darby?" +</P> + +<P> +"Egad, yes!" he replied, wonderingly. "I would have told thee of North +the day thou swooned, but 't went out o' my mind. Dost not remember +asking me why Sherwood had changed his name on the bills o' the play? +Yet, what odds can it make?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only this," she cried, "that this Dorien North, who has so painted the +name black, and who but last night struck Nicholas Berwick, is in very +truth <I>little Dorien's father</I>. So goes the man's name the Puritan +maid told me. Moreover, he was a <I>player</I> also. Oh! Darby, dost not +see? I thought 'twas the other—Don Sherwood." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas like a woman to hit so wide o' the mark," answered Darby. +"Did'st not think there might chance be two of the name? In any case +what is't to thee, Deb?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she said, laying her face against his arm, "I cannot tell thee; +ask no more, but go thou and find him and tell him the story of Nell +Quinten, and how I thought that Dorien North she told me of was he; and +afterwards if he wilt come with thee, bring him here to me. Perchance +he may be at Blackfriars, or—or 'The Tabard Inn,' or even abroad upon +the streets. In any case, find him quickly, dear heart, for the time +is short and I must away to Shottery, as I promised Nick,—poor +Nick,—poor Nick." So she fell to sobbing and crying. +</P> + +<P> +The young fellow gazed at her in that distress which overtakes a man +when a woman weeps. +</P> + +<P> +"Marry," he said, "I wish thou would'st give over thy tears. I weary +of them and they will mend naught. There, cheer up, sweet. I will +surely find Sherwood, and at once, as 'tis thy wish." +</P> + +<P> +It was high noon when Darby Thornbury returned. With him came the +player Sherwood and another. The three entered Master Blossom's house, +and Darby sought his sister. +</P> + +<P> +"Don Sherwood waits below," he said, simply. "I met him on London +Bridge. He hath brought his cousin Dorien North with him." +</P> + +<P> +"I thank thee," the girl answered. "I will go to them." +</P> + +<P> +Presently she entered Dame Blossom's little parlour where the two men +awaited her. +</P> + +<P> +She stood a moment, looking from one to the other. Neither spoke nor +stirred. +</P> + +<P> +Then Debora turned to Don Sherwood; her lips trembled a little. +</P> + +<P> +"I wronged thee," she said, softly. "I wronged thee greatly. I ask +thy pardon." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," he said, going to her. "Ask it not, 'twas but a mistake. I +blame thee not for it. This," motioning to the other, "this is my +kinsman, Dorien North. He is my father's brother's son, and we bear +the same name, or rather did so in the past." +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked at the man before her coldly, yet half-curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"I would," went on Sherwood, steadily, "that he might hear the tale +Darby told me. To-morrow he sails for the Indies, as I have taken +passage for him on an outward-bound ship. He came to me for money to +escape last night, after having stabbed one Master Berwick in a brawl +at 'The Mermaid.' It may be thou hast already heard of this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" she answered, whitening, "I have heard." +</P> + +<P> +"I gave him the passage money," continued Sherwood, "for I would not +either have him swing on Tyburn or rot in Newgate. Yet I will even now +tell the Captain under whom he was to sail that he is an escaping +felon—a possible murderer—if he lies to thee in aught—and I shall +know if he lies." +</P> + +<P> +The man they both watched threw back his handsome, blond head at this +and laughed a short, hard laugh. His dazzling white teeth glittered, +and in the depths of his blue eyes was a smouldering fire. +</P> + +<P> +"By St. George!" he broke out, "you have me this time, Don. Hang me! +If I'm not betwixt the devil and the deep sea." Then, with a low bow +to Debora, raising his hand against his heart in courtly fashion, "I am +thy servant, fair lady," he said. "Ask me what thou dost desire. I +will answer." +</P> + +<P> +"I would have asked thee—Art thou that Dorien North who deceived and +betrayed one Nell Quinten, daughter of Makepeace Quinten, the Puritan, +who lives near Kenilworth," said Debora, gravely; "but indeed I need +not to ask thee. The child who was in her arms when we found her—hath +thy face." +</P> + +<P> +"Doth not like it?" he questioned, with bold effrontery, raising his +smiling, dare-devil eyes to hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" she said, gently, "I love little Dorien's face, and 'tis truly +thine in miniature—thine when it was small and fair and innocent. Oh! +I am sorry for thee, Master Dorien North, more sorry than I was for thy +child's mother, for she had done no evil, save it be evil to love." +</P> + +<P> +A change went over the man's face, and for a moment it softened. +</P> + +<P> +"Waste not thy pity," he said; "I am not worth it. I confess to all my +sins. I wronged Nell Quinten, and the child is mine. Yet I would be +altogether graceless did I not thank thee for giving him shelter, +Mistress Thornbury." +</P> + +<P> +Sherwood, who had been listening in silence, suddenly spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"That is all I needed of thee, Dorien," he said. "You may go. I do +not think from here to the docks there will be danger of arrest; the +heavy cloak and drooping hat so far disguise thee; while once on +ship-board thou art safe." +</P> + +<P> +"I am in danger enough," said the other, with a shrug, "but it troubles +me little. I bid thee farewell, Mistress Thornbury." And so saying he +turned to go. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait," she cried, impulsively, touching his arm. "I would not have +thee depart so; thou art going into a far country, Master North, and +surely need some fair wishes to take with thee. Oh! I know thou hast +been i' the wrong, many, many times over. Perchance, hitherto thou +hast feared neither God nor the law. But last night—Nicholas Berwick +was sorely wounded by thee, and this because he defended my name." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet 'twas thou who played at Blackfriars?" he questioned, +hesitatingly. "I saw thee; it could have been no other." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas I," she answered. "I played in my brother's place—of +necessity—but speak no more of that, 'tis over, and as that is past +for me, so would I have thee leave all thy unhappy past. Take not thy +sins with thee into the new country. Ah! no. Neither go with +bitterness in thy heart towards any, but live through the days that +come as any gentleman should who bears thy name. Thy path and mine +have crossed," she ended, the pink deepening in her face, "an' so I +would bid thee godspeed for the sake of thy little son." +</P> + +<P> +The man stood irresolute a moment, then stooped, lifted Debora's hand +to his lips and kissed it. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou hast preached me a homily," he said, in low voice; "yet, 'fore +Heaven, from such a priest I mind it not." And, opening the door, he +went swiftly away. +</P> + +<P> +Then Don Sherwood drew Debora to him. "Nothing shall ever take thee +from me," he said, passionately. "I would not live, sweetheart, to +suffer what I suffered yesternight." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"When may I to Shottery to wed thee?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I will not leave my father for many a day," she said, smiling +tremulously. "Yet I would have thee come to Shottery +by-and-bye—peradventure, when the summer comes, and the great rosebush +beneath the south window is ablow." +</P> + +<P> +"Beshrew me! 'tis ages away, the summer," he returned, with impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"The days till then will be as long for me as for thee," she said, +tenderly; and with this assurance, and because he would fain be +pleasing her in all things, he tried to make himself content. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H4> + +<P> +It is Christmas eve once more, and all the diamond window panes of One +Tree Inn—are aglitter with light from the Yule log fire in the front +room chimney-place and the many candles Mistress Debora placed in their +brass candlesticks. +</P> + +<P> +Little Dorien had followed her joyously from room to room, and many +times she had lifted him in her strong, young arms and let him touch +the wick with the lighted spill and start the fairy flame. Then his +merry laugh rang through the house, and John Sevenoakes and Master +Thornbury, sitting by the hearth below, smiled as they listened, for it +is so good a thing to hear, the merry, whole-hearted, innocent laughter +of a child. +</P> + +<P> +Even the leathery, grim old face of Ned Saddler relaxed into a pleasant +expression at the sound of it, though 'twas against his will to allow +himself to show anything of happiness he felt; for he was much like a +small, tart winter apple, wholesome and sound at heart, yet sour enough +to set one's teeth on edge. +</P> + +<P> +And they talked together, these three ancient cronies, while now and +then Master Thornbury leaned over and stirred the contents of the big +copper pot on the crane, sorely scorching his kindly face in the +operation. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Nick Berwick came in, stamping the snow off his long boots, +and he crossed to the hearth and turned his broad back to the fire, +even as he had done a year before on Christmas eve. His face was +graver than it had been, for his soul had had a wide outlook since +then, but his mouth smiled in the old-time sweet and friendly fashion, +and if he had any ache of the heart he made no sign. +</P> + +<P> +"Hast come over from Stratford, lad?" asked Thornbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay!" he answered, "an' I just met little Judith Shakespeare hastening +away from grand dame Hathaway's. She tells me her father is coming +home for Christmas. Never saw I one in a greater flutter of +excitement. 'Oh! Nick,' she cried out, ere I made sure who it was in +the dusk, 'Hast heard the news?' 'What news, gossip?' I answered. +'Why, that my father will be home to-night,' she called back. ''Tis +more than I dreamed or dared to hope, but 'tis true.' I could see the +shining of her eyes as she spoke, and she tripped onward as though the +road were covered with rose-leaves instead of snow." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a giddy wench," said Saddler, "and doth lead Deb into half her +pranks. If I had a daughter now——" +</P> + +<P> +Thornbury broke into a great laugh and clapped the old fellow soundly +on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Hark to him!" he cried. "If he had a daughter! Marry and amen, I +would we could see what kind of maid she would be." +</P> + +<P> +"I gainsay," put in Sevenoakes, thinking to shift the subject, "that +Will Shakespeare comes home as much for Deb's wedding as aught else." +</P> + +<P> +A shade went over Berwick's face. "The church hath been pranked out +most gaily, Master Thornbury," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twill be gay enough," said Saddler, "but there'll be little comfort +in it and small rest for a man's hand or elbow anywhere for the holly +they've strung up. I have two lame thumbs with the prickles that have +run into them." +</P> + +<P> +Thornbury smiled. "Then 'twas thou who helped the lads and lasses this +afternoon, Ned," he said; "and I doubt nothing 'twas no one else who +hung the great bunch of mistletoe in the chancel! I marvel at thee." +</P> + +<P> +At this they all laughed so loudly that they did not hear Deb and +little Dorien enter the room and come over to the hearth, with Tramp +following. +</P> + +<P> +"What art making so merry over, Dad?" she questioned, looking from one +to another. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, ask me not. Ask Saddler." +</P> + +<P> +"He doth not like maids who are curious," she said, shaking her head. +"I am content to be in the dark." +</P> + +<P> +Then she cried, listening, "There, dost not hear the coach? I surely +caught the rumble of the wheels, and she is on time for once! Come, +Dorien. Come, Dad, we will to the door to meet them." +</P> + +<P> +Soon the lumbering coach swung up the road and the tired horses stopped +under the oak. +</P> + +<P> +And it was a welcome worth having the two travellers got, for Darby +Thornbury and Don Sherwood had journeyed from London together, ay! and +Master Shakespeare had borne them company, though he left them half a +mile off. As the group drew their chairs about the fireplace, Darby +had many a jest and happy story to repeat that the master told them on +the homeward way, for he was ever the best company to make a long road +seem short. +</P> + +<P> +Deb sat in her old seat in the inglenook and Master Sherwood stood +beside her, where he could best see the ruddy light play over her +wondrous hair and in the tender depths of her eyes. They seemed to +listen, these two, as Darby went lightly from one London topic to +another, for now and then Don Sherwood put in a word or so in that +mellow voice of his, and Deb smiled often—yet it may be they did not +follow him over closely, for they were dreaming a dream of their own +and the day after the morrow was their wedding day. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-172"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-172.jpg" ALT="Darby went lightly from one London topic to another" BORDER=""> +<H4 CLASS="h4center"> +Darby went lightly from one London topic to another +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +The child Dorien lay upon the sheepskin rug at Deb's feet and watched +Darby. His eager, beautiful little face lit up with joy, for were they +not all there together, those out of the whole world he loved the best, +and it would be Christmas in the morning. What more could any child +desire? +</P> + +<P> +"When I look at the little lad, Don," said Debora, softly, "my thoughts +go back to his mother. 'Twas on such a night as this, as I have told +thee, that Darby found her in the snow." +</P> + +<P> +"Think not of it, sweetheart," he answered; "the child, at least, has +missed naught that thou could'st give." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, I know," she said, in a passionate, low tone, "but it troubles +me when I think of all that I have of care and life's blessings, and of +her woe and desolation, and through no sin, save that of loving too +well. I see not why it should be." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" he said, bending towards her, "there are some 'Why's' that must +wait for their answer—for 'twill not come this side o' heaven." Then, +in lighter tone, "When I look at the little lad I see but that +scapegrace kinsman of mine; but although he is so marvellous like him, +thou wilt be his guide. I fear nothing for his future, for who could +be aught but good with thee, my heart's love, beside them." +</P> + +<P> +And presently there was a stir as Nicholas Berwick rose and bid all +good-night, and this reminded John Sevenoakes and Ned Saddler that the +hour was late. It was then that Berwick went to Deb, at a moment when +she stood apart from the others. He held towards her a small +leather-covered box. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis my wedding gift to thee, Deb," he said, his grave eyes upon her +changeful face. "'Tis a pearl collar my mother wore on her wedding-day +when she was young and fair as thou art. I will not be here to see how +sweet thou dost look in it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou wilt in the church, Nick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, I will not. I have not told thee before, as I would not plant a +thorn in any of thy roses, but I ride to London on the morrow. I have +much work there, for later on I sail to America to the new Colonies, in +charge of certain stores for Sir Walter Raleigh." +</P> + +<P> +She raised her eyes, tear-filled and tender, to his. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish thee peace, Nick," she said, "wherever thou art—and I have no +fear but that gladness will follow. I will miss thee, for thou wert +ever my friend." +</P> + +<P> +He lifted her hand to his lips and went away, and in the quiet that +followed, when Master Thornbury and Darby talked together, Don Sherwood +drew Debora into the shadow by the window-seat. +</P> + +<P> +"I' faith," he said, "if I judge not wrongly by Master Nicholas +Berwick's face when he spoke with thee but now, he doth love thee also, +Deb." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" she answered, "he hath indeed said so in the past and moreover +proven it." +</P> + +<P> +"In very truth, yes. But thou," with a flash in his eyes, "dost care? +Hast aught of love for him? Nay, I need not ask thee." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled a little, half sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"I love but thee," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He gave a short, light laugh, then looked grave. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis another of life's 'Why's,' sweetheart, that awaiteth an answer. +Why!—why, in heaven's name, should I have the good fortune to win +thee, when he, who I think is far the better gentleman, hath failed?" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, the bells of Stratford rang out their joyous pealing, and +the sound came to them on the night wind. Then the child, who had been +asleep curled up on the soft rug, opened his wondering eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Deb stooped and lifted him, and he laid his curly head against her +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it Christmas, Deb?" he asked, sleepily. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my lamb," she answered; "for, hark! the bells are ringing it in, +and they say, 'Peace, Dorien—Peace and goodwill to men.'" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-177"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-177.jpg" ALT="Chapter 11 tailpiece" BORDER=""> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Maid of Many Moods, by Virna Sheard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAID OF MANY MOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 37152-h.htm or 37152-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/1/5/37152/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Maid of Many Moods + +Author: Virna Sheard + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37152] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAID OF MANY MOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?"] + + + + + +[Illustration: title page art] + + + + + +A MAID + +OF + +MANY + +MOODS + + + +_By_ VIRNA SHEARD + + + + +Toronto, THE COPP, CLARK + COMPANY, Ltd. MCMII + + + + +Copyright, 1902, By James Pott & Co. + +Entered at Stationers' Hall, London + + +_First Impression, September, 1902_ + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?" . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"Thou'lt light no more" + +She followed the tragedy intensely + +"I liked thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad" + +"It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick" + +Darby went lightly from one London topic to another + + + + +CHAPTER I + +[Illustration: Chapter I headpiece] + +I + +It was Christmas Eve, and all the small diamond window panes of One +Tree Inn, the half-way house upon the road from Stratford to Shottery, +were aglitter with light from the great fire in the front room +chimney-place and from the many candles Mistress Debora had set in +their brass candlesticks and started a-burning herself. The place, +usually so dark and quiet at this time of night, seemed to have gone +off in a whirligig of gaiety to celebrate the Noel-tide. + +In vain had old Marjorie, the housekeeper, scolded. In vain had Master +Thornbury, who was of a thrifty and saving nature, followed his +daughter about and expostulated. She only laughed and waved the +lighted end of the long spill around his broad red face and bright +flowered jerkin. + +"Nay, Dad!" she had cried, teasing him thus, "I'll help thee save thy +pennies to-morrow, but to-night I'm of another mind, and will have such +a lighting up in One Tree Inn the rustics will come running from +Coventry to see if it be really ablaze. There'll not be a candle in +any room whatever without its own little feather of fire, not a dip in +the kitchen left dark! So just save thy breath to blow them out later." + +"Come, mend thy saucy speech, thou'lt light no more, I tell thee," +blustered the old fellow, trying to reach the spill which the girl held +high above her head. "Give over thy foolishness; thou'lt light no +more!" + +[Illustration: "Thou'lt light no more"] + +"Ay, but I will, then," said she wilfully, "an' 'tis but just to +welcome Darby, Dad dear. Nay, then," waving the light and laughing, +"don't thou dare catch it. An' I touch thy fringe o' pretty hair, +dad--thy only ornament, remember--'twould be a fearsome calamity! I' +faith! it must be most time for the coach, an' the clusters in the long +room not yet lit. Hinder me no more, but go enjoy thyself with old +Saddler and John Sevenoakes. I warrant the posset is o'erdone, though +I cautioned thee not to leave it." + +"Thou art a wench to break a man's heart," said Thornbury, backing away +and shaking a finger at the pretty figure winding fiery ribbons and +criss-crosses with her bright-tipped wand. "Thou art a provoking +wench, who doth need locking up and feeding on bread and water. Marry, +there'll be naught for thee on Christmas, and thou canst whistle for +the ruff and silver buckles I meant to have given thee. Aye, an' for +the shoes with red heels." Then with dignity, "I'll snuff out some o' +the candles soon as I go below." + +"An' thou do, dad, I'll make thee a day o' trouble on the morrow!" she +called after him. And well he knew she would. Therefore, it was with +a disturbed mind that he entered the sitting-room and went towards the +hearth to stir the simmering contents of the copper pot on the crane. + +John Sevenoakes and old Ned Saddler, his nearest neighbours and +friends, sat one each side of the fire in their deep rush-bottomed +chairs, as they sat at least five nights out of the week, come what +weather would. Sevenoakes held a small child, whose yellow, curly head +nodded with sleep. The hot wine bubbled up as the inn-keeper stirred +it and the little spiced apples, brown with cloves, bobbed madly on top. + +"It hath a savoury smell, Thornbury," remarked Saddler. "Methinks 'tis +most ready to be lifted." + +"'Twill not be lifted till Deb hears the coach," answered Sevenoakes. +"'Twas so she timed it. 'On it goes at nine,' quoth she, 'an' off it +comes at ten, Cousin John. Just when Darby will be jumping from the +coach an' running in. Oh! I can't wait for the hour to come!' she +says." + +"She's a headstrong, contrary wench as ever heaven sent a man," put in +Thornbury, straightening himself. "'Twere trouble saved an' I'd broken +her in long ago." + +"'Twas she broke thee in long ago," said Saddler, rubbing his knotty +hands. "She hath led thee by the ear since she was three years old. +An' I had married now, an' had such a lass, I'd a brought her up +different, I warrant. Zounds! 'tis a show to see. She coaxes thee, +she bullies thee, she comes it over thee with cajolery and +blandishments an' leads thee a pretty dance." + +"Thou art an old fool," returned Thornbury, mopping his face, which was +sorely scorched, "What should thou know of the bringing up of wenches? +Thou--a crabbed bachelor o' three score an' odd. Thou hast no way with +children;--i' truth I've heard Will Shakespeare say the tartness of +that face o' thine would sour ripe grapes." + +Sevenoakes trotted the baby gently up and down, a look of troubled +apprehension disturbing his usually placid features. His was ever the +office of peace-maker between these two ancient cronies, and he knew to +a nicety the moment when it was wisest to try and adjust matters. + +"'Tis well I mind the night this baby came," he began retrospectively, +looking up as the door opened and a tall young fellow entered, stamping +the snow off his long boots. "Marry, Nick! thou dost bring a lot o' +cold in with thee," he ended briskly, shifting his chair. "Any news o' +the coach?" + +"None that I've heard," replied the man, going to the hearth and +turning his broad back to the fire. "'Tis a still night, still and +frosty, but no sound of the horn or wheels reached me though I stood +a-listening at the cross-roads. Then I turned down here an' saw how +grandly thou had'st lit the house up to welcome Darby. My faith! I'll +be glad to see him, for 'tis an age since he was home, Master +Thornbury, an' he comes now in high feather. Not every lad hath wit +and good looks enough to turn the head o' London after him. The stage +is a great place for bringing a man out. Egad! I'm half minded to try +it myself." + +"I doubt not thou wilt, Nick, sooner or later; thou art a +jack-o'-all-trades," answered Thornbury, in surly tones. + +Nicholas Berwick laughed and shrugged his well-set shoulders, as he +bent over and touched the child sleeping sweetly in old Sevenoakes' +arms. + +"What was't I heard thee saying o' the baby as I came in; he is not +ailing, surely?" + +"Not he!" answered Sevenoakes, stroking the moist yellow curls. "He's +lusty as a year-old robin, an' as chirpy when he's awake; but he's in +the land o' nod now, though his will was good to wait up for Darby like +the rest of us." + +"He's a rarely beautiful little lad," said Berwick. "I've asked Deb +about him often, but she will tell me naught." + +"I warrant she will na," piped up old Ned Saddler, in his reedy voice. +"I warrant she will na; 'tis no tale for a young maid's repeating. +Beshrew me! but the coach be late," he wound up irrelevantly. + +"How came the child here?" persisted the young fellow, knocking back a +red log with his foot. "An' it be such a tale as you hint, Saddler, I +doubt not it's hard to keep it from slipping off thy tongue." + +"'Tis a tale that slips off some tongue whenever this time o' year +comes," answered Thornbury. "I desire no more Christmas Eves like that +one four years back--please God! We were around the hearth as it might +be now, and a grand yule log we had burning, I mind me; the room was +trimmed gay an' fine with holly an' mistletoe as 'tis to-night. +Saddler was there, Sevenoakes just where he be now, an' Deb sitting +a-dreaming on the black oak settle yonder, the way she often sits, her +chin on her hand--you mind, Nick!" + +"Ay!" said the man, smiling. + +"She wore her hair down then," went on Thornbury, "an' a sight it were +to see." + +"'Twere red as fox-fire," interrupted Saddler, aggrieved that the +tale-telling had been taken from him. "When thou start'st off on Deb, +Thornbury, thou know'st not where to bring up." + +"An' Deb was sitting yonder on the oak settle," continued the innkeeper +calmly. + +"An' she had not lit the house up scandalously that year as 'tis +now--for Darby was home," put in Saddler again. + +"Ay! Darby was home--an' thou away, Nick--but the lad was worriting to +try his luck on the stage in London, an' all on account o' a play +little Judith Shakespeare lent him. I mind me 'twas rightly named, +'The Pleasant History o' the Taming o' a Shrew,' for most of it he read +aloud to us. Ay, Darby was home, an' we were sitting here as it might +be now, when the door burst open an' in come my lad carrying a bit of a +baby muffled top an' toe in a shepherd's plaid. 'Twas crying pitiful +and hoarse, as it had been long in the night wind." + +"'Quick, Dad!' called Darby, 'Quick,' handing the bundle to Deb, 'there +be a woman perished of cold not thirty yards from the house.' + +"I tramped out after him saying naught. 'Twas a bitter night an' the +road rang like metal under our feet. The country was silver-white with +snow, an' the sky was sown thick with stars. Darby'd hastened on ahead +an' lifted the wench in his arms, but I just took her from him an' +carried her in myself. Marry! she were not much more weight than a +child. + +"We laid her near the fire and forced her to drink some hot sherry +sack. Then she opened her eyes wild, raised herself and looked around +in a sort o' terror, while she cried out for the baby. Deb brought it, +an' the lass seemed content, for she smiled an' fell back on the pillow +holding a bit of the shepherd's plaid tight in her small fingers. + +"She was dressed in fashion of the Puritans, with kirtle of +sad-coloured homespun. The only bright thing about her was her hair, +and that curled out of the white coif she wore, golden as ripe corn. + +"Well-a-day! I sent quickly for Mother Durley, she who only comes to a +house when there be a birth or a death. I knew how 'twould end, for +there was a look on the little wench's face that comes but once. She +lived till break o' day and part o' the time she raved, an' then 'twas +all o' London an' one she would go to find there; but, again she just +lay quiet, staring open-eyed. At the last she came to herself, so said +Mother Durley, an' there was the light of reason on her face. 'Twas +then she beckoned Deb, who was sitting by, to bend down close, and she +whispered something to her, though what 'twas we never knew, for my +girl said naught--and even as she spoke the end came. + +"Soul o' me! but we were at our wits' end to know what to do. Where +she came from and who she was there was no telling, an' Deb raised such +a storm when I spoke o' her being buried by the parish, that 'twas not +to be thought of. One an' another came in to gaze at the little +creature till the inn was nigh full. I bethought me 'twould mayhap +serve to discover whom she might be. And so it fell. A lumbering +yeoman passing through to Oxford stood looking at her a moment as she +lay dressed the way we found her in the sad-coloured gown an' white +coif. + +"'Why! Od's pitikins!' he cried. 'Marry an' Amen! This be none but +Nell Quinten! Old Makepeace Quinten's daughter from near Kenilworth. +I'd a known her anywhere!' + +"Then I bid Darby ride out to bring the Puritan in all haste, but he +had the devil's work to get the man to come. He said the lass had +shamed him, and he had turned her out months before. She was no +daughter o' his he swore--with much quoting o' Scripture to prove he +was justified in disowning her. + +"Darby argued with him gently to no purpose; so my lad let his temper +have way an' told the fellow he'd come to take him to One Tree Inn, an' +would take him there dead or alive. The upshot was, they came in +together before nightfall. The wench was in truth the old Puritan's +daughter, and he took her home an' buried her. But for the child, he'd +not touch it. + +"''Tis a living lie!' he cried. ''Tis branded by Satan as his own! +Give it to the Parish or to them that wants it, or marry, let it bide +here! 'Tis a proper place for it in good sooth, for this be a public +house where sinful drinking goeth on an' all worldly conversation. +Moreover I saw one Master William Shakespeare pass out the door but +now--a play actor, an' the maker o' ungodly plays. 'Twas such a one +who wrought my Nell's ruin!' + +"So he went on an' moore o' the sort. Gra'mercy! I had the will to +horsewhip him, an' but for the little dead maid I would. I clenched my +hands hard and watched him away; he sitting stiff atop o' Stratford +hearse by the driver. Thus he took his leave, calling back at me bits +o' Holy Writ," finished Thornbury grimly. + +"And Debora told naught of what the girl said at the last?" asked +Nicholas Berwick. "That doth seem strange." + +"Never a word, lad, beyond this much--she prayed her to care for the +child till his father be found." + +"By St. George! but that was no modest request. What had'st thou to +say in the matter? Did'st take the heaven-sent Christmas box in good +part, Master Thornbury?" + +"Nay, Nick! thou should know him some better than to ask that," said +Saddler. "Gadzooks, there were scenes! 'Twas like Thornbury to +grandfather a stray infant now, was't not?" rubbing his knees and +chuckling. "Marry! I think I see the face he wore for a full month. +''Twill go to the Parish!' he would cry, stamping around and speaking +words 'twould pass me to repeat. 'A plague on't! Here be a kettle of +fish! Why should the wench fall at my door in heaven's name? Egad! I +am a much-put-upon man.' Ay, Nick, 'twas a marvellous rare treat to +hear him." + +"How came you to keep the child, sir?" asked Berwick, gravely. + +The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders. "'Twas Deb would have it so," he +answered. "She was fair bewitched by the little one. Thou knowest her +way, Nick, when her heart is set on anything. Peradventure, I have +humoured the lass too much, as Saddler maintains. But she coaxed and +she cried, an' never did I see her cry so before, such a storm o' +tears--save for rage," reflectively. + +"Well put!" said Saddler. "Well put, Thornbury!" + +"Ever had she wished for just such a one to pet, she pleaded, an' well +I knew no small child came in sight o' the inn but Deb was after it for +a plaything. Nay, there never was a stray beast about the place, that +it did not find her and follow her close, knowing 'twould be best off +so. + +"Well do I mind her cuffing a big lad she found drowning some day-old +kittens in the stable--and he minds it yet I'll gainsay! She fished +out the blind wet things, an' gathering them in her quilted petticoat +brought them in here a-dripping. I' fecks! she made such a moan over +them as never was." + +"Ay, Deb always has a following o' ugly, ill-begotten beasts that +nobody wants but she," said Sevenoakes. "There be old Tramp for one +now--did'st ever see such an ill-favoured beast? An' nowhere will he +sit but fair on the edge o' her gown." + +"He is a dog of rare discernment--and a lucky dog to boot," said +Berwick. + +"So, the outcome of it, Master Thornbury, was that the little lad is +here." + +"What could a man do?" answered Thornbury, ruefully. "Hark!" starting +up as the old housekeeper entered the room, "Where be the lass, +Marjorie? An' the candles--are they burning safe?" + +"Safe, but growing to the half length," she answered, peering out of +the window. "The coach must a-got overtipped, Maister." + +"Where be Deb--I asked thee?" + +"Soul o' me! then if thou must know, Mistress Debora hath just taken +the great stable lantern and gone along the road to meet the coach. +'An' thou dost tell my father I'll pinch thee, Marjorie!' she cried +back to me. 'When I love thee--I love thee; an' when I pinch--I pinch! +So tell him not.' But 'tis over late an' I would have it off my mind, +Maister." + +"Did Tramp go with her?" asked Berwick, buttoning on his great cape and +starting for the door. + +"Odso! yes! an' she be safe enow. Thou'lt see the lantern bobbing long +before thou com'st up with her." + +"'Tis a wench to break a man's heart!" Thornbury muttered, standing at +the door and watching the tall figure of Berwick swing along the road. + +The innkeeper waited there though a light snow was powdering his scanty +fringe of hair--white already--and lying in sparkles on his bald pate +and holiday jerkin. He was a hardy old Englishman and a little cold +was nought to him. + +The night was frosty, and the "star-bitten" sky of a fathomless purple. +About the inn the snow was tinted rosily from the many twinkling lights +within. + +The great oak, standing opposite the open door and stretching out its +kindly arms on either side as far as the house reached, made a network +of shadows that carpeted the ground like fine lace. + +Thornbury bent his head to listen. Far off sounded the ripple of a +girl's laugh. A little wind caught it up and it +echoed--fainter--fainter. Then did his old heart take to thumping +hard, and his breath came quick. + +"Ay! they be coming!" he said half aloud. "My lad--an' lass. My +lad--an' lass." He strained his eyes to see afar down the road if a +light might not be swaying from side to side. Presently he spied it, a +merry will-o'-the-wisp, and the sound of voices came to him. + +So he waited tremblingly. + +Darby it was who saw him first. + +"'Tis Dad at the door!" he called, breaking away from Debora and +Berwick. + +The girl took a step to follow, then stopped and glanced up at the man +beside her. "Let him go on alone, Nick," she said. "He hath not seen +Dad close onto two years, an' this play-acting of his hath been a +bitter dose for my father to swallow. In good sooth I have small +patience with Dad, yet more am I sorry for him. I' faith! I would +that maidens might also be in the play. Judith Shakespeare says some +day they may be--but 'twill serve me little. One of us at that +business is all Dad could bear with--an' my work is at home." + +"Ay, Deb!" he answered; "thy work is at home, for now." + +"For always," she answered, quickly; then, her tone changing, "think'st +thou not, Nick, that my Darby is taller? An' did'st note how handsome?" + +"He is a handsome fellow," answered Berwick. "Still, I cannot see that +he hath grown. He will not be of large pattern." + +"Marry!" cried the girl, "Darby is a good head taller than I. Where +dost thou keep thine eyes, Nick?" + +"Nay, verily, then, he is not," answered the other; "thou art almost +shoulder to shoulder, an' still as much alike--I saw by the lantern--as +of old, when save for thy dress 'twas a puzzle to say which was which. +'Tis a reasonable likeness, as thou art twins." + +Debora pursed up her lips. "He is much taller than I," she said, +determinedly. "Thou art no friend o' mine, Nicholas Berwick, an' thou +dost cut three full inches off my brother's height. He is a head +taller, an' mayhap more--so." + +They were drawing up to the inn now, and through the window saw the +little group about the fire, Darby with the baby, who was fully awake, +perched high on his shoulder. + +Berwick caught Deb gently, swinging her close to him, as they stood in +the shadow of the oak. + +"Ah, Deb!" he said, bending his face to hers, "thou could'st make me +swear that black was white. As for Darby, the lad is as tall as thou +dost desire. Thou hast my word for't." + +"'Tis well thou dost own it," she said, frowning; "though I like not +the manner o' it. Let me go, Nick." + +"Nay, I will not," he said, passionately. "Be kind; give me one kiss +for Christmas. I know thou hast no love for me; thou hast told me so +often enough. I will not tarry here, Sweet; 'twould madden me--but +give me one kiss to remember when I be gone." + +She turned away and shook her head. + +"Thou know'st me better than to ask it," she said, softly. "Kisses are +not things to give because 'tis Christmas." + +The man let go his hold of her, his handsome face darkening. + +"Dost hate me?" he asked. + +"Nay, then, I hate thee not," with a little toss of her head. "Neither +do I love thee." + +"Dost love any other? Come, tell me for love's sake, sweetheart. An' +I thought so!" + +"Marry, no!" she said. Then with a short, half-checked laugh, +"Well--Prithee but one!" + +"Ah!" cried Berwick, "is't so?" + +"Verily," she answered mockingly. "It is so in truth, an' 'tis just +Dad. As for Darby, I cannot tell what I feel for _him_. 'Twould be +full as easy to say were I to put it to myself, 'Dost love Debora +Thornbury?' 'Yea' or 'Nay,' for, Heaven knows, sometimes I love her +mightily--and sometimes I don't; an' then 'tis a fearsome '_don't_,' +Nick. But come thee in." + +"No!" answered Berwick, bitterly. "I am not one of you." Catching her +little hands he held them a moment against his coat, and the girl felt +the heavy beating of his heart before he let them fall, and strode away. + +She stood on the step looking after the solitary figure. Her cheeks +burned, and she tapped her foot impatiently on the threshold. + +"Ever it doth end thus," she said. "I am not one of you," echoing his +tone. "In good sooth no. Neither is old Ned Saddler or dear John +Sevenoakes. We be but three; just Dad, an' Darby, an' Deb." Then, +another thought coming to her. "Nay _four_ when I count little Dorian. +Little Dorian, sweet lamb,--an' so I will count him till I find his +father." + +A shade went over her face but vanished as she entered the room. + +"I have given thee time to take a long look at Darby, Dad," she cried. +"Is't not good to have him at home?" slipping one arm around her +brother's throat and leaning her head against him. + +"Where be the coach, truant?" asked Saddler. + +"It went round by the Bidford road--there was no other traveller for +us. Marry, I care not for coaches nor travellers now I have Darby safe +here! See, Dad, he hath become a fine gentleman. Did'st note how +grand he is in his manner, an' what a rare tone his voice hath taken?" + +The handsome boy flushed a little and gave a half embarrassed laugh. + +"Nay, Debora, I have not changed; 'tis thy fancy. My doublet hath a +less rustical cut and is of different stuff from any seen hereabout, +and my hose and boots fit--which could not be said of them in olden +times. This fashion of ruff moreover," touching it with dainty +complacency, "this fashion of ruff is such as the Queen's Players +themselves wear." + +Old Thornbury's brows contracted darkly and the girl turned to him with +a laugh. + +"Oh--Dad! Dad! thou must e'en learn to hear of the playhouses, an' +actors with a better grace than that. Note the wry face he doth make, +Darby!" + +"I have little stomach for their follies and buffooneries--albeit my +son be one of them," the innkeeper answered, in sharp tone. Then +struggling with some intense inward feeling, "Still I am not a man to +go half-way, Darby. Thou hast chosen for thyself, an' the blame will +not be mine if thy road be the wrong one. Thou canst walk upright on +any highway, lad." + +"Ay!" put in old Saddler, "Ay, neighbour, but a wilful lad must have +his way." + +Soon old Marjorie came in and clattered about the supper table, after +having made a great to-do over the young master. + +Thornbury poured the hot spiced wine into an ancient punch-bowl, and +set it in the centre of the simple feast, and they all drew their +chairs up to the table as the bells in Stratford rang Christmas in. + +Never had the inn echoed to more joyous laughing and talking, for +Thornbury and his two old friends mellowed in temper as they refilled +their flagons, and they even added to the occasion by each rendering a +song. Saddler bringing one forth from the dim recesses of his memory +that related, in seventeen verses and much monotonous chorus, the love +affairs of a certain Dinah Linn. + +The child slumbered again on the oak settle in the inglenook. The +firelight danced over his yellow hair and pretty dimpled hands. The +candles burned low. Then Darby sang in flute-like voice a carol, that +was, as he told them, "the rage in London," and, afterwards, just to +please Deb, the old song that will never wear out its welcome at +Christmas-tide, "When shepherds watched their flocks." + +The girl would have joined him, but there came a tightness in her +throat, and the hot stinging of tears to her eyes, and when the last +note of it went into silence she said good night, lifted the sleeping +child and carried him away. + +"Deb grows more beautiful, Dad," said the young fellow, looking after +her. "Egad! what a carriage she hath! She steps like a very princess +of the blood. Hark! then," going to the latticed window and throwing +it open. "Here come the waits, Dad, as motley a crowd as ever." + +The innkeeper was trimming the lantern and seeing his neighbours to the +door. + +"Keep well hold of each other," called Darby after them. "I trow 'tis +a timely proverb--'United we stand, divided we fall.'" + +Saddler turned with a chuckle and shook his fist at the lad, but +lurched dangerously in the operation. + +"The apples were too highly spiced for such as thee," said Thornbury, +laughing. "Thou had'st best stick to caudles an' small beer." + +"Nay, then, neighbour," called back Sevenoakes, with much solemnity, +"Christmas comes but once a year, when it comes it brings good +cheer--'tis no time for caudles, or small beer!" + +At this Darby went into such a peal of laughter--in which the waits who +were discordantly tuning up joined him--that the sound of it must have +awakened the very echoes in Stratford town. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +II + +During the days following Christmas, One Tree Inn was given over to +festivity. It had always been a favoured spot with the young people +from Stratford and Shottery. In spring they came trooping to Master +Thornbury's meadow, bringing their flower-crowned queen and +ribbon-decked May-pole. It was there they had their games of +barley-break, blindman's buff and the merry cushion dance during the +long summer evenings; and when dusk fell they would stroll homeward +through the lanes sweet with flowering hedges, each one of them all +carrying a posy from Deb Thornbury's garden--for where else grew such +wondrous clove-pinks, ragged lady, lad's love, sweet-william and Queen +Anne's lace, as there? So now these old playmates of Darby's came one +by one to welcome him home and gaze at him in unembarrassed admiration. + +Judith Shakespeare, who was a friend and gossip of Debora's, spent many +evenings with them, and those who knew the little maid best alone could +say what that meant, for never was there a gayer lass, or one who had a +prettier wit. To hear Judith enlarging upon her daily experiences with +people and things, was to listen to thrilling tales, garnished and +gilded in fanciful manner, till the commonplace became delightful, and +life in Stratford town a thing to be desired above the simple passing +of days in other places. + +No trivial occurrence went by this little daughter of the great poet +without making some vivid impression upon her mind, for she viewed the +every-day world lying beside the peaceful Avon through the wonderful +rose-coloured glasses of youth, and an imagination bequeathed to her +direct from her father. + +It was on an evening when Judith Shakespeare was with them and Deb was +roasting chestnuts by the hearth, that they fell to talking of London, +and the marvellous way people had of living there. + +A sudden storm had blown up, flakes of frozen snow came whirling +against the windows, beating a fairy rataplan on the frosted glass, +while the heavy boughs of the old oak creaked and groaned in the wind. +Darby and the two girls listened to the sounds without and drew their +chairs nearer the fire with a sense of the warm comfort of the long +cheery room. They chatted about the city and the pleasures and +pastimes that held sway there, doings that seemed so extravagant to +country-bred folk, and that often turned night into day--a day moreover +not akin to any spent elsewhere on top of the earth. + +"Dost sometimes act in the same play with my father, Darby, at the +Globe Theatre?" asked Judith, after a pause in the conversation, and at +a moment when the innkeeper had just left the room. + +The girl was sitting in a chair whose oaken frame was black with age. +Now she grasped the arms of it tightly, and Darby noted the beautiful +form of her hands and the tapering delicate fingers; he saw also a +nervous tremor go through them as she spoke. + +"Oh! I would know somewhat of my father's life in London," continued +Judith, "and of the people he meets there. He hath acquaintance with +many gentlemen of the Queen's Court and Parliament, for he hath twice +been bidden to play in Her Majesty's theatre in the palace at +Greenwich. Yet of all those doings of his and of the nobles who make +much of him he doth say so little, Darby." + +Debora, who was standing by the high mantel, turned towards her brother +expectantly. She said nothing, but her eyes--shadowy eyes of a blue +that was not all blue, but had a glint of green about it--her eyes +burned as though they held imprisoned a bit of living light, like the +fire in an opal. + +The young player smiled; he was looking intently into the glowing coals +and for the instant his thoughts seemed far away from the tranquil home +scene. + +There was no pose of Darby's figure which was not graceful; he was +always a picture even to those who knew him best, and it was to this +unconscious grace probably more than actual talent that his measure of +success upon the stage was due. Now as he leant forward, his elbow on +his knee, his chin on his white, almost girlish hand, the burnished +auburn love-locks shading his oval face, and matching in colour the +outward sweeping lashes of his eyes, Judith could not look away from +him the while she waited his tardy answer. + +After a moment he came out of his brown study with a little start, and +glanced over at her. + +"Ah, Judith, an' the master will give you but scant information on +those points, why should I give more? As for the playhouses where he +is constantly, now peradventure he is fore-wearied of them when once at +home, or," with a slight uplifting of his brows, "or else he think'th +them no topics for a young maid," he ended somewhat priggishly. + +"'Tis ever so!" Judith answered with impatience. "Thou wilt give a +body no satisfaction either. Soul o' me! but men be all alike. If +ever I have a husband--which heaven forbid!--I shall fare to London +_four_ times o' the year an' see for myself what it be like." + +"I am going to London with Darby when he doth go back again," said +Debora, speaking with quiet deliberation. Thornbury entered the room +at the moment and heard what his daughter said. The man caught at the +edge of the heavy table by which he stood, as though needing to hold by +it. He waited there, unheeded by the three around the hearth. + +"Thou art joking, Deb," answered her brother after an astonished pause. +"Egad! how could'st thou fare to London?" + +"I' faith, how could I fare to London?" she said with spirit, mimicking +his tone. "An' are there no maids in London then? An' there be not, +my faith, t'were time they saw what one is like! Prithee, I have +reason to believe I could pass a marvellous pleasant month there if all +I hear be true. What say'th thou, Judith, to coming with me?" + +"Why, sweetheart," answered the girl, rising, "for all I have +protested, I would not go save my father took me. His word is my will +always, know'st thou not so? An' if it be his pleasure that I go not +to London--well then, I have no mind to go. That is just my thought of +it. But," sighing a little, "thou art wiser than I, for thou can'st +read books, an' did'st keep pace with Darby page for page, when he went +to Stratford grammar school. Furthermore, thou art given thy own way +more than I, and art so different--so vastly different--Deb." + +"Truly, yes," Debora answered. Then, flinging out her arms, and +tossing her head up with a quick, petulant gesture, "Oh, I wish, I wish +ten thousand-fold that I were a man and could be with thee, Darby. +'Tis so tame and tantalizing to be but a maid with this one to say +'Gra'mercy! Thou can'st not go _there_,' an' that one to add 'Alack! +an' alack! however cam'st thou to fancy thou could'st do so? Art void +o' wit? Beshrew me but ladies never deport themselves in such +unmannerly fashion--no, nor even think on't. There is thy little +beaten track all bordered with box--'tis precise, yet pleasant--walk +thou in it thankfully. Marry, an' thou must not gaze over the hedges +neither!'" + +A deep, sweet laugh followed her words as an echo, and a man tall and +finely built came striding over from the door where he had been +standing in shadow, an amused listener. He put his two hands on the +girl's shoulders and looked down into the beautiful, rebellious face. + +"Heigho, and heigho!" he said. "Just listen to this mutinous one, good +Master Thornbury! Here is a whirlwind in petticoats equal to my pretty +shrew who was so well tamed at the last. Marry, an' I could show them +such a brilliant bit of acting at the new Globe--such tone! such +intensity! 'twould surely inspire the Company and so lighten my work by +a hundred-fold. But, alas! while we have but lads to play the parts +that maidens should take, acting is oft a very weariness and giveth one +an ache o' the heart!" + +"Thou would'st not have me upon the stage, father?" said Judith, +looking at him. + +The man smiled down at her, then his face grew suddenly grave and his +hazel eyes narrowed. + +"By all the gods--No!--not _thee_ sweetheart. But," his voice +changing, "but there are those I would. We must away, neighbour +Thornbury. I am due in London shortly, and need the night's rest." + +They pressed him to stay longer, but he would not tarry. So Judith +tied on her hooded cloak, and many a warm good-bye was spoken. + +The innkeeper, with Darby and Debora, stood on the threshold and +watched the two take the road to Stratford; and the sky was pranked out +with many a golden star, for the storm had blown over, and the night +winds were at peace. + +After they entered the house a silence settled over the little group. +The child Dorian slept on the cushioned settle, for he was sorely +spoilt by Debora, who would not have him go above stairs till she +carried him up herself. The girl sat down beside him now and watched +Darby, who was carving a strange head upon a stout bit of wood cut from +the tree before the door. + +"What art so busy over, lad?" asked Thornbury. His voice trembled, and +there was an unusual pallor on his face. + +"'Tis but a bit of home I will take away with me, Dad. In an act of +'Romeo and Juliet,' the new play we are but rehearsing, I carry a +little cane. I am a dashing fellow, one Mercutio. I would thou +could'st see me. Well-a-day! I have just an odd fancy for this bit o' +the old tree." + +Debora rose and went over to her father. She laid one hand on his arm +and patted it gently. + +"I would go to London, Dad," she said coaxingly. "Nay, I must go to +London, Dad. I pray thee put no stumbling blocks in the way o' it--but +be kind as thou art always. See! an' thou dost let me away I will stay +but a month, a short month--but four weeks--it doth seem shorter to say +it so--an' then I'll fare home again swiftly an' bide in content. Oh! +think of it, Dad! to go to London! It is to go where one can hear the +heart of the whole world beat!" + +The old man shook his head in feeble remonstrance. + +"Thou wilt fare there an' thou hast the mind, Deb, but thou wilt never +come back an' bide in peace at One Tree Inn." + +The girl suddenly wound her arms about his neck and laid her cool sweet +face against his. When she raised it, it glistened with tears. + +"I will, Dad! I will, I will," she cried softly, then bent and caught +little Dorian up and went swiftly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +III + +The house in London where Darby Thornbury lodged was on the southern +side of the Thames in the neighbourhood of the theatres, a part of the +city known as Bankside. The mistress of the house was one Dame +Blossom, a wholesome-looking woman who had passed her girlhood at +Shottery, and remembered Darby and Debora when they were but babies. +It was on this account, probably, that she gave to the young actor an +amount of consideration and comfort he could not have found elsewhere +in the whole of Southwark. When he returned from his holiday, bringing +his sister with him, she welcomed them with a heartiness that lacked no +tone of absolute sincerity. + +The winter had broken when the two reached London; there was even a +hint of Spring in the air, though it was but February, and the whole +world seemed to be waking after a sleep. At least that was the way it +felt to Debora Thornbury. For then began a life so rich in enjoyment, +so varied and full of new delights that she sometimes, when brushing +that heavy hair of hers before the little copper mirror in the high +room that looked away to the river, paused as in a half dream, vaguely +wondering if she were in reality the very maid who had lived so long +and quietly at the old Inn away there in the pleasant Warwickshire +country. + +Her impulsive nature responded eagerly to the rapid flow of life in the +city, and she received each fresh impression with vivid interest and +pleasure. There was a new sparkle in her changeful blue eyes, and the +colour drifted in and out of her face with every passing emotion. + +Darby also, it struck the girl, was quite different here in London. +There was an undefined something about him, a certain assurance both of +himself and the situation that she had never noticed before. Truly +they had not seen anything of each other for the past two years, but he +appeared unchanged when he came home at Christmas. A trifle more manly +looking perchance, and with a somewhat greater elegance of manner and +speech, yet in verity the same Darby as of old; here in the city it was +not so, there was a dashing way about him now, a foppishness, an +elaborate attention to every detail of fashion and custom that he had +not burdened himself with at the little half-way house. The hours he +kept moreover were very late and uncertain, and this sorely troubled +his sister. Still each morning he spoke so freely of the many +gentlemen he had been with the evening before--at the Tabard--or the +Falcon--or even the Devil's Tavern near Temple Bar--where Debora had +gazed open-eyed at the flaunting sign of St. Dunstan tweaking the devil +by the nose--indeed, all these places he mentioned so entirely as a +matter of course, that she soon ceased to worry over the hour he +returned. The names of Marlowe and Richard Burbage, Beaumont, +Fletcher, Lodge, Greene and even Dick Tarleton, became very familiar to +her, beside those of many a lesser light who was wont to shine upon the +boards. It seemed reasonable and fair that Darby should wish to pass +as much time with reputable players as possible, and moreover he was +often, he said, with Ned Shakespeare--who was playing at +Blackfriars--and the girl knew that where _he_ was, the master himself +was most likely to be for shorter or longer time, for he ever shadowed +his brother's life with loving care. + +Through the day, when he was not at the theatre, Darby took his sister +abroad to see the sights. The young actor was proud to be seen with +her, and though he loved her for her own sweet sake, perhaps there was +more than a trifle of vanity mixed with the pleasure he obtained from +showing the city to one so easily charmed and entertained. + +The whispered words of admiration that caught his ear as Debora stood +beside him here and there in the public gardens and places of +amusement, were as honey to his taste. And it may be because they were +acknowledged to be so strikingly alike that it pleased his fancy to +have my lord this--and the French Count of that--the beaus and young +bloods of the town who haunted the playhouses and therefore knew the +actors well--plead with him, after having seen Debora once, to be +allowed to pay her at least some slight attention and courtesy. + +But Darby Thornbury knew his time and the men of it, and where his +little sister was concerned his actions were cool and calculating to a +degree. + +He was careful to keep her away from those places where she would +chance to meet and become acquainted with any of the players whom she +knew so well by name, and this the girl thought passing strange. +Further, he would not take her to the theatres, though in truth she +pleaded, argued, and finally lost her temper over it. + +"Nay, Deb," said her brother loftily, "let me be the best judge of +where I take thee and whom thou dost meet. I have not lived in London +more than twice twelve months for naught. Thou, sweeting, art as fresh +and dew-washed as the lilac bushes under Dad's window--and as green. +Therefore, I pray thee allow me to decide these matters. Did I not +take thee to Greenwich but yesterday to view the Queen's Plaisance, as +the place is rightly named?--Methinks I can smell yet that faint scent +of roses that so pervaded the place. Egad! 'tis not every lass hath +luck enow to see the very rooms Her Majesty hath graced. Marry no! +Such tapestries and draperies laced with Spanish gold-thread! Such +ancient portraits and miniatures set on ivory! Such chairs and tables +inlaid thick with mother o' pearl and beaten silver! That feast of the +eye should last thee awhile and save thy temper from going off at a +tangent." + +Debora lifted her straight brows by way of answer, and her red curved +mouth set itself in a dangerously firm line; but Darby appeared not to +notice these warning signals and continued in more masterful tone:-- + +"Moreover, I took thee to the Paris Gardens on a day when there was a +passable show, and one 'twas possible for a maid to view, yet even then +much against my will and better judgment. I have taken thee to the +notable churches and famous tombs. Thou hast seen the pike ponds and +the park and palace of the Lord Bishop of Winchester! And further, +thou hast walked with me again and again through Pimlico Garden when +the very fashion of the city was abroad. Ah! and Nonsuch House! Hast +forgotten Nonsuch House on London Bridge, and how we climbed the gilded +stairway and went up into the cupola for a fair outlook at the river? +'Tis a place to be remembered. Why, they brought it over from France +piecemeal, so 'tis said, and put it together with great wooden pegs +instead of nails. The city was sorely taxed for it all, doubtless." +He waited half a moment, apparently for some response, but as none +came, went on again: + +"As for the shops and streets, thou know'st them by heart, for there +has not been a day o' fog since we came to keep us in. Art not +satisfied, sweet?" + +"Nay then I am not!" she answered, with an impatient gesture. "Thou +dost know mightily well 'tis the playhouses, the playhouses I would +see!" + +"'Fore Heaven now! Did a man ever listen to such childishness!" cried +Darby. "And hast not seen them then?" + +"Marry, no!" she exclaimed, her lovely face reddening. + +"Now, by St. George! Then 'twas for naught I let thee gaze so long on +'The Swan,' and I would thou could'st just have seen thine eyes when +they ran up the red flag with the swan broidered upon it. Ay! and also +when their trumpeter blew that ear-splitting blast which is their +barbarous unmannerly fashion of calling the masses in and announcing +the play hath opened." + +The girl made no reply, but beat a soft, quick tattoo with her little +foot on the sanded floor. + +After watching her in amused silence Darby again returned to his +tantalising recital. + +"And I pointed out, as we passed it, the 'Rose Theatre' where the Lord +High Admiral's men have the boards. Fine gentlemen all, and +hail-fellow-well-met with the Earl of Pembroke's players, though they +care little for our Company. Since we have been giving Will +Shakespeare's comedies, the run of luck hath been too much with us to +make us vastly popular. Anon, I showed thee 'The Hope,' dost not +remember the red-tiled roof of it? 'Tis a private theatre, an' +marvellous comfortable, they tell me. An' thou has forgotten all +those; thou surely canst bring to mind the morning we were in +Shoreditch, how I stopped before 'The Fortune' and 'The Curtain' with +thee? 'Tis an antiquated place 'The Curtain,' but the playhouse where +Master Shakespeare first appeared, and even now well patronised, for +Ben Jonson's new comedy 'Every Man in his Humour' is running there to +full houses, an' Dick Burbage himself hath the leading part." + +He paused again, a merry light in his eyes and his lips twitching a +little. + +"Thou didst see 'The Globe' an' my memory fails me not, Deb? 'Tis our +summer theatre--where I fain we could play all year round--but that is +so far impossible as 'tis open to the sky, and a shower o' cold rain or +an impromptu sprinkling of sleet on one, in critical moments of the +play, hath disastrous effect. Come, thou surely hast not forgotten +'The Globe,' where we of the Lord High Chamberlain's Company have so +oft disported ourselves. Above the entrance there is the huge sign of +Atlas carrying his load and beneath, the words in Latin, '_All the +world acts a play_.'" + +Debora tossed her head and caught her breath quickly. "My patience is +gone with thee, since thou art minded to take me for a very fool, Darby +Thornbury," she said with short cutting inflection. "Hearts mercy! +'Tis not the outside o' the playhouses I desire to see, as thou dost +understand--'tis the inside--where Master Shakespeare is and the great +Burbage, an' Kemp, an' all o' them. Be not so unkind to thy little +sister. I would go in an' see the play--Marry an' amen! I am beside +myself to go in with thee, Darby!" + +The young actor frowned. "Nay then, Deb," he answered, "those ladies +(an' I strain a point to call them so) who enter, are usually masked. +I would not have thee of _them_. The play is but for men, like the +bear-baiting and bull-baiting places." + +"How can'st thou tell me such things," she cried, "an' so belittle the +stage? Listen now! this did I hear thee saying over and over last +night. So wonderful it was--and rarely, strangely beautiful--yet +fearful--it chilled the blood o' my heart! Still I remembered." + +Rising the girl walked to the far end of the room with slow, pretty +movement, then lifted her face, so like Darby's own--pausing as though +she listened. + +Her brother could only gaze at her as she stood thus, her plain grey +gown lying in folds about her, the sun burnishing the red-gold of her +hair; but when she began to speak he forgot all else and only for the +moment heard Juliet--the very Juliet the world's poet must have dreamed +of. + +On and on she spoke with thrilling intensity. Her voice, in its full +sweetness, never once failed or lost the words. It was the long +soliloquy of the maid of Capulet in the potion scene. After she +finished she stood quite still for a moment, then swayed a little and +covered her face with her hands. + +"It taketh my very life to speak the words so," she said slowly, "yet +the wonder of them doth carry me away from myself. But," going over to +Darby, "but, dear heart, how dost come thou art studying such a part? +'Tis just for the love of it surely!" + +The player rose and walked to the small window. He stood there quite +still and answered nothing. + +Debora laid one firm, soft hand upon his and spoke, half coaxingly, +half diffidently, altogether as though touching some difficult question. + +"Dost take the part o' Juliet, dear heart?" + +"Ay!" he answered, with a short, hard laugh. "They have cast me for +it, without my consent. At first I was given the lines of Mercutio, +then, after all my labour over the character--an' I did not spare +myself--was called on to give it up. There has been difficulty in +finding a Juliet, for Cecil Davenant, who hath the sweetest voice for a +girl's part of any o' us, fell suddenly ill. In an evil moment 'twas +decided I might make shift to take the character, for none other in the +Company com'th so near it in voice, they say, though Ned Shakespeare +hath a pink and white face, comely enow for any girl. Beshrew me, +sweetheart--but I loathe the taking of such parts. To succeed doth +certainly bespeak some womanish beauty in one--to fail doth mar the +play. At best I must be as the Master says, 'too young to be a man, +too old to be a boy.' 'Tis but the third time I have essayed such a +role, an 't shall be the last, I swear." + +"I would I could take the part o' Juliet for thee, Darby," said the +girl, softly patting the sleeve of his velvet tabard. + +"Thou art a pretty comforter," he answered, pinching her ear lightly +and trying to recover himself. + +"'Twould suit thee bravely, Deb, yet I'd rather see thee busy over a +love affair of thine own at home in Shottery. Ah, well! I'd best +whistle 'Begone dull care,' for 'twill be a good week before we give +the people the new play, though they clamour for it now. We are but +rehearsing as yet, and 'Two Gentlemen of Verona' hath the boards." + +"I would I could see the play if but for once," said Debora, clasping +her hands about his arm. "Indeed," coaxingly, "thou could'st manage to +take me an' thou did'st have the will." + +Darby knit his brows and answered nothing, yet the girl fancied he was +turning something in his mind. With a fair measure of wisdom for one +so eager she forebore questioning him further, but glanced up in his +face, which was grave and unreadable. + +Perchance when she had given up all hope of any favourable answer, he +spoke. + +"There is a way--though it pleases me not, Deb--whereby thou might be +able to see the rehearsals at least. The Company assembles at eight of +the morning, thou dost know; now I could take thee in earlier by an +entrance I wot of, at Blackfriars, a little half-hidden doorway but +seldom used--thence through my tiring-room--and so--and so--where dost +think?" + +"Nay! I know not," she exclaimed. "Where then, Darby?" + +"To the Royal Box!" he answered. "'Tis fair above the stage, yet a +little to the right. The curtains are always drawn closely there to +save the tinselled velvet and cloth o' gold hangings with which 't hath +lately been fitted. Now I will part these drapings ever so little, yet +enough to give thee a full sweeping view o' the stage, an' if thou +keep'st well to the back o' the box, Deb, thou wilt be as invisible to +us as though Queen Mab had cast her charmed cloak about thee. Egad! +there be men amongst the High Chamberlain's Players I would not have +discover thee for many reasons, my little sister," he ended, watching +her face. + +For half a moment the girl's lips quivered, then her eyes gathered two +great tears which rolled heavily down and lay glittering on her grey +kirtle. + +"'Tis ever like this with me!" she exclaimed, dashing her hand across +her eyes, "whenever I get what I have longed and longed for. First +com'th a ball i' my throat, then a queer trembling, an' I all but cry. +'Tis vastly silly is't not, but 'tis just by reason o' being a girl one +doth act so." Then eagerly, "Thou would'st not fool me, Darby, or +change thy mind? Thou art in earnest? Swear it! Cross thy heart!" + +"Ay! I am in earnest," he replied, smiling; "in very truth thou shalt +see thy brother turn love-sick maid and mince giddily about in +petticoats. I warrant thou'lt be poppy-red, though thou art hidden +behind the gold curtains, just to hear the noble Romeo vow me such +desperate lover's vows." + +"By St. George, Deb! we have a Romeo who might turn any maid's heart +and head. He is a handsome, admirable fellow, Sherwood, and hath a way +with him most fascinating. He doth act even at rehearsals as though +'twere all most deadly passionate reality, and this with only me for +inspiration. I oft' fancy what 'twould be--his love-making--an' he had +a proper Juliet--one such as thou would'st make, for instance." + +"I will have eyes only for thee, Darby," answered Debora, softly, "but +for thee, an', yes, for Master Will Shakespeare, should he be by." + +"He is often about the theatre, sweet, but hath no part in this new +play. No sooner hath he one written, than another is under his pen; +and I am told that even now he hath been reading lines from a wonderful +strange history concerning a Jew of Venice, to a party of his +friends--Ben Jonson and Dick Burbage, and more than likely Lord +Brooke--who gather nightly at 'The Mermaid,' where, thou dost remember, +Master Shakespeare usually stays." + +"I forget nothing thou dost tell me of him," said the girl, as she +turned to leave the room. "O wilt take me with thee on the morrow, +Darby? Wilt really take me?----" + +"On the morrow," he answered, watching her away. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +IV + +Thus it fell that each morning for one heavenly week Debora Thornbury +found herself safely hidden away in what was called by courtesy "The +Royal Box." In truth her Majesty had never honoured it, but commanded +the players to journey down to Greenwich when it was her whim to see +their performances. Now, in 1597, the Queen had grown too world-weary +to care much for such pastimes, and rarely had any London entertainment +at Court, save a concert by her choir boys from St. Paul's--for these +lads with their ofttimes beautiful faces, and their fine voices, she +loved and indulged in many ways. + +At first Debora felt strangely alone after Darby left her in the little +compartment above the stage at Blackfriars. Lingering about it was a +passing sweet odour, for the silken cushions were stuffed with fragrant +grasses from the West Indies, and the hand-railings and footstools were +of carven sandalwood. Mingled with these heavy perfumes was the scent +of tobacco, since the young nobles who usually filled the box indulged +much in the new weed. + +The girl would lean back against the seat in this dim, richly coloured +place, and give her mind up to a perfect enjoyment of the moment. + +From her tiny aperture in the curtains, skilfully arranged by Darby, +she could easily see the stage--all but the east wing--and, +furthermore, had a fair view of the two-story circular building. + +How gay it must be, she thought, when filled in gallery and pit with a +merry company! How bright and glittering when all the great cressets +and clusters of candles were alight! How charming to feel free to come +and go here as one would, and not have to be conveyed in by private +doorways like a bale of smuggled goods! + +Then she would dream of olden times, when the sable friars went in and +out of the old Dominican friary that stood upon the very place where +the theatre was now built. + +"'Twas marvellous strange," she thought, "that it should be a playhouse +that was erected on this ground that used to be a place of prayer." + +So the time would pass till the actors assembled. They were a jovial, +swaggering, happy-go-lucky lot, and it took all their Master-player's +patience to bring them into straight and steady work. But when the +play once began each one followed his part with keen enthusiasm, for +there was no half-hearted man amongst the number. + +Debora watched each actor, listened for each word and cue the prompter +gave them with an absorbed intensity she was scarcely conscious of. + +She soon discovered that play-goers were not greatly beguiled through +the eye, for the stage-settings changed but little, and the details of +a scene were simplified by leaving them to the imagination. Neither +did the music furnished by a few sad-looking musicians who appeared to +have been entrapped in a small balcony above the stage appeal to her, +for it was a thing the least said about the soonest mended. + +The actors wore no especial dress or makeup during these rehearsals, +save Darby, and he to grow better accustomed to such garments as +befitted the maid of Capulet, disported himself throughout in a +cumbersome flowing gown of white corduroy that at times clung about him +as might a winding sheet, and again dragged behind like a melancholy +flag of truce. Yet with the auburn love-locks shading his fair oval +face, now clean shaven and tinted like a girl's, and his clear-toned +voice, even Debora admitted, he was not so far amiss in the role. + +What struck her most from the moment he came upon the stage was his +wonderful likeness to herself. + +"I' faith," she half whispered, "did I not know that Deb Thornbury were +here--an' I have to pinch my arm to make that real--I should have no +shadow of a doubt but that Deb Thornbury were there, a player with the +rest, though I never could make so sad a tangle of any gown however bad +its cut--an' no woman e'er cut that one. Darby doth lose himself in it +as if 'twere a maze, and yet withal doth, so far, the part fair +justice." + +When Don Sherwood came upon the boards the girl's eyes grew brilliant +and dark. Darby had but spoken truth regarding this man's fascinating +personality. He was a strong, straight-limbed fellow, and his face was +such as it pleased the people to watch, though it was not of perfect +cast nor strictly beautiful; but he was happy in possessing a certain +magnetism which was the one thing needful. + +Yet it was not to manner or stage presence that Sherwood owed his +success, but rather to his voice, for there was no other could compare +to it in the Lord Chamberlain's Company. Truly the gods had been good +to this player--for first of all their gifts is such a golden-toned +voice as he had brought into this world of sorry discords. Never had +Debora listened to anything like it as it thrilled the stillness of the +empty house with the passionate words of Romeo. + +She followed the tragedy intensely from one scene to another till the +ending that stirs all tender hearts to tears. + +[Illustration: She followed the tragedy intensely] + +The lines of the different characters seemed branded upon her brain, +and she remembered them without effort and knew them quite by heart. +Sometimes Darby, struggling with the distressing complications of his +detested dress, would hesitate over some word or break a sentence, +thereby marring the perfect beauty of it, and while Sherwood would +smile and shrug his shoulders lightly as though as to say, "Have I not +enough to put up with, that thou art what thou art, but thou must +need'st bungle the words!" Then would Debora clench her hands and tap +her little foot against the soft rugs. + +"Oh! I would I had but the chance to speak his lines," she said to +herself at such times. "Prithee 'twould be in different fashion! 'Tis +not his fault, in sooth, for no living man could quite understand or +say the words as they should be said, but none the less it doth sorely +try my patience." + +So the enchanted hours passed and none came to disturb the girl, or +discover her till the last morning, which was Saturday. The rehearsal +had ended, and Debora was waiting for Darby. The theatre looked gray +and deserted. At the back of the stage the great velvet traverses +through which the actors made their exits and entrances, hung in dark +folds, sombre as the folds of a pall. A chill struck to her heart, for +she seemed to be the only living thing in the building, and Darby did +not come. + +She grew at last undecided whether to wait longer or risk going across +the river, and so home alone, when a quick step came echoing along the +passage that led to the box. In a moment a man had gathered back the +hangings and entered. He started when he saw the slight figure +standing in the uncertain light, then took a step towards her. + +The girl did not move but looked up into his face with an expression of +quick, glad recognition, then she leaned a little towards him and +smiled. "Romeo!" she exclaimed softly. "Romeo!" and as though +compelled to it by some strange impulse, followed his name with the +question that has so much of pathos, "Wherefore," she said, "Wherefore +art thou Romeo?" + +The man laughed a little as he let the curtains drop behind him. + +"Why, an' I be Romeo," he answered in that rare voice of his, full and +sweet as a golden bell, "then who art thou? Art not Juliet? Nay, +pardon me, mademoiselle," his tone changing, "I know whom thou art +beyond question, by thy likeness to Thornbury. 'Fore Heaven! 'tis a +very singular likeness, and thou must be, in truth, his sister. I +would ask your grace for coming in with such scant announcement. I +thought the box empty. The young Duke of Nottingham lost a jewelled +pin here yestere'en--or fancied so--and sent word to me to have the +place searched. Ah! there it is glittering above you in the tassel to +the right." + +"I have seen naught but the stage," she said, "and now await my +brother. Peradventure he did wrong to bring me here, but I so desired +to see the play that I persuaded and teased him withal till he could no +longer deny me. 'Twas not over-pleasant being hidden i' the box, but +'twas the only way Darby would hear of. Moreover," with a little proud +gesture, "I have the greater interest in this new tragedy that I be +well acquainted with Master William Shakespeare himself." + +"That is to be fortunate indeed," Sherwood answered, looking into her +eyes, "and I fancy thou could'st have but little difficulty in +persuading a man to anything. I hold small blame for Thornbury." + +Debora laughed merrily. "'Tis a pretty speech," she said, "an' of a +fine London flavour." Then uneasily, "I would my brother came; 'tis +marvellous unlike him to leave me so." + +"I will tell thee somewhat," said Sherwood, after a moment's thought. +"A party o' the players went off to 'The Castle Inn'--'tis hard by--an' +I believe their intention was to drink success to the play. Possibly +they will make short work and drink it in one bumper, but I cannot be +sure--they may drink it in more." + +"'Tis not like my brother to tarry thus," the girl answered. "I wonder +at him greatly." + +"Trouble nothing over it," said Sherwood; "indeed, he went against his +will; they were an uproarious lot o' roisterers, and carried him off +willy-nilly, fairly by main force, now I think on't. Perchance thou +would'st rather I left thee alone, mademoiselle?" he ended, as by +afterthought. + +"'Twould be more seemly," she answered, the colour rising in her face. + +"I do protest to that," said the man quickly. "And _I_ found thee +out--here alone--why, marry, so might _another_." + +"An' why not another as well?" Debora replied, lifting her brows; "an' +why not another full as well as thee, good Sir Romeo? There is no harm +in a maid being here. But I would that Darby came," she added. + +"We will give him license of five minutes longer," he returned. "Come +tell me, what dost think o' the play?" + +"'Tis a very wonder," said Debora; "more beautiful each time I see it." +Then irrelevantly, "Dost really fancy in me so great a likeness to my +brother?" + +"Thou art like him truly, and yet no more like him than I am +like--well, say the apothecary, though 'tis not a good instance." + +"Oh! the poor apothecary!" she cried, laughing. "Prithee, hath he been +starved to fit the part? Surely never before saw I one so altogether +made of bones." + +"Ay!" said Sherwood. "He is a very herring. I wot heaven forecasted +we should need such a man, an' made him so." + +"Think'st thou that?" she said absently. "O heart o' me! Why doth +Darby tarry. Perchance some accident may have happened him or he hath +fallen ill! Dost think so?" + +The player gave a short laugh, but looked as suddenly grave. + +"Do not vex thyself with such imaginings, sweet mistress Thornbury. He +hath not come to grief, I give thee my word for it. There is no youth +that know'th London better than that same brother o' thine, an' I do +not fear that he is ill." + +"Why, then, I will not wait here longer," she returned, starting. "I +can take care o' myself an' it be London ten times over. 'Tis a simple +matter to cross in the ferry to Southwark on the one we so oft have +taken; the ferry-man knoweth me already, an' I fear nothing. Moreover, +many maids go to and fro alone." + +"Thou shalt not," he said. "Wait till I see if the coast be clear. By +the Saints! 'twill do Thornbury no harm to find thee gone. He doth +need a lesson," ended the man in a lower tone, striding down the narrow +passage-way that led to the green-room. + +"Come," he said, returning after a few moments, "we have the place to +ourselves, and there is not a soul between Blackfriars an' the river +house, I believe, save an old stage carpenter, a fellow short o' wit, +but so over-fond of the theatre he scarce ever leaves it. Come!" + +As the girl stepped eagerly forward to join him, Sherwood entered the +box again. + +"Nay," on second thought--"wait. Before we go, I pray thee, tell me +thy name." + +"'Tis Debora," she said softly; "just Debora." + +"Ah!" he answered, in a tone she had heard him use in the play--passing +tender and passionate. "Well, it suiteth me not; the rest may call +thee Debora, an' they will--but I, I have a fancy to think of thee by +another title, one sweeter a thousand-fold!" So leaning towards her +and looking into her face with compelling eyes that brought hers up to +them, "Dost not see, an' my name be Romeo, thine must be----?" + +"Nay then," she cried, "I will not hear, I will not hear; let me pass, +I pray thee." + +"Pardon, mademoiselle," returned the player with grave, quick courtesy, +and holding back the curtain, "I would not risk thy displeasure." + +They went out together down the little twisted hall into the green-room +where the dried rushes that strewed the floor crackled beneath their +feet; through the empty tiring rooms, past the old half-mad stage +carpenter, who smiled and nodded at them, and so by the hidden door out +into the pale early spring sunshine. Then down the steep stairs to +Blackfriars Landing where the ferryman took them over the river. They +did not say a word to each other, and the girl watched with +unfathomable eyes the little curling line of flashing water the boat +left behind, though it may be she did not see it. As for Sherwood, he +watched only her face with the crisp rings of gold-red hair blown about +it from out the border of her fur-edged hood. He had forgotten +altogether a promise given to dine with some good fellows at Dick +Tarleton's ordinary, and only knew that there was a velvety sea-scented +wind blowing up the river wild and free; that the sky was of such a +wondrous blue as he had never seen before; that across from him in the +old weather-worn ferry was a maid whose face was the one thing worth +looking at in all the world. + +When the boat bumped against the slippery landing, the player sprang +ashore and gave Debora his hand that she might not miss the step. +There was a little amused smile in his eyes at her long silence, but he +would not help her break it. + +Together they went up and through the park where buds on tree and bush +were showing creamy white through the brown, and underfoot the grass +hinted of coming green. Then along the Southwark common past the +theatres. Upon all the road Sherwood was watchful lest they should run +across some of his company. + +To be seen alone and at mid-day with a new beauty was to court endless +questions and much bantering. + +For some reason Thornbury had been silent regarding his sister, and the +man felt no more willing to publish his chance meeting with Debora. + +He glanced often at her as though eager for some word or look, but she +gave him neither. Her lips were pressed firmly together, for she was +struggling with many feelings, one of which was anger against Darby. +So she held her lovely head high and went along with feverish haste. + +When they came to the house, which was home now out of all the others +in London, she gave a sweeping glance at the high windows lest at one +might be discovered the round, good-tempered, yet curious face of Dame +Blossom. But the tiny panes winked down quite blankly and her return +seemed to be unnoticed. + +Running up the steps she lifted her hand to the quaint knocker of the +door, turned, and looked down at the man standing on the walk. + +"I give thee many thanks, Sir Romeo," said the girl; "thou hast in +verity been a most chivalrous knight to a maiden in distress. I give +thee thanks, an' if thou art ever minded to travel to Shottery my +father will be glad to have thee stop at One Tree Inn." Then she +raised the knocker, a rap of which would bring the bustling Dame. + +Quickly the man sprang up the steps and laid his hand beneath it, so +that, though it fell, there should be no sound. + +"Nay, wait," he said, in a low, intense voice. "London is wide and the +times are busy; therefore I have no will to leave it to chance when I +shall see thee again. Fate has been marvellous kind to-day, but 'tis +not always so with fate, as peradventure thou hast some time +discovered." + +"Ay!" she answered, gently, "Ay! Sir Romeo. Thou art right, fate is +not always kind. Yet 'tis best to leave most things to its +disposal--at least so it doth seem to me." + +"Egad!" said Sherwood, with a short laugh, "'tis a way that may serve +well enow for maids but not for men. Tell me, when may I see thee? +To-night?" + +"A thousand times no!" Debora cried, quickly. "To-night," with a +little nod of her head, "to-night I have somewhat to settle with Darby." + +"He hath my sympathy," said Sherwood. "Then on the morrow?----" + +"Nay, nay, I know not. That is the Sabbath; players be but for +week-days." + +"Then Monday? I beseech thee, make it no later than Monday, and thou +dost wish to keep me in fairly reasonable mind." + +"Well, Monday, an' it please the fate thou has maligned," she answered, +smiling. Noticing that the firm, brown hand was withdrawn a few inches +from the place it had held on the panelling of the door, the girl gave +a mischievous little smile and let the knocker fall. It made a loud +echoing through the empty hall, and the player raised his laced +black-velvet cap, gave Debora so low a bow that the silver-gray plume +in it swept the ground, and, before the heavy-footed Mistress Blossom +made her appearance, was on his way swiftly towards London Bridge. + +Debora went up the narrow stairs with eyes ashine, and a smile curving +her lips. For the moment Darby was forgotten. When she closed the +chamber door she remembered. + +It was past high noon, and Dame Blossom had been waiting in impatience +since eleven to serve dinner. Yet the girl would not now dine alone, +but stood by the gabled window which looked down on the road, watching, +watching, and thinking, till it almost seemed that another morning had +passed. + +Along Southwark thoroughfare through the day went people from all +classes, groups of richly-dressed gentlemen, beruffled and befeathered; +their laces and their hair perfuming the wind. Officers of the Queen +booted and spurred; sober Puritans, long-jowled and over-sallow, living +protests against frivolity and light-heartedness. Portly aldermen, +jealous of their dignity. Swarthy foreigners with silver rings +swinging in their ears. Sun-browned sailors. Tankard-bearers carrying +along with their supply of fresh drinking water the cream of the hour's +gossip. Keepers of the watch with lanterns trimmed for the night's +burning adangle from oaken poles braced across their shoulders. Little +maidens whose long gowns cut after the fashion of their mothers, +fretted their dancing feet. Ruddy-hued little lads, turning Catherine +wheels for the very joy of being alive, and because the winter time was +over and the wine of spring had gone to the young heads. + +Debora stood and watched the passing of the people till she wearied of +them, and her ears ached with sounds of the street. + +Something had gone away from the girl, some carelessness, some content +of the heart, and in its place had come a restlessness, as deep, as +impossible to quiet, as the restlessness of the sea. + +After a time Mistress Blossom knocked at the door, and coaxed her to go +below. + +"There is no sight o' the young Master, Mistress Debora. Marry, but he +be over late, an' the jugged hare I made ready for his pleasuring is +fair wasted. Dost think he'll return here to dine or hast gone to the +Tabard?" + +"I know not," answered Debora, shortly, following the woman down +stairs. "He gave me no hint of his intentions, good Mistress Blossom." + +"Ods fish!" returned the other, "but that be not mannerly. Still thou +need'st not spoil a sweet appetite by tarrying for him. Take thee a +taste o' the cowslip cordial, an' a bit o' devilled ham. 'Tis a +toothsome dish, an' piping hot." + +"I give thee thanks," said Debora, absently. Some question turned +itself over in her mind and gave her no peace. Looking up at the busy +Dame she spoke in a sudden impulsive fashion. + +"Hath my brother--hath my brother been oft so late? Hath he always +kept such uncertain hours by night--and day also--I mean?" she ended +falteringly. + +"Why, sometimes. Now and again as 'twere--but not often. There be gay +young gentlemen about London-town, and Master Darby hath with him a +ready wit an' a charm o' manner that maketh him rare good company. I +doubt his friends be not overwilling to let him away home early," said +the woman in troubled tones. + +"Hath----he ever come in not--not--quite himself, Mistress Blossom? +'Tis but a passing fancy an' I hate to question thee, yet I must know," +said the girl, her face whitening. + +"Why then, nothing to speak of," Mistress Blossom replied, bustling +about the table, with eyes averted. "See then, Miss Debora, take some +o' the Devonshire cream an' one o' the little Banbury cakes with +it--there be caraways through them. No? Marry, where be thy appetite? +Thou hast no fancy for aught. Try a taste of the conserved cherries, +they be white hearts from a Shottery orchard. Trouble not thy pretty +self. Men be all alike, sweet, an' not worth a salt tear. Even +Blossom cometh home now an' again in a manner not to be spoken of! Ods +pitikins! I be thankful to have him make the house in any form, an' +not fall i' the clutch o' the watch! They be right glad of the chance +to clap a man i' the stocks where he can make a finish o' the day as a +target for all the stale jests an' unsavoury missiles of every scurvy +rascal o' the streets. But, Heaven be praised!--'tis not often Blossom +breaks out--just once in a blue moon--after a bit of rare good or bad +luck." + +Debora took no heed but stared ahead with wide, unhappy eyes. The old +blue plates on the table, the pewter jugs and platters grew strangely +indistinct. Then 'twas true! So had she fancied it might be. He had +been drinking--drinking. Carousing with the fast, unmannerly youths +who haunted the club-houses and inns. Dicing, without doubt, and +gambling at cards also peradventure, when she thought he was passing +the time in good fellowship with the worthy players from the Lord +Chamberlain's Company. + +"He hath never come home _so_ by day, surely, good Mistress Blossom? +Not by day?" she asked desperately. + +"Well--truly--not many times, dearie. But hark'e. Master Darby is one +who cannot touch a glass o' any liquor but it flies straightway to his +brains; oft hath he told me so, ay! often and over often; 'I am not to +blame for this, Blossom,' hath he said to my goodman when he worked +over him--cold water and rubbing, Mistress Debora--no more, no less. +'Nay, verily--'tis just my luck, one draught an' I be under the table, +leaving the other men bolt upright till they've swallowed full three +bottles apiece!" + +Debora dropped her face in her hands and rocked a little back an' +forth. "'Tis worse than I thought!" she cried, looking up drawn and +white. "Oh! I have a fear that 'tis worse--far, far worse. I have +little doubt half his money comes from play an' betting, ay! an' at +stakes on the bear-baiting, an'--an'--anything else o' wickedness there +be left in London--while we at home have thought 'twas earned +honestly." As she spoke a heavy rapping sounded down the hall, loud, +uneven, yet prolonged. + +Mistress Blossom went to answer it quickly, and Debora followed, her +limbs trembling and all strength seeming to slip away from her. +Lifting the latch the woman flung the outer door open and Darby +Thornbury lurched in, falling clumsily against his sister, who +straightened her slight figure and hardly wavered with the shock, for +her strength had come swiftly back with the sight of him. + +The man who lay in the hall in such a miserable heap, had scarce any +reminder in him of Darby Thornbury, the dainty young gallant whose +laces were always the freshest, and whose ruffs and doublets never bore +a mark of wear. Now his long cordovan boots were mud-stained and +crumpled about the ankles. His broidered cuffs and collar were +wrenched out of all shape. But worse and far more terrible was his +face, for its beauty was gone as though a blight had passed across it. +He was flushed a purplish red, and his eyes were bloodshot, while above +one was a bruised swelling that fairly closed the lid. He tried to get +on his feet, and in a manner succeeded. + +"By St. George, Deb!" he exclaimed in wrath, "I swear thou 'r a fine +sister to take f' outing. I was a double-dyed fool e'er to bring thee +t' London. Why couldn't y' wait f' fellow? When I go f' y'--y' not +there." + +Then he smiled in maudlin fashion and altered his tone. "Egad! I'm +proud o' thee, Deb, thou art a very beauty. All the bloods i' town ar' +mad to meet thee--th' give me no peace." + +"Oh! Mistress Blossom," cried Debora, clasping her hands, "can we not +take him above stairs and so to bed? Dear, dear Mistress Blossom, +silence him, I pray thee, or my heart will break." + +"Be thee quiet, Master Darby, lad," said the woman, persuasively. +"Wait, then, an' talk no more. I'll fetch Blossom; he'll fix thee into +proper shape, I warrant. 'Tis more thy misfortune than thy fault. +Yes, yes, I know thou be sore upset--but why did'st not steer clear o' +temptation?" + +"Temp-ation, Odso! 'tis a marvellous good word," put in Thornbury. +"Any man'd walk a chalk--line--if he could steer clear o' temptation." +So, in a state of verbose contrition, was he borne away to his chamber +by the sympathetic Blossom, who had a fellow-feeling for the lad that +made him wondrous kind. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +V + +All Saturday night Debora waited by her window--the one that looked +across the commonland to the Thames. The girl could not face what +might be ahead. Darby--her Darby--her father's delight. Their +handsome boy come to such a pass. "'Twas nothing more than being a +common drunkard. One whom the watch might have arrested in the Queen's +name for breaking the peace," she said to herself. "Oh! the horror of +it, the shame!" In the dark of her room her face burned. + +Never had such a fear come to her for Darby till to-day. When was it? +Who raised the doubt of him in her mind? Yes, she remembered; 'twas a +look--a strange look--a half smile, satirical, pitying, that passed +over the player Sherwood's face when he spoke of Darby's being +persuaded to drink with the others. In a flash at that moment the fear +had come, though she would not give it room then. It was a dangerous +life, this life in the city, and she knew now what that expression in +the actor's eyes had meant; realised now the full import of it. So. +It was all summed up in what she had witnessed to-day. But if they +knew--if Master Shakespeare and James Burbage knew--these responsible +men of the Company--how did they come to trust Darby with such parts as +he had long played. What reliance could be placed upon him? + +"Nay, then, 'twas a thing not known save by the few. He had not yet +become common gossip. Oh! he must be saved from himself--he must be +saved from himself," she said, wildly, and then fell to crying. +Resting her face, blanched and tear-washed, on the window ledge, she +gazed across the peaceful openland that was silvered by the late moon. +Truly such a landscape might one see in a dream. Away yonder over the +river was the city, its minarets and domes pointing to the purple, +shadowless sky, where a few scattered stars made golden twinkling. "In +London," she had said to her father, "one could hear the world's heart +beat." It seemed to come to her--that sound--far +off--muffled--mysterious--on the wings of the night wind. Away in +Stratford it would be dark and quiet now, save where the Avon dappled +with moonlight hurried high between its banks on its way to the +sea--and it would be dark and quiet in Shottery. The lights all out at +One Tree Inn, all but the great stable lantern, that swayed to and fro +till morning, as a beacon for belated travellers. How long--how very, +very long ago it seemed since she had unhooked it and gone off down the +snowy road to meet the coach. Ah! yes, Nicholas Berwick had caught up +with her, and they came home together. Nicholas Berwick! He was a +rarely good friend, Nick Berwick, and 'twas sweet and peaceful away +there in Shottery. She had not known this pain in her heart for Darby +when she was at home, no, nor this restless craving for the morrow, +this unhappy waiting that had stolen all joy away. Nay then, 'twas not +so. There in the little room a gladness came over the girl such as had +never touched her short, happy life before. A long, fluttering sigh +crossed her lips, and they smiled. The troubled thoughts for Darby +drifted away, and a voice came to her passing in sweetness all voices +that ever she had heard or dreamt of. + +"To-morrow?" it said. "Nay, I will not leave it to Fate." And again +with steady insistence--"Then Monday?" The words sung themselves over +and over till her white eyelids drooped and she slept. And the gray +dawn came creeping up the world, while in the eastern sky it was as +though an angel of God had plucked a red rose of heaven and scattered +its leaves abroad. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +VI + +When Debora awoke, the sunlight was flooding the chilly room, and on +the frosty air sounded a chiming of church bells. A confusion of +thoughts stormed her mind as she sprang up and found herself dressed +and by the window. Her eyes ached as eyes will that have wept +overnight, and her heart was heavy. Still it was not her way to think +long; so she bathed in fair water till her face got back its shell-pink +tints. She put on the white taffeta kirtle and farthingale that was +always kept for Sunday, and fastened a fluted ruff about her throat. +When all was finished, her hair coiled freshly and puffed at the sides +as Darby would have it dressed to follow the new fashion; when her +shoes, with their great silver buckles and red heels, were laced and +tied, and when the frills at her wrist were settled, she looked in the +mirror and felt better. It was not possible to view such a vision, +knowing that it was one's self, without taking comfort. + +"Things be past their worst surely," she said. "An' I have no heart in +me this morning to give Darby a harsh word. Marry! men take not kindly +to upbraiding, and hate a shrew at best o' times. So will I talk to +him in sweeter fashion, but in a tone that will be harder to endure +than any scolding." + +She went down the hall and stopped at her brother's door. No faintest +sound came from the room, so she entered and looked about. On the huge +four-post bed, from which the funereal-looking curtains were drawn +back, lay Darby, in a slumber deep and unrefreshing. Now and again a +heavy sigh broke from his lips. His bright locks were tossed and +ruffled about his face, and that was dead white, save for the violet +rings beneath the eyes and the unabated swelling on his forehead. + +"He is a doleful sight," said Debora, gazing down at him, her spirits +sinking, "a woful, doleful sight! Ods pitikins! 'tis worse than I +thought. What a pass 't has come to that this should be Darby +Thornbury. Heart o' me!" a flickering sarcastic little smile going +over her face, "Heart o' me, but here be a pretty Juliet!" Then she +grew grave. + +"Juliet!" verily it would not be possible! That part was out of the +question for Darby, at least on the morrow. The bruise on his brow +settled it, for the eye beneath was fairly closed. + +Alack! alack! she thought, how ever would things fall out at +Blackfriars? What of the new play that had already been put off some +months and had cost the Company heavily in new dresses, new scenery, +even new actors? Oh! was ever such a coil? 'Twould be the lad's +undoing upon the London stage. No Master-player would e'er trust him +with part or place again. + +Debora stood by the bed foot, still and sad, a thousand wild thoughts +and questions tangling themselves in her brain. Should she away to +Master Shakespeare, who had but just returned to London for the opening +day? He was at the Mermaid Inn, and peradventure 'twas best to tell +him all. She grew faint at the thought. Had not Judith told her what +a very fever of unrest possessed her father before one of these new +plays was shown! Debora fancied she could see his sensitive face, with +the eyes so wise and kindly, change and grow cold and forbidding as the +tale was unfolded. + +"Then what is left to do?" she said, desperately. "What is left to do? +The play must be saved, Darby must be saved, his reputation, his +standing among the players cannot be lost thus." Oh! for some one to +turn to--to advise. Oh! for Nick Berwick and his fair cool judgment. +Should she report at the theatre that her brother was ill? No, for he +had been seen with a merry party drinking at the Castle Tavern on +Saturday. If this outbreak could be tided over 'twould be his last, +she thought, passionately, her woman's faith coming to the rescue. +Some way she must find to save him. + +Slowly an idea took possession of the girl and it faded the colour from +her cheeks, and set a light in her eyes. + +"Debora Thornbury! Ay! there was one could play the part of Juliet." +The very life seemed to go out of her at the thought, and she slipped +down to the floor and buried her face in the coverlet. Slowly the cold +room, the great four-poster, the uneasy sleeper all faded away, and she +was alone upon a high balcony in the stillness of a moonlit garden. +The tree tops were silver-frosted by the light, and the night was sweet +with a perfume from the roses below. She was not Debora Thornbury, but +Juliet, the little daughter of the Capulets. The name of her lover was +on her lips and a strange happiness filled her soul. + +Suddenly rising she went to a heavy press that stood against the wall, +swung back the door, and sought out a suit of her brother's. It was of +Kendal green cloth, faced about the doublet with tan-coloured leather. +The long, soft boots were of the same, and the wide-brimmed hat bore a +cluster of white plumes and a buckle of brilliants, while a small lace +handkerchief was tucked into the band, after a fashion followed by +gentlemen of the court. Opening the door beneath the press the girl +selected cuffs and collar wrought in pointed lace. + +"In very truth," she said, with a little bitter smile. "Darby +Thornbury hath a pretty taste, an' must have coined many rose-nobles in +London--or won them. He hath certainly spent them, for never saw I +such store o' finery! Here be two velvet tabards slashed and puffed +with satin; and a short cloak o' russet silk laid upon with Flemish +lace fit for a prince! 'Truth what with his clocked hose, an' scented +gloves with stitchery o' silver thread on the backs methinks he hath +turned to a very dandy." + +Gathering the garments she desired together across her arm, she went +again to the bed, and looked down, her eyes growing tender. "I fear me +'tis an unmaidenly thing to even dream o' doing, but if 'tis done, 'tis +done for thee, dear heart, albeit without thy consent or Dad's. There +will be scant risk o' discovery--we be too much alike. People have +wearied us both prating of the likeness. Now 'twill serve; just two or +three nights' masquerade for me an' thou wilt be thyself again." +Stooping, she kissed the bruised face and went away. + +In her own room Debora made quick work of changing her dress. It was +an awkward business, for the doublet and green tabard seemed fairly +possessed to go contrariwise; the hose were unmanageable, and the +cordovan long boots needed stuffing at the toes. Here and there upon +the suit was broidered the Lord Chamberlain's coat of arms in gold +thread, and when all was finished Deb looked at herself and felt she +was a gorgeous and satisfying sight. "Marry! but men be fond o' fine +feathers," she thought, studying her reflection. + +Then, letting down the coils of auburn hair, she drew the glittering +strands through her fingers. "I would it might just be tucked up--it +pleasures one little to cut it off. Beshrew me! If I so resemble +Darby with such a cloud o' hair about me, what will I be like when 'tis +trimmed to match his?" Taking the shears she deliberately severed it +to the very length of her brother's. The love-locks curled around her +oval face in the self-same charming way. + +"My heart! 'tis all most vastly becoming," she exclaimed, fastening the +pointed collar. "I liked thee as a girl, Deb, but I love thee, nay, I +dote on thee as a lad! Now must I stride an' speak in mannish fashion +('tis well there go'th a long cloak with the suit, for on that I rely +to hearten my courage); also I bethink me 'twould be wise to use some +strong flavoursome words to garnish my plain speech. By Saint George! +now, or Gad Zooks! Heart's mercy! stay'th the hat so? or so? Alack! +my courage seem'th to ooze from my boot-heels. Steady, true heart, +steady! Nay then, I cannot do it. I will not do it--it look'th a very +horror to me. Oh! my poor, pretty hair; my poor, pretty hair!" + +[Illustration: "I like thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad"] + +On a sudden the girl was down on the floor, and the long locks were +caught together and passionately held against her lips. But it was +only for a moment. When the storm was over she rose and dashed the +mist of it from her eyes. + +"What must be, must be! I cannot think on any other plan. I would +there were an understudy, but there be none. So must I take the part +for Darby--and for Master William Shakespeare." + +So saying, Debora went below to the room where the table was laid for +breakfast, walking along the hall with a firm step, for her mind was +made up and she was never one to do things by halves. + +Taking her brother's place she knocked briskly on the little gong and +waited. Master Blossom started to answer the summons in a slow-footed, +ponderous way peculiar to him, yawning audibly at intervals upon the +way. + +The Sabbath morn was one whereon good folk should sleep long, and not +look to be waited on early, according to him. Dame Blossom herself was +but just astir, and lodgers were at best but an inconsiderate lot. +Cogitating on these things he entered the room, then stood stock still +as though petrified, his light blue eyes vacant with astonishment. + +The dainty figure at the table swinging one arm idly over its chair +back made no sign, unless the impatient tapping of a fashionable +boot-toe upon the sanded floor might be taken for one. + +"Ods fish!" exclaimed Blossom, moving heavily a few steps nearer. "I' +fecks! but thee art a very dai-asy, young Maister! Dost mind how 'A +put 'e to bed? Thou'st pulled tha' self together marvellous, all +things considered! + +"Marry, where be tha' black eye? 'twere swelled big as a ribstone +pippin!" + +"Beefsteak," answered Deb, laconically. "Beefsteak, my lively Blossom. +Tie a piece on tight next time thou hast an eye like mine--an' see what +thou shalt see." + +"But where gottest thou the beefsteak?" + +"Egad! where does any one get it? Don't stand there chattering like a +magpie, but bring me my breakfast. This head I have doth not feel like +the head o' Darby Thornbury. 'Tis nigh to breaking. Fetch me my +breakfast and give over staring at a man. See'st aught odd enough +about me to make thee go daft?" + +"I' fecks! 'tis the first time 'A ever heard thee call so loud for +breakfast after such a bout as thine o' yestere'en! I wonder thou hast +stomach for 't. Howbeit, 'tis thine own affair." + +The girl bit her lip. "Nay," she said with cool accent, "I may have +small appetite for it--but, as thou say'st, 'tis mine own affair." + +"Thou need'st good advice more than breakfast, young Maister," said +Blossom, solemnly. "Thy sister was in a way, 'A tell thee. Thou art +become a roisterer, a drinker an' a gambler that lives but to hear the +clink o' gold against the table. Ay! Such a devil-may-care gambler, +an' thou had'st a beard an' no money thou would'st stake that o'er the +dice. Being these things, an' a player o' plays, marry! 'A see no +fair end ahead o' thee." + +"Oh! get thee away an' send thy good wife--thou dost make my nerves +spin with thy prating. Get thee away," said Deb, petulantly. + +"Zounds! but thou art full like thyself in speech. Too much wine i' +thy stomach one day makes a monstrous uncivil tongue i' thy head next." + +"Nay then! I ask thy pardon, Blossom," cried the girl, laughing, and +holding out a crown piece she had discovered in a pocket of the +doublet, "thou art a friend I have no will to offend. Now send thy +good Dame." + +Shortly Mistress Blossom came bustling in, rosy in the face from +bending over an open fire. She carried high in one hand a platter from +which drifted a savoury smell, and a steaming flagon was in the other. +Setting these down she smoothed her voluminous skirt and stood waiting, +an expression of severe displeasure hardening her face. + +"A goodly day to you, and a fresh morning, mistress," Deb said +shortly--"I pray thee shut the door--an' see it be latched." + +The woman did so without speaking. + +"Now look at me well. Come"--smiling--"did'st ever see me more like +myself?" + +"Nay," replied the Dame, after a slow scrutiny of the charming figure. +"In looks thou art well enow. An' thy manners matched, 'twere cause +for rejoicing. Thou wer't a disgrace yestere'en to thy sister, ay! an' +to the hamlet o' Shottery that saw thee raised." + +"Make a finish, good Dame," answered Deb, mockingly; "say a disgrace to +myself an' the company o' players I have the honour of belonging to." + +"Hoity-toity! Play actors!" quoth the other. "Little care I for what +disgrace thou be'st to them! But what o' thy broken head, lad? Hath +it sore pained thee? Why, my faith, the swelling be quite gone!" + +The girl gave way to a short peal of laughter. + +"Marry! I laugh," she said, struggling for composure, "yet feel little +like it. Look well again, Mistress Blossom. Look well. Surely there +be small triumph in befooling thee, for thou art too easy hoodwinked +withal. Gaze steady now. Dost still say 'tis Darby Thornbury?" + +The woman stared while her complexion went from peony red to pale pink. +"Thou giv'st me a turn, an' I be like to swoon," she gasped. "What +prank has't afoot, lad?" + +"Thou wilt go a bit farther before thou dost faint. Hark then, an' +prythee hold by the table an' thou turn'st giddy. Now doth it come. +See then, this handsome, well-favoured youth thou art breakfasting," +rising and making a pretty bow, "is--is none other than _Deb +Thornbury_!" + +"Ods pitikins!" cried the woman. + +"Sit down," answered Deb, growing sober. "I would talk with thee, for +I need thy good-will and, peradventure, thy help. Things with my +brother are in a very coil. He will not be able to take his part i' +the new play on the morrow. His face is too sorely marred. Beshrew +me, he looks not one half as much like himself as I look like him. Now +there be no understudy i' the cast for the character Darby hath +taken--further, 'tis an all important one. To have him away would mean +confusion and trouble to Blackfriars and I gainsay nothing rejoicing to +the Admiral's Company and Lord Pembroke's men. 'Tis not to be +contemplated. By the Saints! I would not have trouble come to Master +Will Shakespeare through my brother, no, not for the crown jewels! +Dost follow me?" + +"Nay, that I do not nor what thou'rt coming at," was the dazed response. + +Debora shrugged her shoulders. "I hoped 't would have dawned on thee. +Why, 'tis just this, I will play the part myself." + +"Thou?" cried Dame Blossom, agape. "Thou, Mistress Debora?" + +"Yes! yes! Nay, ply me not with questions. My mind is set. There be +not one in London who will discover me, an' thou dost not break faith, +or let thy good man scent aught on the wind. But I wanted to tell +thee, dear Mistress Blossom, and have thy good word. Pray thee say I +am not doing wrong, or making any error. I have been so bewildered." + +"I will not say thou art i' the right, for I know not. Has't asked +Master Darby's consent?" + +The girl turned impatiently. "Heart o' me! but thou art able to +provoke one. His consent!" with a short laugh. "Nay then--but I will +show him his face i' the mirror, an' on sight of it he will leave +things for me to settle." + +"Ay!" the dame returned, blankly, "I warrant he will. But art not +afeared o' the people? What if they should discover thou art a +_woman_!" + +"I'll say they are of quicker wit than one I could name," returned +Debora. "As for the play--well, I know the play by heart. Now one +thing more. I would have thee go with me to Blackfriars. The theatre +opens at four o'clock. Say thou wilt bear me company dear, dear +Mistress Blossom. Say thou wilt." + +"Nay then, I will _not_. Ods fish! Thou hast gotten thyself in this +an' thou can'st get out alone. I will keep a quiet tongue, but ask me +to do naught beside." + +"Well-a-day! 'Tis as I thought. Now I will go and dress in maidenly +clothes. These fearsome things be not needed till the morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +VII + +By Monday noon Darby Thornbury was unable to lift his head from the +pillow by reason of its aching. He remembered nothing about receiving +the blow over his eye, and talked little. Dame Blossom and Debora +tended him faithfully, keeping Master Blossom away from a true +knowledge of affairs. Debora would have had a physician, but Darby +would not listen to it. + +"I will have no leeching, blood-letting nor evil-smelling draughts," he +cried, irritably; "no poultices nor plasters neither! I have misery +enough without adding to it, Egad!" + +Being brought to this pass and having seen his face in the mirror, he +bade Debora find the Master-player of the Company and make what excuse +she could for him. + +"I be a thrice-dyed fool, Deb," he said with a groan. "Work is over +for me in London. I'll ship to the Indies, or America, an' make an +ending." Then starting up--"Oh! Deb, could naught be done with me so +that I could play this evening?" + +"I know not, dear heart," she answered gently, "perchance thy looks +might not count an' thou wer't able to act. Art better?" + +"Nay, worse!" he said, falling back. "My head maddens me! An' not a +word o' the lines sticks i' my memory." So he raved on, fiercely +upbraiding himself and wearying Debora. After a time she slipped on +her hooded cloak, bade him good-bye, and went out. Returning, she told +Darby that he could take courage, for a substitute had been found in +his place. + +"Ask no questions, dear heart. Nay--an' trouble no more, but rest. +Thou wilt be on the boards by Wednesday, an' thy luck is good." + +"Dost think so, sweet?" he asked, weakly. "An' will the mark be gone?" + +"Why, nearly," she answered; "an' if it still be a little blue, we will +paint it. In any case, thine eye will be open, which it is not now." + +"Thou art a very angel, Deb, an' I am a brute. I know not where they +got one to take my part--an' Marry! I seem not to care. Never will I +drink aught but water. Nay, then, thou shalt not go. Stay by me till +I sleep, for there be queer lights before my eyes, an' I see thee +through them. Thou art so beautiful, Deb, so beautiful." + +She waited till he slept, sometimes smiling to herself in a wise way. +What children men were when they were ill, she thought. Even Dad would +not let her out of his sight when the rheumatism crippled him all last +winter. Why, once Nick Berwick came in with a sprained wrist, and +naught would be but Deb must bathe and bind it. Nick Berwick! he was +so strong and tall and straight. A sigh broke over her lips as she +rose and went away to her room. + +Half an hour later Debora came down the stairs dressed in the suit of +Kendal green. Dame Blossom met her in the hallway. + +"Dost keep to thy mad plan, Mistress Deb?" + +"Truly," answered the girl. "See, I will be back by sundown. Have no +fear for me, the tiring-room hath a latch, an' none know me for myself. +Keep thy counsel an' take care o' Darby." + + * * * * * + +Blackfriars was filled that March afternoon. The narrow windows in the +upper gallery had all been darkened, and the house was lit by a +thousand lights that twinkled down on eager faces turned towards the +stage. Even then at the edge of the rush-strewn boards was a line of +stools, which had been taken at a rose-noble apiece by some score of +young gallants. + +Those who watched the passing of the Master's new romance remembered it +while life was in them. Many told their children's children of the +marvel of it in the years that followed. + +"There was a maid i' the play that day," said a man, long after, "whom +they told me was no maid, but a lad. The name was written so on the +great coloured bill i' the play-house entrance. 'Marry! an' he be not +a maid,' said I, ''tis little matter.' He played the part o' Juliet, +not as play-acting, but reality. After the curtain was rung down the +people stole away in quiet, but their tongues loosened when they got +beyond the theatre, for by night the lad was the talk o' London. + +"So it went the next day, an' the next, I being there to see, an' fair +fascinated by it. Master Will Shakespeare was noticed i' the house the +third evening for the first time, though peradventure he had been with +the Company behind the scenes, or overhead in the musicians' balcony. +Howbeit, when he was discovered there was such a thunder o' voices +calling his name that the walls o' the play-house fairly rocked. + +"So he came out before the curtain and bowed in the courtly way he hath +ever had. His dress was all of black, the doublet o' black satin +shining with silver thread, an' the little cloak from his shoulders o' +black velvet. He wore, moreover, a mighty ruff fastened with a great +pearl, which, I heard whispered, was one the Queen herself had sent +him. Report doth says he wears black always, black or sober grays, in +memory o' a little lad of his--who died. Well-a-day; I know not if 't +be true, but I do know that as he stood there alone upon the stage a +quiet fell over the theatre till one could hear one's own heart beat. +He spoke with a voice not over-steady, yet far-reaching and sweet and +clear, an', if my memory hath not played me false, 'twas this he said:-- + +"'Good citizens, you who are friendly to all true players of whatever +Company they be, I give you thanks, and as a full heart hath ever few +words, perchance 'tis left me but to say again and again, I give you +thanks. Yet to the gentlemen of my Lord Chamberlain's Company I owe +much, for they have played so rarely well, the story hath indeed so +gained at their hands, I have dared to hope it will live on. + +"''Tis but a beautiful dream crystallised, but may it not, +peradventure, be seen again by other people of other times, when we, +the players of this little hour, have long grown weary and gone to +rest; and when England is kindlier to her actors and reads better the +lessons of the stage than now. When England--friends of mine--is older +and wiser, for older and wiser she will surely grow, though no +dearer--no dearer, God wots--than to-day.' + +"Ay!" said he who told of this, "in such manner--though perchance I +have garbled the words--he spoke--Will Shakespeare--in the old theatre +of Blackfriars, and for us who listened 'twas enough to see him and +know he was of ourselves." + +Behind the scenes there was much wonderment over the strangely clever +acting of Darby Thornbury. Two players guessed the truth; another knew +also. This was a man, one Nicholas Berwick. + +He stood down by the leathern screenings of the entrance, and three +afternoons he was there, his face white as the face of the dead, his +eyes burning with an inward fire. He watched the stage with mask-like +face, and his great form gave no way though the throng pressed and +jostled him. Now and again it would be whispered that he was a little +mad. If he heard, he heeded nothing. To him it was as though the end +of all things had been reached. + +He saw Debora, only Debora. She was there for all those curious eyes +to gaze upon, an' this in absolute defiance of every manner and custom +of the times. Slowly it came to Berwick's mind, distraught and +tortured, that she was playing in Darby's stead, and with some good +reason. "That matters not," he thought. "If it be discovered there +will be no stilling o' wicked tongues, nor quieting o' Shottery +gossip." As for himself, he had no doubt of her. She was his +sovereign lady, who could do no wrong, even masquerading thus. But a +very terror for her possessed him. Seeming not to listen, he yet heard +what the people said in intervals of the play. They were quick to +discover the genius of the young actor they called Thornbury, and +commented freely upon his wonderful interpretation of lines; but, well +as he was known by sight, not a word--a hint, nor an innuendo was +spoken to throw a doubt on his identity. Debora's resemblance to him +was too perfect, the flowing, heavy garments too completely hid the +girlish figure. Further, her accent was Darby's own, even the trick of +gesture and smile were his; only the marvel of genius was in one and +not in the other. + +What the girl's reasons could be for such desperate violation of custom +Berwick could not divine, yet while groping blindly for them, with +stifled pain in his heart and wild longing to take her away from it +all, he gave her his good faith. + +Just after sundown, when the play was ended, the man would watch the +small side door the actors alone used. Well he knew the figure in the +Kendal green suit. Debora must have changed her costume swiftly, for +she was among the first to leave the theatre, and twice escaped without +being detained by any. On the third evening Berwick saw her followed +by two actors. + +"Well met, Thornbury!" they called. "Thou hast given us the slip often +enough, and further, Master Shakespeare himself was looking for thee as +we came out. Hold up, we be going by the ferry also and are bound to +have thee for company. 'Fore Heaven, thou art a man o' parts!" + +Debora halted, swinging half round toward them with a little laugh. + +"Hasten, then," she said. "I have an appointment. Your lines be +lighter than mine, in good sooth, or your voices would need resting." + +"Thou hast been a very wonder, Thornbury," cried the first. "Talking +of voices, what syrup doth use, lad? Never heard I tones more smooth +than thine. Thou an' Sherwood together! Egad! 'Twas most singular +an' beautiful in effect. Thy modulation was perfect, no wretched +cracking nor breaking i' the pathetic portions as we be trained to +expect. My voice, now! it hath a fashion of splitting into a thousand +fragments an' I try to bridle it." + +"'Tis all i' the training," responded Debora, shortly. + +"Beshrew me!" said the other; "if 'tis not pity to turn thee back into +these clothes, Thornbury. By Saint George! yes--thou dost make too +fine a woman." + +Berwick clenched his hands as he followed hard behind. The players +decided to cross by London Bridge, as the ferries were over-crowded, +and still the man kept his watch. Reaching Southwark, the three +separated, Debora going on alone. As she came toward Master Blossom's +house a man passed Berwick, whom he knew at a glance to be the actor +Sherwood. He was not one to be easily forgotten, and upon Nicholas +Berwick's memory his features were fixed indelibly; the remembrance of +his voice was a torture. Fragments of the passionate, immortal lines, +as this man had spoken them at Blackfriars, went through his mind +endlessly. + +Now Sherwood caught up to the boyish figure as it ran up the steps of +the house. + +Berwick waited in shadow near by, but they gave him no heed. He saw +the girl turn with a smile that illumined her face. The actor lifted +his hat and stood bareheaded looking upward. He spoke with eager +intensity. Berwick caught the expression of his eyes, and in fancy +heard the very words. + +Debora shook her head in a wilful fashion of her own, but, bending +down, held out her hand. Sherwood raised it to his lips--and--but the +lonely watcher saw no more, for he turned away through the twilight. + +"The play is ended for thee, Nick Berwick," he said, half aloud. "The +play is ended; the curtain dropped. Ay--an' the lights be out." He +paced toward the heart of the city, and in the eastern sky, that was of +that rare colour that is neither blue nor green, but both blended, a +golden star swung, while in the west a line of rose touched the gray +above. A benediction seemed to have fallen over the world at the end +of the turbulent day. But to Nicholas Berwick there was peace neither +in the heavens nor the earth. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +VIII + +Debora went to her own room swiftly that third evening, and, turning +the key, stood with her two hands pressed tight above her heart. "'Tis +over," she said--"'tis over, an' well over. Now to tell Darby. I' +faith, I know not rightly who I am. Nay, then, I am just Deb +Thornbury, not Darby, nor Juliet, for evermore. Oh! what said he at +the steps? 'I know thee, I have known thee from the first. See, thou +art mine, thou art mine, I tell thee, Juliet, Juliet!'" + +Then the girl laughed, a happy little laugh. "Was ever man so +imperative? Nay, was ever such a one in the wide, wide world?" + +Remembering her dress, she unfastened it with haste and put on the +kirtle of white taffeta. + +The thought of Sherwood possessed her; his face, the wonderful golden +voice of him. The words he had said to her--to her only--in the play. + +Of the theatre crowded to the doors, of the stage where the Lord +Chamberlain's Company made their exits and entrances, of herself--chief +amongst them--she thought nothing. Those things had gone like a dream. +She saw only a man standing bareheaded before the little house of Dame +Blossom. "I know thee," he had said, looking into her eyes. "Thou art +mine." + +"Verily, yes--or will be no other's," she had answered him; "and as for +Fate, it hath been over-kind." So, with her mind on these thoughts, +she went to Darby's room. + +He was standing idly by the window, and wheeled about as the girl +knocked and entered. + +"How look I now, Deb?" he cried. "Come to the light. Nay, 'tis hardly +enough to see by, but dost think I will pass muster on the morrow? I +am weary o' being mewed up like a cat in a bag." + +Debora fixed her eyes on him soberly, not speaking. + +"What is't now?" he said, impatiently. "What art staring at? Thine +eyes be like saucers." + +"I be wondering what thou wilt say an' I tell thee somewhat," she +answered, softly. + +"Out with it then. Thou hast seen Berwick, I wager. I heard he was to +be in town; he hath followed thee, Deb, an'--well, pretty one--things +are settled between thee at last?" + +"Verily, no!" she cried, her face colouring, "an' thou canst not better +that guessing, thou hadst best not try again." + +"No? Then what's to do, little sister?" + +"Dost remember I told thee they had found one to take thy part at +Blackfriars?" + +"Egad, yes, that thought has been i' my head ever since. 'Fore Heaven, +I would some one sent me word who 'twas. I ache for news. Hast heard +who 'twas, Deb?" + +"'Twas I," she answered, the pink going from her face. "'Twas I, +Debora!" + +The young fellow caught at the window ledge and looked at her steadily +without a word. Then he broke into a strange laugh. Taking the girl +by the shoulder he swung her to the fading light. + +"What dost mean?" he said, hoarsely. "Tell me the truth." + +"I' faith, that is the truth," she answered, quietly. "The only truth. +There was no other way I could think of--and I had the lines by heart. +None knew me. All thought 'twas thee, Darby. See, see! when I was +fair encased in that Kendal green suit o' thine, why even Dad could not +have told 'twas not thy very self! We must be strangely alike o' face, +dear heart--though mayhap our souls be different." + +"Nay!" he exclaimed, "'tis past belief that thou should'st take my +part! My brain whirls to think on't. I saw thee yesternight--the day +before--this noon-day--an' thou wert as unruffled as a fresh-blown +rose. Naught was wrong with thy colour, and neither by word or sign +did'st give me an inkling of such mad doings! 'Gad!--if 'tis true it +goes far to prove that a woman can seem most simple when she is most +subtle. An' yet--though I like it not, Deb--I know not what to say to +thee. 'Twas a venturous, mettlesome thing to do--an' worse--'twas +vastly risky. We be not so alike--I cannot see it." + +"Nor I, _always_," she said, with a shrug, "but others do. Have no +fear of discovery, one only knows beside Dame Blossom, and they will +keep faith. Neither fear for thy reputation. The people gave me much +applause, though I played not for that." + +Darby threw himself into a chair and dropped his face in his hands. + +"Who is't that knows?" he asked, half-roughly, after a pause. "Who +is't, Deb?" + +"He who played Romeo," she said, in low tone. + +"Sherwood?" exclaimed Darby. "Don Sherwood! I might have guessed." + +"Ay!" replied the girl. "He only, I have reason to believe." A +silence fell between them, while the young fellow restlessly crossed to +the window again. Debora went to him and laid her hand upon his +shoulder, as was her way. + +"Thou wilt not go thy own road again, Darby?" she said, coaxingly. +"Perchance 'tis hard to live straightly here in London--still promise +me thou wilt not let the ways o' the city warp thy true heart. See, +then, what I did was done for thee; mayhap 'twas wrong--thou know'st +'twas fearsome, an' can ne'er be done again." + +"'Twill not be needed again, Deb," he answered, and his voice trembled. +"Nay, I will go no more my own way, but thy way, and Dad's. Dost +believe me?" + +"Ay!" she said, smiling, though her lashes were wet, "Dad's way, for +'tis a good way, a far better one than any thy wilful, wayward little +sister could show thee." + +Out of doors the velvety darkness deepened. Somewhere, up above, a +night-hawk called now and again its harsh, yet plaintive, note. A +light wind, bearing the smell of coming rain and fresh breaking earth, +blew in, spring-like and sweet, yet sharp. + +Presently Debora spoke, half hesitatingly. + +"I would thou wert minded to tell me somewhat," she started, "somewhat +o' Sherwood, the player. Hath he--hath he the good opinion o' Master +Will Shakespeare--now?" + +"In truth, yes," returned the actor. "And of the whole profession. It +seems," smiling a little, "it seems thou dost take Master Shakespeare's +word o' a man as final. He stand'th in thy good graces or fall'th out +o' them by that, eh!" + +"Well, peradventure, 'tis so," she admitted, pursing up her lips. "But +Master Don Sherwood--tell me----" + +"Oh! as for him," broke in Darby, welcoming any subject that turned +thought from himself, "he is a rare good fellow, is Sherwood, though +that be not his real name, sweet. 'Tis not often a man makes change of +his name on the handbills, but 'tis done now and again." + +"It doth seem an over-strange fashion," said Debora, "an' one that must +surely have a reason back o' it. What, then, is Master Sherwood called +when he be rightly named?" + +"Now let me think," returned Darby, frowning, "the sound of it hath +slipped me. Nay, I have it--Don--Don, ah! Dorien North. There 'tis, +and the fore part is the same as the little lad's at home, an uncommon +title, yet smooth to the tongue. Don Sherwood is probably one Dorien +Sherwood North, an' that too sounds well. He hath a rare voice. It +play'th upon a man strangely, and there be tones in it that bring tears +when one would not have them. Thou should'st hear him sing Ben +Jonson's song! 'Rare Ben Jonson,' as some fellow hath written him +below a verse o' his, carved over the blackwood mantel at the Devil's +tavern. Thou should'st hear Sherwood sing, 'Drink to me only with +thine eyes.' I' faith! he carries one's soul away! Ah! Deb," he +ended, "I am having a struggle to keep my mind free from that escapade +o' thine. Jove! an' I thought any other recognised thee!" + +"None other did, I'll gainsay," Debora answered, in a strangely quiet +way; "an' he only because he found me that day i' the Royal Box--so +long ago. What was't thou did'st call him, Darby? Don Sherwood? Nay, +Dorien North. Dorien North!" + +Her hand, which had been holding Darby's sleeve, slipped away from it, +and with a little cry she fell against the window ledge and so to the +floor. + +Darby hardly realised for a moment that she had fainted. When she did +not move he stooped and lifted her quickly, his heart beating fast with +fear. + +"Why, Deb!" he cried. "What is't? Heaven's mercy! She hath swooned. +Nay, then, not quite; there, then, open thine eyes again. Thou hast +been forewearied, an' with reason. Art thyself now?" as his sister +looked up and strove to rise. + +"Whatever came over thee, sweet? Try not to walk. I will lift thee to +the bed an' call Dame Blossom. Marry! what queer things women be." + +"Ay! truly," she answered, faintly, steadying herself against him. +"Ay! vastly queer. Nay, I will not go to the bed, but will sit in your +chair." + +"Thou art white as linen," anxiously. "May I leave thee to call the +Dame? I fear me lest thou go off again." + +"Fear naught o' that," said Deb, with a little curl of her lips. "An' +call Mistress Blossom an' thou wilt, but 'tis nothing; there--dear +heart, I will be well anon. Hast not some jaunt for to-night? I would +not keep thee, Darby." + +"'Tis naught but the players' meeting-night at The Mermaid. It hath no +great charm for me, and I will cry it off on thy account." + +"That thou wilt not," she said, with spirit, a bit of pink coming to +her face with the effort. "I can trust thee, an' thou must go. 'Twill +ne'er do to have one an' another say,--'Now, where be Darby Thornbury?' +There might be some suspicions fly about an' they met thee not." + +"Thou hast a wise head. 'Twould not do,--and I have a game o' bluff to +carry on that thou hast started. Thou little heroine!" kissing her +hand. "What pluck thou did'st have! What cool pluck. Egad!" +ruefully, "I almost wish thou had'st not had so much. 'Twas a +desperate game, and I pray the saints make me equal to the finish." + +"'Twas desperate need to play it," she answered, wearily. "Go, then, I +would see Mistress Blossom." + +Thornbury stood, half hesitating, turned, and went out. + +"'Twill ever be so with him," said the girl. "He lov'th me--but he +lov'th Darby Thornbury better." + +Then she hid her face. "Oh! heart o' me! I cannot bear it, I cannot +bear it--'tis too much. I will go away to Shottery to-morrow. I mind +me what Dad said, an' 't has come to be truth. 'Thou wilt never bide +in peace at One Tree Inn again.' Peace!" she said, with bitter accent. +"Peace! I think there be no peace in the world; or else 't hath passed +me by." + +Resting her chin on her hand, she sat thinking in the shadowy room. +Darby had lit a candle on the high mantel, and her sombre eyes rested +on the yellow circle of light. + +"Who was't I saw 'n the road as I came out o' Blackfriars? Who +was't--now let me think. I paid no more heed than though I had seen +him in a dream, yet 'twas some one from home--Now I mind me! 'Twas +Nicholas Berwick. His eyes burned in his white face. He stared +straightway at me an' made no sign. An' so he was in the theatre also. +Then he _knew_! Poor Nick! poor Nick!" she said, with a heavy sigh. +"He loved me, or he hath belied himself many times; an' I! I thought +little on't." + +"Oh! Mistress Blossom," as the door opened. "Is't thou? Come over +beside me." As the good Dame came close, the girl threw her arms about +her neck. + +"Why, sweet lamb!" exclaimed the woman. "What hath happened thee? +Whatever hath happened thee?" + +"What is one to do when the whole world go'th wrong?" cried Debora. +"Oh! gaze not so at me, I be not dazed or distraught. Oh! dear +Mistress Blossom, I care not to live to be as old as thou art. I am +forewearied o' life." + +"Weary o' life! an' at thy time! My faith, thou hast not turned +one-and-twenty! Why, then, Mistress Debora, I be eight-an'-forty, yet +count that not old by many a year." + +Deb gave a tired little gesture. "Every one to their fancy--to me the +world and all in it is a twice-told tale. I would not have more o' +it--by choice." She rose and turned her face down toward the good +Dame. "An' one come to ask for me--a--a player, one Master Sherwood of +the Lord Chamberlain's Company--could'st thou--would'st thou bid him +wait below i' the small parlour till I come?" + +"Ay, truly," answered the woman, brightening. "Thou art heartily +welcome to receive him there, Mistress Debora." + +"Thank thee kindly. He hath business with me, but will not tarry long." + +"I warrant many a grand gentleman would envy him that business," said +the Dame, smiling. + +Debora gave a little laugh--short and hard. Her eyes, of a blue that +was almost black, shone like stars. + +"Dost think so?" she said. "Nay, then, thou art a flatterer. I will +to my room. My hair is roughened, is't not?" + +"Thou art rarely beautiful as thou art; there be little rings o' curls +about thy ears. I would not do aught to them. Thy face hath no +colour, yet ne'er saw I thee more comely." + +"Now, that is well," she answered. "That giveth my faint heart +courage, an' marry! 'tis what I need. I would not look woe-begone, or +of a cast-down countenance, not I! but would bear me bravely, an' there +be cause. Go thou now, good Mistress Blossom; the faintness hath quite +passed." + +It seemed but a moment before Debora heard the Dame's voice again at +the door. + +"He hath come," she said, in far-reaching whisper fraught with burden +of unrelieved curiosity. + +"He doth wait below, Mistress Deb. Beshrew me! but he is as goodly a +gentleman as any i' London! His doublet is brocaded an' o'er brave +with silver lacings, an' he wear'th a fluted ruff like the quality at +Court. Moreover, he hold'th himself like a very Prince." + +"Doth he now?" said Debora, going down the hallway. "Why, then he hath +fair captivated thee. Thou, at thy age! Well-a-day! What think'st o' +his voice," she asked, pausing at the head of the stairs. "What +think'st o' his voice, Mistress Blossom?" + +"Why, that 'twould be fine an' easy for him to persuade one to his way +o' thinking with it--even against their will," answered the woman, +smiling. + +"Ah! good Dame, I agree not with thee in that," said Debora. "I think +he hath bewitched thee, i' faith." So saying, she went below, opened +the little parlour door, and entered. + +Sherwood was standing in the centre of the room, which was but dimly +lit by the high candles. Deb did not speak till she had gone to a +window facing the deserted common-land, pulled back the curtains and +caught them fast. A flood of white moonlight washed through the place +and made it bright. + +The player seemed to realise there was something strange about the +girl, for he stood quite still, watching her quick yet deliberate +movement anxiously. + +As she came toward him from the window he held out his hands. +"Sweetheart!" he said, unsteadily. "Sweetheart!" + +"Nay," she answered, with a little shake of her head and clasping her +hands behind. "Not thine." + +"Ay!" he cried, passionately, "thou art--all mine. Thine eyes, so +truthful, so wondrous; the gold-flecked waves of thine hair; the white +o' thy throat that doth dazzle me; the sweetness of thy lips; the +little hands behind thee." + +"So," said the girl, with a catch of the breath, "so thou dost say, but +'tis not true. As for my body, such as it is, it is my own." + +Sherwood leaned toward her, his eyes dark and luminous. "'Fore Heaven, +thou art wrong," he said. "Thou dost belong to me." + +"What o' my soul?" she asked, softly. "What o' my soul, Sir Romeo? Is +that thine, too?" + +"Nay," he answered, looking into her face, white from some inward +rebellion. "Nay, then, sweetheart, for I think that is God's." + +"Then, thou hast left me nothing," she cried, moving away. +"Oh!"--throwing out her hands--"hark thee, Master Sherwood. 'Tis a far +cry since thou did'st leave me by the steps at sundown. A far, far +cry. The world hath had time to change. I did not know thee then. +Now I do." + +"Why, I love thee," he answered, not understanding. "I love thee, thou +dost know that surely. Come, tell me. What else dost know, +sweetheart? See! I am but what thou would'st have--bid me by what +thou wilt. I will serve thee in any way thou dost desire. I have +given my life to thee--and by it I swear again thou art mine." + +"That I am not," she said, standing before him still and unyielding. +"Look at me--look well!" + +The man bent down and looked steadfastly into the girl's tragic face. +It was coldly inflexible, and wore the faint shadow of a smile--a smile +such as the lips of the dead sometimes wear, as though they knew all +things, having unriddled life's problem. + +"Debora!" he cried. "Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?" + +She laughed, a little rippling laugh that broke and ended. "Nay, thou +traitor--that I will not tell thee--but go--go!" + +The player stood a moment irresolute, then caught her wrists and held +them. His face had turned hard and coldly grave as her own. Some look +in his eyes frightened her. + +"'Tis a coil," he said, "and Fate doth work against me. Yet verily +'tis a coil I will unravel. I am not easily worsted, but in the end +bend things to my will. An' thou wilt not tell me what stands i' my +road, I will discover it for myself. As for the Judas name thou hast +called me--it fits me not. Should'st thou desire to tell me so thyself +at any time--to take it back--send me but a word. So I go." + +The long, swift steps sounded down the hall; there was the opening and +shutting of a door, and afterward silence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +IX + +The night wore on and the moonlight faded. The stars shone large and +bright; the sound of people passing on the street grew less and less. +Now and then a party of belated students or merry-makers came by, +singing a round or madrigal. A melancholy night-jar called incessantly +over the house-tops. As the clocks tolled one, there was a sound of +rapid wheels along the road and a coach stopped before goodman +Blossom's. + +Young Thornbury leaped from it, and with his heavy knocking roused the +man, who came stumbling sleepily down the hallway. + +"Oh! pray thee, make haste, Blossom," called the young fellow; "keep me +not waiting." Then, as the door flew open, "My sister!" he said, +pushing by, "is she still up?" + +"Gra'mercy! Thou dost worrit sober folk till they be like to lose +their wits! Thy sister should be long abed--an' thou too. Thou art +become a pranked-out coxcomb with all thy foppery--a coxcomb an' a +devil-may-care roysterer with thy blackened eyes--thy dice-playing an' +thy coming in o' midnight i' coaches!" + +Darby strode past, unheeding; at the stairs Debora met him. + +"Thou art dressed," he said, hoarsely. "Well, fetch thy furred cloak; +the night turns cold. Lose no moment--but hasten!" + +"Where?" she cried. "Oh! what now hath gone amiss?" + +"I will tell thee i' the road; tarry not to question me." + +It was scarcely a moment before the coach rolled away again. Nothing +was said till they came to London Bridge. The flickering links flashed +by them as they passed. A sea-scented wind blew freshly over the river +and the tide was rising fast. + +"I have no heart for more trouble," said the girl, tremulously. "Oh! +tell me, Darby, an' keep me not waiting. Where go'th the coach? What +hath happened? Whatever hath happened?" + +"Just this," he said, shortly. "Nicholas Berwick hath been stabbed by +one he differed with at 'The Mermaid.' He is at the point o' death, +an' would not die easy till he saw thee." + +"Nick Berwick? Say'th thou so--at the point o' death? Nay, dear +heart, it cannot be. I will not believe it--he will not die,--he is +too great and strong--'tis not so grievous as that," cried Deb. + +"'Tis worse, we think. He will be gone by daybreak. He may be gone +now. See! the horses have turned into Cheapside. We will soon be +there." + +"What was the cause?" the girl asked, faintly. "Tell me how he came by +the blow." + +There was no sound for a while but the whirling of wheels and the +ringing of the horses' feet over cobble-stones. + +"I will tell thee, though 'tis not easy for either thou nor I. + +"'Twas the players' night at 'The Mermaid,' and there was a lot of us +gathered. Marry! Ben Jonson and Master Shakespeare, Beaumont and +Keene. I need not give thee names, for there were men from 'The Rose' +playhouse and 'The Swan.' 'Twas a gay company and a rare. Ay! +Sherwood was there for half an hour, though he was overgrave and +distraught, it seemed to me. They would have him sing 'Drink to me +only with thine eyes.' 'Fore Heaven, I will remember it till I die." + +"Nick Berwick," she said. "Oh! what of him?" + +"Ay! he was there; he came in with Master Will Shakespeare, and he sat +aside--not speaking to any, watching and listening. He was there when +the party had thinned out, still silent. I mind his face, 'twas white +as death at a feast. Not half an hour ago--an' there were but ten of +us left--a man--one from 'The Rose,' they told me--I knew him not by +sight--leaped to a chair and, with a goblet filled and held high, +called out to the rest-- + +"'Come,' he cried above the noise of our voices. 'Come, another toast! +Come, merry gentlemen, each a foot on the table! I drink to a new +beauty. For as I live 'twas no man, but a maid, who was on the boards +at Blackfriars i' the new play, and the name o' her----'" + +The girl caught her breath--"Darby!--Darby!" + +"Nay, he said no more, sweet; for Nick Berwick caught him and swung him +to the floor." + +"'Thou dost lie!' he cried. 'Take back thy words before I make thee.' +While he spoke he shook the fellow violently, then on a sudden loosened +his hold. As he did so, the player drew a poniard from its sheath at +his hip, sprang forward, and struck Berwick full i' the throat. That +is all," Thornbury said, his voice dropping, "save that he asked +incessantly for thee, Deb, ere he fainted." + +The coach stopped before a house where the lights burned brightly. +Opening the door they entered a low, long room with rafters and +wainscoting of dark wood. In the centre of it was a huge table, in +disorder of flagons and dishes. The place was blue with smoke, and +overheated, for a fire yet burned in the great fireplace. On a settle +lay a man, his throat heavily bound with linen, and by him was a +physician of much fame in London, and one who had notable skill in +surgery. + +Debora went swiftly toward them with outstretched hands. + +"Oh! Nick! Nick!" she said, with a little half-stifled cry. "Oh! +Nick, is't thou?" + +"Why, 'twas like thee to come," he answered, eagerly, raising up on his +elbow. "'Twill make it easier for me, Deb--an' I go. Come nearer, +come close." + +The physician lowered him gently back and spoke with soft sternness. + +"Have a care, good gentleman," he said. "We have stopped the bleeding, +and would not have it break out afresh. Thy life depends upon thy +stillness." So saying, he withdrew a little. + +"Oh! move not, Nick," said the girl, slipping to the floor beside him +and leaning against the oaken seat; "neither move nor speak. I will +keep watch beside thee. But why did'st deny it or say aught? 'Twould +have been better that the whole o' London knew than this! Nay, answer +me not," she continued, fearfully; "thou may not speak or lift a +finger." + +Berwick smiled faintly, "Ah! sweet," he said, pausing between the +words, "I would not have thy name on every tongue--but would silence +them all--an' I had lives enough. Yet thou wert in truth upon the +stage at Blackfriars--in Will Shakespeare's play--though I denied it!" + +"Yes," said Deb, softly, "but 'twas of necessity. We will think no +more of it. It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick," she ended, +with quivering lips, her eyes wide and pitiful. + +[Illustration: "It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick"] + +"Now that need not trouble thee," answered the man, a light breaking +over his gray, drawn face. "'Fore Heaven, I mind it not." + +"Thou wilt be better soon," said the girl. "I will have it so, Nick. +I will not have thee die for this." + +"Dost remember what I asked thee last Christmas, Deb?" + +"Yes," she said, not meeting his eyes. + +"Wilt kiss me now, Deb?" + +For answer she stooped down and laid her lips to his, then rose and +stood beside him. + +"Ah! Deb," he said, looking up at her adoringly. "'Twill be something +to remember--should I live--an' if not, well--'tis not every man who +dies with a kiss on his lips." + +"Thou must not talk," she said. + +"No," he answered, faintly, "nor keep thee. Yet promise me one thing." + +"What would'st have me promise?" + +"That thou wilt return on the morrow to Shottery. London is no place +for thee now." + +"I will go," answered the girl; "though I would fain take care of thee +here, Nick." + +"That thou must not think of," he replied. "I will fare--as God wills. +Go thou home to Shottery." + +The physician crossed over to them and laid his white fingers on +Berwick's wrist. + +"Thou dost seem set upon undoing my work," he said. "Art so over-ready +to die, Master Berwick? One more swoon like the last and thou would'st +sleep on." + +"He will talk no more, good Doctor," said Debora, hastily. "Ah! thou +wilt be kind to him, I pray thee? And now I will away, as 'tis best, +but my brother will stay, and carry out thy orders. Nay, Nick, thou +must not even say good-bye or move thy lips. I will go back to Dame +Blossom quite safely in the coach." + +"An' to Shottery on the morrow?" he whispered. + +"Ay!" she said, looking at him with tear-blinded eyes, "as thou wilt +have it so." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +X + +It was early morning of the next day and Debora Thornbury was in the +upper room at Mistress Blossom's house. She folded one garment after +another and laid them away in the little trunk that had come with her +from home. + +Darby entered the room before she had finished, and threw himself +wearily into a chair. + +"Thou hast brought news," she said, eagerly; "he is better--or----" + +"Nay, there is no great change. The Leech is still with him and makes +no sign; yet I fancy he hath a shade of hope, for no further hemorrhage +hath occurred. Nick sent me back to thee; he would not be denied." + +"Ah!" she cried, "I am afraid to take heart. I dare not hope." Then, +after a moment's pause, "Tell me, Darby; I must know. Who was it that +struck him?" + +"'Twas a player I know by reputation," replied Darby, "yet, as I told +thee, never met till yesternight. He is one Dorien North, and hath the +very name that Sherwood discarded--with ample reason, if what report +says of this man be true. It seems they be first cousins, but while +Sherwood is a most rarely good fellow, this other, albeit with the same +grace o' manner and a handsome enough face, is by odds the most +notorious scamp out of Newgate to-day. He hath a polish an' wit that +stands him in place o' morals. Of late he hath been with the Lord High +Admiral's men at 'The Rose'; but they were ever a scratch company, and +a motley lot." + +The girl moved unsteadily across to her brother. She grasped the +velvet sleeve of his tabard and gazed into his face with eyes great and +darkening. + +"One thing follows on another o'er fast. I am bewildered. Is't true +what thou hast just said, Darby?" + +"Egad, yes!" he replied, wonderingly. "I would have told thee of North +the day thou swooned, but 't went out o' my mind. Dost not remember +asking me why Sherwood had changed his name on the bills o' the play? +Yet, what odds can it make?" + +"Only this," she cried, "that this Dorien North, who has so painted the +name black, and who but last night struck Nicholas Berwick, is in very +truth _little Dorien's father_. So goes the man's name the Puritan +maid told me. Moreover, he was a _player_ also. Oh! Darby, dost not +see? I thought 'twas the other--Don Sherwood." + +"'Twas like a woman to hit so wide o' the mark," answered Darby. +"Did'st not think there might chance be two of the name? In any case +what is't to thee, Deb?" + +"Oh!" she said, laying her face against his arm, "I cannot tell thee; +ask no more, but go thou and find him and tell him the story of Nell +Quinten, and how I thought that Dorien North she told me of was he; and +afterwards if he wilt come with thee, bring him here to me. Perchance +he may be at Blackfriars, or--or 'The Tabard Inn,' or even abroad upon +the streets. In any case, find him quickly, dear heart, for the time +is short and I must away to Shottery, as I promised Nick,--poor +Nick,--poor Nick." So she fell to sobbing and crying. + +The young fellow gazed at her in that distress which overtakes a man +when a woman weeps. + +"Marry," he said, "I wish thou would'st give over thy tears. I weary +of them and they will mend naught. There, cheer up, sweet. I will +surely find Sherwood, and at once, as 'tis thy wish." + +It was high noon when Darby Thornbury returned. With him came the +player Sherwood and another. The three entered Master Blossom's house, +and Darby sought his sister. + +"Don Sherwood waits below," he said, simply. "I met him on London +Bridge. He hath brought his cousin Dorien North with him." + +"I thank thee," the girl answered. "I will go to them." + +Presently she entered Dame Blossom's little parlour where the two men +awaited her. + +She stood a moment, looking from one to the other. Neither spoke nor +stirred. + +Then Debora turned to Don Sherwood; her lips trembled a little. + +"I wronged thee," she said, softly. "I wronged thee greatly. I ask +thy pardon." + +"Nay," he said, going to her. "Ask it not, 'twas but a mistake. I +blame thee not for it. This," motioning to the other, "this is my +kinsman, Dorien North. He is my father's brother's son, and we bear +the same name, or rather did so in the past." + +The girl looked at the man before her coldly, yet half-curiously. + +"I would," went on Sherwood, steadily, "that he might hear the tale +Darby told me. To-morrow he sails for the Indies, as I have taken +passage for him on an outward-bound ship. He came to me for money to +escape last night, after having stabbed one Master Berwick in a brawl +at 'The Mermaid.' It may be thou hast already heard of this?" + +"Ay!" she answered, whitening, "I have heard." + +"I gave him the passage money," continued Sherwood, "for I would not +either have him swing on Tyburn or rot in Newgate. Yet I will even now +tell the Captain under whom he was to sail that he is an escaping +felon--a possible murderer--if he lies to thee in aught--and I shall +know if he lies." + +The man they both watched threw back his handsome, blond head at this +and laughed a short, hard laugh. His dazzling white teeth glittered, +and in the depths of his blue eyes was a smouldering fire. + +"By St. George!" he broke out, "you have me this time, Don. Hang me! +If I'm not betwixt the devil and the deep sea." Then, with a low bow +to Debora, raising his hand against his heart in courtly fashion, "I am +thy servant, fair lady," he said. "Ask me what thou dost desire. I +will answer." + +"I would have asked thee--Art thou that Dorien North who deceived and +betrayed one Nell Quinten, daughter of Makepeace Quinten, the Puritan, +who lives near Kenilworth," said Debora, gravely; "but indeed I need +not to ask thee. The child who was in her arms when we found her--hath +thy face." + +"Doth not like it?" he questioned, with bold effrontery, raising his +smiling, dare-devil eyes to hers. + +"Ay!" she said, gently, "I love little Dorien's face, and 'tis truly +thine in miniature--thine when it was small and fair and innocent. Oh! +I am sorry for thee, Master Dorien North, more sorry than I was for thy +child's mother, for she had done no evil, save it be evil to love." + +A change went over the man's face, and for a moment it softened. + +"Waste not thy pity," he said; "I am not worth it. I confess to all my +sins. I wronged Nell Quinten, and the child is mine. Yet I would be +altogether graceless did I not thank thee for giving him shelter, +Mistress Thornbury." + +Sherwood, who had been listening in silence, suddenly spoke. + +"That is all I needed of thee, Dorien," he said. "You may go. I do +not think from here to the docks there will be danger of arrest; the +heavy cloak and drooping hat so far disguise thee; while once on +ship-board thou art safe." + +"I am in danger enough," said the other, with a shrug, "but it troubles +me little. I bid thee farewell, Mistress Thornbury." And so saying he +turned to go. + +"Wait," she cried, impulsively, touching his arm. "I would not have +thee depart so; thou art going into a far country, Master North, and +surely need some fair wishes to take with thee. Oh! I know thou hast +been i' the wrong, many, many times over. Perchance, hitherto thou +hast feared neither God nor the law. But last night--Nicholas Berwick +was sorely wounded by thee, and this because he defended my name." + +"Yet 'twas thou who played at Blackfriars?" he questioned, +hesitatingly. "I saw thee; it could have been no other." + +"'Twas I," she answered. "I played in my brother's place--of +necessity--but speak no more of that, 'tis over, and as that is past +for me, so would I have thee leave all thy unhappy past. Take not thy +sins with thee into the new country. Ah! no. Neither go with +bitterness in thy heart towards any, but live through the days that +come as any gentleman should who bears thy name. Thy path and mine +have crossed," she ended, the pink deepening in her face, "an' so I +would bid thee godspeed for the sake of thy little son." + +The man stood irresolute a moment, then stooped, lifted Debora's hand +to his lips and kissed it. + +"Thou hast preached me a homily," he said, in low voice; "yet, 'fore +Heaven, from such a priest I mind it not." And, opening the door, he +went swiftly away. + +Then Don Sherwood drew Debora to him. "Nothing shall ever take thee +from me," he said, passionately. "I would not live, sweetheart, to +suffer what I suffered yesternight." + +"Nor I," she answered. + +"When may I to Shottery to wed thee?" he asked. + +"Oh! I will not leave my father for many a day," she said, smiling +tremulously. "Yet I would have thee come to Shottery +by-and-bye--peradventure, when the summer comes, and the great rosebush +beneath the south window is ablow." + +"Beshrew me! 'tis ages away, the summer," he returned, with impatience. + +"The days till then will be as long for me as for thee," she said, +tenderly; and with this assurance, and because he would fain be +pleasing her in all things, he tried to make himself content. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +XI + +It is Christmas eve once more, and all the diamond window panes of One +Tree Inn--are aglitter with light from the Yule log fire in the front +room chimney-place and the many candles Mistress Debora placed in their +brass candlesticks. + +Little Dorien had followed her joyously from room to room, and many +times she had lifted him in her strong, young arms and let him touch +the wick with the lighted spill and start the fairy flame. Then his +merry laugh rang through the house, and John Sevenoakes and Master +Thornbury, sitting by the hearth below, smiled as they listened, for it +is so good a thing to hear, the merry, whole-hearted, innocent laughter +of a child. + +Even the leathery, grim old face of Ned Saddler relaxed into a pleasant +expression at the sound of it, though 'twas against his will to allow +himself to show anything of happiness he felt; for he was much like a +small, tart winter apple, wholesome and sound at heart, yet sour enough +to set one's teeth on edge. + +And they talked together, these three ancient cronies, while now and +then Master Thornbury leaned over and stirred the contents of the big +copper pot on the crane, sorely scorching his kindly face in the +operation. + +Presently Nick Berwick came in, stamping the snow off his long boots, +and he crossed to the hearth and turned his broad back to the fire, +even as he had done a year before on Christmas eve. His face was +graver than it had been, for his soul had had a wide outlook since +then, but his mouth smiled in the old-time sweet and friendly fashion, +and if he had any ache of the heart he made no sign. + +"Hast come over from Stratford, lad?" asked Thornbury. + +"Ay!" he answered, "an' I just met little Judith Shakespeare hastening +away from grand dame Hathaway's. She tells me her father is coming +home for Christmas. Never saw I one in a greater flutter of +excitement. 'Oh! Nick,' she cried out, ere I made sure who it was in +the dusk, 'Hast heard the news?' 'What news, gossip?' I answered. +'Why, that my father will be home to-night,' she called back. ''Tis +more than I dreamed or dared to hope, but 'tis true.' I could see the +shining of her eyes as she spoke, and she tripped onward as though the +road were covered with rose-leaves instead of snow." + +"She is a giddy wench," said Saddler, "and doth lead Deb into half her +pranks. If I had a daughter now----" + +Thornbury broke into a great laugh and clapped the old fellow soundly +on the shoulder. + +"Hark to him!" he cried. "If he had a daughter! Marry and amen, I +would we could see what kind of maid she would be." + +"I gainsay," put in Sevenoakes, thinking to shift the subject, "that +Will Shakespeare comes home as much for Deb's wedding as aught else." + +A shade went over Berwick's face. "The church hath been pranked out +most gaily, Master Thornbury," he said. + +"'Twill be gay enough," said Saddler, "but there'll be little comfort +in it and small rest for a man's hand or elbow anywhere for the holly +they've strung up. I have two lame thumbs with the prickles that have +run into them." + +Thornbury smiled. "Then 'twas thou who helped the lads and lasses this +afternoon, Ned," he said; "and I doubt nothing 'twas no one else who +hung the great bunch of mistletoe in the chancel! I marvel at thee." + +At this they all laughed so loudly that they did not hear Deb and +little Dorien enter the room and come over to the hearth, with Tramp +following. + +"What art making so merry over, Dad?" she questioned, looking from one +to another. + +"Nay, ask me not. Ask Saddler." + +"He doth not like maids who are curious," she said, shaking her head. +"I am content to be in the dark." + +Then she cried, listening, "There, dost not hear the coach? I surely +caught the rumble of the wheels, and she is on time for once! Come, +Dorien. Come, Dad, we will to the door to meet them." + +Soon the lumbering coach swung up the road and the tired horses stopped +under the oak. + +And it was a welcome worth having the two travellers got, for Darby +Thornbury and Don Sherwood had journeyed from London together, ay! and +Master Shakespeare had borne them company, though he left them half a +mile off. As the group drew their chairs about the fireplace, Darby +had many a jest and happy story to repeat that the master told them on +the homeward way, for he was ever the best company to make a long road +seem short. + +Deb sat in her old seat in the inglenook and Master Sherwood stood +beside her, where he could best see the ruddy light play over her +wondrous hair and in the tender depths of her eyes. They seemed to +listen, these two, as Darby went lightly from one London topic to +another, for now and then Don Sherwood put in a word or so in that +mellow voice of his, and Deb smiled often--yet it may be they did not +follow him over closely, for they were dreaming a dream of their own +and the day after the morrow was their wedding day. + +[Illustration: Darby went lightly from one London topic to another] + +The child Dorien lay upon the sheepskin rug at Deb's feet and watched +Darby. His eager, beautiful little face lit up with joy, for were they +not all there together, those out of the whole world he loved the best, +and it would be Christmas in the morning. What more could any child +desire? + +"When I look at the little lad, Don," said Debora, softly, "my thoughts +go back to his mother. 'Twas on such a night as this, as I have told +thee, that Darby found her in the snow." + +"Think not of it, sweetheart," he answered; "the child, at least, has +missed naught that thou could'st give." + +"I know, I know," she said, in a passionate, low tone, "but it troubles +me when I think of all that I have of care and life's blessings, and of +her woe and desolation, and through no sin, save that of loving too +well. I see not why it should be." + +"Ah!" he said, bending towards her, "there are some 'Why's' that must +wait for their answer--for 'twill not come this side o' heaven." Then, +in lighter tone, "When I look at the little lad I see but that +scapegrace kinsman of mine; but although he is so marvellous like him, +thou wilt be his guide. I fear nothing for his future, for who could +be aught but good with thee, my heart's love, beside them." + +And presently there was a stir as Nicholas Berwick rose and bid all +good-night, and this reminded John Sevenoakes and Ned Saddler that the +hour was late. It was then that Berwick went to Deb, at a moment when +she stood apart from the others. He held towards her a small +leather-covered box. + +"'Tis my wedding gift to thee, Deb," he said, his grave eyes upon her +changeful face. "'Tis a pearl collar my mother wore on her wedding-day +when she was young and fair as thou art. I will not be here to see how +sweet thou dost look in it." + +"Thou wilt in the church, Nick?" + +"Nay, I will not. I have not told thee before, as I would not plant a +thorn in any of thy roses, but I ride to London on the morrow. I have +much work there, for later on I sail to America to the new Colonies, in +charge of certain stores for Sir Walter Raleigh." + +She raised her eyes, tear-filled and tender, to his. + +"I wish thee peace, Nick," she said, "wherever thou art--and I have no +fear but that gladness will follow. I will miss thee, for thou wert +ever my friend." + +He lifted her hand to his lips and went away, and in the quiet that +followed, when Master Thornbury and Darby talked together, Don Sherwood +drew Debora into the shadow by the window-seat. + +"I' faith," he said, "if I judge not wrongly by Master Nicholas +Berwick's face when he spoke with thee but now, he doth love thee also, +Deb." + +"Ah!" she answered, "he hath indeed said so in the past and moreover +proven it." + +"In very truth, yes. But thou," with a flash in his eyes, "dost care? +Hast aught of love for him? Nay, I need not ask thee." + +She smiled a little, half sadly. + +"I love but thee," she said. + +He gave a short, light laugh, then looked grave. + +"'Tis another of life's 'Why's,' sweetheart, that awaiteth an answer. +Why!--why, in heaven's name, should I have the good fortune to win +thee, when he, who I think is far the better gentleman, hath failed?" + +As he spoke, the bells of Stratford rang out their joyous pealing, and +the sound came to them on the night wind. Then the child, who had been +asleep curled up on the soft rug, opened his wondering eyes. + +Deb stooped and lifted him, and he laid his curly head against her +shoulder. + +"Is it Christmas, Deb?" he asked, sleepily. + +"Yes, my lamb," she answered; "for, hark! the bells are ringing it in, +and they say, 'Peace, Dorien--Peace and goodwill to men.'" + + + + +THE END + + + +[Illustration: Chapter 11 tailpiece] + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Maid of Many Moods, by Virna Sheard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAID OF MANY MOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 37152.txt or 37152.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/1/5/37152/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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