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

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

"The _Cygnet_ and the _Star_."

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

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

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

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

Damaris, swaying forward, caught at a heavy settle, sank to her knee,