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

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

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

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

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

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