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

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

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

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

He who had joined the group interrupted him sternly. "This, sir, is no
speech for gentle ears. Madam, beseech you, come with me into the
long walk."

The courage of a fighting race looked from the maid of honor's darkening
eyes. The small head and slender, aching throat were held with pride,
and the hand scarce trembled with which she waved Cecily's plumed fan.
"I have a venture in this voyage," she said. "Certes, the value of a
pearl necklace, and I will know if I am beggared of it! Moreover, dear
Sir Philip, English courage and English tragedy do move me more than all
the tangled woes of Arcadia.... Master Darrell, I have hopes of thy
being no courtier, thou dost speak so to the point. Again, again,--there