were three ships, the _Mere Honour_, the _Marigold_, and the _Cygnet_--"

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

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

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

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

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

Darrell would have answered blithe enough, but the man who had
interfered now pushed the other aside, came close to the maid of honor,
and spoke with decision. "Gentlemen, this lady had a brother of much