might call to the ships I had not sunken and to the comrades I had not
slain. He gave me back my sword that in the cabin of the _Mere Honour_,
in my leader's presence, I might break the blade in twain. He restored
me _this_ when he had ground it beneath his heel!--No, no, I will not
have you speak! But was he not a subtle gentleman?... Now, by your
leave, I shall burn the ribbon."

He crossed to the great fireplace and threw the length of velvet ribbon
into a glowing hollow. It caught and blazed and illuminated his face.
Damaris moved also, groping with her hands for the chair beside the
table. Finding it, she sank down, outstretched her arms upon the board,
and bowed her head upon them. Through the faintness and the leaden
horror that weighed her down she heard Ferne's voice, at first yet
monotonous and low, at the last an irrepressible cry of passion:

"Now there is no longer troth between us, and all thy days, by summer
and by winter, thou mayst listen unabashed to tales of such as I. If I
am named to thee, thou needst not blush, for now I have seared away that
eve above the river, that morn at Penshurst. And there will be no more
singing, and men will soon forget, as thou too--as thou too must forget!
I loved; I love; but to thy lips and thy dark, dark eyes, and thy whole
sweet self I say farewell.... Farewell!"

She was aware of his step beside her; knew that he had lifted the cloak
and mask from the table; thought that but for this all-enfolding
heaviness she would speak.... The door opened, and Sidney's voice
reached her in a low, peremptory "At once!" A pause that seemed filled
with laboring breath, then footsteps passed her; the door closed. Alone,
she rose to her feet, stood for a moment with her hands at her temples,
then moved with an uncertain step to the fire, where she sank down upon