"Secure in Dione's love!" repeated Ferne. "Ah, lady, your shaft has
gone wide. I have sailed, and sailed, and sailed--ay, and in crystal
seas--and have seen blooms fairer than the tree Alpina, and have been in
the land of emeralds and where pearls do grow, and yet have never
gathered the fragrant leaf, that leaf of true and mutual love. It should
grow with the laurel and blend with the bay--ay, and be not missing from
the cypress wreath! But as yet I have it not--as yet I have it not."

Damaris gazed upon him with brown, incredulous eyes, and when she spoke
her words came somewhat breathlessly, having quite outgone the courtly
affectation of similes run mad.

"What mean you, sir? Not the love of Astrophel for Stella is better
known than that of Cleon for Dione! And, lo! now your own lines--Master
Dyer showed them to me but the other day copied into his book of songs:

'Nor in my watery wanderings am I crossed;
Where haven's wanted, there I haven find,
Nor e'er for me is star of guidance lost--'"

Her voice breaking a little, Ferne made nearer approach to the green
bank where she rested. "Do you learn by heart my verses, lady?"
he asked.

"Ay," she answered, "I did ever love sweet poetry." Her voice thrilled,
and she gazed past him at the blue heaven showing between the oak
leaves. "If prayer with every breath availeth," she said, "no doubt your
Dione will bring your safe return."

"Of whom do I write, calling her Dione?"