X
It was early morning of the next day and Debora Thornbury was in the
upper room at Mistress Blossom's house. She folded one garment after
another and laid them away in the little trunk that had come with her
from home.
Darby entered the room before she had finished, and threw himself
wearily into a chair.
"Thou hast brought news," she said, eagerly; "he is better--or----"
"Nay, there is no great change. The Leech is still with him and makes
no sign; yet I fancy he hath a shade of hope, for no further hemorrhage
hath occurred. Nick sent me back to thee; he would not be denied."
"Ah!" she cried, "I am afraid to take heart. I dare not hope." Then,
after a moment's pause, "Tell me, Darby; I must know. Who was it that
struck him?"
"'Twas a player I know by reputation," replied Darby, "yet, as I told
thee, never met till yesternight. He is one Dorien North, and hath the
very name that Sherwood discarded--with ample reason, if what report
says of this man be true. It seems they be first cousins, but while
Sherwood is a most rarely good fellow, this other, albeit with the same
grace o' manner and a handsome enough face, is by odds the most
notorious scamp out of Newgate to-day. He hath a polish an' wit that
stands him in place o' morals. Of late he hath been with the Lord High
Admiral's men at 'The Rose'; but they were ever a scratch company, and
a motley lot."
The girl moved unsteadily across to her brother. She grasped the
velvet sleeve of his tabard and gazed into his face with eyes great and
darkening.
"One thing follows on another o'er fast. I am bewildered. Is't true
what thou hast just said, Darby?"
"Egad, yes!" he replied, wonderingly. "I would have told thee of North
the day thou swooned, but 't went out o' my mind. Dost not remember
asking me why Sherwood had changed his name on the bills o' the play?
Yet, what odds can it make?"
"Only this," she cried, "that this Dorien North, who has so painted the
name black, and who but last night struck Nicholas Berwick, is in very
truth _little Dorien's father_. So goes the man's name the Puritan
maid told me. Moreover, he was a _player_ also. Oh! Darby, dost not
see? I thought 'twas the other--Don Sherwood."
"'Twas like a woman to hit so wide o' the mark," answered Darby.
"Did'st not think there might chance be two of the name? In any case
what is't to thee, Deb?"
"Oh!" she said, laying her face against his arm, "I cannot tell thee;
ask no more, but go thou and find him and tell him the story of Nell
Quinten, and how I thought that Dorien North she told me of was he; and
afterwards if he wilt come with thee, bring him here to me. Perchance
he may be at Blackfriars, or--or 'The Tabard Inn,' or even abroad upon
the streets. In any case, find him quickly, dear heart, for the time
is short and I must away to Shottery, as I promised Nick,--poor
Nick,--poor Nick." So she fell to sobbing and crying.
The young fellow gazed at her in that distress which overtakes a man
when a woman weeps.
"Marry," he said, "I wish thou would'st give over thy tears. I weary
of them and they will mend naught. There, cheer up, sweet. I will
surely find Sherwood, and at once, as 'tis thy wish."
It was high noon when Darby Thornbury returned. With him came the
player Sherwood and another. The three entered Master Blossom's house,
and Darby sought his sister.
"Don Sherwood waits below," he said, simply. "I met him on London
Bridge. He hath brought his cousin Dorien North with him."
"I thank thee," the girl answered. "I will go to them."
Presently she entered Dame Blossom's little parlour where the two men
awaited her.
She stood a moment, looking from one to the other. Neither spoke nor
stirred.
Then Debora turned to Don Sherwood; her lips trembled a little.
"I wronged thee," she said, softly. "I wronged thee greatly. I ask
thy pardon."
"Nay," he said, going to her. "Ask it not, 'twas but a mistake. I
blame thee not for it. This," motioning to the other, "this is my
kinsman, Dorien North. He is my father's brother's son, and we bear
the same name, or rather did so in the past."
The girl looked at the man before her coldly, yet half-curiously.
"I would," went on Sherwood, steadily, "that he might hear the tale
Darby told me. To-morrow he sails for the Indies, as I have taken
passage for him on an outward-bound ship. He came to me for money to
escape last night, after having stabbed one Master Berwick in a brawl
at 'The Mermaid.' It may be thou hast already heard of this?"
"Ay!" she answered, whitening, "I have heard."
"I gave him the passage money," continued Sherwood, "for I would not
either have him swing on Tyburn or rot in Newgate. Yet I will even now
tell the Captain under whom he was to sail that he is an escaping
felon--a possible murderer--if he lies to thee in aught--and I shall
know if he lies."
The man they both watched threw back his handsome, blond head at this
and laughed a short, hard laugh. His dazzling white teeth glittered,
and in the depths of his blue eyes was a smouldering fire.
"By St. George!" he broke out, "you have me this time, Don. Hang me!
If I'm not betwixt the devil and the deep sea." Then, with a low bow
to Debora, raising his hand against his heart in courtly fashion, "I am
thy servant, fair lady," he said. "Ask me what thou dost desire. I
will answer."
"I would have asked thee--Art thou that Dorien North who deceived and
betrayed one Nell Quinten, daughter of Makepeace Quinten, the Puritan,
who lives near Kenilworth," said Debora, gravely; "but indeed I need
not to ask thee. The child who was in her arms when we found her--hath
thy face."
"Doth not like it?" he questioned, with bold effrontery, raising his
smiling, dare-devil eyes to hers.
"Ay!" she said, gently, "I love little Dorien's face, and 'tis truly
thine in miniature--thine when it was small and fair and innocent. Oh!
I am sorry for thee, Master Dorien North, more sorry than I was for thy
child's mother, for she had done no evil, save it be evil to love."
A change went over the man's face, and for a moment it softened.
"Waste not thy pity," he said; "I am not worth it. I confess to all my
sins. I wronged Nell Quinten, and the child is mine. Yet I would be
altogether graceless did I not thank thee for giving him shelter,
Mistress Thornbury."
Sherwood, who had been listening in silence, suddenly spoke.
"That is all I needed of thee, Dorien," he said. "You may go. I do
not think from here to the docks there will be danger of arrest; the
heavy cloak and drooping hat so far disguise thee; while once on
ship-board thou art safe."
"I am in danger enough," said the other, with a shrug, "but it troubles
me little. I bid thee farewell, Mistress Thornbury." And so saying he
turned to go.
"Wait," she cried, impulsively, touching his arm. "I would not have
thee depart so; thou art going into a far country, Master North, and
surely need some fair wishes to take with thee. Oh! I know thou hast
been i' the wrong, many, many times over. Perchance, hitherto thou
hast feared neither God nor the law. But last night--Nicholas Berwick
was sorely wounded by thee, and this because he defended my name."
"Yet 'twas thou who played at Blackfriars?" he questioned,
hesitatingly. "I saw thee; it could have been no other."
"'Twas I," she answered. "I played in my brother's place--of
necessity--but speak no more of that, 'tis over, and as that is past
for me, so would I have thee leave all thy unhappy past. Take not thy
sins with thee into the new country. Ah! no. Neither go with
bitterness in thy heart towards any, but live through the days that
come as any gentleman should who bears thy name. Thy path and mine
have crossed," she ended, the pink deepening in her face, "an' so I
would bid thee godspeed for the sake of thy little son."
The man stood irresolute a moment, then stooped, lifted Debora's hand
to his lips and kissed it.
"Thou hast preached me a homily," he said, in low voice; "yet, 'fore
Heaven, from such a priest I mind it not." And, opening the door, he
went swiftly away.
Then Don Sherwood drew Debora to him. "Nothing shall ever take thee
from me," he said, passionately. "I would not live, sweetheart, to
suffer what I suffered yesternight."
"Nor I," she answered.
"When may I to Shottery to wed thee?" he asked.
"Oh! I will not leave my father for many a day," she said, smiling
tremulously. "Yet I would have thee come to Shottery
by-and-bye--peradventure, when the summer comes, and the great rosebush
beneath the south window is ablow."
"Beshrew me! 'tis ages away, the summer," he returned, with impatience.
"The days till then will be as long for me as for thee," she said,
tenderly; and with this assurance, and because he would fain be
pleasing her in all things, he tried to make himself content.