Part 13 (1/2)

”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 pa.s.sage for him on an outward-bound s.h.i.+p. 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 pa.s.sage 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!