to 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
promise who sailed upon the _Cygnet_.... Ah! you perceive that such
converse in her presence is not gentle nor seemly." He took Damaris's
hand; it was quite cold. "Sweet lady," he said, in a low voice, "come
with me from out this gallimaufry." He bent nearer, so that none but she
could hear. "I will tell you all. It fits not with the dignity of your
sorrow that you should remain here."

Damaris's bosom rose and fell in a long shuddering sigh. The room that
was so large and bright swam before her, appeared to grow narrow, dark,
and stifling. A hateful and terrible presence overshadowed her; it was
as though she had but to put forth her hand to touch a coffin-lid. She
no longer saw the forms about her, scarce felt the pressure of Sidney's
hand, knew not, so brave a lady was she, so fixed her habit of the
court, that she smiled upon the group she was leaving and swept them a
formal curtsy. She found herself in the deserted outer gallery with
Sidney,--they were in the recess of a window, and he was speaking. She
put her hand to her brow. "Is Henry Sedley dead?" she asked.

He answered her as simply: "Yes, lady, bravely dead--a good knight who
rode steadfastly to that noblest Court of which all earthly courts are
but flawed copies."

As he spoke he regarded her anxiously, fearing a swoon or a cry, but
instead she smiled, looking at him with dazed eyes, and her white hand
yet at her forehead. "I am his only sister," she said, "and we have no
father nor mother nor brother. We