A Maid of Many Moods

aid-"'tis over, an' well over. Now to tell Darby. I' faith, I know not rightly who I am. Nay, then, I am just Deb Thornbury, not Darby, nor Juliet, for

gh. "Was ever man so imperative? Nay, was

astened it with haste and put

ce, the wonderful golden voice of him. The wo

, of herself-chief amongst them-she thought nothing. Those things had gone like a dream. She saw only a man standing

him; "and as for Fate, it hath been over-kind." So, wi

window, and wheeled about as

hardly enough to see by, but dost think I will pass muster on

eyes on him sober

atiently. "What art staring a

ilt say an' I tell thee som

rd he was to be in town; he hath followed thee, Deb, an'-

ring, "an' thou canst not better that g

t's to do, li

they had found one to tak

nce. 'Fore Heaven, I would some one sent me word who

the pink going from her

steadily without a word. Then he broke into a strange laugh. T

e said, hoarsely. "

heart. None knew me. All thought 'twas thee, Darby. See, see! when I was fair encased in that Kendal green suit o' thine, why even D

lown rose. Naught was wrong with thy colour, and neither by word or sign did'st give me an inkling of such mad doings! 'Gad!-if 'tis true it goes far to prove that a woman can seem most simple wh

y, one only knows beside Dame Blossom, and they will keep faith. Neither fear for

to a chair and dropped

asked, half-roughly, after

Romeo," she sai

Darby. "Don Sherwood!

l between them, while the young fellow restlessly crossed to the window ag

y here in London-still promise me thou wilt not let the ways o' the city warp thy true heart. See, then,

nd his voice trembled. "Nay, I will go no more my

Dad's way, for 'tis a good way, a far better one than

ed now and again its harsh, yet plaintive, note. A light wind, bearing the smell o

ra spoke, half

tarted, "somewhat o' Sherwood, the player. Hath he-ha

smiling a little, "it seems thou dost take Master Shakespeare's word o' a ma

e admitted, pursing up her lips.

, "he is a rare good fellow, is Sherwood, though that be not his real name, sweet. 'Tis

' one that must surely have a reason back o' it. What, t

an' that too sounds well. He hath a rare voice. It play'th upon a man strangely, and there be tones in it that bring tears when one would not have them. Thou should'st hear him sing Ben Jonson's song! 'Rare Ben Jonson,' as some fellow hath written him below a verse o' his, carved over the

' he only because he found me that day i' the Royal Box-so long ago. What was'

slipped away from it, and with a little cry she f

ainted. When she did not move he stooped and lift

, not quite; there, then, open thine eyes again. Thou hast been forewearied,

alk. I will lift thee to the bed an' call Dam

rself against him. "Ay! vastly queer. Nay, I wil

. "May I leave thee to call the Dame

istress Blossom an' thou wilt, but 'tis nothing; there-dear heart, I will be

at The Mermaid. It hath no great charm for

rt. "I can trust thee, an' thou must go. 'Twill ne'er do to have one an' another say,-'Now,

little heroine!" kissing her hand. "What pluck thou did'st have! What cool pluck. Egad!" ruefully, "I almost

" she answered, wearily. "Go, the

alf hesitating, tu

id the girl. "He lov'th me-but h

to-morrow. I mind me what Dad said, an' 't has come to be truth. 'Thou wilt never bide in peace at One Tree Inn again.

adowy room. Darby had lit a candle on the high mantel, a

e one from home-Now I mind me! 'Twas Nicholas Berwick. His eyes burned in his white face. He stared straightway at me an' made no sign. An' so he was in the th

t thou? Come over beside me." As the good Dame c

e woman. "What hath happened th

gaze not so at me, I be not dazed or distraught. Oh! dear Mistress Blosso

turned one-and-twenty! Why, then, Mistress Debora, I be

more o' it-by choice." She rose and turned her face down toward the good Dame. "An' one come to ask for me-a-a player, one Mas

htening. "Thou art heartily welcome t

hath business with me,

eman would envy him that busi

nd hard. Her eyes, of a blue that

, thou art a flatterer. I will to my

ngs o' curls about thy ears. I would not do aught to them.

need. I would not look woe-begone, or of a cast-down countenance, not I! but would bear me br

ore Debora heard the Dame'

r-reaching whisper fraught with

' London! His doublet is brocaded an' o'er brave with silver lacings, an' he wear'th a

vated thee. Thou, at thy age! Well-a-day! What think'st o' his voice," she asked,

ersuade one to his way o' thinking with it-even

a. "I think he hath bewitched thee, i' faith." So saying,

did not speak till she had gone to a window facing the deserted common-land, pulled back the cur

trange about the girl, for he stood quite still, w

ow he held out his hands. "Sweethear

le shake of her head and claspin

o wondrous; the gold-flecked waves of thine hair; the white o' thy throat th

ath, "so thou dost say, but 'tis not true. A

k and luminous. "'Fore Heaven, thou art

softly. "What o' my soul, Si

white from some inward rebellion. "Nay, t

ark thee, Master Sherwood. 'Tis a far cry since thou did'st leave me by the steps at sundo

. What else dost know, sweetheart? See! I am but what thou would'st have-bid me by what thou wilt. I will s

nding before him still and uny

inflexible, and wore the faint shadow of a smile-a smile such as the lips of the d

Debora! What is it? W

hat broke and ended. "Nay, thou traito

rists and held them. His face had turned hard and coldl

d bend things to my will. An' thou wilt not tell me what stands i' my road, I will discover it for myself. As for the Judas name thou

e hall; there was the opening and shu