"Do you go, Damaris, I'll not speak them before I must. And should you have cause to mention me I pray you will not tell my name."
"As you will, dear Martin," says she and, pressing my hand, goes her way. From the shadow of the rock I watched these gentlemen leap gaily ashore to bow before her with many and divers elegant posturings, flourishes and flauntings of hats, kissing of her hands and the like gallantries until I must needs scowl otherwhere; yet even so, was conscious of their merry laughter where they paced to and fro and the new risen sun making a glory about her. At last she curtseys, and staying them with a gesture, comes hasting back to me.
"Martin," says she, "it seems there be men wounded and dying on board ship, so must I go to them. Will you not come with me?"
"Nay," I answered, "I'll to the caves for such things as you would bring away."
"Why then, my spoon, Martin, and three-legged stool, bring these—nay wait, 'tis there I would bid farewell to this our dear island. Wait me there, Martin."
So away she goes on her errand of mercy, leaving me to my thoughts and these all of England and my future life there. I was fain to picture myself married and happy in my lady's love, my life thenceforth a succession of peaceful days amid the ordered quiet of that Kentish countryside I knew and loved so well. With the eye of my mind I seemed to see a road winding 'twixt bloomy hedgerows, past chattering brooks and pleasant meadows, past sleepy hamlet bowered 'mid trees and so, 'neath a leafy shade, to where rose tall gates, their pillars crowned by couchant leopards wrought in the stone, and beyond these a broad avenue, its green shadow splashed with sunlight, leading away to the house of Conisby Shene with its wide terrace where stood my lady waiting and expectant; yet nowhere could I vision myself. And now I must needs bethink me of Godby's "long, dark road with the beckoning light and the waiting arms of love," and in my heart the old doubt waked and a fear that such peace, such tender meetings and welcomes sweet, were not for such as I, nor ever could be.
From these gloomy reflections I was roused by a giggling laugh, and glancing about, espied Sir Rupert and his three fellows, their finery somewhat the worse for their late hardship yet themselves very gay and debonair none the less as they stood viewing me and mighty interested. Presently Sir Rupert steps up to me with his haughtiest fine-gentlemanly air and no civility of bowing.
"Let me perish but here's notable change!" says he, surveying my rich attire, so that I yearned for my rags again. "Here is strange metamorphosis! The sullen and rustic Cymon bloometh at Beauty's mandate, Caliban is tamed!" At the which sally his companions giggled again.
"Sir," quoth I, and awkwardly enough, "I am in no mood for your pleasantries. If therefore you have aught else to say of me, pray remove out o' my hearing." This protest Sir Rupert fanned airily aside with be-ringed hand.
"I gather," says he, "that you have been at some pains of service to my Lady Brandon in her late dolorous situation here—receive my thanks!"