She spoke incoherently, with sobbing breath, but gradually the form to which she clung had grown rigid in her embrace. "Two of the ships have come home," repeated Damaris. "Which came not home?"
"The Cygnet and the Star."
The maid of honor, unclasping the girl's hands, glided from her reach. "Let me go, good Cis! Why, how stifling is the day!" She put her hand to her ruff, as though to loosen it, but the hand dropped again to her side. The silken coverlet upon the bed was awry; she went to it and laid it smooth with unhurried touch. From a bowl of late flowers crimson petals had fallen upon the table; she gathered them up, and going to the casement, gave them, one by one, to the winds outside.
"Damaris, Damaris, Damaris!" cried the frightened girl.
"Ay, I have heard him call me that," answered the other. "Sometimes Damaris, sometimes Dione. When did he die?"
"Oh, I bring no news of his death!" exclaimed Cecily. "Sir Mortimer Ferne is here--in London."
Damaris, swaying forward, caught at a heavy settle, sank to her knee, and laid her brow against the wood. Cecily, gazing down upon her, saw her cheek glow pure carnation, saw the quivering of the long eyelashes and the happy trembling of the lip. Presently the wave of color fled; she unclosed her eyes, raised her head. "But there was something, was there not, to be borne?... God forgive me, I had forgot that I have a brother!"
Cecily, whose courage was ebbing, began to deal in evasions. "Indeed I know not as to thy brother. I am not sure ... mayhap I did not hear him named.... They said so many things--all might not be true."
Damaris arose from the settle. "I will have thy meaning, Cis. 'They said so many things.'--Who are they'?"
Cecily bit her lip, and dashed away fast-starting tears. "Oh, Damaris, all who have heard--all the court--his friends and thine and his foes. The matter's all abroad. The Queen hath letters from Sir John Nevil--he hath been sent for to the Privy Council--"