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It was early morning of the next day and Debora Thornbury was in the upper room at Mistress Blossom's house. She folded one garment after another and laid them away in the little trunk that had come with her from home.
Darby entered the room before she had finished, and threw himself wearily into a chair.
"Thou hast brought news," she said, eagerly; "he is better—or——"
"Nay, there is no great change. The Leech is still with him and makes no sign; yet I fancy he hath a shade of hope, for no further hemorrhage hath occurred. Nick sent me back to thee; he would not be denied."
"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?"