d we beheld a boat
rowed by a couple of mariners and in the stern-sheets Sir Rupert Dering
and the three gentlemen, his companions. Hereupon my lady would have
me go with her to meet them then and there, but I shook my head.

"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 thre