by Virna Sheard
CHAPTER V
V
All Saturday night Debora waited by her window--the one that lookedacross the commonland to the Thames. The girl could not face whatmight be ahead. Darby--her Darby--her father's delight. Theirhandsome boy come to such a pass. "'Twas nothing more than being acommon drunkard. One whom the watch might have arrested in the Queen'sname for breaking the peace," she said to herself. "Oh! the horror ofit, the shame!" In the dark of her room her face burned.
Never had such a fear come to her for Darby till to-day. When was it?Who raised the doubt of him in her mind? Yes, she remembered; 'twas alook--a strange look--a half smile, satirical, pitying, that passedover the player Sherwood's face when he spoke of Darby's beingpersuaded to drink with the others. In a flash at that moment the fearhad come, though she would not give it room then. It was a dangerouslife, this life in the city, and she knew now what that expression inthe actor's eyes had meant; realised now the full import of it. So.It was all summed up in what she had witnessed to-day. But if theyknew--if Master Shakespeare and James Burbage knew--these responsiblemen of the Company--how did they come to trust Darby with such parts ashe had long played. What reliance could be placed upon him?
"Nay, then, 'twas a thing not known save by the few. He had not yetbecome common gossip. Oh! he must be saved from himself--he must besaved from himself," she said, wildly, and then fell to crying.Resting her face, blanched and tear-washed, on the window ledge, shegazed across the peaceful openland that was silvered by the late moon.Truly such a landscape might one see in a dream. Away yonder over theriver was the city, its minarets and domes pointing to the purple,shadowless sky, where a few scattered stars made golden twinkling. "InLondon," she had said to her father, "one could hear the world's heartbeat." It seemed to come to her--that sound--faroff--muffled--mysterious--on the wings of the night wind. Away inStratford it would be dark and quiet now, save where the Avon dappledwith moonlight hurried high between its banks on its way to thesea--and it would be dark and quiet in Shottery. The lights all out atOne Tree Inn, all but the great stable lantern, that swayed to and frotill morning, as a beacon for belated travellers. How long--how very,very long ago it seemed since she had unhooked it and gone off down thesnowy road to meet the coach. Ah! yes, Nicholas Berwick had caught upwith her, and they came home together. Nicholas Berwick! He was ararely good friend, Nick Berwick, and 'twas sweet and peaceful awaythere in Shottery. She had not known this pain in her heart for Darbywhen she was at home, no, nor this restless craving for the morrow,this unhappy waiting that had stolen all joy away. Nay then, 'twas notso. There in the little room a gladness came over the girl such as hadnever touched her short, happy life before. A long, fluttering sighcrossed her lips, and they smiled. The troubled thoughts for Darbydrifted away, and a voice came to her passing in sweetness all voicesthat ever she had heard or dreamt of.
"To-morrow?" it said. "Nay, I will not leave it to Fate." And againwith steady insistence--"Then Monday?" The words sung themselves overand over till her white eyelids drooped and she slept. And the graydawn came creeping up the world, while in the eastern sky it was asthough an angel of God had plucked a red rose of heaven and scatteredits leaves abroad.
