Part 12 (1/2)

”What was the cause?” the girl asked, faintly. ”Tell me how he came by the blow.”

There was no sound for a while but the whirling of wheels and the ringing of the horses' feet over cobble-stones.

”I will tell thee, though 'tis not easy for either thou nor I.

”'Twas the players' night at 'The Mermaid,' and there was a lot of us gathered. Marry! Ben Jonson and Master Shakespeare, Beaumont and Keene. I need not give thee names, for there were men from 'The Rose'

playhouse and 'The Swan.' 'Twas a gay company and a rare. Ay!

Sherwood was there for half an hour, though he was overgrave and distraught, it seemed to me. They would have him sing 'Drink to me only with thine eyes.' 'Fore Heaven, I will remember it till I die.”

”Nick Berwick,” she said. ”Oh! what of him?”

”Ay! he was there; he came in with Master Will Shakespeare, and he sat aside--not speaking to any, watching and listening. He was there when the party had thinned out, still silent. I mind his face, 'twas white as death at a feast. Not half an hour ago--an' there were but ten of us left--a man--one from 'The Rose,' they told me--I knew him not by sight--leaped to a chair and, with a goblet filled and held high, called out to the rest--

”'Come,' he cried above the noise of our voices. 'Come, another toast!

Come, merry gentlemen, each a foot on the table! I drink to a new beauty. For as I live 'twas no man, but a maid, who was on the boards at Blackfriars i' the new play, and the name o' her----'”

The girl caught her breath--”Darby!--Darby!”

”Nay, he said no more, sweet; for Nick Berwick caught him and swung him to the floor.”

”'Thou dost lie!' he cried. 'Take back thy words before I make thee.'

While he spoke he shook the fellow violently, then on a sudden loosened his hold. As he did so, the player drew a poniard from its sheath at his hip, sprang forward, and struck Berwick full i' the throat. That is all,” Thornbury said, his voice dropping, ”save that he asked incessantly for thee, Deb, ere he fainted.”

The coach stopped before a house where the lights burned brightly.

Opening the door they entered a low, long room with rafters and wainscoting of dark wood. In the centre of it was a huge table, in disorder of flagons and dishes. The place was blue with smoke, and overheated, for a fire yet burned in the great fireplace. On a settle lay a man, his throat heavily bound with linen, and by him was a physician of much fame in London, and one who had notable skill in surgery.

Debora went swiftly toward them with outstretched hands.

”Oh! Nick! Nick!” she said, with a little half-stifled cry. ”Oh!

Nick, is't thou?”

”Why, 'twas like thee to come,” he answered, eagerly, raising up on his elbow. ”'Twill make it easier for me, Deb--an' I go. Come nearer, come close.”

The physician lowered him gently back and spoke with soft sternness.

”Have a care, good gentleman,” he said. ”We have stopped the bleeding, and would not have it break out afresh. Thy life depends upon thy stillness.” So saying, he withdrew a little.

”Oh! move not, Nick,” said the girl, slipping to the floor beside him and leaning against the oaken seat; ”neither move nor speak. I will keep watch beside thee. But why did'st deny it or say aught? 'Twould have been better that the whole o' London knew than this! Nay, answer me not,” she continued, fearfully; ”thou may not speak or lift a finger.”

Berwick smiled faintly, ”Ah! sweet,” he said, pausing between the words, ”I would not have thy name on every tongue--but would silence them all--an' I had lives enough. Yet thou wert in truth upon the stage at Blackfriars--in Will Shakespeare's play--though I denied it!”

”Yes,” said Deb, softly, ”but 'twas of necessity. We will think no more of it. It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick,” she ended, with quivering lips, her eyes wide and pitiful.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick”]

”Now that need not trouble thee,” answered the man, a light breaking over his gray, drawn face. ”'Fore Heaven, I mind it not.”