He who had joined the group interrupted him sternly.  “This, sir, is no speech for gentle ears.  Madam, beseech you, come with me into the long walk.”

The courage of a fighting race looked from the maid of honor’s darkening eyes.  The small head and slender, aching throat were held with pride, and the hand scarce trembled with which she waved Cecily’s plumed fan.  “I have a venture in this voyage,” she said.  “Certes, the value of a pearl necklace, and I will know if I am beggared of it!  Moreover, dear Sir Philip, English courage and English tragedy do move me more than all the tangled woes of Arcadia....  Master Darrell, I have hopes of thy being no courtier, thou dost speak so to the point.  Again, again,—­there were three ships, the Mere Honour, the Marigold, and the Cygnet—­”

“They took a great galleon of Spain,” said Black Darrell, “very rich,—­enough so to have paid your venture a hundred times over, lady, and they stormed a town, and might have taken a great castle, for they landed all their forces, of which Sir John Nevil made admirable disposition.  But there was an Achan in the camp, a betrayer high in place, who laid his body and his life in the balance against his honor.  The Spanish guns mowed down the English; they fell into pits upon pointed stakes; Spanish horsemen rode them under.  Meanwhile the Cygnet, traitorous as its Captain—­”

“Traitorous as its Captain?” flamed the maid of honor.  “But on, sir, on!  Afterwards there will be accounting for so vile a falsehood!”

Another movement and murmur ran through the group, checked by Damaris’s raised hand and burning eyes.  “On, sir, on!”

Darrell shrugged.  “Oh, madam, the loyal Cygnet would have it that that fair cockatrice the galleon was her own!  So in flame and thunder they kissed, but now, quiet enough, they lie upon the sea-floor, they and the spilled treasure.”

Damaris moistened her lips.  “Where are the brave and gallant gentlemen who led this venture?  Where is Sir John Nevil?  Where is Sir Mortimer Ferne?”

Darrell would have answered blithe enough, but the man who had interfered now pushed the other aside, came close to the maid of honor, and spoke with decision.  “Gentlemen, this lady had a brother of much promise who sailed upon the Cygnet....  Ah! you perceive that such converse in her presence is not gentle nor seemly.”  He took Damaris’s hand; it was quite cold.  “Sweet lady,” he said, in a low voice, “come with me from out this gallimaufry.”  He bent nearer, so that none but she could hear.  “I will tell you all.  It fits not with the dignity of your sorrow that you should remain here.”