Sir Mortimer | Page 9

"your brother is my friend, but to-day
I would speak of my friend's friend, and that is myself, and your
servant, lady. To-morrow I go from this garden of the world, this
no-other Paradise, this court where Dian reigns, but where Venus
comes as a guest, her boy in her hand. Where I go I know not, nor what
thread Clotho is spinning. Strange dangers are to be found in strange
places, and Jove and lightning are not comfortable neighbors. Ulysses
took moly in his hand when there came to meet him Circe's gentlemen
pensioners, and Gyges's ring not only saved him from peril, but brought
him wealth and great honor. What silly mariner in my ship hath not
bought or begged mithridate or a pinch of achimenius wherewith to
make good his voyage? And shall not I, who have much more at stake,
procure me an enchantment?"
The lady's fringed lids lifted in one swift upward glance. "Your valor,
sir, should prove your surest charm. But there is the new alchemist--"

"He cannot serve my need, hath not what I want. I want--" He hesitated
for a moment; then spoke on with a certain restrained impetuosity that
became him well: "There is a honey-wax which, being glazed about the
heart, holdeth within it, forever, a song so sweet that the chanting of the
sirens matters not; there is that precious stone which, as the magnet
draweth the iron, so ever constraineth Honor, bidding him mount every
breach, climb higher, higher, higher yet! there is that fragrant leaf
which oft is fed with tears, and often sighing worn, yet, so worn,
inspireth valor more heroical than that of Achilles! Such a charm I seek,
sweet lady."
Mistress Damaris Sedley, a favorite of the Countess of Pembroke, and
a court lady of some months' standing, could parley euphuism with the
best, and yet to-day it seemed to her that plain English might better
serve the turn. However:
"Good gentleman," she answered, sedately, "I think that few are the
bees that gather so dainty a wax, but if they be flown to Hymettus, then
to Hymettus might one follow them; also that precious stone may be
found, though, alack! often enough a man is so poor a lapidary that,
seeing only the covering of circumstances, he misses the true sapphire!
and for that fragrant leaf, I have heard of it in my day--"
"It is called truelove," he said.
Damaris kept to the card: "My marvel, sir, is to hear you speak as
though you had not the charm you seem to seek. One blossom of the
tree Alpina is worth all store of roses; one ruby outvalueth many pearls;
he who hath already the word of magic needeth to buy no Venus's
image; and Sir Mortimer Ferne, secure in Dione's love, saileth,
methinks, in crystal seas, with slight danger from storm and wreck."
"Secure in Dione's love!" repeated Ferne. "Ah, lady, your shaft has
gone wide. I have sailed, and sailed, and sailed--ay, and in crystal
seas--and have seen blooms fairer than the tree Alpina, and have been
in the land of emeralds and where pearls do grow, and yet have never
gathered the fragrant leaf, that leaf of true and mutual love. It should
grow with the laurel and blend with the bay--ay, and be not missing

from the cypress wreath! But as yet I have it not--as yet I have it not."
Damaris gazed upon him with brown, incredulous eyes, and when she
spoke her words came somewhat breathlessly, having quite outgone the
courtly affectation of similes run mad.
"What mean you, sir? Not the love of Astrophel for Stella is better
known than that of Cleon for Dione! And, lo! now your own
lines--Master Dyer showed them to me but the other day copied into his
book of songs:
'Nor in my watery wanderings am I crossed; Where haven's wanted,
there I haven find, Nor e'er for me is star of guidance lost--'"
Her voice breaking a little, Ferne made nearer approach to the green
bank where she rested. "Do you learn by heart my verses, lady?" he
asked.
"Ay," she answered, "I did ever love sweet poetry." Her voice thrilled,
and she gazed past him at the blue heaven showing between the oak
leaves. "If prayer with every breath availeth," she said, "no doubt your
Dione will bring your safe return."
"Of whom do I write, calling her Dione?"
She shook her head. "I know not. None of us at court knows. Master
Dyer saith--but surely that one is not worthy--" She ceased to speak,
nor knew there had been in her tone both pain and wistfulness.
Presently she laughed out, with the facile gayety that one in her
position must needs be practised in. "Ah, sir, tell me