Simon Dale | Page 9

the golden world
was all a hell, came by tryst to the park of Quinton Manor, there to bid
Cydaria farewell. Mother and sisters had looked askance at me, the
village gossiped, even the Vicar shook a kindly head. What cared I? By
Heaven, why was one man a nobleman and rich, while another had no
money in his purse and but one change to his back? Was not love all in
all, and why did Cydaria laugh at a truth so manifest? There she was
under the beech tree, with her sweet face screwed up to a burlesque of
grief, her little hand lying on her hard heart as though it beat for me,
and her eyes the playground of a thousand quick expressions. I strode
up to her, and caught her by the hand, saying no more than just her
name, "Cydaria." It seemed that there was no more to say; yet she cried,
laughing and reproachful, "Have you no vows for me? Must I go
without my tribute?"
I loosed her hand and stood away from her. On my soul, I could not
speak. I was tongue-tied, dumb as a dog.
"When you come courting in London," she said, "you must not come so
empty of lover's baggage. There ladies ask vows, and protestations, and
despair, ay, and poetry, and rhapsodies, and I know not what."
"Of all these I have nothing but despair," said I.
"Then you make a sad lover," she pouted. "And I am glad to be going
where lovers are less woebegone."
"You look for lovers in London?" I cried, I that had cried to
Barbara--well, I have said my say on that.
"If Heaven send them," answered Cydaria.
"And you will forget me?"
"In truth, yes, unless you come yourself to remind me. I have no head

for absent lovers."
"But if I come----" I began in a sudden flush of hope.
She did not (though it was her custom) answer in raillery; she plucked a
leaf from the tree, and tore it with her fingers as she answered with a
curious glance.
"Why, if you come, I think you'll wish that you had not come, unless,
indeed, you've forgotten me before you come."
"Forget you! Never while I live! May I come, Cydaria?"
"Most certainly, sir, so soon as your wardrobe and your purse allow.
Nay, don't be huffed. Come, Simon, sweet Simon, are we not friends,
and may not friends rally one another? No, and if I choose, I will put
my hand through your arm. Indeed, sir, you're the first gentleman that
ever thrust it away. See, it is there now! Doesn't it look well there,
Simon--and feel well there, Simon?" She looked up into my face in
coaxing apology for the hurt she had given me, and yet still with
mockery of my tragic airs. "Yes, you must by all means come to
London," she went on, patting my arm. "Is not Mistress Barbara in
London? And I think--am I wrong, Simon?--that there is something for
which you will want to ask her pardon."
"If I come to London, it is for you and you only that I shall come," I
cried.
"No, no. You will come to love where the King loves, to know what he
hides, and to drink of his cup. I, sir, cannot interfere with your great
destiny"; she drew away from me, curtseyed low, and stood opposite to
me, smiling.
"For you and for you only," I repeated.
"Then will the King love me?" she asked.
"God forbid," said I fervently.

"Oh, and why, pray, your 'God forbid'? You're very ready with your
'God forbids.' Am I then to take your love sooner than the King's,
Master Simon?"
"Mine is an honest love," said I soberly.
"Oh, I should doat on the country, if everybody didn't talk of his
honesty there! I have seen the King in London and he is a fine
gentleman."
"And you have seen the Queen also, may be?"
"In truth, yes. Ah, I have shocked you, Simon? Well, I was wrong.
Come, we're in the country; we'll be good. But when we've made a
townsman of you, we'll--we will be what they are in town. Moreover,
in ten minutes I am going home, and it would be hard if I also left you
in anger. You shall have a pleasanter memory of my going than
Mistress Barbara's gave you."
"How shall I find you when I come to town?"
"Why, if you will ask any gentleman you meet whether he chances to
remember Cydaria, you will find me as soon as it is well you should."
I prayed her to tell me more; but she was resolved to tell no more.
"See, it is late. I go," said she. Then