Virna Sheard

“ Above the entrance there is the huge sign of Atlas carrying his load and beneath, the words in Latin, 'All the world acts a play.'"
Debora tossed her head and caught her breath quickly. "My patience is gone with thee, since thou art minded to take me for a very fool, Darby Thornbury," she said with short cutting inflection. "Hearts mercy! 'Tis not the outside o' the playhouses I desire to see, as thou dost understand—'tis the inside—where Master Shakespeare is and the great Burbage, an' Kemp, an' all o' them. Be not so unkind to thy little sister. ”

“ Debora went to her own room swiftly that third evening, and, turning the key, stood with her two hands pressed tight above her heart. "'Tis over," she said—"'tis over, an' well over. Now to tell Darby. I' faith, I know not rightly who I am. Nay, then, I am just Deb Thornbury, not Darby, nor Juliet, for evermore. Oh! what said he at the steps? 'I know thee, I have known thee from the first. See, thou art mine, thou art mine, I tell thee, Juliet, Juliet!'"
Then the girl laughed, a happy little laugh. "Was ever man so imperative? Nay, was ever such a one in the wide, wide world?" ”

“ Deb," he said, looking up at her adoringly. "'Twill be something to remember—should I live—an' if not, well—'tis not every man who dies with a kiss on his lips."
"Thou must not talk," she said.
"No," he answered, faintly, "nor keep thee. Yet promise me one thing."
"What would'st have me promise?"
"That thou wilt return on the morrow to Shottery. London is no place for thee now."
"I will go," answered the girl; "though I would fain take care of thee here, Nick."
"That thou must not think of," he replied. "I will fare—as God wills. Go thou home to Shottery." ”

“ It is Christmas eve once more, and all the diamond window panes of One Tree Inn—are aglitter with light from the Yule log fire in the front room chimney-place and the many candles Mistress Debora placed in their brass candlesticks.
Little Dorien had followed her joyously from room to room, and many times she had lifted him in her strong, young arms and let him touch the wick with the lighted spill and start the fairy flame. ”

“ Sir Romeo. Thou art right, fate is not always kind. Yet 'tis best to leave most things to its disposal—at least so it doth seem to me."
"Egad!" said Sherwood, with a short laugh, "'tis a way that may serve well enow for maids but not for men. Tell me, when may I see thee? To-night?"
"A thousand times no!" Debora cried, quickly. "To-night," with a little nod of her head, "to-night I have somewhat to settle with Darby."
"He hath my sympathy," said Sherwood. "Then on the morrow?——"
"Nay, nay, I know not. That is the Sabbath; players be but for week-days." ”

“ Judith Shakespeare, who was a friend and gossip of Debora's, spent many evenings with them, and those who knew the little maid best alone could say what that meant, for never was there a gayer lass, or one who had a prettier wit. To hear Judith enlarging upon her daily experiences with people and things, was to listen to thrilling tales, garnished and gilded in fanciful manner, till the commonplace became delightful, and life in Stratford town a thing to be desired above the simple passing of days in other places. ”

“ When all was finished, her hair coiled freshly and puffed at the sides as Darby would have it dressed to follow the new fashion; when her shoes, with their great silver buckles and red heels, were laced and tied, and when the frills at her wrist were settled, she looked in the mirror and felt better. It was not possible to view such a vision, knowing that it was one's self, without taking comfort.
"Things be past their worst surely," she said. "An' I have no heart in me this morning to give Darby a harsh word. Marry! men take not kindly to upbraiding, and hate a shrew at best o' times. ”

“ All thought 'twas thee, Darby. See, see! when I was fair encased in that Kendal green suit o' thine, why even Dad could not have told 'twas not thy very self! We must be strangely alike o' face, dear heart—though mayhap our souls be different."
"Nay!" he exclaimed, "'tis past belief that thou should'st take my part! My brain whirls to think on't. I saw thee yesternight—the day before—this noon-day—an' thou wert as unruffled as a fresh-blown rose. Naught was wrong with thy colour, and neither by word or sign did'st give me an inkling of such mad doings! ”

“ As the good Dame came close, the girl threw her arms about her neck.
"Why, sweet lamb!" exclaimed the woman. "What hath happened thee? Whatever hath happened thee?"
"What is one to do when the whole world go'th wrong?" cried Debora. "Oh! gaze not so at me, I be not dazed or distraught. Oh! dear Mistress Blossom, I care not to live to be as old as thou art. I am forewearied o' life."
"Weary o' life! an' at thy time! My faith, thou hast not turned one-and-twenty! Why, then, Mistress Debora, I be eight-an'-forty, yet count that not old by many a year." ”

“ Try not to walk. I will lift thee to the bed an' call Dame Blossom. Marry! what queer things women be."
"Ay! truly," she answered, faintly, steadying herself against him. "Ay! vastly queer. Nay, I will not go to the bed, but will sit in your chair."
"Thou art white as linen," anxiously. "May I leave thee to call the Dame? I fear me lest thou go off again."
"Fear naught o' that," said Deb, with a little curl of her lips. "An' call Mistress Blossom an' thou wilt, but 'tis nothing; there—dear heart, I will be well anon. Hast not some jaunt for to-night? I would not keep thee, Darby." ”

“ There'll not be a candle in any room whatever without its own little feather of fire, not a dip in the kitchen left dark! So just save thy breath to blow them out later."
"Come, mend thy saucy speech, thou'lt light no more, I tell thee," blustered the old fellow, trying to reach the spill which the girl held high above her head. "Give over thy foolishness; thou'lt light no more!"
"Thou'lt light no more"
"Ay, but I will, then," said she wilfully, "an' 'tis but just to welcome Darby, Dad dear. Nay, then," waving the light and laughing, "don't thou dare catch it. ”

“ Thornbury stood, half hesitating, turned, and went out.
"'Twill ever be so with him," said the girl. "He lov'th me—but he lov'th Darby Thornbury better."
Then she hid her face. "Oh! heart o' me! I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it—'tis too much. I will go away to Shottery to-morrow. I mind me what Dad said, an' 't has come to be truth. 'Thou wilt never bide in peace at One Tree Inn again.' Peace!" she said, with bitter accent. "Peace! I think there be no peace in the world; or else 't hath passed me by." ”

“ Why, 'tis just this, I will play the part myself."
"Thou?" cried Dame Blossom, agape. "Thou, Mistress Debora?"
"Yes! yes! Nay, ply me not with questions. My mind is set. There be not one in London who will discover me, an' thou dost not break faith, or let thy good man scent aught on the wind. But I wanted to tell thee, dear Mistress Blossom, and have thy good word. Pray thee say I am not doing wrong, or making any error. I have been so bewildered."
"I will not say thou art i' the right, for I know not. Has't asked Master Darby's consent?"
The girl turned impatiently. "Heart o' me! ”

“ Judith answered with impatience. "Thou wilt give a body no satisfaction either. Soul o' me! but men be all alike. If ever I have a husband—which heaven forbid!—I shall fare to London four times o' the year an' see for myself what it be like."
"I am going to London with Darby when he doth go back again," said Debora, speaking with quiet deliberation. Thornbury entered the room at the moment and heard what his daughter said. The man caught at the edge of the heavy table by which he stood, as though needing to hold by it. He waited there, unheeded by the three around the hearth. ”

“ The physician crossed over to them and laid his white fingers on Berwick's wrist.
"Thou dost seem set upon undoing my work," he said. "Art so over-ready to die, Master Berwick? One more swoon like the last and thou would'st sleep on."
"He will talk no more, good Doctor," said Debora, hastily. "Ah! thou wilt be kind to him, I pray thee? And now I will away, as 'tis best, but my brother will stay, and carry out thy orders. Nay, Nick, thou must not even say good-bye or move thy lips. I will go back to Dame Blossom quite safely in the coach."
"An' to Shottery on the morrow?" he whispered. ”

“ First com'th a ball i' my throat, then a queer trembling, an' I all but cry. 'Tis vastly silly is't not, but 'tis just by reason o' being a girl one doth act so." Then eagerly, "Thou would'st not fool me, Darby, or change thy mind? Thou art in earnest? Swear it! Cross thy heart!"
"Ay! I am in earnest," he replied, smiling; "in very truth thou shalt see thy brother turn love-sick maid and mince giddily about in petticoats. I warrant thou'lt be poppy-red, though thou art hidden behind the gold curtains, just to hear the noble Romeo vow me such desperate lover's vows." ”

“ Just listen to this mutinous one, good Master Thornbury! Here is a whirlwind in petticoats equal to my pretty shrew who was so well tamed at the last. Marry, an' I could show them such a brilliant bit of acting at the new Globe—such tone! such intensity! 'twould surely inspire the Company and so lighten my work by a hundred-fold. But, alas! while we have but lads to play the parts that maidens should take, acting is oft a very weariness and giveth one an ache o' the heart! ”

“ Debora gave a little laugh—short and hard. Her eyes, of a blue that was almost black, shone like stars.
"Dost think so?" she said. "Nay, then, thou art a flatterer. I will to my room. My hair is roughened, is't not?"
"Thou art rarely beautiful as thou art; there be little rings o' curls about thy ears. I would not do aught to them. Thy face hath no colour, yet ne'er saw I thee more comely."
"Now, that is well," she answered. "That giveth my faint heart courage, an' marry! 'tis what I need. ”

“ Dost not remember asking me why Sherwood had changed his name on the bills o' the play? Yet, what odds can it make?"
"Only this," she cried, "that this Dorien North, who has so painted the name black, and who but last night struck Nicholas Berwick, is in very truth little Dorien's father. So goes the man's name the Puritan maid told me. Moreover, he was a player also. Oh! Darby, dost not see? I thought 'twas the other—Don Sherwood."
"'Twas like a woman to hit so wide o' the mark," answered Darby. "Did'st not think there might chance be two of the name? ”

“ Perchance he may be at Blackfriars, or—or 'The Tabard Inn,' or even abroad upon the streets. In any case, find him quickly, dear heart, for the time is short and I must away to Shottery, as I promised Nick,—poor Nick,—poor Nick." So she fell to sobbing and crying.
The young fellow gazed at her in that distress which overtakes a man when a woman weeps.
"Marry," he said, "I wish thou would'st give over thy tears. I weary of them and they will mend naught. There, cheer up, sweet. I will surely find Sherwood, and at once, as 'tis thy wish."
It was high noon when Darby Thornbury returned. ”

“ London is wide and the times are busy; therefore I have no will to leave it to chance when I shall see thee again. Fate has been marvellous kind to-day, but 'tis not always so with fate, as peradventure thou hast some time discovered. ”

“ Come, tell me for love's sake, sweetheart. An' I thought so!"
"Marry, no!" she said. Then with a short, half-checked laugh, "Well—Prithee but one!"
"Ah!" cried Berwick, "is't so?"
"Verily," she answered mockingly. "It is so in truth, an' 'tis just Dad. As for Darby, I cannot tell what I feel for him. 'Twould be full as easy to say were I to put it to myself, 'Dost love Debora Thornbury?' 'Yea' or 'Nay,' for, Heaven knows, sometimes I love her mightily—and sometimes I don't; an' then 'tis a fearsome 'don't,' Nick. But come thee in." ”

“ An' I touch thy fringe o' pretty hair, dad—thy only ornament, remember—'twould be a fearsome calamity! I' faith! it must be most time for the coach, an' the clusters in the long room not yet lit. Hinder me no more, but go enjoy thyself with old Saddler and John Sevenoakes. I warrant the posset is o'erdone, though I cautioned thee not to leave it."
"Thou art a wench to break a man's heart," said Thornbury, backing away and shaking a finger at the pretty figure winding fiery ribbons and criss-crosses with her bright-tipped wand. ”

“ Debora rose and went over to her father. She laid one hand on his arm and patted it gently.
"I would go to London, Dad," she said coaxingly. "Nay, I must go to London, Dad. I pray thee put no stumbling blocks in the way o' it—but be kind as thou art always. See! an' thou dost let me away I will stay but a month, a short month—but four weeks—it doth seem shorter to say it so—an' then I'll fare home again swiftly an' bide in content. Oh! think of it, Dad! to go to London! It is to go where one can hear the heart of the whole world beat!" ”

“ In an evil moment 'twas decided I might make shift to take the character, for none other in the Company com'th so near it in voice, they say, though Ned Shakespeare hath a pink and white face, comely enow for any girl. Beshrew me, sweetheart—but I loathe the taking of such parts. To succeed doth certainly bespeak some womanish beauty in one—to fail doth mar the play. At best I must be as the Master says, 'too young to be a man, too old to be a boy.' 'Tis but the third time I have essayed such a role, an 't shall be the last, I swear. ”

“ An' did'st note how handsome?"
"He is a handsome fellow," answered Berwick. "Still, I cannot see that he hath grown. He will not be of large pattern."
"Marry!" cried the girl, "Darby is a good head taller than I. Where dost thou keep thine eyes, Nick?"
"Nay, verily, then, he is not," answered the other; "thou art almost shoulder to shoulder, an' still as much alike—I saw by the lantern—as of old, when save for thy dress 'twas a puzzle to say which was which. 'Tis a reasonable likeness, as thou art twins."
Debora pursed up her lips. "He is much taller than I," she said, determinedly. ”

“ It was an awkward business, for the doublet and green tabard seemed fairly possessed to go contrariwise; the hose were unmanageable, and the cordovan long boots needed stuffing at the toes. Here and there upon the suit was broidered the Lord Chamberlain's coat of arms in gold thread, and when all was finished Deb looked at herself and felt she was a gorgeous and satisfying sight. "Marry! but men be fond o' fine feathers," she thought, studying her reflection. ”

“ Old Thornbury's brows contracted darkly and the girl turned to him with a laugh.
"Oh—Dad! Dad! thou must e'en learn to hear of the playhouses, an' actors with a better grace than that. Note the wry face he doth make, Darby!"
"I have little stomach for their follies and buffooneries—albeit my son be one of them," the innkeeper answered, in sharp tone. Then struggling with some intense inward feeling, "Still I am not a man to go half-way, Darby. Thou hast chosen for thyself, an' the blame will not be mine if thy road be the wrong one. Thou canst walk upright on any highway, lad." ”