Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Death?" says I, "'Tis mayhap but the beginning of a greater life wherein shall be no more partings, I pray."

"'Tis a sweet thought, Martin!"

"And you have never feared death!" says I.

"Aye, but I do, Martin--I do!" cries she. "I am grown craven these days, mayhap--"

"Yet you sought death."

"Because there was no other way, Martin. But when Death clutched at me from those black depths I agonised for life."

"Is life then--become so--sweet to you, Damaris?"

"Yes, Martin!" says she softly.

"Since when?" I questioned, "Since when?" But instead of answering she falls a-singing softly and keeping her back to me; thus I saw that she had set the pin back in her hair, whereat I grew all suddenly and beyond reason glad. Though indeed the thing accorded but ill with her fine gown, as I told her forthwith.

"Think you so, Martin?" says she gravely, but with a dimple in her cheek.

"I do! 'Tis manifestly out of keeping with your 'broideries, your pleats, tags, lappets, pearl-buttons, galoons and the rest on't."

"'Twould almost seem you do not like me thus," says she frowning down at her finery but with the dimple showing plainer than ever.

"Why truly," says I, stooping to take up the jewelled comb where it lay, "I liked your ragged gown better."

"Because your own clothes are so worn and sorry, sir. 'Tis time you had better, I must see to it--"

"Nay, never trouble!"

"'Twill be joy!" says she sweetly, but setting her chin at me. "And then--good lack, your hair, Martin!"

"What of it?"

"All elf-lox. And then, your beard!"

"What o' my beard?"

"So wild and shaggy! And 'tis so completely out o' the mode."

"Mode?" says I, frowning.

"Mode, Martin. Your spade beard was, then came your dagger or stiletto and now--"

"Hum!" says I, "It may be your broadsword or half-pike for aught I care. But as to yon gown--"

"Alas, poor thing! 'Twill soon look worn and ragged as you can wish, Martin. I have already lost three pearl studs, and should grieve for them were there not a coffer full of better that I wot of. O Martin, when I think of all these wonders, these great diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, pearls and rubies--I do tingle!"

"And can these toys so please you?" says I.

"Yes!" cries she, "Yes, and so would they any other that was not a stock or a stone or--Martin Conisby who is above such vanities!"

"Vanities indeed!" says I, "In this wilderness more especially."

"How if we should find the world again?"

"Hum!" says I. "But this powder and shot now--"