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Well, if he were so horror-stricken at these things, what would he say at learning with whom he had talked? Perhaps he would have preached to her, as had Phineas Tate, his master in religion. For, beyond doubt, that heathenish name was Cydaria, and that fine coach with Flemish horses I left the question of that coach unanswered.
But now I was stubborn and would recall not a word of all my raptures. Yet I was glad that I had not told her who Cydaria was. The silence was short. In an instant Barbara gave a little laugh, saying, "Small wonder you were caught, poor Simon! Yes, the creature must be handsome enough. Shall we return to my mother?" On that day she spoke no more with me.
Now I was all eager to be gone, to set my hand to my work, to try Fate's promises, and to learn that piece of knowledge which all London had the true name of her whom we called Cydaria. "Still," said the Vicar, falling into a sudden pensiveness as I rose to take my leave, "there are things above fortune's favour, or a King's, or a great lady's.
What, you desire to know my name?" "Unless, indeed, I may call you one of my own choosing," said I, with a glance that should have been irresistible. "Would you use it in speaking of me to Mistress Barbara there? No, I'll give you a name to call me by. You may call me Cydaria." "Cydaria! A fine name!" "It is," said she carelessly, "as good as any other." "But is there no other to follow it?"
A man of seventy would have been moved by such a thing; what wonder that a boy of twenty-two should run half mad with it? Strange to say, it seemed to the Vicar's mind no more unlikely and infinitely more pleasant that the King's favour should be bound up with the lady we had called Cydaria than that it should be the plain fruit of my lord's friendly offices.
For she was short in her talk, and frowned to see me with her daughter. Yet she saw me, I must confess, often with Cydaria in the next days, and I was often with Cydaria when she did not see me. Her moods were endless, vying with one another in an ever undetermined struggle for the prize of greatest charm.
I heard the news with interest, with pride, and with a touch of jealousy; but at this time my own fortunes so engrossed me that soon I harked back to them, and, taking my courage in both hands, was about to ask my companion if he had chanced ever to hear of Cydaria, when he gave a new turn to the talk, by asking carelessly, "You are a Churchman, sir, I suppose?"
Why should my own mouth betray me and add my bygone sins to the offences of to-day? My lord had not told her that Nell was Cydaria. Should I speak where my lord was silent? Neither would I tell her of Cydaria. "You haven't seen her?" I asked. "No; and I would learn what she is like." It was a strange thing to command me, yet Barbara's desire joined with my own thoughts to urge me to it.
Thinking of Barbara, I answered gloomily, "She's no friend of mine." "I did not mean whom you mean," said Cydaria, with twinkling eyes and not a whit put out. "But I also am going to London." I smiled, for it did not seem as though she would be a powerful friend, or able to open any way for me.
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."
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