



Produced by Al Haines









[Illustration: Cover art]





[Frontispiece: "Debora!  What is it?  What hath come to thee?"]





[Illustration: title page art]





A MAID

OF

MANY

MOODS



_By_ VIRNA SHEARD




Toronto, THE COPP, CLARK
  COMPANY, Ltd.  MCMII




Copyright, 1902, By James Pott & Co.

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London


_First Impression, September, 1902_




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"Debora!  What is it?  What hath come to thee?"... _Frontispiece_

"Thou'lt light no more"

She followed the tragedy intensely

"I liked thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad"

"It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick"

Darby went lightly from one London topic to another




CHAPTER I

[Illustration: Chapter I headpiece]

I

It was Christmas Eve, and all the small diamond window panes of One
Tree Inn, the half-way house upon the road from Stratford to Shottery,
were aglitter with light from the great fire in the front room
chimney-place and from the many candles Mistress Debora had set in
their brass candlesticks and started a-burning herself.  The place,
usually so dark and quiet at this time of night, seemed to have gone
off in a whirligig of gaiety to celebrate the Noel-tide.

In vain had old Marjorie, the housekeeper, scolded.  In vain had Master
Thornbury, who was of a thrifty and saving nature, followed his
daughter about and expostulated.  She only laughed and waved the
lighted end of the long spill around his broad red face and bright
flowered jerkin.

"Nay, Dad!" she had cried, teasing him thus, "I'll help thee save thy
pennies to-morrow, but to-night I'm of another mind, and will have such
a lighting up in One Tree Inn the rustics will come running from
Coventry to see if it be really ablaze.  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!"

[Illustration: "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.  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.  "Thou art a provoking
wench, who doth need locking up and feeding on bread and water.  Marry,
there'll be naught for thee on Christmas, and thou canst whistle for
the ruff and silver buckles I meant to have given thee.  Aye, an' for
the shoes with red heels."  Then with dignity, "I'll snuff out some o'
the candles soon as I go below."

"An' thou do, dad, I'll make thee a day o' trouble on the morrow!" she
called after him.  And well he knew she would.  Therefore, it was with
a disturbed mind that he entered the sitting-room and went towards the
hearth to stir the simmering contents of the copper pot on the crane.

John Sevenoakes and old Ned Saddler, his nearest neighbours and
friends, sat one each side of the fire in their deep rush-bottomed
chairs, as they sat at least five nights out of the week, come what
weather would.  Sevenoakes held a small child, whose yellow, curly head
nodded with sleep.  The hot wine bubbled up as the inn-keeper stirred
it and the little spiced apples, brown with cloves, bobbed madly on top.

"It hath a savoury smell, Thornbury," remarked Saddler.  "Methinks 'tis
most ready to be lifted."

"'Twill not be lifted till Deb hears the coach," answered Sevenoakes.
"'Twas so she timed it.  'On it goes at nine,' quoth she, 'an' off it
comes at ten, Cousin John.  Just when Darby will be jumping from the
coach an' running in.  Oh!  I can't wait for the hour to come!' she
says."

"She's a headstrong, contrary wench as ever heaven sent a man,"