The Heart

"Why have you had guns and ammunition brought from England?" I

asked; but in the shock of the discovery I had loosened my grasp of

her bridle and she was off, and in a minute we were in Jamestown,

and could not disturb the Sabbath quiet by talk or ride too fast.

We were a good hour and a half late, but there was to my mind enough

of preaching yet for my soul's good, for I thought not much of

Parson Downs nor his sermons, but I dreaded for Mistress Mary that

which might come from her tardiness and her Sabbath-breaking, if

that were discovered. I dismounted, and assisted Mistress Mary to

the horse block, and off came her black velvet mask, and she clapped

a pretty hand to her hair and shook her skirts and wiped off a mud

splash. Then up the aisle she went, and I after her and all the

people staring.

I can see that church as well to-day as if I were this moment there.

Heavily sweet with honey and almond scent it was, as well as sweet

herbs and musk, which the ladies had on their handkerchiefs, for it

was like a bower with flowers. Great pink boughs arched overhead,

and the altar was as white as snow with blossoms. Up the aisle she

flashed, and none but Mary Cavendish could have made that little

journey under the eyes of the governor in his pew and the governor's

lady and all the burgesses, and the churchwarden half starting up as

if to exercise his authority, and the parson swelling with a vast

expanse of sable robes over the Book, with no abashedness and yet no

boldness nor unmaidenly forwardness. There was an innocent gayety on

her face like a child's, and an entire confidence in good will and

loving charity for her tardiness which disarmed all. She looked out

from that gauze love-hood of hers as she came up the aisle, and the

governor, who had a harsh face enough ordinarily, beamed mildly

indulgent. His lady eyed her with a sort of pleasant and reminiscent

wonder, though she was a haughty dame. The churchwarden settled

back, and as for Parson Downs, his great, red face curved in a

smile, and his eyes twinkled under their heavy overhang of florid

brow, and then he declaimed in a hoarser and louder shout than ever

to cover the fact of his wandering attention. And young Sir Humphrey

Hyde, sitting between his mother, Lady Betty, and his sister,

Cicely, turned as pale as death when he saw her enter, and kept so,

with frequent covert glances at her from time to time, and I saw

him, and knew that he knew about Mistress Mary's furbelow boxes.