The Heart

I answered, seeing no reason why I should not, though I felt my

voice shake, being still unsteady with the pain, and told the truth,

that I had come thither to see if, perchance, I could get a glimpse

of some of the black folk. At that Captain Cavendish laughed

good-humouredly, being used to the excitement his black troop caused

and amused at it, and called out merrily that I was about to be

gratified, and indeed at that moment came running, with fat lunges,

as it were, of tremulous speed, a great black woman in pursuit of

the little maid, and heaved her high to her dark wave of bosom with

hoarse chuckles and cooings of love and delight and white rollings

of terrified eyes at her master if, perchance, he might be wroth at

her carelessness.

He only laughed, and brushed his dark beard against the tender roses

of the little maid as he gave her up, but my stepfather, who, though

not ill-natured, often conceived the necessity of ill-nature, was

not so easily satisfied. He stood looking sternly at my white face

and my weak yielding of body at the bend of the knees, and suddenly

he caught me heavily by my bruised shoulder. "What means all this,

sirrah?" he cried out, but then I sank away before him, for the pain

was greater than I could bear.

When I came to myself my waistcoat was off, and both men looking at

my shoulder, which the horse's hoof must have barely grazed, though

no more, or I should have been in a worse plight. Still the shoulder

was a sorry sight enough, and the great black woman with the little

fair baby in her arms stood aloof looking at it with ready tears,

and the baby herself made round eyes like stars, though she knew not

half what it meant. I felt the hot red of shame go over me at my

weakness at a little pain, after the first shock was over, and I

presumably steeled to bear it like a man, and I struggled to my

feet, pulling my waistcoat together and looking, I will venture,

much like a sulky and ill-conditioned lad.

"What means that hurt on your shoulder, Harry?" asked my

stepfather, Col. John Chelmsford, and his voice was kind enough

then. "I would not have laid such a heavy hand on thy shoulder had I

known of it," he added. My stepfather had never aught against me

that I wot of, having simply naught for me, and a man cannot in

justice be held to account for the limitations of his affections,

especially toward a rival's son. He spoke with all kindness, and his

great ruddy face had a heavy gleam of pity for my hurt, but I

answered not one word. "How came it so, Harry?" he asked again with

growing wonder at my silence, but I would not reply.