The Heart

I rose and stepped from my rock to the green shore, and she moved a

little back with a slight courtesy. "Good-morning, Mistress

Catherine," I said.

"What know you of what my sister hath done and the cargo that came

yesterday on the Golden Horn?" she demanded with no preface and of a

sudden; her voice rang sharp as I remembered it when she first spoke

to me by that white hedge of England, and I could have sworn that

the tide had verily borne us thither, and she was again that sallow

girl and I the blundering lout of a lad.

"That I cannot answer you, madam," said I, and bowed and would have

passed, but she stood before me. So satin smooth was her hair that

even the fresh wind could not ruffle it, and in such straight

lines of maiden modesty hung her green gown--always she wore

green, and it became her well, and 'twas a colour I always

fancied--that it but fluttered a little around her feet in the

marsh grass, but her face looked out from a green gauze hood with an

expression that belied all this steadfastness of primness and

decorum. It was as if a play-actress had changed her character and

not her attire, which suited another part. Out came her slim arm, as

if she would have caught me by the hand for the sake of compelling

my answer; then she drew it back and spoke with all the sharp

vehemence of passion of a woman who oversteps the bounds of

restraint which she has set herself, and is a wilder thing than if

she had been hitherto unfettered by her will.

"I command you to tell me what I wish to know, Harry Wingfield,"

said she, and now her eyes fixed mine with no shrinking, but a

broadside of scorn and imperiousness.

"And I refuse to tell you, madam," said I.

Then indeed she caught my arm with a little nervous hand, like a

cramp of wire. "You shall tell me, sir," she declared. "This much I

know already. Yesterday the Golden Horn came in and was unladen of

powder and shot instead of the goods that my sister pretended to

order, and the cases are stored at Laurel Creek. This much do I

know, but not what is afoot, nor for what Mary had conference with

Sir Humphrey Hyde and Ralph last night, and you later on with Sir

Humphrey. I demand of you that you tell me, Harry Wingfield."

"That I cannot do, madam," said I.