The Heart

"But how?" said she.

"That I must study."

"But I charge you to keep it from Madam Cavendish."

"You need have no fear."

"May God forgive me, but I told Madam Cavendish that the Golden Horn

had not arrived," said she, "but what have they done with the rest

of the cargo, pray?"

I started. I had, I confess, not given that a thought, though it was

but reasonable that there was more beside those powder casks, if the

revenue from the crops had been so small.

But Catherine Cavendish needed but a moment for that problem.

"'Twill return," said she. "Captain Tabor hath but sailed off a

little distance that he may return and make port, as if for the

first time since he left England, and so put them off the scent of

the Sabbath unlading of those other wares." She looked down the

burnished flow of the river as she spoke, and cried out that she

could see a sail, but I, looking also, could not see anything save

the shimmer of white and green spring boughs into which the river

distance closed.

"'Tis the Golden Horn," said Catherine.

"I can see naught of white save the locust-blooms," said I.

"Locusts stand not against the wind in stiff sheets," said she.

"'Tis the sail of the Golden Horn; but that matters not. Harry,

Harry Wingfield, can you save my sister?"

"I know not whether I can, madam, but I will," said I.