The Heart

I looked at Mistress Mary and she at me. We had withdrawn to the

deepness of a window, while the black slaves moved in and out,

bearing the breakfast dishes, as reasonably unheeded by us as the

cup-bearers in a picture of a Roman banquet in the time of the

Caesars which I saw once. Mistress Mary was pale with dismay, and

yet her mouth twitched with laughter at the notion of displaying,

before the horrified eyes of Madam Cavendish, those grim adornments

which had arrived in the Golden Horn.

"La," said she, "when they come a-trundling in a powder-cask and I

courtesy and say, 'Madam, here is my furbelowed and gold-flowered

sacque,' I wonder what will come to pass." Then she laughed.

"My God, madam," said I, "why did you give that list?" She laughed

again, and her eyes flashed with the very light of mischief.

"I grant 'twas a fib," said she; "but I was taken unawares, and, la,

how could I recite to her the true list of my rare finery which came

to port yesterday? So I but gave the list of goods for which my Lady

Culpeper sent to England for the replenishing of her wardrobe and

her daughter's, and which is daily expected by ship. I had it from

Cicely Hyde, who had it from Cate Culpeper. The ship is due now, and

may be even now in port, and so I worded what I said, that 'twas

not, after all, a fib, except the hearer chose to make it so. I

said, 'Such goods as these are due, madam.'" Then she gave the list

anew, like a parrot, while Catherine, who had returned, stood

staring at her, white with terror, though Mary did not see her until

she had finished. Then, when she turned and caught her keenly

anxious eyes, she started. "You here, Catherine?" said she. Then,

knowing not how much her sister knew already, she tried to cover her

confusion, like a child denying its raid on the jam pots, while its

lips and fingers are still sticky with the stolen sweet. "What think

you of my list, sweetheart?" cried she, merrily. "A pair of the silk

stockings and two of the breast-knots and a mask and a flowered

apron shall you have." Then out of the room she whisked abruptly,

laughing from excess of nervous confusion, and not being able to

keep up the farce longer.

Then Catherine turned to me. "She has undone herself, for Madam

Cavendish will see those goods when the Golden Horn comes in, or

ferret the mystery to its farthest hole of hiding," said she. Then

she wrung her hands and cried out sharply, "My God, Harry Wingfield,

what is to be done?"