The Heart

Sir Humphrey took her hand and bent low over it, and murmured

something; then, before he sprang to his saddle, he came close to me

again. "Harry," he whispered, "she should not be in this business,

and I would have not had it so could I have helped it, and, I pray

you, have a care to her safety." This he spoke so low that Mary

could not hear, and, moreover, she, with one of those sudden turns

of hers that made her have as many faces of delight as a diamond in

the sun, had thrown an arm around the neck of Sir Humphrey's mare,

and was talking to her in such dulcet tones as her lovers would have

died for the sake of hearing in their ears.

"Have no fears for her safety," I whispered back. "So far as the

goods go, there is no more danger."

"What did you, Harry?"

"Sir Humphrey," I whispered back, while Mary's sweet voice in the

mare's delicate ear sounded like a song, "sometimes an unguessed

riddle hath less weight than a guessed one, and some fish of

knowledge had best be left in the stream. I tell thee she is safe."

So saying, I looked him full in his honest, boyish face, which was

good to see, though sometime I wished, for the maid's sake, that it

had more shrewdness of wit in it. Then he gave me a great grasp of

the hand, and whispered something hoarsely. "Thou art a good fellow,

Harry, in spite of, in spite of--" then he bent low over Mary's

hand for the second time, and sprang to his saddle, and was off

toward Jamestown on his white mare, flashing along the moonlit road

like a whiter moonbeam.

Then Mary came close to me, and did what she had never before done

since she was a child. She laid her little hand on my arm of her own

accord. "Master Wingfield," said she, softly, "what about the goods?"

"The goods for which you sent to England are yours and in the great

house," said I, and I heard my voice tremble.

She drew her hand away and stood looking at me, and her sweet

forehead under her golden curls was all knitted with perplexity.

"You know, you know I--lied," she whispered like a guilty child.

"You cannot lie," I answered, "and the goods are yours."

"And not my Lady Culpeper's?"

"And not my Lady Culpeper's."