The Heart

It was an industrious household at Drake Hill both as to men and

women folk. The fields were full of ebony backs and plying arms of

toil at sunrise, and the hum and whir of loom and spinning-wheels

were to be heard in the negro cabins and the great house as soon as

the birds.

Madam Judith Cavendish was a stern task-mistress, and especially for

these latter duties. Had it not been for the stress of favour in

which she held me, I question if my vocation as tutor to Mistress

Mary would have had much scope for the last year, since her

grandmother esteemed so highly the importance of a maid's being

versed in all domestic arts, such as the spinning and weaving of

flax and wool, and preserving and distilling and fine needlework.

She set but small store by Latin and arithmetic for a maid, not even

if she were naturally quick at them, as was Mistress Mary; and had

it not been that she was bent upon keeping me in her service at

Drake Hill, I doubt not that she would have clapped together the

maid's books, whether or no, and set her to her wheel. As it was, a

goodly part of every day was passed by her in such wise, but so fond

was my pupil of her book that often I have seen her with it propped

open, for her reference, on a chair at her side.

It was thus the next morning, the morning of the day of my Lord

Culpeper's ball. It was a warm morning, and the doors and windows of

the hall were set wide open, and all the spring wind and scent

coming in and dimity curtains flying like flags, and the gold of

Mistress Mary's hair tossing now and then in a stronger gust, and

she and Catherine cramming down their flax baskets, lest the flax

take wings to itself and fly away. Both Mary and Catherine were at

their flax-wheels, but Madam Cavendish was in the loom-room with

some of the black women. Mary had her Latin book open, as I have

said before, on a chair at her side, but Catherine span with her

fair face set to some steady course of thought, though she too was

fond of books. Never a lesson had she taken of me, holding me in

such scorn, but I questioned much at the time, and know now, that

she was well acquainted with whatever knowledge her sister had got,

having been taught by her mother and then keeping on by herself with

her tasks. When I entered the hall, having been to Jamestown after

breakfast and just returned, both maids looked up, and suddenly one

of the wheels ceased its part in the duet, and Catherine was on her

feet and her thread fallen whither it would. "Master Wingfield,"

said she, "I would speak with you."