The Heart

I put her hand to my lips. "Madam," I said, "you mistake; I do not

suffer. That which you think of as my suffering and my disgrace is

my glory and happiness."

"Yes, and why, and why? Oh, Harry, 'tis that which is breaking my

heart. 'Tis because you love Mary, 'tis because, I verily believe,

you have loved her from the first minute you set eyes on her, though

she was but a baby in arms. At first I thought it was Catherine, in

spite of her fault, but now I know it was for the sake of Mary that

you sacrificed yourself--for her sister, Harry, I know, I know,

and I would to God that I could give you your heart's desire, for

'tis mine also!"

Then, so saying, this old woman, who had in her such a majesty of

character and pride that it held folk aloof at a farther distance

than loud swaggerings of importance of men high in office, drew down

my head to her withered shoulder and touched my cheek with a hand of

compassionate pity and blessing, as if I had been in truth her son,

and caught her breath again and again with a sobbing sigh. All that

I could say to comfort her I said, assuring her, as was indeed the

truth, that no woman could justly estimate the view which a man

might take of such a condition as mine, and how the power of service

to love might be enough to content one, and he stand in no need of

pity, but she was not much consoled. "Harry," she said, "Harry, thou

art like a knight of olden times about whom a song was written,

which I heard sung in my girlhood, and which used to bring the

tears, though I was never too ready with them. Woe be to me that I,

knowing what I know, have yet not the courage to sacrifice my pride

and my unworthy granddaughter, and see you free. Oh, Harry, that

thou shouldst sit at home when thou art fitted by birth and breeding

to go with the best of them! Harry, I pray thee, put on thy

plum-coloured suit and go to the ball."

"Dear Madam Cavendish," I said, half laughing, for she seemed more

and more like a child, "you know that it cannot be, and that I have

no desire for balls."

"But I would have thee go, Harry."

"But I am not asked," I said.

"What matters that? 'Tis almost with open doors, since it is a

farewell of my Lord Culpeper before sailing for England. Harry, go,

and--a--and--I swear if any exception be taken to it, I--I--will

tell the truth."