The Heart

But when I looked out of my window that May morning, and saw that

wonderful fair world, and that heaven of blue light with rosy and

golden and green boughs blowing athwart it, and heard the whir of

looms, the calls and laughs of human life, the coo of dove, the hum

of bees, the trill of mock birds, outreaching all other heights of

joy, the clangour of the sea-birds, and the tender rustle of the

new-leaved branches in the wind, that love for me which I had seen

in the heart of the woman I had loved since I could remember, seemed

my own keynote of the meaning of life sounding in my ears above all

other sounds of bane or blessing.

But the strength I had to act in discord with it, and thrust my joy

from me, and I went to planning how I could best turn the child's

fancy from myself to some one who would be for her best good. And

yet I was not satisfied with Sir Humphrey Hyde, and wished that his

wits were quicker, and wondered if years might improve them, and if

perchance a man as honest might be found who had the keenness of

ability to be the worst knave in the country. But the boy was brave,

and I loved his love for Mary Cavendish, and I could think of no one

to whom I would so readily trust her, and it seemed to me that

perchance I might, by some praising of him, and swerving her

thoughts to his track, lead her to think favourably of his suit. But

a man makes many a mistake as to women, and one of the most frequent

is that the hearts of them are like wax, to be moulded into this and

that shape. That morning, when I met Mistress Mary at the breakfast

table, she was pale and distraught, and not only did not speak to me

nor look at me, but when I ventured to speak in praise of Sir

Humphrey's gallant looks at the ball, she turned upon me so fiercely

with encomiums of my Lord Estes, whom I knew to be not worthy of

her, that I held my tongue. But when Sir Humphrey came riding up a

little later, she greeted him with such warmth as at once put me to

torture, and aroused that spirit of defence of her against myself

which hath been the noblest thing in my poor life.

So I left them, Mistress Catherine at the flax-wheel, and Mary out

in the garden with Sir Humphrey, gathering roses for the potpourri

jars, and the distilling into rosewater, for little idleness was

permitted at Drake Hill even after a ball. I got my horse, but as I

started forth Madam Cavendish called--a stiffly resolute old

figure standing in the great doorway, and I dismounted and went to

her, leading my horse, which I had great ado to keep from nibbling

the blossoms of a rose tree which grew over the porch. "Harry," she

said in a whisper, "where is Mary?"