"But how?" said she.
"That I must study."
"But I charge you to keep it from Madam Cavendish."
"You need have no fear."
"May God forgive me, but I told Madam Cavendish that the Golden Horn
had not arrived," said she, "but what have they done with the rest
of the cargo, pray?"
I started. I had, I confess, not given that a thought, though it was
but reasonable that there was more beside those powder casks, if the
revenue from the crops had been so small.
But Catherine Cavendish needed but a moment for that problem.
"'Twill return," said she. "Captain Tabor hath but sailed off a
little distance that he may return and make port, as if for the
first time since he left England, and so put them off the scent of
the Sabbath unlading of those other wares." She looked down the
burnished flow of the river as she spoke, and cried out that she
could see a sail, but I, looking also, could not see anything save
the shimmer of white and green spring boughs into which the river
distance closed.
"'Tis the Golden Horn," said Catherine.
"I can see naught of white save the locust-blooms," said I.
"Locusts stand not against the wind in stiff sheets," said she.
"'Tis the sail of the Golden Horn; but that matters not. Harry,
Harry Wingfield, can you save my sister?"
"I know not whether I can, madam, but I will," said I.