Catherine," I said.

"What know you of what my sister hath done and the cargo that came
yesterday on the Golden Horn?" she demanded with no preface and of a
sudden; her voice rang sharp as I remembered it when she first spoke
to me by that white hedge of England, and I could have sworn that
the tide had verily borne us thither, and she was again that sallow
girl and I the blundering lout of a lad.

"That I cannot answer you, madam," said I, and bowed and would have
passed, but she stood before me. So satin smooth was her hair that
even the fresh wind could not ruffle it, and in such straight
lines of maiden modesty hung her green gown--always she wore
green, and it became her well, and 'twas a colour I always
fancied--that it but fluttered a little around her feet in the
marsh grass, but her face looked out from a green gauze hood with an
expression that belied all this steadfastness of primness and
decorum. It was as if a play-actress had changed her character and
not her attire, which suited another part. Out came her slim arm, as
if she would have caught me by the hand for the sake of compelling
my answer; then she drew it back and spoke with all the sharp
vehemence of passion of a woman who oversteps the bounds of
restraint which she has set herself, and is a wilder thing than if
she had been hitherto unfettered by her will.

"I command you to tell me what I wish to know, Harry Wingfield,"
said she, and now her eyes fixed mine with no shrinking, but a
broadside of scorn and imperiousness.

"And I refuse to tell you, madam," said I.

Then indeed she caught my arm with a little nervous hand, like a
cramp of wire. "You shall tell me, sir," she declared. "This much I
know already. Yesterday the Golden Horn came in and was unladen of
powder and shot instead of the goods that my sister pretended to
order, and the cases are stored at Laurel Creek. This much do I
know, but not what is afoot, nor for what Mary had conference with
Sir Humphrey Hyde and Ralph last night, and you later on with Sir
Humphrey. I demand of you that you tell me, Harry Wingfield."

"That I cannot do, madam," said I.

She gave me a look with those great black eyes of hers, and how it
came to pass I never knew, but straight to the root of the whole she
went as if my face had been an open book.

Such quickness of wit I had often heard ascribed to women, but never
saw I aught like that, and I trow it seemed witchcraft. "'Tis
something about