Audrey

MacLean rose to his feet, and stood gazing across the river at the

twilight shore and the clear skies. Presently he turned, and his eyes were

wet. He drew his hand across them; then looked curiously at the dew upon

it. "I have not done this," he said simply, "since a night at Preston when

I wept with rage. In my country we love as we hate, with all the strength

that God has given us. The brother of my spirit is to me even as the

brother of my flesh.... I used to dream that my hand was at your throat or

my sword through your heart, and wake in anger that it was not so ... and

now I could love you well."

Haward stood up, and the two men clasped hands. "It is a pact, then," said

the Englishman. "By my faith, the world looks not so melancholy gray as it

did awhile ago. And here is Juba to say that supper waits. Lay the table

for two, Juba. Mr. MacLean will bear me company."

The storekeeper stayed late, the master of Fair View being an accomplished

gentleman, a very good talker, and an adept at turning his house for the

nonce into the house of his guest. Supper over they went into the library,

where their wine was set, and where the Highlander, who was no great

reader, gazed respectfully at the wit and wisdom arow before him. "Colonel

Byrd hath more volumes at Westover," quoth Haward, "but mine are of the

choicer quality." Juba brought a card table, and lit more candles, while

his master, unlocking a desk, took from it a number of gold pieces. These

he divided into two equal portions: kept one beside him upon the polished

table, and, with a fine smile, half humorous, half deprecating, pushed the

other across to his guest. With an, imperturbable face MacLean stacked the

gold before him, and they fell to piquet, playing briskly, and with

occasional application to the Madeira upon the larger table, until ten of

the clock. The Highlander, then declaring that he must be no longer away

from his post, swept his heap of coins across to swell his opponent's

store, and said good-night. Haward went with him to the great door, and

watched him stride off through the darkness whistling "The Battle of

Harlaw."

That night Haward slept, and the next morning four negroes rowed him up

the river to Jamestown. Mr. Jaquelin was gone to Norfolk upon business,

but his beautiful wife and sprightly daughters found Mr. Marmaduke Haward

altogether charming. "'Twas as good as going to court," they said to one

another, when the gentleman, after a two hours' visit, bowed himself out

of their drawing-room. The object of their encomiums, going down river in

his barge, felt his spirits lighter than they had been for some days. He

spoke cheerfully to his negroes, and when the barge passed a couple of

fishing-boats he called to the slim brown lads that caught for the

plantation to know their luck. At the landing he found the overseer, who

walked to the great house with him.