The night before Tyburn Will had stolen from the white quarters, and had met a couple of seamen from the Temperance at the crossroads ordinary, which ordinary was going to get
into trouble for breaking the law which forbade the harboring of sailors
ashore. The three had taken in full lading of kill-devil rum, and Tyburn
Will, too drunk to run any farther, had been caught by Hide near Princess
Creek, three hours agone. What were the master's orders? Should the rogue
go to the court-house whipping post, or should Hide save the trouble of
taking him there? In either case, thirty-nine lashes well laid on-The master pursed his lips, dug into the ground with the ferrule of his cane, and finally proposed to the astonished overseer that the rascal be let off with a warning. "'Tis too fair a day to poison with ugly sights
and sounds," he said, whimsically apologetic for his own weakness. "'Twill
do no great harm to be lenient, for once, Saunderson, and I am in the mood
to-day to be friends with all men, including myself."
The overseer went away grumbling, and Haward entered the house. The room
where dwelt his books looked cool and inviting. He walked the length of
the shelves, took out a volume here and there for his evening reading, and
upon the binding of others laid an affectionate, lingering touch. "I have
had a fever, my friends," he announced to the books, "but I am about to
find myself happily restored to reason and serenity; in short, to health."
Some hours later he raised his eyes from the floor which he had been
studying for a great while, covered them for a moment with his hand, then
rose, and, with the air of a sleepwalker, went out of the lit room into a
calm and fragrant night. There was no moon, but the stars were many, and
it did not seem dark. When he came to the verge of the landing, and the
river, sighing in its sleep, lay clear below him, mirroring the stars, it
was as though he stood between two firmaments. He descended the steps, and
drew toward him a small rowboat that was softly rubbing against the wet
and glistening piles. The tide was out, and the night was very quiet.
Haward troubled not the midstream, but rowing in the shadow of the bank to
the mouth of the creek that slept beside his garden, turned and went up
this narrow water. Until he was free of the wall the odor of honeysuckle
and box clung to the air, freighting it heavily; when it was left behind
the reeds began to murmur and sigh, though not loudly, for there was no
wind. When he came to a point opposite the minister's house, rising fifty
yards away from amidst low orchard trees, he rested upon his oars. There
was a light in an upper room, and as he looked Audrey passed between the
candle and the open window. A moment later and the light was out, but he
knew that she was sitting at the window. Though it was dark, he found that
he could call back with precision the slender throat, the lifted face, and
the enshadowing hair. For a while he stayed, motionless in his boat,
hidden by the reeds that whispered and sighed; but at last he rowed away
softly through the darkness, back to the dim, slow-moving river and the
Fair View landing.