Audrey

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.