Audrey

He put his uncouth, shambling figure into motion, and, indifferent and

lifeless in manner as in voice, was gone, gliding like a long black

shadow through the churchyard and into the woods across the road. "I knew

him long ago in England," the minister explained to their new companion.

"He's a learned man, and, like myself, a calumniated one. The gentlemen of

these parts value him highly as an instructor of youth. No need to send

their sons to college if they've been with him for a year or two! My good

Deborah, Mr. Haward will ride with us toward Fair View."

Mistress Deborah curtsied; then chided Audrey for not minding her manners,

but standing like a stock or stone, with her thoughts a thousand miles

away. "Let her be," said Haward. "We gave each other good-day in church."

Together the four left the churchyard. Darden brought up two sorry horses;

lifted his wife and Audrey upon one, and mounted the other. Haward swung

himself into his saddle, and the company started, Juba upon Whitefoot Kate

bringing up the rear. The master of Fair View rode beside the minister,

and only now and then spoke to the women. The road was here sunny, there

shady; the excessive heat broken, the air pleasant enough. Everywhere,

too, was the singing of birds, while the fields that they passed of

tobacco and golden, waving wheat were charming to the sight. The minister

was, when sober, a man of parts, with some education and a deal of mother

wit; in addition, a close and shrewd observer of the times and people. He

and Haward talked of matters of public moment, and the two women listened,

submissive and admiring. It seemed that they came very quickly to the

bridge across the creek and the parting of their ways. Would Mr. Haward

ride on to the glebe house?

It appeared that Mr. Haward would. Moreover, when the house was reached,

and Darden's one slave came running from a broken-down stable to take the

horses, he made no motion toward returning to the bridge which led across

the creek to his own plantation, but instead dismounted, flung his reins

to Juba, and asked if he might stay to dinner.

Now, by the greatest good luck, considered Mistress Deborah, there chanced

to be in her larder a haunch of venison roasted most noble; the ducklings

and asparagus, too, cooked before church, needed but to be popped into the

oven; and there was also an apple tart with cream. With elation, then, and

eke with a mind at rest, she added her shrill protests of delight to

Darden's more moderate assurances, and, leaving Audrey to set chairs in

the shade of a great apple-tree, hurried into the house to unearth her

damask tablecloth and silver spoons, and to plan for the morrow a visit to

the Widow Constance, and a casual remark that Mr. Marmaduke Haward had

dined with the minister the day before. Audrey, her task done, went after

her, to be met with graciousness most unusual. "I'll see to the dinner,

child. Mr. Haward will expect one of us to sit without, and you had as

well go as I. If he's talking to Darden, you might get some larkspur and

gilliflowers for the table. La! the flowers that used to wither beneath

the candles at my Lady Squander's!"