Audrey

Haward sat down, resting his clasped hands upon the table, gazing

steadfastly at the face, dark and beautiful, set like a flower against the

wall. "Come, little maid!" he said. "We are going to the ball together,

you and I. Hasten, or we shall not be in time for the minuet."

Audrey smiled and shook her head, thinking that it was his pleasure to

laugh at her a little. Mistress Stagg likewise showed her appreciation of

the pleasantry. When he repeated his command, speaking in an authoritative

tone and with a glance at his watch, there was a moment of dead silence;

then, "Go your ways, sir, and dance with Mistress Evelyn Byrd!" cried the

scandalized ex-actress. "The Governor's ball is not for the likes of

Audrey!"

"I will be judge of that," he answered. "Come, let us be off, child! Or

stay! hast no other dress than that?" He looked toward the mistress of the

house. "I warrant that Mistress Stagg can trick you out! I would have you

go fine, Audrey of the hair! Audrey of the eyes! Audrey of the full brown

throat! Dull gold,--have you that, now, mistress, in damask or brocade?

Soft laces for her bosom, and a yellow bloom in her hair. It should be

dogwood, Audrey, like the coronal you wore on May Day. Do you remember,

child? The white stars in your hair, and the Maypole all aflutter, and

your feet upon the green grass"-"Oh, I was happy then!" cried Audrey and wrung her hands. Within a moment,

however, she was calm again, and could look at him with a smile. "I am

only Audrey," she said. "You know that the ball is not for me. Why then do

you tell me that I must go? It is your kindness; I know that it is your

kindness that speaks. But yet--but yet"--She gazed at him imploringly:

then from his steady smile caught a sudden encouragement. "Oh!" she

exclaimed with a gesture of quick relief, and with tremulous laughter in

her face and voice,--"oh, you are mocking me! You only came to show how a

gentleman looks who goes to a Governor's ball!"

For the moment, in her relief at having read his riddle, there slipped

from her the fear of she knew not what,--the strangeness and heaviness of

heart that had been her portion since she came to Williamsburgh. Leaving

the white wall against which she had leaned, she came a little forward,

and with gayety and grace dropped him a curtsy. "Oh, the white satin like

the lilies in your garden!" she laughed. "And the red heels to your shoes,

and the gold-fringed sword knot, and the velvet scabbard! Ah, let me see

your sword, how bright and keen it is!"