Audrey

"She will never come to Fair View," he said, "nor shall I go again to

Westover. I am for my own house now, you brown enchantress, and my own

garden, and the boat upon the river. Do you remember how sweet were our

days in June? We will live them over again, and there shall come for us,

besides, a fuller summer"-"It is winter now," said Audrey, with a sobbing breath, "and cold and

dark! I do not know myself, and you are strange. I beg you to let me go

away. I wish to wash off this paint, to put on my own gown. I am no lady;

you do wrong to keep me here. See, all the company are frowning at me! The

minister will hear what I have done and be angry, and Mistress Deborah

will beat me. I care not for that, but you--Oh, you have gone far

away,--as far as Fair View, as far as the mountains! I am speaking to a

stranger"-In the dance their raised hands met again. "You see me, you speak to me at

last," he said ardently. "That other, that cold brother of the snows, that

paladin and dream knight that you yourself made and dubbed him me,--he has

gone, Audrey; nay, he never was! But I myself, I am not abhorrent to you?"

"Oh," she answered, "it is all dark! I cannot see--I cannot understand"-The time allotted to minuets having elapsed, the musicians after a short

pause began to play an ancient, lively air, and a number of ladies and

gentlemen, young, gayly dressed, and light of heart as of heels, engaged

in a country dance. When they were joined by Mr. Marmaduke Haward and his

shameless companion, there arose a great rustling and whispering. A young

girl in green taffeta was dancing alone, wreathing in and out between the

silken, gleaming couples, coquetting with the men by means of fan and

eyes, but taking hands and moving a step or two with each sister of the

dance. When she approached Audrey, the latter smiled and extended her

hand, because that was the way the lady nearest her had done. But the girl

in green stared coldly, put her hand behind her, and, with the very

faintest salute to Mr. Marmaduke Haward, danced on her way. For one moment

the smile died on Audrey's lips; then it came resolutely back, and she

held her head high.

The men, forming in two rows, drew their rapiers with a flourish, and,

crossing them overhead, made an arch of steel under which the women must

pass. Haward's blade touched that of an old acquaintance. "I have been

leaning upon the back of a lady's chair," said the latter gruffly, under

cover of the music and the clashing steel,--"a lady dressed in rose color,

who's as generous (to all save one poor devil) as she is fair. I promised

her I would take her message; the Lord knows I would go to the bottom of

the sea to give her pleasure! She says that you are not yourself; begs

that you will--go quietly away"-An exclamation from the man next him, and a loud murmur mixed with some

laughter from those in the crowded room who were watching the dancers,

caused the gentleman to break off in the middle of his message. He glanced

over his shoulder; then, with a shrug, turned to his vis-a-vis in white

satin. "Now you see that 'twill not answer,--not in Virginia. The

women--bless them!--have a way of cutting Gordian knots."