Audrey

It was not far away. He could see the bare summit above the treetops, and

in a little while they were upon its slope. A minute more and they came to

the clump of trees, and found the horses in safety, Haward paused to take

from the roll strapped behind his saddle a riding cloak; then, leaving the

negro with the horses, climbed to the grassy level. Here he spread the

cloak upon the ground, and laid the sleeping child upon it, which done, he

stood and looked at his new-found charge for a moment; then turning, began

to pace up and down upon the hilltop.

It was necessary to decide upon a course of action. They had the horses,

the two muskets, powder and shot. The earth was dry and warm, and the

skies were cloudless. Was it best to push on to Germanna, or was it best

to wait down there in the valley for the return of the Governor and his

party? They would come that way, that was certain, and would look to find

him there. If they found only the ruined cabin, they might think him dead

or taken by the Indians, and an attempt to seek him, as dangerous,

perhaps, as fruitless, might be made. He decided that he would wait.

To-morrow he would take Juba and the horses and the child and go down into

the valley; not back to the sugar-tree and that yet smouldering pyre, but

to the woods on this side of the stream.

This plan thought out, he went; and took his seat beside the child. She

was moaning in her sleep, and he bent over and soothed her. When she was

quiet he still kept her hand in his, as he sat there waiting for the dawn.

He gave the child small thought. Together he and Juba must care for her

until they could rejoin the expedition: then the Governor, who was so fond

of children, might take her in hand, and give her for nurse old Dominick,

who was as gentle as a woman. Once at Germanna perhaps some scolding

Hausfrau would take her, for the sake of the scrubbing and lifting to be

gotten out of those small hands and that slender frame. If not, she must

on to Williamsburgh and the keeping of the vestry there. The next Orphan

Court would bind her to some master or mistress who might (or might not)

be kind to her, and so there would be an end to the matter.

The day was breaking. Moon and stars were gone, and the east was dull

pink, like faded roses. A ribbon of silver mist, marking the course of the

stream below, drew itself like a serpent through the woods that were

changing from gray to green. The dank smell of early morning rose from the

dew-drenched earth, and in the countless trees of the forest the birds

began to sing.