Audrey

The silence was long. He was Marmaduke Haward with all his powers

gathered, calm, determined, so desperate to have done with this thing, to

at once and forever gain his own and master fate, that his stillness was

that of deepest waters, his cool equanimity that of the gamester who knows

how will fall the loaded dice. Dressed with his accustomed care, very

pale, composed and quiet, he faced her whose spirit yet lingered in a far

city, who in the dreamy exaltation of this midnight hour was ever half

Audrey of the garden, half that other woman in a dress of red silk, with

jewels in her hair, who, love's martyr, had exulted, given all, and died.

"How did you come here?" she breathed at last. "You said that you would

come never again."

"After to-night, never again," he answered. "But now, Audrey, this once

again, this once again!"

Gazing past him she made a movement toward the door. He shook his head.

"This is my hour, Audrey. You may not leave the room, nor will Mistress

Stagg enter it. I will not touch you, I will come no nearer to you. Stand

there in silence, if you choose, or cover the sight of me from your eyes,

while for my own ease, my own unhappiness, I say farewell."

"Farewell!" she echoed. "Long ago, at Westover, that was said between you

and me.... Why do you come like a ghost to keep me and peace apart?"

He did not answer, and she locked her hands across her brow that burned

beneath the heavy circlet of mock gems. "Is it kind?" she demanded, with a

sob in her voice. "Is it kind to trouble me so, to keep me here"-"Was I ever kind?" he asked. "Since the night when I followed you, a

child, and caught you from the ground when you fell between the corn rows,

what kindness, Audrey?"

"None!" she answered, with sudden passion. "Nor kindness then! Why went

you not some other way?"

"Shall I tell you why I was there that night,--why I left my companions

and came riding back to the cabin in the valley?"

She uncovered her eyes, "I thought--I thought then--that you were sent"-He looked at her with strange compassion. "My own will sent me.... When,

that sunny afternoon, we spurred from the valley toward the higher

mountains, we left behind us a forest flower, a young girl of simple

sweetness, with long dark hair,--like yours, Audrey.... It was to pluck

that flower that I deserted the expedition, that I went back to the valley

between the hills."