Audrey

He tossed it from him, and going to the hitching-post loosed Haward's

horse. Haward took the reins from his hand. "It hath been ten years and

more since Virginia got her share of the rebels taken at Preston. If I

remember aright, their indentures were to be made for seven years. Why,

then, are you yet in my service?"

MacLean laughed. "I ran away," he replied pleasantly, "and when I was

caught I made off a second time. I wonder that you planters do not have a

Society for the Encouragement of Runaways. Seeing that they are nearly

always retaken, and that their escapades so lengthen their term of

service, it would surely be to your advantage! There are yet several years

in which I am to call you master."

He laughed again, but the sound was mirthless, and the eyes beneath the

half-closed lids were harder than steel. Haward mounted his horse and

gathered up the reins. "I am not responsible for the laws of the realm,"

he said calmly, "nor for rebellions and insurrections, nor for the

practice of transporting overseas those to whom have been given the ugly

names of 'rebel' and 'traitor.' Destiny that set you there put me here. We

are alike pawns; what the player means we have no way of telling. Curse

Fate and the gods, if you choose,--and find that your cursing does small

good,--but regard me with indifference, as one neither more nor less the

slave of circumstances than yourself. It has been long since I went this

way. Is there yet the path by the river?"

"Ay," answered the other. "It is your shortest road."

"Then I will be going," said Haward. "It grows late, and I am not looked

for before to-morrow. Good-night."

As he spoke he raised his hat and bowed to the gentleman from whom he was

parting. That rebel to King George gave a great start; then turned very

red, and shot a piercing glance at the man on horseback. The latter's mien

was composed as ever, and, with his hat held beneath his arm and his body

slightly inclined, he was evidently awaiting a like ceremony of

leave-taking on the storekeeper's part. MacLean drew a long breath,

stepped back a pace or two, and bowed to his equal. A second "Good-night,"

and one gentleman rode off in the direction of the great house, while the

other went thoughtfully back to the store, got a cloth and wiped the dust

from the mirror.

It was pleasant riding by the river in the cool evening wind, with the

colors of the sunset yet gay in sky and water. Haward went slowly,

glancing now at the great, bright stream, now at the wide, calm fields and

the rim of woodland, dark and distant, bounding his possessions. The smell

of salt marshes, of ploughed ground, of leagues of flowering forests, was

in his nostrils. Behind him was the crescent moon; before him a terrace

crowned with lofty trees. Within the ring of foliage was the house; even

as he looked a light sprang up in a high window, and shone like a star

through the gathering dusk. Below the hill the home landing ran its gaunt

black length far out into the carmine of the river; upon the Golden Rose

lights burned like lower stars; from a thicket to the left of the bridle

path sounded the call of a whippoorwill. A gust of wind blowing from the

bay made to waver the lanterns of the Golden Rose, broke and darkened the

coral peace of the river, and pushed rudely against the master of those

parts. Haward laid his hand upon his horse that he loved. "This is better

than the Ring, isn't it, Mirza?" he asked genially, and the horse whinnied

under his touch.