Audrey

MacLean left the table, and twice walked the length of the room, slowly

and with knitted brows. "If you mean the world-wide order,--the order of

gentlemen,"--he said, coming to a pause with the breadth of the table

between him and Haward, "we may have that ground in common. The rest is

debatable land. I do not take you for a sentimentalist or a redresser of

wrongs. I am your storekeeper, purchased with that same yellow metal of

which you so busily rid yourself; and your storekeeper I shall remain

until the natural death of my term, two years hence. We are not

countrymen; we own different kings; I may once have walked your level

road, but you have never moved in the stony ways; my eyes are blue, while

yours are gray; you love your melting Southern music, and I take no joy

save in the pipes; I dare swear you like the smell of lilies which I

cannot abide, and prefer fair hair in women where I would choose the dark.

There is no likeness between us. Why, then"-Haward smiled, and drawing two glasses toward him slowly filled them with

wine. "It is true," he said, "that it is not my intention to become a

petitioner for the pardon of a rebel to his serene and German Majesty the

King; true also that I like the fragrance of the lily. I have my fancies.

Say that I am a man of whim, and that, living in a lonely house set in a

Sahara of tobacco fields, it is my whim to desire the acquaintance of the

only gentleman within some miles of me. Say that my fancy hath been caught

by a picture drawn for me a week agone; that, being a philosopher, I play

with the idea that your spirit, knife in hand, walked at my elbow for ten

years, and I knew it not. Say that the idea has for me a curious

fascination. Say, finally, that I plume myself that, given the chance, I

might break down this airy hatred."

He set down the bottle, and pushed one of the brimming glasses across the

table. "I should like to make trial of my strength," he said, with, a

laugh. "Come! I did you a service to-day; in your turn do me a pleasure."

MacLean dragged a chair to the table, and sat down. "I will drink with

you," he said, "and forget for an hour. A man grows tired--It is Burgundy,

is it not? Old Borlum and I emptied a bottle between us, the day he went

as hostage to Wills; since then I have not tasted wine. 'Tis a pretty

color."

Haward lifted his glass. "I drink to your future. Freedom, better days, a

stake in a virgin land, friendship with a sometime foe." He bowed to his

guest and drank.