Audrey

At least, to Audrey, there were none within. She had been angered, sick at

heart and sore afraid, but she was no longer so. In this world that she

had entered it was good to be alive; she knew that she was safe, and of a

sudden she felt that the sunshine was very golden, the music very sweet.

To Haward, looking at her with a smile, she gave a folded paper which she

drew from the bosom of her gown. "The minister sent me with it," she

explained, and curtsied shyly.

Haward took the paper, opened it, and fell to poring over the crabbed

characters with which it was adorned. "Ay? Gratulateth himself that this

fortunate parish hath at last for vestryman Mr. Marmaduke Haward; knoweth

that, seeing I am what I am, my influence will be paramount with said

vestry; commendeth himself to my favor; beggeth that I listen not to

charges made by a factious member anent a vastly magnified occurrence at

the French ordinary; prayeth that he may shortly present himself at Fair

View, and explain away certain calumnies with which his enemies have

poisoned the ears of the Commissary; hopeth that I am in good health; and

is my very obedient servant to command. Humph!"

He let the paper flutter to the ground, and turned to Audrey with a

kindly smile. "I am much afraid that this man of the church, whom I gave

thee for guardian, child, is but a rascal, after all, and a wolf in

sheep's clothing. But let him go hang while I show you my garden."

Going closer, he glanced at her keenly; then went nearer still, and

touched her cheek with his forefinger. "You have been crying," he said.

"There were Indians, then. How many and how strong, Audrey?"

The dark eyes that met his were the eyes of the child who, in the

darkness, through the corn, had run from him, her helper. "There was one,"

she whispered, and looked over her shoulder.

Haward drew her to the seat beneath the cherry-tree, and there, while he

sat beside her, elbow on knee and chin on hand, watching her, she told him

of Hugon. It was so natural to tell him. When she had made an end of her

halting, broken sentences, and he spoke to her gravely and kindly, she

hung upon his words, and thought him wise and wonderful as a king. He told

her that he would speak to Darden, and did not despair of persuading that

worthy to forbid the trader his house. Also he told her that in this

settled, pleasant, every-day Virginia, and in the eighteenth century, a

maid, however poor and humble, might not be married against her will. If

this half-breed had threats to utter, there was always the law of the

land. A few hours in the pillory or a taste of the sheriff's whip might

not be amiss. Finally, if the trader made his suit again, Audrey must let

him know, and Monsieur Jean Hugon should be taught that he had another

than a helpless, friendless girl to deal with.