Audrey

There was no load at Audrey's heart: the vision of Molly had passed; the

fear of Hugon was a dwindling cloud. She was safe in this old sunny

garden, with harm shut without. And as a flower opens to the sunshine, so

because she was happy she grew more fair. Audrey every day, Audrey of the

infrequent speech and the wide dark eyes, the startled air, the shy,

fugitive smiles,--that was not Audrey of the garden. Audrey of the garden

had shining eyes, a wild elusive grace, laughter as silvery as that which

had rung from her sister's lips, years agone, beneath the sugar-tree in

the far-off blue mountains, quick gestures, quaint fancies which she

feared not to speak out, the charm of mingled humility and spirit; enough,

in short, to make Audrey of the garden a name to conjure with.

They came to the sun-dial, and leaned thereon. Around its rim were graved

two lines from Herrick, and Audrey traced the letters with her finger.

"The philosophy is sound," remarked Haward, "and the advice worth the

taking. Let us go see if there are any rosebuds to gather from the bushes

yonder. Damask buds should look well against your hair, child."

When they came to the rosebushes he broke for her a few scarce-opened

buds, and himself fastened them in the coils of her hair. Innocent and

glad as she was,--glad even that he thought her fair,--she trembled

beneath his touch, and knew not why she trembled. When the rosebuds were

in place they went to see the clove pinks, and when they had seen the

clove pinks they walked slowly up another alley of box, and across a grass

plot to a side door of the house; for he had said that he must show her in

what great, lonely rooms he lived.

Audrey measured the height and breadth of the house with her eyes. "It is

a large place for one to live in alone," she said, and laughed. "There's a

book at the Widow Constance's; Barbara once showed it to me. It is all

about a pilgrim; and there's a picture of a great square house, quite like

this, that was a giant's castle,--Giant Despair. Good giant, eat me not!"

Child, woman, spirit of the woodland, she passed before him into a dim,

cool room, all littered with books. "My library," said Haward, with a wave

of his hand. "But the curtains and pictures are not hung, nor the books in

place. Hast any schooling, little maid? Canst read?"