into her woods, from over the sea, he had
come again, and at once the load upon her heart, the dull longing and
misery, the fear of Hugon, were lifted. The chaplet which she laid at his
feet was not loosely woven of gay-colored flowers, but was compact of
austerer blooms of gratitude, reverence, and that love which is only a
longing to serve. The glamour was at hand, the enchanted light which
breaks not from the east or the west or the north or the south was upon
its way; but she knew it not, and she was happy in her ignorance.

"I am tired of the city," he said. "Now I shall stay in Virginia. A
longing for the river and the marshes and the house where I was born came
upon me"--

"I know," she answered. "When I shut my eyes I see the cabin in the
valley, and when I dream it is of things which happen in a mountainous
country."

"I am alone in the great house," he continued, "and the floors echo
somewhat loudly. The garden, too; beside myself there is no one to smell
the roses or to walk in the moonlight. I had forgotten the isolation of
these great plantations. Each is a province and a despotism. If the despot
has neither kith nor kin, has not yet made friends, and cares not to draw
company from the quarters, he is lonely. They say that there are ladies in
Virginia whose charms well-nigh outweigh their dowries of sweet-scented
and Oronoko. I will wed such an one, and have laughter in my garden, and
other footsteps than my own in my house."

"There are beautiful ladies in these parts," said Audrey. "There is the
one that gave me the guinea for my running yesterday. She was so very
fair. I wished with all my heart that I were like her."

"She is my friend," said Haward slowly, "and her mind is as fair as her
face. I will tell her your story."

The gilded streak upon the earth beneath the beech had crept away, but
over the ferns and weeds and flowering bushes between the slight trees
without the ring the sunshine gloated. The blue of the sky was wonderful,
and in the silence Haward and Audrey heard the wind whisper in the
treetops. A dove moaned, and a hare ran past.

"It was I who brought you from the mountains and placed you here," said
Haward at last. "I thought it for the best, and that when I sailed away I
left you to a safe and happy life. It seems that I was mistaken. But now
that I am at home again, child, I wish you to look upon me, who am so much
your elder, as your guardian and protector still. If there i