the water the spirit of the water,--that this Audrey, in using
the speech of the poet, should embody and become the spirit of that speech
was perhaps, considering all things, not so strange. At any rate, and
however her power came about, at that moment, in Fair View house, a great
actress was speaking.

"'Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the skies,
And Faith'"--

The speaker lost a word, hesitated, became confused. Finally silence;
then the Audrey of a while before, standing with heaving bosom, shy as a
fawn, fearful that she had not pleased him, after all. For if she had done
so, surely he would have told her as much. As it was, he had said but one
word, and that beneath his breath, "_Eloisa!_"

It would seem that her fear was unfounded; for when he did speak, there
were, God wot, sugar-plums enough. And Audrey, who in her workaday world
was always blamed, could not know that the praise that was so sweet was
less wholesome than the blame.

Leaving the library they went into the hall, and from the hall looked into
great, echoing, half-furnished rooms. All about lay packing-cases, many of
them open, with rich stuffs streaming from them. Ornaments were huddled on
tables, mirrors and pictures leaned their faces to the walls; everywhere
was disorder.

"The negroes are careless, and to-day I held their hands," said Haward. "I
must get some proper person to see to this gear."

Up stairs and down they went through the house, that seemed very large and
very still, and finally they came out of the great front door, and down
the stone steps on to the terrace. Below them, sparkling in the sunshine,
lay the river, the opposite shore all in a haze of light. "I must go
home," Audrey shyly reminded him, whereat he smiled assent, and they went,
not through the box alley to the gate in the wall, but down the terrace,
and out upon the hot brown boards of the landing. Haward, stepping into a
boat, handed her to a seat in the stern, and himself took the oars.
Leaving the landing, they came to the creek and entered it. Presently
they were gliding beneath the red brick wall with the honeysuckle atop. On
the opposite grassy shore, seated in a blaze of noon sunshine, was Hugon.

They in the boat took no notice. Haward, rowing, spoke evenly on, his
theme himself and the gay and lonely life he had led these eleven years;
and Audrey, though at first sight of the waiting figure she had paled and
trembled, was too safe, too hap