he
women--bless them!--have a way of cutting Gordian knots."

A score of ladies, one treading in the footsteps of another, should have
passed beneath the flashing swords. But there had thrust itself into their
company a plague spot, and the girl in green taffeta and a matron in
silver brocade, between whom stood the hateful presence, indignantly
stepped out of line and declined to dance. The fear of infection spreading
like wildfire, the ranks refused to close, and the company was thrown into
confusion. Suddenly the girl in green, by nature a leader of her kind,
walked away, with a toss of her head, from the huddle of those who were
uncertain what to do, and joined her friends among the spectators, who
received her with acclaim. The sound and her example were warranty enough
for the cohort she had quitted. A moment, and it was in virtuous retreat,
and the dance was broken up.

The gentlemen, who saw themselves summarily deserted, abruptly lowered
their swords. One laughed; another, flown with wine, gave utterance to
some coarse pleasantry; a third called to the musicians to stop the music.
Darden's Audrey stood alone, brave in her beautiful borrowed dress and the
color that could not leave her cheeks. But her lips had whitened, the
smile was gone, and her eyes were like those of a hunted deer. She looked
mutely about her: how could she understand, who trusted so completely, who
lived in a labyrinth without a clue, who had built her dream world so
securely that she had left no way of egress for herself? These were cruel
people! She was mad to get away, to tear off this strange dress, to fling
herself down in the darkness, in the woods, hiding her face against the
earth! But though she was only Audrey and so poor a thing, she had for her
portion a dignity and fineness of nature that was a stay to her steps.
Barbara, though not so poor and humble a maid, might have burst into
tears, and run crying from the room and the house; but to do that Audrey
would have been ashamed.

"It was you, Mr. Corbin, that laughed, I think?" said Haward. "To-morrow I
shall send to know the reason of your mirth. Mr. Everard, you will answer
to me for that pretty oath. Mr. Travis, there rests the lie that you
uttered just now: stoop and take it again." He flung his glove at Mr.
Travis's feet.

A great hubbub and exclamation arose. Mr. Travis lifted the glove with the
point of his rapier, and in a loud voice repeated the assertion which had
g