and there
beneath the trees, he thought it strange that he had forgotten that he had
guests this night. As for the sound of the river below his terrace, he had
never heard so loud a murmur. It grew and filled the night, making thin
and far away the voices of his guests.

There was a coach at the gates, and Mr. Grymes, who awhile ago had told
him that he had a message to deliver, was at the coach door. Evelyn had
her hand upon his arm, and her voice was speaking to him from as far away
as across the river. "I am leaving the ball," it said, "and I will take
the girl in my coach to the place where she is staying. Promise me that
you will not go back to the house yonder; promise me that you will go away
with Mr. Grymes, who is also weary of the ball"--

"Oh," said Mr. Grymes lightly, "Mr. Haward agrees with me that Marot's
best room, cool and quiet, a bottle of Burgundy, and a hand at piquet are
more alluring than the heat and babel we have left. We are going at once,
Mistress Evelyn. Haward, I propose that on our way to Marot's we knock up
Dr. Contesse, and make him free of our company."

As he spoke, he handed into the coach the lady in flowered damask, who had
held up her head, but said no word, and the lady in rose-colored brocade,
who, through the length of the ballroom and the hall and the broad walk
where people passed and repassed, had kept her hand in Audrey's, and had
talked, easily and with smiles, to the two attending gentlemen. He shut to
the coach door, and drew back, with a low bow, when Haward's deeply
flushed, handsome face appeared for a moment at the lowered glass.

"Art away to Westover, Evelyn?" he asked. "Then 't is 'Good-by,
sweetheart!' for I shall not go to Westover again. But you have a fair
road to travel,--there are violets by the wayside; for it is May Day, you
know, and the woods are white with dogwood and purple with the Judas-tree.
The violets are for you; but the great white blossoms, and the boughs of
rosy mist, and all the trees that wave in the wind are for Audrey." His
eyes passed the woman whom he would have wed, and rested upon her
companion in the coach. "Thou fair dryad!" he said. "Two days hence we
will keep tryst beneath the beech-tree in the woods beyond the glebe
house."

The man beside him put a hand upon his shoulder and plucked him back, nor
would look at Evelyn's drawn and whitened face, but called to the coachman
to go on. The black horses put themselves into motion, the