of God's mind and purposes. The lash that was wielded was
far-reaching; all the vices of the age--irreligion, blasphemy,
drunkenness, extravagance, vainglory, loose living--fell under its sting.
The condemnation was general, and each man looked to see his neighbor
wince. The occurrence at the ball last night,--he was on that for final
theme, was he? There was a slight movement throughout the congregation.
Some glanced to where would have sat Mr. Marmaduke Haward, had not the
gentleman been at present in his bed, raving now of a great run of luck at
the Cocoa Tree; now of an Indian who, with his knee upon his breast, was
throttling him to death. Others looked over their shoulders to see if that
gypsy yet sat beneath the gallery. Colonel Byrd took out his snuffbox and
studied the picture on the lid, while his daughter sat like a carven lady,
with a slight smile upon her lips.

On went the word picture that showed how vice could flaunt it in so fallen
an age. The preacher spared not plain words, squarely turned himself
toward the gallery, pointed out with voice and hand the object of his
censure and of God's wrath. Had the law pilloried the girl before them
all, it had been but little worse for her. She sat like a statue, staring
with wide eyes at the window above the altar. This, then, was what the
words in the coach last night had meant--this was what the princess
thought--this was what his world thought--

There arose a commotion in the ranks of the clergy of Virginia. The
Reverend Gideon Darden, quitting with an oath the company of his brethren,
came down the aisle, and, pushing past his wife, took his stand in the pew
beside the orphan who had lived beneath his roof, whom during many years
he had cursed upon occasion and sometimes struck, and whom he had latterly
made his tool, "Never mind him, Audrey, my girl," he said, and put an
unsteady hand upon her shoulder. "You're a good child; they cannot harm
ye."

He turned his great shambling body and heavy face toward the preacher,
stemmed in the full tide of his eloquence by this unseemly interruption,
"Ye beggarly Scot!" he exclaimed thickly. "Ye evil-thinking saint from
Salem way, that know the very lining of the Lord's mind, and yet, walking
through his earth, see but a poisonous weed in his every harmless flower!
Shame on you to beat down the flower that never did you harm! The girl's
as innocent a thing as lives! Ay, I've had my dram,--the more shame to you
that a