an idle rumor." Her voice changed, and with a
sudden gesture of passion and despair she lifted her arms above her head,
then clasped and wrung her hands. "Oh, for a month he forgot you! In all
the years to come I shall have that comfort: for one little month, in the
company of the woman whom, because she was of his own rank, because she
had wealth, because others found her fair and honored her with heart as
well as lip, he wished to make his wife,--for that short month he forgot
you! The days were sweet to me, sweet, sweet! Oh, I dreamed my dreams!...
And then we were called to Williamsburgh to greet the new Governor, and he
went with us, and again I heard your name coupled with his.... There was
between us no betrothal. I had delayed to say yes to his asking, for I
wished to make sure,--to make sure that he loved me. No man can say he
broke troth with me. For that my pride gives thanks!"

"What must I do?" said Audrey to herself. "Pain is hard to bear."

"That night at the ball," continued Evelyn, "when, coming down the stair,
I saw you standing beside him ... and after that, the music, and the
lights, and you dancing with him, in your dark beauty, with the flowers in
your hair ... and after that, you and I in my coach and his face at the
window!... Oh, I can tell you what he said! He said: 'Good-by,
sweetheart.... 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.'"

"For me!" cried Audrey,--"for me an hour in Bruton church next morning!"

A silence followed her words. Evelyn, sitting in the great chair, rested
her cheek upon her hand and gazed steadfastly at her guest of a day. The
sunshine had stolen from the room, but dwelt upon and caressed the world
without the window. Faint, tinkling notes of a harpsichord floated up from
the parlor below, followed by young Madam Byrd's voice singing to the
perturbed Colonel:--

"'O Love! they wrong thee much,
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss'"--

The song came to an end, but after a pause the harpsichord sounded again,
and the singer's voice rang out:--

"'Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me'"--

Audrey gave an involuntary cry; then, with her lip between her teeth,
strove for courage, failed, and with another strangled cry sank upon her
knees befor