past that was not hers, and those dead women to
whom night by night she gave life and splendor.

There were visitors to whom she was not denied. Darden came at times, sat
in Mistress Stagg's sunny parlor, and talked to his sometime ward much as
he had talked in the glebe-house living room,--discursively, of men and
parochial affairs and his own unmerited woes. Audrey sat and heard him,
with her eyes upon the garden without the window. When he lifted from the
chair his great shambling figure, and took his stained old hat and heavy
cane, Audrey rose also, curtsied, and sent her duty to Mistress Deborah,
but she asked no questions as to that past home of hers. It seemed not to
interest her that the creek was frozen so hard that one could walk upon it
to Fair View, or that the minister had bought a field from his wealthy
neighbor, and meant to plant it with Oronoko. Only when he told her that
the little wood--the wood that she had called her own--was being cleared,
and that all day could be heard the falling of the trees, did she lift
startled eyes and draw a breath like a moan. The minister looked at her
from under shaggy brows, shook his head, and went his way to his favorite
ordinary, rum, and a hand at cards.

Mistress Deborah she beheld no more; but once the Widow Constance brought
Barbara to town, and the two, being very simple women, went to the play to
see the old Audrey, and saw instead a queen, tinseled, mock-jeweled, clad
in silk, who loved and triumphed, despaired and died. The rude theatre
shook to the applause. When it was all over, the widow and Barbara went
dazed to their lodging, and lay awake through the night talking of these
marvels. In the morning they found the small white house, and Audrey came
to them in the garden. When she had kissed them, the three sat down in the
arbor; for it was a fine, sunny morning, and not cold. But the talk was
not easy; Barbara's eyes were so round, and the widow kept mincing her
words. Only when they were joined by Mistress Stagg, to whom the widow
became voluble, the two girls spoke aside.

"I have a guinea, Barbara," said Audrey. "Mr. Stagg gave it to me, and I
need it not,--I need naught in the world. Barbara, here!--'tis for a warm
dress and a Sunday hood."

"Oh, Audrey," breathed Barbara, "they say you might live at Fair
View,--that you might marry Mr. Haward and be a fine lady"--

Audrey laid her hand upon the other's lips. "Hush! See, Barbara, you must
have th