e dress made thus, like mine."

"But if 'tis so, Audrey!" persisted poor Barbara. "Mother and I talked of
it last night. She said you would want a waiting-woman, and I thought--Oh,
Audrey!"

Audrey bit her quivering lip and dashed away the tears. "I'll want no
waiting-woman, Barbara. I'm naught but Audrey that you used to be kind to.
Let's talk of other things. Have you missed me from the woods all these
days?"

"It has been long since you were there," said Barbara dully. "Now I go
with Joan at times, though mother frowns and says she is not fit. Eh,
Audrey, if I could have a dress of red silk, with gold and bright stones,
like you wore last night! Old days I had more than you, but all's changed
now. Joan says"--

The Widow Constance rising to take leave, it did not appear what Joan had
said. The visitors from the country went away, nor came again while Audrey
dwelt in Williamsburgh. The schoolmaster came, and while he waited for his
sometime pupil to slowly descend the stairs talked learnedly to Mr. Stagg
of native genius, of the mind drawn steadily through all accidents and
adversities to the end of its own discovery, and of how time and tide and
all the winds of heaven conspire to bring the fate assigned, to make the
puppet move in the stated measure. Mr. Stagg nodded, took out his
snuffbox, and asked what now was the schoolmaster's opinion of the girl's
Monimia last night,--the last act, for instance. Good Lord, how still the
house was!--and then one long sigh!

The schoolmaster fingered the scars in his bands, as was his manner at
times, but kept his eyes upon the ground. When he spoke, there was in his
voice unwonted life. "Why, sir, I could have said with Lear, _'Hysterica
passio! down, thou climbing sorrow!'_--and I am not a man, sir, that's
easily moved. The girl is greatly gifted. I knew that before either you or
the town, sir. Audrey, good-morrow!"

Such as these from out her old life Darden's Audrey saw and talked with.
Others sought her, watched for her, laid traps that might achieve at least
her presence, but largely in vain. She kept within the house; when the
knocker sounded she went to her own room. No flowery message, compliment,
or appeal, not even Mary Stagg's kindly importunity, could bring her from
that coign of vantage. There were times when Mistress Stagg's showroom was
crowded with customers; on sunny days young men left the bowling green to
stroll in the shell-bordered garden paths; gentl