or the York, the dealer to whom he was consigned, the
officer of the Crown who had cried him for sale, the planter who had
bought him, the divine who preached that he was of a race accursed,--all
were there, and all had interest in this merchandise. Others in the throng
talked of ships both great and small, and the quaintness of their names,
the golden flowers and golden women, the swift birds and beasts, the
namesakes of Fortune or of Providence, came pleasantly upon the ear. The
still-vexed Bermoothes, Barbadoes, and all the Indies were spoken of;
ports to the north and ports to the south, pirate craft and sunken
treasure, a flight, a fight, a chase at sea. The men from Norfolk talked
of the great Dismal and its trees of juniper and cypress, the traders of
trading, the masters from William and Mary of the humanities. The greater
men, authoritative and easy, owners of flesh and blood and much land,
holders of many offices and leaders of the people, paid their respects to
horse-racing and cock-fighting, cards and dice; to building, planting, the
genteelest mode of living, and to public affairs both in Virginia and at
home in England. Old friends, with oaths of hearty affection, and from
opposite quarters of the house, addressed each other as Tom, or Ned, or
Dick, while old enemies, finding themselves side by side, exchanged
extremely civil speeches, and so put a keener edge upon their mutual
disgust. In the boxes where glowed the women there was comfit talk, vastly
pretty speeches, asseverations, denials, windy sighs, the politest oaths,
whispering, talk of the play, and, last but not least, of Mr. Haward of
Fair View, and Darden's Audrey.

Haward, entering the pit, made his way quietly to where a servant was
holding for him a place. The fellow pulled his forelock in response to
his master's nod, then shouldered his way through the press to the
ladder-like stairs that led to the upper gallery. Haward, standing at his
ease, looked about him, recognizing this or that acquaintance with his
slow, fine smile and an inclination of his head. He was much observed, and
presently a lady leaned from her box, smiled, waved her fan, and slightly
beckoned to him. It was young Madam Byrd, and Evelyn sat beside her.

Five minutes later, as Haward entered the box of the ladies of Westover,
music sounded, the curtain was drawn back, and the play began. Upon the
ruder sort in the audience silence fell at once: they that followed the
sea,