and they that followed the woods, and all the simple folk ceased
their noise and gesticulation, and gazed spellbound at the pomp before
them of rude scenery and indifferent actors. But the great ones of the
earth talked on, attending to their own business in the face of Tamerlane
and his victorious force. It was the fashion to do so, and in the play
to-night the first act counted nothing, for Darden's Audrey had naught to
do with it. In the second act, when she entered as Arpasia, the entire
house would fall quiet, staring and holding its breath.

Haward bent over Madam Byrd's hand; then, as that lady turned from him to
greet Mr. Lee, addressed himself with grave courtesy to Evelyn, clothed in
pale blue, and more lovely even than her wont. For months they had not
met. She had written him one letter,--had written the night of the day
upon which she had encountered Audrey in the Palace walk,--and he had
answered it with a broken line of passionate thanks for unmerited
kindness. Now as he bent over her she caught his wrist lightly with her
hand, and her touch burned him through the lace of his ruffles. With her
other hand she spread her fan; Mr. Lee's shoulder knot also screened them
while Mr. Grymes had engaged its owner's attention, and pretty Madam Byrd
was in animated conversation with the occupants of a neighboring box. "Is
it well?" asked Evelyn, very low.

Haward's answer was as low, and bravely spoken with his eyes meeting her
clear gaze, and her touch upon his wrist. "For me, Evelyn, it is very
well," he said. "For her--may I live to make it well for her, forever and
a day well for her! She is to be my wife."

"I am glad," said Evelyn,--"very glad."

"You are a noble lady," he answered. "Once, long ago, I styled myself your
friend, your equal. Now I know better my place and yours, and as from a
princess I take your alms. For your letter--that letter, Evelyn, which
told me what you thought, which showed me what to do--I humbly thank you."

She let fall her hand from her silken lap, and watched with unseeing eyes
the mimicry of life upon the stage before them, where Selima knelt to
Tamerlane, and Moneses mourned for Arpasia. Presently she said again, "I
am glad;" and then, when they had kept silence for a while, "You will live
at Fair View?"

"Ay," he replied. "I will make it well for her here in Virginia."

"You must let me help you," she said. "So old a friend as I may claim that
as a right. To-morrow I may