clashed, a wood of dripping cedars, a patch of Oronoko, tobacco house in midst, rising ground and a vision of the river, then a swift descent to the lower creek, and the bridge across which lay the road that ran to the minister’s house.  Audrey spoke earnestly to the master of Fair View, and after a moment’s hesitation he drew rein.  “We will not cross, Colonel,” he declared.  “My preserver will have it that she has troubled us long enough; and indeed it is no great distance to the glebe house, and the rain has stopped.  Have down with thee, then, obstinate one!”

Audrey slipped to the earth, and pushed back her hair from her eyes.  Colonel Byrd observed her curiously.  “Faith,” he exclaimed, “’tis the Atalanta of last May Day!  Well, child, I believe thou hast saved our lives.  Come, here are three gold baubles that may pass for Hippomenes’ apples!”

Audrey put her hands behind her.  “I want no money, sir.  What I did was a gift; it has no price.”  She was only Darden’s Audrey, but she spoke as proudly as a princess might have spoken.  Haward smiled to hear her; and seeing the smile, she was comforted.  “For he understands,” she said to herself.  “He would never hurt me so.”  It did not wound her that he said no word, but only lifted his hat, when she curtsied to them both.  There was to-morrow, and he would praise her then for her quickness of wit and her courage in following Hugon, whom she feared so much.

The riders watched her cross the bridge and turn into the road that led to the glebe house, then kept their own road in silence until it brought them to the doors of Fair View.

It was an hour later, and drawing toward dusk, when the Colonel, having changed his wet riding clothes for a suit of his friend’s, came down the stairs and entered the Fair View drawing-room.  Haward, in green, with rich lace at throat and wrist, was there before him, walking up and down in the cheerful light of a fire kindled against the dampness.  “No sign of our men,” he said, as the other entered.  “Come to the fire.  Faith, Colonel, my russet and gold becomes you mightily!  Juba took you the aqua vitae?”

“Ay, in one of your great silver goblets, with a forest of mint atop.  Ha, this is comfort!” He sank into an armchair, stretched his legs before the blaze, and began to look about him.  “I have ever said, Haward, that of all the gentlemen of my acquaintance you have the most exact taste.  I told Bubb Dodington as much, last year, at Eastbury.  Damask, mirrors, paintings, china, cabinets,—­all chaste and quiet, extremely elegant, but without ostentation!  It hath an air, too.  I would swear a woman had the placing of yonder painted jars!”

“You are right,” said Haward, smiling.  “The wife of the minister of this parish was good enough to come to my assistance.”

“Ah!” said the Colonel dryly.  “Did Atalanta come as well?  She is his reverence’s servant, is she not?”

“No,” answered Haward shortly to the last question, and, leaning across, stirred the fire.