For the moment, in her relief at having read his riddle, there slipped from her the fear of she knew not what,—­the strangeness and heaviness of heart that had been her portion since she came to Williamsburgh.  Leaving the white wall against which she had leaned, she came a little forward, and with gayety and grace dropped him a curtsy.  “Oh, the white satin like the lilies in your garden!” she laughed.  “And the red heels to your shoes, and the gold-fringed sword knot, and the velvet scabbard!  Ah, let me see your sword, how bright and keen it is!”

She was Audrey of the garden, and Haward, smiling, drew his rapier and laid it in her hands.  She looked at the golden hilt, and passed her brown fingers along the gleaming blade.  “Stainless,” she said, and gave it back to him.

Taking it, he took also the hand that had proffered it.  “I was not laughing, child,” he said.  “Go to the ball thou shalt, and with me.  What!  Thou art young and fair.  Shalt have no pleasure”—­

“What pleasure in that?” cried Audrey.  “I may not go, sir; nay, I will not go!”

She freed her hand, and stood with heaving bosom and eyes that very slowly filled with tears.  Haward saw no reason for her tears.  It was true that she was young and fair; true, also, that she had few pleasures.  Well, he would change all that.  The dance,—­was it not woven by those nymphs of old, those sprites of open spaces in the deep woods, from whose immemorial company she must have strayed into this present time?  Now at the Palace the candles were burning for her, for her the music was playing.  Her welcome there amidst the tinsel people?  Trust him for that:  he was what he was, and could compass greater things than that would be.  Go she should, because it pleased him to please her, and because it was certainly necessary for him to oppose pride with pride, and before the eyes of Evelyn demonstrate his indifference to that lady’s choice of Mr. Lee for the minuet and Mr. Lightfoot for the country dance.  This last thought had far to travel from some unused, deep-down quagmire of the heart, but it came.  For the rest, the image of Audrey decked in silk and lace, turned by her apparel into a dark Court lady, a damsel in waiting to Queen Titania, caught his fancy in both hands.  He wished to see her thus,—­wished it so strongly that he knew it would come to pass.  He was a gentleman who had acquired the habit of having his own way.  There had been times when the price of his way had seemed too dear; when he had shrugged his shoulders and ceased to desire what he would not buy.  To-night he was not able to count the cost.  But he knew—­he knew cruelly well—­how to cut short this fruitless protest of a young girl who thought him all that was wise and great and good.