but she thought that they were not kind to stare and whisper and laugh, shaming her before one another and before him.  Her heart swelled; to the dreamy misery of the day and evening was added a passionate sense of hurt and wrong and injustice.  Her pride awoke, and in a moment taught her many things, though among them was no distrust of him.  Brought to bay, she put out her hand and found a gate; pushed it open, and entered upon her heritage of art.

The change was so sudden that those who had stared at her sourly or scornfully, or with malicious amusement or some stirrings of pity, drew their breath and gave ground a little.  Where was the shrinking, frightened, unbidden guest of a moment before, with downcast eyes and burning cheeks?  Here was a proud and easy and radiant lady, with witching eyes and a wonderful smile.  “I am only Audrey, your Excellency,” she said, and curtsied as she spoke.  “My other name lies buried in a valley amongst far-off mountains.”  She slightly turned, and addressed herself to a portly, velvet-clad gentleman, of a very authoritative air, who, arriving late, had just shouldered himself into the group about his Excellency.  “By token,” she smiled, “of a gold moidore that was paid for a loaf of bread.”

The new Governor appealed to his predecessor.  “What is this, Colonel Spotswood, what is this?” he demanded, somewhat testily, of the open-mouthed gentleman in velvet.

“Odso!” cried the latter. “’Tis the little maid of the sugar-tree!—­Marmaduke Haward’s brown elf grown into the queen of all the fairies!” Crossing to Audrey he took her by the hand.  “My dear child,” he said, with a benevolence that sat well upon him, “I always meant to keep an eye upon thee, to see that Mr. Haward did by thee all that he swore he would do.  But at first there were cares of state, and now for five years I have lived at Germanna, half way to thy mountains, where echoes from the world seldom reach me.  Permit me, my dear.”  With a somewhat cumbrous gallantry, the innocent gentleman, who had just come to town and knew not the gossip thereof, bent and kissed her upon the cheek.

Audrey curtsied with a bright face to her old acquaintance of the valley and the long road thence to the settled country.  “I have been cared for, sir,” she said.  “You see that I am happy.”

She turned to Haward, and he drew her hand within his arm.  “Ay, child,” he said.  “We are keeping others of the company from their duty to his Excellency.  Besides, the minuet invites.  I do not think I have heard music so sweet before to-night.  Your Excellency’s most obedient servant!  Gentlemen, allow us to pass.”  The crowd opened before them, and they found themselves in the centre of the room.  Two couples were walking a minuet; when they were joined by this dazzling third, the ladies bridled, bit their lips, and shot Parthian glances.