he thought I would be happy, was kind to me when he came again after so many years; because he has often been to the glebe house, and I to Fair View; because last night he would have me go with him to the Governor’s ball, they think—­they say out loud for all the people to hear—­that I—­that I am like Joan, who was whipped last month at the Court House.  But it is not of the lies they tell that I wish to speak.”

Her hand went again to her forehead, then dropped at her side.  A look of fear and of piteous appeal came into her face.  “The witch said that I dreamed, and that it was not well for dreamers to awaken.”  Suddenly the quiet of her voice and bearing was broken.  With a cry, she hurried across the room, and, kneeling, caught at the other’s gown.  “Ah! that is no dream, is it?  No dream that he is my friend, only my friend who has always been sorry for me, has always helped me!  He is the noblest gentleman, the truest, the best—­he loves the lady at Westover—­they are to be married—­he never knew what people were saying—­he was not himself when he spoke to me so last night”—­Her eyes appealed to the face above her.  “I could never have dreamed all this,” she said.  “Tell me that I was awake!”

The minister’s wife looked down upon her with a bitter smile.  “So you’ve had your fool’s paradise?  Well, once I had mine, though ’twas not your kind.  ’Tis a pretty country, Audrey, but it’s not long before they turn you out.”  She laughed somewhat drearily, then in a moment turned shrew again.  “He never knew what people were saying?” she cried.  “You little fool, do you suppose he cared?  ’Twas you that played your cards all wrong with your Governor’s ball last night!—­setting up for a lady, forsooth!—­bringing all the town about your ears!  You might have known that he would never have taken you there in his senses.  At Fair View things went very well.  He was entertained,—­and I meant to see that no harm came of it,—­and Darden got his support in the vestry.  For he was bit,—­there’s no doubt of that,—­though what he ever saw in you more than big eyes and a brown skin, the Lord knows, not I!  Only your friend!—­a fine gentleman just from London, with a whole Canterbury book of stories about his life there, to spend a’most a summer on the road between his plantation and a wretched glebe house because he was only your friend, and had saved you from the Indians when you were a child, and wished to be kind to you still!  I’ll tell you who did wish to be kind to you, and that was Jean Hugon, the trader, who wanted to marry you.”

Audrey rose to her feet, and moved slowly backward to the wall.  Mistress Deborah went shrilly on:  “I dare swear you believe that Mr. Haward had you in mind all the years he was gone from Virginia?  Well, he didn’t.  He puts you with Darden and me, and he says, ’There’s the strip of Oronoko down by the swamp,—­I ’ve told my agent that you’re to have from it so many pounds a year;’ and he sails away to London