At the trader’s announcement that his present path led past the house, she ceased her stealthy progress toward her own demesne, and waited, with her back to the window, and her eyes upon one long ray of sunshine that struck high against the wall.

“I will come again,” said the voice without, and the apparition was gone from the window.  Once more blue sky and rosy bloom spanned the opening, and the sunshine lay in a square upon the floor.  The girl drew a long breath, and turning to the table began to arrange the papers upon it with trembling hands.

“’Sixteen thousand pounds of sweet-scented, at ten shillings the hundredweight; for marriage by banns, five shillings; for the preaching of a funeral sermon, forty shillings; for christening’”—­began Darden for the Bishop’s information.  Audrey took her pen and wrote; but before the list of the minister’s perquisites had come to an end the door flew open, and a woman with the face of a vixen came hurriedly into the room.  With her entered the breeze from the river, driving before it the smoke wreaths, and blowing the papers from the table to the floor.

Darden stamped his foot.  “Woman, I have business, I tell ye,—­business with the Bishop of London!  I’ve kept his Lordship at the door this se’nnight, and if I give him not audience Blair will presently be down uon me with tooth and nail and his ancient threat of a visitation.  Begone and keep the house!  Audrey, where are you, child?”

“Audrey, leave the room!” commanded the woman.  “I have something to say that’s not for your ears.  Let her go, Darden.  There’s news, I tell you.”

The minister glanced at his wife; then knocked the ashes from his pipe and nodded dismissal to Audrey.  His late secretary slipped from her seat and left the room, not without alacrity.

“Well?” demanded Darden, when the sound of the quick young feet had died away.  “Open your budget, Deborah.  There’s naught in it, I’ll swear, but some fal-lal about your flowered gown or an old woman’s black cat and corner broomstick.”

Mistress Deborah Darden pressed her thin lips together, and eyed her lord and master with scant measure of conjugal fondness.  “It’s about some one nearer home than your bishops and commissaries,” she said.  “Hide passed by this morning, going to the river field.  I was in the garden, and he stopped to speak to me.  Mr. Haward is home from England.  He came to the great house last night, and he ordered his horse for ten o’clock this morning, and asked the nearest way through the fields to the parsonage.”

Darden whistled, and put down his drink untasted.

“Enter the most powerful gentleman of my vestry!” he exclaimed.  “He’ll be that in a month’s time.  A member of the Council, too, no doubt, and with the Governor’s ear.  He’s a scholar and fine gentleman.  Deborah, clear away this trash.  Lay out my books, fetch a bottle of Canary, and give me my Sunday coat.  Put flowers on the table, and a dish of bonchretiens, and get on your tabby gown.  Make your curtsy at the door; then leave him to me.”