Haward, arriving somewhat after time, found drawn up upon this piece of sward a coach, two berlins, a calash, and three chaises, while tied to hitching-posts, trees, and the fence were a number of saddle-horses.  In the shade of the gum-tree sprawled half a dozen negro servants, but on the box of the coach, from which the restless horses had been taken, there yet sat the coachman, a mulatto of powerful build and a sullen countenance.  The vehicle stood in the blazing sunshine, and it was both cooler and merrier beneath the tree,—­a fact apparent enough to the coachman, but the knowledge of which, seeing that he was chained to the box, did him small good.  Haward glanced at the figure indifferently; but Juba, following his master upon Whitefoot Kate, grinned from ear to ear.  “Larnin’ not to run away, Sam?  Road’s clear:  why don’ you carry off de coach?”

Haward dismounted, and leaving Juba first to fasten the horses, and then join his fellows beneath the gum-tree, walked into the churchyard.  The congregation had assembled, and besides himself there were none without the church save the negroes and the dead.  The service had commenced.  Through the open door came to him Darden’s voice:  “Dearly beloved brethren”—­

Haward waited, leaning against a tomb deep graven with a coat of arms and much stately Latin, until the singing clave the air, when he entered the building, and passed down the aisle to his own pew, the chiefest in the place.  He was aware of the flutter and whisper on either hand,—­perhaps he did not find it unpleasing.  Diogenes may have carried his lantern not merely to find a man, but to show one as well, and a philosopher in a pale gray riding dress, cut after the latest mode, with silver lace and a fall of Mechlin, may be trusted to know the value as well as the vanity of sublunary things.

Of the gathering, which was not large, two thirds, perhaps, were people of condition; and in the country, where occasions for display did not present themselves uncalled, it was highly becoming to worship the Lord in fine clothes.  So there were broken rainbows in the tall pews, with a soft waving of fans to and fro in the essenced air, and a low rustle of silk.  The men went as fine as the women, and the June sunshine, pouring in upon all this lustre and color, made a flower-bed of the assemblage.  Being of the country, it was vastly better behaved than would have been a fashionable London congregation; but it certainly saw no reason why Mr. Marmaduke Haward should not, during the anthem, turn his back upon altar, minister, and clerk, and employ himself in recognizing with a smile and an inclination of his head his friends and acquaintances.  They smiled back,—­the gentlemen bowing slightly, the ladies making a sketch of a curtsy.  All were glad that Fair View house was open once more, and were kindly disposed toward the master thereof.

The eyes of that gentleman were no longer for the gay parterre.  Between it and the door, in uncushioned pews or on rude benches, were to be found the plainer sort of Darden’s parishioners, and in this territory, that was like a border of sober foliage to the flower-bed in front, he discovered whom he sought.