At a crossing of the ways, shortly before Court House, gaol, and ordinary were reached, the adventurous Colonel gave a good-night to the constable and his company, and, with a negro servant at his heels, rode gayly on beneath the stars to his house at Westover. Hardy, alert, in love with living, he was well amused by the night’s proceedings. The incident should figure in his next letter to Orrery or to his cousin Taylor. It figured largely in the table-talk next morning, when the sprightly gentleman sat at breakfast with his daughter and his second wife, a fair and youthful kinswoman of Martha and Teresa Blount. The gentleman, launched upon the subject of witchcraft, handled it with equal wit and learning. The ladies thought that the water must have been very cold, and trusted that the old dame was properly grateful, and would, after such a lesson, leave her evil practices. As they were rising from table, word was brought to the master that constable and witch were outside. The Colonel kissed his wife, promised his daughter to be merciful, and, humming a song, went through the hall to the open house door and the broad, three-sided steps of stone. The constable was awaiting him. “Here be mysteries, your Honor! As I serve the King, ’t weren’t Goody Price for whom I ruined my new frieze, but a slip of a girl!” He waved his hand. “Will your Honor please to look?” Audrey sat in the sunshine upon the stone steps with her head bowed upon her arms. The morning that was so bright was not bright for her; she thought that life had used her but unkindly. A great tree, growing close to the house, sent leaves of dull gold adrift, and they lay at her feet and upon the skirt of her dress. The constable spoke to her: “Now, mistress, here’s a gentleman as stands for the King and the law. Look up!” A white hand was laid upon the Colonel’s arm. “I came to make sure that you were not harsh with the poor creature,” said Evelyn’s pitying voice. “There is so much misery. Where is she? Ah!” To gain at last his prisoner’s attention, the constable struck her lightly across the shoulders with his cane. “Get up!” he cried impatiently. “Get up and make your curtsy! Ecod, I wish I’d left you in Hunter’s Pond!” Audrey rose, and turned her face, not to the justice of the peace and arbiter of the fate of witches, but to Evelyn, standing above her,--Evelyn, slighter, paler, than she had been at Williamsburgh, but beautiful in her colored, fragrant silks and the air that was hers of sweet and mournful distinction. Now she cried out sharply, while “That girl again!” swore the Colonel, beneath his breath.