“I am alone in the great house,” he continued, “and the floors echo somewhat loudly. The garden, too; beside myself there is no one to smell the roses or to walk in the moonlight. I had forgotten the isolation of these great plantations. Each is a province and a despotism. If the despot has neither kith nor kin, has not yet made friends, and cares not to draw company from the quarters, he is lonely. They say that there are ladies in Virginia whose charms well-nigh outweigh their dowries of sweet-scented and Oronoko. I will wed such an one, and have laughter in my garden, and other footsteps than my own in my house.” “There are beautiful ladies in these parts,” said Audrey. “There is the one that gave me the guinea for my running yesterday. She was so very fair. I wished with all my heart that I were like her.” “She is my friend,” said Haward slowly, “and her mind is as fair as her face. I will tell her your story.” The gilded streak upon the earth beneath the beech had crept away, but over the ferns and weeds and flowering bushes between the slight trees without the ring the sunshine gloated. The blue of the sky was wonderful, and in the silence Haward and Audrey heard the wind whisper in the treetops. A dove moaned, and a hare ran past. “It was I who brought you from the mountains and placed you here,” said Haward at last. “I thought it for the best, and that when I sailed away I left you to a safe and happy life. It seems that I was mistaken. But now that I am at home again, child, I wish you to look upon me, who am so much your elder, as your guardian and protector still. If there is anything which you lack, if you are misused, are in need of help, why, think that your troubles are the Indians again, little maid, and turn to me once more for help!” Having spoken honestly and well and very unwisely, he looked at his watch and said that it was late. When he rose to his feet Audrey did not move, and when he looked down upon her he saw that her eyes, that had been wet, were overflowing. He put out his hand, and she took it and touched it with her lips; then, because he said that he had not meant to set her crying, she smiled, and with her own hand dashed away the tears. “When I ride this way I shall always stop at the minister’s house,” said Haward, “when, if there is aught which you need or wish, you must tell me of it. Think of me as your friend, child.” He laid his hand lightly and caressingly upon her head. The ruffles at his wrist, soft, fine, and perfumed, brushed her forehead and her eyes. “The path through your labyrinth to its beechen heart was hard to find,” he continued, “but I can easily retrace it. No, trouble not yourself, child. Stay for a time where you are. I wish to speak to the minister alone.”