nd Haward, gave an impatient
jerk of his body and said something beneath his breath. Haward looked over
his shoulder. "Ha, Mr. Le Neve! I did not know you were there. I had the
pleasure of hearing you read at Williamsburgh last Sunday
afternoon,--though this is your parish, I believe? What was that last name
that the youngster cried? I failed to catch it."

"Audrey, sir," answered the minister of James City parish; "Gideon
Darden's Audrey. You can't but have heard of Darden? A minister of the
gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, sir; and a scandal, a shame, and a
stumbling-block to the Church! A foul-mouthed, brawling, learned sot! A
stranger to good works, but a frequenter of tippling houses! A brazen,
dissembling, atheistical Demas, who will neither let go of the lusts of
the flesh nor of his parish,--a sweet-scented parish, sir, with the best
glebe in three counties! And he's inducted, sir, inducted, which is more
than most of the clergy of Virginia, who neither fight nor drink nor
swear, can say for themselves!"

The minister had lost his gravity, and spoke with warmth and bitterness.
As he paused for breath, Mistress Evelyn took her eyes from the group of
those about to run and opened her fan. "A careless father, at least," she
said. "If he hath learning, he should know better than to set his daughter
there."

"She's not his own, ma'am. She's an orphan, bound to Darden and his wife,
I suppose. There's some story or other about her, but, not being curious
in Mr. Darden's affairs, I have never learned it. When I came to
Virginia, five years ago, she was a slip of a girl of thirteen or so.
Once, when I had occasion to visit Darden, she waylaid me in the road as I
was riding away, and asked me how far it was to the mountains, and if
there were Indians between them and us."

"Did she so?" asked Haward. "And which is--Audrey?"

"The dark one--brown as a gypsy--with the dogwood in her hair. And mark
me, there'll be Darden's own luck and she'll win. She's fleeter than a
greyhound. I've seen her running in and out and to and fro in the forest
like a wild thing."

Bare of foot and slender ankle, bare of arm and shoulder, with heaving
bosom, shut lips, and steady eyes, each of the six runners awaited the
trumpet sound that should send her forth like an arrow to the goal, and to
the shining guinea that lay thereby. The spectators ceased to talk and
laugh, and bent forward, watching. Wagers had been laid, and each man kept
h