town,--all grew more remote, then suddenly appeared to cease.

Audrey raised her eyes, and met the eyes of Evelyn. She knew that they had
been upon her for a long time, in the quiet of the room. She had sat
breathless, her head bowed over her work that lay idly in her lap, but at
last she must look. The two gazed at each other with a sorrowful
steadfastness; in the largeness of their several natures there was no room
for self-consciousness; it was the soul of each that gazed. But in the
mists of earthly ignorance they could not read what was written, and they
erred in their guessing. Audrey went not far wide. This was the princess,
and, out of the fullness of a heart that ached with loss, she could have
knelt and kissed the hem of her robe, and wished her long and happy life.
There was no bitterness in her heart; she never dreamed that she had
wronged the princess. But Evelyn thought: "This is the girl they talk
about. God knows, if he had loved worthily, I might not so much have
minded!"

From the garden came a burst of laughter and high voices. Mistress Stagg
started up. "'Tis our people, Mistress Evelyn, coming from the playhouse.
We lodge them in the house by the bowling green, but after rehearsals
they're apt to stop here. I'll send them packing. The hood is finished.
Audrey will set it upon your head, ma'am, while I am gone. Here, child!
Mind you don't crush it." She gave the hood into Audrey's hands, and
hurried from the room.

Evelyn sat motionless, her silken draperies flowing around her, one white
arm bent, the soft curve of her cheek resting upon ringed fingers. Her
eyes yet dwelt upon Audrey, standing as motionless, the mist of gauze and
lace in her hands. "Do not trouble yourself," she said, in her low, clear
voice. "I will wait until Mistress Stagg returns."