a year;' and he sails away to London and all the fine things there, and
never thinks of you more until he comes back to Virginia and sees you last
May Day at Jamestown. Next morning he comes riding to the glebe house.
'And so,' he says to Darden, 'and so my little maid that I brought for
trophy out of the Appalachian Mountains is a woman grown? Faith, I'd quite
forgot the child; but Saunderson tells me that you have not forgot to draw
upon my Oronoko.' That's all the remembrance you were held in, Audrey."

She paused to take breath, and to look with shrewish triumph at the girl
who leaned against the wall. "I like not waking up," said Audrey to
herself. "It were easier to die. Perhaps I am dying."

"And then out he walks to find and talk to you, and in sets your pretty
summer of all play and no work!" went on the other, in a high voice. "Oh,
there was kindness enough, once you had caught his fancy! I wonder if the
lady at Westover praised his kindness? They say she is a proud young lady:
I wonder if she liked your being at the ball last night? When she comes
to Fair View, I'll take my oath that you'll walk no more in its garden!
But perhaps she won't come now,--though her maid Chloe told Mistress
Bray's Martha that she certainly loves him"--

"I wish I were dead," said Audrey. "I wish I were dead, like Molly." She
stood up straight against the wall, and pushed her heavy hair from her
forehead. "Be quiet now," she said. "You see that I am awake; there is no
need for further calling. I shall not dream again." She looked at the
older woman doubtfully. "Would you mind," she suggested,--"would you be so
very kind as to leave me alone, to sit here awake for a while? I have to
get used to it, you know. To-morrow, when we go back to the glebe house, I
will work the harder. It must be easy to work when one is awake. Dreaming
takes so much time."