maid. Are there Indians without?"

At least, to Audrey, there were none within. She had been angered, sick at
heart and sore afraid, but she was no longer so. In this world that she
had entered it was good to be alive; she knew that she was safe, and of a
sudden she felt that the sunshine was very golden, the music very sweet.
To Haward, looking at her with a smile, she gave a folded paper which she
drew from the bosom of her gown. "The minister sent me with it," she
explained, and curtsied shyly.

Haward took the paper, opened it, and fell to poring over the crabbed
characters with which it was adorned. "Ay? Gratulateth himself that this
fortunate parish hath at last for vestryman Mr. Marmaduke Haward; knoweth
that, seeing I am what I am, my influence will be paramount with said
vestry; commendeth himself to my favor; beggeth that I listen not to
charges made by a factious member anent a vastly magnified occurrence at
the French ordinary; prayeth that he may shortly present himself at Fair
View, and explain away certain calumnies with which his enemies have
poisoned the ears of the Commissary; hopeth that I am in good health; and
is my very obedient servant to command. Humph!"

He let the paper flutter to the ground, and turned to Audrey with a
kindly smile. "I am much afraid that this man of the church, whom I gave
thee for guardian, child, is but a rascal, after all, and a wolf in
sheep's clothing. But let him go hang while I show you my garden."

Going closer, he glanced at her keenly; then went nearer still, and
touched her cheek with his forefinger. "You have been crying," he said.
"There _were_ Indians, then. How many and how strong, Audrey?"