These were her rose-colored visions. At other times a terror took her by
the shoulders, holding her until her face whitened and her eyes grew wide
and dark. The way was long and the leaves were falling fast, and she
thought that it might be true that in this world into which she had
awakened there was for her no home. The cold would come, and she might
have no bread, and for all her wandering find none to take her in. In
those forests of the west the wolves ran in packs, and the Indians burned
and wasted. Some bitter night-time she would die.... Watching the sky from
Fair View windows, perhaps he might idly mark a falling star.
All that day she walked, keeping as far as was possible to the woods, but
forced now and again to traverse open fields and long stretches of sunny
road. If she saw any one coming, she hid in the roadside bushes, or, if
that could not be done, walked steadily onward, with her head bent and her
heart beating fast. It must have been a day for minding one's own
business, for none stayed or questioned her. Her dinner she begged from
some children whom she found in a wood gathering nuts. Supper she had
none. When night fell, she was glad to lay herself down upon a bed of
leaves that she had raked together; but she slept little, for the wind
moaned in the half-clad branches, and she could not cease from counting
the stars that shot. In the morning, numbed and cold, she went slowly on
until she came to a wayside house. Quaker folk lived there; and they asked
her no question, but with kind words gave her of what they had, and let
her rest and grow warm in the sunshine upon their doorstep. She thanked
them with shy grace, but presently, when they were not looking, rose and
went her way. Upon the second day she kept to the road. It was loss of
time wandering in the woods, skirting thicket and marsh, forced ever and
again to return to the beaten track. She thought, also, that she must be
safe, so far was she now from Fair View. How could they guess that she was
gone to the mountains?
About midday, two men on horseback looked at her in passing. One spoke to
the other, and turning their horses they put after and overtook her. He
who had spoken touched her with the butt of his whip. "Ecod!" he
exclaimed. "It's the lass we saw run for a guinea last May Day at
Jamestown! Why so far from home, light o' heels?"
A wild leap of her heart, a singing in her ears, and Audrey clutched at
safety.
"I be Joan, the smith's daughter," she said stolidly. "I niver ran for a
guinea. I niver saw a guinea. I be going an errand for feyther."