I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, a
well of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supply
my needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested with
tadpoles!

"Show it to me!" I cried.

With a hearty "All right!" she started running, and I followed at a
smart walk. It was just like her to run. She was a creature of impulse.
I watched her skimming over the ground, lightly leaping little
obstacles, her wheat-gold hair all a-tremble. When I came up she had a
stick, and was diligently prodding about in the weeds, vines and
brambles.

"It's here," she muttered, intent on her business. "I've saw it, 'n'
drunk out o' it. It's jes' as cold as the spring at home whur granny
keeps 'er milk 'n' butter. W'en I--"

My eyes had been fastened on her face, and now she evidently remembered
and checked herself purposely, for I saw her teeth clamp her lip for an
instant. Then she went on, softer and more slowly, never looking up.

"When--I--came--las'--time--it's--_here_!"

With the last word she jabbed her stick down, and straightened up
triumphantly.

I pressed forward to her side, and peered into the bush. The end of her
stick rested upon a piece of wood. With a word to Lessie to wait a
moment I hurried back to the lodge and procured a scythe from the store
of miscellaneous things which had accompanied me when I came out to make
friends with the wilderness. Directly I had uncovered the well's top, a
surface of oaken planks four feet square. In the center of this lay a
large, smooth stone, covering the hole which gave access to the water
below.

"By Jove! Girl, how can I thank you?" I cried, elated at the discovery.
"I've been drinking sulphur water and bathing with tadpoles, never
dreaming this was here!"

"It'll be a big savin'," she agreed. "Tot'n' water's pow'ful hard work."

She turned to go. I dropped my scythe and said:

"You must let me go part of the way. I know you're not afraid, but won't
you? I'd feel better."

She clasped her hands, wrung them once, and took two or three forward
steps silently. Something was wrong with Lessie, but nothing like a true
solution entered my thick masculine head until she stopped, halfway
turned, and flung from tight lips--

"It's 'bout Buck!"

Buck! The ominous figure I had seen watching me in the deep twilight the
day before. Buck! Of course, Buck! He had seen me part from Lessie; he
had come to her immediately afterward, and had doubtless told her some
things which were not good for her peace of mind. Is man really a
savage, at rock bottom? In the moment following Lessie's intense
announcement of the cause of her distress, what were my feelings? Simply
these. There came to my mind the realization that I, too, was a man of
physical might; that I, too, had immense muscles of thigh, and chest,
and arm; that the trouble which had sent me here was surely checked as I
felt my vigor growing day by day, and that if somebody wanted to fight I
would give him his fill, rather than be hectored into forsaking Lessie's
company--for I felt assured already that this was the burden of Buck
Steele's demands.

Something of all this must have showed in my face as I stepped
deliberately to Lessie's side and took one of her hands, for I saw
traces of terror in the gray eyes.

"Yo'--yo' mustn't git together!" she exclaimed, tempestuously, her
fingers closing around mine in a grip which caused me to wonder. "Oh!
Yo' mustn't!--Yo' mustn't! Yo' don't know Buck; he c'n ben' a
horse-shoe!"

"Lessie," I said, returning her grasp and looking at her determinedly;
"I'm not afraid of any man that lives and moves. I don't believe in
violence, but there are times when it becomes necessary. And when the
necessity arises in my life, I'm going to face it. You have said that
you wanted me to help you, and if you still feel this way, nothing and
no one is going to prevent me from carrying out my part of the
agreement. I've a notion I know pretty much what took place last night,
but you must tell me now, as we walk along. We must talk it over--come."

I kept her hand until I had faced her about and we had gone a short
distance. Then I let it go.

"Yo' see," began Lessie, in a perplexed little voice, and without
waiting for further urging, "Buck's ben comin' to see me fur mos' a
year, off 'n' on. He's the only young feller Granny'll 'low on the
place. He's ben pow'ful good to me, 'n'--'n' well, he's ast me to marry
'im. But I don't love Buck. I can't he'p lak'n' 'im, 'cause he's so good
'n' kin' 'n' 'd do anythin' on earth I'd ask 'im to. He don't pester me
'bout comin', neither, 'n' w'en I don't feel lak seein' 'im he'll go on
'way, meek lak 'n' not complainin'. 'N' after w'ile here he'll be back
ag'in, tryin' to tell me thin's I don't wan' to lis'n' to. I jes' can't
hurt 'is feelin's. Somehow 'r 'nother he heerd that you'd come out here
'n' had seen me by the dogwood tree that day--I s'pec' Granny tol' 'im
'bout it, 'cause I didn't tell nobody but the home folks. 'N' so las'
night he come--he _came_ out home to 'quire 'bout it, 'n' he saw you
tell me good-by at the bridge. 'N' after you'd gone he came on--'n' I'd
never seen 'im look lak he looked then. His eyes wuz black 'n' had fire
in 'em 'n' his face wuz lak a piece o' gray rock 'n' his voice wuz
diff'unt 'n' ever' now 'n' then he shuk all over."

Her words had gradually increased in velocity until, when she stopped,
she was speaking so rapidly I could hardly understand what she said.

"Yes," I replied, but nothing more until we had come to the foot of the
knob. Here, as we turned westward toward the creek leading to Lizard
Point, I spoke again.

"He talked to you, Dryad, of course. Now you must tell me everything,
and keep nothing back--nothing. Even though he said very ugly
things--things which may have frightened you, you must tell me them,
too."

She stooped to pluck a cluster of little wild flowers growing on a
single stem, giving a low exclamation of pleasure as she did so. Then,
as she twined the flowers in her hair over the ear away from me, she
answered.

"Yes, he talked to me. I tried to make 'im hush, but he wouldn't. 'Twuz
'bout you, mos'ly. He said he knew city fellers 'n' they's all wicked
'n' dang'rous, 'n' that you's jes' tryin' to run with me to pass the
time 'n' make a fool o' me--but I didn't b'lieve 'im!"

With the last words she turned toward me a frank and honest countenance.

"No, Dryad; you mustn't believe him when he talks that way. I'm sure
that Buck is a good man naturally, but he was excited when he told you
that. There are some bad men in the cities, and there are some bad men
in the country. There are more bad men in the city because there are
more people in the city. But he was wholly wrong when he spoke of my
motive in going with you--go on."

"He said he wasn't goin' to have yo' comin' to see me, 'n' that I mus'
promise 'im not to see you agin. I tol' 'im I couldn't do that, 'cause
you's goin' to learn me. Then he went plum daffy crazy, 'n' cussed 'n'
damned, 'n' bruk a great thick stick he had in 'is han's--bruk it 'n'
kep' a-breakin' it till it wuz all in little pieces in 'is fis'--'n'
then he flung 'em all on the groun' 'n' stood lookin' at me lak he's
goin' to hit me, but he didn't. We's down at the en' o' the path nex' to
the road, fur we hadn't gone up to the house. I's skeered fur a w'ile,
he looked so big 'n' he's so mad. I didn't know a feller c'd git so
crazy 'bout--'bout a girl;--did you?"

Her candor never ceased to amaze me. She seemed to be utterly unaware of
anything existing within herself which might lead a man up the dangerous
heights of Love, whither this brawny one had plainly gone.

"Ye-e-s," I answered, slowly. "When a man loves a girl, Dryad, he will
do anything when the circumstance which calls for that thing exists."
Then, realizing that I was talking riddles to her, I added: "I mean,
that when a man's in love, especially if he be a strong man, he won't
allow any one or anything to come in the way, if he can help it. And
that's Buck's position, exactly. He thinks he can't live without you,
and he's a big, husky animal whose feelings largely control him. When
another man approaches you, he grows jealous, and jealousy is about the
hardest headed, most unreasonable, meanest passion the human family
has.... What else did Buck say?"

It was too dark now for me to see her expression, but when she replied
her voice shook with apprehension, and that haunting note--like a rare
minor chord in music--which so moved me when we first met had crept
strangely into it, dominating the natural, lighter quality of her
speech.

"Oh!"

An exclamation formed of a trembling sigh was her first word, but she
went on almost at once.

"He--he said _awful_ thin's! He said he couldn't _stan'_ to see me 'n'
you together no more, 'n' he said he's goin'--he's goin'--to _kill_ yo'
if--if--"

Here Lessie broke down and began to weep in little, spasmodic snuffles,
as you have seen small children do.

I took her hand again and tried to assuage her fears as we went on under
the big forest trees through the shadowy, dimly luminous atmosphere. I
told her that Buck had spoken in the heat of anger, and that he did not
really mean what he said, and that his passion had gotten away with his
discretion, and had made him act very foolishly. I ended by laughing at
the threats, and treating them in the nature of a joke, but my companion
would not have it so.

"Yo' don't know 'im! Yo' don't know 'im!" she insisted, drawing the back
of her free hand across her eyes. "He _did_ mean it, 'n' he _will_ do
it--I know he will!"

"Don't you think I can take care of myself?" I asked.

"I don't know; maybe--but Buck's so strong!"

"I'm strong, too, Dryad."

She did not answer, and soon we came to the glade. Here Lessie stopped
and faced me.

"Yo' _mustn't_ come no fu'ther," she said, so emphatically that I almost
blinked. "'N'--'n'--yo' mustn't come to the P'int no more 'n' I won't
come to Baldy no more 'n'--"

"Why, Lessie!"

I dropped her hand, and put all the reproach I could summons into the
words.

"Yo' know--w'y--"

"And give up all the things I am going to teach you just because--"

It was too much. She turned with a hurt, despairing cry which somehow
cut me savagely, and ran swiftly from me across the open ground. I saw
the misty fluttering of garments in the gloom, caught the dull glow from
her flying hair, then knew that I was alone.

I have just written to 'Crombie. I did not tell him of any of the people
I have met. I wrote a chatty letter describing my daily life, my
improved condition, and telling of my inability, so far, to locate the
life-plant. But on this point I had hopes. I'm sure he will scratch his
head when he reads my postscript, and wonder if I have developed brain
trouble. Here is my postscript:

"Kindly forward me by mail to Hebron, at once, a primer and a copybook."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IN WHICH OTHER CHARACTERS COME INTO OUR STORY

I went to Hebron to-day to mail my letter, and to lay in a supply of
garden seed.

It was still early morning when I reached Lizard Point, and came upon
the road leading to my destination. The sun had not yet topped the high
knob range; the air was cool, balmy, moist with dew, and clear. I stood
for a moment after I had crossed the bridge, and looked intently up to
where Lessie lived. Had I seen her I would have sent her a hail, and
told her where I was going. Light blue wood smoke was coming from the
kitchen chimney, and spiraling straight up to a great height before it
dissipated--a sure sign of fair weather, I have been informed. Soon I
descried Granf'er's stooped form plodding across the back yard. He still
wore his coffee-sack apron, and was carrying a dishpan of water. This he
emptied into a chicken trough, and trudged back to the house. But Lessie
did not appear, so I faced about and went on.

The road paralleled this branch of the creek for nearly a mile, running
along the base of a steadily curving knob. It was not a bad road,
either, considering its location, and I found some pleasure in tramping
through the yellow dust between the ruts which the wheels of passing
vehicles had made. On the creek side was a rod-wide strip of verdure;
flowering weeds choked with long, tough grass, bushes of many kinds, and
an occasional tree. On the knob side the rise began at the very edge of
the highway. Here was moss, dead leaves, many varieties of creepers,
sumac, wild grapevine, and now and again eglantine, its flat, pink-white
blossoms brightening the heavy shade. It was on this side the road my
eyes dwelt oftener, for in my pocket was the jar of fresh water, and in
my heart the hope of ultimate reward. It is true I had found nothing
which resembled the life-plant in the least, and already I had traveled
far. But I was prepared for disappointment, and schooled for patience.
The prize was too valuable to be come at easily. I had already learned
that great truth--the things worth while are the things you give your
heart's blood in getting. Nothing you can grasp by merely stretching out
your hand is worth even that slight effort. It is a law of nature and a
law of life that hard work is the price of true success; that attainment
means sacrifice; that the natural inclinations and desires of the flesh
must be fettered and chained before we can reach any eminence
whatsoever, or achieve any noble task. That unalterable decree of life
applied to this case as well, and I bowed to it. I would wait and
search; I would go on until the last day of my twelve months' exile had
sped, believing that sooner or later my reward would come.

Now my mountain road debouched upon a county highway, made of gravel,
well packed and smooth. For a moment I was surprised, wondering where
all this gravel came from. Then I remembered that a river ran near, and
the mystery was plain.

The sun came out as I started on again, pouring its quickening light in
a wondrous cascade of shimmering beauty over the dark green sea of
foliage. The leaves rustled a welcome, and a breeze which was like a
sigh of gratitude from the Earth's big heart, arose. This greeting of
nature unto nature that still morning stirred me deeply in some way; I
could feel the answering thrill in my breast, and I stopped in my
tracks, took my cap from my head, and faced the great golden ball with
what I imagine was almost the ardor of a sun-worshiper. I was alone with
my ancient mother; the mother from whence I came and unto whom I would
return, and clearer than ever in my life before I felt the kinship of
the sturdy trees, and knew that the sap and fiber of every growing thing
about me was part and parcel of my being. Tiny waves of emotion began to
tingle along my nerves as I stood bareheaded, at one with the universe,
and then slowly the waves grew in magnitude until every vein and artery
was inundated with a mighty surge of joy.

A puff of wind blew a spray of blackberry bush across my cheek,
scratching it with a thorn. I started and looked, to find that I had
unknowingly come to the edge of the road.

At a turn a quarter of a mile further on I saw the hamlet. Five or six
houses, a railway station, the superstructure of an iron bridge, and to
one side a formidable building of brick, which I correctly surmised to
be the distillery. Between me and the hamlet lay a stretch of cleared
bottom land, fenced off into fields. I saw an expanse of wheat, green
and full eared; another of oats, not so tall, and having a peculiar
bluish shade. Other fields were simply bare, brown reaches of freshly
turned earth, prepared for corn or tobacco.

Now to my ears came a sound which has been heard since the world was
young; the musical ring of iron against iron; the song of the forge.
Across the lowland it drifted to me, losing all harshness in its coming,
and falling in pleasing cadences upon the air. I knew it was no
uncertain hand which held the hammer, for the strokes were vigorous and
in time, interrupted now and again by the drum-like roll as the hammer
danced upon the anvil. I went forward leisurely, crossed a stream on a
suspension foot-bridge of native manufacture, then up a slight rise till
I stood in the broad doorway of the smithy. The worker, intent upon his
task, had neither seen nor heard my approach. I stood and looked at him
silently.

He was a young man, near my own age. He was quite as tall as myself, and
maybe a trifle heavier. He wore a short brown beard. His flannel shirt
was open at the neck for two or three buttons, revealing his thick
throat and corded chest. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows, and
his fore-arms were knotted and ridged with muscles. His face was rather
heavy, and not intelligent. He was welding an iron tire, and I watched
his deft manipulations admiringly. Certainly he was no bungler. After a
while he thrust the cooling irons back into the fire, and as he grasped
the handle of his bellows with one grimy hand, I spoke.

"Good morning, Buck Steele."

He wheeled with the quick movement you have seen a cat display when
surprised, his brown eyes widening perceptibly. He knew me. I saw his
mouth set, and the outer corners of his eyes contract. In that first
long look which he gave me he did not say a word, neither did he move. I
could not help thinking what a splendid looking fellow he was, his
posture one of natural grace and dignity, at the same time feeling and
recognizing the antagonism which radiated from his entire person. I met
his gaze unflinchingly, and with a straightforward look. I could see his
eyes traveling from my head to my feet, and knew that he was taking
stock of me. Then his uncompromising stare settled on my face, and
instantly a bitterly hostile expression gathered on his own. For a few
moments we stood thus, then his big chest rose over a deep long breath,
his mouth went tighter still, his smutty fingers closed on the handle of
the bellows and began a downward pull, then he calmly turned his back
upon me and resumed his work. My greeting had remained unanswered.

I turned away. I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. To have
forced myself upon his notice would have resulted in violence, I was
sure, with probable disaster to myself. I went on past a house or two
until I reached the store, a low, narrow building beside a railroad
track. A man, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, sat on a cracker-box
on the small porch, his back against the wall, his hands folded
peacefully in his lap.

"Got any garden seed?" I asked, stopping in front of him.

He lazily raised his bleary, red-rimmed eyes, and regarded me stolidly.
Absolute vacancy sat upon his countenance. He batted his lids, and
stared at me, his lower lip slightly pendulous. His silence became so
protracted that I smiled, and repeated my query. A sort of grunt came
from him, presently followed by--

"Whut kind o' gyard'n seed?"

I named the varieties I wanted.

Again he grunted--a louder grunt than the first, because now he was
preparing to get up. This he presently accomplished, and went into the
store, sliding his feet along over the planks of the porch. In process
of time I got my seed.

"What's up there?" I asked, as we came out together, pointing to a hill
across the railroad up which the pike wound sinuously.

The storekeeper dropped upon the cracker-box and resumed the same
position he had when I accosted him, before replying.

"Chu'ch 'n' pa's'nage; s'p'intend'nt's house. 'Stillery yonder; river
under th' bridge."

Whereupon he immediately relapsed into his former inertia, and I
forebore further questions.

I decided I would take a look at the river. Hebron lay beneath my gaze:
small, ill-kept houses; small yards with some dismal attempts at
floriculture; dirty children and work-worn women. These latter I
glimpsed as I walked on to the railroad, at windows and on porches,
staring apathetically at the stranger. I soon reached the bridge, which
I found spanned a river of considerable size. It had a gravel bed, and
its banks were heavily lined with trees. Its western sweep was
particularly attractive from where I stood, and I at once determined
upon a closer acquaintance, for the day was but begun, and there was no
need for me to hasten home. After a brief search I found a path which
conducted me to the side of the stream. The channel here was rather
narrow and the water seemed deep, its flow being gentle and placid.
Somewhat to my surprise, the path continued, running worm-like between
the thick growth of willow and sycamore. I went forward, with no purpose
whatsoever, merely yielding to an idling spirit, and the charm of an
unfamiliar track through the woods by a river. I may have gone half a
mile, never more than a dozen feet from the brink, when I espied a boat
snugly beached, and tied to a scrubby oak whose roots were partly
submerged. Why not take a ride? The thought was born instantaneously,
and quickly took the shape of resolve. Here was a delightful diversion
ready to my hand. I loved to pull an oar, and the gleaming, dark-green
surface before me seemed to invite. I placed my bundle of seed on the
ground, slipped off my coat and flung it across a limb, then laid hold
of the painter. It was not locked, as I half feared it would be. The
boat was a delicate, shapely affair, painted white, and I marveled that
such a dainty craft should be moored here in the wilds about Hebron. The
painter was loose, and one of my feet was in the boat as I prepared to
shove off, when--

"I beg your pardon," I heard; "but may I have my boat a little while?"

I arose, holding the painter in my hand.

A young woman faced me. Low and slight, dressed in tan from her jaunty
straw hat to her russet shoes; short walking skirt tailored to
perfection; a laced bodice very low in the neck; a tin fish bucket in
one hand. She had evidently taken me for one of the rustics in the
neighborhood, for I could see that she was as much surprised as I. A
glance sufficed to tell me her story. A jaded society woman, old and
_blasé_ at twenty, having nothing but a sniff for the world and all
there was in it. She was pitifully young to wear those marks of
experience upon her face. Her features were inclined to be peaked; her
chin sharp, her blue eyes so weary, in spite of the momentary light
which flashed up in them now. There were faint lines about her unstable
mouth, and well defined crowsfeet at her eyes. She must have lived hard
and furiously from her early teens to have acquired that indescribable
expression which needs no interpreter. Whoever she was and whatever she
was--and I was convinced she could boast the blood of gentle folks--she
had seen some life in her score of years.

"I guess if there is any pardon to ask,--I should ask it," I replied,
dragging my cap off as I spoke. "I didn't know it was yours. I'm a
stranger. I was out walking, and ran up on the boat, and couldn't see
any harm in using it for a half-hour. Shall--that is, may I assist you
to get afloat?"

She had gotten rid of all tokens of surprise as I was speaking. Now,
with the ready action of a woman of the world, she came forward and held
out the bucket.

"You may stow that away.... I'm going to visit my lines."

"Lines?" I repeated, blankly.

"Trot lines," she explained, adjusting a pin in her hat when I was
absolutely sure such a thing was unnecessary. "I set them yesterday
afternoon."

"Oh! You're a fisherman!" I exclaimed. "Well, I hope you've had luck."

She stepped into the boat before I could offer assistance, got down and
took the oars--then stopped. She appeared to be thinking. I stood ready
to shove off at her word. Suddenly she looked up with a half smile.

"Would you like to go?"

I was not surprised. Poor little world-worn creature. How many men had
she molded with that half smile! I answered without hesitation.

"Certainly!"

There could be no harm to either of us. It was unconventional, but
conventionality is a terrible bugbear. She was lonely, I knew, and the
echo from a civilized world which I would get in her company would be
most welcome to me.

"Come on, then. Day before yesterday I caught a bass which almost wore
me out before I could get him aboard. You see you could be of help on an
occasion of that kind."

I offered to take the oars, but she declined, and subsequently displayed
a degree of skill in rowing that surprised me. She took the middle of
the stream and went with the sluggish current. From my position in the
stern I faced her, and feeling that conversation was almost imperative,
I said:

"Surely you don't live at Hebron?"

She smiled--a bright, winsome smile which somehow awakened a deeper pity
in me. Her true nature seemed revealed in that expression. She was not
wicked; not inherently bad, but was weak-willed, easily swayed,
susceptible to association and environment. One who loved the smooth
road of pleasure more than the stony highway of rectitude; one who had
given gratis and unthinkingly the perfume of the fresh flower of her
girlhood. Kind of heart, warm of sympathy, impulsive of temperament,
irresponsible.

"Yes," she said, with a cheery nod; "I live at Hebron."

"But you don't _belong_ there?" I insisted.

She laughed in a high, not unmusical key, and suddenly dipping her oars,
began to propel the boat swiftly through the water. Rowing shows a
graceful girl off to advantage, and my companion was richly endowed in
this particular. Her little russet shoes were firmly braced, the short
skirt revealing a few inches of tapering, tan-stockinged legs; her brown
hands gripped the oars firmly, and as she swayed forward and backward
with the rhythmic strokes I was conscious of a feeling of admiration for
her prowess. In a few moments we had rounded a bend, and here I saw a
line stretched across the river, with smaller lines depending from it
into the stream. The girl glanced back over her shoulder, dipped one oar
and adroitly piloted the boat toward a certain hook, before she spoke.

"I belong up yonder--for the summer," she said.

I followed her short gesture, and discovered upon a hill to my right
what I took to be a brick church, with a brick dwelling near it.

As I turned to make reply I saw that something was happening. The girl
was doing her best to haul in one of the sunken lines, but the hidden
force beneath the surface was combatting her strength fiercely. Before I
could offer assistance she had loosed her hold, and instantly the line
shot out and tightened, swaying this way and that, cutting the water
silently.

"I believe I have a whale!" she declared, in big-eyed seriousness,
shifting her position and kneeling before taking up her task afresh.
"No, don't help me yet"--as I made a forward movement--"it's lots more
fun to land one's own fish!"

She bent again to the vibrating line, while I held the boat steady and
eagerly awaited developments.

"I'm from Kansas City," she flung over her shoulder all at once, "and
I'm spending the summer with my uncle, the Rev. Jean Dupré--Father
John, the villagers call him. I am Beryl Drane."

The catastrophe cannot be told in detail. It may have been partly my
fault, for my guard was lax at the moment. Before I realized what had
happened Miss Drane was gone and I was in the water clinging to the
upturned boat. A sucking, gurgling whirlpool was moving down the stream,
and the cable line had disappeared. For a moment a cold horror crept to
my vitals and chilled me so that I could not move. Then my duty swept
over me with a swift rush, and, letting go the boat, I dived
desperately. Madly I swept my arms to left, right, everywhere, grasping
blindly for the touch of flesh or clothing. Dimly I seemed to realize
that I was in a measure responsible for the accident, and that I must
find the lost girl. Back and forth I fought through the water savagely,
my lungs hurting, my head throbbing. I could not give up. I had to find
her. She was there, somewhere in that silent, treacherous element. Into
my chaotic mind leaped the thought that perhaps she had risen to the
surface. Instantly I ceased my efforts and rose. Dashing the streaming
drops from my eyes and mouth I gulped in a deep breath, and glared
around despairingly. Silence; solitude; a shining, disc-like spot where
the reflection of the sun lay, and a dozen feet off the glistening
bottom of the boat. That was all. A man's length to the south I saw some
bubbles rise and burst. There can be no bubbles without air. Maybe--

Resurgent hope filled my breast as I plunged downward again, striking
out with all my might. I grasped a sodden something. I opened my eyes.
The water was clear and the sunlight filtered dimly through it. A
confused shadowy shape confronted me. I could get no outlines. An
instant later I touched a hand, and knew it was Beryl Drane. A
conception of the truth came then. When the fish, or whatever it was,
had dragged her overboard, she had become entangled in the lines, and
the thing which had power to pull her from the boat likewise had power
to hold her below the surface while it struggled to escape. I clasped
her in my arms, gave a tug, and together we shot upward. I looked at her
as we reached light and air. She was limp, and to all appearance
perfectly lifeless. Her lips had a bluish tinge, and were parted the
least bit. Her eyes were half closed; she did not breathe.

Filled with foreboding which trembled on the verge of certainty, I swam
for the shore. The distance was short, and presently I was struggling up
the slippery mud bank with the senseless form of the girl. My mind had
been busy while I was swimming. Should I stop on shore and attempt
resuscitation, or should I hurry on to the priest's house, just up the
hill? I decided on the latter course as the most expedient, as the delay
would be practically nothing, and proper restoratives could be had at
the house. There probably was a road. Straight up the wooded slope I
dashed. My exertions in the water had tired me, and now as I made my way
through the dense undergrowth up the steep hill I was conscious of
intense physical fatigue. But I pressed grimly on, with a dread in my
heart which far outweighed any physical weakness.

At length I reached a rail fence. How I surmounted it with my burden, I
do not know. Beyond the fence was a pasture lot with only a gentle
incline, and across this I raced. Another fence, the back yard of the
parsonage, wherein squalling chickens fled precipitately as I tore by,
around the house to the front porch, where sat a little old man in a
swinging chair, clad in a priest's robe. I knew it was Father John. He
was quietly reading, and smoking a meerschaum pipe with a stem as long
as my arm, but the sound of my feet aroused him, and he raised his head.

"_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, jumping up, dropping his book, but holding
to his pipe, which he waved wildly. "In ze name of heaven, m'sieu! What
was it zat has happen?"

The front door stood open, and I rushed into the house without replying.
A couch was in the hall, and on this I laid the form of the girl. Father
John, his wrinkled face stamped with terror and anguish, was beside me
in an instant.

"Madonna! Jesu!" he wailed. "My blessed Bereel!"

I began the treatment for the drowned, explaining hurriedly how the
accident had occurred.

"Call your housekeeper!" I added. "Her clothes must be loosened. Quick!
If no doctor is near there is no use sending. I know what should be
done. Bring brandy, or whiskey--hurry!"

Father John ran from the hall crying at every step:

"Marie! Marie! Marie!"

His tremulous voice receded in the rear.

I unfastened the girl's belt, tore open her clothing at the waist, and
as I worked feverishly, was conscious of a gaunt, austere woman of
fifty-five or sixty suddenly falling on her knees at my side, and
unhooking the tight corset which my rude haste had exposed. Thereafter
we worked together, in silence, moving the arms up and down and striving
for artificial respiration. Father John hovered just out of reach, an
uncorked flask in one shaking hand; the long stemmed pipe, which he had
never abandoned, in the other. In the stark silence which accompanied
our efforts I could hear him whispering incoherent but fervent prayers
in his native tongue.

Closely I watched the pallid face--the poor, peaked face which had
looked upon so much that a woman ought not to know exists--but no signal
flare came to the waxen cheeks. I took the flask and carefully poured
some brandy between the parted lips--poor lips, which I knew had taken
kisses not given by love. The fiery liquid trickled down her throat, but
there was no movement, no attempt to swallow. I gave more, for this was
the sovereign test for life. There came a rigor, so slight that I was
not altogether sure of it. More brandy. A shiver passed over the limp
form; a choking, gasping sound issued from her throat, followed by a
moan of pain. I stood erect, looking down at her intently. Almost
imperceptibly the faintest glow showed in the marble pallor of her skin.
She was reviving. The danger was past. The gaunt woman crouched at my
feet looked up at me mutely, interrogatively.

"Continue to rub her hands and feet," I said. "Keep all her clothing
loose. Give her very small quantities of liquor from time to time. She
had better not see me immediately on awaking."

Then I took the priest by the hand and silently led him out on the
porch. A wooden settee was placed against the railing at one end. I
conducted him here, and we sat down. My clothes were still wet, but I
gave this no thought.

I proceeded first to assure Father John that his niece was practically
out of danger, then recounted everything in detail pertaining to the
accident in the river. He listened in eager silence, his expression
still one of amazement and distress. I looked at him as I talked. He was
a very small man. His skin was yellowish brown, like parchment. His
brows projected; his eyes were black and keen; his nose was straight and
thin, but quite large. His chin protruded into rather a sharp point, and
his mouth was the most sensitive I have ever seen on a man. His lips
were beautifully bowed, and had retained their color. They were never in
perfect repose, but were constantly beset by what I am tempted to
describe as "invisible" twitchings. As I spoke on, he gradually became
calmer, after a while relighting his pipe. This seemed to act magically
upon him, for soon after he began to smoke the wild expression vanished
from his face.

"So you are ze stranger on ze Bal' Knob?" he queried, when I had
finished my recital.

"Yes; I am out after health."

"Health?" he repeated, sweeping his keen eyes over my stalwart form in
open astonishment.

"I don't appear to be an invalid, I'll admit," I hastened to add. "But
something started up in here"--I touched my chest--"and the doctor sent
me to the woods."

"Ah! Ze--ze--ze lungs.... You never struck me to have ze consumption.
You are ze stron' man."

"It was just a beginning--a fear, rather than an actuality. I have been
there a month, and I am already much better."

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

"Miss Bereel ees awake, and has asked for you both," she said.

When we again stood beside the couch, the girl made an effort to take my
hand, but was too weak. Seeing her purpose, I grasped hers instead.

"Thank you," she said, in a thin, ghostly little voice. "It was not his
fault, uncle; he saved me. Come to see me sometime, and we'll go--rowing
again!"

She tried to smile, but was too exhausted.

"I shall certainly come to inquire about you," I replied, gently laying
her hand down. "I fear I was somewhat to blame, and I hope you will be
all right very soon."

She looked at me with a wan light of gratitude in her eyes, and a few
moments later I was bidding Father John adieu on the porch step.

"Come again, m'sieu," he said, squeezing my hand warmly. "You shall have
ze welcome!"

I thanked him, again expressed my hope and belief that his niece would
be quite all right in a day or two, and struck out for Hebron.

CHAPTER TWELVE

IN WHICH I ATTEND AN ORATORIO

It is one o'clock in the morning--and I have been going to bed at nine!

You will wonder what has happened to so outrageously disturb the
rigorous routine governing my night hours, and I shall tell you, for
that is the purpose of this chronicle.

It is now three days since I went to Hebron. After leaving the priest's
house I came on down the hill, trudged back to the river to get my coat
and garden seed, then turned homeward. The sun was hot by this time, my
clothes quickly dried on me, and I have felt no bad effects since.
Another sign, it seems to me, of my increasing physical sturdiness.
These three days have passed without sight or sound of a soul. I have
pottered about my yard, mowing down the insistent heterogeneous growth
which daily now threatens to take me; clearing a broad space about my
precious well--whose water, by the way, is sparkling, clear and
cold--and this morning spading in my garden for two hours or more.

I cannot explain that which follows, but a little before nine, as I was
preparing to light my bedtime pipe and sit down for a chuckle with that
old pagan monk, Rabelais, I felt the call to go up. As I said, I can
offer no explanation. But all of us have been subject, many times in our
lives, to sudden, inexplicable yearnings; silent longings as powerful
and real as though a voice had spoken them. There is no need to
specialize. You, if you have a spark of temperament, will understand,
because you will have experienced something of the sort. You have felt
that mysterious tugging toward a certain thing, when there was nothing
on earth to incite it. What was it? I felt it to-night as I held my pipe
in one hand and a lighted match in the other; felt it growing and
expanding until it became a fierce desire. I tossed my half-burned match
among the logs in the fireplace, put my filled pipe in my pocket, and
with something akin to awe sobering my face, drew my cap on my head and
walked softly outdoors.

It was a perfect moonless May night. I had never seen the stars brighter
or nearer. I felt that by tiptoeing I might almost reach them. And their
number amazed me. The sky was looking down at me with a million eyes,
and each eye was a voice which said "Come up! Come up!" I went, not
stopping to question, analyze, or combat. Something irresistible urged
me to surmount the peak, and I bent to the climb. As I came out of the
Stygian gloom of the belt of evergreens I knew that some subtle change
had taken place. The atmosphere had a different feel; a different smell.
There was no wind, but when I swept my gaze around I saw many horizon
clouds; jagged, mountainous looking outlines, with floating fragments
everywhere. Some of the cloud fragments would touch and merge even as I
watched them. I did not know the significance, if there was any. I
turned to the slope again. Before the last steep stretch I halted the
second time. Far as I could see the perspective was bounded by a black,
towering wall, which seemed to grow taller every moment. This wall was
topped by fantastic turrets and towers which swayed, lengthened,
expanded, or disappeared at will. Still there was no wind, even at the
great height to which I had already come. The day had been suffering
hot, and the perspiration was streaming from me. I breathed softly, and
listened. No sound but the monotonous call of the night insects, except
from a point far below, like the muffled cry of a lost soul pleading for
grace, the ineffably sad tones of a whip-poor-will pulsed dimly through
the dark. I turned my face upward. The calm stars still called, and I
answered.

Presently I could go no further. I stood on the apex of my high hill, a
jubilation of spirit making my breast to heave in deeper breaths than my
exertion had caused. Then, ere I knew what I was about I had flung my
arms out and up, toward the vast deeps from which had come the still
summons I had felt in the quiet peace of the Lodge. I felt unreal; I was
trembling. I knew not what impended, but the air was charged with an
electrical tenseness, and the pall of utter silence which hung over the
world was pregnant with import. My arms dropped, and a sweet calm stole
over me. Slowly I turned my gaze in every direction. That mammoth wall
of blackness encircled the earth in an unbroken line, and was now
quickly mounting to the zenith. How grand the sight! I bared my head
before the majesty of it. How like battlements and ramparts the grim
expanses appeared, crowned with their changing towers! And to make the
comparison still more true, I now saw the flash of cannon through the
jagged embrasures, and caught the distant thunder of their detonations.
Quickly the conflict grew. North, south, east and west, and all between,
the batteries of the sky unveiled. Not loud, as yet, but perpetual, and
furious in the very absence of thunderous sound. There were constant
growlings and incessant flashings, as back and forth over the aerial
battleground the challenges were sent and answered. Now, a girdle of
glory, the lightning zoned the middle sky, and ever upward, as though
propelled by forces set in the earth beneath, the walls arose, blotting
out stars by the thousands, and steadily converging toward a common
meeting point directly overhead. Then, for the first time, I knew that
the Harpist of the Wood had awakened.

The unnatural stillness was disturbed by motion which became a breath of
music. I leaned forward involuntarily, my lips apart, my hands
out-thrust from me in the attitude one unconsciously assumes when
listening intently. From the thick darkness hundreds of feet below I
caught the first faint pianissimo notes from a million strings, all
attuned by the unerring touch of Nature. In gentle waftures of sound the
vast prelude arose, filling my soul with an eerie delight, and causing
me to draw a deep, shuddering breath. Then I crept to the rim of the
peak and sat down, both humbled and exalted. Faintly now I sensed the
reason of that imperious call to come up. Each succeeding measure struck
by the invisible Harpist became louder, sweeter, and more stupendous. It
seemed as if all creation was one mighty instrument, and a
myriad-fingered master was sweeping the throbbing strings. The clouds
were now a canopy without a rent. From a dozen points at once the
lightning flashed and staggered and reeled in dazzling splendor across
the sable field. There were no terrific thunder crashes. But, like the
pedal bass of a pipe organ, there was the ever present subdued
reverberation like far-off guns fired in unison. Then the strength and
skill of the Harpist increased simultaneously, and waves of barbaric
melody rushed upward. There was shriek and groan; there were living
voices awfully mingled in one wild chorus, and in brief lulls trembling
tones as sweet as a mother's good-night song to her babe. Flute-like and
full of delicate color a cadenza breathing of sylvan joys rippled forth,
and as its last bubbling notes yet fluttered like apple-blossoms of
sound against my ravished ears, they were drowned and whelmed by a
crashing diapason of majestic harmony which rushed on wide wings over
leagues and leagues of forest; a thundering gamut fearfully blended into
an oratorio inexpressibly sublime! Wild and shrill came a fife-like call
from the west, whistling out of the gloom in a quivering cadence of
victorious escape. Then it was blended with a multitudinous legion of
loosened chords, and dashed over me as a surging, resplendent sea of
mind-numbing melody.

So the oratorio advanced, and I sat enthralled.

The lightning increased. Not for the space of a single breath was
darkness absolute. In the vivid flashes I could see the bending
tree-tops far below, and the tossing, swaying, writhing branches. And
ever in my ears was the awful roll of that supernatural music; so full,
so deep, so filling all the universe with its changing rhythm! There was
something of the ocean's voice in it all, when the wind whips it to
fury. I sat dazed, imperfectly comprehending what was passing, but aware
all the time of a physical sensation of exquisite pleasure. Music had
always wrought upon me thus, but before the presence of this new and
strange manifestation my sensibilities were quickened twentyfold. I did
not know till later that I was on the peak three hours. I would have
said it was only a few minutes.

When all was over, and the strings of the Harp were still again, or
vibrating only as an echo, I got on my feet, dizzy and weak. All was
dark. The lightning, too, had ceased. But as I turned my eyes upward, a
rent showed in the cloud canopy, and through this a blood-red meteor
fell burning toward the earth. So I knew that the Maestro was pleased
with the performance, and from the blooming fields above had cast down a
flower in token of His favor.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IN WHICH I SUFFER FOUR SHOCKS, THREE OF THE EARTH AND ONE FROM THE SKY,
AND FIND ANOTHER MAID A-FISHING

Now that has come to pass of which I had a premonition the first time I
sat on the top of old Baldy and hugged my knees. In consequence thereof
I write to-night with my left wrist rudely bandaged, from a hurt I took
this morning. The day has been full of adventure and surprise, and I
find it difficult to harness my leaping brain as I start about my record
of events. Truly I have encountered enough to set my mind buzzing, and
two long, full pipes since supper have failed to tranquilize and soothe.
But the happenings of the day must be transcribed before I go to bed.

I went to the post-office soon after breakfast, to see if a reply had
come from 'Crombie. A package and a letter awaited me. The thought came
to me to run on up the hill and inquire about Beryl Drane, but I didn't.
I can't say why I didn't. But I merely asked the sloth-like storekeeper
about her instead, and learned from him that she was "putty peart," and
was up and about the house. When I passed the blacksmith shop I saw the
door was open, but there was no one within. I started to ask the
storekeeper where Buck was, but refrained on second thought, and betook
myself up the railroad instead, intending to reach home by a circuitous
route. By this time I was fairly familiar with the lay of the country,
and I had a natural longing for exploration anyway. Then, too, deep in
the bottom of my mind, I had laid a plan to come down the huge spur back
of Lessie's house, and surprise her with a short visit.

I followed the railroad for perhaps a mile, made some calculations as to
distance and location, then descended into a heavily wooded ravine and
continued my way in a northeasterly course. I had never been in this
part of the knobs before, and I found the country more rugged, if
possible, than that to which I was accustomed. As I proceeded, I closely
scanned the ground before me and on either side as far as my eyes would
go. I had scant hope of finding the life-plant here, because one of its
requisites was sunshine, and the shade was so dense that I walked in a
sort of cool, green gloom, wonderfully attractive to the senses. Now and
again a sun-shaft would come trembling and swaying down, brightening the
brown forest floor with shining, shaking spots of pale yellow. But no
green stemmed plant with golden leaves rose up from the mold to confront
me. I have begun to think my quest is almost as elusive as that for the
Holy Grail, but, like Sir Launfal, I shall persevere.

I became engrossed in the natural beauty of the hollow I was traversing,
and forgot my secret determination to go by Granny's house. After a time
the ravine opened and broadened into a little amphitheater, grass-set,
jungle-like in its wildness. But few tall trees were here. Dozens of
smaller ones grew on every side, and many of these were covered with the
odorous green mantle of the wild grapevine. The birds had likewise
sought out this spot, and the air was musical with chirp, and twitter,
and song. I stopped to regale myself with Nature's prodigal loveliness,
and as I drew a deep breath of satisfaction and appreciation I heard
something which had come to my ears once before. A long-drawn bird note,
shrill but sweet, and ending with a quick upward inflection. I started
guiltily, and knew that my whole body was a-tingle. Then I stared about,
trying to locate the sound. Again I heard it, and again I thrilled.
Straight ahead, beyond that bosky wall of herbage. Eagerly I started
forward, my pulse bounding. I reached the screening leaves and thrust
out one hand to make a way, but a vagrant gust of wind at that moment
formed a lane for my eyes, and the next instant I was staggering back,
choking, muttering crazily, my face afire, my chest tight as though
bound by constricting bands of steel. God above! Suppose I had crashed
through, as I would have done a second later! With gritted teeth and set
eyes I tiptoed away--away--anywhere, so that spot was left to Nature and
to her!

She was there, bathing in a sheltered pool in the secluded heart of the
everlasting hills. My one swift glance had showed me the Dryad in her
haunts. The curling mass of her copper-gold hair she had piled
regardlessly on top of her small, shapely head; she was almost entirely
immersed; her back was toward me, and I saw only her head with its
bewildering crown, one ivory shoulder upthrust from the water, gleaming
like wet marble in the sunlight, and a naked, outheld arm whereon sat
the tiny bird she had summoned. Small cause for wonder that I reeled,
grew dizzy with the hard-pumped, hot blood which deluged my brain, and
crept like a thief from that hidden pool--crept crouching, with rigid
face and bated breath. Dear Christ! How thankful I was that the
protecting water had covered her! Had it been otherwise; had my
unwilling gaze dwelt upon her revealed beauty from head to foot, I think
I could have taken my own life from shame. Certain it is I never again
could have looked into those honest Irish gray eyes. It was what might
have been, rather than what was, which planted the volcano in my breast,
and sent me trembling and quaking through the bird-sung silence of that
secret, sacred glen. As I went, I heard a bubbling laugh, and the tinkle
of falling water drops.

Now I was speedily destined to another shock, almost as great. How far I
had gone I cannot say, but all at once I knew that I was looking down
upon a plant about a foot in height, with green stem and yellow leaves.
I halted as though turned to stone, but I did not think. I couldn't
think. My mind refused its office, and in the face of what I took to be
a momentous discovery, stood still. Almost simultaneously with my
finding this significant growth the third shock came, as important in
its way as either of the other two, and far more ominous.

"Whut 'n' hell yo' doin' prowlin' 'roun' here?"

The voice was harsh and deep; indignation and rage ran through it.

The savage tones brought me to myself; they acted on my senses as a
battery might on my flesh. I stood erect and threw my head up. The smith
was not a dozen steps away. Where he had come from, how he had got
there, and why he was there I could not guess. He was dressed as I had
seen him at the forge on the occasion of my first visit to Hebron;
plainly he had not come courting in that garb. One hand held a large
club, in a position almost of menace. I brought a serious, determined
expression to my face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. In that
moment as we stood in silence, a darkness spread over the glen, and a
cool breath as from a summer storm cloud blew upon us; I saw it lift and
drop the brown hair on the forehead of the man facing me. He had me at a
disadvantage. He had doubtless seen me coming from the direction of the
pool, and weaker circumstantial evidence than this has condemned many a
man. If he supposed for a moment that I had been spying upon the privacy
of the girl he loved--and that this idea was in full possession of his
mind I did not doubt--then mischief was brewing, and from his
standpoint, justly so. Had our positions been reversed, had I seen him
skulking away from that fringe of greenery, I doubt if I would have
given him the chance he offered me. All this raced swiftly through my
brain in that short period following his hard question, and though my
first feeling, a very human one, was of cold and haughty resentment, I
quelled this immediately as both dangerous and unjust, and decided to
speak him fairly and honestly. So I said:

"I might ask the same of you, Buck Steele."

I purposely pitched my voice low. Not that I feared she would hear it,
for I realized the pool must be out of earshot from where we stood, but
there is a certain low tone which permits of modulation and inflection
carrying greater convincing power than when spoken in a higher key. I
paused only long enough to take breath after my first sentence, then
resumed.

"It's none of your business what I am doing here, but I am going to tell
you, because, in a way, you have a right to know."

There flashed upon me the thought that I must play for time. If Lessie
had not left the pool she would leave soon, for a storm impended. In
what direction she would go to reach home I had no notion. She might
come straight down the glen where we were. In any event, if blows were
to be struck, and in my heart I believed they would come before we
parted, it would be better if the girl was not in the neighborhood. This
train of reasoning came and passed without interrupting my flow of
speech.

"It's not my fault we're not friends. I came to these knobs a total
stranger, intending to treat everybody right. But when I spoke to you in
Hebron, you turned your back on me. Why did you do that? I know why, and
in a measure I forgive it. But it was not a manly thing to do. I'm going
to talk plainly to you, Buck. I'm glad of this chance to have it out
right here in the woods. But before we go any further tell me
this--what's that thing?"

I pointed at the plant before me.

My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead--at
me and at the plant--probably deeming me crazy.

"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what that
thing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here in
the wilderness."

"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.

"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know;
I'm obliged to you."

Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words to
prolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen the
life-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard of
it. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically:

"They ain't no sich thing!"

I knew that the Dryad was safe and away by this time, so now I came back
to the topic of the moment. Indeed, the smith had listened to my speech
with ever increasing restlessness. I think he suspected I was trying to
delay my explanation, but I doubt if he guessed the true reason for it.

"You asked me at the beginning what I was doing here, and I'm going to
tell you, and tell you the _truth_; mind you that--the _truth_. I've
never told a lie since I was old enough to know how base a thing it
was." I took two steps toward him. "You suspect me, Buck Steele, of the
lowest, most contemptible, hell-born, dastardly trick one who calls
himself a man could commit. I'm not going to put it into words, because
it's too damnably vile!"

The smith began to move forward as I spoke; short, hurried steps, like
one takes when about to spring. But whatever his impulse he checked
himself, and waited, his broad chest heaving in troubled breaths, his
face contorted, his eyes veined and bulging. I knew that I fronted a
deadly peril. I knew the man was surely insane that moment; that reason,
argument or logic could find no place in his perceptions. He had grasped
the idea that I had knowingly and willingly violated the sanctity of
this secret place, and nothing that I could say would sweep that
illusion from his disordered brain. He saw red. The blood-lust was on
him in all its primal force; in every lineament of his twisted
countenance was written the word--"kill."

A strong gust of wind tore down the glen, shuddering among the murmuring
leaves, and with its coming the gloom deepened. The shape before me
assumed a more formidable aspect in the lessened light, but I felt no
fear. I thought of my revolver--and was ashamed. Still it might serve a
purpose. It might help bring this madman to his senses. I drew it
quickly from my pocket, and holding it out in the palm of my hand, said:

"I could kill you, man; I could shoot you down, and no one would ever
guess I did it. You're bent on trouble; you're prepared not to believe
anything I say. But for this revolver I am unarmed. I am not going to
take an unfair advantage of you. See?" I broke the weapon, emptied its
chambers, then put the cartridges and revolver in separate pockets.

The act had no apparent effect. It may be the look of ferocity deepened;
certainly there was no recognition of my attempt to place our relations
upon an equal basis. Now I knew that nothing short of physical violence
would bring about a reaction to sanity, and for an instant I hesitated.
The temptation to evade the whole truth assailed me wickedly. Something
within told me that I could not cope with this giant in a personal
encounter; that death or disablement awaited the revelation I was
contemplating. The something which gave this warning also suggested the
remedy--the lie whereby I might pass Buck Steele with a whole skin and
an outraged conscience. I believe I wavered. I believe that for the
shortest time I came near to yielding, then my manhood asserted itself
in a swift rush, before Buck's words stung my blood hot.

"Go on, yo' damn sneak'n' fox!--Whur'd yo' ben w'en I seen
yo'?--Whur?--Whur?"

I stripped off my coat as I answered, for I knew there was work ahead.
And Buck laughed as I cast the garment aside; a hoarse, growling laugh
in which dwelt no note of mirth. It was simply an indication that he was
pleased with the meaning of the act; that the pagan desire to give and
take blows which possessed him would be satisfied.

"I'm going to tell you. I went to Hebron this morning, and started home
by the railroad. I don't know this country as well as you, and as I was
making my way back toward Lessie's house--for I wanted to have a word
with her--I stumbled into this place."

A malevolent grin of disbelief greeted this speech. The fellow's
insolence nettled me, but I went on.

"I heard a bird-call which I knew--which I had heard her give before. I
went to look for her. I came to the line of bushes which fringe the
pool; I was preparing to pass through them in my search for her, when
the wind blew the leaves aside and I saw----"

With a roar like a wounded bull he was on me. He had been holding
himself back for this confession. Too late I realized that I had
blundered. I might have approached the denouement more circumspectly; I
might have prepared him for things as they actually had been, instead of
allowing him, by my extreme candor, to suppose that matters were worse
than they really were. He swung his club as he rushed, and it hissed
above me. I crouched and leaped aside, striking up blindly with all my
might. I had flung my left arm out to balance myself, and the descending
club caught my wrist a slanting blow. I am sure now it scarcely more
than touched it, but an arrow of acute pain shot through my entire arm.
The bludgeon hit the earth with a force which splintered it into a dozen
pieces, and Buck wheeled more than half around, for my fist had found
his ribs. Even as he turned with a harsh, bellowing, wordless oath, I
was at him. I thrust deliberately, coolly, but with all my concentrated
power, aiming over his shoulder at his neck. He saw the stroke coming,
but, in the attitude where my former blow had forced him he could parry
but ineffectually. His shoulder went up, off and over it my fist slid
and with all the weight of my body behind it caught him on the ear. Then
back he staggered, his windmill arms waving hugely, aimlessly, his knees
wobbling, his feet slithering uncertainly over the short grass. Back and
back he went, seeming to try to stop, but couldn't, till fifteen paces
must have separated us. I did not follow him, though I suppose I should
have done so. I think I was a trifle dazed at my success, and the
spectacle of the great body of the smith moving crazily backward with
wide arms threshing the air over his head, must have unconsciously
served as a check for any further assault.

When nearly a score of yards lay between us Buck came to himself. His
arms dropped, he shook his shoulders, felt his damaged ear, now covered
with blood,--and saw me. Instantly he made ready to rush me. He
possessed to the full that instinct held by all fighting animals which
does not allow them to give up. As long as he could stand on his feet he
would do battle. I squared myself and awaited his onslaught. My
temporary advantage had not deceived me. I knew too well that chance had
a hand in the operations just concluded, and that if I ultimately
succeeded in whipping Buck Steele it would be a miraculous happening. I
saw him bend his body to advance, then earth and sky and air became
blended in one burning, blinding, deafening, fiery chaos. My eardrums
vibrated under a volume of sound such as I would not have deemed
possible; a white sword of dazzling brightness was laid across my eyes,
searing the balls and scattering a myriad colored sparks dancing and
ricocheting through my brain. Vaguely I seemed to see an oak tree back
of Buck slough its bark as a snake does its skin--shake it out and away
from its white trunk; saw it rip off its own limbs and cast them down;
saw it take its leaves by vast bunches, strip them from their hold, and
scatter them abroad like feathers. Accompanying this phenomenon I saw my
enemy sink down in his tracks. It all happened within the fractional
part of a second, for on the heels of the crash and the awful light, a
great blackness and silence settled over me.

I awoke with a quivering, indrawn breath, and knew that the little fists
of a heavy rain were pounding me in the face. Slowly my mind grasped the
situation. Struggling to my hands and knees, my arms trembling under my
weight, I looked at Buck. He lay perfectly still. He had been much
nearer the tree which had received the bolt than I, and the fear that he
was dead took hold of me. Painfully I dragged myself toward him over the
wet grass, my head buzzing and swimming, and throbbing with queer,
unnatural pains. I reached his side and grasped his wrist, sliding the
tips of my fingers back of the small bone where the pulse manifests
itself. I held my breath in fear, at once conscious of no perceptible
movement. A few moments longer I waited, but the signal of life failed
to come. Then I firmly seized the shirt where it opened at the neck, and
ripped off the remaining buttons with a quick jerk. A big, deep chest,
covered with black hair, was revealed. I know a moan came from me as I
drew my body over his, and fell across him with my ear pressed to his
heart. As I lay the pounding rain revived me more and more, the
thrumming in my head ceased, and then, muffled, weak, but real, I heard
the feeble beating of the engine of life. There was nothing I could do
for him, but I sat there and waited his return to consciousness, knowing
that it would be wrong to leave him absolutely helpless. My strength
came back momentarily, and when Buck began to stir I was capable of
standing erect. So presently I went away, realizing that his iron
constitution would quickly right him.

I did not have the heart to get dinner, but ate what cold stuff I could
find, then went to the seat under the tall pine, and thought. I was not
scared. Fright did not enter into my feelings in the smallest way,
although, when I reviewed the incident, I was confident Buck would have
worsted me had it not been for the unexpected and startling
intervention. He was unquestionably the stronger man, and had I defeated
him, it would have been due to my skill in fisticuffs. I was not a
stranger to the science of the ring, while abhorring prize-fighting. I
believe it every man's duty to himself and those he loves to equip
himself physically for life's battles. So I had trained, and kept myself
in training. But the smith had been transformed into a raging demon of a
man; his great natural power had been doubled, quadrupled, and had his
clutching hands once found me I would have fared as Carver Doone fared
at the hands of John Ridd.

I was sick at heart because of what these things which had just
transpired foretold. Would Buck voice his hellish belief in my
poltroonery to Lessie? A shiver shook me at the thought; it seemed as if
a thousand-legged worm with feet of ice was laid along my spine. Then my
neck and face burned, and my throat grew tight, so that my breath came
hard. What ailed me? Never before had such a sensation possessed me. Why
did it matter so very greatly what Buck told? I knew that I was entirely
innocent of any wrong--what else mattered? I know the good opinion of
our fellow creatures is worth striving for and maintaining, but why
should I be so concerned as to what these hill people thought of me? A
few months more and I would be gone, would never see them again in all
my life. Why--then suddenly, in the midst of my reflections the Dryad's
face swam before my mind, and I saw it as it would look when Buck,
crudely but earnestly, told her what he believed to be true. I saw the
expression on her face when she heard the hateful words; the swift,
responsive blood bathing her cheeks into red peonies--the terror and
shame in her eyes--the anguish of betrayed faith--and in that moment I
knew that I cared more for what Buck should say to Lessie than for
anything else in all the world. I got up, breathing fast, and looked out
over the great valley of billowing trees. In former days this sight had
a magical effect; it brought a sweet calm and content. This afternoon I
did not feel the response to which I was accustomed. Instead, I knew
that war was in my breast, and that every passing moment loosened a
lurking devil with a shape of fear. Peace cannot come from without when
there is strife within. Had Buck already told her? I found myself
wondering. Had he gone direct to her after he recovered, and poured out
the poisoned tale? He would do it, I felt assured. His passion had
reached a stage which not only suggested, but declared this course, and
he, rough, untrained, with no restraining leash of civilization and
refinement to hold him back, would make instant capital of his supposed
discovery to further his wooing. If I could see her first--

Down my hill of refuge I tore, bareheaded, coatless. Along the familiar
route I ran, to Dyrad's Glade, to the creek which flowed south, to the
tree spanning the creek. Midway across the tree sat the object of my
quest, fishing. A pool of some depth spread out beneath her, and here
her hook was cast. Her rod was a slender hickory pole, while a rusty tin
can at her side held her bait--the fishing-worms of our boyhood. As I
appeared she drew up and at once became engaged in impaling a fat bait
on the hook. With the greatest nonchalance she drew the wriggling thing
over the barb, and sighted me just as the operation was concluded. She
smiled, and the relief wave which swept over me threatened to inundate
me root and branch. By this I knew I had reached her first. Then, as I
climbed eagerly up, she deliberately pursed her lips and spat on that
worm!

"Hello!" she said, and cast her line.

I did not say hello, nor anything else for a time--for an appreciable
time. I felt foolish; light-headed, light-footed, light all over.
Something inside my breast seemed spreading and spreading, and I wanted
to sing--to shout insanely. This most candid confession will probably
arouse grave suspicions in the mind of the reader, but that is so much
in favor of a narrative which always sticks closely to the truth. Had I
intended to practice any deception, just here is where I would have
begun, for I realize, after writing the above, that I am laying myself
liable to almost any charge one would care to bring along the line of
general idiocy. Just why the ordinary sight of a girl on a log
fishing--a back country girl at that--should make a man of the world who
has long since left the adolescent stage behind feel like singing and
dancing and yelling, is beyond my ability to explain. Let him who reads
draw his own conclusions.

"You did that for luck, didn't you?" I asked, when I was seated tailor
fashion beside her. It had been a boyhood belief of mine; I had simply
outgrown it. She was still primitive.

She nodded, and put a finger on her lips, turning to me wide eyes of
warning. She evidently harbored the other belief that fish won't bite if
you talk. I turned to her cork--an old bottle stopper--and saw that it
was bobbing; short little ducks sideways which suggested a minnow to me.
But the Dryad was all engrossed with the prospects, and watched the
stopper's movements intently. Presently it went under in a slanting
sweep, and the pole came up promptly and vigorously. A sun perch the
size of a small leaf glinted and leaped at the end of the line.
Dexterously the girl swung her prize within reach, skilfully removed the
hook from its hold in a gill, and dropped her catch in a tin milk bucket
at her other side.

"I tol' you!" she said, triumphantly, referring to her treatment of the
worm before committing it to the stream.

At once her tapering fingers began burrowing in the dirt which half
filled the can, in search of more bait.

"Hold on, Dryad!" I whispered. "Let up on fishing a few minutes, unless
you'll allow me to talk, too. I've something to tell you. Don't you know
it seems an age since I saw you last?"

"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see the
effect of her words.

"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her face
instantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayed
longer than I should as it is."

One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in a
twinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still water
changes when a cloud hides the sun.

"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' to
Baldy."

"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let me
tell you all about it."

How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in a
matter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult to
believe that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her face
turned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped,
too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her hands
in her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, and
listened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but very
carefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very still
while I was talking, but when I came to the place where I had
inadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with a
short, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, and
tried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same time
endeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I did
not dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter with
the smith.

"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tell
you another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are good
friends still, aren't we?"

I did not get an immediate reply. Her head remained sunk, and I could
not see much of her face. The portion which I saw was still flushed, but
not violently. I waited, knowing that I had stated my case as well as I
could, and believing that further argument would be dangerous. The spot
where we sat was the natural abode of silence. Now I could hear only the
gentle breath of the low wind rustling the leaves, the musical gurgle of
water, and the sweet song of a thrush hidden in the foliage to my left.
I grew restless as the silence continued: apprehensions arose, and the
sinister form of fear cast its shadow over my heart. Was she offended
past forgiveness? Had Fate prepared this trap for me to rob me of--what
was I thinking? What was this girl to me that I should wait her next
words with set teeth and softly drawn breath? That I should now behold
the wonder of her hair and the marvel of her face with inward quaking,
fearing that they might depart from me forever? That the echo of her
voice became a mocking, maddening refrain to my consciousness, and the
sorcery of her simple presence made my brain swim? This waif of the
woods; this fragment from one of the lower stratas of civilization; this
half wild, ignorant, nameless, plebeian creature--what was she to chill
my blood with the dread thought that from this meeting we went as
strangers? I cannot answer. Leave the solution to biologist or
sociologist. I only know the fact as it existed. I had rather have seen
those gray eyes flashed upon me in perfect trust that moment than to
have seen the sun rise the next morning!

What was she thinking? No movement, no sound, no sign. Like an image
fashioned of flame and snow and draped with a moss-green garment, there
she sat by my side, so close--so close. Then I knew something of what
Tantalus felt when the cool water arose just beneath his cracked and
burning lips, and receded as he bent to drink. So close I could have
drawn her to me with a sweep of my arm, but mute and changeless as
though made of stone.

Presently I could stand it no longer. I placed my palms upon the tree on
either side of me, and leaned forward.

"Dyrad--Lessie--little girl! For God's sake--speak!"

Then came the miracle.

Again she started, as from a revery rudely interrupted. Her head was
lifted quickly, gladly, and her big moist eyes gazed into mine glowing
with tender faith. I know the dawn of an eternal Day will never thrill
me as did this. I drew my face closer to hers.

"Then you--do forgive? Why were you silent so long, Dryad?"

"I's thinkin' 'bout--if Buck--ur th' light'n'--had killed you!"

"_Who-a-a-a--Lessie! Who-a-a-a--Lessie! Whur air yo'?_"

We jumped, and a revulsion of feeling which came near to suffocating me
swelled in my throat. Granf'er was coming down the winding path from the
house. He had a brown jug in one hand. He had halted to give his hail,
and an instant later Lessie was on her feet, waving her sunbonnet and
sending back a lusty yell.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH YET A FIFTH SHOCK ARRIVES, AND ROUNDS OUT THE DAY

This certainly has been a big day, the first one which has required two
chapters of my story. I could have put it all in one, it is true, but I
believe there exists a general preference for frequent "stopping
places," and I shall defer to this opinion, partly, perhaps, because I
heartily endorse it myself. Granf'er sighted Lessie at once, brought his
jug up and down twice at arm's length by way of recognition, and resumed
his way with the shuffling, elbow-lifting gait which usually attaches to
men advanced in years when in a hurry.

How straight the girl's young body was! Uncorseted though I knew she
must be, the lines of her figure conformed to the demands of physical
beauty. From her naturally slender waist, belted only with the band made
in her one piece frock, her back tapered up to shoulders which were
shapely even under the poorly fitting dress. Her head, held more than
ordinarily high now, as she watched Granf'er, was nobly poised on a
firm, round neck, which I am most happy to record was not at all
swan-like. I should like to add, in passing, that I have never seen a
girl with a swan-like neck. If such exist, their natural place is in a
dime museum, or a zoo. Such a monstrosity would, from the nature of her
affliction, look like either a snake or a goose, neither of which have
come down in humanity's annals as types of beauty. I must say it to the
credit of most moderns, however, that the swan-necked lady is seldom
paraded for us to admire. There were no crooks or loops in the Dryad's
neck. Like a section of column it was; smooth, perfect, swelling to
breast and shoulder.

I clambered to my feet behind her, cursing mentally the harmless,
hospitable, doddering old fellow approaching, and singing a pæan of
rejoicing in my soul at the same time. Such things can be. The breeze
freshened, and began sporting with the dazzling, home-made coiffure on
the Dryad's head. She had not loosened it since she came from her bath,
and that is why I saw so plainly the classic outlines of her head and
throat. The madcap wind caught her dress, too, as she stood exposed to
its sweep down the ravine, and cunningly smoothed it over her hip and
thigh; tightly, snugly smoothed it, then took the fullness remaining and
flapped and shook it out like a flag. So I knew, again through no fault
of mine, that this girl who had never even heard of a modiste--of her
skill to make limb or bust to order--had grown up with a form which
Aphrodite might have owned. She did not know the breeze had played a
trick upon her; or knowing, thought nothing of it. The seeds of our
grosser nature sprout more readily in the hotbed of a drawing-room of
"cultured" society, than in the windsweet, sun-disinfected acres of the
out-of-doors.

She spoke.

"Granny's picklin' to-day. She's run out o' vinegar 'n' has sent
Granf'er to fin' me to go to town 'n' git some more."

"Let me go with you!" I urged.

"No," she answered, promptly; "'t wouldn't do. Don't you see?"

"I see what's in your mind," I replied, knowing that she was thinking I
would likely meet the smith again; "but I should be glad to go anyway."

"No; you mus' stay here."

Firmly she said it, and my saner judgment told me she was right. It
would have been a fool's errand for me to undertake.

"I know it is best," I assented reluctantly, "but _why_ did Granny have
to run out of vinegar this afternoon?"

Lessie threw me an amused glance over her shoulder, burst into a peal of
laughter, and began waving her pole over her head in wide circles,
taking this method to wind her line. When this was in place, she grasped
the hook between finger and thumb, and imbedded it in the stopper.

"You bring th' fish 'n' th' bait," she said, and ran along the tree,
sure-footed and nimble as a squirrel.

I picked up the can and bucket and followed. I looked at her catch as I
went, and saw that it represented some half-dozen minnows only. Granf'er
was waiting for us in the road. He had already transferred the jug to
Lessie and given her instructions when I came up and cordially shook
hands.

"How are you getting along?" was my greeting, as I wisely smothered the
impatience I felt.

"Oh! fust rate;--'cep'n' th' ketch."

He put his left hand to his side and drew a wheezy breath.

Lessie gave her fishing-pole into Granf'er's care, smiled a farewell and
started toward Hebron. It wrenched me for her to begin that lovely walk
alone. She was twenty steps away when the old man suddenly turned.

"Don't go trapes'n' in th' woods fur flow'rs 'n' sich! Granny's wait'n'
fur that air vinegyar!"

She waved her hand as a sign that she heard, but made no reply.

"A quare gal!" mused Granf'er, beginning to delve in his trousers pocket
for his twist. "Fust 'n' las', they ain't no onderstand'n' 'er. She
washes in th' woods lak a wil' Injun 'n' plays 'ith th' birds 'n' th'
beastes. Oncommin quare, by gosh!"

He opened his mouth and allowed to roll therefrom his chewed-out quid,
ran his crooked and cracked forefinger around his gums to dislodge any
particle of the leaf which might still remain in hiding, and took
another chew.

"But she is a most attractive young lady, nevertheless," I ventured,
tentatively, putting one hand in my pocket for my pipe and holding the
other out in dumb request. I remembered the guest-rite of my first
visit, and shrewdly suspected this move of mine would please the old
man. It did.

"Lak it, don't ye?" he grinned, his wrinkled face lighting with pleasure
as he eagerly thrust the tobacco into my palm. "Light Burley 't is, 'n'
skace 's' hen's teeth. Mos' craps plum' failed las' year, but I growed a
plenty fur you 'n' me--yes, fur you 'n' me!"

The expression tickled him into a creaky, croaky sort of laugh.

"It's good stuff, Granf'er," I agreed, compromising with my conscience
by supposing that it was good to chew, although to smoke, it bit my
tongue abominably and had a green flavor. "I've been intending to come
back to see you and Granny and Lessie ever since I was here last, but
one thing and another has prevented. I hope you are all well?"

I turned toward the path and moved forward a few steps, as though
assuming we would now go on up to the house. But Gran'fer's thoughts did
not run with mine.

"Well? Yes; that is to say, tol'ble." His manner was somewhat excited.
"Granny, y' know, 's pickl'n' to-day, 'n' w'en she's pickl'n' she's
turble busy, 'n' turble--turble techous.... Fine terbacker, ain't it?"
as he saw the pale blue smoke beginning to come from my lips. "Yes,
we're putty well, but Granny's ben kind o' contrairy these fo' days
pas', 'n' bein' she's pickl'n' I 'low you 'n' me 'd jes' as well set
down right here 'n' hev our chat."

He tried to speak in an ordinary way, but simulation did not abide in
his honest, open soul, and I knew he felt he was breaking hospitality's
rules in suggesting that we remain away from the house. The thought
worried him, and he could not hide it.

"All right!" I answered, heartily, donning the hypocrite's cloak with
perfect ease. (This is one of the advantages of our ultra civilized
state.) "Women are different from men, anyhow, and take notions and
ideas which we have to humor. And some people are so constituted by
nature that they must be let alone when they are busy."

"Yes! Yes! That's it! Notions 'n' idees!" Gran'fer eagerly approved. "I
don't see how yo' kin know so much 'bout wimmin if yo' 've never ben
married.... Notions 'n' idees!" He chuckled with a dry sort of rattling
sound, rubbed his leg, and thumped the ground with the butt of the
Dryad's fishing-pole. "By gosh! Notions 'n' idees!" he repeated, for the
third time, his eyes narrowed and his face broadened in a fixed
expression of unalloyed pleasure.

"Suppose we sit on the big rock here?" I said, with a gesture toward the
immense stone which formed the tip of the Point.

I walked out upon it as I spoke, and the old fellow dragged after,
doubtless still caressing in his mind that chance phrase which had
caught his fancy. The stone was a dozen yards across, and its creek side
arose perpendicularly from the water, its top being five feet or more
from the stream's surface. Here we sat, hanging our legs over as boys
would. I smoked, and Gran'fer chewed. He really didn't chew much,
because I am sure he was inherently opposed to the slightest exertion
which was unnecessary, but now and then he would defile the limpid
purity below, a fact which convinced me he was enjoying his marvelous
tobacco far more than I was.

"Wimmin _is_ curi's," began Gran'fer, when we had arranged ourselves
comfortably. He twirled his stubby, funny looking thumbs contentedly and
leisurely. The end of each was overhung with a remarkable length of
nail, black and thick. "I s'pose they's nec'sary ur th' Lord wouldn't
'a' put 'em here, but it's a plum' fac' they's no read'n' 'em, 'n' no
tell'n' whut they gunta do. S'firy 'n' me, come November twinty-fust,
nex', hev ben married forty-two year. Right there in Hebrin wuz we
married, forty-two year ago come November twinty-fust, nex'. At th'
Cath'lic chu'ch on th' hill, th' same whut's now Father John's. He
wuzn't here them days. 'Nother pries' married us. S'firy's a Cath'lic
'n' I wus n't nothin', but I wuz bornd o' Prot'st'nt parints. 'N' I made
th' fust mistake right there. Onless two people hev th' same b'lief,
they oughtn't to jine in wedlock, 'cus trouble's comin' shore 's sin."

He took off his worn, soiled, and shapeless straw hat to scratch his
head.

"I suspect you are entirely right about that. I know of a number of
unhappy marriages for that reason."

Gran'fer grunted, twice.

"S'firy's a buxom gal, ez th' sayin' goes," he continued, reminiscently.
"Purties' gal hereabout she wuz, ef I do say it, but they's allus fire
on her tongue. Jes' lak a patch o' powder her min' wuz, 'n' th' leas'
thin' 'd set it off. 'Tain't in th' natur o' young people to look ahead,
ur I never 'd 'a' tried life with S'firy. A young feller in love is th'
out 'n' out damndes' fool on airth. I'se sich.... I couldn't stan' ag'in
'er."

He shook his head slowly, and fell to combing his straggling fringe of
whiskers with his bent fingers.

I did not reply. I was not much interested in the old man's recital. I
had guessed already practically all that he was telling me. My mind was
full of other things; my thoughts were back on the Hebron road,
following the footsteps of the girl with the jug.

"I fit, though; I fit to be boss o' my own house,"--the querulous,
cracked voice broke in upon my reflections. "See here?" He drew his palm
down over his long, shaven upper lip, and looked at me craftily with his
little blue eyes. "I knowed a man onct, in them days, whut wore his
beard jes' that way, 'n' he's the w'eelhoss o' the fam'ly. Th' wimmin
wuz skeered uv 'im es a chick'n is uv a hawk. Whut he said they _done_,
'n' done 'ithout argyment. 'N' I took th' notion that if I shaved my
lip, too, 'n' looked kind o' fierce 'n' hard lak, that I c'd manage
S'firy. So one mornin' I gits my razor 'n' fixes that lip, 'n' w'en I
saw myseff I felt I c'd boss anybody, I looked that mean. So in I comes
to S'firy, 'n' tol' 'er, kind o' brash, that I wanted sich 'n' sich a
thin' done, 'n' kind o' squared myseff 'n' put my han's on my hip
j'ints, same 's I saw that other feller do, y' know.... Chris' Jesus!...
Whut happ'n'd? 'S ben a long time ago 'n' I can't ricollec' all th'
doin's. But she called me a babboon fust, 'n' then she lit into me....
Well, I kep' on shavin' my lip, 'cus I 'proved o' th' style, but I
didn't order S'firy no more, bein' 's I'm nat'rly a man o' peace."

"How many children did you have, Gran'fer?" I asked, presently.

"Jes' two. Th' fust 'n' wuz a boy whut died o' fits w'en he 's two weeks
ol'. Th' nex' 'n' wuz Ar'minty, Lessie's mammy. She died w'en Lessie 's
skacely more 'n a baby."

"What was the matter with her?" I asked.

Quick as a flash Gran'fer turned on me, an expression of alarm and anger
mingled showing on his face. What had I done? Surely my question was
simple and natural enough. He saw my surprise and astonishment, and his
feelings softened instantly.

"She jes' pined 'way lak," he replied, dropping his eyes and smoothing
the back of one hand with the palm of the other. "Didn't hev no fevers,
nur nothin'. Jes' drooped, lak a tomater plant does w'en it's fust sot
out 'n' don't git no rain. Got weaker 'n' weaker. Wouldn't eat nothin'.
Didn't try to live. Couldn't do nothin' with 'er. So she jes' wilted up
'n' died, lak a tomater plant in th' sun.... Ar'minty."

The plain, brief recital stirred me, and awoke within me a wondering
interest. Gran'fer's head was low now, so low that the hair on his chin
spread out fanlike over his faded, checked shirt. His hand had ceased
its caressing movement, and lay above the other. I could see that each
had a slight palsied motion. The little bent figure at my side struck me
as infinitely pathetic just then. Dull indeed must I have been not to
have sensed the shadow of some dire tragedy occurring in the years he
had mentioned. For a number of days past vague imaginings and sundry
conjectures had come to vex my mind with their unsatisfying presence. I
had known for some time that Lessie was not all she seemed, and now,
this moment, I stood on the borderland of enlightenment. Unfamiliar
thrills shot through me, flame tipped and eager. My heart pounded oddly,
and my eyelids were hot against the balls. Instantly a thought had
sprung full-born into existence, and it was the acceptance of this
thought which sent that tingling, vibrating current shooting throughout
my entire being. Where did Lessie get her refined features? Where the
instinct to care scrupulously for her person? Where that mute, painful
longing for something she could not name? From generation after
generation of ox-minded hill folk? Impossible! From them came her
wonderful simplicity, her extreme naturalness, her kinship with the wild
places and the things which dwelt there. But--I felt now as if a force
pump was connected with my chest, and that any moment it might burst
asunder. Dare I ask Gran'fer? Dare I, almost a total stranger, intrude
here, and seek to pry behind the veil these old people had drawn between
their grandchild and the world? I resolved to make the effort, but with
great caution, feeling my way with carefully chosen words. I did not
want to offend, but the desire to know the truth about the Dryad was all
but overpowering. It was not vulgar, idle curiosity. For I knew the
deeps were stirred; that underlying all else was the strange, full
throbbing of a new force.

So I put a hand on the old man's sagging shoulder in friendly way, and
said, speaking softly--

"And is Lessie's father--"

I got no further.

It was as though I had put him in contact with a live wire. His drooping
body straightened, his boot heels clicked against the face of the stone,
and his stiffened arms shot over his head.

"Damn 'im! _Damn 'im! Damn 'im!_" he exclaimed shrilly, each expletive
more forceful than the one which went before. He tossed his clenched
fists skyward, and followed such a lurid stream of malediction, in
consideration of some lily-minded reader, I will not set it down. I was
almost alarmed at the storm my luckless speech had loosened; it seemed
for a short time as if Gran'fer would really go into a spasm. His lip
curled back brute-like till his teeth showed, while his face was
grooved, seamed and twisted uglily. The evil memories which gripped him
tore him roughly for several moments, and then his passion was spent,
leaving him with eyes red and blazing, chest heaving and arms trembling.
I learned nothing from his volcanic, torrential downpour of curses which
in any way lightened the mystery I was burning to solve. It was merely a
meaningless jumble of heated invective, delivered with deadly
earnestness and the most emphatic inflections.

At first I was dumb. His violence came on him so suddenly and quickly.
From the little I had seen of him I had set him down as a rather meek
character, what manhood he may formerly have had henpecked out of him;
an entity, forsooth, but nothing more. When the shock had passed I did
not essay to soothe him. My judgment told me this would not have been
wise. There are some people, especially rural ones and others of no
education, who will not take soothing. In fact, it acts as oil, rather
than water, to flames. I believed Gran'fer to be of this sort, and while
I had no doubt his rage was both righteous and genuine, I let it wear
out before I spoke again.

"I beg your pardon, sir; but I did not know."

He swallowed twice; I could see his hairy Adam's apple rise and fall.

"We don't--talk 'bout him. 'N'--yo' mustn't ast!"

The tones were trembling and weak now, but there was dignity in them. A
feeling of true respect came to me for Gran'fer. There was something
sterling in him. A man may crawl on his belly before a sharp-tongued
shrew, and yet hold that within him which will arise at the command of
necessity; stunned and brow-beaten worth quickened by chance,
opportunity, or need.

Now there surged within me another wish--a wild desire to know one other
thing. It would harm no one to tell me, and to me it meant much.

"Gran'fer," I said; "I'm your friend--your true friend. Perhaps I should
put it that I am Lessie's friend. I apologize for what I said; I didn't
intend any harm. I promise not to mention the subject again to you. But
I pray that you will tell me this--does Lessie know--know about her
father--who he was--and all?"

I waited for his answer, trembling inwardly. He seemed to be thinking.
The cloud had come again to his face, and he began cracking his
knuckles, a succession of vicious little snaps. Then one word burst from
him, hard as a pellet of lead.

"No!"

"Thank you," I said.

Then there fell a silence between us. Gran'fer's mind was back in the
past, and I was groping blindly in the mists of wonder and supposition.
There was a reason, then, for the complex, warring nature of the Dryad.
How I longed to know the whole truth! But I could go no further here. It
was a painful subject, a guarded secret to the old man sitting humped
over by my side, and for the time I must hold my curiosity in check. The
revelation would come. I was determined to learn the story, one way or
another, though from what source I could not remotely guess.

Gran'fer's customary garrulity had deserted him; he even forgot to spit
in the water. When my pipe burned out I did not refill. I know both of
us were oppressed, were quieted by the thought of this great wrong which
had been inflicted nearly a score of years ago. So the creeping shadows
came upon us, and beyond the high western spur the sky glowed salmon,
and gold, and mauve. I heard a screech-owl's sudden chatter, and a crazy
bat wheeled in a wide curve just in front of us. The surface of the
creek grew leaden hued, and the mighty Harp of the Ancient Wood thrilled
gently in response to the low twilight breeze. Gran'fer stirred, and got
stiffly to his feet. I did the same. Somehow I felt awed. Out here
creation seemed so immense, so _recent_, that it was hard to believe the
trail of the serpent had passed over this spot, too. We turned in
silence and went back to the road.

From down Hebron way came the sound of singing. Not blatantly loud and
shrill, but very mellow and rich-toned. It was a woman's voice. A change
had come over me, and I did not want to meet her again just then. She
would have marked the difference. I turned and held out my hand.
Gran'fer took it and gave it a mighty squeeze. His eyes were wet, and
his face looked pained. As I came down the ladder at the other end of
the bridge I glanced across at him. He was standing where I left him,
gazing down the road up which the girl was coming, with that song of
light-hearted, carefree youth upon her lips.

I moved away, quickly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IN WHICH THE HISTORIAN UNBLUSHINGLY SHOWS HIMSELF TO BE A HUMAN

I have spent all of this day on the bench under the lone pine.

Last night when I came away from Lizard Point without waiting for
Lessie, I knew that I loved her. That was why I did not stay. I have
sensed the coming of this affection for some time, and I have not set it
down before because I wanted to be sure. To-night I am sure. Last night
I was sure, but I wanted a little time in which to analyze this feeling,
and be positive of it. My sleep was peculiarly sweet and peaceful after
the day of trial. I do not know that I dreamed, but soothing waves of
rest permeated me entirely, and a number of times I was conscious just
enough to know that this unusual sensation possessed me. To-day I have
not touched a book--the first day in years! Think of it. Was not that
alone a portent? I got breakfast mechanically. The kitchen utensils
looked almost strange, and I would pick up a dish and turn it over, and
view it as though I had never seen such a thing befor. Queer, wasn't it?
I wonder if any other man in his senses has acted this way. If he has, I
venture to declare he wouldn't set it down for the world to read. But
why not? We are all children, playing our little games, which are the
same world-old games in different hands. And so, when I stopped and
stared at my skillet this morning as I was washing it--stared till it
turned to a beautiful, laughing, freckled face framed in gold, it was
nothing to shame me. I recall the fact now with the full assurance that
the big majority of my fellow men will not ascribe the action to lunacy.

When I stood in the front door the yard looked the same, but different,
too. The area which I had cleared for the garden was dry, and invited my
spade. Not now, Mr. Earth! You shall have another day's rest before I
drive the steel tines again into you! I walked about, this way and that;
thinking, not thinking. Sometimes I hummed; sometimes I smiled;
sometimes I stood still with open eyes which did not see. All the time I
was aware of some lack, but it was nine o'clock before I realized that I
had not tasted a whiff of smoke. The thought did not make me blush, nor
abash me. I went quietly in and found my pipe on the shelf where I kept
it. It did not stay alight more than two minutes. I was standing at the
place where the road went down when I realized that I was drawing the
atmosphere alone through the stem between my teeth. Then I walked down
to the bench under the pine, thrust my hands in my trousers pockets, sat
down and crossed my legs.

I have been a sane man all my life, except the day when I embraced the
business of literature for a living. I am not nervous; sudden events do
not startle me. I have taken life honestly and bravely, and I believe I
have faced all the conditions which mere living brings, with courage.
But to-night I have to relate that I sat on that hard bench without
changing my position until two in the afternoon, when I just happened to
drag my watch out. The mere position of the hands brought about a mental
reaction, or I should say served as a powerful mental stimulant, for up
to that hour I am not conscious of a single coherent thought. I had been
sitting all that time in mindless apathy. Then I began to think. My
first gleam of intelligence informed me that my watch must be wrong.
Then I gained sense enough to look at the sun, to find that it had
passed the meridian considerably. Followed at once a keen introspective
query, to which no answer was forthcoming. Then I am sure I breathed
gently, "You damn fool!" and became a man again.

I did not eat any dinner--punishing the body for a fault of the
mind--but smoked instead. My pipe did not go out a second time. Hour
after hour the black briar bowl stayed burning hot, and hour after hour
I drove my mind, now thoroughly aroused and under control, along the
various byways of thought, action and incident which had a common
meeting point at the feet of the Dryad. It required an effort for me to
do this--a great effort. Had I followed my inclination I would simply
have brought her before my eyes in retrospection, and gazed upon the
picture throughout the day. But she had ceased to be an incident. She
was a reality--an abiding reality--a concrete fact impinging sharply
upon the horizon of my life. I was not alarmed to know that I loved her,
and I wondered at this. Perhaps there really was no occasion for alarm,
but there were plenty of disturbing elements attending such a state of
feeling; a number of persons and things to be weighed and considered, to
be classified and given their relative places.

When all was summed up I was confronted with the result: Did I love her
well enough to marry her? I was of good family and had the highest
social standing. She was almost nameless. And here a sinister,
insinuating thought came stealing along a lower corridor in my brain; a
creeping, skulking, devilish thought which I caught and choked as I
would have a mad dog on my threshold. When I had killed the noxious
thing I knew that I did love her well enough to marry her.

What were her feelings toward me? She liked me, but I could not bring to
mind a single word or expression which would lead me to infer her heart
was touched, unless it was the incident on the log bridge, when she had
remained silent for such a long time, and her words when she finally
spoke. Surely her interest was more than casual to dictate a speech like
that. If Gran'fer had not come I think now I would have told her then,
for the simple sentence had set light to a powder train in my breast.

I believe in caste. I am something of a democrat, and much of a
socialist. While the dream of universal brotherhood in its broadest
meaning is Utopian from its very nature, yet all humankind has a claim
upon us, for the body of Socrates and the body of Lazarus were wrought
from the same material. Yet caste, if correctly applied, instead of
offensively and arrogantly, as it more often is, is almost indispensable
to society. You would not have your daughter marry a drayman, nor your
son marry a waiting-maid. That is what I mean when I say I believe in
caste. But while we draw and maintain the line of distinction, we can
still display a proper and becoming degree of courtesy.

I have said that I love Lessie well enough to marry her, but I have not
said that I love her well enough to marry her as she is. I know that
would be a mistake which I would regret were she to remain as she is.
But she does not belong in her present environment. I am as sure of that
as I am that I live. Fate has cheated her, has imposed upon her, has
grossly taken advantage of her helplessness. At the foundation of her
being are lying inert, but real, many wonderful and beautiful and
mysterious attributes and traits which go to make up the perfect,
polished character of refinement. This also I know, because I have
witnessed her pitiful strugglings against the degrading bonds of
ignorance which Life has tightened about her. She feels this better
part, which is unquestionably her true self, but she does not know what
it is; to her it is simply a hidden, powerful, inner force which
torments her with intangible, wordless protest and rebellion. She tries
to obey--she has told me so--but she does not know what to do, or say.
Poor little Dryad! How should she?

When I wrote to 'Crombie for the primer and the copybook I was moved
only by a sincere interest in a pretty ignoramus, seeing at the same
time an opportunity to relieve the tedium of long hours alone here. Now
that they have come, I know that I shall begin at once to loosen the
prisoned thoughts and emotions in my pupil for a different purpose. Will
she learn quickly? No fear of that. I think I shall write for the first
three readers when I have done my journal to-night. A long, loyal,
heart-felt letter came along with the books. I shall not transcribe it,
for it would fill up my pages without furthering my story, and this is
the reverse of craftsmanship, I am told. But I must say that 'Crombie
conceived the idea that I was going to open a school of two or three
pupils--a natural idea, by the way--and earnestly advised me not to, as
it would mean a degree of confinement which would work against me. He
also gave various instructions and suggestions, and insisted in
underscored lines that I pursue diligently my quest of the life-plant.

Who was Lessie's father? I do not doubt that this is the key to the
whole mystery of her paradoxical personality. He was not a dweller in
the wilderness of Hebron. He was a man of mental power; a man from the
higher world of action, advancement and achievement. Assuredly, he was
likewise a conscienceless knave. He had betrayed Araminta--Gran'fer's
Ar'minty; Lessie's mother. A man who would do that is the best qualified
candidate for hell imaginable. I am no hypocritical moralist, awaiting
my own opportunity to despoil. Very frequently it is one of this breed
of skunks who cries out the loudest against things of this sort. But I
trust I do recognize humanity's rights.

Does Lessie's unknown parentage present a barrier to the progress of my
love? No. That does not worry nor concern me in the least. It is true
she is--she must be, the fruit of a brief union unblessed by preacher or
priest. That does not make her the less charming, the less human, the
less lovable. She is as blameless, as natural, as inevitable, as any
other pure and stainless growth arising from baser elements. The fact
that Lessie would be unable to produce the marriage certificate of her
parents proved not the slightest obstacle to the current of my
affections. Indeed, when I dwelt upon this, I became aware of an added
tenderness; a desire to spread over her sunny head the shielding
strength of my arms. The world is so ready to mock at infirmities and to
reproach frailties. But I must discover her father's name, and what
became of him. I cannot present this subject to the two old people with
whom she lives.

Perhaps Father John would know. How long has he held this parish, I
wonder? Most likely for many years. In remote country places priests,
especially old ones, do not often change their field of labor. To-morrow
I shall go to the priest's house again, and ask him. I do not know that
he will tell me, but he holds the secret. If it came to him under seal
of the confessional, of course he will not reveal it. But I've a notion
it was countryside gossip at the time it occurred, and I will not be
asking Father John to betray any confidence when I seek him for this
information. Then, too, I have waited longer than I should to go and
inquire about Beryl Drane, the girl with a face of twenty and the
experience of a lifetime. Perhaps it would be better to see her first,
before accosting her uncle on the subject. I am not sure that I can do
this without arousing suspicion, for I am convinced Beryl Drane has a
mind capable of keen and clear deductions, and I have no desire that my
love for Lessie should become generally known yet. But I will try.

My love for Lessie! I look at that sentence written down on this white
paper with my own hand, and something goes radiating through every
cranny of me. I am in love--in love with an untamed Dryad of the oak
glade, the deep, clear pool, the sun-dappled spaces of the whispering
wood. Why do I love her? I ask myself. Why fares the bee to the flower,
the bird to his nest, the squirrel to his tree? I love her; let that
suffice. Alone here in my lodge on the lap of Old Baldy, beside my
table, I write these words in a mood which never before possessed me. I
am recklessly happy. I have--shall I write it--I have stayed my pen just
now long enough to sit dreamy eyed for a quarter of an hour; to imagine
that warm young body tight in my arms; those Irish gray eyes looking
long and deep into mine; those, red, red lips against my own, and the
blinding shimmer of her hair around and about my face and neck. God! My
pulses leap and thrum in my temples at the thought, and my throat feels
full and thick. My brother, have you never felt this way? Then you are
missing a large portion of your human heritage.

When shall I tell her? Not at once, I think. It will be better to school
her some first. And--Buck! By some strange chance I have not reckoned
with Buck to-day. Buck must be reckoned with. He will not efface
himself, and I respect him the more that he will not. Diplomacy and
arbitration and plain reason are all out of the question with Buck. When
I come to reckon with him it will be by the might of my good right arm.
It is the old, old method of medieval times of settling a difficulty
where the favor of a lady is involved, but it is an honorable one, if
conducted fairly, and I suspect as good as any. I must begin a system of
physical training, so that I may be fit for the final bout. That will be
some fight, my masters!

Eight weeks ago I dreaded the weary monotony which awaited me in this
forsaken spot!

Well, events yet unborn are on the knees of the gods. I intend to go as
straight to my destination as my judgment and will can carry me. I have
but written that I shall not tell the Dryad of my love yet. Now I should
like to modify that statement and say that I shall not tell her if I can
help it. For a sudden sense that my passion is broadening and
intensifying has come to me, and I shall make no promises--no, not one.
Now, this moment, I quiver at the recollection of her cadenced laugh; I
tremble as I see again the eyes which might craze a man of wood. Ah!
Dryad, if you were here to-night--if you were here--if you were here--

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IN WHICH MUCH ADDED LIGHT IS SHED UPON MISS BERYL DRANE, BUT ONLY A
GLIMMER UPON MY PROBLEM

"This is a beautiful day."

Such was my exceedingly original and extremely interesting greeting to
Beryl Drane this morning. I arrived at the house at eight o'clock,
found, as I thought, no one astir, and was preparing to knock when I
discovered the young lady diligently clipping roses from a hedge near
the back. It is not often that I descend to sheer banality, but I can
offer no excuse for my opening remark as I came up over the grass behind
her. She was a little startled. She turned quickly with a short "Oh!"
and looked at me curiously. Somehow I did not like the look. It was
possessive, in a way; intimate, as though we shared a secret, or
something like that. She was dressed in a polka dot brown gingham, and
had on an old bonnet whose projecting hood softened those lines which
seemed to shriek of the things which made them. A low collar encircled
her firm neck snugly. She wore leather half mitts, had a pair of shears
in one hand, and from the elbow of her other arm hung a wicker basket
over half filled with voluptuously red, dew-bright roses. She regarded
me with that subtly smiling, upward glance which coquettes have, and in
that morning air, with the flowers, under the shielding bonnet, she was
pretty. She was too adroit to overdo the pose. It lasted scarcely two
ticks from a grandfather's clock, then she smiled frankly, deftly looped
the shears on a finger of her left hand, and held out her arm.

"I'm _so_ glad to see you!" she said, winningly, and for the soul of me
I could not help but feel my heart grow warmer in response to her tone.
Ah, little sibyl! You have conjured more than one man's mind into deadly
rashness, but you have paid, little moth with the soot-spotted wings!

"Are you?" I replied, surprisedly, as I grasped her grippy, slender hand
and uncovered.

"Sure!... Don't you suppose Hebron is a trifle monotonous to me after
the fleshpots of Egypt?"

"I had thought you would be--not angry, but displeased and disgusted
with me that I had not come sooner."

"Oh! I have learned to make allowances for men!" she retorted, airily,
with a toss of her head and a half pout; "and I'd have no respect for a
man who'd have to be kicked away from a woman's feet. I've seen that
kind. I supposed you would come when it suited your inclination."

She deliberately turned to the hedge again and tiptoed to grasp a
heavy-headed bloom which seemed to have dropped asleep, drugged by its
own perfume. She could not reach it.

"Let me," I said, and stepping forward, caught the thorn-set spray and
pulled it toward her. The action made a little shower of water drops to
patter on her upturned face, and a single rich-hued petal became
displaced, drifted gently down, and actually lodged in the crevice of
her slightly parted lips. Both laughed at the incident, for it was
unusual.

"You shall have this one," she said, when she had clipped it, "from me."

I felt foolish, in a way, as she came close to me, fumbling here and
there about her waist and the bosom of her dress.

"Have you a pin?" she queried, archly, and before I could answer her
swift white fingers were searching the lapels of my coat. "Here's one,"
she added, on the instant, and tugged it out.

Then she secured that rose to my coat, standing so close to me that the
bottom of her spreading skirt brushed my legs.

"You are very forgiving and very kind," I assured her, "and I thank you
for the favor. I'm sure I do not deserve it."

"Do men ever deserve what they receive from women?" was her startling
reply, and she did not look me in the eyes then, but instead fingered
the jumble of Jaqueminots in the basket with head averted. Surely this
niece of the Rev. Jean Dupré's who had journeyed to Hebron to rest was
not conventional. Equally true it was that she possessed an unusual
degree of intelligence, and was accustomed to speaking her mind.

I hesitated briefly. Not that I was in doubt what to say, but among us
men of the South that old chivalry toward women which is always stubborn
and often reasonless, still struggles mightily. And it is a goodly
thing, forsooth, this same chivalry; but truth is better.

"I think so," was my steady answer, and I held my eyes ready to meet
hers, but she did not move her head. Only the white fingertips with
their whiter nails yet burrowed among the fragrant mass of green and
red.

"You do?... How can you say that? Uncle says it, too--but he's a
priest."

"I say it because I think it true. I'm sure you would not have me tell a
lie merely to please you. Your viewpoint must be restricted,
circumscribed, for I know you are in earnest. The question is really too
comprehensive to actually admit of a specific answer. Many women give
all and get nothing; many men give all and get nothing. Many give and
receive on an equable basis, and they are the ones who are happy. It
depends simply upon one's experience or observation how he answers your
question. My life leads me to believe in all sincerity men will do their
part fuller and far more justly than a woman will. Perhaps yours has
convinced you that just the reverse is true.... But for mercy's sake,
let's not drift into a sociological argument this morning."

"By no means. I just wanted to know what you thought.... Now I must
apologize for keeping you. You have come to see uncle?"

She started toward the house as though to call him, but I caught her arm
and she halted.

"I came to see you, primarily. First, to assure myself that you had
really quite recovered from drowning--I have asked of you down at the
store--and second, to discuss a mighty secret with you."

"You have really--asked about me?" she returned with lifted eyebrows.
"You knew when you left that day I would recover, thanks to your skill.
Was not that enough?"

I felt annoyed. It appeared as if she was trying to make me confess a
deeper interest than I truly owned.

"A common sense of decency would have impelled me to assure myself you
were suffering no bad after effects," I replied.

"Oh, that was it?" she responded, I thought a bit coolly. Then--"You
mentioned a secret. How on earth could a secret exist in this
lonesome-ridden place? But of course I'm all curiosity now to hear it.
Let's go to the summerhouse. Uncle rises late, and is now in the midst
of his breakfast."

She moved toward a conical shaped piece of greenery, and I put myself at
her side. It proved to be some trellis work built in the form of a
square, with a peaked top, the whole completely covered by some
luxuriant vine. Even the doorway was so thickly hung that we had to draw
the festoons aside to enter. Within the light was tempered to a
gray-green tone. A hammock was swung across the center of the place, and
on all sides except the entrance one were placed benches. Miss Drane set
her basket down and promptly dropped into the hammock, where she twisted
about into a comfortable attitude. She apparently took no notice of the
fact that her dress had become drawn up six or eight inches above her
shapely ankles, but quietly loosened the strings under her chin and cast
the bonnet on the floor, then threw her arms above her head, laced her
fingers, and turned to me with a smile which was half humorous and half
pathetic.

"Now I'm fixed. Settle yourself the best you can, and let's hear the
mystery."

"May I smoke?" I asked, dodging under one of the ropes, and coming
around so that I might sit facing her.

"Certainly."

"A pipe?"

"Oh, yes! I'm thoroughly smoke-cured."

I dropped upon a bench and drew forth my materials, while she lay and
eyed me with her inscrutable stare.

"You're a funny man!" she declared, presently, her flexible lips
twisting into an odd smile.

I chuckled, and jammed the tobacco in the bowl.

"How do you get that?" I ventured.

"Why didn't you ask to share the hammock with me?"

Now though I knew something of woman's ways and woman's wiles, I felt a
blush rising, and to hide it I dropped the match I held and bent over to
pick it up. Clearly his reverence's niece was bent on a flirtation
wherewith to while away the days of her exile. It is needless to say
that in my present state of mind I had no heart for dalliance of this
sort, but I realized that I must not offend her, so I struck the match
on the sole of my shoe and slowly lighted my pipe, thinking hard all the
time of what I should say.

"You looked so very comfortable," I replied jocularly, between puffs,
"that I could not bring myself to make the request. And--you lay down,
you know, as though you wanted it all to yourself."

With a quick, lithe movement she turned on her side, rested her cheek on
her hand, and retorted:

"Was that idea really in your mind before I spoke? The truth, mind you!"

I was thoroughly uncomfortable. Just what Beryl Drane was driving at I
could not guess, but I knew the simple talk which I had come to have
with her had suddenly assumed the proportions of a task. It would be
silly and egotistic to think this little body was in love with me, and
yet as she lay curled kitten-like within arm's length there was a
seriousness in her face and manner which troubled me far more than what
my answer to her last question would be.

"No, it was not," I replied, meeting her eyes steadily.

"All men don't tell the truth," was her unexpected rejoinder; "but you
do.... Don't you think I am worth sitting by?"

Heavens! Why did she persevere in this strain? Why? God pity her, I
knew. I knew her birthright of womanliness and unsullied purity had been
bartered long ago for the pottage of faithlessness and sham pleasures,
and that now the exceeding bitter cry rang in her soul day in and day
out. She had made sacrifice of the substantial, the real, the true, and
the good, on the shadowy altar of indulgence. She had flung aside the
fruit to devour the husk, and the penalty was an insatiable gnawing of
the evil teeth which she had first guided with her own hand to her
being's core. I shivered inwardly as these thoughts darted
lightning-like through my mind, and my face shaped itself into lines of
gravity.

"Little girl," I said, gently; "I should be glad to sit by you, but
what's the use in this instance? We are as two birds passing in mid-air.
Soon you will go; soon I will go. Let's be good, honest friends while we
stay."

I leaned toward her and spoke earnestly, trying to keep any note of
rebuke from my tones. She did not reply, but colored slightly, turned
her head partly away, and lowered her lashes. I smoked in silence for a
few moments to give her a chance to speak, but she remained silent, and
directly I said, throwing my voice into a cheerier key:

"If you're to help me with my secret we must hurry. Our few minutes on
the river did not last long enough for us to get very well acquainted,
but probably Father John has told you that I am roughing it for a few
months on a certain big knob back in the woods. I've met a few people,
and--"

Poor, hopelessly stupid mind of man! In my agitation caused by the
attitude Beryl Drane had seen fit to adopt toward me, I had forgotten
that the confidence I had purposed bestowing involved another girl--a
beautiful girl! Now it was too late to hold back. Two slits of eyes were
viewing me cynically, and a low laugh bubbled up from her throat.

"Who is she?" mocked Beryl Drane, who lived in the world.

"I don't know!" I answered, boldly. "That's what I want you to help me
find out."

"What's her name?"

How cold the words were; like little sharp icicles. Ah! Womankind!
Velvet soft, iron hard; dove merciful, tiger cruel; heaven breasted,
hell armed; honey lipped, gall tongued!

"They call her Lessie."

Her sweetly bowed mouth had turned to a straight line of scarlet as she
shook her head.

"I don't mix with the rabble here."

She spoke to cut, and she succeeded. The insolent words bit sharply, and
a flame-like resentment set a hot reply on my tongue, but I withheld it.
I waited a while, that my speech might not betray my agitation.

"She lives with her granny and gran'fer on Lizard Point. Surely you have
seen her at church? Granny is very conscientious, I'm sure, in the
performance of her church du----"

"I never go to church!" interrupted Father John's niece. "But I think I
know the people to whom you refer," she added, at once. "I cannot recall
the name of the family, however.... You must be extraordinarily stupid
not to have learned her surname, being in love with her."

Evidently Miss Drane was ignorant of the circumstances surrounding the
Dryad's birth, and a great wave of relief rolled up in my breast when I
was assured of this.

"A man doesn't love a girl's name," I thought. Then I said:

"It would seem so, indeed."

I can't imagine what there was in that innocent sentence to cause
affront, but instantly the girl in the hammock swung her feet to the
ground, arose, and picked up her bonnet and basket.

"I don't think you are at all nice!" she said. "Go on and love your
little cabin minx if you want to! She'll be sadly wiser when your love
is over and you have gone back where you came from. I know you men--all
alike!... If you want to see uncle you'll find him in the library at
this hour."

Then out she switched with never so much as a "Good-day," leaving me
staring amazedly at the clustering viney mass which swayed behind her
vanished form. I had known many kinds of women: petulant, spoiled, mean;
gracious, charming, good. I knew the majority of them were not amenable
to logic, and would sometimes take offense at a smile or a wrong
inflection. But when Beryl Drane flung this low insinuation in my face,
I was nettled. It was utterly without foundation or reason. It bore out
strikingly the opinion I had previously formed of her, and as I sat and
turned the matter over in my mind, I knew presently that I was pitying
her. For there is no sadder sight on the world's broad breast than a
woman with a spotted soul. This poor child's perceptions were all awry,
her affections wrenched and twisted, and in that moment I almost cursed
the fate which would permit such a sacrilege. My resentment was gone, or
was directed against the nonunderstandable forces, powers--call them
what you will--which so often, in their workings, flung the spotless
lily under the filthy snout of a hog, and dashed the white soul of a
girl into a pit of smut and slime! Give me the reasons, ye gray-bearded
savants! You are children fumbling in the dark. You do not know.

I got up and passed without the leafy curtain. Miss Drane had
disappeared. I walked to the porch, found the front door open, and
entered the hall without knocking. I judged the library to be on the
right, and at that door I tapped. The old priest's voice bade me "Come!"
I went in, and when he saw me cross the threshold, Father John leaped up
with a nervous agility which was incongruous when associated with his
many years, and hastened forward.

"Ah-h-h! Ze pleasure! W'ere have you bene, m'sieu?"

He smiled cordially, and led me to an easy chair by the table, holding
my hand until I was fairly seated.

"Roaming the woods, principally," I replied, easily, noting the
extremely comfortable furnishings of the apartment. "I have been here a
half-hour, I should say. I found Miss Drane cutting roses, and stopped
for a chat with her. She seems perfectly well?"

Father John made a grimace, and spread his hands.

"Zat chil'! I love 'er m'sieu, but she try me. She plague me wiz 'er
pranks, zen she come wiz 'er arms aroun' my neck--so--an' fix eversing."

He obligingly essayed to hug himself by way of illustration, and I
nodded my comprehension.

"You will doubtless miss her when she leaves you?"

He twisted his features as from a sudden pain.

"I can't sink of zat, m'sieu. She have bene wiz me t'ree--four--five
weeks; she is one--headstron' chil', but she make me vair happy--_oui_."

He sank a little deeper in his soft chair, and pulled contentedly at his
long-stemmed pipe.

It was hard for me to broach the subject uppermost in my mind. Twice my
lips parted to open the discussion, but each time the sentence which
followed related to an entirely different matter. So for quite a while
we talked of the weather, the crops, the parish, and it was while we
were discussing the neighborhood that I knew my opportunity had arrived.

"I have become very much interested in the family at Lizard Point. You
know them well?"

"Vair well. Madame is vair releegious; a good woman. M'sieu
is--is--indeef'rent; ma'm'selle--ah, ze young ma'm'selle!"

Again his spread hands went out expressively, and he shook his head with
wrinkled forehead.

Inwardly I smiled, but outwardly my face was set to decorous lines.

"Does not the granddaughter belong to your fold?" I asked.

"Ah! m'sieu; we try. We try all her life lon' to make her ze Christian.
But she wil'--she wil' as ze bird in ze wood. She an' ze half crazy
Jeff--ze fiddle player--zey heazen, m'sieu. Zey never dark ze door of ze
church. Zey run in ze fores', fiddlin' an' dancin', an' ze devil he
laugh an' skip by zey side!"

He put his hands between his knees, palm to palm, and rocked to and fro
in genuine distress. I could think of no suitable reply on the moment,
so remained silent.

"I have ze pity for ze chil', poor sing!" he resumed, presently. "Ze
chance she has not had, like ozzer ones. Meybe ze curse of ze broke' law
follow her; I don' know--I don' know!"

He sighed, and let his narrow shoulders droop forward in an attitude
both sad and pensive.

"Tell me about that if you can, Father John," I said, placing my elbows
on the table's edge and leaning toward him. "I will say to you in
strictest confidence that I am deeply interested in Lessie; it is not
idle curiosity which prompts me to ask this. I know her father betrayed
and deserted her mother; Gran'fer has practically admitted this to me,
but he will go no further. You must know the man's name--what was it?"

Father John lifted his head and looked at me.

"Zat, m'sieu, I cannot tell you."

"Why?"

I kept my eyes fastened on his persistently, but respectfully.

"Because m'sieu has not ze right to as'."

I felt rebuked. Knowing as little of me and of my feelings for the Dryad
as he did, he was right. Should I tell him more? My words would be safe
with this gentle old man.

"Suppose I love the girl, Father John? Would I not then have the right
to know everything about her parentage?"

A pale smile passed over his thin lips.

"M'sieu--jokes wiz me. You, ze gen'leman, ze areest'crat--to love ze
little wil' ma'm'selle? _Je crois que non!_"

"It may seem incredible to you, but I do love her. I feel I can trust
you with the secret, for even she does not know it yet. Believe me, I
beg you. I am very much in earnest."

The doubting look faded from the priest's face, to be succeeded by one
of amazement.

"Probably you do not understand this," I hastened to add; "and I should
not blame you. But you, in holy orders from young manhood, with your
mind and time engrossed in spiritual things, have no intimate knowledge
of the powerful call of man to woman, and woman to man. It has come to
me unexpectedly, swiftly, surely; here in the wilderness. In the city it
passed me by. But I truly love the little wild ma'm'selle. Listen to my
plan. I intend to take her far along the road to education and
refinement; I intend to develop the great good which lurks smothered in
her mind and soul; then, if she will, I shall marry her. That is my
reason for asking you to tell me of that man."

Father John was convinced that I spoke the truth. I could see it before
he replied.

"Ze--ze _aieul_, ze _aieule_; has m'sieu tol' zem?"

I stared at him bewilderedly.