Stephen Alec promptly drew back and thrust the hand which stood in jeopardy behind him. He turned a loose-lipped visage to his angry parent, then began a series of extraordinarily piercing yells.
Behold my chance! I stepped forward and gathered Stephen Alec up in my arms and sat him upon my shoulder. Then I tossed him gently. Next I was sitting on the ground with my watch out against his ear. The yells ceased, and presently brothers and sisters were crowding around me. I told them a story—one of the old, old favorites which our grandmothers used to quiet their children with, and before it was done a little girl had slid up so close to me over the bare ground that, still talking, I put out my arm and curled it around her and pulled her up onto my knee. At that another came voluntarily and crouched against my leg. Presently the whole ragged, unwashed crew were squeezing about me as close as they could get, and I was digging in the unused recesses of my mind for the most correct version of Red Riding Hood and Three Little Pigs. Poor Mrs. Toller! Happy Mrs. Toller! She fluttered from the black kettle to my group, back and forth, listening in silence, like one of the children, then hastening back to the clothes. I must have acted entertainer for a full hour, although I found it interesting, and did not tire. When I signified my intention of going I encountered a vociferous denial, and perforce must relate a number of the tales a second time. But at length I was on my feet, and with urchins clinging to every available hold about me, advanced to bid Mrs. Toller good-by.
"I'm awfully glad to have seen you and all these bright little people!" (I should have been ashamed; I know it.) "I must be getting on now."
Mrs. Toller was actually embarrassed.
"I mought 'a' spoke a bit mo' ceev'ly to yo' ef I'd 'a' knowed yo' 's sich a nice man. A pus'n can't be too partic'ler, yo' know, 'specially w'en th' man's 'way mos' o' th' time. Since th' chil'n' hev took to yo' so I don't mind sayin' that Granny 'lowed to me she's tak'n' Lessie 'way from th' neighborhood 'count uv a man, but she nev'r named 'im 'cus people don't tell names 'n' tales too, ez a gin'r'l thin'."
"Much obliged to you, indeed. Glad to have seen you. Good-day."
"Good marn'n'. Come back ag'in ef yo' git lonesome."
A half-hour later I was sitting in the porch entrance of the deserted house at Lizard Point. Right there we had sat such a short time before, and she had learned her A B C's. Down that winding path we had strolled the first time I came to call, and she had struggled so to tell me of the darkened house in which she dwelt. And I was going to help her. Already I had helped her, and now—I ground my teeth in sudden rage and leaped up. Where was Jeff Angel? Gone with them? Where was anybody who could point me a way out? Father John! He might know something of this remote spot with the classic name where Granny "had folks." I wanted to see Beryl Drane, anyway. I had not gone to her before because I knew well no good would come of it. To-day I wanted to stand before her face in the presence of her uncle, and ask her why she had told that vicious lie which had wrought such evil. I wanted to confront her with her baseness, and demand an explanation of her wanton wickedness. The sense of chivalry which was born in my blood and which had caused me to shield her once at the sacrifice of myself, was gone. It was consumed in the hot furnace of my wrath and indignation. I wanted Celeste—Celeste—Celeste! I would move heaven and earth to get her, for the wonder and mystery of her rare beauty and the hypnotic effect of her sweet personality had combined fearfully to work havoc within me. The elemental peace which brooded like a living presence over the earth this sunny, summer morning became to me a disturbing, harrowing force by very contrast with the awful tumult which boiled within my breast. I was lonely—lonely and desperate. I had borne all I could. That terrible week wherein I never saw the sun, nor heard a bird voice, nor felt the soothing benediction of a breeze, had well-nigh worn me out, bodily and spiritually. This crowning calamity I would not accept meekly. I would fight it; I would disclaim its existence. It was unjust, unfair, treacherous and cowardly. I had been honest from the beginning, and when a man plays the game of life fairly and squarely, not even Providence, or whatever Great Power there be, has the right to take advantage of him, and seek to overwhelm him. I would dare everything—heaven and hell, if need be—for the sake of this golden haired Dryad with the lips of flame. She had been removed by force. Even a lover's mind is acute when the object of his adoration is concerned, and I knew—I knew that Celeste loved me! What else mattered? This compulsory separation? A great surge of triumph heaved up within me, and the light of victory came to my eyes. What poor, ignorant puppets these were, who had tried to rob me of my rare jewel? The beacon of her bright coronal would guide me to the furthest corner of the earth, and if need had been I would have followed across sea and plain and mountain and desert; followed with a fire-wrapped heart of deathless devotion, even as Three of old followed a certain Star.
Filled with mingled emotions, all primal, all superlative, so that my head seemed encircled with a close fitting metal band, I took up my march to Hebron along the dusty road. My mood was reckless. I wanted to see that little she-cat whose low vindictiveness was at the bottom of my present luckless plight. I would neither spare nor choose my words. There was no gallantry lurking in my soul now to temper the accusations born of an outraged and agonized spirit. I felt sorry for the little priest, for he loved her well. But innocent suffer with and for the guilty daily. It is part of that plan we are told to accept blindly, and when we question it, however meekly and with the true and earnest desire for light, we are haled forth with a rope around our necks as heretics and atheists. Father John would have to witness the destruction of an idol, for I was merciless, and knew the power was within me to beat down any brazen denial this creature might utter. A mighty strange thing is love, my masters!
Across the home-made bridge I tramped, striding heavily. A figure stood in the door of the smithy, leather-aproned, tall and strong. I strode up the slope with bent head, and reached a point opposite him before I looked at Buck. Arms akimbo, sturdy legs apart, a grin on his face which broke into a low, deep chuckle as he caught my eye. I almost stopped, while my fists knotted with the instinct of a savage. But I went on, that rumbling, mocking laugh echoing in my ears. He knew she was gone. Perhaps he had something to do with her leaving. That insulting, gloating chuckle could easily give rise to a suspicion of the sort, or it may have been he was in equally bad case, and had simply adopted that method of tormenting me.