I gained the priest's house with a feeling such as I imagine a tiger possesses when it gathers itself together to spring upon its prey. It was entirely alien to my nature, but it had been born of circumstance, not of my will, and I made no effort to remove or curb it. The front door was closed, probably against the heat. I pounded upon a panel with my fist, ignoring the gentler and more refined summons it is customary to give with the knuckles. As I stood waiting, restlessly turning from side to side, I observed that the shades to the two windows visible were drawn to within a foot of their respective sills. At this discovery a wild and reasonless alarm seized me. I renewed my hammering on the door, and even seized the knob, shaking it vigorously. A key grated and the door was opened, revealing the gaunt face and bony form of Marie, the housekeeper. Wonder and a sort of terror shone in her bright black eyes.
"Father John!... Miss Drane!" I exclaimed roughly, brushing past her into the hall. "Where are they? In the library? I must see them both at once—together!"
I stopped and glared at the woman with a menacing forehead.
"His rev'rence an' Mees Bereel ees not here!" she said, simply and calmly.
"Not here! Not here!... Where are they?"
"Gone. Mees Bereel goes home yest'day. His rev'rence go to Lou-ees-ville wiz her, an' have not return'; oui."
I made no reply, but left the house and mechanically turned back toward the little hamlet. Gone! Was that the monotonous and deadly refrain to which the world had been set running? All gone. Everybody gone. Wherever I turned—gone. With sagging shoulders I plodded on, trying to think of something else. Where was Snack Hollow? Where was Snack Hollow? Where was Snack Hollow? This sentence raced through my brain with the regularity of a pendulum's swing. Why, the station agent would know! I had reached the foot of the steep hill, where the track ran, when this illuminating idea was conceived. To my right was the small depot, fronted by a platform of a height to unload freight upon from a car door. Looking up suddenly under the force of my discovery, I saw Jeff Angel seated upon this platform, his thin legs hanging from it, an oilcloth-covered bundle at his side. He was leisurely eating cheese and crackers from a yellow paper sack. What a glad sight he was to me in the midst of an empty world!
"O you blessed old Satyr!" I yelled, and ran toward him forthwith.
"Whut's th' furse 'bout?" he asked, quietly, trying to smile a welcome, but only succeeding in showing some imperfect teeth caked with cheese and dough.
"Why, damn your dirty, good old hide, I'm glad to see you!" I continued, jumping to a seat at his left and squeezing his disengaged hand. "I'm about two-thirds crazy, you know, and I need somebody to hold me when the other third slips over. Think you can?"