Lem rose slowly up off the log and looked curiously down upon her. At the end of a long minute he spoke:
"Belle-Ann," he said, "I can't understan' yo'—'fore yo' went away t' school I axed yo' t' promise t' marry me. Yo' wouldn't promise—yo' wouldn't even 'low me t' kiss yore face then—yo' said thet yo'd never 'low nobuddy t' kiss yo'—thet yo'd never promise t' marry me—lessen I kilt th' revenuer—an' Gawd knows I been a tryin' t' kill em! Now yo'-all comes back an' tells me thet yo' don't 'low t' promise me anythin' ef I do kill th' revenuer—I can't understand thet, Belle-Ann—I 'low yo'-all is hankerin' t' git shut o' me, Belle-Ann," he ended despairingly, passing his hand over his eyes as if to brush away this strange philosophy that had skeined itself in his brain in one insoluable tangle.
She did not respond straightway. She fully understood the magnitude of the task she had before her. To convert Lem to her new creed would enlist all of the gentle diplomacy at her command.
"Belle-Ann, I hev always loved yo'," he resumed solemnly. "I love yo' now—I love yo' mor'n I love my life—my life hain't as much as thet daid snake 'sides th' way I love yo'—I'd stand on Henhawk's Knob an' jump into Hellsfork ef yo'd ax me t'—but, Belle-Ann, I owe th' blood o' thet revenuer t' pap and t' maw—th' two graves up in th' orchard air a cryin' out fer th' revenuer's blood. I saved Sap's blood—saved him 'cause yo' called t' me not t' shoot—I let em go, much as I hate th' pizon mad-dog—saved em as bad as he oughter be daid—but, Belle-Ann, much as I love yo', yo' can't take th' revenuer 'way from me ef he's alive yit."
She was appalled at the terrible wave of pain and passion that now swept his countenance. He poised a clinched fist above his head, as he removed his derby hat, and casting his eyes upward he added:
"I'll kill thet revenuer—I'll kill thet revenuer, I will, ef lead'll kill em—I'll have his blood ef I git th' chanct—I'll kill em with my last lick o' lead—ef I go t' hell th' next minit."
She responded to this volcanic outburst with a soothing pressure on his arm, as she thrust her arm through his and they walked up the trail toward the cabin, her mind busily occupied, groping for a mode of procedure whereby she could convey to him the great divine law of universal love and charity, prescribing the return of good where evil is given—a practice not only to shame his erring enemies and brim their thoughts with penitence; but in its doing to enrich his own soul with a mollient peace, and clothe his life in a spiritual raiment rarer than gems and bullion of kings.
When they reached the old honeybee tree, they saw Slab cavorting down to meet them. His head was back-flung, his arms akimbo, and he showed a hock action, despite his age, that would have inspired a coach horse with bitter envy. As he neared them he began yelling:
"Hallalujah—hallalujah—hallalujah!"
He wrung Belle-Ann's hand, tears of joy following the creases in his old face. He circled around and around her, chanting various adages filched from the tenets of his sorceristic faith, all of which compared happily with Belle-Ann's presence. All the way to the cabin Slab's utterances and antics were effervescent.