“I am so glad—so deeply glad,” Mr. Wone continued, “to have enjoyed the privilege of this little quiet conversation. I shall never forget it. I feel as though it had brought us wonderfully, beautifully, near each other. It is on such occasions as this, that one feels how closely, how entirely, in harmony, all earnest-minded people are! Here are you, my dear young lady, the descendant of such a noble and ancient house, expressing in mute and tender silence, your sympathy with one who represents the aspirations of the poorest of the people! This is a symbolic moment. I cannot help saying so. A symbolic and consecrated moment!”
“We had better walk a little faster,” remarked Miss Seldom.
“We will. We will walk faster,” agreed Mr. Wone. “But you must let me put on record what this conversation has meant to me! It has made me more certain, more absolutely certain than ever, that without a deep ethical basis our great movement is doomed to hopeless failure.”
The tone in which he used the word “ethical” was so irritating to Vennie, that she felt an insane longing to utter some frightful blasphemy, or even indecency, in his ears, and to rush away with a peal of hysterical laughter.
They were now at the entrance to a narrow little alley or lane which, passing a solitary cottage and an unfrequented spring, led by a short approach directly into the village-square. Half way down this lane a curious block of Leonian stone stood in the middle of the path. What the original purpose of this stone had been it were not easy to tell. The upper portion of it had apparently supported a chain, but this had long ago disappeared. At the moment when Mr. Wone and Miss Seldom reached the lane’s entrance, a soft little scream came from the spot where the stone stood; and dimly, in the shadowy darkness, two forms became visible, engaged in some obscure struggle. The scream was repeated, followed by a series of little gasps and whisperings.
Mr. Wone glanced apprehensively in the direction of these sounds and increased his pace. He was confounded with amazement when he found that Vennie had stopped as if to investigate further. The truth is, he had reduced the girl to such a pitch of unnatural revolt that, for one moment in her life, she felt glad that there were flagrant and lawless pleasures in the world.
Led by an unaccountable impulse she made several steps up the lane. The figures separated as she approached, one of them boldly advancing to meet her, while the other retreated into the shadows. The one who advanced, finding himself alone, turned and called to his companion, “Annie! Where are you? Come on, you silly girl! It’s all right.”
Vennie recognized the voice of Luke Andersen. She greeted him with hysterical gratitude. “I thought it was you, Mr. Andersen; but you did frighten me! I took you for a ghost. Who is that with you?”
The young stone-carver raised his hat politely. “Only our little friend Annie,” he said. “I am escorting her home from Yeoborough. We have been on an errand for her mother. She’s such a baby, you know, Miss Seldom, our little Annie. I love teasing her.”
“I am afraid you love teasing a great many people, Mr. Andersen,” said Vennie, recovering her equanimity and beginning to feel ashamed. “Here is Mr. Wone. No doubt, he will be anxious to talk politics to you. Mr. Wone!” She raised her voice as the astonished Methodist came towards them. “It is only Mr. Andersen. You had better talk to him of your plans. I am afraid I shall be late if I don’t go on.” She slipped aside as she spoke, leaving the two men together, and hurried off towards the church.