“My dear young lady,” continued Barry, “have you ever heard that a caged bird will dash itself against the bars of its prison when it sees an hereditary enemy of its kind flying overhead?”
“No,” she replied, curiously; “why does it do it?”
“Instinct, intuition. Now, I believe—indeed, criminologists tell us—that an innocent child or a good man or woman will often feel a strange, involuntary dislike for an evil person, even when there is no proof of evil apparent. Now, Smalley is rather an artless-looking young man. He has not a vicious face, and nothing that has happened for a long time pleased me as much as my shrinking from him.”
Mrs. Everest smiled sympathetically, and as a sudden thought occurred to him he went on: “When I spoke of the intuitive dislike of the innocent for the guilty, just now, I was not thinking of myself, but of you, or Bethany, for example. Alas! I am only half reformed.”
“But you are sufficiently reformed to hate Smalley and his evil ways.”
“That I am,” he said, earnestly. “I hope that he will be brought to confusion.”
“And repentance.”
“From my heart—if it is possible; but I fear, I fear!” and he shook his head sadly.
“I suppose your first thought was to run away from him.”
“It was, but my second was to discover if he had any object in being in that neighborhood. He had—I knew my man well. He gave careless glances at the houses of the Judge’s neighbors. His look at one hundred and ten was long, shrewd, and calculating. ‘There’s mischief afoot,’ I said to myself; ‘I wonder what it is.’ I didn’t want him to see me, and yet if he had heard me coming I didn’t want to stop. It was a raw, east-windy day, and as good luck would have it I had on the fur-lined coat the Judge sent me and the fur cap I found in the pocket of it. I put up a hand, turned up my collar, pulled down my cap, then I walked straight on. I thought of stopping and taking a memorandum book out of my pocket as if to consult it, but I didn’t. It might have attracted Smalley’s attention—they say he has an extra sense. Well, he walked on in front of me, but I saw him give another look at the Judge’s house. Some people don’t see anything in a look. Smalley’s spoke volumes to me. He had some particular reason for singling out number one hundred and ten. Then, to confirm my suspicion, he gave a sidelong glance up the driveway to the stable. He was dying to go up there, but he didn’t like to.”