Reynolds felt no interest in the sport. His vision was introverted, his ears were full of sweet sounds, his heart was beating time to the melody of his day-dream. He went down by the river and lay upon an old mossy drift log, against one end of which the light current rippled sweetly. There was a windy rustle in the reeds and a broad, washing murmur came from the water. He could see but a little distance along the river surface either way, owing to a short bend, and the tall brakes on the banks shut out all else save an occasional report from the guns of his more enthusiastic companions. His dogs came and lay down near him, licking their muscular legs and glossy sides, or nibbling at an occasional burr in their hair. So all the rest of the afternoon he did not fire a shot. It was nearly sundown when he again climbed up the river-bank and turned towards the house, with not a bird to show for the two or three hours spent with dogs and gun. But what to him were the poor trophies of a quail-shoot, now that his passionate nature was stirred to its depths with a love whose fullness and intensity left no room for another feeling or thought? To be near Agnes Ransom, to hear her voice, to gaze into her eyes, to bring the whole force of his will and the fullest power of his eloquence to bear upon her, to win her, to take her, to triumphantly hold her as his own, these were the desires, the purposes surging about in his breast. He walked slowly back towards the DeKay mansion, taking no heed of the beauties of earth or sky. It was nothing to him that the low-hanging sun flung a glory over the distant wood and touched the roof of the old house as if with a flame.
CHAPTER X.
MILLY INQUIRES.
One day in the time of Reynolds' absence at General DeKay's, White came down to Birmingham in his cart and Milly insisted so strenuously on accompanying him, that she had her way. This led to an adventure of a sort likely to impress itself deeply in the mind of an unsophisticated girl of the mountains. She had given no especial reason for wishing to visit the city, but White shrewdly guessed that her desire to know something of the whereabouts of Reynolds was the motive impelling her to so unusual an undertaking, for heretofore she had always been very averse to going into Birmingham.
When they reached town White gave Milly a pittance of money and said:
"You go ter some store, Milly, an' buy ye some candy er a apple er somethin' er other. When ye git tired er foolin' eround ye kin go back ter the cyart an' stay ther' tell I come."
She took the small pieces of silver without a word and allowed her father to desert her. She suspected that he meant to deceive her and go off to some gambling den; but she did not care. Her desires all centered in finding Reynolds or hearing something about him.
She strolled about from place to place in the street, innocently staring into men's faces and quite as innocently receiving, without shrinking, such brutal leers and winks as certain of the bejeweled and over-dressed loafers bestowed in return. She went into a store now and then, but, instead of asking for any article of merchandise, she invariably propounded the question:
"I wanted ter ax ef ye hed seed any thing o' John Reynolds 'bout this yer town?"
She spoke with such confiding earnestness of manner and with such an appealing light in her eyes and such music in her voice, that she attracted immediate attention from whomever she addressed. She received respectful answers from the tradesmen. None of them knew any thing about Reynolds, but some of them, touched in a sweet, indefinite way by the inexpressible half-lisp of her childish voice, and feeling the influence of her strange, yearning face and graceful form, tried to draw her into conversation only to discover that she became dumb so soon as she learned that they could not give her what she sought. She turned solemnly away from each one and left him to struggle out of the bewilderment she had unconsciously cast over his mind.