Before any one else had time to move, Doctor Norton caught Margaret and pulled her away.
"Oh," she shrieked, shaking her fist in his face, "the Red Death has its fingers at your throat!"
Mackenzie picked up the violin, found the bow in the darkness, and began to play—rudely enough, it is true, but in some semblance of rhythm. Margaret quieted almost immediately, and sat down in front of him, rocking back and forth in time with the faltering tune.
"Aunt Eleanor," said Forsyth, over her shoulder, "don't you think I'd better take the children home?"
"Yes, please, if you will."
She put the sleeping baby into his arms, woke Maria Indiana, and directed Ellen and Johnny to go with "Cousin Rob." The procession moved slowly, for the baby was heavy, and the other children were inclined to linger. Mad Margaret had a terrible fascination for them.
As they passed a grove of cottonwoods, angry voices came from the thicket, in a mongrel French which had but little in common with that Robert had learned at Yale.
"It is abominable," cried Chandonnais. "It is too much!"
"So?" laughed the other, mockingly; "and only last year you told me you would pay the price!"
"A year's wages for a common crucifix!"