"Miss Bereel ees awake, and has asked for you both," she said.

When we again stood beside the couch, the girl made an effort to take my hand, but was too weak. Seeing her purpose, I grasped hers instead.

"Thank you," she said, in a thin, ghostly little voice. "It was not his fault, uncle; he saved me. Come to see me sometime, and we'll go--rowing again!"

She tried to smile, but was too exhausted.

"I shall certainly come to inquire about you," I replied, gently laying her hand down. "I fear I was somewhat to blame, and I hope you will be all right very soon."

She looked at me with a wan light of grat.i.tude in her eyes, and a few moments later I was bidding Father John adieu on the porch step.

"Come again, m'sieu," he said, squeezing my hand warmly. "You shall have ze welcome!"

I thanked him, again expressed my hope and belief that his niece would be quite all right in a day or two, and struck out for Hebron.

CHAPTER TWELVE

IN WHICH I ATTEND AN ORATORIO

It is one o'clock in the morning--and I have been going to bed at nine!

You will wonder what has happened to so outrageously disturb the rigorous routine governing my night hours, and I shall tell you, for that is the purpose of this chronicle.

It is now three days since I went to Hebron. After leaving the priest's house I came on down the hill, trudged back to the river to get my coat and garden seed, then turned homeward. The sun was hot by this time, my clothes quickly dried on me, and I have felt no bad effects since.

Another sign, it seems to me, of my increasing physical st.u.r.diness.

These three days have pa.s.sed without sight or sound of a soul. I have pottered about my yard, mowing down the insistent heterogeneous growth which daily now threatens to take me; clearing a broad s.p.a.ce about my precious well--whose water, by the way, is sparkling, clear and cold--and this morning spading in my garden for two hours or more.

I cannot explain that which follows, but a little before nine, as I was preparing to light my bedtime pipe and sit down for a chuckle with that old pagan monk, Rabelais, I felt the call to go up. As I said, I can offer no explanation. But all of us have been subject, many times in our lives, to sudden, inexplicable yearnings; silent longings as powerful and real as though a voice had spoken them. There is no need to specialize. You, if you have a spark of temperament, will understand, because you will have experienced something of the sort. You have felt that mysterious tugging toward a certain thing, when there was nothing on earth to incite it. What was it? I felt it to-night as I held my pipe in one hand and a lighted match in the other; felt it growing and expanding until it became a fierce desire. I tossed my half-burned match among the logs in the fireplace, put my filled pipe in my pocket, and with something akin to awe sobering my face, drew my cap on my head and walked softly outdoors.

It was a perfect moonless May night. I had never seen the stars brighter or nearer. I felt that by tiptoeing I might almost reach them. And their number amazed me. The sky was looking down at me with a million eyes, and each eye was a voice which said "Come up! Come up!" I went, not stopping to question, a.n.a.lyze, or combat. Something irresistible urged me to surmount the peak, and I bent to the climb. As I came out of the Stygian gloom of the belt of evergreens I knew that some subtle change had taken place. The atmosphere had a different feel; a different smell.

There was no wind, but when I swept my gaze around I saw many horizon clouds; jagged, mountainous looking outlines, with floating fragments everywhere. Some of the cloud fragments would touch and merge even as I watched them. I did not know the significance, if there was any. I turned to the slope again. Before the last steep stretch I halted the second time. Far as I could see the perspective was bounded by a black, towering wall, which seemed to grow taller every moment. This wall was topped by fantastic turrets and towers which swayed, lengthened, expanded, or disappeared at will. Still there was no wind, even at the great height to which I had already come. The day had been suffering hot, and the perspiration was streaming from me. I breathed softly, and listened. No sound but the monotonous call of the night insects, except from a point far below, like the m.u.f.fled cry of a lost soul pleading for grace, the ineffably sad tones of a whip-poor-will pulsed dimly through the dark. I turned my face upward. The calm stars still called, and I answered.

Presently I could go no further. I stood on the apex of my high hill, a jubilation of spirit making my breast to heave in deeper breaths than my exertion had caused. Then, ere I knew what I was about I had flung my arms out and up, toward the vast deeps from which had come the still summons I had felt in the quiet peace of the Lodge. I felt unreal; I was trembling. I knew not what impended, but the air was charged with an electrical tenseness, and the pall of utter silence which hung over the world was pregnant with import. My arms dropped, and a sweet calm stole over me. Slowly I turned my gaze in every direction. That mammoth wall of blackness encircled the earth in an unbroken line, and was now quickly mounting to the zenith. How grand the sight! I bared my head before the majesty of it. How like battlements and ramparts the grim expanses appeared, crowned with their changing towers! And to make the comparison still more true, I now saw the flash of cannon through the jagged embrasures, and caught the distant thunder of their detonations.

Quickly the conflict grew. North, south, east and west, and all between, the batteries of the sky unveiled. Not loud, as yet, but perpetual, and furious in the very absence of thunderous sound. There were constant growlings and incessant flashings, as back and forth over the aerial battleground the challenges were sent and answered. Now, a girdle of glory, the lightning zoned the middle sky, and ever upward, as though propelled by forces set in the earth beneath, the walls arose, blotting out stars by the thousands, and steadily converging toward a common meeting point directly overhead. Then, for the first time, I knew that the Harpist of the Wood had awakened.

The unnatural stillness was disturbed by motion which became a breath of music. I leaned forward involuntarily, my lips apart, my hands out-thrust from me in the att.i.tude one unconsciously a.s.sumes when listening intently. From the thick darkness hundreds of feet below I caught the first faint pianissimo notes from a million strings, all attuned by the unerring touch of Nature. In gentle waftures of sound the vast prelude arose, filling my soul with an eerie delight, and causing me to draw a deep, shuddering breath. Then I crept to the rim of the peak and sat down, both humbled and exalted. Faintly now I sensed the reason of that imperious call to come up. Each succeeding measure struck by the invisible Harpist became louder, sweeter, and more stupendous. It seemed as if all creation was one mighty instrument, and a myriad-fingered master was sweeping the throbbing strings. The clouds were now a canopy without a rent. From a dozen points at once the lightning flashed and staggered and reeled in dazzling splendor across the sable field. There were no terrific thunder crashes. But, like the pedal ba.s.s of a pipe organ, there was the ever present subdued reverberation like far-off guns fired in unison. Then the strength and skill of the Harpist increased simultaneously, and waves of barbaric melody rushed upward. There was shriek and groan; there were living voices awfully mingled in one wild chorus, and in brief lulls trembling tones as sweet as a mother's good-night song to her babe. Flute-like and full of delicate color a cadenza breathing of sylvan joys rippled forth, and as its last bubbling notes yet fluttered like apple-blossoms of sound against my ravished ears, they were drowned and whelmed by a crashing diapason of majestic harmony which rushed on wide wings over leagues and leagues of forest; a thundering gamut fearfully blended into an oratorio inexpressibly sublime! Wild and shrill came a fife-like call from the west, whistling out of the gloom in a quivering cadence of victorious escape. Then it was blended with a mult.i.tudinous legion of loosened chords, and dashed over me as a surging, resplendent sea of mind-numbing melody.

So the oratorio advanced, and I sat enthralled.

The lightning increased. Not for the s.p.a.ce of a single breath was darkness absolute. In the vivid flashes I could see the bending tree-tops far below, and the tossing, swaying, writhing branches. And ever in my ears was the awful roll of that supernatural music; so full, so deep, so filling all the universe with its changing rhythm! There was something of the ocean's voice in it all, when the wind whips it to fury. I sat dazed, imperfectly comprehending what was pa.s.sing, but aware all the time of a physical sensation of exquisite pleasure. Music had always wrought upon me thus, but before the presence of this new and strange manifestation my sensibilities were quickened twentyfold. I did not know till later that I was on the peak three hours. I would have said it was only a few minutes.

When all was over, and the strings of the Harp were still again, or vibrating only as an echo, I got on my feet, dizzy and weak. All was dark. The lightning, too, had ceased. But as I turned my eyes upward, a rent showed in the cloud canopy, and through this a blood-red meteor fell burning toward the earth. So I knew that the Maestro was pleased with the performance, and from the blooming fields above had cast down a flower in token of His favor.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IN WHICH I SUFFER FOUR SHOCKS, THREE OF THE EARTH AND ONE FROM THE SKY, AND FIND ANOTHER MAID A-FISHING

Now that has come to pa.s.s of which I had a premonition the first time I sat on the top of old Baldy and hugged my knees. In consequence thereof I write to-night with my left wrist rudely bandaged, from a hurt I took this morning. The day has been full of adventure and surprise, and I find it difficult to harness my leaping brain as I start about my record of events. Truly I have encountered enough to set my mind buzzing, and two long, full pipes since supper have failed to tranquilize and soothe.

But the happenings of the day must be transcribed before I go to bed.

I went to the post-office soon after breakfast, to see if a reply had come from 'Crombie. A package and a letter awaited me. The thought came to me to run on up the hill and inquire about Beryl Drane, but I didn't.

I can't say why I didn't. But I merely asked the sloth-like storekeeper about her instead, and learned from him that she was "putty peart," and was up and about the house. When I pa.s.sed the blacksmith shop I saw the door was open, but there was no one within. I started to ask the storekeeper where Buck was, but refrained on second thought, and betook myself up the railroad instead, intending to reach home by a circuitous route. By this time I was fairly familiar with the lay of the country, and I had a natural longing for exploration anyway. Then, too, deep in the bottom of my mind, I had laid a plan to come down the huge spur back of Lessie's house, and surprise her with a short visit.

I followed the railroad for perhaps a mile, made some calculations as to distance and location, then descended into a heavily wooded ravine and continued my way in a northeasterly course. I had never been in this part of the k.n.o.bs before, and I found the country more rugged, if possible, than that to which I was accustomed. As I proceeded, I closely scanned the ground before me and on either side as far as my eyes would go. I had scant hope of finding the life-plant here, because one of its requisites was sunshine, and the shade was so dense that I walked in a sort of cool, green gloom, wonderfully attractive to the senses. Now and again a sun-shaft would come trembling and swaying down, brightening the brown forest floor with shining, shaking spots of pale yellow. But no green stemmed plant with golden leaves rose up from the mold to confront me. I have begun to think my quest is almost as elusive as that for the Holy Grail, but, like Sir Launfal, I shall persevere.

I became engrossed in the natural beauty of the hollow I was traversing, and forgot my secret determination to go by Granny's house. After a time the ravine opened and broadened into a little amphitheater, gra.s.s-set, jungle-like in its wildness. But few tall trees were here. Dozens of smaller ones grew on every side, and many of these were covered with the odorous green mantle of the wild grapevine. The birds had likewise sought out this spot, and the air was musical with chirp, and twitter, and song. I stopped to regale myself with Nature's prodigal loveliness, and as I drew a deep breath of satisfaction and appreciation I heard something which had come to my ears once before. A long-drawn bird note, shrill but sweet, and ending with a quick upward inflection. I started guiltily, and knew that my whole body was a-tingle. Then I stared about, trying to locate the sound. Again I heard it, and again I thrilled.

Straight ahead, beyond that bosky wall of herbage. Eagerly I started forward, my pulse bounding. I reached the screening leaves and thrust out one hand to make a way, but a vagrant gust of wind at that moment formed a lane for my eyes, and the next instant I was staggering back, choking, muttering crazily, my face afire, my chest tight as though bound by constricting bands of steel. G.o.d above! Suppose I had crashed through, as I would have done a second later! With gritted teeth and set eyes I tiptoed away--away--anywhere, so that spot was left to Nature and to her!

She was there, bathing in a sheltered pool in the secluded heart of the everlasting hills. My one swift glance had showed me the Dryad in her haunts. The curling ma.s.s of her copper-gold hair she had piled regardlessly on top of her small, shapely head; she was almost entirely immersed; her back was toward me, and I saw only her head with its bewildering crown, one ivory shoulder upthrust from the water, gleaming like wet marble in the sunlight, and a naked, outheld arm whereon sat the tiny bird she had summoned. Small cause for wonder that I reeled, grew dizzy with the hard-pumped, hot blood which deluged my brain, and crept like a thief from that hidden pool--crept crouching, with rigid face and bated breath. Dear Christ! How thankful I was that the protecting water had covered her! Had it been otherwise; had my unwilling gaze dwelt upon her revealed beauty from head to foot, I think I could have taken my own life from shame. Certain it is I never again could have looked into those honest Irish gray eyes. It was what might have been, rather than what was, which planted the volcano in my breast, and sent me trembling and quaking through the bird-sung silence of that secret, sacred glen. As I went, I heard a bubbling laugh, and the tinkle of falling water drops.

Now I was speedily destined to another shock, almost as great. How far I had gone I cannot say, but all at once I knew that I was looking down upon a plant about a foot in height, with green stem and yellow leaves.

I halted as though turned to stone, but I did not think. I couldn't think. My mind refused its office, and in the face of what I took to be a momentous discovery, stood still. Almost simultaneously with my finding this significant growth the third shock came, as important in its way as either of the other two, and far more ominous.

"Whut 'n' h.e.l.l yo' doin' prowlin' 'roun' here?"

The voice was harsh and deep; indignation and rage ran through it.

The savage tones brought me to myself; they acted on my senses as a battery might on my flesh. I stood erect and threw my head up. The smith was not a dozen steps away. Where he had come from, how he had got there, and why he was there I could not guess. He was dressed as I had seen him at the forge on the occasion of my first visit to Hebron; plainly he had not come courting in that garb. One hand held a large club, in a position almost of menace. I brought a serious, determined expression to my face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. In that moment as we stood in silence, a darkness spread over the glen, and a cool breath as from a summer storm cloud blew upon us; I saw it lift and drop the brown hair on the forehead of the man facing me. He had me at a disadvantage. He had doubtless seen me coming from the direction of the pool, and weaker circ.u.mstantial evidence than this has condemned many a man. If he supposed for a moment that I had been spying upon the privacy of the girl he loved--and that this idea was in full possession of his mind I did not doubt--then mischief was brewing, and from his standpoint, justly so. Had our positions been reversed, had I seen him skulking away from that fringe of greenery, I doubt if I would have given him the chance he offered me. All this raced swiftly through my brain in that short period following his hard question, and though my first feeling, a very human one, was of cold and haughty resentment, I quelled this immediately as both dangerous and unjust, and decided to speak him fairly and honestly. So I said:

"I might ask the same of you, Buck Steele."

I purposely pitched my voice low. Not that I feared she would hear it, for I realized the pool must be out of earshot from where we stood, but there is a certain low tone which permits of modulation and inflection carrying greater convincing power than when spoken in a higher key. I paused only long enough to take breath after my first sentence, then resumed.

"It's none of your business what I am doing here, but I am going to tell you, because, in a way, you have a right to know."

There flashed upon me the thought that I must play for time. If Lessie had not left the pool she would leave soon, for a storm impended. In what direction she would go to reach home I had no notion. She might come straight down the glen where we were. In any event, if blows were to be struck, and in my heart I believed they would come before we parted, it would be better if the girl was not in the neighborhood. This train of reasoning came and pa.s.sed without interrupting my flow of speech.

"It's not my fault we're not friends. I came to these k.n.o.bs a total stranger, intending to treat everybody right. But when I spoke to you in Hebron, you turned your back on me. Why did you do that? I know why, and in a measure I forgive it. But it was not a manly thing to do. I'm going to talk plainly to you, Buck. I'm glad of this chance to have it out right here in the woods. But before we go any further tell me this--what's that thing?"

I pointed at the plant before me.

My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead--at me and at the plant--probably deeming me crazy.

"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what that thing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here in the wilderness."

"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.

"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know; I'm obliged to you."

Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words to prolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen the life-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard of it. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically: