"All of these mountains--you see?" She did not see, so he went on to
describe them. "There's that big peak opposite us. Looks a hundred yards
away, but it's two miles. Comes down in big jags and walks up into the
sky--Lord knows how many thousand feet. And behind it the other ranges
stepping off into the horizon with purple in the gorges and mist at the
tops. Fine picture, eh? But hard to look at, Ruth. Mighty hard to look
at. First thing you know you get to squinting to make out whether that's
a cactus on the side of that mountain or a hundred-foot pine tree. Might
be either. Can't tell the distance in this air. Well, you begin to
squint. That's how the people around here get that long-distance look
behind their eyes and the long-distance wrinkles around the corners of
their eyes. All the men have those wrinkles. But the women have them,
too, after a while. You'll get them after a while, Ruth. Wrinkles around
the eyes and wrinkles in the mind to match, eh?"
Her eyes opened at last, slowly, slowly. She smiled at him plaintively.
"Don't I know, Ben? It's a man's country. It isn't made for woman."
"Ah, there you've hit the nail on the head. Exactly! A man's country. Do
you know what it does to the women?"
"Tell me."
"Makes 'em like the men. Hardens their hands after a while. Roughens
their voices. Takes time, but that's what comes after a while.
Understand?"
"Oh, don't I understand!"
And he knew how the fear had haunted her, then, for the first time.
"What does this dry, hot wind do to you in the mountains? What does it
do to your skin? Takes the velvet off, after a while; makes it dry and
hard. Lord, girl, I'd hate to see the change it's going to make in
you!"
All at once she sat up, wide awake.
"What are you trying to do to me, Ben Connor?"
"I'm trying to wake you up."
"I _am_ awake. But what can I do?"
"You think you're awake, but you're not. Tell you what a girl needs, a
stage--just like an actor. Think they can put on a play with these
mountains for a setting? Never in the world. Make the actors look too
small. Make everything they say sound too thin.
"Same way with a girl. She needs a setting. A room, a rug, a picture, a
comfortable chair, and a dress that goes with it. Shuts out the rest of
the world and gives her a chance to make a man focus on her--see her
behind the footlights. See?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Do you know what I've been doing while I watched you just now?"
"Tell me."
He was fighting for a great purpose now, and a quality of earnest
emotion crept into his voice. "Around your throat I've been running an
edging of yellow old lace. Under your hand that was lying there I put a
deep blue velvet; I had your shoulders as white as snow, with a flash to
'em like snow when you turned in the light; I had you proud as a queen,
Ruth, with a blur of violets at your breast. I took out the tired look
in your face. Instead, I put in happiness."
He stopped and drew a long breath.
"You're pretty now, but you could be--beautiful. Lord, what a flame of a
beauty you could be, girl!"
Instead of flushing and smiling under the praise, he saw tears well into
her eyes and her mouth grow tremulous. She winked the tears away.
"What are you trying to do, Ben? Make everything still harder for me?
Don't you see I'm helpless--helpless?"
And instead of rising to a wail her voice sank away at the end in
despair.
"Oh, you're trapped well enough," he said. "I'm going to bust the trap!
I'm going to give you your setting. I'm going to make you what you ought
to be--beautiful!"
She smiled as at any unreal fairy tale.
"How?"
"I can show you better than I can tell you! Come here!" He rose, and she
was on her feet in a flash. He led the way to the door of the shack, and
as the shadows fell inside, Shakra tossed up her head.
The girl's bewildered joy was as great as if the horse were a present to
her.
"Oh, you beauty, you beauty," she cried.
"Watch yourself," he warned. "She's as wild as a mountain lion."
"But she knows a friend!"
Shakra sniffed the outstretched hand, and then with a shake of her head
accepted the stranger and looked over Ruth's shoulder at Connor as
though for an explanation. Connor himself was smiling and excited; he
drew her back and forgot to release her hand, so that they stood like
two happy children together. He spoke very softly and rapidly, as though
he feared to embarrass the mare.
"Look at the head first--then the bone in the foreleg, then the length
above her back--see how she stands! See how she stands! And those black
hoofs, hard as iron, I tell you--put the four of 'em in my double hands,
almost--ever see such a nick? But she's no six furlong flash! That
chest, eh? Run your finger-tips down that shoulder!"
She turned with tears of pleasure in her eyes. "Ben Connor, you've been
in the valley of the grays!"
"I have. And do you know what it means to us?"
"To _us_?"
"I said it. I mean it. You're going to share."
"I--"
"Look at that mare again!"
She obeyed.
"Say something, Ruth!"
"I can't say what I feel!"
"Then try to understand this: you're looking at the fastest horse that
ever stepped into a race track. You understand? I'm not speaking in
comparisons. I'm talking the cold dope! Here's a pony that could have
given Salvator twenty pounds, run him sick in six furlongs, and walked
away to the finish by herself. Here's a mare that could pick up a
hundred and fifty pounds and beat the finest horse that ever faced a
barrier with a fly-weight jockey in the saddle. You're looking at
history, girl! Look again! You're looking at a cold million dollars.
You're looking at the blood that's going to change the history of the
turf. That's what Shakra means!"
She was trembling with his excitement.
"I see. It's the sure thing you were talking about. The horse that can't
be beat--that makes the betting safe?"
But Connor grew gloomy at once.
"What do you mean by sure thing? If I could ever get her safely away
from the post in a stake race, yes; sure as anything on earth. But
suppose the train is wrecked? Suppose she puts a foot in a hole? Suppose
at the post some rotten, cheap-selling plater kicks her and lays her
up!"
He passed a trembling hand along the neck of Shakra.
"God, suppose!"
"But you only brought one; nothing else worth while in the valley?"
"Nothing else? I tell you, the place is full of 'em! And there's a
stallion as much finer than Shakra as she's finer than that broken-down,
low-headed, ewe-necked, straight-shouldered, roach-backed skate you have
out yonder!"
"Mr. Connor, that's the best little pony in Lukin! But I know--compared
with this--oh, to see her run, just once!"
She sighed, and as her glance fell Connor noted her pallor and her
weariness. She looked up again, and the great eyes filled her face with
loveliness. Color, too, came into her cheeks and into her parted lips.
"You beauty!" she murmured. "You perfect, perfect beauty!"
Shakra was nervous under the fluttering hands, but in spite of her
uneasiness she seemed to enjoy the light-falling touches until the
finger-tips trailed across her forehead; then she tossed her head high,
and the girl stood beneath, laughing, delighted. Connor found himself
smiling in sympathy. The two made a harmonious picture. As harmonious,
say, as the strength of Glani and the strength of David Eden. His face
grew tense with it when he drew the girl away.
"Would you like to have a horse like that--half a dozen like it?"
The first leap of hope was followed by a wan smile at this cruel
mockery.
He went on with brutal tenseness, jabbing the points at her with his
raised finger.
"And everything else you've ever wanted: beautiful clothes? Manhattan? A
limousine as big as a house. A butler behind your chair and a maid in
your dressing room? A picture in the papers every time you turn around?
You want 'em?"
"Do I want heaven?"
"How much will you pay?"
He urged it on her, towering over her as he drew close.
"What's it worth? Is it worth a fight?"
"It's worth--everything."
"I'm talking shop. I'm talking business. Will you play partners with
me?"
"To the very end."
"The big deaf-mute doesn't own the grays in that valley they call the
Garden of Eden. They're owned by a white man. They call him David Eden.
And David Eden has never been out in the world. It's part of his creed
not to. It's part of his creed, however, to go out just once, find a
woman for his wife, and bring her back with him. Is that clear?"
"I--"
"You're to go up there. That old gray gelding we saw in Lukin the day of
the race. I'll finance you to the sky. Ride it to the gates of the
Garden of Eden. Tell the guards that you've got to have another horse
because the one you own is old. Insist on seeing David. Smile at 'em;
win 'em over. Make them let you see David. And the minute you see him,
he's ours! You understand? I don't mean marriage. One smile will knock
him stiff. Then play him. Get him to follow you out of the valley. Tell
him you have to go back home. He'll follow you. Once we have him outside
you can keep him from going back and you can make him bring out his
horses, too. Easy? It's a sure thing! We don't rob him, you see? We
simply use his horses. I race them and play them. I split the winnings
with you and David. Millions, I tell you; millions. Don't answer. Gimme
a chance to talk!"
There was a rickety old box leaning against the wall; he made her sit on
it, and dropping upon one knee, he poured out plan, reason, hopes,
ambitions in fierce confusion. It ended logically enough. David was
under what he considered a divine order to marry, and he would be clay
in the hands of the first girl who met him. She would be a fool indeed
if she were not able to lead him out of the valley.
"Think it over for one minute before you answer," concluded Connor, and
then rose and folded his arms. He controlled his very breathing for fear
of breaking in on the dream which he saw forming in her eyes.
Then she shook herself clear of the temptation.
"Ben, it's crooked! I'm to lie to him--live a lie until we have what we
want!"
"God A'mighty, girl! Don't you see that we'd be doing the poor fathead a
good turn by getting him out of his hermitage and letting him live in
the world? A lie? Call it that if you want. Aren't there such things as
white lies? If there are, this is one of 'em or I'm not Ben Connor."
His voice softened. "Why, Ruth, you know damned well that I wouldn't put
the thing up to you if I didn't figure that in the end it would be the
best thing in the world for you? I'm giving you your chance. To save
Dave Eden from being a fossil. To earn your own freedom. To get
everything you've longed for. Think!"
"I'm trying to think--but I only keep feeling, inside, 'It's wrong! It's
wrong! It's wrong!' I'm not a moralizer, but--tell me about David Eden!"
Connor saw his opening.
"Think of a horse that's four years old and never had a bit in his
teeth. That's David Eden. The minute you see him you'll want to tame
him. But you'll have to go easy. Keep gloves on. He's as proud as a
sulky kid. Kind of a chap you can't force a step, but you could coax him
over a cliff. Why, he'd be thread for you to wind around your little
finger if you worked him right. But it wouldn't be easy. If he had a
single suspicion he'd smash everything in a minute, and he's strong
enough to tear down a house. Put the temper of a panther in the size of
a bear and you get a small idea of David Eden."
He was purposely making the task difficult and he saw that she was
excited. His own work with Ruth Manning was as difficult as hers would
be with David. The fickle color left her all at once and he found her
looking wistfully at him.
She returned neither answer, argument, nor comment. In vain he detailed
each step of her way into the Garden and how she could pass the gate.
Sometimes he was not even sure that she heard him, as she listened to
the silent voice which spoke against him. He had gathered all his energy
for a last outburst, he was training his tongue for a convincing storm
of eloquence, when Shakra, as though she wearied of all this human
chatter, pushed in between them her beautiful head and went slowly
toward Ruth with pricking ears, inquisitive, searching for those light,
caressing touches.
The voice of Connor became an insidious whisper.
"Look at her, Ruth. Look at her. She's begging you to come. You can have
her. She'll be a present to you. Quick! What's the answer!"
A strange answer! She threw her arms around the shoulder of the
beautiful gray, buried her face in the mane, and burst into tears.
For a moment Connor watched her, dismayed, but presently, as one
satisfied, he withdrew to the open air and mopped his forehead. It had
been hard work, but it had paid. He looked over the distant blue waves
of mountains with the eye of possession.
_CHAPTER TWENTY_
"The evil at heart, when they wish to take, seem to give," said Abraham,
mouthing the words with his withered lips, and he came to one of his
prophetic pauses.
The master of the Garden permitted it to the privileged old servant, who
added now: "Benjamin is evil at heart."
"He did not ask for the horse," said David, who was plainly arguing
against his own conviction.
"Yet he knew." The ancient face of Abraham puckered. "Po' white trash!"
he muttered. Now and then one of these quaint phrases would break
through his acquired diction, and they always bore home to David a sense
of that great world beyond the mountains. Matthew had often described
that world, but one of Abraham's odd expressions carried him in a breath
into cities filled with men.
"His absence is cheaply bought at the price of one mare," continued the
old servant soothingly.
"One mare of Rustir's blood! What is the sin for which the Lord would
punish me with the loss of Shakra? And I miss her as I would miss a
human face. But Benjamin will return with her. He did not ask for the
horse."
"He knew you would offer."
"He will not return?"
"Never!"
"Then I shall go to find him."
"It is forbidden."
Abraham sat down, cross-legged, and watched with impish self-content
while David strode back and forth in the patio. A far-off neighing
brought him to a halt, and he raised his hand for silence. The neighing
was repeated, more clearly, and David laughed for joy.
"A horse coming from the pasture to the paddock," said Abraham, shifting
uneasily.
The day was old and the patio was filled with a clear, soft light,
preceding evening.
"It is Shakra! Shakra, Abraham!"
Abraham rose.
"A yearling. It is too high for the voice of a grown mare."
"The distance makes it shrill. Abraham, Abraham, cannot I find her voice
among ten all neighing at once?"
"Then beware of Benjamin, for he has returned to take not one but all."
But David smiled at the skinny hand which was raised in warning.
"Say no more," he said solemnly. "I am already to blame for hearkening
to words against my brother Benjamin."
"You yourself had said that he tempted you."
Because David could find no ready retort he grew angry.
"Also, think of this. Your eyes and your ears are grown dull, Abraham,
and perhaps your mind is misted also."
He had gone to the entrance into the patio and paused there to wait with
a lifted head. Abraham followed and attempted to speak again, but the
last cruel speech had crushed him. He went out on the terrace, and
looking back saw that David had not a glance for him; so Abraham went
feebly on.
"I have become as a false prophet," he murmured, "and I am no more
regarded."
His life had long been in its evening, and now, at a step, the darkness
of old age fell about him. From the margin of the lake he looked up and
saw Connor ride to the patio.
David, at the entrance, clasped the hand of his guest while he was still
on the horse and helped him to the ground.
"This," he said solemnly, "is a joyful day in my house."
"What's the big news?" inquired the gambler, and added: "Why so happy?"
"Is it not the day of your return? Isaac! Zacharias!"
They came running as he clapped his hands.
"Set out the oldest wine, and there is a haunch of the deer that was
killed at the gate. Go! And now, Benjamin, did Shakra carry you well and
swiftly?"
"Better than I was ever carried before."
"Then she deserves well of me. Come hither, Shakra, and stand behind me.
Truly, Benjamin, my brother, my thoughts have ridden ten times across
the mountains and back, wishing for your return!"
Connor was sufficiently keen to know that a main reason for the warmth
of his reception was that he had been doubted while he was away, and
while they supped in the patio he was even able to guess who had raised
the suspicion against him. Word was brought that Abraham lay in his bed
seriously ill, but David Eden showed no trace of sympathy.
"Which is the greater crime?" he asked Benjamin a little later. "To
poison the food a man eats or the thoughts in his mind?"
"Surely," said the crafty gambler, "the mind is of more importance than
the stomach."
Luckily David bore the main burden of conversation that evening, for the
brain of Connor was surcharged with impatient waiting. His great plan,
he shrewdly guessed, would give him everything or else ruin him in the
Garden of Eden, and the suspense was like an eating pain. Luckily the
crisis came on the very next day.
Jacob galloped into the patio, and flung himself from the back of Abra.
David and Connor rose from their chairs under the arcade where they had
been watching Joseph setting great stones in place around the border of
the fountain pool. The master of the Garden went forward in some anger
at this unceremonious interruption. But Jacob came as one whose news is
so important that it overrides all need of conventional approach.
"A woman," he panted. "A woman at the gate of the Garden!"
"Why are you here?" said David sternly.
"A woman--"
"Man, woman, child, or beast, the law is the same. They shall not enter
the Garden of Eden. Why are you here?"
"And she rides the gray gelding, the son of Yoruba!"
At that moment the white trembling lips of Connor might have told the
master much, but he was too angered to take heed of his guest.
"That which has once left the Garden is no longer part of it. For us,
the gray gelding does not exist. Why are you here?"
"Because she would not leave the gate. She says that she will see you."
"She is a fool. And because she was so confident, you were weak enough
to believe her?"
"I told her that you would not come; that you could not come!"
"You have told her that it is impossible for me to speak with her?" said
David, while Connor gradually regained control of himself, summoning all
his strength for the crisis.
"I told her all that, but she said nevertheless she would see you."
"For what reason?"
"Because she has money with which to buy another horse like her gelding,
which is old."
"Go back and tell her that there is no money price on the heads of my
horses. Go! When Ephraim is at the gate there are no such journeyings to
me."
"Ephraim is here," said Jacob stoutly, "and he spoke much with her.
Nevertheless she said that you would see her."
"For what reason?"
"She said: 'Because.'"
"Because of what?"
"That word was her only answer: 'Because.'"
"This is strange," murmured David, turning to Connor. "Is that one word
a reason?
"Go back again," commanded David grimly. "Go back and tell this woman
that I shall not come, and that if she comes again she will be driven
away by force. And take heed, Jacob, that you do not come to me again on
such an errand. The law is fixed. It is as immovable as the rocks in the
mountains. You know all this. Be careful hereafter that you remember. Be
gone!"
The ruin of his plan in its very inception threatened Ben Connor. If he
could once bring David to see the girl he trusted in her beauty and her
cleverness to effect the rest. But how lead him to the gate? Moreover,
he was angered and his frown boded no good for Jacob. The old servant
was turning away, and the gambler hunted his mind desperately for an
expedient. Persuasion would never budge this stubborn fellow so used to
command. There remained the opposite of persuasion. He determined on an
indirect appeal to the pride of the master.
"You are wise, David," he said solemnly. "You are very wise. These
creatures are dangerous, and men of sense shun them. Tell your servants
to drive her away with blows of a stick so that she will never return."
"No, Jacob," said the master, and the servant returned to hear the
command. "Not with sticks. But with words, for flesh of women is tender.
This is hard counsel, Benjamin!"
He regarded the gambler with great surprise.
"Their flesh may be tender, but their spirits are strong," said Connor.
The opening he had made was small. At least he had the interest of
David, and through that entering wedge he determined to drive with all
his might.
"And dangerous," he added gravely.
"Dangerous?" said the master. He raised his head. "Dangerous?"
As if a jackal had dared to howl in the hearing of the lion.
"Ah, David, if you saw her you would understand why I warn you!"
"It would be curious. In what wise does her danger strike?"
"That I cannot say. They have a thousand ways."
The master turned irresolutely toward Jacob.
"You could not send her away with words?"
"David, for one of my words she has ten that flow with pleasant sound
like water from a spring, and with little meaning, except that she will
not go."
"You are a fool!"
"So I felt when I listened to her."
"There is an old saying, David, my brother," said Connor, "that there is
more danger in one pleasant woman than in ten angry men. Drive her from
the gate with stones!"
"I fear that you hate women, Benjamin."
"They were the source of evil."
"For which penance was done."
"The penance followed the sin."
"God, who made the mountains, the river and this garden and man, He made
woman also. She cannot be all evil. I shall go."
"Then, remember that I have warned you. God, who made man and woman,
made fire also."
"And is not fire a blessing?"
He smiled at his triumph and this contest of words.
"You shall go with me, Benjamin."
"I? Never!"
"In what is the danger?"
"If you find none, there is none. For my part I have nothing to do with
women."
But David was already whistling to Glani.
"One woman can be no more terrible than one man," he declared to
Benjamin. "And I have made Joseph, who is great of body, bend like a
blade of grass in the wind."
"Farewell," said Connor, his voice trembling with joy. "Farewell, and
God keep you!"
"Farewell, Benjamin, my brother, and have no fear."
Connor followed him with his eyes, half-triumphant, half-fearful. What
would happen at the gate? He would have given much to see even from a
distance the duel between the master and the woman.
At the gate of the patio David turned and waved his hand.
"I shall conquer!"
And then he was gone.
Connor stared down at the grass with a cynical smile until he felt
another gaze upon him, and he became aware of the little beast--eyes of
Joseph glittering. The giant had paused in his work with the stones.
"What are you thinking of, Joseph?" asked the gambler.
Joseph made an indescribable gesture of hate and fear.
"Of the whip!" he said. "I also opened the gate of the Garden. On whose
back will the whip fall this time?"
_CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE_
Near the end of the eucalyptus avenue, and close to the gate, David
dismounted and made Jacob do likewise.
"We may come on them by surprise and listen," he said. "A soft step has
won great causes."
They went forward cautiously, interchanging sharp glances as though they
were stalking some dangerous beast, and so they came within earshot of
the gate and sheltered from view of it by the edge of the cliff. David
paused and cautioned his companion with a mutely raised hand.
"He lived through the winter," Ephraim was saying. "I took him into my
room and cherished him by the warmth of my fire and with rubbing, so
that when spring came, and gentler weather, he was still alive--a great
leggy colt with a backbone that almost lifted through the skin. Only
high bright eyes comforted me and told me that my work was a good work."
David and Jacob interchanged nods of wonder, for Ephraim was telling to
this woman the dearest secret of his life.
It was how he had saved the weakling colt, Jumis, and raised him to a
beautiful, strong stallion, only to have him die suddenly in the height
of his promise. Certainly Ephraim was nearly won over by the woman; it
threw David on guard.
"Go back to Abra," he whispered. "Ride on to the gate and tell her
boldly to be gone. I shall wait here, and in time of need I shall help
you. Make haste. Ephraim grows like wet clay under her fingers. Ah, how
wise is Benjamin!"
Jacob obeyed. He stole away and presently shot past at the full gallop
of Abra. The stallion came to a sliding halt, and Jacob spoke from his
back, which was a grave discourtesy in the Garden of Eden.
"The master will not see you," he said. "The sun is still high. Return
by the way you have come; you get no more from the Garden than its water
and its air. He does not sell horses."
For the first time she spoke, and at the sound of her voice David Eden
stepped out from the rock; he remembered himself in time and shrank back
to shelter.
"He sold this horse."
"It was the will of the men before David that these things should be
done, but the Lord knows the mind of David and that his heart bleeds for
every gelding that leaves the Garden. See what you have done to him! The
marks of the whip and the spur are on his sides. Woe to you if David
should see them!"
She cried out at that in such a way that David almost felt she had been
struck.
"It was the work of a drunken fool, and not mine."
"Then God have mercy on that man, for if the master should see him,
David would have no mercy. I warn you: David is one with a fierce eye
and a strong hand. Be gone before he comes and sees the scars on the
gray horse."
"Then he is coming?"
"She is quick," thought David, as an embarrassed pause ensued. "Truly,
Benjamin was right, and there is danger in these creatures."
"He has many horses," the girl went on, "and I have only this one.
Besides, I would pay well for another."
"What price?"
"He should not have asked," muttered David.
"Everything that I have," she was answering, and the low thrill of her
voice went through and through the master of the Garden. "I could buy
other horses with this money, but not another like my gray. He is more
than a horse. He is a companion to me. He understands me when I talk,
and I understand him. You see how he stands with his head down? He is
not tired, but hungry. When he neighs in a certain way from the corral I
know that he is lonely. You see that he comes to me now? That is because
he knows I am talking about him, for we are friends. But he is old and
he will die, and what shall I do then? It will be like a death in my
house!"
Another pause followed.
"You love the horse," said the voice of Ephraim, and it was plain that
Jacob was beyond power of speech.
"And I shall pay for another. Hold out your hand."
"I cannot take it."
Nevertheless, it seemed that he obeyed, for presently the girl
continued: "After my father died I sold the house. It was pretty well
blanketed with a mortgage, but I cleared out this hundred from the
wreck. I went to work and saved what I could. Ten dollars every month,
for twenty months--you can count for yourself--makes two hundred, and
here's the two hundred more in your hand. Three hundred altogether. Do
you think it's enough?"
"If there were ten times as much," said Jacob, "it would not be enough.
There--take your money. It is not enough. There is no money price on the
heads of the master's horses."
But a new light had fallen upon David. Women, as he had heard of them,
were idle creatures who lived upon that which men gained with sweaty
toil, but this girl, it seemed, was something more. She was strong
enough to earn her bread, and something more. Money values were not
clear to David Eden, but three hundred dollars sounded a very
considerable sum. He determined to risk exposure by glancing around the
rock. If she could work like a man, no doubt she was made like a man and
not like those useless and decorative creatures of whom Matthew had
often spoken to him, with all their graces and voices.
Cautiously he peered and he saw her standing beside the old, broken gray
horse. Even old Ephraim seemed a stalwart figure in comparison.
At first he was bewildered, and then he almost laughed aloud. Was it on
account of this that Benjamin had warned him, this fragile girl? He
stepped boldly from behind the rock.
"There is no more to say," quoth Jacob.
"But I tell you, he himself will come."
"You are right," said David.
At that her eyes turned on him, and David was stopped in the midst of a
stride until she shrank back against the horse.
Then he went on, stepping softly, his hand extended in that sign of
peace which is as old as mankind.
"Stay in peace," said David, "and have no fear. It is I, David."
He hardly knew his own voice, it was so gentle. A twilight dimness
seemed to have fallen upon Jacob and Ephraim, and he was only aware of
the girl. Her fear seemed to be half gone already, and she even came a
hopeful step toward him.
"I knew from the first that you would come," she said, "and let me buy
one horse--you have so many."
"We will talk of that later."
"David," broke in the grave voice of Ephraim, "remember your own law!"
He looked at the girl instead of Ephraim as he answered: "Who am I to
make laws? God begins where David leaves off."