They pointed her out.
"She can't get away. See! Oh, boys, don't let them--"
Ben pushed his way toward her, his face set in a fierce frown, bitter,
desperate.
Grace stood silently beside one of the elders; a woman exhorter stood
before her. Conrad, overawed, had fallen into a trembling stupor; Grace
was defenseless.
The elder's hand hovered over her head, on her face a deadly pallor had
settled, her eyes were cast down, she breathed painfully and trembled
from head to foot. She was about to fall, when Ben set his eyes upon
her.
"Get out o' my way," he shouted, shouldering up the aisle. His words had
oaths, his fists were like mauls.
"Grace!" he cried, and she heard. She looked up and saw him coming; the
red flamed over her face.
The power of the preacher was gone.
"Let me go," she cried, trying to wring herself loose.
"You are going to hell. You are lost if you do not--"
"God damn ye. Get out o' way. I'll kill ye if you lay a hand on her."
With one thrust Ben cleared her tormentor from her arm. For one moment
the wordless young man looked into her eyes; then she staggered toward
him. He faced the preacher.
"I'd smash hell out o' you for a leather cent," he said. In the tumult
his words were lost, but the look on his face was enough. The exhorter
fell away.
Their retreat was unnoted in the tumult. At the door they looked back
for an instant at the scene.
At the mourners' bench were six victims in all stages of induced
catalepsy, one man with head flung back, one with his hands pointing,
fixed in furious appeal. Another with bowed head was being worked upon
by a brother of hypnotic appeal. He struck with downward, positive
gestures on either side of the victim's head.
Over another the negress towered, screaming with panther-like
ferocity:--
"Git under de blood! Git under de blood!"
As she screamed she struck down at the mourner with her clenched fist.
On her face was the grin of a wildcat.
Out under the cool, lofty oaks, the outcry was more inexpressibly
hellish, because overhead the wind rustled the sweet green leaves,
crickets were chirping, and the scent of flowering fields of buckwheat
was in the air.
Grace grew calmer, but she clung with strange weakness to her lover. She
felt he had saved her from something, she did not know what, but it was
something terrifying to look back upon.
Conrad was forgotten--set aside. Ben bundled him into the carryall and
took his place with Grace. He no longer hesitated, argued, or
apologized. He had claimed his own.
On the long ride home, Grace lay within his right arm, and the young
man's tongue was unchained. He talked, and his spirit grew tender and
manly and husbandlike, as he told his plans and his hopes. Hell was very
far away, and Heaven was very near.