REPENTANCE AVAILS NOT
When I was positively certain that I had left the little inn far
behind me, I slackened my speed, and, perceiving a spreading tree by
the road-side, I dismounted and sat down in the shade. It was a hot
day, and unconsciously I had been working very hard. Several persons
on wheels passed along the road, and every time I saw one approaching
I was afraid that it might be somebody I knew, who might stop and sit
by me in the shade. I was now near enough to Walford to meet with
people from that neighborhood, and I did not want to meet with any one
just now. I had a great many things to think about and just then I was
busy trying to make up my mind whether or not it would be well for me
to stop at the Putneys'.
If I should pass without stopping, some one in the lodge would
probably see me, and the family would know of my discourtesy, but,
although it would have been a very simple thing to do, and a very
proper thing, I did not feel sure that I wanted to stop. If Edith
Larramie had never said anything about it, I think I would surely have
made a morning call upon the Putneys.
After I had cooled off a little I rose to remount; I had not decided
anything, but it was of no use to sit there any longer. Glancing along
the road towards Walford, I saw in the distance some one approaching
on a wheel. Involuntarily I stood still and watched the on-coming
cyclist, who I saw was a woman. She moved steadily and rapidly on the
other side of the road. Very soon I recognized her. It was Miss
Putney.
As she came nearer and nearer I was greatly impressed with her
appearance. Her costume was as suitable and becoming for the occasion
as if it had been an evening dress for a ball, and she wheeled better
than any woman cyclist I ever saw. Her head was erect, her eyes
straight before her, and her motion was rhythm of action.
With my hand on my wheel I moved a few steps towards the middle of the
road. I was about to take off my cap when she turned her eyes upon me.
She even moved her head a little so as to gaze upon me a few seconds
longer. Her face was quiet and serene, her eyes were large, clear, and
observant. In them was not one gleam of recognition. Turning them
again upon the road in front of her, she sped on and away.
[Illustration: "CUT LIKE THAT"]
For some minutes I stood looking after her, utterly astonished. I do
not think in all my life I had ever been cut like that. What did it
mean? Could she care enough about me to resent my stopping at the
Holly Sprig? Was it possible that she could have known what had been
likely to happen there, and what had happened there? All this was very
improbable, but in Cathay people seemed to know a great many things.
Anyway, she had solved my problem for me. I need give no further
thought to a stop at her father's mansion.
I mounted and rode on, but not rapidly. I was very much moved. My soul
grew warm as I thought of the steady gaze of the eyes which that girl
had fixed upon me. For a mile or so I moved steadily and quietly in a
mood of incensed dignity. I pressed the pedals with a hard and cruel
tread. I did not understand. I could scarcely believe.
Soon, however, I began to move a little faster. Somehow or other I
became conscious that there was a bicycle at some distance behind me.
I pushed on a little faster. I did not wish to be overtaken by
anybody. Now I was sure there was a wheel behind me. I could not hear
it, but I knew it was there.
Presently I became certain that my instincts had not deceived me, for
I heard the quick sound of a bicycle bell. This was odd, for surely no
one would ring for me to get out of the way. Then there was another
tinkle, a little nearer.
Now I sped faster and faster. I heard the bell violently ringing. Then
I thought, but I am not sure, that I heard a voice. I struck out with
the thrust of a steam-engine, and the earth slipped backward beneath
me like the water of a mill-race. I passed wagons as if they had been
puffs of smoke, and people on wheels as though they were flying
cinders.
In some ten minutes I slackened speed and looked back. For a long
distance behind me not a bicycle was in sight. I now pursued my
homeward way with a warm body and a lacerated heart. I hated this
region which I had called Cathay. Its inhabitants were not barbarians,
but I was suffering from their barbarities. I had come among them
clean, whole, with an upright bearing. I was going away torn, bloody,
and downcast.
If the last words of the lady of the Holly Sprig meant the sweet thing
I thought they meant, then did they make the words which preceded them
all the more bitter. The more friendly and honest the counsels of
Edith Larramie had grown, the deeper they had cut into my heart. Even
the more than regard with which my soul prompted me to look back to
Amy Willoughby was a pain to me. My judgment would enrage me if it
should try to compel me to feel as I did not want to feel.
But none of these wounds would have so pained and disturbed me had it
not been for the merciless gaze which that dark-eyed girl had fixed
upon me as she passed me standing in the road. And if she had gone too
far and had done more than her own nature could endure, and if it were
she who had been pursuing me, then the wound was more cruel and the
smart deeper. If she believed me a man who would stop at the ringing
of her bell, then was I ashamed of myself for having given her that
impression.