THE INFERNO
The way through the woods was long, but Beth stumbled on, urged by the
rough tone and strong hand of her captor. She knew the woods well,
better than Hawk, but she had never ventured so far into the forest as
he led her. She felt very certain that he knew even less than she of the
way he was taking, and that his object in avoiding the roads and paths
which led to the southward was to keep her hidden from the eyes of any
persons that might be met on the paths between Black Rock and the lumber
camp. But after a while she began to think that he knew with more or
less definiteness the general direction in which they were moving, for
he stopped from time to time to look at the sun and get his bearings.
And then with a gruff word he would move on again, always to the south
and east, and she knew that he had already decided upon their
destination. With her hands still bound behind her, progress through the
underbrush was difficult, for the branches stung her like whip-lashes,
and thorn-bushes caught at her arms and tore her flimsy frock to shreds.
The gag in her mouth made breathing painful, but Hawk seemed to be
unaware of her sufferings or purposely oblivious of them, for he hardly
glanced at her and said no word except to urge her on to greater
exertion.
When they approached the road which he wanted to cross, he warned her
with an oath to remain where he left her and went forward to
investigate, after which he returned and hurried her across into the
thicket upon the other side. And it was not until they were securely
hidden again far from the sight of any possible passers-by that he
untied the bonds at her wrists and took the gag from her mouth. But she
knew more than ever that she was completely in his power.
He was sinister. He typified terror, physical and mental--and behind the
threat of his very presence lay the gruesome vision of sand and sun and
the bearded man lying with the knife in his back. She tried to summon
her native courage to combat her fears, to believe that the situation in
which she found herself was not so evil as she imagined it--and that
soon Hawk Kennedy would have a change of heart and give her a chance to
speak in her own behalf. But he silenced her gruffly whenever she
addressed him and she gave up at last, in fear of bringing his wrath
upon her. She could see that he was deeply intent upon his object to get
her away from Black Rock where none could find her. And what then?
In a wild impulse--a moment of desperation, she broke away from him and
ran, but he caught her easily, for by this time she was very tired.
Again, she thought of a struggle with him hand to hand, but he read her
mind and drew a pistol, pushing her on ahead of him as before,
threatening bodily injury. By this time she had learned to believe him
capable of any cruelty. But she thanked God that the dangers that
threatened were only those which could come from a brutal enemy and in
his very brutality she even found refuge from the other and more
terrible alternative of his amiability. As Hawk had said, he wasn't "on
that lay this trip."
But what his ultimate purpose was she had no means of determining. She
knew that he was totally without scruple and had thought in her first
moments of terror that he meant to take her far back into the woods--and
there kill her as he had done her father, thus again destroying all
claim. But as the moments passed and she saw that he had some definite
objective, the feeble remnants of her courage gathered strength. Her
attempt to escape had failed, of course, but his tolerance gave her a
hope that he did not dare to do the dreadful violence of which she had
thought.
For hours--it seemed--they went through underbrush and swamp-land,
stopping from time to time at Hawk's command while he listened and got
their bearings. Beth had never been in this part of the woods, but she
had an idea, from the crossing of the road and the character of the
trees, that they were now somewhere in the Lower Reserve and not very
far from the lumber camp. It was there that Peter Nichols was. Her heart
leaped at the thought of his nearness. All memory of the heliotrope
envelope and of its contents seemed to have been wiped from her
consciousness by the rough usage of this enemy to them both. It seemed
to matter very little now who this woman was that Peter had known. She
belonged to a mysterious and unhappy past--for he had hinted at
that--which had nothing to do with the revelation that Beth had read in
his eyes as to the meaning of the wonderful present for them both. She
knew now that he could have explained, if she had given him the chance.
Instead of which she had rushed heedlessly to misfortune, the victim of
a childish pride, plunging them both into this disaster. That pride was
a pitiful thing now, like her disordered hair and her bedraggled frock,
which flapped its ribbons, soaked and muddy, about her knees.
But as long as she was still alive and in no immediate danger, she tried
to hope for some incident which would send Peter back to Black Rock
earlier than Hawk had expected, where, at the Cabin, he would guess the
truth as to her meeting with Hawk and what had followed. But how could
he guess all that? The difficulty dismayed her, He would hunt for her of
course as soon as he learned of her disappearance, but clever as he was
there seemed no way in which he could solve the mystery of her flight,
still less, having guessed Hawk Kennedy's purpose, follow any trail
through the wilderness by which her captor had led her.
Even in the apparent hopelessness of her situation, she had not reached
the point of actual despair. Youth and her customary belief in all that
was good in the world sustained her. Something would happen--something
_must_ happen.... As she trudged along, she prayed with her whole heart,
like David, to be delivered from the hand of the oppressor.
That prayer comforted her and gave her strength and so when they came
out at the edge of the swamp some moments later she obeyed his
instructions more hopefully. There was a path along the edge of the
water which presently led into the heart of the woods again, and there
almost before she was aware of it she found herself facing a small
wooden house or shanty which seemed in a fairly good state of
preservation.
Silently, Hawk Kennedy unfastened the hasp which held the door, and
gruffly ordered her to go inside. Wondering, she obeyed him. But her
captor now acted with a celerity which while it gave her new fears, set
other fears at rest, for he took the handkerchiefs from his pockets and
gagged and bound her arms and wrists again, pushing her down on a pile
of sacking which had served some one for a bed, tying her feet and knees
with ropes that were there so that she could neither move nor make a
sound.
There for a moment he stood, staring down at her with a grim kind of
humor, born of his successful flight.
"Some kid, by G----! I'm kinder sorry--d---- if I ain't. But ye hadn't
any business bein' who ye are. I believe I'd rather kill ye outright
than hurt ye any more--that I would. Maybe I won't have to do either.
Understand? But I got somethin' to do first. It ain't any child's play
an' I ain't got much time to spare. Be a good kid an' lie quiet an' go
to sleep and I'll be back after a while an' set ye free. Understand?"
Beth nodded helplessly, for it was the only thing that she could do and
with relief watched his evil shape darken the doorway out of which he
went, carefully closing the door and fastening the hasp on the outside.
Then she heard the crunch of his footsteps in the dry leaves behind the
Cabin. They moved rapidly and in a few moments she heard them no more.
Lying on her side, her head pillowed on the bagging, it did not seem at
first as though she were uncomfortable, and her eyes, wide open, peered
around her prison. There was a small window unglazed and by the light
which came from it she could see some axhandles piled in one corner of
the hut, several cross-cut saws on a box at one side, a few picks and a
shovel or two. It must be a tool house used for the storage of extra
implements and she remembered dimly that Shad had once spoken of the
cutting that had been begun down by the swamp and abandoned for a better
location. This then was where Hawk Kennedy had taken her and she knew
that it was a spot little visited nowadays except by hunters, and at
some distance from the scene of present logging operations, toward the
spur of the railroad. It was here perhaps that Hawk Kennedy had hidden
while making his earlier investigations of Black Rock while he ripened
his plot against Mr. McGuire. There were several empty bottles upon the
floor, a moldy crust of bread, and a broken water-pitcher which
confirmed the surmise.
She realized that Hawk had planned well. It seemed hardly possible to
hope for a chance passer-by in this deserted spot. And even if she
heard the sound of guns or even heard footsteps in the leaves, what
chance had she of making known her whereabouts? But she strained her
ears, listening, only to hear the twittering of the birds, the
chattering of squirrels and the moaning of the wind in the tree tops.
How near was freedom and yet how difficult of attainment! She wriggled
gently in her bonds but each motion seemed to make them tighter, until
they began to cut more and more cruelly into her tender flesh. She tried
by twisting her hands and bending her body to touch the knots at her
knees but her elbows were fastened securely and she couldn't reach them.
And at last she gave up the attempt, half stifled from her exertions and
suffering acutely. Then she lay quiet, sobbing gently to herself, trying
to find a comfortable posture, and wondering what was to be the end of
it all.
Hours passed in which the scampering of the four-footed things grew less
and less and the birds ceased their chirping. Only the moaning of the
wind continued, high in the tree tops. Once or twice she thought she
plainly heard footsteps near by and renewed her efforts to free herself,
but desisted again when she learned that it was only the sound of the
flying leaves dancing against the outside walls of her prison.
She thought of all the things that had happened in her brief and
uneventful life, but most she thought of Peter Nichols, and all that his
visit to Black Rock had meant to her. And even in her physical
discomfort and mental anguish found herself hoping against hope that
something would yet happen to balk the sinister plans of Hawk Kennedy,
whatever they were. She could not believe that happiness such as hers
had been could come to such a dreadful end so soon. But what was Hawk
Kennedy's mission now? Where had he gone unless to Black Rock again? And
what would he be doing there? Was revenge his motive now, stronger
since her revelation of her parentage? And was it Peter that he was
going to...? Her cry was muffled in the bandage. He had gone back to
Black Rock to lie in wait for Peter--to kill him perhaps. Sobbing anew
she struggled again with her bonds, until at last she lay back relaxed
and exhausted, and prayed with all her might to the God that had always
been her guide.
And after a while she grew calm again, refreshed and strengthened by her
faith. No harm would befall Peter. No further harm would come to her.
Evil such as Hawk's was powerless against her prayers. Already he had
done her a great injury. The God of her faith would keep her scatheless
until Peter, the man she loved, came to save her. She was as sure of
this now as though she could see him coming, vengeance in his hand, with
long strides through the forest to her hiding-place. And so, after a
while, exhausted from her efforts, she fell into a doze.
When she awoke from troubled dreams it was with a sense of suffocation.
She had stirred in her sleep and the thongs had cut more deeply into the
flesh at her knees, causing her pain. Below the knees she was numb from
the constant pressure, but she moved her toes up and down and her limbs
tingled painfully as the constricted blood flowed into her extremities.
How long she had lain there she did not know, but the interior of the
shed seemed to have grown quite dark, as though a storm were rising
outside. The wind was still blowing, and above the moaning of the pines
she could hear the continuous rustle of the leaves and the creaking of
moving branches. She managed with an effort to turn her head toward the
window, where through the dark leaves of the overshadowing trees she
could catch glimpses of the sky, which seemed to have turned to a
pinkish purple, like the afterglow of a sunset. Was it possible that she
could have slept so long? In the turning of her head it seemed that the
bandage over her mouth had become loosened and as she tried the
experiment again, the handkerchief slipped down around her neck. In a
moment she had gotten rid of the wad of linen in her mouth. At least she
could breathe freely now and moisten her parching lips. This boon seemed
almost in answer to her prayers. And if one bandage could come loose by
God's help, why not another?
And so cheerfully and with a persistence which took no thought of the
pain she was inflicting upon herself, she began working her hands to and
fro behind her until she fancied that the pressure on her wrists was not
so great as before. With an effort she managed to wriggle over against
the wall and so to straighten into a sitting posture.
It was then that she suddenly raised her head and sniffed at the air
from the small window above her through which a slender wisp of smoke
came curling. Smoke! The smell of burning brush, familiar to her, and
yet back here in the woods, unless from a well tended camp-fire, fraught
with perilous meaning. She glanced out of the small opening again. The
purple had grown redder, a dull crimson shot with streaks of blue--smoke
everywhere, endless streamers and tortuous billows sweeping down on the
wings of the wind.
Fire in the woods! She knew the meaning of that. And the reddish purple
was not the sunset but the glow of mighty flames near by, a "crown" fire
in the pines! From the volume of smoke, increasing with every moment, it
seemed that the old tool house in which she was imprisoned must be
directly in the path of the flames. Now thoroughly aware of her possible
fate if she could not release herself she strained her ears, listening,
and now heard distinctly above the sounds nearer at hand a distant
crackling roar and the thud of heavy branches falling. The interior of
the cabin had now grown even dimmer--to a dark redness--and the smoke
came billowing in at the window almost stifling her with its acrid
fumes. Outside the window, when she struggled for freedom, she caught a
glimpse of sparks, flying like meteors past the dim rectangle of her
vision, small ones, larger ones, and then flaming brands which must set
fire to whatsoever they touched.
She was half mad now with terror. She tried to think calmly, because she
knew that unless a miracle happened she would die alone here--the most
horrible of all deaths. And then her eye caught the gleam of something
upon the tool chest in the shadows beyond--the teeth of the cross-cut
saw!
If she could reach it! She fell over purposely on the sacking and with
great difficulty wriggled slowly toward it, inch by inch. Could she
reach it with her wrists? With an effort she squirmed to the chest and
straightened, her back against it, as she had done against the wall, and
then turning, in spite of the increased pressure of her thongs, managed
in some way to get to her knees, feeling for the teeth of the saw with
her fingers behind her. It was not very sharp, but if she could direct
it between her wrists it would do.
In her new thrill of hope, she was hardly conscious of the suffocating
smoke which now filled the cabin, stinging her eyes so that she could
hardly see, or of the heat which with her exertions had sent the
perspiration streaming down her face. For now, balancing herself with
great care, she moved her tortured arms, half numb with pain, up and
down against the rusty edges. A sharp pain and she bit her
lips,--readjusting herself to her task. But she felt the saw cutting
into the rope--one strand, another, and in a moment her hands were
released.
In her joy of the achievement, she toppled over on the floor, but
managed to release her elbows. Now, panting with her exertions and
moving her arms quickly to restore the circulation, she felt for the
knots at her knees and ankles and in a moment her limbs were free. But
she had not reckoned with the effects of their long period of
inactivity, for when she tried to get to her feet she found that her
limbs were powerless. But she moved her knees up and down, suffering
keenly as the blood took up its course, and after a time managed to
scramble to her feet, and stagger to the opening in the wall.
It seemed that all the forest was now a mass of flaming brands and that
the roar of the flames was at her very ears. It was stiflingly hot too
and in one corner of the cabin there was a tiny bright spot and a curl
of smoke. Had her liberty come too late? She was not even free yet, for
the hole in the wall of the building was no larger than a single pane of
glass and the door of the shanty was fastened by the hasp on the
outside.
There was no time now to hesitate unless she wished to be burned alive.
With an effort she threw herself against the door--again and again, but
it would not yield. Despairing and blinded by smoke, she staggered to
the box hunting an ax, when her fingers met the handle of the friendly
saw. It was heavy but she knew how to use it, and set it at the hole in
the wall, drawing it back and forth. The wood was dead and she felt it
yield to the strong teeth of the tool, so that she struggled on, the
width of the board; then cut again, at the upper edge of the aperture,
and in a moment the board fell away.
She was not a moment too soon, for as she crawled through the opening
and fell exhausted on the outside, one end of the building suddenly
caught fire, blazing fiercely. The sparks were all around her and her
skirt caught fire in the flaming leaves into which she had fallen, but
she put it out with her blistered hands and rose to her feet. A figure
was coming toward her, bent, its hand before its eyes. She could not
make out who it was, but as she turned to run Hawk Kennedy espied her.
"Ho there, kid! Got loose, hey? Just in time. Did ye think I was goin'
to let ye be burned to death?"
* * * * *
With Brierly leading them to the machine and listening to Peter's story
as they went, Peter made his way across the foot of the lawn to the road
where the machine was waiting for them. As they climbed into it, the
glow to the south had turned a lurid red, staining the dusky sky to the
zenith. Brierly drove and for precaution's sake Peter sat in the tonneau
with Shad. But the lumberman, if he had ever been considered formidable
even in his own estimation, showed no evidence of any self-confidence.
Peter had given him signs of mettle which were not to be denied and like
all bullies Shad knew that he was beaten. The one vestige of his
decency,--his honorable affection for Beth, which had blinded him to
reason and all sense of duty, was now dedicated to the task of saving
her. And though the dull hatred of Peter still burned in his breast, the
instinct of self-preservation, and the chance of retrieving himself at
the last, made it necessary for him to put his pride in his pocket and
accept the inevitable.
"Ye'll keep yer word, Mister?" he inquired of Peter, after a moment. "I
didn't have nothin' to do with settin' them woods afire. Ye'll get me
out o' this scrape?"
"Yes," said Peter shortly. "I will."
But he watched him nevertheless.
The ex-soldier drove the car at a furious pace over the rough road,
rejoicing in the open cut-out and the rush of the wind past his ears. He
had been, for a time, a chauffeur of a staff car on the other side, and
the present conditions were full of promise of the kind of excitement
that appealed to his youthful spirit. Shad shouted instructions over
his shoulder but Brierly only nodded and sent the car on over the
corduroy to which they had come, with the throttle wide. Night had
nearly fallen but the road was a crimson track picked out with long
pencilings of shadow. The wind was still tossing the tree tops and
leaves and twigs cut sharply across their faces. There was no mistaking
the danger to the whole of the Lower Reserve unless the wind fell--a
"crown" fire after two weeks of drought was not a subject for jest.
But Peter was not thinking of the damage to McGuire's property. He
roared questions eagerly at Wells as to the location of the cabin with
reference to the probable course of the flames. The man only shook his
head dubiously, but it was plain that he was considering that danger. As
they neared the fire they could see the flames clearly now, beyond the
pines just before them, which were etched in deeply bitten lines, every
quivering frond in silhouette against the glare.
As the car neared the "Forks," Shad directed Brierly to take the turn to
the left--away from the main road to camp, and they swung into a sandy
road, the wind at their backs, their way for a time almost parallel to
the course of the flames. They passed the small settlement of the
"Forks," the few denizens of which were standing beside the road, their
few household goods packed in barrows and carts, undecided whether or
not the red terror would come their way. The flames were clearly visible
now, leaping skyward like devils freed from Hell, and so hot was the
fire and so high the wind that whole branches were carried high into the
air and flaming fell beyond into the cool dark to kindle new
destruction. Anything that lay to leeward of the holocaust was doomed.
Peter furiously questioned Wells again, but he only shook his head while
he anxiously watched the flames as the road converged toward them. But
as the road swung to the left Shad shouted and held up his hand and
Brierly brought the car to a stop.
"This is the nearest point, I guess, Mister. From here on to Cranberry
town the road runs to the left of Cedar Swamp."
"Where's the cabin?" queried Peter anxiously.
"In yonder, not far from the edge of the swamp," Shad replied with a
frown. "Looks like the fire's pretty near there."
"Come on, then," said Peter quickly. "Brierly, you go back to Black Rock
and bring the men here. Follow in. We'll be on the lookout for you."
And leaving Brierly to turn the car, he started off with Shad Wells into
the underbrush. His heart sank as he saw how furiously the fire was
raging and how near it seemed to be. But Shad needed no urging now and
led the way with a long stride, Peter following closely. The woods were
not so heavy here and the forest was now as bright as at midday, and so
they made rapid progress, coming out at the end of some minutes at the
edge of the swamp, whose burnished pools sullenly reflected the fiery
heavens. There they found a path and proceeded more quickly. To Peter's
anxious questions Shad shook his head and only peered before him,
forgetting his own suffering in the dreadful danger to which the girl
they sought might be subjected. A terrible thought had come into Peter's
mind in the last few moments--that it was Hawk Kennedy who had set fire
to the woods after imprisoning Beth in a cabin in the path of the
flames. This was his vengeance, terrible in its simplicity--for a
lighted match in the dry leaves would do the trick, and incendiarism in
the woods was difficult to trace. A vengeance fatal in its
effectiveness, for such a fire would tell no tales. Peter found himself
hoping that it was not to the old tool cabin that Beth had been
taken--that she was even far away from this inferno that lay before him.
The glare was already hot on his face and stray breezes which blew
toward him from time to time showed that the wind might be veering to
the eastward, in which case all the woods which they now traversed would
soon be afire.
But to the credit of Shad Wells it may be said that he did not hesitate,
for when he reached a point in the path where it turned closely along
the edge of the swamp, he plunged boldly into the woods, directly toward
the flames, and Peter, even more eager than he, ran ahead, peering to
right and left for signs of the cabin which now could not be far away.
The roar and the crackling were now ominously near and the flames seemed
to be all about them, while the tree tops seemed to be filled with
flaming brands. Sparks and live cinders fell upon them and the hot
breath of the wind blistered them with its heat.
Suddenly the panting Shad grasped Peter sharply by the arm with his
uninjured hand.
"The cabin! My God! It's burning now----Quick, Mister--or----"
Peter sprang forward through the flaming leaves. He seemed to be in the
very midst of the flames. Blinded and suffocated by the smoke, Peter
plunged forward and reached the cabin. One end and side of it was
blazing furiously but he dashed around the lower end of it, seeking the
door. It was open and already aflame. The hut was empty. He ran out
again, blinded by the smoke and the glare. Was it a fool's errand? And
had he and Shad only entrapped themselves to no good end? To the right
of him the fire roared and with his back to the glare his eyes eagerly
sought the shadows down the wind. Vague shapes of gnarled branches and
pallid tree trunks, spectral bushes quivering before the advancing
demon, some of them already alight. Safety lay only in this one
direction--for Beth, if she had been there, for Shad----Peter suddenly
remembered the lumberman and turned to his left to look, when suddenly
he espied a figure moving away from him and ran after it, calling. He
realized immediately that his hoarse cry was lost in the inferno of the
flames, but he ran more rapidly, beating out the embers which had
ignited the sleeve of his shirt.
He saw the figure clearly now, but it was not Shad--for Shad had been in
his shirt sleeves. This figure wore a coat and stumbled away half bent,
one arm over its head, pushing something--some one ahead of it. Peter
drew his revolver, leaping the burning leaves and calling aloud.
He saw the figures ahead of him halt and turn as they heard his voice
and the glare behind him shone full upon them, the face of the man agape
with inflamed surprise--Hawk Kennedy's, and the other, wide-eyed as at
the sight of an apparition--Beth's.
Only thirty paces separated them when Hawk Kennedy fired. Peter heard
Beth's scream and saw her strike at the man's arm, but furiously he
swung her in front of him and fired again. But her struggles and the
uncertain light sent the bullet wide. Peter did not dare to shoot for
the man was using her as a shield, but he did not hesitate and ran in,
trusting to luck and Beth's struggles. One bullet struck him somewhere
as Beth seemed to stumble and crumple to the ground, but he went on
unspent and catapulted into his man with a rush that sent them both
sprawling into the smoldering foliage. Blinded by the smoke, but mad
with fury, Peter struck and clutched, and Hawk's last shot went upward
for Peter wrenched his wrist and then struck him full on the head with
his own weapon.
He felt the man relax and slip down into the dust and smoke, where he
lay motionless.
Peter drew himself up to arm's length, wondering at the feebleness of
his muscles and the trouble with his breathing.
"Beth!" he gasped, frantically, searching the smoking ground for her.
"Peter--thank God!" Her voice was just at his ear and an arm went around
his neck.
"Beth! Beth! You've got to get out of this."
"Come, Peter--there's time----"
Just then a branch crashed down just beside them, showering them with
sparks.
"Come, Peter--come!" she cried.
He struggled up with an effort, one hand clutching at his breast.
"Go, Beth!" he gasped. "For God's sake, go!"
Beth stared at him for one short terrible moment as she realized what
had happened to him.
"Peter! You--you're----"
"I--I think I'm hurt--a little--it isn't much."
He swayed but she caught him and put an arm around one shoulder,
clutching it with the other hand.
"Lean on me," she muttered. "I'm strong enough----"
"No--go, Beth----"
But she put her strength under him and began walking while he staggered
on beside her. Sparks and fiery brands rained down upon them, blistering
and burning, the hot breath of the furnace drove their breath poisoned
back into their lungs and scorched their bodies, but still they remained
upright--and by a miracle still moved on.
"To the left," Peter heard dimly, "the swamp is close by."
He obeyed her, more dead than alive, and by sheer effort of will kept
his feet moving, paced to hers. He seemed to be walking as though in a
red fever, on leaden feet, carrying a body that had no weight or
substance.
But after a while his feet too seemed to grow lighter and he felt
himself falling through space. But her arms were still about him.
"Peter," he heard her voice in agony, "only a few yards further----"
With a last remaining effort he struggled and then his feet stumbling,
toppled forward and sank into something soft, something deliciously cool
and soothing. He felt a hand tugging at him, but he had no pain now, no
weakness--only the perfect happiness of a body that, seeking rest, has
found it.
After a while he revived at the sound of a voice at his ear. Water was
splashing over his face and he struggled up.
"No--keep down," he heard Beth's voice saying. "We're safe, Peter--the
wind is changing----"
"And you, Beth----?"
"All right, dear. A little patience----"
The voice trembled, but there was a world of faith in it. After all that
had happened, it was impossible that further disaster should follow now.
"Y-you're all right?" he gasped weakly.
"Yes. Yes. Lie still for a while."
And so they half lay, half crouched in the mud and water, while the
inferno swept over them, passing to the south. His head was on her
breast and against his ear he could feel her heart beating bravely, a
message of strength and cheer. From time to time her wet fingers brushed
his hair with water and then, as he seemed to be sinking into a dream
again, he felt lips light as thistle-down upon his brows.
Death such as this, he thought, was very pleasant.
And then later he was aroused by a shrill clear call.... Then saw lights
flashing.... Heard men's voices.... Felt himself carried in strong arms
... but all the while there were soft fingers in his own.