XI

The door settled heavily into place behind us, and we were in almost

complete darkness. Somewhere in front of us was a glimmer of light. I

felt the slight figure at my side drawing me forward, and I put myself

under her guidance. Crossing the vestibule, we passed into the room

beyond. Although we trod lightly, the bare floor sent up sounds which

echoed loudly, it seemed to us. A ghostly light filled the chamber into

which we had come, and made it look much larger than it really was. The

roof was lost above us, but there, before us, were the plain, brown,

wooden benches forming the pews, and the nave leading down to the altar

railing. Along this a worn strip of carpet was placed. Slowly we went

forward, awed by the silent majesty of a place of worship. All at once

there came to me a realization of the peculiar position in which I was

placed--walking down a church aisle with a beautiful girl upon my

arm--and my face grew red. I could tell it by the hot tingling at my

neck and temples, but the gloom was deep enough to hide it from her. The

sudden force of what such a proceeding as this might mean made my

heart--my staid, old, methodical heart--throb unwontedly. I hoped that

the gloved hand resting so near to it did not feel its throbbings,

although they sounded in my ears like a hammer on an anvil.

We had reached the railing. Before us rose the altar, with its images

and its unlit tapers, its cloth of gold, and its silver appurtenances. A

stretch of carpeted floor lay between it and us. Directly this side the

railing was a narrow ledge. Salome suddenly bent her knees and rested

them upon this, placed her elbows upon the railing and bent her head in

her hands. For a moment I gazed at the black bowed figure, then found

myself imitating her attitude. In the stillness of the old church we

knelt alone. Around us was utter silence, and the paling light of a dead

day. Perhaps in the dark corners the ghosts of confessed sins were

lurking; above the spot where we knelt many a "_Benedicite_" had fallen

upon humble hearts waiting to receive it. She was praying. Perhaps

confessing to the Great Absolver the sinless sins which bore no crimson

stain, and praying His favor for the ones she loved. As well might a

flower of the fields bow down and breathe out tales of grave misdeeds,

for her heart was like a flower--yea, like the closed cup of a lily at

night, garbed in purity as white as holiness.

I watched her through the fingers I had placed over my face. This surely

was no sin, for my own heart was not still enough for prayer. She was

very still, and only her small ear and a portion of her cheek were

visible. What did this half-stifling feeling mean which rose up in my

throat? I had never seen a woman in prayer, alone. Away back through the

dimly lit aisles which led to a distant boyhood my mind had sometimes

strayed, and viewed a small white figure kneeling at its mother's side

at bedtime. That was myself, and her petitions were doubtless sent up by

the little cot where I lay asleep. A young girl praying! It is as sacred

as the miracle of birth. And by this simple act, this girl had placed in

me a greater trust than words could speak. She deemed me good enough to

be by her side when she approached her Creator--and was I worthy? I

knew I was not. And though my life had been free from those polluting

sins which glow like rubies in the souls of some men, I felt that here I

had no fitting place, that her prayers would be clogged by the

unholiness of my presence. She knelt, immovable as the statued Christ

which hung almost over our heads. The glow in the stained-glass windows

to our left had turned to a gray blur; the outlines of her figure were

growing indistinct. As suddenly and as quickly as she had knelt, she

arose, and with the freedom of a child took my arm as we retraced our

steps.

A young moon was tilted over in the sky near the horizon as we gained

the open. The limitless depths above us were aglow with millions of

sparkling stars. We stood for a moment before going down to our horses.

"We'll be a little late getting back."

Again it was my companion who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, for it will be because of me."

She laughed,--the bubbling notes so like the falling of a forest rivulet

over a low rock ledge.

"It will not matter, unless we count the loss of sleep. Mother and

father know how I love the night, and when they know where I am, and

whom I am with, they are not concerned."

"I would gladly lose a night's rest for an experience like this. You

have made me very much your debtor. How solemn and beautiful it all is!"

My eyes took in all visible things in a comprehensive glance. "Do you

come here often?"

"No; I only care to come at the close of day, and my parents are getting

too old to be dragged around to humor my whims. It is too far to come

alone, and so I miss it."

"Then did I really perform some sort of service for you in accompanying

you here? I had imagined the favor all on your side."

"Let's call it square," she smiled. "I showed you the place, and you

acted as my protector and escort. A very even bargain, I think. We had

better go now. We will have a fine ride home."

It was very dark on the cedar-bordered walk down which we went, and

while I longed to offer assistance, I refrained. When we came to the

road, however, we found that there was enough light. The horses were

restless at their posts, and we mounted with considerable difficulty

after I had unhitched them. But Salome, peerless horsewoman that she

was, quickly had hers in hand, and mine soon became tractable of its

own accord. We proceeded at a smart canter until we reached the

turnpike. There Salome suggested a gallop, and I could do nothing but

assent, although fast riding was something to which I was not

accustomed. But I gradually accommodated myself to the long, undulating

leaps of my mount, and then began to enjoy it. It was highly

exhilarating as well as novel. Salome sat as though part of the animal

she managed so well, and as we swept along I kept my eyes upon her in a

kind of wonder. It was so new to me, and the skill with which her small

hand managed her mettled horse was nothing short of a marvel.

We did not talk much during this part of our ride. Occasionally she

would fling a remark across at me above the thud of the hammering feet,

but I think the beauty of the night and the wonderful silence sat upon

our minds, and made our tongues unwilling for speech. Sometimes the

road was open and clear, and then I could see her eyes, like veiled

stars. And around and about us were fields of growing corn and ripening

wheat, and infolding us close, as in a filmy garment, was that

indescribable odor of green things and of dew-wet turf. Then the pike

would sweep around a curve, like the stretch of a winding river, and

bordering each side of the highway were clumps and rows of gigantic

forest-trees. Oftentimes their boughs would intertwine above, and what

seemed to be the black mouth of a tunnel would confront us. Into this

apparent pit of darkness we would dash, but the horses never shied. They

knew well the ground their fleet hoofs were spurning, and they knew that

farther on was home,--a good stall, and a rack full of musky clover hay.

Under the trees I could not see Salome. Now and again some sparks of

fire would shoot out when a hoof struck a stone. Then out into the open

again. The pace our steeds had assumed of their own free will was no

mean one, and when scarcely an hour had gone we were riding slowly

through the meadow to the big whitewashed gate giving entrance to the

yard. The young moon had grown weary, and tumbled out of the sky; but

the stars seemed brighter--they looked as though the dew which sparkled

on the grass below us had washed their tiny faces on its way to earth.

The Milky Way appeared as a phantom lace curtain stretched across the

sky.

I opened the gate from my horse, and held it back for Salome to pass

through. When she had done this, I followed, and the gate clanged back.

The noise of its shutting notified Inky and Jim of our arrival, for they

were waiting sleepily as we came up to the fine stone steps of the old

home, and at once took charge of the horses. I helped Salome up the

steps by placing my hand beneath her elbow. We stood for a moment on the

edge of the porch.

"We must move around gently," I suggested. "The old folks have doubtless

been asleep an hour."

"Bless their dear hearts!" she answered with earnest fervor. "Mother

says you move like a mouse," she resumed, and I could see the faint

glint of her teeth as she smiled. "My room is upstairs, and I am not so

likely to disturb them. Have you enjoyed your day?"

"It has been _very_ pleasant," I answered warmly. "I feel more grateful

to you than I can say for being so nice to a stranger who happens to be

a guest in your home. But I love the woods, and the fields, and the

pure, fresh air which blows straight down from heaven. This much we have

in common. Will you let me go with you again--sometimes? I would not

bore you, nor presume too much."

In my great earnestness I had come closer to her.

"I am out of doors a great deal, and you may go with me often, if you

wish. I enjoyed having you to-day."

This was said just as seriously as my question had been put. Then, in

one of those rare changes of which her nature was capable, she added:

"You know I need a protector in my various rambles, and you shall be my

esquire when I go forth in state to see my flower subjects scattered all

over the farm. My knight-errant, too, to espouse my cause should snake,

or dog, or an enraged animal of the pastures seek to do me harm."

"Gladly, your majesty," I answered gallantly, falling into the spirit

which her words betokened, and bowing low. "Behold your vassal; command

me when you will."

A whispered "good-night," a faint echo of that enchanting laugh, and she

had slipped through the door and was gone.

I did not tarry long, for the beauty of the night had suddenly paled.

Everything had grown darker, and, by habit, I thought of my easy-chair

and pipe, and went in also. Salome was standing at the farther end of

the long, broad hall, with a lighted candle in her hand. Her hat had

been removed, and her tangled hair was half down. The riding habit had

also disappeared, and she was robed in some sort of a loose house gown

which fell away into a train. Her back was towards me, and she had one

foot on the first step of the curved stairway which went up from that

point. She heard me turn the key in the lock, and looked back. I went

towards her; why, I do not know. She waited until I had come quite

close.

"I haven't anything very particular to say," I began, I fear very

confusedly. But my foolish feet had led me to her, obedient to the

dictates of a foolish mind, and I had to speak first.

"I have been in mother's room," she answered, opening her eyes very

wide, as a child does when it hears a sound in the dark. "I went for

this wrapper, and would you believe it, I did not waken either of them!

Mother sleeps very lightly, too!"

"You have performed quite a feat," I assured her, at once put at ease by

her genuineness. "Have you planned anything for to-morrow?"

"Father has some sheep on the lower farm that are sick, and I am going

to take them some salt, because that is good for their blood."

"May I help you salt the sheep? I'll carry the salt, if you will let me

go."

She turned her head sideways, with a slight uplifting of the brows, as

though hesitating.

"Ye-e-e-s, I guess so," she replied at last, doubtfully. "Do you know

anything about sheep?"

"Nothing more than I have read. They are very docile, I believe, and a

great many of our clothes come from their backs."

"But that isn't all." There was the wisdom of Solomon on the fresh young

face, shadowed by disarranged tresses. "Some of them have horns, like a

cow, only they grow back instead of out. And they'll run you sometimes,

when they take a notion. Can you run, Mr. Stone?"

The picture which came to my mind of the staid and dignified Abner Stone

flying across a meadow with coat-tails streaming, and an irate ram at

his heels, brought a broad smile to my face.

"Yes; I _can_ run. But I promise not to desert you if danger comes."

"Then be ready in the morning. I will say good-night again, for I know

you must tell this day's doings to your pipe before you retire."

Our entire conversation at the foot of the stair had been in low

whispers, and I whispered back her good-night, and turned to go. Then,

like Lot's wife, I looked behind me. She had reached the first landing,

where the stairway curved. She saw me, and peered forward, holding the

candle above her head. The loose sleeve of her dress fell back with the

motion, and the bare symmetry of her rounded forearm gleamed upon the

blackness like ivory upon ebony. I waved my hand; she waved hers, then

was gone.

I sank into a chair and bowed my head in my hands, my soul torn by the

pangs of a new birth.