Part 7

On questioning Amos he found no more light was to be expected from that quarter, as the young man had already expounded his only theory, which was that these visions were but optional warnings of the inevitable: that all was fore-ordained: that there could be no variations in the course of Fate. His mind was not philosophical; his processes of reason were simple and direct, and he listened with profound interest to Mr. Cabot’s deeper and more scientific attempts at reaching a consistent explanation. Little progress, however, was made in this direction, and the lawyer admitted that the evidence, so far, contradicted in no detail his friend’s belief. He also found that Amos, although deeply concerned in the subject when once opened, rarely introduced it himself or referred to it in any way; and that he never employed his power except in the rarest emergencies.

Moreover, the lawyer understood how such a faculty, although of value in certain cases, would, in the great majority, be worse than useless, while it could not fail of an overpowering influence on the being who employed it. He respected the strength of purpose that enabled the young man to keep it in the background, and he felt that he had discovered at least one reason for the restless pleasures of his youth. Now, happily, he was securing a calmer and a healthier diversion from a life in the open air. As his neighbor became the object of a deeper study it was evident the conflicting qualities that seemed to give such varying colors to his character were the result of these extraordinary conditions. His occasional recklessness and indifference were now easily explained. His disregard for religious observances was in perfect harmony with an insight into the workings of a stupendous fate, immeasurably above the burning of candles and the laws of ecclesiastical etiquette. His love of exercise, of sunshine, of every form of pleasure and excitement, were but the means of escape from the pursuing dread of an awful knowledge. And the lavish generosity that often startled his friends and bewildered Daleford was a trivial matter to one who, if he cared to peruse in advance the bulletins of the stock exchange, could double his fortune in a day.

Off and on through July and a part of August an unwonted animation prevailed at the Cabots’, extending at times along the maples to the other house. Certain visitors of Molly’s were the cause of this gayety, and in their entertainment she found Amos a helpful friend. His horses, his fields, his groves, his fruits, his flowers, and himself, were all at her disposal, absolutely and at any time. A few friends of his own coming at the same period proved a welcome reinforcement, and the leaves of the old maples rustled with a new surprise at the life and laughter, the movement, the color, and the music that enlivened their restful shades. And also at night, during the warm evenings when farmers were abed, the air was awake with melodies which floated off in the summer air, dying away among the voices of the frogs and turtles along the borders of the meadow.

One warm afternoon in August, when there were visitors at neither house, Amos and Molly climbed over a wall into a pasture, for a shorter cut toward home. The pasture was extensive, and their course lay diagonally across a long hill, beyond whose brow they could see nothing. A crimson sunshade and white dress were in dazzling contrast to the dull greens of the pasture, whose prevailing colors were from rocks and withered grass. Patches of wild bushes where the huckleberries were in overwhelming majority necessitated either wide detours or careful navigating among thorns and briars. Her companion seemed indifferent to the painful fact that knickerbockers are no protection against these enemies. But pricks in the leg at the present moment were too trivial for notice. He was speaking with unusual earnestness, keeping close at her side, and now and then looking anxiously into her face. It may have been the heat and the exercise that drove the color to her cheeks, and there were also signs of annoyance as if she desired to escape him; but the ground was uneven, and the stones and bushes rendered haste impossible. She also appeared tired, and when they stopped at intervals always turned away her face, until finally, when half across the field, she sank upon a rock. “I really must rest. I am dreadfully warm.”

He stood beside her, facing in the same direction, both looking over the peaceful valley from which an occasional cow-bell was the only sound.

“It is really a little unfair that my old record should come between us. I was only twenty then, with no end of money and no parents or guardian to look after me. Mr. Judd would let me do whatever I wished, and of course I sailed ahead and did everything. Instead of having an allowance like other fellows I just asked for what I wanted, and always got it. And that is death to a boy.”

He pulled a twig from a bush and began to bite the end of it. If at that instant he had glanced down at the face beside him, he might have detected an expression that was not unjustly severe. There was a distinct ray of sympathy in the eyes that were fixed thoughtfully upon the valley.

“And then all the girls met me more than half-way, as if they, too, had conspired against me.”

This was said in a half-resentful, half-plaintive tone, and so delightfully free from any boastfulness that Molly, to conceal something very near a smile, bent her head and picked nettles from her skirt.

“Of course I liked a good time, there is no denying that, and I struck the wrong gang at college. I suppose I was weak--everlastingly and disgustingly weak; but really you might make allowances, and anyway--”

He stopped abruptly and turned about. Looking up she saw an expression in his eyes, as they gazed at something behind her, that caused her to spring to her feet and also turn about. As she did so the color left her face and her knees gave way beneath her. Instinctively she clutched his arm. Within twenty yards of them stood Barnard’s bull, and in his broad black head and cruel horns, in the distended nostrils and bloodshot eye, she read the fury of an unreasoning brute; and with it her own death and mutilation. Helpless they stood in the open pasture with no tree or refuge near. Amos cast a swift glance to the right, to the left, and behind them. The bull lowered his head just a very little, and as he stepped slowly forward she could hear his breath in impatient puffs. Her brain began to swim and she closed her eyes, but a sharp word and a rough shake brought her back with a start.

“Do just as I tell you. Turn and walk slowly off to the wall at the right. Then climb over. Don’t run till I say so. Give me your parasol.”

He twisted her about and gave her a push.

“Don’t look around.”

Gasping, faint, and so weak from terror that she could hardly direct her steps, she did as she was told. In her dazed mind there was no conception of time or distance, but, a moment after, hearing a snort from the bull and the quick pounding of his feet, she stopped and turned. She expected to see Amos on the creature’s horns, but Amos was running in the other direction, so far safe, although scarcely his own length ahead. In an instant she saw to her horror that, although a nimble runner, he was losing distance with every spring of the bull. But with a presence of mind that did much toward renewing her own courage, he kept looking over his shoulder, and when further running was hopeless, he jumped swiftly to one side, the side up the hill, and the ponderous brute plunged on for several feet before he could come to a stop. Amos looked at once in her direction, and when he saw her he shook his hand and cried, in an angry voice:

“Run! Run! Your life depends on it!”

There was no time to say more, for the bull had wheeled and was again coming toward him. Molly turned and ran as she never ran before, and never before did so many thoughts flash through her mind. Above all came the torturing regret that she could be of no possible service to the man who, at that moment perhaps, was giving up his life for hers. Leaping rocks, stumbling over hillocks, tearing through bushes, she finally reached the wall, scrambled up and over as best she could, then, with a throbbing heart and pallid face, looked back into the field.

They were farther up the hill, and Amos had evidently just jumped aside, for again the bull and he were facing each other. The animal was advancing slowly toward him, head down, with an angry lashing of the tail and occasional snorts that drove the blood from the spectator’s heart. As Amos retreated slowly, his face to the animal, she saw him look swiftly in her direction, then back at the bull. Faster and faster the animal came toward him, and when finally he bounded forward on a run Amos turned and ran for his life. He was now making for this side of the pasture, but she saw with the keenest anguish that all his elasticity had departed, that he was losing ground much faster than at first. That he should show signs of exhaustion caused her no surprise, for the ground was rough, low briars and bushes concealing rocks of treacherous shapes and varying sizes, and the race was harder for the man than for the bull. The distance between them was being lessened with a rapidity that might end the struggle without a second’s warning, and the horns were now within a yard of his heels. Again he jumped to one side, but this time it brought a cry of agony from beyond the wall. His foot slipped, and instead of landing a yard or more from the creature’s path, he measured his length upon the ground. The bull lowered his head and plunged savagely upon him. The horns grazed the prostrate body, and the heavy brute, by his own impetus, dashed a dozen yards beyond. Amos raised first his head and shoulders, then climbed to his feet, slowly, like one bewildered or in pain. He stood cautiously upon his legs as if uncertain of their allegiance, but he still clutched the crimson sunshade. The bull, with fiery nostrils and bloodshot eyes, once more came on, and Amos started for the wall. It was evident to the one spectator that his strength was gone. With every jump of the thing behind him he was losing ground, and the awful end was near, and coming swiftly. She sank against the wall and clutched it, for the sky and pasture were beginning to revolve before her straining eyes. But Amos, instead of coming straight for the wall, bore down the hill. With the hot breath close upon his heels, he opened the crimson sunshade, jumped aside, and thrust it upon the pursuing horns: then without looking back he made a bee-line for the wall. It was skilfully done, and for one precious moment the seeming victor was delayed by goring the infuriating color; but only for a moment. He saw his enemy escaping and bounded in pursuit. This time, however, he missed him by a dozen feet and saw him vault the barrier into safety. The wall he accepted as a conclusion, but he stood close against it, looking over in sullen anger, frothing, hot-eyed, and out of breath.

Then he witnessed a scene, to him of little interest, but which signified much to another person. He saw the girl, anxious, pale, with disordered hair, eagerly approach the exhausted runner; then, nervously pressing a hand to her cheek, she bent forward and asked a question. The young man, who was leaning against a tree and seemed to have trouble with his breathing, suddenly, with a joyful face, stretched forth his hands, and with even more eagerness than her own, asked in his turn a question, whereupon the color rushed to her face. Looking down, then up at him, then down again, she smiled and muttered something, and he, without waiting for further words, seized her in his arms, and with one hand holding her chin, kissed her mouth and cheeks, not once but many times. But she pushed away from him, flushed and possibly angry. However, it could not have been a deep-seated or lasting anger, for she created no disturbance when he took one of her hands in both of his and made a little speech. It appeared an interesting discourse, although she looked down and off, and all about, at everything except at him, smiling and changing color all the while. He seemed foolishly happy, and when a moment later he wished to assist in rearranging her hair, he was not depressed because the offer was declined with contempt.

Then the young man took a few steps toward the wall, and stood facing the huge head whose bloodshot eyes were still upon him. As he lifted his hand there was a hitch in the motion, and a spasm of pain drew down a corner of his mouth, but the girl behind him could not see this. He raised his cap and saluted his adversary.

“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart.”

Then he turned, and hand in hand, the two people disappeared among the pines.

VIII

According to habit, Mr. Cabot composed himself by the library table that evening for an hour’s reading before going to bed, but the book was soon lifted from his grasp and Molly seated herself in his lap. Although fingers were inserted between his collar and neck as a warning that the closest attention was expected, there followed a short silence before any words were uttered. Then she told him all: of being face to face with Barnard’s bull; of the narrow escape; of how Amos remained alone in the open field, and lastly, she gave the substance of what the rescuer had said to her, and that she had promised to be his wife. But on condition that her father should consent.

He received the news gravely; confessed he was not so very much surprised, although he had hoped it would come a little later. And she was very happy to find he made no objection to Amos as a son-in-law, and to hear him praise his character and pronounce him an honest, manly fellow. His behavior with the bull was heroic, but did not she think the reward he demanded was exorbitant? Was it not a little greedy to ask as a price for his services the entire value of the rescued property? It certainly was not customary to snatch away the object before placing it in the owner’s hands. “But he risked his life to save yours, and for that he shall have anything I own.”

The following morning, as she stepped upon the piazza, the doctor’s buggy came down the opposite avenue and turned toward the village. Could old Mrs. Judd be ill? or was it one of the servants?

An hour later, as there were still no signs of her bull-fighter she began to feel a slight annoyance. Perhaps after sleeping upon the events of yesterday his enthusiasm had cooled. Perhaps his exceptionally wide experience in this field had taught him that the most delicate way out of such dilemmas was to give the girl the initiative, and perhaps, now that he was sure she loved him, all the fun had departed. Perhaps, in short, he was now realizing that he had committed himself. Although none of these suspicions took a serious hold there was a biting of the nether lip and a slight flush upon the cheeks as she re-entered the house: and in order that he might not suspect, when he did come, that his delay had caused the slightest feeling, or that anyone had watched for him, she returned to her room. A few moments later a note was brought in which was received with indifference, but which, after Maggie’s departure she opened with nervous fingers.

MY GIRL: That bull, God bless him! smashed two of my ribs, the doctor says, but I know better. They were broken by an outward force, a sudden expansion of the heart, and I felt them going when you came into a pair of arms.

Please come over, or I shall fly away, as I feel the sprouting of wings, and there is a cracking among the other ribs.

AMOS.

She went, and although their conversation that morning touched upon ribs and anatomy, it would, if taken as a whole, have been of little value to a scientist. It was distinctly personal. The one sentiment which appeared to have an irresistible fascination for the bull-fighter and his fiancée colored all remarks, and the fact that the dialogue would have caused them the most intense mortification if made public, tended in no degree to lessen their enjoyment. To a middle-aged person who had never been in love it would have been unendurable.

Later in the day she intercepted the doctor and learned as much as possible of the patient’s condition. Two ribs were badly broken, he said; had been pressed inward to a serious extent, but so far there were no indications of internal injuries. Of this, however, he could not at present be absolutely sure, but he thought there was no great cause for alarm. The patient, of course, must keep quiet for a week or two.

Fortunately for Amos there proved to be no injury save the damaged ribs, but three long weeks elapsed before he was allowed to go up and down stairs and move about the house.

The last day of August proved a day of discoveries.

It was bright and warm, yet invigorating, the perfection of terrestrial weather, and Mr. Cabot and Molly, early in the afternoon, were sitting upon the piazza discussing the date of their departure, Amos occupying his favorite place upon the floor in front of them, his back against a column. When she informed her father that additional trunks or boxes of some kind would be needed, Amos said that such articles were going to waste in the Judd residence, and if she would but step across the way and select a few, it would be a lasting benefit to an overcrowded attic. This offer was accepted and they started off. After climbing the final stairs, which were steep and narrow, Molly seated herself upon an old-fashioned settle, the back of which could be lowered and used as an ironing table. “How I do love this smell of an attic! Is it the sap from the hot pine? And isn’t there sage in the air, or summer savory?”

“Both. With a few old love-letters and a touch of dried apples.”

“Whatever it is, I love it. The days of my childhood come galloping back,” and with upturned face she closed her eyes and drew a longer breath. He bent silently over and touched her lips.

“What a breach of hospitality!”

“When a visitor insults a host by sleeping in his presence, it is etiquette to awaken her. And when lips with those particular undulations look one pleasantly in the eye and say ‘Amos, kiss us,’ what do you expect to happen?”

“From you I expect the worst, the most improper thing.”

“And you will always get it, O spirit of old-fashioned Roses!”

In opening a window he disturbed an enormous fly, whose buzzing filled every corner of the roof. “To me,” he said, “this atmosphere recalls long marches and battles, with splendid victories and awful defeats.”

“I don’t see why. To me it seems delightfully restful.”

From an ancient horse-hair trunk he brought forth a box, and seating himself at her feet, emptied its contents upon the floor.

“This is why,” and he arranged in parallel lines the little leaden soldiers, diminutive cannons, some with wheels and some without, and a quantity of dominos, two by two. “These are troops, and if you care to know how I passed the rainy days of boyhood this will show you.”

“But, what are the dominos?”

“They are the enemy. These lead soldiers are mine, and they are all veterans, and all brave. This is myself,” and he held up a bent and battered relic on a three-legged horse.

“And who are you in these fights, Goosey?”

“Napoleon, generally; often Cæsar and Frederick, and sometimes George Washington and General Lee.”

“But you have no head. Isn’t that a drawback for a commander?”

“Not with troops like these. I lost that head at Quebec, as Montcalm.”

She looked down upon him with a wish that she also might have been one of those absurd little soldiers and shared his victories.

“The cracks between the floor-boards,” he continued, “are railroads, rivers, canals, stone walls, or mountain ranges, according to the campaign.”

“They must have been a nuisance, though. Could not a soldier disappear and not return?”

“I should say he could! Why, those ravines are gorged with heroes, and that recalls the most humiliating event of my career. I was leading the charge of the Light Brigade, six of these cavalrymen, each representing a hundred men. I of course was in front, and it was a supreme moment. As we dashed across the open field--the cracks, mind you, didn’t count this time--I, the leader, suddenly disappeared, head downward, feet up, in an open field! Of course the charge could not stop, and the others rushed on to a magnificent death.”

With a sigh he gathered the motley company together again, and laid them away in their box. She got up and moved about. “I should like to live in an attic. It is mysterious and poetic, and so crammed with history. Each of these things has its little story for somebody,” and she stopped before a curious feminine garment in India silk, of a long-ago fashion.

Pointing to a quaint old cap with ear-laps, she exclaimed, “What a funny rig that is! Put it on.” And she took it from its peg and placed it upon his head, then laughed and led him to a broken mirror that was hanging from a rafter. “Unless you wear it in New York next winter, I shall never marry you!”

“Then I promise, but at present it is a trifle warm.”

As he removed it a letter slipped from the lining and fell to the floor. She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers. “Why, it has never been opened! It is directed to Mr. Josiah Judd.”

Amos examined it, studied the date, then looked at the old cap. “He wore this at the time of his death, when he had just come from the post-office, and the Daleford postmark says December fifth, the very day before. That is very curious.” And he stood looking down at the letter, deep in thought.

“Why don’t you open it? You are the one who should do it, I suppose.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Where is it from?”

“India. From Mr. Morton Judd, his brother, the one who sent me here.”

“Oh, yes! I remember. Is Mr. Morton Judd alive?”

“No, he died ten years ago.”

“Well, please open it, for it may be interesting. Come over near the light.”

As they stood by the open window, leaning against the sill, he tore open the envelope and began reading aloud, she looking idly out upon some haymakers in a neighboring field. Their voices came faintly to her ears, and they made a pleasant picture in the afternoon sunlight with the village spires, the tall elms, and the purple hills for a background. She wondered if India was at all like New England.

DEAR JOSIAH: The case ought to reach you about a fortnight after this letter, and if you will write to Mr. Wharton, or better still, visit him, he will see that there is no trouble at the Custom House. Give my love to Sarah, but don’t show her the shawl and the silks before her birthday, in January. What you say about the boy Amos does not surprise me, and I was only waiting for you to make your own discoveries. He gave clear indications when a very small child of this same faculty in which his mother and the rest of his family had great faith. In the box you will receive I send a book giving an account of the Rajah Sirdar Sing, his ancestor, a hero of prophetic powers who died ninety-eight years ago, so this boy, according to tradition, should inherit the same supernatural faculties. Be careful that he does not see this book before coming of age, as it might put dangerous ideas into his head, and if he should suspect what he really is great mischief might ensue. I am glad he is turning out such a sensible boy. But if he should ever come over here and make himself known it would cause a great disturbance, and might result fatally to himself. Am sorry to hear about Phil Bates’s wife. She was a fool to marry him. Your affectionate brother,

MORTON JUDD.