Part 29 (1/2)

elise came back with a crash.

”Mrs. Morrison!” She did not speak the words, she shrank from them and left them hanging in their self-polluted atmosphere. ”Learn me!” The words were vibrant with a low-pitched hum, that smote and bored like the impact of an electric wave. ”You--you--snake; you--how dare you!”

Morrison did not flinch. The blind fury of a dared beast flamed in his eyes.

”Dare, you vixen! I'll make you, or break you! I've been in too many sc.r.a.ps and smelled too much powder to get scared by a hen that's trying to crow.”

The animal was dominant in elise. Fury personified flew at Morrison.

”You'll teach me; will you? I'll teach you the difference between a hen and a wild cat.”

The door from the kitchen was opened and Madame came in. She flung herself between elise and Morrison. The repressed timorous love of years flamed upon the thin cheeks, flashed from the faded eyes. There was no trace of fear. Her slight form fairly shook with the intensity of her pa.s.sion.

”Go! Go! Go!” The last was uttered in a voice little less than a shriek.

”Don't you touch elise. She is mine. Why don't you go?”

Her trembling hands pushed Morrison toward the open door. Bewildered, staggered, cowed, he slunk from the room. Madame closed the door. She turned toward elise. The pa.s.sion had receded, only the patient pleading was in her eyes.

The next instant she saw nothing. Her head was crushed upon elise's shoulder, the clasping arms caressed and bound, and hot cheeks were pressed against her own. Another instant and she was pushed into a chair. For the first time in her life, Madame's hungry heart was fed.

elise loved her. That was enough.

The westward sinking sun had drawn the veil of darkness up from the greying east. Its cycles of waxing and waning were measured by the click of tensioned springs and beat of swinging pendulums. But in the growing darkness another sun was rising, its cycles measured by beating hearts to an unending day.

CHAPTER XX

_The River Gives up its Prey_

Because Zephyr saw a school of fishes disporting themselves in the water, this never diverted his attention from the landing of the fish he had hooked.

This principle of his life he was applying to a particular event. The river had been closely watched; now, at last, his fish was hooked. The landing it was another matter. He needed help. He went for it.

Zephyr found Bennie taking his usual after-dinner nap.

”Julius Benjamin, it's the eleventh hour,” he began, indifferently.

Bennie interrupted:

”The eleventh hour! It's two o'clock, and the time you mention was born three hours ago. What new kind of bug is biting you?”

Zephyr studiously rolled a cigarette.

”Your education is deficient, Julius. You don't know your Bible, and you don't know the special force of figurative language. I'm sorry for you, Julius, but having begun I'll see it through. Having put my hand to the plough, which is also figuratively speaking, it's the eleventh hour, but if you'll get into your working clothes and whirl in, I'll give you full time and better wages.”

Bennie sat upright.

”What?” he began.

Zephyr's cigarette was smoking.