Part 17 (2/2)

and now her mother could not help her.... But Mr. Achilles said--yes--he said it--no one should hurt her.... And with the thought of the Greek she lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the night.... There was a long, light call somewhere across the plain, a train of heavy Pullmans pus.h.i.+ng through the night--the sound came to the child like a whiff of breath, and pa.s.sed away... and the crickets chirped--high and shrill. In the next room, the breathing grew loud, and louder, in long, even beats. Mrs. Seabury was asleep! Betty Harris sat up in bed, her little hands clinched fast at her side. Then she lay down again--and waited... and the breathing in the next room grew loud, and regular, and full.... Mrs. Seabury was very tired! And Betty Harris listened, and slipped down from the bed, and groped for her shoes--and lifted them like a breath--and stepped high across the floor, in the dim room. It was a slow flight... tuned to the long-drawn, falling breath of the sleeper--that did not break by a note--not even when the brown hand released the latch and a little, sharp click fell on the air.... ”Wake up, Mrs. Seabury! Wake up--for Mollie's sake--wake up!” the latch said.

But the sleeper did not stir--only the long, regular, dream-filled, droning sleep. And the child crept down the stair--across the kitchen and reached the other door. She was not afraid now--one more door! The men would not hear her--they were asleep--Mrs. Seabury was asleep--and her fingers turned the key softly and groped to the bolt above--and pushed at it--hard--and fell back--and groped for it again--and tugged... little beads of sweat were coming on the brown forehead. She drew the back of her hand swiftly across them and reached again to the bolt. It was too high--she could reach it--but not to push. She felt for a chair, in the darkness--and lifted it, without a sound, and carried it to the door and climbed up. There was a great lump in her throat now.

Mr. Achilles did not know the bolt would stick like this--she gave a fierce, soft tug, like a sob--and it slid back. The k.n.o.b turned and the door opened and she was in the night.... For a moment her eyes groped with the blackness. Then a long, quiet hand reached out to her--and closed upon her--and she gave a little sob, and was drawn swiftly into the night.

x.x.xIV

THE FLIGHT OF STARS

”Is that you, Mr. Achilles?” she asked--into the dark.

And the voice of Achilles laughed down to her. ”I'm here--yes. It's me.

We must hurry now--fast. Come!”

He gripped the small hand in his and they sped out of the driveway, toward the long road. Up above them the little stars blinked down, and the warm wind touched their faces as they went. The soft darkness shut them in. There was only the child, clinging to Achilles's great hand and hurrying through the night. Far in the distance, a dull, sullen glow lit the sky--the city's glow--and Betty's home, out there beneath it, in the dark. But the child did not know. She would not have known which way the city lay--but for Achilles's guiding hand. She clung fast to that--and they sped on.

By and by he ran a little, reaching down to her--and his spirit touched hers and she ran without fatigue beside him, with little breathless laughs--”I--like--to run!” she said.

”Yes--come--” He hurried her faster over the road--he would not spare her now. He held her life in his hand--and the little children--he saw them, asleep in their dreams, over there in the glow.... ”Come!” he said. And they ran fast.

It was the first half hour he feared. If there was no pursuit, over the dark road behind them, then he would spare her--but not now. ”Come!” he urged, and they flew faster.

And behind them the little house lay asleep--under its stars--no sign of life when his swift-flas.h.i.+ng glance sought it out--and the heart of Achilles stretched to the miles and laughed with them and leaped out upon them, far ahead.... He should bring her home safe.

Then, upon the night, came a sound--faint-stirring wings--a long-drawn buzz and rush of air--deep notes that gripped the ground, far off--and the pulse of pounding wheels--behind them, along the dark road.... And Achilles seized the child by the shoulder, bearing her forward toward the short gra.s.s--his quick-running hand thrusting her down--”Lie still!”

he whispered. The lights of the car had gleamed out, swaying a little in the distance, as he threw his coat across her and pressed it flat. ”Lie still!” he whispered again, and was back in the road, his hand feeling for the great banana knife that rested in his s.h.i.+rt--his eye searching the road behind. There was time--yes--and he turned about and swung into the long, stretching pace that covers the miles--without hurry, without rest. The roar behind him grew, and flashed to light--and swept by--and his eye caught the face of the chauffeur, as it flew, leaning intently on the night; and in the lighted car behind him, flashed a face--a man's face, outlined against the gla.s.s, a high, white face fixed upon a printed page--some magnate, travelling at his ease, sleepless...

thundering past in the night--unconscious of the Greek, plodding in the roadside dust.

Achilles knew that he had only to lift his hand--to cry out to them, as they sped, and they would turn with leaping wheel. There was not a man, hurrying about his own affairs, who would not gladly stop to gather up the child that was lost. Word had come to Philip Harris--east and west--endless offers of help. But the great car thundered by and Achilles's glance followed it, sweeping with it--on toward the city and the dull glow of sky. He was breathing hard as he went, and he plunged on a step--two steps--ten--before he held his pace; then he drew a deep, free breath, and faced about. The knife dropped back in his breast, and his hand sought the revolver in his hip pocket, crowding it down a little. He had been sure he could face them--two of them--three--as many as might be. But the car had swept on, bearing its strangers to the city... and the little house on the plain was still asleep. He had a kind of happy superst.i.tion that he was to save the child single-handed.

He had not trusted the police... with their great, foolish fingers. They could not save his little girl. She had needed Achilles--and he had held the thread of silken cobweb--and traced it bit by bit to the place where they had hidden her. He should save her!

He glanced at the stars--an hour gone--and the long road to tramp. He ran swiftly to the child in the gra.s.s and lifted the coat and she leaped up, laughing--as if it were a game; and they swung out into the road again, walking with swift, even steps. ”Are you tired?” asked Achilles.

But she shook her head.

His hand in his pocket, in the darkness, had felt something and he pressed it toward her--”Eat that,” he said, ”you will be hungry.”

She took it daintily, and felt of it, and turned it over. ”What is it?”

she asked. Then she set her small teeth in it--and laughed out. ”It's chocolate,” she exclaimed happily. She held it up, ”Will you have a bite, Mr. Achilles?”

But Achilles had drawn out another bit of tin-foil and opened it. ”I have yet more,” he said, ”--two--three--six piece. I put here in my pocket, every day--I carry chocolate--till I find you. Every day I say, 'she be hungry, maybe--then she like chocolate'--”

She nibbled it in happy little nibbles, as they walked. ”I didn't eat any supper,” she said. ”I was too happy--and too afraid, I guess. That was a long time ago,” she added, after a minute.

”A long time ago,” said Achilles cheerfully. He had taken her hand again, and they trudged on under the stars.

<script>