Part 14 (1/2)

The pantomime was too expressive to be misunderstood by men each of whom had probably his own reasons for recognizing some one or all of its features. The convict broke into a yelling laugh, in which he was joined, though in a subdued and sinister fas.h.i.+on, by Luiz Sebastian. The rustics looked at each other with slow grins of comprehension, and the blue-eyed youth uttered a long shrill whistle. The great letter upon the cheek of the Muggletonian turned a deeper red, and his eyes burned. The youth was curious.

”Tell us all about it, Margery,” he said, coaxingly, ”and when the millons are ripe, I'll steal you one every night.”

Margery was nothing loth. She had attained the reputation of an accomplished _raconteuse_, and she was proud of it. Her crazed imagination peopled the forest with weird uncanny things, and fearful tales she told of fays and bugaboos, of spectres and awful voices speaking from out the dank stillness of twilight hollows. Often she sent quaking to their pallets men who would have heard the war-whoop with scarcely quickened pulses. And she could tell of every-day domestic happenings as well as of the doings of the powers of darkness.

Her audience listened greedily to the instance of plantation economy which she proceeded to relate.

”When was this, woman?” demanded the Muggletonian, when she had finished.

Margery pointed to the declining sun and then upwards to a spot a little past the zenith.

”Just after the nooning,” said the Muggletonian, and began to curse.

Margery stood up, her staff in her hand, and said airily, ”Margery must be going. The sun is growing large and red, and when he has slipped away behind the woods, the voices will begin to call to Margery from the hollow where the brook falls into the black pool. She must be there to answer them.” She moved away with a rapid and gliding step, flitted across the fallen tree, and was lost to sight in the shadow of the pines beyond.

As the last flutter of her light robe vanished, a figure appeared, walking rapidly along the opposite margin of the creek. The youth's sight was keen. He sent a piercing glance across the intervening distance and broke into an astonished laugh. ”Lord in Heaven! it's the man himself!” he cried in an awed tone. ”Ecod! he must be made of iron!”

Landless crossed the bridge and came towards the staring group. His face was white and set, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, which had the wide unseeing stare of a sleep-walker. He walked lightly and quickly, with a free, lithe swing of his body. The men looked at one another in rough wonder, knowing what was hidden by the coa.r.s.e s.h.i.+rt. He pa.s.sed them without a word, apparently without knowing that they were there, and went on towards the hut of the mender of nets. Presently they saw him enter and shut the door.

The rustics and the convict, after one long stare of amazement at the distant hut, began to comment freely and with much recondite blasphemy upon the transaction recorded by Margery. Luiz Sebastian only smiled amiably, like a lazy and well-disposed catamount, and the boy whistled long and thoughtfully. But the countenance of Master Win-Grace Porringer wore an expression of secret satisfaction.

CHAPTER XI

LANDLESS BECOMES A CONSPIRATOR

As Landless entered the hut G.o.dwyn looked up with a pleased smile from the net he was mending. The two men had not seen each other since the night upon which Landless had been brought to the hut by the Muggletonian. Twice had Landless laid his plans for a second visit, only to be circ.u.mvented each time by the watchfulness of the overseer.

The smile died from G.o.dwyn's face as he observed his visitor more closely.

”What is it?” he asked quickly.

Landless came up to him and held out his hand. ”I am with you, Robert G.o.dwyn, heart and soul,” he said steadily.

The mender of nets grasped the hand. ”I knew you would come,” he said, drawing a long breath. ”I have needed you sorely, lad.”

”I could not come before.”

”I know: Porringer told me you were prevented. I--” He still held Landless' hand in both his own, and as he spoke his slender fingers encircled the young man's wrist.

”What is the matter with your pulse?” he demanded. ”And your eyes! They are glazing! Sit down!”

”It is nothing,” said Landless, speaking with effort.

”I have been a physician, young man,” retorted the other. ”Sit down, or you will fall.”

He forced him down upon a settle from which he had himself risen, and stood looking at him, his hand upon his shoulder. Presently his glance fell to the shoulder, and he saw upon the white cloth where his hand pressed it against the flesh, a faint red stain grow and spread.

The face of the mender of nets grew very dark. ”So!” he said beneath his breath.