_CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE_
The Room of Silence had become to David Eden a chamber of horror. Thefour chairs around him, which had hitherto seemed filled with the ghostsof the four first masters of the Garden, were now empty to hisimagination. In this place where he had so often found unfailingconsolation, unfailing counsel, he was now burdened by the squat, heavywalls, and the low ceiling. It was like a prison to him.
For all his certainty was gone. "You've made yourself your God," thegambler had said. "Fear made the Garden of Eden, fear keeps the men init. Do you think the others stay for love of you?"
Benjamin had proved a sinner, no doubt, but there had been a ring ofconviction in his words that remained in the mind of David. How could hetell that the man was not right? Certainly, now that he had once doubtedthe wisdom of that silent Voice, the mystery was gone. The room wasempty; the holiness had departed from the Garden of Eden with thedeparting of Ruth.
He found himself avoiding the thought of her, for whenever her imagerose before him it was torture.
He dared not even inquire into the depression which weighed down hisspirits, for he knew that the loss of the girl was the secret of itall.
One thing at least was certain: the strong, calming voice which he hadso often heard in the Room of Silence, no longer dwelt there, and withthat in mind he rose and went into the patio.
In a corner, screened by a climbing vine, hung a large bell which hadonly been rung four times in the history of the Garden of Eden, and eachtime it was for the death of the master. David tore the green away andstruck the bell. The brazen voice crowded the patio and pealed far away,and presently the men came. They came in wild-eyed haste, and when theysaw David alive before them they stared at him as if at a ghost.
"As it was in the beginning," said David when the circle had been formedand hushed, "death follows sin. Sin has come into the Garden of Eden andthe voice of God has died out of it. Therefore the thing for which youhave lived here so long is gone. If for love of David, you wish to stay,remain; but if your hearts go back to your old homes, return to them.The wagons and the oxen are yours. All the furnishing of the houses areyours. There is also a large store of money in my chest which Elijahshall divide justly among you. And on your journey Elijah shall leadyou, if you go forth, for he is a just man and fit to lead others. Donot answer now, but return to your house and speak to one another.Afterward, send one man. If you stay in the Garden he shall tell me. Ifyou depart I shall bid you farewell through him. Begone!"
They went out soft-footed, as though the master of the Garden had turnedinto an animal liable to spring on them from behind.
He began to pace up and down the patio, after a time, ratherimpatiently. No doubt the foolish old men were holding forth at greatlength. They were appointing the spokesman, and they were framing thespeech which he would make to David telling of their devotion to him,whether the spirit was gone or remained. They would remain; andBenjamin's prophecy had been that of a spiteful fool. Yet even if theystayed, how empty the valley would be--how hollow of all pleasure!
It was at this point in his thoughts that he heard a sound of singingdown the hillside from the house of the servants--first a single, thin,trembling voice to which others were added until the song was heartenedand grew full and strong. It was a song which David had never heardbefore. It rang and swung with a peculiarly happy rhythm, growingshriller as the old men seemed to gather their enthusiasm. The words,sung in a thick dialect, were stranger to David than the tune, but asnearly as he could make out the song ran as follows:
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars For the cows they has come to the pasture bars, And the little game chicken's beginning to crow: Come back to us, Jo; come back to us, Jo!
"He was walkin' in the gyarden in the cool o' the day When He seen my baby Jo in the clover blossoms play.
"He was walkin' in the gyarden an' the dew was on His feet When He seen my baby Jo so little an' sweet.
"They was flowers in the gyarden, roses, an' such, But the roses an' the pansies, they didn't count for much.
"An' He left the clover blossoms fo' the bees the next day An' the roses an' the pansies, but He took Jo away.
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars For the cows they has come to the pasture bars, And the little game chicken has started to crow: Come back to us, Jo; come back to us Jo!"
He knew their voices and he knew their songs, but never had David heardhis servants sing as they sang this song. Their hymns were strong andpleasant to the ear, but in this old tune there was a melody and a liltthat brought a lump in his throat. And there was a heart to theirsinging, so that he almost saw them swaying their shoulders to themelody.
It was the writing on the wall for David.
Out of that song he built a picture of their old lives, the hotsunshine, the dust, and all the things which Matthew had told him of theslaves and their ways before the time of the making of the Garden.
He waited, then, either for their messenger or for another song; but heneither saw the one nor heard the other for a considerable time. Anangry pride sustained him in the meantime, in the face of a life alonein the Garden. Far off, he heard the neigh of the grays in the meadownear the gate, and then the clarion clear answer of Glani near thehouse. He was grateful for that sound. All men, it seemed, were traitorsto him. Let them go. He would remain contented with the Eden Grays. Theywould come and go with him like human companions. Better the noble headof Glani near him than the treacherous cunning of Benjamin! He acceptedhis fate, then, not with calm resignation, but with fierce anger againstConnor, who had brought this ruin on him, and against the men who werepreparing to desert him.
He could hear plainly the creaking of the great wains as the oxen wereyoked to them and they were dragged into position to receive the burdensof the property they were to take with them into the outer world. And,in the meantime, he paced through the patio in one of those silentpassions which eat at the heart of a man.
He was not aware of the entrance of Elijah. When he saw him, Elijah hadfallen on his knees near the entrance to the patio, and every line ofhis time-dried body expressed the terror of the bearer of bad tidings.David looked at him for a moment in silent rage.
"Do you think, Elijah," he said at last, "that I shall be so grieved toknow that you and the others will leave me and the Garden of Eden? No,no! For I shall be happier alone. Therefore, speak and be done!"
"Timeh--" began the old man faintly.
"You have done that last duty, then, Elijah? Timeh is no longer alive?"
"The day is still new, David. Twice I went to Timeh, but each time whenI was about to lead her away, the neighing of Juri troubled me and myheart failed."
"But the third time you remembered my order?"
"But the third time--there was no third time. When the bell sounded wegathered. Even the watchers by the the gates--Jacob and Isaac--came andthe gate was left unguarded--Timeh was in the pasture near the gate withJuri--and--"
"They are gone! They have passed through the gate! Call Zacharias andJoseph. Let them mount and follow and bring Juri back with the foal!"
"Oh, David, my master--"
"What is it now, Elijah, old stammerer? Of all my servants none has costme so much pain; to none shall I say farewell with so little regret.What is it now? Why do you not rise and call them as I bid you? Do youthink you are free before you pass the gates?"
"David, there are no horses to follow Juri!"
"What!"
"The God of John and Paul give me strength to tell and give you strengthto hear me in patience! When you had spoken, and the servants went backto speak of the strange things you had said, some of them spoke of theold days before they heard the call and followed to the Garden, and thena song was raised beginning with Zacharias--"
"Zacharias!" echoed David, softly and fiercely. "Him whom I have favoredabove the others!"
"But while the others sang, I
heard a neighing near the gate and Iremembered your order and your judgment of Timeh, and I went sorrowfullyto fulfill your will. But near the gate I saw the meadow empty of thehorses, and while I stood wondering, I heard a chorus of neighing beyondthe gate. There was a great answer just behind me, and I turned and sawGlani racing at full speed. I called to him, but he did not hear andwent on, straight through the pillars of the gate, and disappeared inthe ravine beyond. Then I ran to the gate and looked out, but the horseswere gone from sight--they have left the Garden--they are free--"
"And happy!" said David in a terrible voice. "They, too, have only beenheld by fear and never by love. Let them go. Let all go which is kepthere by fear. Why should I care? I am enough by myself. When all is goneand I am alone the Voice shall return and be my companion. It is well.Let every living thing depart. David is enough unto himself. Go, Elijah!And yet pause before you go!"
He went into his room and came out bearing the heavy chest of money,which he carried to the gate.
"Go to your brothers and bid them come for the money. It will make themrich enough in the world beyond the mountains, but to me there is needof no money. Silence and peace is my wish. Go, and let me hear theirvoices no more, let me not see one face. Ingrates, fools, and traitors!Let them find their old places; I have no regret. Begone!"
And Elijah, as one under the shadow of a raised whip, skulked from thepatio and was gone.
_CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX_
The last quiet began for David. He had heard the sounds of departure. Hehad heard the rumble of the oxwains begin and go slowly toward the gatewith never the sound of a human voice, and he pictured, with a grimsatisfaction, the downcast faces and the frightened, guilty glances, ashis servants fled, conscious that they were betraying their master. Itfilled him with a sort of sulky content which was more painful thansorrow. But before the sound of the wagons died out the wind blew backfrom the gate of the Garden a thin, joyous chorus of singing voices.They were leaving him with songs!
He was incredulous for a time. He felt, first, a great regret that hehad let them go. Then, in an overwhelming wave of righteousness, hedetermined to dismiss them from his mind. They were gone; but worsestill, the horses were gone, and the valley around him was empty! Heremembered the dying prophecy of Abraham, now, as the stern Elijah hadrepeated it. He had let the world into the Garden, and the tide of theworld's life, receding, would take all the life of the Garden awaybeyond the mountains among other men.
The feeling that Connor had been right beset him: that the four firstmasters had been wrong, and that they had raised David in error. Yet hispride still upheld him.
That day he went resolutely about the routine. He was not hungry, butwhen the time came he went into the big kitchen and prepared food. Itwas a place of much noise. The great copper kettles chimed and murmuredwhenever he touched them, and they spoke to him of the servants who weregone. Half of his bitterness had already left him and he could rememberthose days in his childhood when Abraham had told him tales, andZacharias had taught him how to ride at the price of many a tumble fromthe lofty back of the gentle old mare. Yet he set the food on the tablein the patio and ate it with steady resolution. Then he returned to thebig kitchen and cleansed the dishes.
It was the late afternoon, now, the time when the sunlight becomesyellow and loses its heat, and the heavy blue shadow sloped across thepatio. A quiet time. Now and again he found that he was tense withwaiting for sounds in the wind of the servants returning for the nightfrom the fields, and the shrill whinny of the colts coming back from thepastures to the paddocks. But he remembered what had happened and madehimself relax.
There was a great dread before him. Finally he realized that it was thecoming of the night, and he went into the Room of Silence for the lasttime to find consolation. The book of Matthew had always been a means ofbringing the consolation and counsel of the Voice, but when he openedthe book he could only think of the girl, as she must have leaned aboveit. How had she read? With a smile of mockery or with tears? He closedthe book; but still she was with him. It seemed that when he turned inthe chair he must find her waiting behind him and he found himselfgrowing tense with expectation, his heart beating rapidly.
Out of the Room of Silence he fled as if a curse lived in it, andwithout following any conscious direction, he went to the room of Ruth.
The fragrance had left the wild flowers, and the great golden blossomsat the window hung thin and limp, the bell lips hanging close together,the color faded to a dim yellow. The green things must be taken awaybefore they molded. He raised his hand to tear down the transplantedvine, but his fingers fell away from it. To remove it was to destroy thelast trace of her. She had seen these flowers; on account of them shehad smiled at him with tears of happiness in her eyes. The skin of themountain lion on the floor was still rumpled where her foot had fallen,and he could see the indistinct outline where the heel of her shoe hadpressed.
He avoided that place when he stepped back, and turning, he saw her bed.The dappled deerskin lay crumpled back where her hand had tossed it asshe rose that morning, and in the blankets was the distinct outline ofher body. He knew where her body had pressed, and there was the hollowmade by her head in the pillow.
Something snapped in the heart of David. The sustaining pride which hadkept his head high all day slipped from him like the strength of therunner when he crosses the mark. David fell upon his knees and buriedhis face where her head had lain, and his arms curved as though aroundher body. Connor had been right. He had made himself his god, and thiswas the punishment. The mildness of a new humility came to him in theagony of his grief. He found that he could pray, not the proud prayersof the old days when David talked as an equal to the voice, but thatmost ancient prayer of sinners:
"O Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief!"
And the moment the whisper had passed his lips there was a blessedrelief from pain. There was a sound at the window, and turning to it, hesaw the head and the arched neck of Glani against the red of thesunset--Glani looking at him with pricked ears. He went to the stallion,incredulous, with steps as short as a child which is afraid, and at hiscoming Glani whinnied softly. At that the last of David's pride fellfrom him. He cast his arms around the neck of the stallion and wept withdeep sobs that tore his throat, and under the grip of his arms he feltthe stallion trembling. He was calmer, at length, and he climbed throughthe window and stood beside Glani under the brilliant sunset sky.
"And the others, O Glani," he said. "Have they returned likewise? Timehshall live. I, who have judged others so often, have been myself judgedand found wanting. Timeh shall live. What am I that I should speak ofthe life or the death of so much as the last bird in the trees? But havethey all returned, all my horses?"
He whistled that call which every gray knew as a rallying sound, a callthat would bring them at a dead gallop with answering neighs. But whenthe thin sound of the whistle died out there was no reply. Only Glanihad moved away and was looking back to David as if he bid the masterfollow.
"Is it so, Glani?" said the master. "They have not come back, but youhave returned to lead me to them? The woman, the man, the servants, andthe horses. But we shall leave the valley, walking together. Let thehorses go, and the man and the woman and the servants; but we shall goforth together and find the world beyond the mountains."
And with his hand tangled in the mane of the stallion, he walked downthe road, away from the hill, the house, the lake. He would not lookback, for the house on the hill seemed to him a tomb, the monument ofthe four dead men who had made this little kingdom.
By the time he reached the gate the Garden of Eden was awash with theshadows of the evening, but the higher mountain-tops before him werestill rosy with the sunset. He paused at the gate and looked out onthem, and when he turned to Glani again, he saw a figure crouchedagainst the base of the rock wall. It was Ruth, weeping, her head falleninto her hands with weariness. Above her stood Glani, his head turned tothe master in almost human inquiry. The deep cr
y of David wakened her.The gentle hands of David raised her to her feet.
"You have not come to drive me away again?"
"To drive you from the Garden? Look back. It is black. It is full ofdeath, and the world and our life is before us. I have been a king inthe Garden. It is better to be a man among men. All the Garden was mine.Now my hands are empty. I bring you nothing, Ruth. Is it enough? Ah, mydear, you are weeping!"
"With happiness. My heart is breaking with happiness, David."
He tipped up her face and held it between his hands. Whatever he saw inthe darkness that was gathering it was enough to make him sigh. Then heraised her to the back of Glani, and the stallion, which had never bornea weight except that of David, stood like a stone. So David went up thevalley holding the hand of Ruth and looking up to her with laughter inhis eyes, and she, with one hand pressed against her breast, laughedback to him, and the great stallion went with his head turned to watchthem.
"How wonderful are the ways of God!" said David. "Through a thief he hastaught me wisdom; through a horse he has taught me faith; and you, oh,my love, are the key with which he has unlocked my heart!"
And they began to climb the mountain.
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