Two hours passed.The shadows were lengthening rapidly.Over the forest, like the sigh of a spirit, swept from out the west the first intimation of waning light, of the mysteries of coming darkness.At last there reached his ear from far down the woodland path the sounds of voices and laughter--again and again--louder and louder--and then through the low thick boughs he caught glimpses of them coming.Now beneath the darker arches of the trees, now across pale-green spaces shot by slanting sunbeams.Once there was a halt and a merry outcry.Long grape-vines from opposite sides of the road had been tied across it, and this barrier had to cut through.Then on they came again: At the head of procession, astride an old horse that in his better days had belonged to a mounted rifleman, rode the parson.He was several yards ahead of the others and quite forgetful of them.The end of his flute stuck neglectedly out of his waistcoat pocket; his bridle reins lay slack on the neck of the drowsy beast; his hands were piled on the pommel of the saddle as over his familiar pulpit; his dreamy moss-agate eyes were on the tree-tops far ahead.In truth he was preparing a sermon on the affection of one man for another and ransacking Scripture for illustrations;and he meant to preach this the following Sunday when there would be some one sadly missed among his hearers.Nevertheless he enjoyed great peace of spirit this day: it was not John who rode behind him as the bridegroom:
otherwise he would as soon have returned to the town at the head of the forces of Armageddon.
Behind the parson came William Penn in the glory of a new bridle and saddle and a blanket of crimson cloth; his coat smooth as satin, his mane a tumbling cataract of white silk; bunches of wild roses at his ears; his blue-black eyes never so soft, and seeming to lift his feet cautiously like an elephant bearing an Indian princess.
They were riding side by side, the young husband and wife.He keeping one hand on the pommel of her saddle, thus holding them together; while with the other he used his hat to fan his face, now hers, though his was the one that needed it, she being cool and quietly radiant with the thoughts of her triumph that day--the triumph of her wedding, of her own beauty.Furthermore show was looking ahead to the house-warming that night when she would be able to triumph again and also count her presents.
Then came Major and Mrs.Falconer.Her face was hidden by a veil and as they passed, it was held turned toward him: he was talking, uninterrupted.
Then followed Horatio Turpin and Kitty Poythress; and then Erskine and his betrothed, he with fresh feathers of the hawk and the scarlet tanager gleaming in his cap above his swart, stern aquiline face.Then Peter, beside the widow Babcock; he openly aflame and solicitous; she coy and discreetly inviting, as is the wisdom of some.Then others and others and others--a long gay pageant, filling the woods with merry voices and laughter.
They passed and the sounds died away--passed on to the town awaiting the, to the house-warming, and please God, to long life and some real affection and happiness.
Once he had expected to ride beside her at the head of this procession.
There had gone by him the vision of his own life as it was to have been.
Long after the last sound had ceased in the distance he was sitting at the root of the red oak.The sun set, the moon rose, he was there still.A loud, impatient neigh from his horse aroused him.He sprang lightly up, meaning to ride all night and not to draw rein until he had crossed the Kentucky River and reached Traveller's Rest, the home of Governor Shelby, where he had been invited to break his travel.
All that nigh he rode and at sunrise was far away.Pausing on a height and turning his horse's head, he sat a long time motion-less as a statue.Then he struck his feet into its flank and all that day rode back again.
The sun was striking the tree-tops as he neared the clearing.He could see her across the garden.She sat quite still, her face turned toward the horizon.Against her breast, opened but forgotten, lay a book.He could recognize it.By that story she had judged him and wished to guide him.The smile smote his eyes like the hilt of a knight's sword used as a Cross to drive away the Evil One.For he knew the evil purpose with which he had returned.
And so he sat watching her until she rose and walked slowly to the house.
