Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1913-12-20
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Copyright The Bcshs- Merrill Company.
CHAPTER XVI Continued

CHAPTER XVI Continued
He set back the loving-cup and went
out to the front porch to prowl aim
lessly up and down past the great
gray stained Ionic columns. 1t was
not late, but the night was very still.
The Virginia creeper waved gently
to and fro in a soundless breeze that
was little more than whisper. The
sky was heavily sprinkled with stars
whose wan clustering was blotted
here and there by floating shreds Of
cloud-like, vaporous, filmy leaves
stripped by some upper gale from the
Tree of Heaven. The lawn lay mass
of mysterious shadow, stirring with
faint chirps and rustles and laden with
the poignant scent of the garden
honeysuckle. He could hear the howl
of lonesome hound, horse neighed
impatiently on distant meadow, and
from far down the Red Road. beyond
the gate, came the rude twitter Of a
banjo and the voice Of the strolling
darby player:
"Ai1 All wants in dis creation
Pretty yellah gal, en- er big planta-
tion.'
when the twangling notes died
away in the distance they had served
only to intensity the stiffness. He
felt that peculiar detachedness that
one senses in thick black dark, as
though he and his immediate surround
ings were floating in some soundless,
ambient ether. The white bulldog
scurried noiselessly back and forth
across the clipped grass, now emerging
like a canine ghost in the light from
the doorway, now suffering total
eclipse. Staring into the furry gloom.
he seemed as in those moments OF
semi-delirium in the forest, to see
Shirley's face advancing and retreat
as though it lay on the very pulsing
heart of the darkness.
He stepped down to the graveled
drive and followed it to the gate, then,
bareheaded, took the Red Road. Along
this highway he had ratified in Uncle
Jefferson's crazy hack-with her red
rose in his hand. The musky scent OF
the pressed leaves in the book in his
pocket seemed to be all about him.
The order Of living roses, In fact,
was in the air. 1t came on the scarce
felt breeze, a heavy calling perfume.
He walked on, keeping the road by the
misty infiltrating simmer of the stars,
with a sensation rather of gliding than
Of walking. Now and then from some
pasture came the snort and whinny or
horses or the grunt of a frog from
marshy sink, and once, where a mar
row path joined the road, he felt
against his trousers the shifting nose
of silent and friendly puppy. 1t &C.
Cured to him that If, as scientists say,
colors emit soundtones, scents also
should posses music of their own:
the honeysuckle fragrance, maybe
soft mellow fluting as Of diminut1ve
wind-instruments; the far-faint sickly
odors of lilies-the upper register OF
faery violins: this spicy breath OF
roses-blending. throbbing chords like
elfin echoes Of an italian harp The
fancy pleased him; he could imagine
the perfume now in the air carried
with it an under-music, like ghostly
harping.
It came to him at the same instant
that this was no mere fancy. Some
where in the dangerous night harp
was being played. He paused and lis.
tened intently. then went on toward
the sound. Presently he became
aware that he had passed it, had left
it on one side, and he went back,
stumbling along the low stone wall
till it opened to a shadowy lane, full
of foliaged whispers. The rose scent
had grown stronger; it was almost, in
that heavy air, as If he were breast
ing an ETHEREAL sea of, altar. He felt