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Garden of Eden

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<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO</h2> The singing took on body and form as the pitch rose. "There is a death," repeated David. "Abraham is dead, the oldest and the wisest of my servants. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Glory to His name!" Ruth was touched to the heart. "I am sorry," she said simply. "Let us rejoice, rather, for Abraham is happy. His soul is reborn in a young body. Do you not hear them singing? Let us ride on." He kept his head high and a stereotyped smile on his lips as the horses sprang into a gallop—that breath-taking gallop which made the spirit of the girl leap; but she saw his breast raise once or twice with a sigh. It was the stoicism of an Indian, she felt, and like an Indian's was the bronze-brown skin and the long hair blowing in the wind. The lake was beside them now, and dense forest beyond opening into pleasant meadows. She was being carried back into a primitive time of which the type was the man beside her. Riding without a saddle his body gave to the swing of the gallop, and she was more conscious than ever of physical strength. But now the hoofs beat softly on the lawn terraces, and in a moment they had stopped before the house where the death had been. She knew at once. The empty arch into the patio of the servants' house was eloquent, in some manner, of the life that had departed. Before it was the group of singers, all standing quiet, as though their own music had silenced them, or perhaps preparing to sing again. Connor had described the old servant, but she was not prepared for these straight, withered bodies, these bony, masklike faces, and the white heads. All in an instant they seemed to see her, and a flash of pleasure went from face to face. They stirred, they came toward her with glad murmurs, all except one, the oldest of them all, who remained aloof with his arms folded. But the others pressed close around her, talking excitedly to one another, as though she could not understand what they said. And she would never forget one who took her hand in both of his. The touch of his fingers was cold and as dry as parchment. "Honey child, God bless your pretty face." Was this the formal talk of which Connor had warned her? A growl from David drove them back from her like leaves before a wind. He had slipped from his horse, and now walked forward. "It is Abraham?" he asked. "He is dead and glorious," answered the chorus, and the girl trembled to hear those time-dried relics of humanity speak so cheerily of death. The master was silent for a moment, then: "Did he leave no message for me?" In place of answering the group shifted and opened a passage to the one in the rear, who stood with folded arms. "Elijah, you were with him?" "I heard his last words." "And what dying message for David?" "Death sealed his lips while he had still much to say. To the end he was a man of many words. But first he returned thanks to our Father who breathed life into the clay." "That was a proper thought, and I see that the words were words of Abraham." "He gave thanks for a life of quiet ease and wise masters, and he forgave the Lord the length of years he was kept in this world." "In that," said David gravely, "I seem to hear his voice speaking. Continue." "He commanded us to sing pleasantly when he was gone." "I heard the singing on the lake road. It is well." "Also, he bade us keep the first master in our minds, for John, he said, was the beginning." At this the face of David clouded a little. "Continue. What word for David?" Something that Connor had said about the pride and sulkiness of a child came back to Ruth. Elijah, after hesitation, went on: "He declared that Glani is too heavy in the forehead." "Yes, that is Abraham," said the master, smiling tenderly. "He would argue even on the death bed." "But a cross with Tabari would remedy that defect." "Perhaps. What more?" "He blessed you and bade you remember and rejoice that he was gone to his wife and child." "Ah?" cried David softly. His glance, wandering absently, rested on the girl for a moment, and then came back to Elijah. "His mind went back to that? What further for my ear?" "I remember nothing more, David." "Speak!" commanded the master. The eyes of Elijah roved as though for help. "Toward the end his voice grew faint and his mind seemed to wander." "Far rather tremble, Elijah, if you keep back the words he spoke, however sharp they may be. My hand is not light. Remember, and speak." The fear of Elijah changed to a gloomy pride, and now he not only raised his head, but he even made a step forward and stood in dignity. "Death took Abraham by the throat, and yet he continued to speak. 'Tell David that four masters cherished Abraham, but David cast him out like a dog and broke his heart, and therefore he dies. Although I bless him, God will hereafter judge him!'" A shudder went through the entire group, and Ruth herself was uneasy. "Keep your own thoughts and the words of Abraham well divided," said David solemnly. "I know his mind and its working. Continue, but be warned." "I am warned, David, but my brother Abraham is dead and my heart weeps for him!" "God will hereafter judge me," said David harshly. "And what was the further judgment of Abraham, the old man?" "Even this: 'David has opened the Garden to one and therefore it will be opened to all. The law is broken. The first sin is the hard sin and the others follow easily. It is swift to run downhill. He has brought in one, and another will soon follow.'" "Elijah," thundered David, "you have wrested his words to fit the thing you see." "May the dead hand of Abraham strike me down if these were not his words." "Had he become a prophet?" muttered David. "No, it was maundering of an old man." "God speaks on the lips of the dying, David." "You have said enough." "Wait!" "You are rash, Elijah." She could not see the face of David, but the terror and frenzied devotion of Elijah served her as mirror to see the wrath of the master of the Garden. "David has opened the gate of the Garden. The world sweeps in and shall carry away the life of Eden like a flood. All that four masters have done the fifth shall undo." The strength of his ecstasy slid from Elijah and he dropped upon his knees with his head weighted toward the earth. The others were frozen in their places. One who had opened his lips to speak, perhaps to intercede for the rash Elijah, remained with his lips parted, a staring mask of fear. In them Ruth saw the rage of David Eden, and she was sickened by what she saw. She had half pitied the simplicity of this man, this gull of the clever Connor. Now she loathed him as a savage barbarian. Even these old men were hardly safe from his furies of temper. "Arise," said the master at length, and she could feel his battle to control his voice. "You are forgiven, Elijah, because of your courage—yet, beware! As for that old man whose words you repeated, I shall consider him." He turned on his heel, and Ruth saw that his face was iron. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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