Madame Careni-Amori, who was about to begin her second song, looked helplessly at Ruth Clinton.

Ruth had recognized the man at once. At first she was annoyed, then there surged over her a great, uplifting thrill of exaltation. She stepped quickly to the front and, raising her clear young voice, reclaimed the wandering attention of the throng.

"Please be quiet. Madame Careni-Amori is to sing for us once more. Mr.

Percival is knocking down that horrible thing over there. It is right that he should. We do not need it there as a warning. Mr. Percival has had a change of heart. He has been moved,--tremendously moved,--by what he has seen in your faces today. That is why he is over there now hacking down that dreadful thing. It is the skeleton at our feast. We were conscious of its presence all the time. He is over there all by himself cutting it down so that our hearts may be lighter, so that this glad hour may end without its curse. Please remain where you are. He requires no a.s.sistance. He prefers to do it all alone. And now, if you will all give attention, Madame Careni-Amori will sing for us."

Careni-Amori lifted up her glorious voice in song. The rhythmic beat of the ax went on unceasingly; the powerful arms and shoulders of the destroyer were behind every frenzied blow. As the last notes of the song died away, there came the sound of splintering wood, then a dull crash, and the gibbet lay flat upon the ground. Some one uttered an involuntary shout. As Percival turned from his completed work and wiped the sweat from his brow with his bare forearm, he found the gaze of the entire company fastened upon him. Then there came to his ears the clapping of hands, then the shrill clamour of voices raised in approbation. Swinging the ax on high, he buried its blade deep in the fallen timber and left it imbedded there. s.n.a.t.c.hing up his coat from a nearby stump, he waved his hand to the crowd and then, whirling, was quickly lost among the trees that lined the sh.o.r.e.

Landover walked beside the thoughtful Ruth as she crossed the Green on her way home. He studied her lovely profile out of the corner of his eye. As they drew away from the dispersing throng, he spoke to her.

"If money were of any value here in this G.o.dforsaken spot, I would offer considerably more than a penny for your thoughts, Ruth."

She started slightly. "You couldn't buy them, Mr. Landover. They are not for sale at any price."

"I suppose there is no harm in venturing a guess, however. You will give me one guess, won't you?"

"All the guesses you like,--free of charge," she rejoined airily.

"You are trying to decide whether or not it was all done for effect."

She smiled mysteriously, looking straight ahead. Her eyes were very bright.

"You are wrong. I was thinking about hats, Mr. Landover. Don't you know that every woman's thoughts run to hats on Easter?"

"I confess I had a better opinion of him," he said, disregarding her flippancy. "I don't like him, but I've never suspected him of being a stupid a.s.s before."

"Of whom are you speaking?" she inquired, suddenly looking him full in the eye.

"Our mutual friend, the enemy," he replied.

"Mr. Percival?"

"Certainly."

"But I thought he was beneath our notice."

"We can't very well help noticing him when he goes to such extreme lengths to attract attention."

"You think he did it to attract attention?"

"Not so much that, perhaps, as to get back into the lime-light. You see, he was rather out of it for as much as half an hour, and he simply couldn't stand it. So he went off and staged a little sideshow of his own."

She walked on in silence for a few moments, torn by doubts and misgivings. Landover's sarcastic a.n.a.lysis was like a douche of cold water. Perhaps he was right. It had been a spectacular, not to say diverting, exhibition. Her eyes darkened. An expression of pain lurked in them.

"I can't believe it of him, Mr. Landover," she said at last, in a slightly m.u.f.fled voice.

"I thought it was understood you were to call me Abel, my dear."

"If he did it deliberately,--and with that motive,--it was unspeakable,"

she went on, a faint furrow appearing between her eyes.

"Of course, I may be wrong," said he magnanimously. "It may have been the result of an honest, uncontrollable impulse. But I doubt it."

"Men do queer, strange things when under the influence of a strong emotion," she said, a hopeful note in her voice.

"True. They are also capable of doing very base things. You don't for an instant suspect Percival of being a religious fanatic, do you?"

"Please don't sneer. And what, pray, has religion to do with it?"

"I dare say Morris Shine is again lamenting the absence of a motion picture camera. He is always complaining about the chances he has missed to--"

"Stop!"

"Why, Ruth dear, I--"

"We have no right to judge him, Mr. Landover."

"Are you defending him?"

"I don't believe he had the faintest notion that he was being--theatrical, as you call it. I am sure he did it because he was moved by an overpowering desire to make all of us happy. He couldn't bear the thought of that evil thing out there, pointing at us while we worshipped and tried to sing with gladness in our hearts. No! He did it for you, and for me, and for all the rest of us,--and he made every heart lighter when that thing toppled over and fell. Did you not see the change that came over every one when they realized that it was destroyed? There were smiles on every face, and every voice was cheerful. The look of uneasy dread was gone--Oh, you must have seen."

"I can only say that it ought to have been done before, Ruth,--not during the exercises."

"It was his way of publicly admitting he was wrong in insisting that it should remain."

"He had his way with that weak-kneed committee, as usual. The tactics of that Copperhead Camp he talks so much about are hardly applicable to conditions here. We are not law-defying ruffians, you know,--and these are women of quite another order."

"No one,--not even you, Mr. Landover,--can say that he has been anything but kind and considerate and sympathetic," she flashed. "He is firm,--but isn't that what we want? And the people worship him,--they will do anything for him. Even Manuel Crust respects him,--and obeys him. And you, down in your heart, respect him. He is your kind of a man, Mr. Landover. He does things. He is like Theodore Roosevelt. He does things."

Landover smiled grimly. "Perhaps that is why I dislike him."

"Because he is like Roosevelt?"

"My dear, let's not start an argument about Roosevelt."

"Just the same, I've heard you say over and over again that you wish Roosevelt were President now," she persisted. "Why do you say that if you are so down on him?"

Landover shrugged his shoulders expressively.

"I can wish that, my dear, and still not be an admirer of Mr.

Roosevelt," he replied. "But to return to Percival, isn't it quite plain to you that he was pouting like a school-boy because he had not been asked to take part in today's exercises?"

"He was asked to take part in them. I asked him myself."

He glanced at her sharply. "You never told me you had asked him, Ruth."

"The night the crime was committed," she said briefly. "He was very nice about it. He promised to sing in the choir and--and to help me with the decorations. After our unpleasant experience the next day, he had the--shall we say tact or kindness?--to reconsider his promise."