"Thee is charged," interposed Elder Fairley, "with visiting a play this
same day, and with seeing a dance of Spain following upon it."

"I did not disdain the music," said the young man drily; "the flute, of
all instruments, has a mellow sound." Suddenly his eyes darkened, he
became abstracted, and gazed at the window where the twig flicked softly
against the pane, and the heat of summer palpitated in the air. "It has
good grace to my ear," he added slowly.

Luke Claridge looked at him intently. He began to realize that there
were forces stirring in his grandson which had no beginning in Claridge
blood, and were not nurtured in the garden with the fruited wall. He was
not used to problems; he had only a code, which he had rigidly kept. He
had now a glimmer of something beyond code or creed.

He saw that the shrill Elder was going to speak. He intervened. "Thee
is charged, David," he said coldly, "with kissing a woman--a stranger and
a wanton--where the four roads meet 'twixt here and yonder town." He
motioned towards the hills.

"In the open day," added the shrill Elder, a red spot burning on each
withered cheek.

"The woman was comely," said the young man, with a tone of irony,
recovering an impassive look.

A strange silence fell, the women looked down; yet they seemed not so
confounded as the men. After a moment they watched the young man with
quicker flashes of the eye.