--The meadow
was one vast pulse of fireflies. He felt this industrious flame enter
his own wrists.
Then the birches over the way threshed about in a gust of wind. Almost
at once rain fell in heavy drops; blinds banged to and fro, a strong
smell of dust was in his nostrils, beat up from the road by driving
rain.
The girl first put the palm of her hand hard against his cheek, then
yielded, with a pliant and surprising motion of the whole body. Her eyes
were full of a strange, bright wickedness. Like torches they seemed to
cast a crimson light on the already glowing cheek.
Fascinated by this thought, Rackby bent closer. The tented leaves of the
horse-chestnut did not stir. Surely the dusky cheek had actually a touch
of crimson in the gloom.
This effect, far from being an illusion was produced by a lantern in the
fist of a man swinging toward them with vast strides. And now the clock,
obeying its north face, struck eight.
Before the last stroke had sounded the girl was made aware of the
betraying light. She whirled out of Rackby's arms and ran toward Sam
Dreed. The big viking stood with his feet planted well apart, and a
mistrustful finger in his beard.
"Touch and go!" cried Caddie Sills, falling on his neck. "Do we go at
the top of the tide, mister?"
"What hellion is that under the trees?" he boomed at her, striking the
arm down savagely.
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