“I want to help you, Laurie. You know that, don’t you? I’m Maggie Deronnais. You remember?”
“Yes—Maggie Deronnais,” said the boy, staring at the fire.
“Yes, I’m Maggie. You trust me, don’t you, Laurie? You can believe what I say? Well, I want you to fight too. You and I together. Will you let me do what I can?”
Again the eyes rose, with that odd questioning look. Maggie thought she perceived something else there too. She gathered her forces quietly in silence an instant or two, feeling her heart quicken like the pulse of a moving engine. Then she sprang to her feet.
“Listen, then—in the name of Jesus of Nazareth—”
He recoiled violently with a movement so fierce that the words died on her lips. For one moment she thought he was going to spring. And again he was on his feet, snarling. There was silence for an interminable instant; then a stream of words, scorching and ferocious, snarled at her like the furious growling of a dog—a string of blasphemies and filth.
Just so much she understood. Yet she held her ground, unable to speak, conscious of the torrent of language that swirled against her from that suffused face opposite, yet not understanding a tenth part of what she heard.
… “In the name of …”
On the instant the words ceased; but so overpowering was the venom and malice of the silence that followed that again she was silent, perceiving that the utmost she could do was to hold her ground. So the two stood. If the words were horrible to hear, the silence was more horrible a thousand times; it was as when a man faces the suddenly opened door of a furnace and sees the white cavern within.