But the cotton glowed crimson in the failing sun.
Bles walked toward the school. What had happened? he kept asking. And yet he dared not question the awful shape that sat somewhere, cold and still, behind his soul.
He heard the hoofs of horses again. It was Miss Taylor being brought back to the school to greet Miss Smith and break the news of the coming of the party. He raised his hat. She did not return the greeting, but he found her pausing at the gate. It seemed to her too awful for this foolish fellow thus to throw himself away. She faced him and he flinched as from some descending blow.
“Bles,” she said primly, “have you absolutely no shame?”
He braced himself and raised his head proudly.
“I am going to marry her; it is no crime.” Then he noted the expression on her face, and paused.
She stepped back, scandalized.
“Can it be, Bles Alwyn,” she said, “that you don’t know the sort of girl she is?”
He raised his hands and warded off her words, dumbly, as she turned to go, almost frightened at the havoc she saw.
The heavens flamed scarlet in his eyes and he screamed.
“It’s a lie! It’s a damned lie!” He wheeled about and tore into the swamp.
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs a damned lie!‚Äù he shouted to the trees. ‚ÄúIs it?‚ÅÝ‚Äîis it?‚Äù chirped the birds. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs a cruel falsehood!‚Äù he moaned. ‚ÄúIs it?‚ÅÝ‚Äîis it?‚Äù whispered the devils within.