exaltation; a bit doubtful and uncertain. He had stooped low to this Yankee school-ma’am, lower than he had ever stooped to a woman. Usually, while he played at loving, women grovelled; for was he not a Cresswell? Would this woman recognize that fact and respect him accordingly?
Then there was Zora; what had she said and hinted to Mary? The wench was always eluding and mocking him, the black devil! But, pshaw!‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe poured himself a glass of brandy‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas he not rich and young? The world was his.
His valet knocked.
“Gentleman is asking if you forgits it’s Saturday night, sir?” said Sam.
Cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept back the curtain, and looked toward the darkness and the swamp. It lowered threateningly; behind it the night sky was tinged with blood.
“No,” he said; “I’m not going.” And he shut out the glow.
Yet he grew more and more restless. The devil danced in his veins and burned in his forehead. His hands shook. He heard a rustle of departing feet beneath his window, then a pause and a faint halloo.
“All right,” he called, and in a moment went downstairs and out into the night. As he closed the front door there seemed to come faintly up from the swamp a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wild bird, or the wail of one’s mourning for his dead.
Within the cabin, Elspeth heard. Tremblingly, she swayed to her feet, a haggard, awful sight. She motioned Zora away, and stretching her hands palms upward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp:
“I’se called! I’se called!”