"How are you getting on?" I asked as I neared the Sweet.w.a.ter. But she wouldn"t reply. Her sentiments toward me, I am sure, were too deep for words.

"Where did you come in?" I asked again.

"The iron railing--at the stream," she mumbled.

"Oh! It must be repaired at once."

"You needn"t bother," she said scornfully, "so far as I am concerned."

"That"s very kind of you. Ah, here we are."

We went carefully over the rocks and in a short while the dim bulk of the wall rose before us. I descended, preceding her, found the opening and went through it.

"You"re not going any further with me," she commanded in a suppressed tone. "I forbid it."

I rose on the other side of the grille and dusted my knees.

"I should be sorry to disobey your commands," I said firmly, "but the dangers of the woods at night--"

"Oh! How I abominate you!"

"Really? I am sorry."

But she followed me through the aperture and I led the way down a path, which seemed fairly well worn, alongside the wall.

"Of course, your real name isn"t Smith," I began again in a moment.

And then after waiting in vain for a reply: "Are you staying with the Laidlaws? The Carews? The Van Wycks then? You won"t tell me? Oh, very well, I"ll inquire."

My threat brought her to her senses.

"You wouldn"t do that!" she said in an agonized tone, catching me by the arm.

"I"m quite capable of it," I replied, stopping beside her.

"I--I beg of you not to do that."

"_Am_ I a beast?" I smiled.

"No, no--not a beast. I"m sorry."

"Why do you wish to remain unknown?"

"I--I had no business coming. No one knows. It was mere--mere feminine curiosity." She turned away, "Does _that_ satisfy you?" she cried.

"I think it does," I said more gently. "And you"ll not return?"

"No--no, never."

"Good. I ask no questions. You stay out. It"s a bargain."

She led the way now silently, and I hurried after her, a little sorry for my own part in the matter, but still jealous for our violated sanctuary. She had force, this girl, and not a little courage. Modern she was, if you like, but very spirited and human. When we reached the highroad I paused.

"If you wish, I will go on with you."

"Our paths separate here."

I offered her my hand.

"Forgive me," I said gently. "I am only doing my duty."

But she turned quickly and in a moment was running down the road where the night soon swallowed her.

Women are queer animals. She might at least have given me her hand.

CHAPTER VII

JACK BALLARD TAKES CHARGE

On my way back to the Manor house I thought deeply of a way to make the best of the situation. That Jerry was a philosopher seemed for the moment to be a matter of little importance, for the portion of his conversation in the cabin which I had overheard was an indictment both of my teaching and my integrity. His eyes, thanks to the gabble of this mischievous visitor, were now open. He would want to know everything and I found myself placed in the position of being obliged to choose between a frankness which would be hazardous and a deception which would be intolerable. The time had suddenly come for generous revelations. I had labored all these years to bring Jerry to manhood, armed with righteousness and a sound philosophy, equipment enough according to my reading of his character and the meaning of life, to make him impervious to all sophistry and all sin. The conversation that I had overheard did nothing to weaken my faith in the Great Experiment which in my heart I felt already to be an unqualified success, but it notified me of the fact which had almost escaped me, that Jerry was no longer a boy but a man in years as well as body and intelligence and that his desire for worldly knowledge was not to be thwarted.

And yet the prospect seemed far from pleasing to me. It was the beginning of the end of our Utopia. Upon the threshold of the world Jerry was eager for that which I had scorned. Our paths would separate. The old relation would be no more.

I went home slowly and I think some sign of my weariness and perplexity must have been marked upon my features as I entered the hall where Jerry with sober countenance awaited me. There was nothing for it but to talk the thing out. I did not upbraid him nor he me. We understood each other too well for that.

Then followed the flood of eager questions from a mind topsy-turvy. I answered him slowly, deliberately, and gave him in some detail his father"s thesis on education, explaining how and why I happened to be in sympathy with it and pointing out by the results attained the wisdom of our plans.

"Results!" he cried. "What results? In what respect is my education better than another man"s? I know my Latin, and my Greek, my French, my German. I"m a good history scholar, and what you"ve taught me of philosophy,--the inside of books--all of it. But life, Roger,--you"ve starved me--starved me! If I were a babe in arms I couldn"t know less--"

"You"ll know life in time, Jerry, see it through a finer prism."

"I want to see it as it is, in the raw, not beautiful when it is not beautiful. I want the truth--all the truth, Roger, the rough and the ugly where it _is_ rough and ugly. You say you"ve made me a man, taught me to think fine thoughts, given me a good mind and a strong body, but all the while you were sheltering me, saving me--from what?

What good are my mind and body if they aren"t strong enough to be put to the test of life and survive it?"

He was much agitated.

"I have no fear to put you to any test--today, tomorrow," I said quietly.

"Then put me to it--out there." With a wave of his arm he cried: "I must see for myself, think for myself."

"You shall, Jerry, soon. Will you be patient a little while longer?"

He controlled himself with an effort and bent forward in his chair, bringing his head down into his hands.

"It"s hard. I feel like a coward, a coward--not taking my share--"