The intruder made no answer.
They could not see a scythe about him, but to every girl he took a
different form. He was Billy Edgar, or Jules Vigo, or Rice Jones, or any
other gallant of Kaskaskia, according to the varying faith which beating
hearts sent to the eyes that saw him.
The spell of silence did not last. A populous roost invaded by a fox
never resounded with more squalling than did the old Jesuit College. The
girls swished around corners and tumbled over the vegetable beds.
Angelique groped for Maria, not daring to call her name, and caught and
ran with some one until they neared the light, when she found it was
the dumpy little figure of her cousin Clarice.
As soon as the girls were gone, the man who had broken up their hempseed
sowing advanced a few steps on the pavement. He listened, and that
darker shadow in the angle of the walls was perceptible to him.
"Are you here?"
"I am here," answered Maria.
Rice Jones's sister could not sit many minutes in the damp old building
without being missed by the girls and her family.
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