The voice had ceased and there seemed to me to be a bereaved silence in the world.The shock moved me to my feet, and I ran down the slope to where Jobson stood rubbing his eyes.
"That's done the job.Now we maun get up the tree roots.We've no time to howk.We'll just blast the feck o' them."The work of destruction went on, but I was coming back to my senses.I forced myself to be practical and reasonable.Ithought of the night's experience and Lawson's haggard eyes, and I screwed myself into a determination to see the thing through.
I had done the deed; it was my business to make it complete.Atext in Jeremiah came into my head:
"Their children remember their altars and their groves by the green trees upon the high hills."I would see to it that this grove should be utterly forgotten.
We blasted the tree-roots, and, yolking oxen, dragged the debris into a great heap.Then the men set to work with their spades, and roughly levelled the ground.I was getting back to my old self, and Jobson's spirit was becoming mine.
"There is one thing more," I told him "Get ready a couple of ploughs.We will improve upon King Josiah."My brain was a medley of Scripture precedents, and I was determined that no safeguard should be wanting.
We yoked the oxen again and drove the ploughs over the site of the grove.It was rough ploughing, for the place was thick with bits of stone from the tower, but the slow Afrikaner oxen plodded on, and sometime in the afternoon the work was finished.Then Isent down to the farm for bags of rock-salt, such as they use for cattle.Jobson and I took a sack apiece, and walked up and down the furrows, sowing them with salt.
The last act was to set fire to the pile of tree trunks.They burned well, and on the top we flung the bodies of the green doves.The birds of Ashtaroth had an honourable pyre.
Then I dismissed the much-perplexed men, and gravely shook hands with Jobson.Black with dust and smoke I went back to the house, where I bade Travers pack my bags and order the motor.I found Lawson's servant, and heard from him that his master was sleeping peacefully.I gave him some directions, and then went to wash and change.
Before I left I wrote a line to Lawson.I began by transcribing the verses from the 23rd chapter of 2nd Kings.I told him what Ihad done, and my reason."I take the whole responsibility upon myself," I wrote."No man in the place had anything to do with it but me.I acted as I did for the sake of our old friendship, and you will believe it was no easy task for me.I hope you will understand.Whenever you are able to see me send me word, and Iwill come back and settle with you.But I think you will realise that I have saved your soul."The afternoon was merging into twilight as I left the house on the road to Taqui.The great fire, where the Grove had been, was still blazing fiercely, and the smoke made a cloud over the upper glen, and filled all the air with a soft violet haze.I knew that I had done well for my friend, and that he would come to his senses and be grateful.My mind was at ease on that score, and in something like comfort I faced the future.But as the car reached the ridge I looked back to the vale I had outraged.The moon was rising and silvering the smoke, and through the gaps Icould see the tongues of fire.Somehow, I know not why, the lake, the stream, the garden-coverts, even the green slopes of hill, wore an air of loneliness and desecration.And then my heartache returned, and I knew that I had driven something lovely and adorable from its last refuge on earth.
WOOD MAGIC
(9TH CENTURY.)
I will walk warily in the wise woods on the fringes of eventide, For the covert is full of noises and the stir of nameless things.
I have seen in the dusk of the beeches the shapes of the lords that ride, And down in the marish hollow I have heard the lady who sings.
And once in an April gleaming I met a maid on the sward, All marble-white and gleaming and tender and wild of eye;--I, Jehan the hunter, who speak am a grown man, middling hard, But I dreamt a month of the maid, and wept I knew not why.
Down by the edge of the firs, in a coppice of heath and vine, Is an old moss-grown altar, shaded by briar and bloom, Denys, the priest, hath told me 'twas the lord Apollo's shrine In the days ere Christ came down from God to the Virgin's womb.
I never go past but I doff my cap and avert my eyes-(Were Denys to catch me I trow I'd do penance for half a year)--For once I saw a flame there and the smoke of a sacrifice, And a voice spake out of the thicket that froze my soul with fear.
Wherefore to God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Mary the Blessed Mother, and the kindly Saints as well, I will give glory and praise, and them I cherish the most, For they have the keys of Heaven, and save the soul from Hell.
But likewise I will spare for the Lord Apollo a grace, And a bow for the lady Venus-as a friend but not as a thrall.
'Tis true they are out of Heaven, but some day they may win the place;For gods are kittle cattle, and a wise man honours them all.
