I mounted and rode on, but not rapidly. I was very much moved. My soul
grew warm as I thought of the steady gaze of the eyes which that girl
had fixed upon me. For a mile or so I moved steadily and quietly in a
mood of incensed dignity. I pressed the pedals with a hard and cruel
tread. I did not understand. I could scarcely believe.
Soon, however, I began to move a little faster. Somehow or other I
became conscious that there was a bicycle at some distance behind me.
I pushed on a little faster. I did not wish to be overtaken by
anybody. Now I was sure there was a wheel behind me. I could not hear
it, but I knew it was there.
Presently I became certain that my instincts had not deceived me, for
I heard the quick sound of a bicycle bell. This was odd, for surely no
one would ring for me to get out of the way. Then there was another
tinkle, a little nearer.
Now I sped faster and faster. I heard the bell violently ringing. Then
I thought, but I am not sure, that I heard a voice. I struck out with
the thrust of a steam-engine, and the earth slipped backward beneath
me like the water of a mill-race. I passed wagons as if they had been
puffs of smoke, and people on wheels as though they were flying
cinders.
In some ten minutes I slackened speed and looked back. For a long
distance behind me not a bicycle was in sight. I now pursued my
homeward way with a warm body and a lacerated heart. I hated this
region which I had called Cathay. Its inhabitants were not barbarians,
but I was suffering from their barbarities. I had come among them
clean, whole, with an upright bearing. I was going away torn, bloody,
and downcast.
If the last words of the lady of the Holly Sprig meant the sweet thing
I thought they meant, then did they make the words which preceded them
all the more bitter. The more friendly and honest the counsels of
Edith Larramie had grown, the deeper they had cut into my heart. Even
the more than regard with which my soul prompted me to look back to
Amy Willoughby was a pain to me. My judgment would enrage me if it
should try to compel me to feel as I did not want to feel.
But none of these wounds would have so pained and disturbed me had it
not been for the merciless gaze which that dark-eyed girl had fixed
upon me as she passed me standing in the road. And if she had gone too
far and had done more than her own nature could endure, and if it were
she who had been pursuing me, then the wound was more cruel and the
smart deeper. If she believed me a man who would stop at the ringing
of her bell, then was I ashamed of myself for having given her that
impression.