Venters reined in and halted before
Dyer's residence. It was a low, long, stone structure resembling
Withersteen House. The spacious front yard was green and
luxuriant with grass and flowers; gravel walks led to the huge
porch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple sage separated the yard
from the church grounds; birds sang in the trees; water flowed
musically along the walks; and there were glad, careless shouts
of children. For Venters the beauty of this home, and the
serenity and its apparent happiness, all turned red and black.
For Venters a shade overspread the lawn, the flowers, the old
vine-clad stone house. In the music of the singing birds, in the
murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. Quiet
beauty--sweet music--innocent laughter! By what monstrous
abortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?
Venters rode on and stopped before Tull's cottage. Women stared
at him with white faces and then flew from the porch. Tull
himself appeared at the door, bent low, craning his neck. His
dark face flashed out of sight; the door banged; a heavy bar
dropped with a hollow sound.
Then Venters shook Black Star's bridle, and, sharply trotting,
led the other horses to the center of the village. Here at the
intersecting streets and in front of the stores he halted once
more. The usual lounging atmosphere of that prominent corner was
not now in evidence.
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