From that scene Luther Warden
had been removed entirely. Of Robert Weston, of Perry Thomas, of Tim,
I had taken no account. They had not even been dreamed of, for Mary
and I were to sit alone in the quiet of the evening. The flash of her
eyes was to be for me--for me their softer glowing. At my calling the
rich flames would blaze on her cheeks. I was to light those flames. I
was to fan them this way and that way. I was to smother them, kindle
them, quench them. Playing with the fire of a woman's face! Dangerous
work, that! And up the white road I had hobbled to the fire, as a
simple child crawls to it. But Luther Warden was there to guard me
with Brother Matthias Pennel, and in my inmost heart I hated them both
for it. Then Perry Thomas blundered in, and compared to him, old
Luther and his learned brother were endurable. As to Robert Weston, I
knew that beside him Matthias Pennel was my dearest friend. Then Tim
came! and as I looked at the long settee where Luther was droning on
and on through the story of Sister Flora, where Perry Thomas seemed to
sit beneath the judgment seat, where Weston shifted wearily to and fro,
where Tim was suffering the tortures of the thumb-screw, I cried to my
inmost self, "Verily, Brother Matthias, thou art a mighty joker!"
It took a long time to kill that tiger.
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