"The evil at heart, when they wish to take, seem to give," said Abraham, mouthing the words with his withered¹ lips, and he came to one of his prophetic pauses.  
The master of the Garden permitted it to the privileged old servant, who added now: "Benjamin is evil at heart."
 
"He did not ask for the horse," said David, who was plainly arguing against his own conviction.
 
"Yet he knew." The ancient face of Abraham puckered². "Po' white trash!" he muttered. Now and then one of these quaint³ phrases would break through his acquired diction, and they always bore home to David a sense of that great world beyond the mountains. Matthew had often described that world, but one of Abraham's odd expressions carried him in a breath into cities filled with men.
 
"His absence is cheaply bought at the price of one mare⁴," continued the old servant soothingly⁵.
 
"One mare of Rustir's blood! What is the sin for which the Lord would punish me with the loss of Shakra? And I miss her as I would miss a human face. But Benjamin will return with her. He did not ask for the horse."
 
"He knew you would offer."
 
"He will not return?"
 
"Never!"
 
"Then I shall go to find him."
 
"It is forbidden."
 
Abraham sat down, cross-legged, and watched with impish self-content while David strode back and forth⁶ in the patio⁷. A far-off neighing brought him to a halt, and he raised his hand for silence. The neighing was repeated, more clearly, and David laughed for joy.
 
"A horse coming from the pasture to the paddock," said Abraham, shifting uneasily.
 
The day was old and the patio was filled with a clear, soft light, preceding evening.
 
"It is Shakra! Shakra, Abraham!"
 
Abraham rose.
 
"A yearling. It is too high for the voice of a grown mare."
 
"The distance makes it shrill⁸. Abraham, Abraham, cannot I find her voice among ten all neighing at once?"
 
"Then beware of Benjamin, for he has returned to take not one but all."
 
But David smiled at the skinny hand which was raised in warning.
 
"Say no more," he said solemnly. "I am already to blame for hearkening to words against my brother Benjamin."
 
"You yourself had said that he tempted⁹ you."
 
Because David could find no ready retort he grew angry.
 
"Also, think of this. Your eyes and your ears are grown dull, Abraham, and perhaps your mind is misted also."
 
He had gone to the entrance into the patio and paused there to wait with a lifted head. Abraham followed and attempted to speak again, but the last cruel speech had crushed him. He went out on the terrace, and looking back saw that David had not a glance for him; so Abraham went feebly on.
 
"I have become as a false prophet," he murmured, "and I am no more regarded."
 
His life had long been in its evening, and now, at a step, the darkness of old age fell about him. From the margin¹⁰ of the lake he looked up and saw Connor ride to the patio.
 
David, at the entrance, clasped the hand of his guest while he was still on the horse and helped him to the ground.
 
"This," he said solemnly, "is a joyful¹¹ day in my house."
 
"What's the big news?" inquired the gambler, and added: "Why so happy?"
 
"Is it not the day of your return? Isaac! Zacharias!"
 
They came running as he clapped his hands.
 
"Set out the oldest wine, and there is a haunch of the deer that was killed at the gate. Go! And now, Benjamin, did Shakra carry you well and swiftly?"
 
"Better than I was ever carried before."
 
"Then she deserves well of me. Come hither, Shakra, and stand behind me. Truly, Benjamin, my brother, my thoughts have ridden ten times across the mountains and back, wishing for your return!"
 
Connor was sufficiently¹² keen to know that a main reason for the warmth of his reception was that he had been doubted while he was away, and while they supped in the patio he was even able to guess who had raised the suspicion against him. Word was brought that Abraham lay in his bed seriously ill, but David Eden showed no trace of sympathy.
 
"Which is the greater crime?" he asked Benjamin a little later. "To poison the food a man eats or the thoughts in his mind?"
 
"Surely," said the crafty¹³ gambler, "the mind is of more importance than the stomach."
 
Luckily David bore the main burden of conversation that evening, for the brain of Connor was surcharged with impatient waiting. His great plan, he shrewdly guessed, would give him everything or else ruin him in the Garden of Eden, and the suspense¹⁴ was like an eating pain. Luckily the crisis came on the very next day.
 
Jacob galloped¹⁵ into the patio, and flung himself from the back of Abra.
 
David and Connor rose from their chairs under the arcade¹⁶ where they had been watching Joseph setting great stones in place around the border of the fountain pool. The master of the Garden went forward in some anger at this unceremonious interruption. But Jacob came as one whose news is so important that it overrides¹⁷ all need of conventional approach.
 
"A woman," he panted. "A woman at the gate of the Garden!"
 
"Why are you here?" said David sternly.
 
"A woman—"
 
"Man, woman, child, or beast, the law is the same. They shall not enter the Garden of Eden. Why are you here?"
 
"And she rides the gray gelding, the son of Yoruba!"
 
At that moment the white trembling lips of Connor might have told the master much, but he was too angered to take heed¹⁸ of his guest.
 
"That which has once left the Garden is no longer part of it. For us, the gray gelding does n............