The Room of Silence had become to David Eden a chamber1 of horror. The four chairs around him, which had hitherto seemed filled with the ghosts of the four first masters of the Garden, were now empty to his imagination. In this place where he had so often found unfailing consolation2, unfailing counsel, he was now burdened by the squat3, heavy walls, and the low ceiling. It was like a prison to him.
For all his certainty was gone. "You've made yourself your God," the gambler had said. "Fear made the Garden of Eden, fear keeps the men in it. Do you think the others stay for love of you?"
Benjamin had proved a sinner, no doubt, but there had been a ring of conviction in his words that remained in the mind of David. How could he tell that the man was not right? Certainly, now that he had once doubted the wisdom of that silent Voice, the mystery was gone. The room was empty; the holiness had departed from the Garden of Eden with the departing of Ruth.
He found himself avoiding the thought of her, for whenever her image rose before him it was torture.
He dared not even inquire into the depression which weighed down his spirits, for he knew that the loss of the girl was the secret of it all.
One thing at least was certain: the strong, calming voice which he had so often heard in the Room of Silence, no longer dwelt there, and with that in mind he rose and went into the patio4.
In a corner, screened by a climbing vine, hung a large bell which had only been rung four times in the history of the Garden of Eden, and each time it was for the death of the master. David tore the green away and struck the bell. The brazen5 voice crowded the patio and pealed6 far away, and presently the men came. They came in wild-eyed haste, and when they saw David alive before them they stared at him as if at a ghost.
"As it was in the beginning," said David when the circle had been formed and hushed, "death follows sin. Sin has come into the Garden of Eden and the voice of God has died out of it. Therefore the thing for which you have lived here so long is gone. If for love of David, you wish to stay, remain; but if your hearts go back to your old homes, return to them. The wagons7 and the oxen are yours. All the furnishing of the houses are yours. There is also a large store of money in my chest which Elijah shall divide justly among you. And on your journey Elijah shall lead you, if you go forth8, for he is a just man and fit to lead others. Do not answer now, but return to your house and speak to one another. Afterward9, send one man. If you stay in the Garden he shall tell me. If you depart I shall bid you farewell through him. Begone!"
They went out soft-footed, as though the master of the Garden had turned into an animal liable to spring on them from behind.
He began to pace up and down the patio, after a time, rather impatiently. No doubt the foolish old men were holding forth at great length. They were appointing the spokesman, and they were framing the speech which he would make to David telling of their devotion to him, whether the spirit was gone or remained. They would remain; and Benjamin's prophecy had been that of a spiteful fool. Yet even if they stayed, how empty the valley would be—how hollow of all pleasure!
It was at this point in his thoughts that he heard a sound of singing down the hillside from the house of the servants—first a single, thin, trembling voice to which others were added until the song was heartened and grew full and strong. It was a song which David had never heard before. It rang and swung with a peculiarly happy rhythm, growing shriller as the old men seemed to gather their enthusiasm. The words, sung in a thick dialect, were stranger to David than the tune11, but as nearly as he could make out the song ran as follows:
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars
For the cows they has come to the pasture bars,
And the little game chicken's beginning to crow:
Come back to us, Jo; come back to us, Jo!
"He was walkin' in the gyarden in the cool o' the day
When He seen my baby Jo in the clover blossoms play.
"He was walkin' in the gyarden an' the dew was on His feet
When He seen my baby Jo so little an' sweet.
"They was flowers in the gyarden, roses, an' such,
But the roses an' the pansies, they didn't count for much.
"An' He left the clover blossoms fo' the bees the next day An'
the roses an' the pansies, but He took Jo away.
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars
For the cows they has come to the pasture bars,
And the little game chicken has started to crow:
Come back to us, Jo; come back to us Jo!"
He knew their voices and he knew their songs, but never had David heard his servants sing as they sang this song. Their hymns12 were strong and pleasant to the ear, but in this old tune there was a melody and a lilt that brought a lump in his throat. And there was a heart to their singing, so that he almost saw them swaying their shoulders to the melody.
It was the writing on the wall for David.
Out of that song he built a picture of their old lives, the hot sunshine, the dust, and all the thing............