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My brethren, self-destroyed out of Beelzebub's orchard, and all my brethren, live a life henceforth of true repentance. Not out of the sins of your youth only, but out of the best, the most watchful, and the most blameless day you ever live, distil your half-pint of repentance every night before you sleep.
It might all be a mistake, a hideous mistake on Beelzebub's part. She had no great faith in his intelligence. It might be that by some evil chance his muddled brain had registered the name of Bowker Creek in connection with the fight which she did not for a moment doubt had at some time taken place.
And John Bunyan calls himself a blackguard, and many other worse names; only he swears that neither with his soldiering nor with his tinkering hands did he ever plash down Beelzebub's orchard. But if you have done that, or anything like that, call yourself aloud by your true name on your knees to-night.
Minutes passed, and at last Curtis spoke under his breath. "You had better go. You can't do any more." But she would not stir. She had a feeling that Robin still wanted her. Suddenly through the night silence there came a sound the hoof-beats of a galloping horse. She turned her head and listened. "What is that?" As if in answer, Beelzebub's black face appeared in the entrance.
And what well-nigh proved a fatal danger to Matthew lay right in his way. It was Beelzebub's orchard.
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