CHAPTER XXXIII.
With the coming in of this tumultuous November, there came to SecondWestings a few days of Indian summer magic. The moveless air seemed adistillation of dreams. The faint azure haze hung everywhere, soft yetcool, with an elusive fragrance as of clean smoke and fading roses andfresh earth-mould and lofts of grain. And on one of these consecrateddays Barbara set out early in the morning to paddle across the lake andsee old Debby.
As on a morning long ago, but not so early, she ran down the backgarden path, and behind the barn, and climbed the pasture bars. Thistime she called to Keep; and the big mastiff, who now slept later thanof old, came somewhat stiffly gamboling from his manger bed in thehorse stable. She tripped along the pasture path, between thehillocks. She trod rapidly the black earth of the old wood-road, wherethe shadows were lighter now, and no sound broke the stillness save theeerie sigh and footfall of the dropping leaves. She launched the canoewith easy vigour, motioned Keep to his place in the bow, and pushed outwith strong, leisurely strokes across the enchanted mirror. Thatfar-off morning of her flight came back to her with strange poignancy,and she wondered if the blue heron would be standing at the outlet toadmonish her with his enigmatic gaze.
As she approached the outlet, the point was vacant. But suddenly astrange, dishevelled figure, hatless, and in a blood-stained Britishuniform, emerged from the trees near by, came down amid the tall yellowgrasses, and stood staring across the lake. He stood thus with blankeyes for a moment, apparently not seeing the canoe, then pitchedforward, and lay on his face close to the water's edge.
With one sharp cry of his name, Barbara surged upon the paddle and shotthe canoe toward land, wasting no mare breath on words. She sprangashore, turned the still form over, loosened the low vest and thethroat of the shirt, and dashed water in the white, stained, deathlikeface. At first she thought he was dead, and she felt things growingblack before her eyes. Then she caught herself, and held herselfsteady for the need. If she could not be strong now, what right hadshe to call herself a woman, or to love a man. She felt at his heartand found that he was alive. She saw that he was sorely wounded. Shetold herself that he had swooned from loss of blood, weariness,hunger,--but that he had lived, would live, must live. Then shedragged him further back into the grass, where he was hidden.
Calling Keep from the canoe, she sat down for a moment with Robert'shead in her lap, and planned what should be done. He must not be foundin Second Westings, that she knew. For an English prisoner of war itwould be all very well,--but for a Tory it might be different. Shecould take no risks. In a moment or two her mind was made up. Shebent over, and kissed the unresponding mouth. Then she rose, andturned to Keep, who had stood sniffing at Robert's clothes withsympathetic interest. They were shocking clothes, but Keep dimlyremembered the man within them. Barbara pointed to the helplessfigure, saying:
"Lie down, Keep!"
And Keep lay down, with his muzzle on Robert's arm.
"Guard, sir!" commanded Barbara. And Keep rolled upon her acomprehending and obedient eye. Then she pushed off the canoe, andpaddled hastily down the river to fetch old Debby.
During all these years since Barbara's interrupted flight, no one hadreally read her heart, or been the unacknowledged recipient of herconfidences, so fully as Mrs. Debby Blue. Now, when Barbara arrived,breathless, with great, strained eyes, tears in her voice, but her redmouth sternly set, the old woman understood with few words. At anothertime, Barbara would have been amazed at this swift understanding. Now,she was only grateful for it. While she was explaining, Debby wasrummaging on shelves and in boxes, looking for sundry simples of hercunning extraction. At last she said:
"Don't you be worried, my sweeting. If Mr. Robert kin be cured up, oldDebby's the one that kin cure him up, well as any doctor in the land,not even exceptin' Doctor Jim. An' I've got the place where we kinhide him, too, an' keep him safe till he gits well. An' now, I'm afteryou, Miss Barby, sweetheart!"
"God bless your dear, true heart, Debby," cried Barbara, leading theway in hot haste to the canoe.
When they arrived at the point, Robert was just recoveringconsciousness, in a dazed fashion. They saw him make an effort to situp; and they saw Keep, who was nothing if not literal in hisinterpretation of Barbara's commands, put his two huge fore paws onRobert's breast and firmly push him down again. The tears jumped toBarbara's eyes at this, and she gave a little hysterical laugh,exclaiming:
"Just look at that, Debby! Good _dear_ old Keep! Even he knows thatRobert must be kept hidden!"
When they got to him, he sat up determinedly, and recognised Barbarawith a look of utter content.
"You, my lady! I have come a very long way to look--" and then he sankoff again, falling back into Barbara's supporting arms.
_He sank off again, falling back into Barbara'ssupporting arms_.]
"Why, he's _starved_, that's what he is!" exclaimed Debby, examininghim critically and feeling his pulse. "An' he's lost pretty nigh allthe blood was ever in him. An' he's got two wounds here, either oneenough to do for a man!"
She forced some fiery liquor down his throat, and then, as a faintcolour came back to his lips, she gave him to drink from a bottle ofmilk. He drank eagerly, but automatically, without opening his eyes.
"He's been wounded at White Plains, poor dear!" murmured Barbara,leaning over him a face of brooding tenderness.
"An' he's wandered all the way up here, a-lookin' for you, Miss Barby!"responded the old woman.
"Do you really think so?" murmured Barbara.
"No manner of doubt!" said old Debby, positively, as she set aboutdressing and binding Robert's wounds.
In a little while Robert was able to sit up again; and then to behelped to his feet; and then to be half guided, half carried to thecanoe. There he was placed on a bed of heaped armfuls of dry grass.Old Debby squatted precariously in the bow,--she was more at home in apunt than in a canoe,--and Barbara thrust out from shore, heading downthe little river.
Robert was still too far gone in exhaustion to explain his strangeappearance at Second Westings, or to ask any questions, or to carewhere he was going, so long as he was able to open his eyes every oncein awhile and look at Barbara. When he did so, Barbara would smileback reassuringly, and lay a slim brown finger on her lips, as a signthat he was not to talk. And happily he would close his eyes again.
Barbara paddled down past Debby's landing, past the ducks and hens andturkeys, now too lazy to make more than casual comment. Keep,meanwhile, followed anxiously along the shore, close to the edge, andnow and then splashing in belly deep.
"How far is it, Debby dear?" asked Barbara, presently.
"Jest a little mite furder," answered the old woman, who relished thesituation immensely. "A matter of half a mile, maybe!"
And so they slipped noiselessly on, in that enchanted light, over thatenchanted water with its reflections of amber and blue. Some crows,grown suddenly garrulous over private matters, cawed pleasantly in thepine-tops a little way off against the sky, and then subsided againinto silence.
On both banks of the stream the trees held out their leaves, russet andgold, amethyst and bronze and scarlet, like so many little elfin handsattesting that all fair dreams come true at last for those who have thekey to the inner mysteries.
Barbara was paddling in a dream herself, when suddenly old Debby said,"Turn in here, my sweeting! Here to your right!"
"But where?" asked Barbara, puzzled. "I don't see any place to turnin!"
"Straight through them dripping branches yonder by the water-loggedstump!" directed the old woman. "Straight on through!"
As the prow of the canoe came up to what was seemingly the shore, oldDebby parted the branches. As the canoe pushed onward, she continuedthis process,--and a few feet in from the main stream they entered along, narrow deadwater, deep and clear, and perfectly hidden from theworld. It was perhaps a hundred yards in length, slightly winding; andat its head, on a gentle rise, sto
od a little deserted log cabin.
"Oh, _Debby_!" cried Barbara. "How did you ever find such a place?"
"It's been empty this ten year!" answered Debby. "An' folks hasforgotten, that ever knowed. An' I've been keepin' it to myself, whenI wanted to get away from the ducks an' hens a mite. An' I've kep' itfrom fallin' to pieces. I'll nurse Master Robert here till he's ableto get away, if it takes a year. An' I'll come back and forward in mypunt. There's a bunk ready now, full of pine-needles; an' when we gethim into it we'll go back to make it all right with Aunt Hitty._Ain't_ I got a head on my old shoulders, now, Miss Barby?"
Even as Debby had so swiftly and fully planned, it was done. Robertwas still so far gone in exhaustion, and so wandering in his mind, thatBarbara would not let him talk; and before they left him--with Keep anincorruptible sentry at the door--he had fallen into a deep sleep.When they returned a couple hours later, he was awake and quite clear,and so determined to talk that Barbara could not but let him. He satup in the bunk, but Barbara, bending shining eyes down close to his,laid him back upon the pillow.
"Debby says you must not sit up at all, Robert!" she said.
"And what do you say, my lady?" he asked, devouring her radiant darkface with his eyes.
"I say so, too!" she answered, laughing softly.
"Why, my lady?" he persisted.
"Because it will hinder you getting well, Silly!" she replied, touchinghis hair with cool fingers.
"What matter about a 'damned Tory' getting well?" he began, being veryweak and foolish. But the slim hand sweetly closed his mouth.
"How did you get here--to me?" Barbara asked, changing the subject.
He smiled up at her.
"We charged through the rebels!" he explained, frankly. "We cut themdown, and scattered them, and chased them till we were within theenemy's lines. Then we could not get back. They surrounded us. Theyoverwhelmed us. We were annihilated. I escaped, I shall never knowhow, hatless and horseless, as you found me, my lady, I tried to getback to my regiment. It was no use. Then, somehow, a spirit in myfeet led me back here, to you. I just escaped capture a score oftimes. I had nothing to eat for days, save roots and leaves. Iremember coming to the shore of the dear lake, and straining my eyesacross it, to see the chimneys of the house where my love lay. Then Isaw no more, knew no more, till I saw my love herself in very truth,leaning her face over mine. And I thought I was in heaven, my lady."
"You still love me, Robert, after the hideous way I treated you?"questioned Barbara, her voice a little tremulous.
He started again to sit up; but being again suppressed, was fain tocontent himself with clutching both her hands to his lips.
"There is nothing in the world but you, Barbara," he said. "There isnothing I want but you, wonderful one!"
"Then--you may take me, Robert, I think!" she whispered, dropping herface, and brushing his lips with her hair.
"Me?" he cried, in a voice suddenly strong, glad, and incredulous."Me? Sick near to death, hunted near to death, a beaten and fleeingenemy, a Tory? I may take you, my queen, my beloved?"
"Whatever you are, dear, I have found that you are my love," sheanswered. "I don't care much what you are, so long as you are mine. Ifind I am just a woman, Robert--and in my conceit I thought myselfsomething more. I love my country, truly. But I love my lover more.I shall not ask you whether you bow to King or to Congress,--but onlyask you to get well!"
He reached up both arms, and slowly pulled down her still averted facetill it was close to his. Then she turned her face suddenly to him,and her lips met his. A moment later she untwined his arms, went tothe door, and glanced unheeding down at old Debby, gathering wood.Then, her face and eyes still glowing, she came back, smoothed hishair, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and said, "Now you must bequiet, dear. Debby will scold me if I let you talk any more!"
But Robert was excited, drunk with new joy after long despair.
"Just one word, and I will obey, dear heart! Listen, my lady. I willdraw sword no more in this quarrel. I have given my blood, mylands,--I have given, as I thought, my love,--for a cause already lost,for a cause that I felt to be wrong from the day of Lexington, Butwhichever side wins, I will stay in my own country, if my country, whenit is all over, will let me stay. When I am well enough to goaway--love, love, will you go with me, to return, when the fighting andthe fury cease, to our own dear river and our own dear woods?"
"Yes, you know I will, Robert," answered Barbara, kneeling down andlooking into his eyes. "You know that is what I am planning, dear one.Now go to sleep, and get well, and take me away when you will!" Andholding her hand against his neck he forthwith went to sleep, like achild, tired and contented.
Barbara knelt for a long time unmoving, her hand warm in his weakclasp, and was grateful to old Debby for staying so long away. As sheknelt, the side of her face to the door, she heard a soft _thud, thud_on the threshold, and looked around out of the corners of her eyeswithout turning her head. She saw two wild rabbits, filled withcuriosity at finding the cabin door open. They hopped in warily, andwent bounding all about the room, sniffing with their sensitive, cleftnostrils; waving their ears back and forth at every faint whisper; andfrom time to time sitting up to ponder their discovery. One of thembounded over Barbara's little foot, turned to examine it, and nibbledtentatively at the heel of her shoe till she had to make the musclestense to keep him from pulling it off. Then, standing up together fora moment, they seemed to take counsel and conclude that they hadbusiness elsewhere. As they hopped lazily away from the door, Barbaragot up and followed to look after them. The wonderful day was drawingto its close; and long, straight beams of rosy gold, enmeshed with thehaze, were streaming through the trees to her very feet. She laughed alittle happy laugh under her breath. Those bright paths leading to thesun seemed a fair omen.
THE END.