CHAPTER XXIII.
"Alone, amid the shades, Still in harmonious intercourse they liv'd The rural day, and talked the flowing heart, Or sigh'd, and looked unutterable things." --THOMSON.
That was a somewhat breathless moment. The intensity with which I hadlistened for any sound that might announce my discovery, was reallypainful. I almost fancied I heard a shout, but none came. Then I gavemyself up, actually believing that footsteps were rushing toward themill, with a view to seize me. It was imagination; the rushing of thewaters below being the only real sound that disturbed the silence of theplace. I had time to breathe and to look about me.
As might be supposed, the mill was very rudely constructed. I havespoken of a loft, but there was nothing that really deserved the term.Some refuse boards were laid about, here and there, on the beams, makingfragments of rough flooring; and my first care was to draw several ofthese boards close together, placing them two or three in thickness, soas to make a place where, by lying down, I could not be seen by any onewho should happen to enter the mill. There lay what the millers call abunch of cherry-wood boards at no great distance from the spot where theroof joined the plate of the building, and within this bunch I arrangedmy hiding-place. No ostensible change was necessary to complete it, elsethe experiment might have been hazardous among those who were so muchaccustomed to note circumstances of that nature. The manner in which thelumber was arranged when I reached the spot was so little different fromwhat it was when I had done with it, as scarcely to attract attention.
No sooner was my hiding-place completed to my mind, than I looked roundto see if there were any means of making observations without. Thebuilding was not shingled, but the rain was kept out by placing slabs upand down, as is often seen in the ruder rustic frontier architecture ofAmerica. With the aid of my knife I soon had a small hole between two ofthese slabs, at a place favorable to such an object; and though it wasno larger than the eye itself, it answered every purpose. Eagerly enoughdid I now commence my survey.
The search was still going on actively. Those experienced bordermen wellknew it was not possible for me to cross the open ground and to reachthe woods in the short interval of time between my disappearance andtheir discovery of the fact, and they consequently felt certain that Iwas secreted somewhere near the building. Every house had been searched,though no one thought of entering the mill, because my movement, as allsupposed, was necessarily in an opposite direction. The fences wereexamined, and everything like a cover on the proper side of the housewas looked into with care and activity. It would seem that, just as Itook my first look through the hole, my pursuers were at fault. Thesearch had been made, and of course without effect. Nothing likely toconceal me remained to be examined. It was necessary to come to a stand,and to concert measures for a further search.
The family of squatters were too much accustomed to their situation andits hazards, not to be familiar with all the expedients necessary totheir circumstances. They placed the younger children on the lookout, atthe points most favorable to my retreat, should I be in a situation toattempt going off in that quarter of the clearing; and then the fathercollected his older sons around him, and the whole cluster of them,seven in number, came slowly walking toward the mill. The excitement ofthe first pursuit had sensibly abated, and these practised woodsmen werein serious consultation on the measures next to be taken. In thiscondition the whole party entered the mill, taking their seats, orstanding directly beneath my post, and within six feet of me. As amatter of course, I heard all that was said, though completely hid fromview.
"Here we shall be safe from the long ears of little folks," said thefather, as he placed his own large frame on the log that was next to besawed. "This has been a most onaccountable thing, Tobit, and I'd no ideeat all them 'ere city-bred gentry was so expart with their legs. Isometimes think he can't be a Littlepage, but that he's one of our hillfolks, tossed out and mannered a'ter the towns' folks, to take a bodyin. It seems an onpossibility that the man should get off, out of themidst on us, and we not see or hear anything on him."
"We may as well give up the lumber and the betterments, at once,"growled Tobit, "as let him get clear. Should he reach Ravensnest, thefirst thing he'd do would be to swear out warrants ag'n us all, andNewcome is not the man to stand by squatters in trouble. He'd no moredare deny his landlord, than deny his meetin'."
This expression of Tobit's is worthy of notice. In the estimation of acertain class of religionists among us, the "meetin'," as the youngsquatter called his church, had the highest place in his estimate ofpotentates and powers; it is to be feared, often even higher than thedread Being for whose worship that "meetin'" existed.
"I don't think as hard of the 'squire as all that," answeredThousandacres. "He'll never send out a warrant ag'in us, without sendin'out a messenger to let us hear of it, and that in time to get us all outof the way."
"And who's to get the boards in the creek out of the way afore the waterrises? And who's to hide or carry off all them logs? There's more than aton weight of my blood and bones in them very logs, in the shape of hardlabor, and I'll fight like a she-bear for her cubs afore I'll be drivenfrom them without pay."
It is very surprising that one who set this desperate value on theproperty he deemed his, should have so little regard for that whichbelonged to other persons. In this respect, however, Tobit's feeling wasno more than submission to the general law of our nature, which reversesthe images before our moral vision, precisely as we change our ownrelations to them.
"It would go hard with _me_ afore I should give up the lumber or theclearin'," returned Thousandacres, with emphasis. "We've fit King Georgefor liberty, and why shouldn't we fight for our property? Of what use_is_ liberty at all, if it won't bear a man harmless out of a job ofthis sort? I despise sich liberty, b'ys, and want none on it."
All the young men muttered their approbation of such a sentiment, and itwas easy enough to understand that the elevated notion of personalrights entertained by Thousandacres found an answering echo in the bosomof each of his heroic sons. I dare say the same sympathy would haveexisted between them, had they been a gang of pickpockets collected incouncil in a room of the Black Horse, St. Catharine's Lane, Wapping,London.
"But what can we do with the young chap, father, should we take himag'in?" asked Zephaniah; a question, as all will see, of some interestto myself. "He can't be kept a great while without having a stir madea'ter him, and that would break us up, sooner or later. We may have aclear right to the work of our hand; but, on the whull, I ratherconclude the country is ag'in squatters."
"Who cares for the country?" answered Thousandacres fiercely. "If itwants young Littlepage, let it come and s'arch for him, as we've beendoin'. If that chap falls into my hands once more, he never quits 'emalive, unless he gives me a good and sufficient deed to two hundredacres, includin' the mill, and a receipt in full, on his father'sbehalf, for all back claims. On them two principles my mind is set, andnot to be altered."
A long pause succeeded this bold announcement, and I began to be afraidthat my suppressed breathing might be overheard in the profoundstillness that followed. But Zephaniah spoke in time to relieve me fromthis apprehension, and in a way to satisfy me that the party below, allof whom were concealed from my sight, had been pondering on what hadbeen said by their leader, and not listening to detect any tell-talesounds from me.
"I've heern say," Zephaniah remarked, "that deeds gi'n in that way won'tstand good in law. 'Squire Newcome was talkin' of sich transactions thevery last time I was out at the Nest."
"I wish a body could find out what _would_ stand good in law!" growledThousandacres. "They make their laws, and lay great account in havin' emobsarved; and then, when a man comes into court with everything doneaccordin' to their own rules, five or six attorneys start up and bawlout, 'This is ag'in law!' If a deed is to set forth so and so, and is tohave what they call 'hand and seal and date' beside; and sich bein' thel
aw, I want to know why an instrument so made won't hold good by theirconfounded laws? Law is law, all over the world, I s'pose; and thoughit's an accursed thing, if men agree to have it they ought to stand bytheir own rules. I've thought a good deal of squeezin' writin's out ofthis young Littlepage; and just as my mind's made up to do't, if I canlay hands on him ag'in, you come out and tell me sich writin's be goodfor nothin'. Zeph, Zeph--you go too often out into them settlements, andget your mind perverted by their wickedness and talk."
"I hope not, father, though I own I do like to go there. I've come to atime of life when a man thinks of marryin', and there bein' no gal here,unless it be one of my own sisters, it's nat'ral to look into the nextsettlement. I'll own sich has been my object in going to the Nest."
"And you've found the gal you set store by? Out with the whull truth,like a man. You know I've always been set ag'in lyin', and have everendeavored to make the whull of you speak truth. How is it, Zephaniah?have you found a gal to your mind, and who is't? Ourn is a family intowhich anybody can come by askin', you will remember."
"Lord, father! Dus Malbone would no more think of askin' me to have her,than she'd think of marryin' you! I've offered three times, and she'stold me, as plain as a woman could speak, that she couldn't nohowconsent, and that I hadn't ought to think of her any longer."
"Who is the gal, in this part of the country, that holds her head somuch higher than one of Thousandacres' sons?" demanded the old squatter,with some such surprise, real or affected, as a Bourbon might besupposed to feel at having his alliance spurned on the score of blood."I'd like to see her, and to convarse with this young woman. What didyou call her name, Zeph?"
"Dus Malbone, father, and the young woman that lives with Chainbearer.She's his niece, I b'lieve, or something of that sort."
"Ha! Chainbearer's niece, d'ye say? His taken da'ghter. Isn't there somemistake?"
"Dus Malbone calls old Andries 'Uncle Chainbearer,' and I s'pose fromthat she's his niece."
"And you've offered to marry the gal three times, d'ye tell me,Zephaniah?"
"Three times, father; and every time she has given 'no' for her answer."
"The fourth time, maybe, she'll change her mind. I wonder if we couldn'tlay hands on this gal, and bring her into our settlement? Does she livewith Chainbearer, in his hut out here in the woods?"
"She doos, father."
"And doos she set store by her uncle? or is she one of the flaunty sortthat thinks more of herself and gownd than she does of her own flesh andblood? Can you tell me _that_, Zeph?"
"In my judgment, father, Dus Malbone loves Chainbearer as much as shewould was he her own father."
"Ay, some gals haven't half the riverence and love for their own fathersthat they should have. What's to prevint your goin', Zephaniah, toChainbearer's pitch, and tell the gal that her uncle's in distress, andthat you don't know what may happen to him, and that she had better comeover and see a'ter him? When we get her here, and she understands thenatur' of the case, and you put on your Sabba'day clothes, and we sendfor 'Squire Newcome, you may find yourself a married man sooner than youthought for, my son, and settle down in life. A'ter that, there'll notbe much danger of Chainbearer's tellin' on us, or of his great fri'ndhere, this Major Littlepage's troublin' the lumber afore the waterrises."
A murmur of applause followed this notable proposal, and I fancied Icould hear a snigger from the young man, as if he found the project tohis mind, and thought it might be feasible.
"Father," said Zephaniah, "I wish you'd call Lowiny here, and talk toher a little about Dus Malbone. There she is, with Tobit's wife andmother, looking round among the cabbages, as if a man could be hid insuch a place."
Thousandacres called to his daughter in an authoritative way; and I soonheard the girl's step, as she came, a little hesitatingly, as I fancied,into the mill. As it would be very natural to one in Lowiny's situationto suppose that her connection with my escape occasioned this summons, Icould not but feel for what I presumed was the poor girl's distress atreceiving it.
"Come here, Lowiny," commenced Thousandacres, in the stern manner withwhich it was his wont to speak to his children; "come nearer, gal. Doyou know anything of one Dus Malbone, Chainbearer's niece?"
"Lord ha' massy! Father, how you _did_ frighten me! I thought you mighthave found the gentleman, and s'posed I'd a hand in helpin' to hidehim!"
Singular as it may seem, this burst of conscience awakened no suspicionin any of the listeners. When the girl thus betrayed herself, I verynaturally expected that such an examination would follow as would extortthe whole details from her. Not at all, however; neither the father norany of the sons understood the indiscreet remarks of the girl, butimputed them to the excitement that had just existed, and thecircumstance that her mind had, naturally enough, been dwelling on itscause. It is probable that the very accidental manner of my evasion,which precluded the attaching of suspicious facts to what had reallyoccurred, favored Lowiny on this occasion; it being impossible that sheshould be suspected of anything of that character.
"Who's talkin' or thinkin' now of young Littlepage, at all?" returnedThousandacres, a little angrily. "I ask if you know anything ofChainbearer's niece--one Dus Malbone, or Malcome?"
"I _do_ know suthin' of her, father," answered Lowiny, willing enough tobetray one--the lesser--of her secrets, in order to conceal the other,which, on all accounts, was much the most important; "though I neverlaid eyes on her 'till to-day. Zeph has often talked to me of the galthat carried chain with her uncle for a whull month; and he has a notionto marry her if he can get her."
"Never laid eyes on her 'till to-day! Whereabouts have you laid eyes onher _to-day_, gal? Is all creation comin' in upon my clearin' at once?Whereabouts have you seen this gal to-day?"
"She come to the edge of the clearin' with her uncle, and----"
"Well, what next? Why don't you go on, Lowiny?"
I could have told Thousandacres why his daughter hesitated; but the girlgot out of the scrape by her own presence of mind and ingenuity, alittle aided, perhaps, by some practice in sins of the sort.
"Why, I went a berryin' this forenoon, and up ag'in the berry lot, justin the edge of the woods, I saw a young woman, and that was the Malbonegal. So we talked together, and she told me all about it. She's waitin'for her uncle to come back."
"So, so; this is news indeed, b'ys! Do you know where the gal is now,Lowiny?"
"Not just now, for she told me she should go deeper into the woods, lestshe should be seen; but an hour afore sundown she's to come to the footof the great chestnut, just ag'in the berry lot; and I promised to meether, or to carry her out suthin' for supper, and to make a bed on."
This was said frankly, and with the feeling and sympathy that femalesare apt to manifest in behalf of each other. It was evident Lowiny'saudience believed every word she had said; and the old man, inparticular, determined at once to act. I heard him move from his seat,and his voice sounded like one who was retiring, as he said:
"Tobit--b'ys--come with me, and we'll have one more look for this youngchap through the lumber and the housen. It may be that he's stolen inthere while our eyes have been turned another way. Lowiny, you needn'tcome with us, for the flutterin' way of you gals don't do no good insich a s'arch."
I waited until the last heavy footstep was inaudible, and then venturedto move far enough, on my hands, to find a crack that I had purposelyleft, with a view to take through it an occasional look below. On thelog which her father had just left, Lowiny had seated herself. Her eyewas roaming over the upper part of the mill, as if in quest of me. Atlength she said, in a suppressed voice--
"Be you here still? Father and the b'ys can't hear us now, if you speaklow."
"I am here, good Lowiny, thanks to your friendly kindness, and haveoverheard all that passed. You saw Ursula Malbone, and gave her mynote?"
"As true as you are there, I did; and she read it over so often, I guessshe must know it by heart."
"But what did she say? Had
she no message for her uncle--no answer towhat I had written?"
"Oh! she'd enough to say--gals love to talk, you know, when they getwith one another, and Dus and I talked together half an hour, or longer.She'd plenty to say, though it wunt do for me to sit here and tell it toyou, lest somebody wonder I stay so long in the mill."
"You can tell me if she sent any message or answer to my note?"
"She never breathed a syllable about what you'd writ. I warrant youshe's close-mouthed enough, when she gets a line from a young man. Doyou think her so desp'rate handsome as Zeph says she is?"
This boded ill, but it was a question that it was politic to answer, andto answer with some little discretion. If I lost the services of Lowiny,my main stay was gone.
"She is well enough to look at, but I've seen quite as handsome youngwomen, lately. But, handsome or not, she is one of your own sex, and isnot to be deserted in her trouble."
"Yes, indeed," answered Lowiny, with an expression of countenance thattold me at once, the better feelings of her sex had all returned again,"and I'll not desart her, though father drive me out of the settlement.I am tired of all this squatting, and think folks ought to live as muchin one spot as they can. What's best to be done about DusMalbone--perhaps she'd like well enough to marry Zeph?"
"Did you see or hear anything while with her, to make you think so? I amanxious to know what she said."
"La! She said sights of things; but most of her talk was about oldChainbearer. She never named _your_ name so much as once!"
"Did she name Zephaniah's? I make no doubt that anxiety on account ofher uncle was her chief care. What are her intentions, and will sheremain near that tree until you come?"
"She stays under a rock not a great way from the tree, and there she'llstay till I go to meet her, at the chestnut. We had our talk under thatrock, and it's easy enough to find her there."
"How do things look around us? Might I descend, slip down into the bedof the river, and go round to Dus Malbone, so as to give her notice ofthe danger she is in?"
Lowiny did not answer me for near a minute, and I began to fear that Ihad put another indiscreet question. The girl seemed thoughtful, butwhen she raised her face so high as to allow me to see it, all theexpression of the more generous feminine sympathy was visible.
"'Twould be hard to make Dus have Zeph, if she don't like him, wouldn'tit!" she said with emphasis. "I don't know but t'would be better to lether know what's coming so that she can choose for herself."
"She told me," I answered, with perfect truth, "that she is engaged toanother, and it would be worse than cruel--it would be wicked, to makeher marry one man, while she loves another."
"She shan't do't!" cried the girl, with an animation that I thoughtdangerous. But she gave me no opportunity for remonstrance, as, all herenergies being roused, she went to work in earnest to put me in the wayof doing what I most desired to achieve.
"D'ye see the lower corner of the mill?" she continued, hurriedly. "Thatpost goes down to the rock over which the water falls. You can walk tothat corner without any danger of being seen, as the ruff hides you, andwhen you get there, you can wait till I tell you to get on the post. 'Twill be easy to slide down that post to the rock, and there'll be notmuch of a chance of being seen, as the post will nearly hide you. Whenyou're on the rock, you'll find a path that leads along the creek tillyou come to a foot-bridge. If you cross that log, and take the left-handpath, 'twill bring you out near the edge of the clearin', up on the hillagain, and then you'll have only to follow the edge of the woods alittle way, afore you come to the chestnut. The rock is right off, ag'inthe chestnut, only about fifty rods."
I took in these directions eagerly, and was at the post almost as soonas the girl ceased speaking. In order to do this I had only to walk onthe boards that lay scattered about on the girts of the mill, the roofcompletely concealing the movement from any on its outside. I made myarrangements, and only waited for a signal, or the direction fromLowiny, to proceed.
"Not yet," said the girl, looking down and affecting to be occupied withsomething near her feet. "Father and Tobit are walkin' this way, andlookin' right at the mill. Now--get ready--they've turned their heads,and seem as if they'd turn round themselves next. They've turned ag'in,wait one moment--now's a good time--don't go away altogether without myseein' you once more."
I heard these last words, but it was while sliding down the post. Justas my head came so low as to be in a line with the objects scatteredabout the floor of the mill, I clung to the post to catch one glimpse ofwhat was going on without. Thousandacres and Tobit were about a hundredyards distant, walking apart from the group of young men, and apparentlyin deep consultation together. It was quite evident no alarm was taken,and down I slid to the rock. At the next moment, I was in the path,descending to the foot-bridge, a tree that had been felled across thestream. Until that tree was crossed, and a slight distance of the ascenton the other side of the stream, along the left-hand path was overcome,I was completely exposed to the observation of any one who might be in asituation to look down into the glen of the river. At almost any othermoment at that particular season, my discovery would have been nearlycertain, as some of the men or boys were always at work in the water;but the events of that morning called them elsewhere, and I made thecritical passage, a distance of two hundred yards or more, in safety. Assoon as I entered behind a cover, my speed abated, and having risenagain to the level of the dwellings, or even a little above them, Iprofited by openings among the small pine-bushes that fringed the path,to take a survey of the state of things among the squatters.
There the cluster of heavy, lounging young men was, Thousandacres andTobit walking apart, as when last seen. Prudence was at the door of adistant cabin, surrounded, as usual, by a collection of the young fry,and conversing herself eagerly, with the wives of two or three of hermarried sons. Lowiny had left the mill, and was strolling along theopposite side of the glen, so near the verge of the rocks as to haveenabled her to see the whole of my passage across the open space.Perceiving that she was quite alone, I ventured to hem just loud enoughto reach her ear. A hurried, frightened gesture assured me that I hadbeen heard, and first making a gesture for me to go forward, the girlturned away, and went skipping off toward the cluster of females whosurrounded her mother.
As for myself, I now thought only of Dus. What cared I if she did loveanother? A girl of her education, manners, sentiments, birth andcharacter, was not to be sacrificed to one like Zephaniah, let whatmight happen; and could I reach her place of concealment in time, shemight still be saved. These thoughts fairly winged my flight, and I sooncame in sight of the chestnut. Three minutes later I laid a hand on thetrunk of the tree itself. As I had been a quarter of an hour at least,in making the circuit of that side of the clearing, some material changemight have occurred among the squatters, and I determined to advance tothe edge of the bushes, in Lowiny's "berry lot," which completelyscreened the spot, and ascertain the facts, before I sought Dus at herrock.
The result showed that some measures had been decided on betweenThousandacres and Tobit. Not one of the males, a lad that stood sentinelat the storehouse, and a few of the smaller boys excepted, was to beseen. I examined all the visible points with care, but no one wasvisible. Even Susquesus, who had been lounging about the whole day, orsince his liberation, had vanished. Prudence and her daughters, too,were in a great commotion, hurrying from cabin to cabin, and manifestingall that restlessness which usually denotes excitement among females. Istopped but a moment to ascertain these leading circumstances, andturned to seek the rock. While retiring from among the bushes, I heardthe fallen branch of a tree snap under a heavy footstep, and lookingcautiously around, saw Jaaf, or Jaap as we commonly called him,advancing toward me, carrying a rifle on each shoulder.
"Heaven's blessings on you, my faithful Jaap!" I cried, holding out anarm to receive one of the weapons. "You come at a most happy moment, andcan lead me to Miss Malbone."
"Yes, sah, and glad to do
it, too. Miss Dus up here, a bit, in 'e wood,and can werry soon see her. She keep me down here to look out, and Icarry bot' rifle, Masser Chainbearer's and my own, 'cause Miss Dus nogreat hand wid gunpowder. But, where you come from, MasserMordaunt?--and why you run away so, in night-time?"
"Never mind just now, Jaap--in proper time you shall know all about it.Now we must take care of Miss Ursula. Is she uneasy? has she shown anyfear on her uncle's account?"
"She cry half 'e time, sah--den she look up bold, and resolute, justlike ole Massar, sah, when he tell he rijjement 'charge baggonet,' andseem as if she want to go right into T'ousandacres' huts. Lor' bless me,sah, Masser Mordaunt--if she ask me one question about _you_ to-day, sheask me a hundred!"
"About me, Jaap!" But I arrested the impulsive feeling in good time, soas not to be guilty of pumping my own servant concerning what others hadsaid of me; a meanness I could not easily have pardoned in myself. But Iincreased my speed, and having Jaap for my guide, was soon at the sideof Dus. The negro had no sooner pointed out to me the object of mysearch, than he had the discretion to return to the edge of theclearing, carrying with him both rifles; for I returned to him the one Ihad taken, in my eagerness to hurry forward, the instant I beheld Dus.
I can never forget the look with which that frank, noble-hearted girlreceived me! It almost led me to hope that my ears had deceived me, andthat after all, I was an object of the highest interest with her. A fewtears, half-suppressed, but suppressed with difficulty, accompanied thatlook; and I had the happiness of holding for some time and of pressingto my heart, that little hand that was freely--nay, warmly extended tome.
"Let us quit this spot at once, dearest Ursula," I cried, the moment Icould speak. "It is not safe to remain near that family of wretches, wholive by depredation and violence."
"And leave uncle Chainbearer in their hands?" answered Dus,reproachfully. "You, surely, would not advise me to do that?"
"If your own safety demands it, yes--a thousand times yes. We must fly,and there is not a moment to lose. A design exists among those wretchesto seize you, and to make use of your fears to secure the aid of youruncle in extricating them from the consequences of this discovery oftheir robberies. It is not safe, I repeat, for you to remain a minutelonger here."
The smile that Dus now bestowed on me was very sweet, though I found itinexplicable; for it had as much of pain and suffering in it, as it hadof that which was winning.
"Mordaunt Littlepage, have you forgotten the words spoken by me when welast parted?" she asked, seriously.
"Forgotten! I can never forget them! They drove me nearly to despair,and were the cause of bringing us all into this difficulty."
"I told you that my faith was already plighted--that I could not acceptyour noble, frank, generous, manly offer, because another had my troth."
"You did--you did. Why renew my misery--"
"It is with a different object that I am now more explicit. That man towhom I am pledged is in those huts, and I cannot desert him."
"Can I believe my senses! _Do_ you--_can_ you--is it possible that onelike Ursula Malbone can love Zephaniah Thousandacres--a squatterhimself, and the son of a squatter?"
The look with which Dus regarded me, said at once that her astonishmentwas quite as great as my own. I could have bitten off my hasty andindiscreet tongue, the instant it had spoken; and I am sure the rush oftell-tale blood in my face must have proclaimed to my companion that Ifelt most thoroughly ashamed of myself. This feeling was deepened nearlyto despair, when I saw the expression of abased mortification that cameover the sweet and usually happy countenance of Dus, and the difficultyshe had in suppressing her tears.
Neither spoke for a minute, when my companion broke silence by sayingsteadily--I might almost add solemnly--
"This, indeed, shows how low my fortune has become! But I pardon you,Mordaunt; for, humble as that fortune is, you have spoken nobly andfrankly in my behalf, and I exonerate you from any feeling that is notperfectly natural for the circumstances. Perhaps"--and a bright blushsuffused the countenance of Dus as she said it--"Perhaps I may attributethe great mistake into which you have fallen to a passion that is mostapt to accompany strong love, and insomuch prize it, instead of throwingit away with contempt. But, between you and me, whatever comes of it,there must be no more mistakes. The man to whom my faith is plighted,and to whom my time and services are devoted, so long as one or both ofus live, is uncle Chainbearer, and no other. Had you not rushed from mein the manner you did, I might have told you this, Mordaunt, the eveningyou were showing so much noble frankness yourself."
"Dus!--Ursula!--beloved Miss Malbone, have I then no preferred rival?"
"No man has ever spoken to me of love, but this uncouth and rude youngsquatter, and yourself."
"Is your heart then untouched? Are you still mistress of your ownaffections?"
The look I now received from Dus was a little saucy; but that expressionsoon changed to one that had more of the deep feeling and generoussympathy of her precious sex in it.
"Were I to answer 'yes,' many women would think I was being no more thantrue to the rights of a girl who has been so unceremoniously treated;but----"
"But what, charming, most beloved Ursula? But what?"
"I prefer truth to coquetry, and shall not attempt to deny what it wouldalmost be treason against nature to suppose. How could a girl, educatedas I have been, without any preference to tie her to another, be shut upin this forest with a man who has treated her with so much kindness anddevotion and manly tenderness, and insensible to his merits? Were we inthe world, Mordaunt, I think I should prefer you to all others; being,as we are, in this forest, I _know_ I do."
The reader shall not be let into the sacred confidence that followed;any further, at least, than to know the main result. A quarter of anhour passed so swiftly, and so sweetly, indeed, that I could hardly takeit on myself to record one-half that was said. Dus made no longer anyhesitation in declaring her attachment for me; and though she urged herown poverty as a just obstacle to my wishes, it was faintly, as mostAmericans of either sex would do. In this particular, at least, we mayfairly boast of a just superiority over all the countries of the oldworld. While it is scarcely possible that either man or woman should notsee how grave a barrier to wedded happiness is interposed by theopinions and habits of social castes, it is seldom that any one, in hisor her own proper sphere, feels that the want of money is aninsurmountable obstacle to a union--more especially when one of theparties is provided with the means of maintaining the household gods.The seniors may, and do often have scruples on this score; but the youngpeople rarely. Dus and myself were in the complete enjoyment of thishappy simplicity, with my arms around her waist, and her head leaning onmy shoulder, when I was aroused from a state that I fancied Elysium, bythe hoarse, raven-throated cry of--
"Here she is! Here she is, father! Here they are _both_!"
On springing forward to face the intruders, I saw Tobit and Zephaniahdirectly before me, with Lowiny standing at no great distance behindthem. The first looked ferocious, the second jealous and angry, thethird abashed and mortified. In another minute we were surrounded byThousandacres and all the males of his brood.