Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only child. Her mother hadlong since died on the Plains. Reared in affluence, no pains had beenspared with the daughter's education. She was a graduate of one of theprincipal seminaries, and spoke French with a perfect Benicia accent.Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in a white moire antique robetrimmed with tulle. That simple rosebud, with which most heroinesexclusively decorate their hair, was all she wore in her raven locks.
The Judge was the first to break the silence.
"Genevra, the logs which compose yonder fire seem to have beenincautiously chosen. The sibilation produced by the sap, which exudescopiously therefrom, is not conducive to composition."
"True, father, but I thought it would be preferable to the constantcrepitation which is apt to attend the combustion of more seasonedligneous fragments."
The Judge looked admiringly at the intellectual features of the gracefulgirl, and half forgot the slight annoyances of the green wood in themusical accents of his daughter. He was smoothing her hair tenderly,when the shadow of a tall figure, which suddenly darkened the doorway,caused him to look up.
CHAPTER II
It needed but a glance at the new-comer to detect at once the form andfeatures of the haughty aborigine,--the untaught and untrammeled sonof the forest. Over one shoulder a blanket, negligently but gracefullythrown, disclosed a bare and powerful breast, decorated with a quantityof three-cent postage-stamps which he had despoiled from an OverlandMail stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off beaver of Judge Tompkins's,adorned by a simple feather, covered his erect head, from beneath whichhis straight locks descended. His right hand hung lightly by his side,while his left was engaged in holding on a pair of pantaloons, which thelawless grace and freedom of his lower limbs evidently could not brook.
"Why," said the Indian, in a low sweet tone,--"why does the Pale Facestill follow the track of the Red Man? Why does he pursue him, even asO-kee chow, the wild cat, chases Ka-ka, the skunk? Why are the feetof Sorrel-top, the white chief, among the acorns of Muck-a-Muck, themountain forest? Why," he repeated, quietly but firmly abstracting asilver spoon from the table,--"why do you seek to drive him from thewigwams of his fathers? His brothers are already gone to the happyhunting-grounds. Will the Pale Face seek him there?" And, averting hisface from the Judge, he hastily slipped a silver cake-basket beneath hisblanket, to conceal his emotion.
"Muck-a-Muck has spoken," said Genevra softly. "Let him now listen. Arethe acorns of the mountain sweeter than the esculent and nutritious beanof the Pale Face miner? Does my brother prize the edible qualities ofthe snail above that of the crisp and oleaginous bacon? Delicious arethe grasshoppers that sport on the hillside,--are they better than thedried apples of the Pale Faces? Pleasant is the gurgle of the torrent,Kish-Kish, but is it better than the cluck-cluck of old Bourbon from theold stone bottle?"
"Ugh!" said the Indian,--"ugh! good. The White Rabbit is wise. Her wordsfall as the snow on Tootoonolo, and the rocky heart of Muck-a-Muck ishidden. What says my brother the Gray Gopher of Dutch Flat?"
"She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck," said the Judge, gazing fondly on hisdaughter. "It is well. Our treaty is concluded. No, thank you,--you need_not_ dance the Dance of Snow-shoes, or the Moccasin Dance, the Danceof Green Corn, or the Treaty Dance. I would be alone. A strange sadnessoverpowers me."
"I go," said the Indian. "Tell your great chief in Washington, theSachem Andy, that the Red Man is retiring before the footsteps of theadventurous pioneer. Inform him, if you please, that westward the starof empire takes its way, that the chiefs of the Pi-Ute nation are forReconstruction to a man, and that Klamath will poll a heavy Republicanvote in the fall."
And folding his blanket more tightly around him, Muck-a-Muck withdrew.
CHAPTER III
Genevra Tompkins stood at the door of the log-cabin, looking after theretreating Overland Mail stage which conveyed her father to VirginiaCity. "He may never return again," sighed the young girl, as she glancedat the frightfully rolling vehicle and wildly careering horses,--"atleast, with unbroken bones. Should he meet with an accident! I mindme now a fearful legend, familiar to my childhood. Can it be that thedrivers on this line are privately instructed to dispatch all passengersmaimed by accident, to prevent tedious litigation? No, no. But why thisweight upon my heart?"
She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed her hand over thekeys. Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, she sang the first verse ofone of the most popular Irish ballads:--
"O _Arrah ma dheelish_, the distant _dudheen_ Lies soft in the moonlight, _ma bouchal vourneen_: The springing _gossoons_ on the heather are still, And the _caubeens_ and _colleens_ are heard on the hill."
But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died upon the air, herhands sank listlessly to her side. Music could not chase away themysterious shadow from her heart. Again she rose. Putting on a whitecrape bonnet, and carefully drawing a pair of lemon-colored gloves overher taper fingers, she seized her parasol and plunged into the depths ofthe pine forest.
CHAPTER IV
Genevra had not proceeded many miles before a weariness seized uponher fragile limbs, and she would fain seat herself upon the trunk of aprostrate pine, which she previously dusted with her handkerchief.The sun was just sinking below the horizon, and the scene was one ofgorgeous and sylvan beauty. "How beautiful is nature!" murmured theinnocent girl, as, reclining gracefully against the root of the tree,she gathered up her skirts and tied a handkerchief around her throat.But a low growl interrupted her meditation. Starting to her feet, hereyes met a sight which froze her blood with terror.
The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path, barely wide enoughfor a single person, hemmed in by trees and rocks, which she had justtraversed. Down this path, in Indian file, came a monstrous grizzly,closely followed by a California lion, a wild cat, and a buffalo, therear being brought up by a wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the threefirst animals were distended with frightful significance, the horns ofthe last were lowered as ominously. As Genevra was preparing to faint,she heard a low voice behind her.
"Eternally dog-gone my skin ef this ain't the puttiest chance yet!" Atthe same moment, a long, shining barrel dropped lightly from behind her,and rested over her shoulder.
Genevra shuddered.
"Dern ye--don't move!"
Genevra became motionless.
The crack of a rifle rang through the woods. Three frightful yells wereheard, and two sullen roars. Five animals bounded into the air and fivelifeless bodies lay upon the plain. The well-aimed bullet had done itswork. Entering the open throat of the grizzly it had traversed his bodyonly to enter the throat of the California lion, and in like manner thecatamount, until it passed through into the respective foreheads ofthe bull and the buffalo, and finally fell flattened from the rockyhillside.
Genevra turned quickly. "My preserver!" she shrieked, and fell into thearms of Natty Bumpo, the celebrated Pike Ranger of Donner Lake.
CHAPTER V
The moon rose cheerfully above Donner Lake. On its placid bosom adug-out canoe glided rapidly, containing Natty Bumpo and GenevraTompkins.
Both were silent. The same thought possessed each, and perhaps there wassweet companionship even in the unbroken quiet. Genevra bit the handleof her parasol, and blushed. Natty Bumpo took a fresh chew of tobacco.At length Genevra said, as if in half-spoken reverie:--
"The soft shining of the moon and the peaceful ripple of the waves seemto say to us various things of an instructive and moral tendency."
"You may bet yer pile on that, miss," said her companion gravely. "It'sall the preachin' and psalm-singin' I've heern since I was a boy.""Noble being!" said Miss Tompkins to herself, glancing at the statelyPike as he bent over his paddle to conceal his emotion. "Reared in thiswild seclusion, yet he has become penetrated with visible consciousnessof a Great First Cause." Then, collecting herself, she said aloud:"Methinks 't were pleasant to glide ever thus down the stream of life,hand in hand with the one be
ing whom the soul claims as its affinity.But what am I saying?"--and the delicate-minded girl hid her face in herhands.
A long silence ensued, which was at length broken by her companion.
"Ef you mean you're on the marry," he said thoughtfully, "I ain't in nowise partikler."
"My husband!" faltered the blushing girl; and she fell into his arms.
In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at Judge Tompkins's.
CHAPTER VI
A year has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning from Gold Hill, wherehe had been to purchase provisions. On his way to Donner Lake, rumors ofan Indian uprising met his ears. "Dern their pesky skins, ef they dareto touch my Jenny," he muttered between his clenched teeth.
It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. Around a glitteringfire he dimly discerned dusky figures dancing. They were in war paint.Conspicuous among them was the renowned Muck-a-Muck. But why did thefingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively around his rifle?
The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The heart of thepioneer sickened as he recognized the clustering curls of Genevra. Ina moment his rifle was at his shoulder, and with a sharp "ping"Muck-a-Muck leaped into the air a corpse. To knock out the brains ofthe remaining savages, tear the tresses from the stiffening hand ofMuck-a-Muck, and dash rapidly forward to the cottage of Judge Tompkins,was the work of a moment.
He burst open the door. Why did he stand transfixed with open mouthand distended eyeballs? Was the sight too horrible to be borne? On thecontrary, before him, in her peerless beauty, stood Genevra Tompkins,leaning on her father's arm.
"Ye'r not scalped, then!" gasped her lover.
"No. I have no hesitation in saying that I am not; but why thisabruptness?" responded Genevra.
Bumpo could not speak, but frantically produced the silken tresses.Genevra turned her face aside.
"Why, that's her waterfall!" said the Judge.
Bumpo sank fainting to the floor.
The famous Pike chieftain never recovered from the deceit, and refusedto marry Genevra, who died, twenty years afterwards, of a broken heart.Judge Tompkins lost his fortune in Wild Cat. The stage passes twicea week the deserted cottage at Donner Lake. Thus was the death ofMuck-a-Muck avenged.
SELINA SEDILIA
BY MISS M. E. B-DD-N AND MRS. H-N-Y W-D.
CHAPTER I
The sun was setting over Sloperton Grange, and reddened the window ofthe lonely chamber in the western tower, supposed to be haunted by SirEdward Sedilia, the founder of the Grange. In the dreamy distance arosethe gilded mausoleum of Lady Felicia Sedilia, who haunted that portionof Sedilia Manor known as "Stiff-uns Acre." A little to the left of theGrange might have been seen a mouldering ruin, known as "Guy's Keep,"haunted by the spirit of Sir Guy Sedilia, who was found, one morning,crushed by one of the fallen battlements. Yet, as the setting sun gildedthese objects, a beautiful and almost holy calm seemed diffused aboutthe Grange.
The Lady Selina sat by an oriel window overlooking the park. The sunsank gently in the bosom of the German Ocean, and yet the lady did notlift her beautiful head from the finely curved arm and diminutive handwhich supported it. When darkness finally shrouded the landscape shestarted, for the sound of horse-hoofs clattered over the stones of theavenue. She had scarcely risen, before an aristocratic young man fell onhis knees before her.
"My Selina!"
"Edgardo! You here?"
"Yes, dearest."
"And--you--you--have--seen nothing?" said the lady in an agitated voiceand nervous manner, turning her face aside to conceal her emotion.
"Nothing--that is, nothing of any account," said Edgardo. "I passed theghost of your aunt in the park, noticed the spectre of your uncle in theruined keep, and observed the familiar features of the spirit of yourgreat-grandfather at his usual post. But nothing beyond these trifles,my Selina. Nothing more, love, absolutely nothing."
The young man turned his dark, liquid orbs fondly upon the ingenuousface of his betrothed.
"My own Edgardo!--and you still love me? You still would marry me inspite of this dark mystery which surrounds me? In spite of the fatalhistory of my race? In spite of the ominous predictions of my agednurse?"
"I would, Selina;" and the young man passed his arm around her yieldingwaist. The two lovers gazed at each other's faces in unspeakable bliss.Suddenly Selina started.
"Leave me, Edgardo! leave me! A mysterious something--a fatalmisgiving--a dark ambiguity--an equivocal mistrust oppresses me. I wouldbe alone!"
The young man arose, and cast a loving glance on the lady. "Then we willbe married on the seventeenth."
"The seventeenth," repeated Selina, with a mysterious shudder.
They embraced and parted. As the clatter of hoofs in the courtyard diedaway, the Lady Selina sank into the chair she had just quitted.
"The seventeenth," she repeated slowly, with the same fateful shudder."Ah!--what if he should know that I have another husband living? DareI reveal to him that I have two legitimate and three natural children?Dare I repeat to him the history of my youth? Dare I confess that atthe age of seven I poisoned my sister, by putting verdigris in hercream-tarts,--that I threw my cousin from a swing at the age of twelve?That the lady's maid who incurred the displeasure of my girlhood nowlies at the bottom of the horse-pond? No! no! he is too pure,--toogood,--too innocent,--to hear such improper conversation!" and her wholebody writhed as she rocked to and fro in a paroxysm of grief.
But she was soon calm. Rising to her feet, she opened a secret panel inthe wall, and revealed a slow-match ready for lighting.
"This match," said the Lady Selina, "is connected with a mine beneaththe western tower, where my three children are confined; anotherbranch of it lies under the parish church, where the record of my firstmarriage is kept. I have only to light this match and the whole ofmy past life is swept away!" She approached the match with a lightedcandle.
But a hand was laid upon her arm, and with a shriek the Lady Selina fellon her knees before the spectre of Sir Guy.
CHAPTER II
"Forbear, Selina," said the phantom in a hollow voice.
"Why should I forbear?" responded Selina haughtily, as she recovered hercourage. "You know the secret of our race?"
"I do. Understand me,--I do not object to the eccentricities of youryouth. I know the fearful destiny which, pursuing you, led you to poisonyour sister and drown your lady's maid. I know the awful doom whichI have brought upon this house. But if you make away with thesechildren"--
"Well," said the Lady Selina hastily.
"They will haunt you!"
"Well, I fear them not," said Selina, drawing her superb figure to itsfull height.
"Yes, but, my dear child, what place are they to haunt? The ruin issacred to your uncle's spirit. Your aunt monopolizes the park, and, Imust be allowed to state, not unfrequently trespasses upon the groundsof others. The horse-pond is frequented by the spirit of your maid, andyour murdered sister walks these corridors. To be plain, there is noroom at Sloperton Grange for another ghost. I cannot have them in myroom,--for you know I don't like children. Think of this, rash girl, andforbear! Would you, Selina," said the phantom mournfully,--"would youforce your great-grandfather's spirit to take lodgings elsewhere?"
Lady Selina's hand trembled; the lighted candle fell from her nervelessfingers.
"No," she cried passionately; "never!" and fell fainting to the floor.
CHAPTER III
Edgardo galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. When the outline of theGrange had faded away in the darkness, he reined his magnificent steedbeside the ruins of Guy's Keep.
"It wants but a few minutes of the hour," he said, consulting his watchby the light of the moon. "He dare not break his word. He will come." Hepaused, and peered anxiously into the darkness. "But come what may, sheis mine," he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the fair ladyhe had quitted. "Yet if she knew all. If she knew that I am a disgracedand ruined man,--a felon and an outcast. If sh
e knew that at the age offourteen I murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle's will. If sheknew that I had three wives already, and that the fourth victim ofmisplaced confidence and my unfortunate peculiarity is expected to be atSloperton by to-night's train with her baby. But no; she must not knowit. Constance must not arrive; Burke the Slogger must attend to that.
"Ha! here he is! Well?"
These words were addressed to a ruffian in a slouched hat, who suddenlyappeared from Guy's Keep.
"I he's here, measter," said the villain, with a disgracefully lowaccent and complete disregard of grammatical rules.
"It is well. Listen: I'm in possession of facts that will send you tothe gallows. I know of the murder of Bill Smithers, the robbery of thetollgate-keeper, and the making away of the youngest daughter of SirReginald de Walton. A word from me, and the officers of justice are onyour track."
Burke the Slogger trembled.
"Hark ye! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. The 5.30 train fromClapham will be due at Sloperton at 9.25. _It must not arrive!_"