Part 14

The disaster threatened a long delay; a new boat must be built, new hides procured, all suitably tanned, and the incident itself suggested treachery and fomented suspicion. More than once the eyes of Callum MacIlvesty and Tam Wilson met in secret comment, an interchange of inquiry, a fraternal interdependence, all other considerations forgotten in the realization of a common danger. But Moy Toy’s face was frankly clouded, and Quorinnah was already suggesting ways and means by which, going into camp here, help might be fetched from Ioco Town. Only Jock Lesly gave no outward sign of his inward perturbation as he strode up and down the bank, save that now and again he admonished his cohorts with a shake of the head and a vehement “Oh fie! oh fie!”

And at last and suddenly, quiet descended on all the disordered crew, bating a word or two of rancorous upbraiding and a retort of raucous yet sheepish protest, for the boat was found where first it had been presumed to be. It had been overlooked, so well had it been hidden, and once declared to be missing the place of its usual and most obvious bestowal was not searched again till desperation suggested the retracing of all the various steps that had been taken. And so it was presently launched. A queer craft we of to-day would deem it, and perhaps would prefer something more stanch and less picturesque, seeing how swift and deep and rocky was the river. But the capsizing of such a boat meant only some slight injury of the goods and the swift swimming of the hardy passengers ashore, none the worse for the plunge into the clear waters of the mountain stream. The hides stretched between stout saplings, serving as gunwale and keel and tightly bound at each end, were distended toward the centre by crosspieces of the same fashioning, holding the boat in the conventional canoe shape, and the structure would convey ten horse loads at once. The method of progression was still more singular--no oars nor poles were used in its propulsion. The hardy packmen of the day, being lightly clad in buckskins, were wont boldly to fling themselves into the river and swim across, pushing the pettiaugre before them, their horses all gallantly swimming in the rear. When the first boat’s load had been piled upon the craft, Lilias was conducted down the steep bank and seated in the boat, the only passenger, upon the bales of fine dressed deerskins. Callum MacIlvesty and a number of other young men were instantly in the water, wading first, then swimming, with the liberated horses following after. The girl liked the novelty. She smiled down from her high perch at each strong stroke that sent the curious structure throbbing and quivering on its way, with its silver wake and a little ripple of foam at the prow. The river was crystal clear, smooth, and shining in its centre under the sun, deeply, duskily green beneath the shadow of the trees on the further shore. Beyond, where the stream rounded a sort of peninsula, a great glittering stretch of water seemed to extend indefinitely in a haze that hung about a flat margin and there met the sun in a vaporous shimmer, dazzling yet soft. All the group on the hither shore gazed at the progress of the boat, but only the cultivated imagination of the French officer suggested similitudes of aught that it was not. Against that green and white and misty background the shell-shaped craft and the still and smiling golden-haired figure recalled some legendary sea nymph, some Venus in the gliding shallop; the sleek heads of the attendant train suggested dolphins and sea horses, gleaming in the sunset as they swam swiftly after.

There was scant space for the flattery of illusions, for the deep shadows of the leafy bank opposite were falling upon this misty presentment of myths, the necromancy of the sheen and shimmer, and obliterating it as the little craft was pushed in to the land. Those of the packmen who had crossed were shaking the water from their dripping garments with no more care for a drenching than so many shaggy dogs, and presently were resaddling their horses, while Lilias, quite dry and fresh, stood apart on a little promontory of rock and with a scornful wave of the hand bade Callum in his saturated kilt keep his distance.

It seems incredible that such a man as Laroche should fear a little guying, but perhaps it was only the spectacle of Callum’s discomfiture that reconciled him to the knowledge of the scoffs at him, covert and otherwise, which he knew he should receive from the other young men when with Jock Lesly and the Indian headmen he should cross in the boat on its second trip, his condition as a recent invalid entitling him to share their honors and ease. It was barely possible, however, that Lilias would have found no occasion, even were he also dripping from the short swim, to place an embargo on his near approach. Why it was that this watery quarantine should have roused Callum MacIlvesty’s spirit of revolt, of self-assertion, of pride, it is difficult to say. Perhaps merely the limit of his endurance was reached when he was cried out upon like a too affectionate and dripping water dog.

“I winna sprinkle your kirtle,” he said with some dignity, despite the triviality of the theme. And he withdrew himself--not merely till the hot sun and the reflected heat of sand and rocks should dry off his garments, which, aided by the swift running to and fro on the errands of the pack-train, the brisk wind, and the warmth of his own body, was shortly effected.

The whole train was in motion again incredibly soon, considering the abnormal difficulties which these primitive methods of ferriage would seem to present. The young packmen, by reason of being detailed to the earliest crossing, were kept separated from the braves, the “mad young men,” with whom it was feared some quarrel might arise through their perverse ingenuity, independent of verbal communication. These tribesmen came last of all, after the dignitaries of both factions, and thus when once more on the march the original formation of the little cavalcade was preserved.

Only Callum MacIlvesty had shifted his position. He no longer rode at the right hand of Lilias, but ahead with the squad of packmen, and Tam Wilson succeeded to the position he had occupied; but Lilias appeared hardly to have noticed Callum’s absence, and certainly did not waste a thought upon it. Her radiant spirit seemed to shine through her eyes--she was gay, whimsically, childishly fascinating one moment; soft, serious, deeply emotional the next; now showing her more earnest traits, careful, womanly, unselfish; and again the veriest flutterer of a butterfly. She had never been so protean of mood, so beautiful, so charming. And yet Laroche looked upon her with changed eyes, a newly aroused and upbraiding conscience. The frightful bodily danger in which they had all recently stood from the murderous Cherokees, his triumphant scheming to avert their impending fate, had been as a reprieve to thoughts that now in this leisure again clamored for a hearing. His long, idle lingering amongst them and enforced concealment of his identity had brought this menace upon them. He had not yet annulled all its evils. And now--whither was he tending? Daily he considered the question.

He was a man of education, having had superior facilities and both the talent and the will to avail himself of them. He was not without social culture, and he moved in coteries of refinement. While not of the higher nobility, he was still a man of good birth, of degree, and of some fortune, and this had enabled him to tolerate the more kindly the bourgeois, nay the peasant-like aspect of the Lesly household, since it was but a matter of contemplation, and by no means of assimilation. He had regarded it with all its homely traits and habitudes as impersonally as if it were a scene on a stage.

In addition he was consumed by professional ambition; he had always been accounted an efficient, superior officer; he believed that his military abilities were great. Upon the successful issue of his plans among the Cherokees and other tribes high preferment would await him in the gift of the French government. To hamper by a _mésalliance_ with a simple Scotch girl, the daughter of a bourgeois trader, his future, his pride of diplomatic achievement, his opportunity to render great services to his government--he was appalled by the very thought. He promised himself that he would make no such sacrifice for any woman on earth! Seriously contemplated, he could not raise her to his level, and he would not sink to hers. All must be renounced should he dream of her in any sense but to kiss her hand in gallantry and bless her goodness in gratitude.

Yet what was he doing? Separating forever two young people whose kindness had been so largely instrumental in saving his life. Lapsed in the luxury of a sweet, delicate, almost abstract emotion, flattered by the consciousness of her love, he had supplanted her true suitor by this ghastly simulacrum of a lover, and was wrecking the happiness of both. He was sentimental enough, in the abstract, to care much for a sentimental woe. He was conscientious enough to appraise the unjustified intermeddling of the course he had pursued, and sensitive enough to shrink from bearing the consciousness of it all his days. With the policy of the confessional of the faith in which he had been trained, that restitution must accompany repentance and peace only follow penance, he was canvassing how to undo in days all that he had wrought in months. It should not be, he declared arbitrarily. He cared honestly, kindly, too much for her, loved her too truly, for herself, as a friend! And toward Callum himself he was not indifferent. Yet how could he bring them together again? Difficulties hedged him about. He feared the English in his character of French emissary. Now, daily, he was approaching the Englishman’s country. He adventured, indeed, much for the sake of her and hers. Knowing his prejudice, he would not trust Jock Lesly with his secret. But the girl loved him. He would trust Lilias! She would doubtless expect him to follow her to Charlestown. She would watch and wait for him. She would pine. But should he disclose his nationality, his employ, it must appear that their parting was final; in all probability, so divided by distance and prejudice, they would never meet again. It would be a poignant pang to them both, and Lilias he could never forget! If thus unhampered she could find her happiness in Callum MacIlvesty--he sighed--but he would not grudge it. At all events he owed her this: she must not waste her sweet young life in devotion to an illusion.

In reaching this resolution he was far too acute, too accustomed to introspection, not to perceive that he had postponed the shattering of the romance that had delighted him until its enchantment had at the most but a few days’ lease. He took some credit, however, that he had determined to submit to the ordeal and the jeopardy it involved before these were passed, that he might have space for an earnest effort to bring the young people to their former understanding. Besides, he argued, he might easily, in the interests of his own safety, hold his peace. Surely it was not a part of his duty, in going about the country, to warn susceptible maidens against losing their hearts to him.

Notwithstanding the stress of this absorption, he conducted a dual train of thought, listened to her talk, answered in character, followed the manifold changing theme, commented on the varying aspects of the country,--all the region being new to him,--found even space for a keen notice of her flattered consciousness that it was for her sake that he made this long and laborious detour in his journey to delay their parting--if ever they should part again; and only once did he answer at random, and only once did he fall into silence, to be merrily rallied and asked when and where did he see that wolf.

One day the camp was pitched about sunset, the blue twilight yet in abeyance. This, too, was the first halt since breakfast, dinner having been eaten on the march. A substantial meal, therefore, was this supper _al fresco_. Kettles were swung gypsy fashion; venison was broiled on the coals; some wild ducks, brought down by a volley in the course of the march, were split and toasted on a long stick at the general camp, but brandered at the fire of the “gentlefolks” as the contingent of Moy Toy and Jock Lesly was called,--it boasting a branding iron. The “gentles” also rejoiced in a case bottle of brandy, while the lower grades were content with rum, and only Lilias and the Frenchman drank a “dish of chocolate.” By a watercourse, necessarily, the halt was made and in the neighborhood of one of those exquisite springs for which the region is noted.

It seemed illimitably deep as Laroche and Lilias stood amidst the sweet-scented ferns on its rocky verge and then sat down on one of the fractured fragments fallen from the great crag beetling from the mountain slope above their heads.

Lured by the fascination that this sort of fountain in the wilderness seems to exert on all travelers, each of the cavalcade had come to gaze upon the crystalline depths which were like topaz in the lucent tints imparted by the golden gravel beneath. The hewing of the circular basin was almost as symmetrical as if wrought by hand. The down-dropping branches of the sycamore and beech nearly veiled the crags closing about them, and the far-away mountains across a stretch of valleys and lesser ranges were purple and sombre under the light of the sinking and vermilion sun. Only these two lingered here, quite silent at first, and Laroche wondered if he could speak at all. He glanced about doubtfully.

“Lilias,” he said slowly, “I have something to say to you.”

The shadow of a homing bird sped across the sunlit valley. Down the current of the river was visible a red reflection that was not a cast of the western sun, but was caught from a camp-fire on the bluff. At these he looked, not at her, lest the sight of her face disarm his resolution; yet somehow he was aware of the sudden flutter of her heart and the quickening of her pulses, and he knew that for all his art and all his tact he had begun amiss. He hastened to nullify the impression she might have taken, nay, nay, must have taken from his words.

“It is a secret,” he said hurriedly. “You must promise that you will tell no one--not even your father.”

He wondered, his eyes still fixed on those furthest western mountains, if her heart had ceased to beat, so still she suddenly was; then he realized rather than saw the slow motion of surprise, of protest, as her head turned toward him on its long and slender white neck.

“Not even your father,” he reiterated, for he must needs go on.

So sudden had been the revulsion of feeling, so complete, so paralyzing, that she could not trust her voice. And this was well, for he perceived that even in these few steps he had stumbled into a second pitfall. Exclude the paternal idol, know a secret forbidden to that paragon of wisdom and crown of creation, Jock Lesly! In another moment he would have a downright refusal of the trust. He must quickly involve her in the safety, the confidence of another, and even filial fealty would not warrant her in breaking faith with him.

“No,” he qualified hastily, “don’t promise. I will throw myself on your honor--in the fullest assurance of safety. Lilias, I am not what I seem; I am an emissary of the French government, an officer of the army!”

She recoiled violently, suddenly shaken, shocked; and albeit ghastly pale she fixed a challenging stare upon him.

“A spy?” she demanded in a husky voice, impressive with its deliberate tone and weighty yet incredulous rebuke.

Laroche hastily collected his faculties. This untoward trend of his disclosures must needs be checked in sheer consideration of the safety of his neck.

“Ah, Lilias, _bien aimée_,” he cried, in half petulant, half affectionate protest. “How can you misunderstand? Remember how I came to you--was it of my own intention, my own volition?”

The recollection of those weeks of illness, of helplessness, when he lay under their roof unconscious, brought thither by her father, was supplemented by the thought of the simple domestic routine in which he had grown a factor and had made the dear sense of home in these savage wilds so doubly dear, his eager care for their safety, his suspicions of the Indians, his precautions for the defense of the trading-station, his oft ridiculed anxieties and prognostications of savage treachery that had at last proved stern truth,--only foiled by his foresight and ingenuity and sagacity. As these reflections flitted through her mind, his eyes read the changing expressions of her face like an open book. He spoke as if in response.

“Remember,” he said with emotion, “for believe me I can never forget, dear heart”--

Suddenly, seeing the roseate color at the word beginning to return, to deepen, to glow in her cheek with a subtle, conscious emotion, he was admonished of that far more significant secret of his mission which must be disclosed, and that quickly, for the sake of both.

“No, not a spy,” he declared deliberately, seeking to quell the wild plunging of his own heart, as though one should find a gentle palfrey suddenly metamorphosed into a mighty charger. “My mission was primarily to survey and report the character of the obstructions to navigation of the Cherokee River--far away, a hundred miles or more; but I feared to say as much to your father, because of the international jealousies, that yet need hamper no friendship between him and me. May we not think kindly of each other as man to man, even though the nations are at war?”

He turned questioning eyes upon her--and she, her face so sweetly flushed, her eyes so gently luminous, looking all her love for him, all her soft faith in his love for her, silently acceded, for she could not trust her voice in the consciousness of what she looked to hear, what his words next promised.

Oh, how could he speak? Yet how could he dally and delay and torture both himself and her? The look in her face nearly routed his resolve. With an effort he went on almost at random, blurting out his revelation by piecemeal.

“My mission was primarily merely diplomatic--but I foresaw the opportunity here and, representing it to the government, I volunteered for the service; my authority was accordingly extended, and I will command an army of Indians when it is put into the field in the French interest.”

He had plucked off a frond of the fern that grew by the margin and was tearing it to bits and throwing them from him in the pause. They could hear the water of the spring softly gurgle. The voices of the camp beyond sounded distant and a-dream, like half heeded calls to drowsy ears; the reflection of the camp-fires in the river had mustered a deeper glow, as if recruited from the crimson clouds so lately parading through the sky. Now the sky was vacant, a clear, pure, faintly tinted blue, and in its midst a star gleamed with an incomparable whiteness above the darkly bronze green of the mountains. And yet the night had not come. The world was full of this gentle, limpid clarity of light. He could have seen every line of her face as she sat upon the rock had he dared glance toward her.

If the girl had been an image, craftily wrought of stone, she could have shown no more semblance of life than that silent, motionless figure.

She doubtless heard. She could but understand.

The reserve of her attitude overwhelmed the alert expectation of the Frenchman, whose mental posture had been, by long and agitated anticipation, braced for expostulation, for reproaches, for tears, nay even appeals,--for she loved him as he loved her, and he knew it. This absolute nullity as the result of a revelation so momentous to them both reacted on his nerves. Oddly enough he experienced the tumult of feeling in which he had thought to see her whelmed. He even called out to her in his agitation, as heretofore he had prefigured her appeal to him. He had utterly lost his artificial poise--he had become once more the natural man.

“Lilias! Lilias!” he cried with a poignant accent. “It is true, lassie, to my sorrow--to my sorrow! I am a French soldier, but no enemy of you or of yours, and, God help me, I love you!”

She lifted her head suddenly and looked at him with stern eyes, which, even despite the dusk, he could by no means misunderstand.

“Do you mean,” she said, “that you volunteered to spirit up these fiends of Indians to fall upon the frontier and massacre women and children?”

He drew back, affronted and wounded.

“Nay, Lilias, war is war, and never play. If women and children suffer, ’tis the fortune of war, and the responsibility is on the men who have the care of them. And do not the English march savages against the French? And have not Frenchmen also wives and children, and even hearts and souls?”

“If it were your bounden duty,” she stipulated.

“It is, being my country’s opportunity,” he argued.

“If it had been that ye could na turn back--that your help had been pledged--your honor engaged--your own and your hame to defend! But to _seek_ the foul employ--to lead into the field these merciless fiends against the peaceful hunter and the patient husbandman, the wife and the daughter, the grandame and the babe! And for what price, Judas? Is it gold--or is it place?”

He could kiss her hand, even if it dealt a blow.

“Nay, Lilias,” he said, wincing at every thrust. “It is justifiable by all the rules of war; no honorable soldier need evade the duty. But I will not have you think of me thus. I mean”--taking the plunge of irrevocable revolt, to his own amazement--“I will renounce it; I will resign. I will return to civil life. I will be a planter--a--what you will, and you shall be my wife.”

“Your wife!” she exclaimed, and her voice, although steady, rang uncertain of intonation. “Your wife!”

She seemed, to his alert receptiveness, to dwell lingeringly, fondly, on the words. But after a moment she went on unfalteringly,--

“Oh, man! you’d break faith with king and country to win favor with a woman!”

He was staggered for an instant.

“It would be no loss to the government. They would only send another officer to fill my place.”

He hesitated in a sudden jealous speculation as to who might succeed to the result of his careful work and the rewards of his hard-earned opportunity. Then he resumed with eager urgency, “But you think my orders are revolting and the service unholy. You account my engagements with the French government inconsistent with my honor”--

“It is na what _I_ think, but what are they to you--naething?--naething?”

“Nothing in comparison with my love for you; nothing in comparison with my gratitude for your love for me. For, Lilias, you love me; surely you love me!”