Books: Hardscrabble
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John Richardson >> Hardscrabble
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"Ha! there is his formidable rival, and seemingly his
friend," whispered Mrs. Elmsley, in the ear of Maria--
"handsome fellows, both of them, so much so, that were
I single, like you, I should have some difficulty in
choosing between them."
As she uttered these words, a sharp and unaccountable
pang, sudden and fleeting as electricity, shot through
the frame of her friend. The blood suddenly receded from
her cheek, and then rapidly returning, suffused it with
a burning heat.
"What is the matter, my love? Are you ill, you looked so
pale just now?" tenderly inquired Mrs. Elmsley.
"I cannot account for what I experienced. It was a feeling
different from any I had ever known before--a strange,
wild, and inexplicable dread of I know not what. But it
has passed away. Take no notice of it, dear, before
Ronayne."
"Mrs. Elmsley," said the latter, almost using force to
induce the modest-looking young Indian to enter the
room, "will you allow me first to introduce my friend
Waunangee to you, and then to give him a glass of claret?
Forgive the liberty I take, but I confess a good deal of
obligation to him, and would fain do the civil in return."
"Indeed! what a set speech for a glass of wine. Give it
to him by all means, if it is only for his beautiful
eyes--that is to say, if the doctor has left any--or
stay, I will get another bottle."
"By no means," returned the young officer, "this
unconscionable man has just left about half a tumbler
foil, and I do not intend he shall have more. Waunangee,"
he pursued, after filling and presenting him with the
glass, "that is the lady of the house," pointing to Mrs.
Elmsley, "you must drink to her health."
"And dis you handsome squaw," remarked the Indian, a
moment or two after having tossed off the wine, which
quickly circulated through his veins. "Dis you wife!"
he repeated, throwing his expressive eyes upon Miss
Heywood, while a rich glow lighted up his dark, but
finely formed features.
"Hush!" said Ronayne, making a sign to intimate that he
was not to indulge in such observations.
But even the small quantity of wine he had taken was
acting potently on the fast animating Indian. "Dis no
you squaw--dis Waunangee squaw," he said, with strong
excitement of manner. "Waunangee, see him beautiful,
Waunangee got warm heart--love him very much!"
"Tolerably well for a modest youth!" exclaimed the laughing
Mrs. Elmsley. "Who would have thought that one with
those soft black eyes, more fitted for a woman than a
man, would hazard so glowing a speech, after an acquaintance
of barely five minutes?"
"Who says Chicago doesn't abound in adventure?" sneered
Von Vottenberg, as he arose and passed into the apartment
of his patient. "I shall certainly write a book about
this when I get back into the civilized world, and entitle
it 'The Loves of the Handsome Waunangee, and the Beautiful
American.'"
"You had better write 'The Loves of the Fat Von Vottenberg,
and his Mistress, Whisky Punch,'" remarked Ronayne,
peevishly, for in spite of himself, he felt annoyed at
an observation, which he thought delicacy might have
spared. "Come, Waunangee, my good friend, we must go."
But the young Indian was not so easily led. "Waunangee
have him first dis nice squaw," he said, with all that
show of dogged obstinacy which so usually distinguishes
his race, when under the influence of liquor, and bent
upon the attainment of a particular object.
"Hear me, Waunangee," replied the other, placing his hand
upon his shoulder, and now, that Mrs. Elmsley only was
present with his affianced, feeling less scruple in
explaining to the young savage--"that is my squaw--my
wife."
"Why you no tell him so?" asked the youth, gravely, and
with an air of reproach, while, at the same time, he
fixed his soft and melancholy eyes upon Miss Heywood.
"Waunangee love officer's squaw--but Waunangee good heart.
Shake him hand, my friend," he continued, walking up to
her, and tendering his own, while, singular as it seemed
to all, a tear dimmed his eye, and stole down his cheek.
"'Spose no Waunangee wife--you Waunangee's friend?"
The generous but trembling girl, shook cordially the hand
that rested in her own, and assured the youth, in a way
easily intelligible to him, that, as the friend of her
husband, and she blushed deeply, as the moment afterwards
she became sensible she had used a word, she could not
but feel to be premature, she would always regard him
with friendship and esteem.
"What a nice little scene we might get up out of this
morning's adventure," said the ever gay Mrs. Elmsley, as
Waunangee, after having shaken hands with herself, departed
with Ronayne. "Really, my dear, he is a fine looking,
and certainly a warm-hearted fellow, that Wau--Wan--what's
his name, Maria?"
"Waunangee. I know not how it is, Margaret, or why--I
should attach so much importance to the thing, but if
ever those glimpses of the future, called presentiments,
had foundation in truth, that young Indian is destined
to exercise some sort of influence over my fate."
"You do not mean that he is to supplant Ronayne, I hope,"
returned her friend, trying to laugh her oat of the
serious mood, in which she seemed so much inclined to
indulge.
"How can you speak so, Margaret? No, my presentiment is
of a different character. But it is very foolish and
silly to allow the feeling to weigh with me. I will try
to think more rationally. Say nothing of this, however,
and least of all to Ronayne."
"Not a word, dearest. Good bye for the present. I must
look after the dinner. You know who dines with us."
A look expressive of the deep sense she entertained of
the consideration of her friend, was the only commentary
of Miss Heywood, as she passed into her mother's apartment.
CHAPTER XI.
It was now the middle of May. A month had elapsed since
the events detailed in the preceding chapters. The
recollection of the outrage at Heywood's farm, committed
early in April was fast dying away, save in the bosoms
of those more immediately interested in the fate of its
proprietor, and apprehensions of a repetition of similar
atrocities had, in a great measure, ceased. A better
understanding between the commanding officer and his
subordinates--the result of a long private interview,
which Ensign Ronayne had had with the former, on the
morning after his promise to Mrs. Headley, followed by
an apology on parade that day, had arisen. Corporal Nixon
was now Sergeant Nixon--Collins had succeeded to him,
and Le Noir and the boy--Catholic and Protestant--had
been buried in one grave. Ephraim Giles filled the office
of factotum to Von Vottenberg, whose love of whisky
punch, was, if possible, on the increase. Winnebeg, the
bearer of confidential despatches, announcing the hostile
disposition and acts of certain of the Winnebagoes, had
not returned, and Waunangee, who, recovered from the
fumes of the claret, had, in an earnest manner, expressed
to Ronayne contrition for the liberty he had taken with
Miss Heywood, had departed from the neighborhood, no one
knew whither. Harmony, in a word, had been some days
restored in the Fort, and the only thing that detracted
from the general contentment, was the uncertainty
attending the fate of Mr. Heywood--regretted less,
however, for his own sake, than for that of his amiable
daughter, who vainly sought to conceal from her friends,
the anxiety induced by an absence, the duration of which
it was utterly impossible to divine. As for Mrs. Heywood,
she was still in ignorance, so well had things been
managed by the Elmsleys, that any of the fearful scenes
had occurred. She still believed her husband to be at
the farm.
But, as it was not likely she could much longer remain
in ignorance of what had been the subject of conversation
with every one around her, it was advised by Von Vottenberg,
that, as the warmth of spring was now fully developed,
and all dread of the Indians resuming their hostile visit,
at an end, she should be conveyed back to the cottage,
the pure air around which, was much more likely to improve
her health, than the confined atmosphere of the Fort.
She had accordingly been removed thither early in May,
accompanied by her daughter and Catherine.
Ronayne, of course, become once more a daily visitor,
and soon beneath his hand, the garden began again to
assume the beautiful garb it had worn at that season,
for the last two years. The interviews of the lovers
here, freed from the restraints imposed upon them while
in the Fort, had resumed that fervent character which
had marked them on the afternoon of the day when they so
solemnly interchanged their vows of undying faith. They
now no longer merely looked their love. They spoke of
it--drank in the sweet avowal from each others lips, and
luxuriated in the sweet pleasure it imparted. They were
as the whole world to each other, and although language
could not convey a warmer expression of their feelings,
than had already gone forth from their lips, still was
the repetition replete with a sweetness that never palled
upon the ear. Like the man who never tires of gazing upon
his gold, so did they never tire of the treasures of the
expressed love, that daily grew more intense in their
hearts. And yet, notwithstanding this utter devotedness
of soul--notwithstanding her flattering heart confessed
in secret the fullest realization of those dreams which
had filled and sustained her in early girlhood--albeit
the assurance the felt that, in Ronayne, she had found
the impersonation of the imaginings of her maturer life,
still whenever he urged her in glowing language to name
the day when she would become his wife, she evaded an
answer, not from caprice, but because she would not bring
to him a heart clouded by the slightest tinge of that
anxiety with which ignorance of her father's fate, could
not fail to shade it. A painful circumstance which happened
about that period, at length, however, brought affairs
to a crisis.
It was a lovely evening towards the close of May, and
after a somewhat sultry morning which had been devoted
to a ride on horseback along the lakeshore--Mrs. Headley
and Mrs. Elmsley, who had accompanied them, having returned
home, that Ronayne and his betrothed sat in the little
summer-house already described. Mrs. Heywood who had been
so far recovered from her weakness by the change of air,
as to take slight exercise in the garden, supported by
her daughter, and the young officer, had on this occasion
expressed a wish to join them, in order that she might
inhale the soft breeze that blew from the south, and
enjoy once more the scenery of the long reach of the
river, which wound its serpentine course from the direction
of the farm. To this desire no other objection was offered,
than what was suggested by her companions, from an
apprehension that the fatigue of the ascent would be too
great for her. She, however, persisted in her wish,
declaring that she felt herself quite strong enough--an
assertion for which her returning color gave some evidence.
They ceased to oppose her. It was the first time the
invalid had been in the summer-house, since the same
period the preceding spring, and naturally associating
the recollection of her husband, with the familiar objects
in the distance, she took her daughter's hand, and said
in a low and husky voice, that proved how much she had
overrated her own strength:
"How is it, Maria, my love, that we have seen nothing of
your father, lately? I have never known him, since we
have been in this part of the country, to be so long
absent from us at one time."
"Nay, dear mamma," returned the pained girl, the tears
starting to her eyes, in spite of her efforts to restrain
them, "I do not exactly know what can detain him. Perhaps
he is not at the farm," and here her tears forced their
way--"you know, dearest mamma, that he is very fond of
long hunting excursions."
"Yes, but, my child, why do you weep? Surely there is
nothing in that to produce such emotion. He will soon be
back again."
"Oh! yes, I hope so. Forgive me, my dear mamma, but I
have a very bad head-ache, and never felt more nervous
than I do this evening. Perhaps it is the effect of my
ride in the heat of the sun. Shall we go on. It is nearly
sunset, and I dread your being exposed to the night-air."
"Oh! it is so delicious," softly returned the invalid;
"I feel as if I had not lived for the last twelve months,
until now. Only a little while longer, shall I not, Mr.
Ronayne? Perhaps I may never have an opportunity of
ascending to this summer-house again."
During this short conversation, trifling in itself, but
conveying, under the circumstances, so much subject for
deep and painful reflections, the young officer had
evinced much restlessness of manner, yet without interposing
any other remark than to join Miss Heywood's entreaties
that her mother would suffer herself to be conducted
home, before the dew should begin to fall. In order,
moreover, as much as possible to leave them uninterrupted
in the indulgence of their feelings, he had from the
first risen, and stood with his back to them, within the
entrance of the summer house, and was now, with a view
to drown their conversation to his own ear, whistling to
Loup Garou, sitting on his haunches outside the garden-gate,
looking fixedly at him.
Touched by the account he had received of the fidelity
of the dog, he, had, with the consent of Sergeant Nixon,
who was glad to secure for his favorite so kind a protector,
become possessed of him from the moment of his return
home; and time, which had in some degree blunted the
sorrow of the animal for the loss of one master, rendered
equally keen his instinct of attachment for the other.
Within the month he had been his, every care had been
taken by Ronayne himself, as well as by his servant, to
wean the mourner from the grave of Le Noir, on which,
for the first few days, he had lain, absorbed in
grief--refusing all food, until, yielding at length to
the voice of kindness, his memory of the past seemed to
have faded wholly away.
Ronayne, however, from a fear of exciting unpleasant
recollections in those who were not ignorant of the former
position of the dog, had endeavoured as much as possible,
to prevent him from crossing the river during his visits
to the cottage; but, within the last four or five days,
Loup Garou would not thus be kept back, and when expelled
from the boat, had swam across, taking up his station at
the gate, beyond which, however, he did not presume to
pass, as if sensible that the delicate parterres within,
were interdicted ground, and there generally lay squatted
with his nose resting on the grass, between his outstretched
fore-paws, until his master came forth on his return home.
The unexpected and encouraging whistle of the latter on
this occasion, which had been given in pure unconsciousness,
caused him to prick his ears, and uttering a sharp cry,
he sprang over the gate, bounding rapidly towards the
eminence on which his master stood. About half-way between
its base and the summit, there was a beautiful rose-bush
which had been planted by Ronayne, and from which he had
plucked two flowers, for the mother and daughter, during
the ascent, and presented with a hand that was observed
by Maria Heywood to tremble, and a cheek unwontedly pale.
On arriving opposite the rose-tree, the animal suddenly
stopped, and putting his nose to the ground close under
it, and sniffing almost furiously, uttered a prolonged
and melancholy howl, while, with his fore-paws he began
to scratch up the loose earth around, regardless of the
voice of his master, who renewed his whistling, and called
upon him almost angrily to desist.
Alarmed at this perseverance of action, the ensign
descended to the spot--laid hands on Loup Garou, and
sought to remove him, but the animal, strong of neck--
full in the chest--and on the present occasion, under
the influence of furious impulse, was not to be restrained.
The moaning of the dog--the descent-the corrective voice
of his master, and the seeming struggle of both to attain
opposite purposes, naturally attracted the attention of
those above, and they both rose and neared to the doorway
Ronayne had so recently quitted. Their horror may well
be imagined when, on looking down, they found that the
dog had already uncovered a human body, which, though
disfigured and partially decomposed, filial and conjugal
affection too clearly distinguished as the father of the
one, the husband of the other!
Uttering a feeble shriek, Mrs. Heywood fell insensible
within the threshold of the summer-house, while her
daughter, less overwhelmed, but with feelings impossible
to describe, stooped and chafed her mother's temples,
and notwithstanding a horrid thought, which, despite her
own will, shot through her mind, that the man to whom
she had given every affection of her heart, was in some
degree connected with this horrid spectacle, she called
vehemently to him for assistance.
The situation of the perplexed officer was scarcely less
painful. On the one hand, feeling all the necessity of
retaining his grasp of Loup Garou, as the only means of
preventing him from further uncovering of the body--on
the other, urged by the summons of her, whom he knew,
from her very manner, to be in possession of this fearful
secret, his mind become a perfect chaos, and large drops
of perspiration streamed from his brow. In this irritating
dilemma, a sudden transport of rage took possession of
his heart, and seizing Loup Garou with both his hands,
he so compressed them around his throat, that the dog,
already exhausted with his exertions, was half-strangled
before being raised with a frantic effort, and dashed
with violence upon the body he had so unhappily been
instrumental in discovering.
Scarcely had this been done--a low moaning from Loup
Garou, as if reproaching him for the act, alone denoting
that he breathed, when the ensign flew up the steps of
the summer-house, and regardless of the involuntary
half-shudder of his betrothed, as he approached, caught
the insensible invalid in his arms, and so carrying her,
that her eyes, if she should open them, could not encounter
the horrid spectacle below, again rapidly descended, and
hurried towards the house. Maria Heywood, on passing the
rose-tree so recently prized, but now so abhorrent to
her sight, could not resist a strong impulse to look upon
the mysteries so strangely unveiled, but although the
twilight had not yet passed away, nothing could be seen
but the displaced earth, and stretched over the excavation
he himself had made, the motionless body of the dog.
Sick at heart, and with wild and unconnected images
floating through her heated brain, she followed almost
mechanically to the cottage.
This was no time for ceremony. When answering the loud
ring, Catherine appeared hurriedly at the door, Ronayne
bore his inanimate charge into her bedroom, and in silence
and deep grief, sought, by every means in his power, to
restore her. But all his efforts proving vain, he, in a
state of mind difficult to describe, tore a leaf from
his pocket-book, wrote a few hurried lines to Elmsley,
requesting him to allow his wife to come over immediately
with Von Vottenberg, and when they had departed, to call
upon Captain Headley and explain the cause of his absence.
This note he gave to Catherine, with instructions to
cross in the boat which was waiting for himself, and to
return with Mrs. Elmsley, or if she did not come, with
the doctor.
When left together, beside the insensible body of Mrs.
Heywood, the lovers experienced for the first time, a
feeling of restraint, for in the hearts of both, were
passing thoughts which neither seemed desirous of imparting.
But, Maria Heywood, gentle as she was, was not of a
character long to endure the state of uncertainty under
which she labored. The strange wild apprehensions which
had arisen, she knew not how or why, had so preyed upon
her quiet, that suspense became intolerable, and at
length, addressing her lover in a voice, never more
melancholy or touching than at that moment, and looking
at him with an expression of deep sadness, while the
large tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Ronayne, you know--you must have known--your whole
conduct throughout this affair, proves you must have
known of my poor father's death, and of his rude--almost
insulting burial in that fatal spot. How he came hither,
you best can tell. Oh! Harry, it is very cruel thus to
have reposed the confidence of the entire soul, and then
to have been disappointed. This cruel discovery will be
the means of destroying my peace forever, unless you give
the explanation which alone can restore our confidence
in each other--yet how can I, with these glaring truths
before my eyes, expect that you will?"
"Insulting burial! oh, Maria, I feel that I never loved
you more than now when you would break my heart with this
unkindness." He bent his head upon the same pillow, upon
which reclined the unconscious head of the mother of the
woman whom he so ardently loved, and wept tears of
bitterness and sorrow.
"I cannot stand this, Ronayne, dear Ronayne, whatever
you be--whatever you may have done, I love you with all
the ardor of the most devoted soul! But," she continued,
more composedly, "forgive me, if my feelings and my
judgment are at issue. One question I must ask, cost what
it may, for I cannot longer endure this agony of suspense
--no, for your sake I cannot endure it. How is it that
you have always made a secret--a mystery even to me, of
the motive of your absence on that fatal night succeeding
the massacre at the firm."
"Dear Maria. I can well forgive the question in the
excitement which must have been produced in you by the
startling events of this evening."
"Ronayne," she mournfully interrupted--"your sudden
interference with the dog--your struggle with him--nay,
your very manner of speaking now, convince me that you
knew my father lay buried beneath that rose-tree. In
candor, answer me. Yes or no."
"And, admitting I had had that knowledge, Maria--can you
imagine no good reason for my forbearing all allusion to
the subject?"
"Yet, why conceal the fact from one who had supposed you
could have no concealment from her--and then again, how
am I to reconcile the circumstance of my poor father
having been reported to be a prisoner--a report which,
sanctioned by yourself, left me not utterly hopeless--and
the fact of his burial here--evidently with your knowledge."
"Maria," returned Ronayne, impressively, and with an
expression of much pain at the remark, "as I have already
said, I can make every allowance, in recollection of the
painful scene of which I have, in some degree, been the
cause, but is it generous--is it quite appreciating my
character and my feelings towards yourself, to doubt that
I had intended from the first, and at a fitting moment,
to explain every thing to you?"
Again was the confidence of the generous girl established,
and with almost passionate warmth, she exclaimed. "Oh!
Ronayne, forgive--forgive me, but this melancholy--this
harrowing occurrence has made me so far not myself--that
I almost hate myself. Tell me, dear Ronayne, do you
forgive me?"
"Yes, from the bottom of my soul, do I forgive you, and
yet, dearest, there is nothing to forgive, for how could
it be otherwise, than that your poor and sorely tried
heart should be subjected to wild imaginings inexplicable
to yourself. The ordeal to which you have been submitted,
is a severe one, but I am sure your oppressed heart will
be greatly lightened when you shall have been in possession
of the truth connected with this most melancholy affair--
your regard for me, will if possible, be even greater
than before. Pardon this seeming vanity. I make the
assertion because I know it will not a little console
you, under this terrible infliction."
It was a strange sight, that of these lovers, hitherto
so devoted and now only temporarily half-doubting, talking
of the fate of one parent while leaning over the apparent
death-bed of the other.
"Ronayne, dear Ronayne, I am satisfied--fully, wholly
satisfied, and as you observe, the assurance which you
have now given me, will form my chief support under this
double affliction," and she pointed, weeping, to her
mother, whose scarcely perceptible breathing alone attested
that she lived.
"Maria," he said tenderly and gravely, as he took her
hand in his, over the invalid--"the hour of your promise
is come--the fate of your father is known--would that it
had been less abruptly revealed--and were other inducement
to keep it wanting, is it not to be found here? But at
this moment I will ask nothing which you may feel reluctance
in granting. To-morrow we will speak of this again--to-morrow
you shall know how much I have sought--how much I have
risked--to soften the pang which I knew would, soon or
late be inflicted on her whom I so love."
"Generous--kind--considerate Ronayne, I can fully understand
you, yet, ah! what must you think of me, who could for
a moment doubt your power to explain every act of your
life, however ambiguous in appearance. But what is that
paper you have taken from your pocket-book?"
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