CHAPTER XLVIIITHE CARRIERSAt night, when supper was over and Mr. Hayward had some leisure to look about, he was in the habit of saying that the man who built his house, whoever he might be, would not have ruined himself had he made the ceiling a log or two higher."Nor can I see, for the life of me," he would add, as he surveyed our narrow quarters, "why he cut the logs so short, when the forest is full of fine timber he could have had for the taking."Off the main room, and there was but one, we built a kitchen, and beside it a sleeping-room. This was thought by some of the neighbors to indicate growing pride and a striving after luxury, though the addition sloped to the ground so fast that the side next the eaves did not afford room for one to stand upright. This inconvenience, however, we did not much regard, a little stooping now and then not doing any one harm. The attic over the main room was mine, to do with as I pleased, save some small space set apart for seed-corn and things of that kind in winter. It was reached, and deftly enough, by a ladder of stout poles, which answered the purpose perfectly, and had the great merit, moreover, of taking up little or no room. My bed occupied one corner, and lying outstretched my nose would have scraped the shingles had it been an inch or two longer. These shingles were neither black walnut nor cottonwood, as you may think, but oak clapboards split and shaved in the old way, before shingles were known in the new country. If they did not always keep out the water, it did not enter in any great quantity, and by using a little calculation one might avoid it entirely.The room was greatly to my fancy, and I have never seen one I liked so well. If in summer it was sometimes hot, because of proximity to the roof, air might always be obtained from the window at the end; and as for light and ventilation, this and the crevices in the roof afforded all that any reasonable person could desire. What was best about it, though, was its nearness to the wind and rain. For lying upon my bed, the patter and swash of the water sounded directly in my face, and when the wind pushed and crowded about the house it was not at some far-off place, but in my very ears. Such volume and artfulness of sound, too, words cannot describe, each log and crevice of varying size answering back some note of its own to pouring rain or driving wind. Nowhere else, indeed, have I heard, or ever will, such symphonies; for these things belong to our youth, and come not in like freshness to the mind or wearied body of more mature years.It was the river, however, that attracted me most, for there was no end to its beauty and variety. In rain and sunshine, it made no difference, it kept its way, changing with every cloud and breath of air, always offering some new and better view. Of the ferry, Mr. Hayward, discarding all the devices of our competitors, adopted in their place a method better than them all; and in this I will not except the McDuffs, who made so much of their new-fangled power and patent steering-gear. Nothing could be more picturesque, either, than our device. For going up the river a little way, Mr. Hayward attached a stout wire to a great tree that grew on an island there, and uncoiling the wire, brought it down, and connected it to a rope fastened to each end of the great boat. Drawing this rope taut at the prow, the latter pointed up the stream, and so, loosening the craft from the shore, the current carried it swiftly to the other side. Of all Mr. Hayward's methods for saving labor and cutting down expenses not one exceeded this, I thought. To prevent the wire dragging in the water, it was upheld by buoys, and these always facing about in the direction the great boat was going, added to the beauty and animation of the scene. These devices were the subject of much ridicule at first, and more especially on the part of the McDuffs, but on trial, the community coming to regard them with favor, the subject was not referred to again.Of the doings of these McDuffs little that was good could be said. Not only were they innovators in respect to the use of steam, but given, as we proved more than once, to the cutting of rates and other underhand dealings of a like nature. Such practices Mr. Hayward despised as unworthy of common carriers, nor would he be a party to them in any way; unless, indeed, it might be in the case of a large customer, but then only sparingly and under close cover, so that there could be no known excuse save weakness or pure spite for the cutting of rates on the part of others. The McDuffs were also given to misrepresenting distances, to the injury of our ferry, so far as their stories were believed by the simple-minded. In this and other ways they were a constant source of irritation and injury to trade, and to such a degree that as a way out Mr. Hayward, with great circumspection of conduct, finally proposed a trust, or consolidation of the properties. This project came nigh to happening, too, and indeed was thought to be as good as done, when word of it somehow came to the ears of the public. Upon this the community flew into a rage, accusing us of monopolistic tendencies and other and worse things, so that in the end the undertaking fell through. In the warfare that was made upon us at this time, strangely enough the most bitter were those who never made any use of the ferry to speak of. This I could not understand until Mr. Hayward explained it."There are a lot of people who lie awake nights watching and listening lest the public suffer some wrong. These guardians, as a rule, never achieve anything themselves, and in the end are buried at the expense of their friends. In every case they are impracticable people, with little or no knowledge of affairs. Well meaning enough, they will pull a house down to straighten the lightning-rod, or destroy a garment to remove a stain. The trouble is they lack sense. With skulls big enough to hold a squash, they have nothing to fill the space save surmises and suspicions."We were always of the firm opinion that the McDuffs had made known Mr. Hayward's efforts to consolidate the properties, and this to discredit us with the public, for grievously we suffered from the falling off of traffic that followed. This until, happily, the wife of the mayor of Appletop bringing forth triplets, and all boys, the mind of the community was diverted for the moment. As it would happen, too, an accident occurring about the same time at the McDuffs', whereby a passenger lost his life—a thing Mr. Hayward had clearly foretold—we came again into our share of the business, and kept it. Mr. Hayward, however, was ever very sore on the subject."The consolidation was clearly in the interest of the people," he would say in speaking of it. "They would have had only one family to support instead of two, as at present, and reduction in tolls would surely have followed sooner or later. Why, except for such things mankind would be eating roots to-day and living in caves. Affairs of state have felt this most of all, for one government answers now where there were myriads at one time. Thus England has but one ruler, where she once had fifty to support, with all their hungry followers. There was consolidation for you with a vengeance, and it has been so with every country on the globe. So it will be with many industries. You may be sure, though, that not one little despot was ever tumbled from his throne without the people raising a cry that they were being enslaved.""Has everything been done that will be in this direction?" a chance traveler asked one day, hearing what Mr. Hayward said."No; it will go on until each continent has but one government, and in the end all will be merged.""Which people will dominate?" the traveler inquired, as if quizzing him."The most vigorous and the wisest. The nations we know, however, will all have disappeared ere then, it is probable. No one can tell."Thus Mr. Hayward would go on by the hour when the subject of interference with natural laws was spoken of, and nothing could stop him.Among other things that favored our ferry was a certain romantic fancy that attached to it. Thus the little buoys, skimming the water like ducklings, never failed to attract the attention and elicit the admiration of those who crossed. Of our signaling devices, they were very simple; two strokes of the bell indicated a horse or wagon, one a foot passenger. The last fell to me, and because of it, I became in time very expert in handling the small boat, never failing, as good fortune would have it, to bring my passenger safely to shore. Our landing-places, too, were exceedingly picturesque, and caused the more sentimental no end of foolish talk. On the side where we lived hawthorns and elder covered the banks and edges of the river, and on the other shore two great elms guarded the approach. These last were remarkable in their way, and because of it added considerable to our earnings. One was of great height and grand to look upon from a distance, but the other, stopping midway, as if tired of striving to keep pace with its neighbor, reached out its limbs in every direction in the most picturesque and pathetic way, as if inviting alms. This tree was called the Penitent, and the other, because of its stateliness and dearth of shade, the Pharisee. The trees were given these names at first in idle fancy by a customer of ours, a devout woman much given to snuff and gossip; but the cunningness of the fancy tickling her greatly, she gave it the widest publicity, so that in time travelers came miles out of their way to view the curiosity and comment upon it. Because of this and the good lady's attendance upon covenant meetings and the like, Mr. Hayward, who was not lacking in sentiment, reduced her fare one-half. This, like most things he did, proved a great stroke of business in the end, for now she visited Appletop twice as often as before, and in her journeyings to and fro never tired of speaking of the beauties of our ferry and its fine location and good business management."A queer woman, that," Mr. Hayward one day remarked as I came up from the landing after setting her ashore, "and tending to show that what people think, they will do. If her name, now, had been something beside Snuffe, she would never have thought of using the stuff as she does.""Why, what has that to do with it?" I asked, not seeing the connection."After she got married, much thinking of the name of Snuffe, and some worrying about it, she says, caused her to help herself to a pinch now and then out of pure perversity of spirit, until in the end she got to like it, so that now she can scarce finish a prayer without a sly dip into her bag.""Her husband might have changed his name; he would not have had to look far for a better one," I answered, to see what he would say."Oh, Snuffe is as good as any, and the family will be a power in the land some day. The old man will not eat anything he can find a market for, and there is no surer way to get on than that if one has the patience to stick to it."Constance, who was always in my thoughts, I grew to love more and more as the years passed, and as Mrs. Hayward had her much at our house, scarce a day went by without my seeing her. When she stayed to supper, which was often the case, I would take her home; and of these journeyings I remember every one, and what we said, which was not much, for we were but little given to speech when in each other's company. Her visits clothed our little home with such a halo of romance and delight, that my heart swells to this day when I think of it. For my belief in her knew no bounds, and, like my love, grew stronger as we grew to be man and woman. This not strangely, for at sixteen she was such perfection of loveliness that there was no joy like that of being near her, and if I but touched her hand, heaven itself, I thought, could not convey greater happiness. Yet, strangely enough, I could not have told the color of her eyes, if indeed they were always the same, which I knew they were not. Nor could I have described her mouth, except that it expressed such tenderness that its like was never seen before. Of her face this I know, that it was oval, but of her complexion, it was of such delicacy of white and pink that no one could describe it, nor have conceived anything so perfect. Her hair, too, like her eyes, could not be described, but was ever taking on some different phase or color, so that if you thought you knew its every shade of loveliness, some new light or manner of arrangement would add beauties to it not before dreamed of. Such, you must know, was Constance, my sweet love, at the time of which I speak.CHAPTER XLIXTHE BETROTHALAmid surroundings such as I have described three years passed, and happily for me, and to my great good then and for all time. Indeed, I do not look back to any period of my life with greater pleasure, for it was filled with Constance and thoughts of her and nothing else. My bed, once too long, was now too short, yet I would not change it in any way. Lying there, the pattering rain sang of my love, and at night the sighing and chattering wind lulled me to sleep with thoughts of her.Thus I lay one midsummer night, listening to the whir and beating of a great storm that had come up suddenly from out the south, after the day had closed. Above the roar of the wind and the splash of the water on the roof, I could plainly hear the wash of the river as it beat on our shore, and this as if to add to the strength and rhythm of the storm. If by chance the wind abated for a moment, the rain fell anew, and in torrents, as if the deluge were come again. Then, it in turn showing some pause, the wind would spring up afresh, and in such fury that the windows and logs of the house trembled as if shaken by an earthquake.While I lay thus listening, not caring to sleep, and in such comfort of position and delight of mind that movement of any kind was like pain, there came to me above the tumult of the tempest, faintly and far off like an echo, the dull boom of the Penitent's bell. But that could hardly be, for surely no one would venture abroad on such a night! Thinking thus, I lay still, and in a little while it came again, and plaintively, the like of which I had never heard before. There could be no mistake now; it was the Penitent's bell calling, and nothing else! Still I did not move. The storm was too great, and no boat could live in it a minute! Then let the great tree shelter its guest, for there was no other way. Turning uneasily on my bed, the signal came again and stronger, booming above the swash of the water and the rush of the wind as if it were the voice of some one crying out in anguish of body and mind, not far off nor vaguely now, but high and resounding, as if tolling for the dead or dying. Frightened, I sat bolt upright; and soon it came to me again, and with greater stress of melancholy, if that were possible. Trembling, unable to withstand the call longer, I sprang up, and putting on my garments, quickly found my way to the floor below. Those resting there had not heard the summons, and so leaving them undisturbed, I opened the door and stepped out into the night. At this, and as if watching my coming, the wind, rising to new fury, tossed me here and there so that I could scarce keep my feet. Above, there was some glimpse of light in the leaden sky, but about me only inky darkness and the circling wind and falling rain. As I stood clutching a tree, loath to go on, the boom of the bell came again, and as if with new import and stress of haste. No longer hesitating, I hurried on, listening as I ran; and now, I know not why, stricken with a chill, as if somehow its tolling meant harm to me or those I loved.Reaching the boat, and emptying it of water, I fixed the oars in their place, and without thought shoved it into the stream. At this, the wind and waves taking it up in their arms as if it were a plaything, hurled it back upon me, and with such force that I came nigh to being crushed with its weight. Awaiting a more favorable moment, I sprang into the boat, and doing so, pushed it into the boiling water. Little, however, could I do now that I was afloat and held the oars, for, enveloped in darkness, the waves flying before the storm so tossed me about that effort to make headway was lost in striving to keep afloat. Then the wind, veering with the windings of the river or overhanging trees, bewildering me, I was fain to sit still and wait some clew to guide me. This the stream would have done, but tossed by the wind, it lost its force, so that I could not tell which way it ran, if indeed it had any direction at all.While thus striving to make headway, the Penitent's bell came to me across the splashing water, but now at longer intervals and indistinctly, as if those who rang it were faint or dying. Chilled by its stroke, it yet helped to guide me, so that I struggled on the more hopefully because of it. In this way I after a while reached the middle of the stream, and now I made greater headway; but going on, the bell grew faint, and then at last ceased its tolling altogether. Filled with new fear lest losing its guidance I should after all go astray, I put forth all my strength to gain the farther shore. Of sign of it, however, or other thing, save the spray of the white-topped waves as they swept over me and across the boat, there was none. Nor could I hear any sound save the whir of the wind and the churning of the waves as they beat against the boat or fell back into the angry stream. Going on, with scarce anything to guide me, I came at last within the shadow of the forest, feeling which I gave a shout. For, listening, I could now plainly hear the water as it beat against the shore, and above it the roar of the wind as the trees bent beneath its force. Putting forth all my strength anew, the boat in a moment grated high on the shelving beach, and I was safe.Thanking God for my deliverance, I sprang ashore, and keeping hold, stood still. Hearing nothing, I called, but to this there was no response, save the confusion and tumult of the storm. Not knowing if I were above or below the landing, I fastened my boat and hurried forward, and this fortunately; for I had gone but a little way when I came upon the beaten road that led from the shore back into the country. Springing up the bank, I stood beside the Penitent, and now for the first time some measure of fear seized me. For, save the gurgling water and the moan of the wind, as if spirits filled the air, no sound reached my waiting ear. Listening, I presently called, but without response or movement of any kind. Steadying myself, I stood still, holding the swaying rope, and doing so, a sigh came to my strained ears, and this from off the ground at my very feet. Or was it merely some trick of the storm and pushing wind? Groping about, my outstretched hands came in contact with the face of some one lying prostrate on the ground, and damp and icy cold, as if life had fled. Too agitated to speak, I knelt and lifted the body on my knees, and doing so, discovered it to be a woman. Pushing back the damp hair, I stroked her face and hands, but for a long time in vain. This until I was losing hope, when she sighed again—or was it a sob instead? Overjoyed, I put my arms about her and raised her up, crying:"Cheer up, dear lady; help has come and you are saved!"Upon this she gave a cry, and lifting her arms they caught about my neck, but as if life had left her with the effort."Oh, God, my sweet love! Constance!" I cried, half dead with fright; for it was she I held in my arms, and no one else. Bereft of my senses, I clasped her to my breast, calling to her again and again, and entreatingly, and by every pet name I could think of, but without response of any kind. This for a long time, until regaining some presence of mind, I fell to stroking her hands and face, covering them with kisses as I worked. Sighing after a while, she murmured my name, but with such faintness I thought she was dying."Constance, my darling, my sweet love, speak to me! You must not die now that I have come to save you."Struggling to regain her strength, she answered, but oh! so softly:"How dear of you, Gilbert, to come to me.""Come to you, Constance; had I known you were here, the thought would have killed me.""I expected Mr. Hayward would answer, and you came instead—and oh, the peril of it! When I heard your voice I thought I was dying, my happiness was so great.""I was never in any danger, Constance. I heard the bell, but would not stir. Then it drew me on in spite of myself, as if some danger threatened, I knew not what.""It was I calling, as I stood reaching out across the dark water; but at last, thinking my summons was not heard, I knew no more till I found your arms about me.""I ought to have reached you sooner, sweet love, but the waves tossed me about so that I thought I should never find the shore. Had I known you were lying here, I should have leaped into the river to reach you sooner.""How good of you, Gilbert; and you will always come to me?" she answered, softly."Yes, Constance, and you know why. Because I love you, love you, love you, dearest, above everything on earth, and always have and will; and you, Constance, say that you love me, for this you have never done.""You know I love you, Gilbert," she answered, after a while, clinging closer about my neck; "and if you did not love me as you do, I should not want to live. I love you above everything, and you are in my thoughts day and night, you sweet boy"; and with that she took my face in her hands and drawing me to her kissed me many times."I am always thinking of you, too, dearest, and of what you do and say, and how you look and what will please you. Now I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say you love me," I cried, covering her face and hair with my kisses, happy beyond anything I had ever dreamed of.Thus we plighted our troth beneath the great tree, not thinking where we were, nor caring for the storm, which now, indeed, was fast dying away. Soon, however, and as if startled out of herself, she sprang up."Oh, Gilbert, I can never forgive myself, to have forgotten what I came for in the happiness of being with you. Quick—come with me," she cried, saying which, she grasped my hand and drew me toward the forest."Why, what is it, Constance? I have never thought to ask what brought you here.""Nor I to tell you, Gilbert; but yesterday, papa and I going into the country, and night coming on, we thought to return by the other ferry; but reaching it, some accident to the boat prevented our crossing, and so we had to retrace our steps, and the night and the storm coming on, our horse strayed from the road, throwing us into the ditch. When I found papa he lay like one dead, nor could I bring him to, and after striving for a long time in vain, I at last thought to come here for help.""Oh, you sweet love, to be in such distress and I not know it!" I cried, lifting her arm and kissing the sleeve of her dress."Yes; but we must make greater haste," she answered, hurrying forward."Is it far?" I asked, that I might hear her sweet voice."I don't know; the way seemed long, but I was frightened and often strayed from the road.""No one but you would have had such courage, my brave little wife, for that you will be some day, sweetheart."To this she made no response save to press my hand as we hurried on. Now losing the road in the darkness, and regaining it only to lose it again, we made so little headway that I thought we never should reach him we sought. Going on, we after a while stopped, affrighted lest we had passed him in the darkness. While standing in this way and straining our ears to catch some sound, we heard the neighing of a horse a little way ahead. At this we went on again, and coming to the spot, were overjoyed to hear Mr. Seymour's voice in answer to our call. Hastening to where he lay, we found him as Constance had said, but now able to speak. Kneeling and taking his head in her lap, she stroked his hair and face, and I, gathering hold of his hands and body, so rubbed and worked over them that in a little while he was able to move. Hunting up the robes, I placed them under and about him; and presently, the day breaking, we were able to do still better. In this way, through our aid and by his own efforts, Mr. Seymour was soon on his feet. For he was not much hurt, but the shock being great, had for a long time rendered him unconscious.When he was somewhat recovered, I brought the horse, and stripping off the harness, we put Mr. Seymour on his back, and in this way, Constance and I walking on either side, we made our way to the ferry. Mr. Hayward, who was already abroad, hearing the Penitent's summons, soon came to our aid, and great was his surprise at discovering me and the danger he imagined I had escaped. For Constance quickly told him all that had happened, adding many things that did not amount to anything, so determined was she to make the most of my adventure. This greatly disturbed Mr. Hayward, for in all things he was a very tender-hearted man indeed. In proof of this, I must tell you, I have known him many a time, when worn out with work, to go a great way to watch at night by the bedside of some poor person in distress who would not, except for him, have had any care whatever. This for many nights together, and uncomplainingly, and he worn out, as I say. Nor was he backward in giving outright when need be, and I have in this way seen a whole month's gains from the ferry or some Specialty of ours vanish in a moment. This I tell you lest you should mistake his character from what I have said concerning him. Indeed, I have never known a man so generous or tender of heart as he.Hastening to the boat, we quickly reached the opposite shore, and in a minute were safe in our little home. Here Mrs. Hayward taking charge of Constance, soon had her arrayed in dry garments; and if they were too long and somewhat too large, it did not matter, for never did woman look more lovely than the sweet maid as she entered the room. Indeed, I thought the quaintness of the dress, if anything, added to her beauty and the gentle modesty of her demeanor.While Constance was being looked to in the way I say, Mr. Hayward busied himself with her father, afterward giving him some bitters with a dash of the cholera mixture, whereupon Mr. Seymour declared himself as good as new. Thus was brought to a happy ending a most eventful night, and memorable above all others because of Constance's confession that she loved me. For there can be no doubt whatever but that the happiest moment in every man's life is that in which the woman he loves confesses that she loves him in return. All other things, I must believe, are as naught and not worth mentioning in comparison with this sweet boon.CHAPTER LUNDER THE WIDESPREADING HAWTHORNSSome days after, as I was pulling my boat home from the Iowa shore, thinking of Constance and watching the Penitent as it reflected its graceful foliage in the dark waters of the great river, a voice I knew and loved hailed me from the landing I was fast approaching. Pretending not to hear, it called again, and louder than before, and with such sweetness and cheerfulness of life that it made my heart beat the faster to hear it."Gilbert! Gilbert! Gilbert!"Turning about as if hearing for the first time, I saw Constance standing in the shade of the hawthorns, holding something aloft in her hand."Hurry up, you lazy boy! See! I have a letter for you," she cried, waving it above her head and turning about at the same time as if to go away."Wait; don't go; I'll be there in a minute," I called back. Then, that I might be near her and not because of the letter, I lengthened my stroke, and put such strength into my arms that in a few seconds my boat shot into the soft bank near which she stood.Springing ashore, I clasped her in my arms, but not in a way to shock any one's modesty, for of all the cunning bowers Nature ever formed for lovers this was the fittest. Looking out on the great river, but apart, it was a place to seek, or to make the most of if by chance you met your love there, as in my case. Having many things to say, as lovers do, and will till the world ends, her errand was forgotten; but after a while recalling it—if that was really the thing that brought her—she gave me the letter, and together we fell to examining its superscription and seal, wondering the while who it was from and what it was all about. In this way our faces touched and our hands came in contact and lingered, loath to part, but not strangely, and as lovers should, you will say. There was no need of haste, it was plain, and, moreover, the getting of a letter was a thing to be treated with some formality. For, except as Uncle Job or Aunt Betty may have written me, I had never received such a thing before in all my life. The day, too, was one to invite idleness, and of lovers more especially. Above our heads great clouds, white as snow, floated slowly across the broad expanse, and on the bosom of the majestic river, a ripple here and a calm there, or maybe a bit of shadow, added to the placid beauty of the surroundings. About us soft winds stirred the leaves of the listening hawthorns, and from out the thicket beyond the road a thrush, awakened to life by our close proximity, called in impassioned notes for its absent mate.Lying outstretched on the yielding turf, I asked Constance to open the letter, and this that I might the better look upon her and listen to her sweet voice while she read. No way suspecting my reason for asking, the missive presently lay open in her lap; and in those days, you must know, letters were not hidden away in wrappers as now, but folded and sealed and the address inserted in some nook or corner left for the purpose. When she had torn the letter apart, we looked it over, but without deciphering any word till we reached the end, and there, coming to the name, we were so startled at what we saw that our heads came together with a bump as we exclaimed with one voice: "Aunt Jane!" Yes, Aunt Jane; for printed matter never was plainer, and this notwithstanding some tremor of the letters as if they had been put down with labor, if not with pain. Astonished, we looked into each other's faces, for nothing so surprising as this had ever happened before to either of us. Glancing above the signature, our eyes caught the closing words, "With tender love," and seeing this, I cried out:"What can it mean, Constance? Surely something strange must have happened! Read what it says, and from the beginning!"Smoothing out the paper, she did as I asked, and this is the sad message the letter contained:"Dying, my child, I may at last speak out my soul's wish as it is and has been from the first, concealing nothing nor adding a word. My heart is now too weak, too yearning, too inexpressibly sad, to longer harbor reserve or any mystery of life. Sickness and tears and years of tender longing, my child, for you, my next of kin, have melted it; and now, coming to the end of my days, I may, all too late, speak as I am, and was even in the old time when your father and mother were yet alive. Of my coldness, oh, believe me! it was never real, but only a cloak, a shadowy thing put on without thought. For it had no real substance, but hid my heart, and foolishly, to my life's undoing. I have no one but you, my child, and dying I am alone and forsaken, for only the walls of my house answer back my call for love and sympathy. Surely, if I have sinned through pride and in hiding my heart from you and those who sleep in their graves, I have suffered and am punished beyond bearing. You could have loved me, and your sweet-faced mother ever sought to win from me some show of tenderness; but erring, I put off the day of yielding until it was too late. Now I am as one abandoned in the world, for when you come to die only those of your own blood can respond to your heart's yearnings. Sweet child, if you can yet conjure up some shadow of kindness for your poor aunt, come to her in her sickness and loneliness, that she may press you to her heart and have you by her when she yields her life to God. For believe me, her persecution, as you thought, was but her love and striving for your welfare, but oh, how mistakenly conveyed, as all her acts have been from the beginning. Then forgive and pity her, sweet one, and hasten if you would let her see you before she dies."Tears ran down our faces long ere Constance had finished reading, for of its truthfulness we had no shadow of doubt."Surely, she has been punished, if she has erred," Constance at last said, as she took up the letter again."Yes; and how I have mistaken her all these years," I mourned, for I could not now doubt her love and affection."You can't be blamed, Gilbert, for she made no sign," Constance answered, as if to comfort me; "but how lonely her life must have been, and how greatly she has suffered.""Had I gone to her as I ought, her coldness would have quickly given place to show of love; and it is I, not she, who should ask forgiveness," I answered, remembering with shame the scant respect I had shown her."You were not in fault, Gilbert, for she being older and wiser should have been first to open her arms. How could you know her heart?" Constance answered, excusing me, as she did in all things."I wonder if all letters are so full of tears?" I exclaimed, taking the missive tenderly in my hands. "But see the date, and how long it has been in coming! She will have died, I know, ere I can reach her!""You will go to her, then?" Constance answered."Yes, and to-day, if there is a way," I answered, getting to my feet."Oh, you can't go so soon, Gilbert, and on so long a journey!" Constance answered, putting up her hand as if to restrain me."Why not? The distance is nothing," I answered, with some pride."See, Gilbert, what is this?" Constance interrupted, unfolding a paper she had picked up from the ground; "an order to pay you money, and for five hundred dollars. Surely, your aunt means all she says and more!"Yes, so it was; a fortune, and sent that I might come to her without loss of time or expense to my friends."Oh, aunt, I will come, be sure!" I cried, scarce able to decipher the paper, so clouded were my eyes with tears."You will need it all, Gilbert; it is so far, and you can't go alone, you know. Oh, how I wish I were going with you!" the sweet girl exclaimed, clasping my neck as if no one could protect me so well as she."I wish you were, sweetheart, for I shall be unhappy till I come back to you," I answered, my heart sinking at the thought of leaving her."You must not feel that way, Gilbert, for you will not be long away," she answered, tears starting in her eyes."I must stay, once I get there; but I will come back, and often, till that day, you know when," I answered, embracing her.Thus it was arranged, and going to the house I showed Aunt Jane's letter to Mr. and Mrs. Hayward, who were as much surprised as we had been. When I told them I thought I ought to go to her at once, they both assented, as I had felt sure they would from the first."If you think best," I said to Mr. Hayward after we had talked the matter over, "I will go on to town with Constance, and if there is a boat, I will go by that, and if not will take a horse and go across the country.""Do as you think best; and you are welcome to one of our horses, if you conclude to go that way," he answered.For this I thanked him, but declined, for I knew he needed them in his business, which was now grown somewhat, but not as much as it ought."You will not think of going alone, Gilbert, I hope?" Mrs. Hayward spoke up, as she helped me to collect the few things I needed, and this as if she still saw in me the slender youth she had welcomed with so much kindness years before."Why not? The country is open, and I have but to go ahead, and in three or four days at the most I will be there.""He is not going alone," Constance broke in at this. "The country is full of outlaws and wild beasts. Think what happened to him when he came to Appletop!""It is not so bad as that now, you know, Constance," I answered; "and besides, I shall have money and a horse if I go overland.""It has not changed much, and some accident might happen to you, and then what would you do? Surely your Uncle Job or Mr. Fox will go with you, or if not, papa will be glad to, I know," the sweet child insisted.Matters being thus arranged, we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Hayward, and this on my part with a sad heart. For in the years I had made my home with them they had been very tender and kind to me, and because of it I had grown to love them, more, indeed, than I thought till the hour of parting came.When we reached Appletop we stopped at Uncle Job's on our way to the Dragon. Tears filled his eyes as he read and re-read Aunt Jane's sad letter."Poor woman! You will go to her, Gilbert?" he said at last."Yes; and I am glad you think I should," I answered."Of course; but when do you think of starting?" he asked."To-day if I can get off.""That is prompt," he answered, as if pleased that I should respond so quickly to her request. "How will you make the journey, do you think?""By boat, if there is one, and if not, across the country. I would like the last best, though.""There will be no boat till to-morrow night, and then not surely," he answered, after a moment's thought."That is too long to wait, and a good horse will carry me as soon or sooner than I could go the other way.""You must not go alone," he replied. "I would be glad to go if I could get away, but as I can't, how would Fox do?""We had thought of him," Constance spoke up."Then you have talked it over?" Uncle Job asked."Yes; it is not safe for him to go alone, and that is the way we happened to speak of it.""Fox will be a good companion, and more agreeable than I," Uncle Job answered, pleasantly."You know that is not so, uncle," I answered, "for I should like no one so well as you.""Well, it is nice of you to say so, anyway; but if you are to start to-day you must be off, and while you are looking up Fox I will get the dapple-gray mare in shape for you.""The mare!" I answered, surprised at the reference. "Will you let me take her?""Yes; and if you will accept the gift, I shall be glad to give her to you. I have been intending to do it for a long time," he answered, smiling."I know that, for I have heard him say so before, Gilbert," Aunt Betty here interposed, and as if pleased at what her husband proposed."Thank you," I answered; "there is nothing in the world you could give me that would please me half so much"; for since the night I rode her to Appletop I thought her the finest animal in all the world.Taking leave of Uncle Job and Aunt Betty, Constance and I started for the Dragon, and on our way ran across Fox, as good luck would have it. When we told him about the journey and our wish that he should go with me, he was delighted beyond power of speaking, for he had long desired to get away from Appletop, and only Uncle Job's wish kept him back. This because the past had been a bar to his getting anything worthy of him, nor did it seem possible he could live it down, though he labored hard to be thought worthy of men's confidence. It was plain, too, that he had now begun to despair of his future, in which we greatly pitied him, for he was in all things of blameless life and wholly free from folly of any kind."Do you know where you can get a horse?" I asked, when it had been arranged that he should go."Yes, I know a good one I can hire," he answered, and sorrowfully enough, for it had been a long time since he had a horse of his own."We had better buy one; Aunt Jane has sent me money enough, and it can't be used in a better way, can it?""That would be fine; and have you a horse?" he asked."Yes; Uncle Job has given me the gray mare.""Given her to you! Well, that's past belief, for she is the very apple of his eye," he answered, surprised.While we were thus talking, Blott came up, bustling and fat and as full of color as an alderman. He had now been married a year, and was, moreover, deputy sheriff, an office he filled with great pride, and acceptably to the public. When I told him of our journey, the roving instinct in him showed itself in the way he straightened up."I'd like to go with you," he answered, "for it'll be a picnic; but business is business, an' the peace of the county's got to be looked after," he added, with a sly glance at his wife, a little woman with a firm mouth and big nose, who had come up while he was speaking. This little lady was a very determined woman, and ruled her lord with an iron hand in all matters relating to temperance and early hours and things of that sort, but for his good, be it said, and not unkindly."We should like to have you go if you could get away," I answered, for Blott was fine company."It would be great if both Blott and Mr. Fox could go, Gilbert," Constance spoke up, seeing in this greater safety for me in fighting off the outlaws and desperadoes with which she had peopled every lonely place since the night in Murderer's Hollow."He can't, though, Miss Constance," Mrs. Blott broke in. "He couldn't be away so long, and besides he might have a return of the old malady, an' I ain't goin' to risk it.""There ain't a bit of danger, Sarah," Blott answered, "for I'm livin' too near the sky to ketch anything but a cold. Do you know, Gilbert, I can hardly keep my feet on the ground, an' have to clip my wings every mornin', I'm so good. Only Sarah's stricter'n she need be sometimes.""No, I ain't," Mrs. Blott spoke up, "seein' what indulgence led you into before.""You see how I'm treed," Blott answered, looking at me ruefully."One can't be too careful, Blott," Fox answered; "being out nights and away from the comforts of home is bad for those inclined to malarial troubles.""That's no dream; but there ain't no danger in my case," Blott answered."I don't know about that," Mrs. Blott broke in; "but we've got the habit broke up, an' it's best to keep it so.""Don't that frost you, Gilbert! But she'll have her way, she'll have her way, an' it's probably the best. For I don't mind tellin' you, even if she's by, that she knows more'n any doctor, an' barrin' a little too much watchfulness, is the best woman on earth.""One can see that with half an eye," I answered."Yes; an' she's the kind of a woman for a poor man, knowin' more'n to run into the fence when she gits to the end of the furrer. Rose-bushes is all right, Gilbert, in their place; but they don't make good kindlin' wood, an' when women ain't brought up to know nothin' 'cept to set 'round an' make themselves pleasant-like, they shouldn't break the back of a poor man by marryin' him. Women is like trees; sum air only purty; other's air just as purty, an' make good rails an' firewood, too, when the need comes.""How is it with men, Blott?" Fox asked, winking at Mrs. Blott."Well, I wasn't talkin' 'bout men," he answered; "but there's many a little woman takin' in washin' to support a hulk of a man who's too lazy to work.""You will be sheriff some day, Blott, with such a wife," I answered, bowing to the little woman as we started to leave."Yes, you can't keep a good man down. I'm gettin' old, too, an' only young turkeys is willin' to roost on the lower limbs. I'm pipe-layin' for the place, Gilbert; but I mayn't get it, for the deservin' don't always win, an' if they did there'd be nothin' left for the others. It's the compeetin' of the deservin' with the ondeservin' that makes the world interestin' to everybody."Bidding Blott and his wife good by, Constance and I hurried on to the Dragon, where we found Mr. Seymour, who, as I expected, joined with the others in thinking I should lose no time in going to my aunt."Come, you can't ride on an empty stomach!" he exclaimed, after we had talked the matter over, and with that led the way to the Treasure room, Constance and I following. Here luncheon was served, and eating it we spent an hour talking of the past and the future, for none of us could tell how much my present journey might change my way of life. Going downstairs at last, we found Uncle Job and Aunt Betty and Fox awaiting us, the latter mounted on a fine horse and holding the gray mare, saddled and bridled and looking as fine as a fiddle. Much affected by all their kindness, I came near to breaking down, but putting as good a face on it as I could, I bade them good by, and mounting my horse we set off at a gallop.
CHAPTER XLVIII
THE CARRIERS
At night, when supper was over and Mr. Hayward had some leisure to look about, he was in the habit of saying that the man who built his house, whoever he might be, would not have ruined himself had he made the ceiling a log or two higher.
"Nor can I see, for the life of me," he would add, as he surveyed our narrow quarters, "why he cut the logs so short, when the forest is full of fine timber he could have had for the taking."
Off the main room, and there was but one, we built a kitchen, and beside it a sleeping-room. This was thought by some of the neighbors to indicate growing pride and a striving after luxury, though the addition sloped to the ground so fast that the side next the eaves did not afford room for one to stand upright. This inconvenience, however, we did not much regard, a little stooping now and then not doing any one harm. The attic over the main room was mine, to do with as I pleased, save some small space set apart for seed-corn and things of that kind in winter. It was reached, and deftly enough, by a ladder of stout poles, which answered the purpose perfectly, and had the great merit, moreover, of taking up little or no room. My bed occupied one corner, and lying outstretched my nose would have scraped the shingles had it been an inch or two longer. These shingles were neither black walnut nor cottonwood, as you may think, but oak clapboards split and shaved in the old way, before shingles were known in the new country. If they did not always keep out the water, it did not enter in any great quantity, and by using a little calculation one might avoid it entirely.
The room was greatly to my fancy, and I have never seen one I liked so well. If in summer it was sometimes hot, because of proximity to the roof, air might always be obtained from the window at the end; and as for light and ventilation, this and the crevices in the roof afforded all that any reasonable person could desire. What was best about it, though, was its nearness to the wind and rain. For lying upon my bed, the patter and swash of the water sounded directly in my face, and when the wind pushed and crowded about the house it was not at some far-off place, but in my very ears. Such volume and artfulness of sound, too, words cannot describe, each log and crevice of varying size answering back some note of its own to pouring rain or driving wind. Nowhere else, indeed, have I heard, or ever will, such symphonies; for these things belong to our youth, and come not in like freshness to the mind or wearied body of more mature years.
It was the river, however, that attracted me most, for there was no end to its beauty and variety. In rain and sunshine, it made no difference, it kept its way, changing with every cloud and breath of air, always offering some new and better view. Of the ferry, Mr. Hayward, discarding all the devices of our competitors, adopted in their place a method better than them all; and in this I will not except the McDuffs, who made so much of their new-fangled power and patent steering-gear. Nothing could be more picturesque, either, than our device. For going up the river a little way, Mr. Hayward attached a stout wire to a great tree that grew on an island there, and uncoiling the wire, brought it down, and connected it to a rope fastened to each end of the great boat. Drawing this rope taut at the prow, the latter pointed up the stream, and so, loosening the craft from the shore, the current carried it swiftly to the other side. Of all Mr. Hayward's methods for saving labor and cutting down expenses not one exceeded this, I thought. To prevent the wire dragging in the water, it was upheld by buoys, and these always facing about in the direction the great boat was going, added to the beauty and animation of the scene. These devices were the subject of much ridicule at first, and more especially on the part of the McDuffs, but on trial, the community coming to regard them with favor, the subject was not referred to again.
Of the doings of these McDuffs little that was good could be said. Not only were they innovators in respect to the use of steam, but given, as we proved more than once, to the cutting of rates and other underhand dealings of a like nature. Such practices Mr. Hayward despised as unworthy of common carriers, nor would he be a party to them in any way; unless, indeed, it might be in the case of a large customer, but then only sparingly and under close cover, so that there could be no known excuse save weakness or pure spite for the cutting of rates on the part of others. The McDuffs were also given to misrepresenting distances, to the injury of our ferry, so far as their stories were believed by the simple-minded. In this and other ways they were a constant source of irritation and injury to trade, and to such a degree that as a way out Mr. Hayward, with great circumspection of conduct, finally proposed a trust, or consolidation of the properties. This project came nigh to happening, too, and indeed was thought to be as good as done, when word of it somehow came to the ears of the public. Upon this the community flew into a rage, accusing us of monopolistic tendencies and other and worse things, so that in the end the undertaking fell through. In the warfare that was made upon us at this time, strangely enough the most bitter were those who never made any use of the ferry to speak of. This I could not understand until Mr. Hayward explained it.
"There are a lot of people who lie awake nights watching and listening lest the public suffer some wrong. These guardians, as a rule, never achieve anything themselves, and in the end are buried at the expense of their friends. In every case they are impracticable people, with little or no knowledge of affairs. Well meaning enough, they will pull a house down to straighten the lightning-rod, or destroy a garment to remove a stain. The trouble is they lack sense. With skulls big enough to hold a squash, they have nothing to fill the space save surmises and suspicions."
We were always of the firm opinion that the McDuffs had made known Mr. Hayward's efforts to consolidate the properties, and this to discredit us with the public, for grievously we suffered from the falling off of traffic that followed. This until, happily, the wife of the mayor of Appletop bringing forth triplets, and all boys, the mind of the community was diverted for the moment. As it would happen, too, an accident occurring about the same time at the McDuffs', whereby a passenger lost his life—a thing Mr. Hayward had clearly foretold—we came again into our share of the business, and kept it. Mr. Hayward, however, was ever very sore on the subject.
"The consolidation was clearly in the interest of the people," he would say in speaking of it. "They would have had only one family to support instead of two, as at present, and reduction in tolls would surely have followed sooner or later. Why, except for such things mankind would be eating roots to-day and living in caves. Affairs of state have felt this most of all, for one government answers now where there were myriads at one time. Thus England has but one ruler, where she once had fifty to support, with all their hungry followers. There was consolidation for you with a vengeance, and it has been so with every country on the globe. So it will be with many industries. You may be sure, though, that not one little despot was ever tumbled from his throne without the people raising a cry that they were being enslaved."
"Has everything been done that will be in this direction?" a chance traveler asked one day, hearing what Mr. Hayward said.
"No; it will go on until each continent has but one government, and in the end all will be merged."
"Which people will dominate?" the traveler inquired, as if quizzing him.
"The most vigorous and the wisest. The nations we know, however, will all have disappeared ere then, it is probable. No one can tell."
Thus Mr. Hayward would go on by the hour when the subject of interference with natural laws was spoken of, and nothing could stop him.
Among other things that favored our ferry was a certain romantic fancy that attached to it. Thus the little buoys, skimming the water like ducklings, never failed to attract the attention and elicit the admiration of those who crossed. Of our signaling devices, they were very simple; two strokes of the bell indicated a horse or wagon, one a foot passenger. The last fell to me, and because of it, I became in time very expert in handling the small boat, never failing, as good fortune would have it, to bring my passenger safely to shore. Our landing-places, too, were exceedingly picturesque, and caused the more sentimental no end of foolish talk. On the side where we lived hawthorns and elder covered the banks and edges of the river, and on the other shore two great elms guarded the approach. These last were remarkable in their way, and because of it added considerable to our earnings. One was of great height and grand to look upon from a distance, but the other, stopping midway, as if tired of striving to keep pace with its neighbor, reached out its limbs in every direction in the most picturesque and pathetic way, as if inviting alms. This tree was called the Penitent, and the other, because of its stateliness and dearth of shade, the Pharisee. The trees were given these names at first in idle fancy by a customer of ours, a devout woman much given to snuff and gossip; but the cunningness of the fancy tickling her greatly, she gave it the widest publicity, so that in time travelers came miles out of their way to view the curiosity and comment upon it. Because of this and the good lady's attendance upon covenant meetings and the like, Mr. Hayward, who was not lacking in sentiment, reduced her fare one-half. This, like most things he did, proved a great stroke of business in the end, for now she visited Appletop twice as often as before, and in her journeyings to and fro never tired of speaking of the beauties of our ferry and its fine location and good business management.
"A queer woman, that," Mr. Hayward one day remarked as I came up from the landing after setting her ashore, "and tending to show that what people think, they will do. If her name, now, had been something beside Snuffe, she would never have thought of using the stuff as she does."
"Why, what has that to do with it?" I asked, not seeing the connection.
"After she got married, much thinking of the name of Snuffe, and some worrying about it, she says, caused her to help herself to a pinch now and then out of pure perversity of spirit, until in the end she got to like it, so that now she can scarce finish a prayer without a sly dip into her bag."
"Her husband might have changed his name; he would not have had to look far for a better one," I answered, to see what he would say.
"Oh, Snuffe is as good as any, and the family will be a power in the land some day. The old man will not eat anything he can find a market for, and there is no surer way to get on than that if one has the patience to stick to it."
Constance, who was always in my thoughts, I grew to love more and more as the years passed, and as Mrs. Hayward had her much at our house, scarce a day went by without my seeing her. When she stayed to supper, which was often the case, I would take her home; and of these journeyings I remember every one, and what we said, which was not much, for we were but little given to speech when in each other's company. Her visits clothed our little home with such a halo of romance and delight, that my heart swells to this day when I think of it. For my belief in her knew no bounds, and, like my love, grew stronger as we grew to be man and woman. This not strangely, for at sixteen she was such perfection of loveliness that there was no joy like that of being near her, and if I but touched her hand, heaven itself, I thought, could not convey greater happiness. Yet, strangely enough, I could not have told the color of her eyes, if indeed they were always the same, which I knew they were not. Nor could I have described her mouth, except that it expressed such tenderness that its like was never seen before. Of her face this I know, that it was oval, but of her complexion, it was of such delicacy of white and pink that no one could describe it, nor have conceived anything so perfect. Her hair, too, like her eyes, could not be described, but was ever taking on some different phase or color, so that if you thought you knew its every shade of loveliness, some new light or manner of arrangement would add beauties to it not before dreamed of. Such, you must know, was Constance, my sweet love, at the time of which I speak.
CHAPTER XLIX
THE BETROTHAL
Amid surroundings such as I have described three years passed, and happily for me, and to my great good then and for all time. Indeed, I do not look back to any period of my life with greater pleasure, for it was filled with Constance and thoughts of her and nothing else. My bed, once too long, was now too short, yet I would not change it in any way. Lying there, the pattering rain sang of my love, and at night the sighing and chattering wind lulled me to sleep with thoughts of her.
Thus I lay one midsummer night, listening to the whir and beating of a great storm that had come up suddenly from out the south, after the day had closed. Above the roar of the wind and the splash of the water on the roof, I could plainly hear the wash of the river as it beat on our shore, and this as if to add to the strength and rhythm of the storm. If by chance the wind abated for a moment, the rain fell anew, and in torrents, as if the deluge were come again. Then, it in turn showing some pause, the wind would spring up afresh, and in such fury that the windows and logs of the house trembled as if shaken by an earthquake.
While I lay thus listening, not caring to sleep, and in such comfort of position and delight of mind that movement of any kind was like pain, there came to me above the tumult of the tempest, faintly and far off like an echo, the dull boom of the Penitent's bell. But that could hardly be, for surely no one would venture abroad on such a night! Thinking thus, I lay still, and in a little while it came again, and plaintively, the like of which I had never heard before. There could be no mistake now; it was the Penitent's bell calling, and nothing else! Still I did not move. The storm was too great, and no boat could live in it a minute! Then let the great tree shelter its guest, for there was no other way. Turning uneasily on my bed, the signal came again and stronger, booming above the swash of the water and the rush of the wind as if it were the voice of some one crying out in anguish of body and mind, not far off nor vaguely now, but high and resounding, as if tolling for the dead or dying. Frightened, I sat bolt upright; and soon it came to me again, and with greater stress of melancholy, if that were possible. Trembling, unable to withstand the call longer, I sprang up, and putting on my garments, quickly found my way to the floor below. Those resting there had not heard the summons, and so leaving them undisturbed, I opened the door and stepped out into the night. At this, and as if watching my coming, the wind, rising to new fury, tossed me here and there so that I could scarce keep my feet. Above, there was some glimpse of light in the leaden sky, but about me only inky darkness and the circling wind and falling rain. As I stood clutching a tree, loath to go on, the boom of the bell came again, and as if with new import and stress of haste. No longer hesitating, I hurried on, listening as I ran; and now, I know not why, stricken with a chill, as if somehow its tolling meant harm to me or those I loved.
Reaching the boat, and emptying it of water, I fixed the oars in their place, and without thought shoved it into the stream. At this, the wind and waves taking it up in their arms as if it were a plaything, hurled it back upon me, and with such force that I came nigh to being crushed with its weight. Awaiting a more favorable moment, I sprang into the boat, and doing so, pushed it into the boiling water. Little, however, could I do now that I was afloat and held the oars, for, enveloped in darkness, the waves flying before the storm so tossed me about that effort to make headway was lost in striving to keep afloat. Then the wind, veering with the windings of the river or overhanging trees, bewildering me, I was fain to sit still and wait some clew to guide me. This the stream would have done, but tossed by the wind, it lost its force, so that I could not tell which way it ran, if indeed it had any direction at all.
While thus striving to make headway, the Penitent's bell came to me across the splashing water, but now at longer intervals and indistinctly, as if those who rang it were faint or dying. Chilled by its stroke, it yet helped to guide me, so that I struggled on the more hopefully because of it. In this way I after a while reached the middle of the stream, and now I made greater headway; but going on, the bell grew faint, and then at last ceased its tolling altogether. Filled with new fear lest losing its guidance I should after all go astray, I put forth all my strength to gain the farther shore. Of sign of it, however, or other thing, save the spray of the white-topped waves as they swept over me and across the boat, there was none. Nor could I hear any sound save the whir of the wind and the churning of the waves as they beat against the boat or fell back into the angry stream. Going on, with scarce anything to guide me, I came at last within the shadow of the forest, feeling which I gave a shout. For, listening, I could now plainly hear the water as it beat against the shore, and above it the roar of the wind as the trees bent beneath its force. Putting forth all my strength anew, the boat in a moment grated high on the shelving beach, and I was safe.
Thanking God for my deliverance, I sprang ashore, and keeping hold, stood still. Hearing nothing, I called, but to this there was no response, save the confusion and tumult of the storm. Not knowing if I were above or below the landing, I fastened my boat and hurried forward, and this fortunately; for I had gone but a little way when I came upon the beaten road that led from the shore back into the country. Springing up the bank, I stood beside the Penitent, and now for the first time some measure of fear seized me. For, save the gurgling water and the moan of the wind, as if spirits filled the air, no sound reached my waiting ear. Listening, I presently called, but without response or movement of any kind. Steadying myself, I stood still, holding the swaying rope, and doing so, a sigh came to my strained ears, and this from off the ground at my very feet. Or was it merely some trick of the storm and pushing wind? Groping about, my outstretched hands came in contact with the face of some one lying prostrate on the ground, and damp and icy cold, as if life had fled. Too agitated to speak, I knelt and lifted the body on my knees, and doing so, discovered it to be a woman. Pushing back the damp hair, I stroked her face and hands, but for a long time in vain. This until I was losing hope, when she sighed again—or was it a sob instead? Overjoyed, I put my arms about her and raised her up, crying:
"Cheer up, dear lady; help has come and you are saved!"
Upon this she gave a cry, and lifting her arms they caught about my neck, but as if life had left her with the effort.
"Oh, God, my sweet love! Constance!" I cried, half dead with fright; for it was she I held in my arms, and no one else. Bereft of my senses, I clasped her to my breast, calling to her again and again, and entreatingly, and by every pet name I could think of, but without response of any kind. This for a long time, until regaining some presence of mind, I fell to stroking her hands and face, covering them with kisses as I worked. Sighing after a while, she murmured my name, but with such faintness I thought she was dying.
"Constance, my darling, my sweet love, speak to me! You must not die now that I have come to save you."
Struggling to regain her strength, she answered, but oh! so softly:
"How dear of you, Gilbert, to come to me."
"Come to you, Constance; had I known you were here, the thought would have killed me."
"I expected Mr. Hayward would answer, and you came instead—and oh, the peril of it! When I heard your voice I thought I was dying, my happiness was so great."
"I was never in any danger, Constance. I heard the bell, but would not stir. Then it drew me on in spite of myself, as if some danger threatened, I knew not what."
"It was I calling, as I stood reaching out across the dark water; but at last, thinking my summons was not heard, I knew no more till I found your arms about me."
"I ought to have reached you sooner, sweet love, but the waves tossed me about so that I thought I should never find the shore. Had I known you were lying here, I should have leaped into the river to reach you sooner."
"How good of you, Gilbert; and you will always come to me?" she answered, softly.
"Yes, Constance, and you know why. Because I love you, love you, love you, dearest, above everything on earth, and always have and will; and you, Constance, say that you love me, for this you have never done."
"You know I love you, Gilbert," she answered, after a while, clinging closer about my neck; "and if you did not love me as you do, I should not want to live. I love you above everything, and you are in my thoughts day and night, you sweet boy"; and with that she took my face in her hands and drawing me to her kissed me many times.
"I am always thinking of you, too, dearest, and of what you do and say, and how you look and what will please you. Now I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say you love me," I cried, covering her face and hair with my kisses, happy beyond anything I had ever dreamed of.
Thus we plighted our troth beneath the great tree, not thinking where we were, nor caring for the storm, which now, indeed, was fast dying away. Soon, however, and as if startled out of herself, she sprang up.
"Oh, Gilbert, I can never forgive myself, to have forgotten what I came for in the happiness of being with you. Quick—come with me," she cried, saying which, she grasped my hand and drew me toward the forest.
"Why, what is it, Constance? I have never thought to ask what brought you here."
"Nor I to tell you, Gilbert; but yesterday, papa and I going into the country, and night coming on, we thought to return by the other ferry; but reaching it, some accident to the boat prevented our crossing, and so we had to retrace our steps, and the night and the storm coming on, our horse strayed from the road, throwing us into the ditch. When I found papa he lay like one dead, nor could I bring him to, and after striving for a long time in vain, I at last thought to come here for help."
"Oh, you sweet love, to be in such distress and I not know it!" I cried, lifting her arm and kissing the sleeve of her dress.
"Yes; but we must make greater haste," she answered, hurrying forward.
"Is it far?" I asked, that I might hear her sweet voice.
"I don't know; the way seemed long, but I was frightened and often strayed from the road."
"No one but you would have had such courage, my brave little wife, for that you will be some day, sweetheart."
To this she made no response save to press my hand as we hurried on. Now losing the road in the darkness, and regaining it only to lose it again, we made so little headway that I thought we never should reach him we sought. Going on, we after a while stopped, affrighted lest we had passed him in the darkness. While standing in this way and straining our ears to catch some sound, we heard the neighing of a horse a little way ahead. At this we went on again, and coming to the spot, were overjoyed to hear Mr. Seymour's voice in answer to our call. Hastening to where he lay, we found him as Constance had said, but now able to speak. Kneeling and taking his head in her lap, she stroked his hair and face, and I, gathering hold of his hands and body, so rubbed and worked over them that in a little while he was able to move. Hunting up the robes, I placed them under and about him; and presently, the day breaking, we were able to do still better. In this way, through our aid and by his own efforts, Mr. Seymour was soon on his feet. For he was not much hurt, but the shock being great, had for a long time rendered him unconscious.
When he was somewhat recovered, I brought the horse, and stripping off the harness, we put Mr. Seymour on his back, and in this way, Constance and I walking on either side, we made our way to the ferry. Mr. Hayward, who was already abroad, hearing the Penitent's summons, soon came to our aid, and great was his surprise at discovering me and the danger he imagined I had escaped. For Constance quickly told him all that had happened, adding many things that did not amount to anything, so determined was she to make the most of my adventure. This greatly disturbed Mr. Hayward, for in all things he was a very tender-hearted man indeed. In proof of this, I must tell you, I have known him many a time, when worn out with work, to go a great way to watch at night by the bedside of some poor person in distress who would not, except for him, have had any care whatever. This for many nights together, and uncomplainingly, and he worn out, as I say. Nor was he backward in giving outright when need be, and I have in this way seen a whole month's gains from the ferry or some Specialty of ours vanish in a moment. This I tell you lest you should mistake his character from what I have said concerning him. Indeed, I have never known a man so generous or tender of heart as he.
Hastening to the boat, we quickly reached the opposite shore, and in a minute were safe in our little home. Here Mrs. Hayward taking charge of Constance, soon had her arrayed in dry garments; and if they were too long and somewhat too large, it did not matter, for never did woman look more lovely than the sweet maid as she entered the room. Indeed, I thought the quaintness of the dress, if anything, added to her beauty and the gentle modesty of her demeanor.
While Constance was being looked to in the way I say, Mr. Hayward busied himself with her father, afterward giving him some bitters with a dash of the cholera mixture, whereupon Mr. Seymour declared himself as good as new. Thus was brought to a happy ending a most eventful night, and memorable above all others because of Constance's confession that she loved me. For there can be no doubt whatever but that the happiest moment in every man's life is that in which the woman he loves confesses that she loves him in return. All other things, I must believe, are as naught and not worth mentioning in comparison with this sweet boon.
CHAPTER L
UNDER THE WIDESPREADING HAWTHORNS
Some days after, as I was pulling my boat home from the Iowa shore, thinking of Constance and watching the Penitent as it reflected its graceful foliage in the dark waters of the great river, a voice I knew and loved hailed me from the landing I was fast approaching. Pretending not to hear, it called again, and louder than before, and with such sweetness and cheerfulness of life that it made my heart beat the faster to hear it.
"Gilbert! Gilbert! Gilbert!"
Turning about as if hearing for the first time, I saw Constance standing in the shade of the hawthorns, holding something aloft in her hand.
"Hurry up, you lazy boy! See! I have a letter for you," she cried, waving it above her head and turning about at the same time as if to go away.
"Wait; don't go; I'll be there in a minute," I called back. Then, that I might be near her and not because of the letter, I lengthened my stroke, and put such strength into my arms that in a few seconds my boat shot into the soft bank near which she stood.
Springing ashore, I clasped her in my arms, but not in a way to shock any one's modesty, for of all the cunning bowers Nature ever formed for lovers this was the fittest. Looking out on the great river, but apart, it was a place to seek, or to make the most of if by chance you met your love there, as in my case. Having many things to say, as lovers do, and will till the world ends, her errand was forgotten; but after a while recalling it—if that was really the thing that brought her—she gave me the letter, and together we fell to examining its superscription and seal, wondering the while who it was from and what it was all about. In this way our faces touched and our hands came in contact and lingered, loath to part, but not strangely, and as lovers should, you will say. There was no need of haste, it was plain, and, moreover, the getting of a letter was a thing to be treated with some formality. For, except as Uncle Job or Aunt Betty may have written me, I had never received such a thing before in all my life. The day, too, was one to invite idleness, and of lovers more especially. Above our heads great clouds, white as snow, floated slowly across the broad expanse, and on the bosom of the majestic river, a ripple here and a calm there, or maybe a bit of shadow, added to the placid beauty of the surroundings. About us soft winds stirred the leaves of the listening hawthorns, and from out the thicket beyond the road a thrush, awakened to life by our close proximity, called in impassioned notes for its absent mate.
Lying outstretched on the yielding turf, I asked Constance to open the letter, and this that I might the better look upon her and listen to her sweet voice while she read. No way suspecting my reason for asking, the missive presently lay open in her lap; and in those days, you must know, letters were not hidden away in wrappers as now, but folded and sealed and the address inserted in some nook or corner left for the purpose. When she had torn the letter apart, we looked it over, but without deciphering any word till we reached the end, and there, coming to the name, we were so startled at what we saw that our heads came together with a bump as we exclaimed with one voice: "Aunt Jane!" Yes, Aunt Jane; for printed matter never was plainer, and this notwithstanding some tremor of the letters as if they had been put down with labor, if not with pain. Astonished, we looked into each other's faces, for nothing so surprising as this had ever happened before to either of us. Glancing above the signature, our eyes caught the closing words, "With tender love," and seeing this, I cried out:
"What can it mean, Constance? Surely something strange must have happened! Read what it says, and from the beginning!"
Smoothing out the paper, she did as I asked, and this is the sad message the letter contained:
"Dying, my child, I may at last speak out my soul's wish as it is and has been from the first, concealing nothing nor adding a word. My heart is now too weak, too yearning, too inexpressibly sad, to longer harbor reserve or any mystery of life. Sickness and tears and years of tender longing, my child, for you, my next of kin, have melted it; and now, coming to the end of my days, I may, all too late, speak as I am, and was even in the old time when your father and mother were yet alive. Of my coldness, oh, believe me! it was never real, but only a cloak, a shadowy thing put on without thought. For it had no real substance, but hid my heart, and foolishly, to my life's undoing. I have no one but you, my child, and dying I am alone and forsaken, for only the walls of my house answer back my call for love and sympathy. Surely, if I have sinned through pride and in hiding my heart from you and those who sleep in their graves, I have suffered and am punished beyond bearing. You could have loved me, and your sweet-faced mother ever sought to win from me some show of tenderness; but erring, I put off the day of yielding until it was too late. Now I am as one abandoned in the world, for when you come to die only those of your own blood can respond to your heart's yearnings. Sweet child, if you can yet conjure up some shadow of kindness for your poor aunt, come to her in her sickness and loneliness, that she may press you to her heart and have you by her when she yields her life to God. For believe me, her persecution, as you thought, was but her love and striving for your welfare, but oh, how mistakenly conveyed, as all her acts have been from the beginning. Then forgive and pity her, sweet one, and hasten if you would let her see you before she dies."
Tears ran down our faces long ere Constance had finished reading, for of its truthfulness we had no shadow of doubt.
"Surely, she has been punished, if she has erred," Constance at last said, as she took up the letter again.
"Yes; and how I have mistaken her all these years," I mourned, for I could not now doubt her love and affection.
"You can't be blamed, Gilbert, for she made no sign," Constance answered, as if to comfort me; "but how lonely her life must have been, and how greatly she has suffered."
"Had I gone to her as I ought, her coldness would have quickly given place to show of love; and it is I, not she, who should ask forgiveness," I answered, remembering with shame the scant respect I had shown her.
"You were not in fault, Gilbert, for she being older and wiser should have been first to open her arms. How could you know her heart?" Constance answered, excusing me, as she did in all things.
"I wonder if all letters are so full of tears?" I exclaimed, taking the missive tenderly in my hands. "But see the date, and how long it has been in coming! She will have died, I know, ere I can reach her!"
"You will go to her, then?" Constance answered.
"Yes, and to-day, if there is a way," I answered, getting to my feet.
"Oh, you can't go so soon, Gilbert, and on so long a journey!" Constance answered, putting up her hand as if to restrain me.
"Why not? The distance is nothing," I answered, with some pride.
"See, Gilbert, what is this?" Constance interrupted, unfolding a paper she had picked up from the ground; "an order to pay you money, and for five hundred dollars. Surely, your aunt means all she says and more!"
Yes, so it was; a fortune, and sent that I might come to her without loss of time or expense to my friends.
"Oh, aunt, I will come, be sure!" I cried, scarce able to decipher the paper, so clouded were my eyes with tears.
"You will need it all, Gilbert; it is so far, and you can't go alone, you know. Oh, how I wish I were going with you!" the sweet girl exclaimed, clasping my neck as if no one could protect me so well as she.
"I wish you were, sweetheart, for I shall be unhappy till I come back to you," I answered, my heart sinking at the thought of leaving her.
"You must not feel that way, Gilbert, for you will not be long away," she answered, tears starting in her eyes.
"I must stay, once I get there; but I will come back, and often, till that day, you know when," I answered, embracing her.
Thus it was arranged, and going to the house I showed Aunt Jane's letter to Mr. and Mrs. Hayward, who were as much surprised as we had been. When I told them I thought I ought to go to her at once, they both assented, as I had felt sure they would from the first.
"If you think best," I said to Mr. Hayward after we had talked the matter over, "I will go on to town with Constance, and if there is a boat, I will go by that, and if not will take a horse and go across the country."
"Do as you think best; and you are welcome to one of our horses, if you conclude to go that way," he answered.
For this I thanked him, but declined, for I knew he needed them in his business, which was now grown somewhat, but not as much as it ought.
"You will not think of going alone, Gilbert, I hope?" Mrs. Hayward spoke up, as she helped me to collect the few things I needed, and this as if she still saw in me the slender youth she had welcomed with so much kindness years before.
"Why not? The country is open, and I have but to go ahead, and in three or four days at the most I will be there."
"He is not going alone," Constance broke in at this. "The country is full of outlaws and wild beasts. Think what happened to him when he came to Appletop!"
"It is not so bad as that now, you know, Constance," I answered; "and besides, I shall have money and a horse if I go overland."
"It has not changed much, and some accident might happen to you, and then what would you do? Surely your Uncle Job or Mr. Fox will go with you, or if not, papa will be glad to, I know," the sweet child insisted.
Matters being thus arranged, we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Hayward, and this on my part with a sad heart. For in the years I had made my home with them they had been very tender and kind to me, and because of it I had grown to love them, more, indeed, than I thought till the hour of parting came.
When we reached Appletop we stopped at Uncle Job's on our way to the Dragon. Tears filled his eyes as he read and re-read Aunt Jane's sad letter.
"Poor woman! You will go to her, Gilbert?" he said at last.
"Yes; and I am glad you think I should," I answered.
"Of course; but when do you think of starting?" he asked.
"To-day if I can get off."
"That is prompt," he answered, as if pleased that I should respond so quickly to her request. "How will you make the journey, do you think?"
"By boat, if there is one, and if not, across the country. I would like the last best, though."
"There will be no boat till to-morrow night, and then not surely," he answered, after a moment's thought.
"That is too long to wait, and a good horse will carry me as soon or sooner than I could go the other way."
"You must not go alone," he replied. "I would be glad to go if I could get away, but as I can't, how would Fox do?"
"We had thought of him," Constance spoke up.
"Then you have talked it over?" Uncle Job asked.
"Yes; it is not safe for him to go alone, and that is the way we happened to speak of it."
"Fox will be a good companion, and more agreeable than I," Uncle Job answered, pleasantly.
"You know that is not so, uncle," I answered, "for I should like no one so well as you."
"Well, it is nice of you to say so, anyway; but if you are to start to-day you must be off, and while you are looking up Fox I will get the dapple-gray mare in shape for you."
"The mare!" I answered, surprised at the reference. "Will you let me take her?"
"Yes; and if you will accept the gift, I shall be glad to give her to you. I have been intending to do it for a long time," he answered, smiling.
"I know that, for I have heard him say so before, Gilbert," Aunt Betty here interposed, and as if pleased at what her husband proposed.
"Thank you," I answered; "there is nothing in the world you could give me that would please me half so much"; for since the night I rode her to Appletop I thought her the finest animal in all the world.
Taking leave of Uncle Job and Aunt Betty, Constance and I started for the Dragon, and on our way ran across Fox, as good luck would have it. When we told him about the journey and our wish that he should go with me, he was delighted beyond power of speaking, for he had long desired to get away from Appletop, and only Uncle Job's wish kept him back. This because the past had been a bar to his getting anything worthy of him, nor did it seem possible he could live it down, though he labored hard to be thought worthy of men's confidence. It was plain, too, that he had now begun to despair of his future, in which we greatly pitied him, for he was in all things of blameless life and wholly free from folly of any kind.
"Do you know where you can get a horse?" I asked, when it had been arranged that he should go.
"Yes, I know a good one I can hire," he answered, and sorrowfully enough, for it had been a long time since he had a horse of his own.
"We had better buy one; Aunt Jane has sent me money enough, and it can't be used in a better way, can it?"
"That would be fine; and have you a horse?" he asked.
"Yes; Uncle Job has given me the gray mare."
"Given her to you! Well, that's past belief, for she is the very apple of his eye," he answered, surprised.
While we were thus talking, Blott came up, bustling and fat and as full of color as an alderman. He had now been married a year, and was, moreover, deputy sheriff, an office he filled with great pride, and acceptably to the public. When I told him of our journey, the roving instinct in him showed itself in the way he straightened up.
"I'd like to go with you," he answered, "for it'll be a picnic; but business is business, an' the peace of the county's got to be looked after," he added, with a sly glance at his wife, a little woman with a firm mouth and big nose, who had come up while he was speaking. This little lady was a very determined woman, and ruled her lord with an iron hand in all matters relating to temperance and early hours and things of that sort, but for his good, be it said, and not unkindly.
"We should like to have you go if you could get away," I answered, for Blott was fine company.
"It would be great if both Blott and Mr. Fox could go, Gilbert," Constance spoke up, seeing in this greater safety for me in fighting off the outlaws and desperadoes with which she had peopled every lonely place since the night in Murderer's Hollow.
"He can't, though, Miss Constance," Mrs. Blott broke in. "He couldn't be away so long, and besides he might have a return of the old malady, an' I ain't goin' to risk it."
"There ain't a bit of danger, Sarah," Blott answered, "for I'm livin' too near the sky to ketch anything but a cold. Do you know, Gilbert, I can hardly keep my feet on the ground, an' have to clip my wings every mornin', I'm so good. Only Sarah's stricter'n she need be sometimes."
"No, I ain't," Mrs. Blott spoke up, "seein' what indulgence led you into before."
"You see how I'm treed," Blott answered, looking at me ruefully.
"One can't be too careful, Blott," Fox answered; "being out nights and away from the comforts of home is bad for those inclined to malarial troubles."
"That's no dream; but there ain't no danger in my case," Blott answered.
"I don't know about that," Mrs. Blott broke in; "but we've got the habit broke up, an' it's best to keep it so."
"Don't that frost you, Gilbert! But she'll have her way, she'll have her way, an' it's probably the best. For I don't mind tellin' you, even if she's by, that she knows more'n any doctor, an' barrin' a little too much watchfulness, is the best woman on earth."
"One can see that with half an eye," I answered.
"Yes; an' she's the kind of a woman for a poor man, knowin' more'n to run into the fence when she gits to the end of the furrer. Rose-bushes is all right, Gilbert, in their place; but they don't make good kindlin' wood, an' when women ain't brought up to know nothin' 'cept to set 'round an' make themselves pleasant-like, they shouldn't break the back of a poor man by marryin' him. Women is like trees; sum air only purty; other's air just as purty, an' make good rails an' firewood, too, when the need comes."
"How is it with men, Blott?" Fox asked, winking at Mrs. Blott.
"Well, I wasn't talkin' 'bout men," he answered; "but there's many a little woman takin' in washin' to support a hulk of a man who's too lazy to work."
"You will be sheriff some day, Blott, with such a wife," I answered, bowing to the little woman as we started to leave.
"Yes, you can't keep a good man down. I'm gettin' old, too, an' only young turkeys is willin' to roost on the lower limbs. I'm pipe-layin' for the place, Gilbert; but I mayn't get it, for the deservin' don't always win, an' if they did there'd be nothin' left for the others. It's the compeetin' of the deservin' with the ondeservin' that makes the world interestin' to everybody."
Bidding Blott and his wife good by, Constance and I hurried on to the Dragon, where we found Mr. Seymour, who, as I expected, joined with the others in thinking I should lose no time in going to my aunt.
"Come, you can't ride on an empty stomach!" he exclaimed, after we had talked the matter over, and with that led the way to the Treasure room, Constance and I following. Here luncheon was served, and eating it we spent an hour talking of the past and the future, for none of us could tell how much my present journey might change my way of life. Going downstairs at last, we found Uncle Job and Aunt Betty and Fox awaiting us, the latter mounted on a fine horse and holding the gray mare, saddled and bridled and looking as fine as a fiddle. Much affected by all their kindness, I came near to breaking down, but putting as good a face on it as I could, I bade them good by, and mounting my horse we set off at a gallop.