CHAPTER XXXTHE RIDE FOR LIFEWhen Burke had assured himself a second time that Blott was dead, he reloaded his pistol and hurriedly left the cabin. Waiting till he was gone, I crept to the corner of the building and watched him as he crossed the open space and disappeared in the shadows of the trees. Overcome, I had now but one desire, and that to leave this place of death; and turning, I fled across the moonlit space, past the graves and dangling ropes, to the woods beyond. Directing my course in the direction I had been following, I made a wide detour that I might strike the highway at the top of the hill instead of the bottom, as I had thought. Reaching the road at last, worn out with fatigue, I threw myself down, the better to regain my lost strength. As I lay outstretched, I listened to catch, if I might, the report of Burke's pistol. In vain, however; but perhaps the distance was too great; or what if the traveler had not yet reached the valley! At the thought I sprang to my feet and ran on, hoping I might yet be in time to warn him of his danger. Stopping at intervals to listen, no sound reached my ears save the moan of the wind and the far-off cry of some night-bird in quest of its prey. At last, discouraged and worn out, I threw myself down beside the road, careless of all else if I might only rest and sleep.As my face touched the ground, and ere I could close my eyes, there struck upon my ear the far-off rhythmical beat of a horse's hoofs at full gallop. Angry at being disturbed, I arose, but standing upright I could hear it no more. Relieved, I lay down again; but no sooner had my head touched the cool earth than the sound came to me once more, and now nearer and deeper than before. There could be no mistake this time, and rising to my feet, the steady pulse-beat of the galloping horse rose full and clear on the still air, saying as in words, "Coming, coming, coming!" Or some obstruction intervening, it would die away, calling back, as in sad adieu, "Going, going, going!" Then the obstruction cleared, or the ground hardening, it came again, clear and welcome as before, "Coming, coming, coming!" Thus I stood trembling and impatient, counting the hoof-beats as the horse came swiftly on. Surely this must be the man I sought; and so believing, I braced myself and waited. As the horse neared the spot where I stood half-hidden by the overhanging trees, it shied at sight of me, but the rider, keeping control with one hand, drew a pistol with the other, and would have fired had I not cried out:"Stop! stop! stop!"Bewildered, he hesitated, but distrustfully, calling in fierce anger:"Throw up your hands, and come into the light, or I will kill you!"Hastening to do as he said, and the moon striking my face as I stepped into the road, he lowered his pistol, crying out:"My God, Gilbert!"Recognizing Uncle Job's voice, I answered, but hardly above a whisper, so overcome was I at seeing him."Great heavens! what are you doing here?" he went on, springing from his horse; but I knew no more till I found myself lying in the road and he bending over me."There, you are coming round; but, my God! how pale and wan you look, and how torn your face! Have you been ill, or what is the matter?" he asked, his voice choked and trembling."No, I'm all right," I answered; and indeed the sight of him filled me with such happiness that my weariness left me ere I had finished speaking."There! do not get up. Lie where you are, and when you are strong enough you can tell me how it happens that you are here and alone, and at this time of night," he replied, his face clouded with anxiety."I ran away to escape Moth; but I've something else to tell you," I answered, remembering the tragedy at the cabin and Burke waiting beside the road, "and it's about you," I went on, overcome by the recollection."There is no hurry to tell it," he answered, tenderly. "We can stay here till morning for all the difference it will make; so calm yourself.""There is need, though, for Burke is waiting by the road to kill you," I answered, getting to my feet and striving to overcome my weakness."What is that you say? Some one waiting to kill me?" he asked, peering into my face, as if he thought I had lost my senses."Yes; I heard them planning it in the cabin in Murderer's Hollow," I answered, simply."Good heavens! what could have taken you there, Gilbert?" he asked, as if still doubting what I said."I was crossing the valley, and reached the cabin as the robbers came up," I answered, striving to make myself clear, "and seeing them first, hid in the shadow of the hut.""You said one before, and now you say two," he answered, as if the discrepancy confirmed his thought that I was mad."There were two—Burke and Blott.""Burke and Blott?""Yes; our Blott, and Burke, who robbed Mr. Singleton; but when Blott refused to aid, Burke killed him.""What is all this you are telling me, my poor boy?" he replied, his voice shaking. "Surely you are dreaming.""No, I'm not; and afterward Burke hurried away to wait your coming.""Burke! What on earth can he be doing here, unless, indeed, he has been driven from his home, and so turned outlaw. Did he know it was me?""I think not, for I never thought of you at all.""How did he know I was coming this way to-night?""Some one in Appletop sent him word, he said.""He only wanted to rob me. He could not have wished to kill me, unless in revenge!" Uncle Job answered, inquiringly."Yes, both rob and kill you, and as it had been agreed between him and the person in Appletop, he said."Upon this I told Uncle Job all that I had heard and seen at the cabin. When I had finished, he stood for a long time silent, asking himself over and over again who it was that could have informed Burke of his coming, or that desired his death, and wherefore, if, indeed, it was not a ruse of Burke's to deceive Blott."I can't make it out," he said at last. "The river is too low for boats to pass the rapids, so I had to come this way, and started late on purpose to avoid highwaymen, for I have a lot of money with me.""Burke knew all about it," I answered; "even the hour you were to start.""Then it is lucky I was delayed; but I have still time to pay my respects to him, the villain!" he answered, throwing the rein over his horse's neck."Time to do what?" I asked."To go on to the cabin and take or kill Burke, the cold-blooded assassin!" he answered, grimly."No, no! You'll not do that, Uncle Job, surely!" I cried."Yes, I must have Burke, or know who it is that sent him word. My life may depend upon it hereafter.""He'll kill you! He's a devil, but soft and purring like a cat," I answered, remembering Burke's way."I will not give him a chance. Besides, Blott may not be dead.""I know he is, for his hand dropped like lead," I answered."Very likely, and deserves it for the company he was in; but pistols don't always kill. You stay here," he went on, preparing to mount; "there is no danger, and I will be back in an hour.""No. If you're going, I'm going, too," I answered, determined not to be alone again in this forest, so full of horrors."Well, do as you like. There will be no danger if we can reach the place without being seen.""That'll be easy enough, for the trees will hide us; but I wish you'd go back to Appletop," I answered, full of forebodings."To be shot from a bush to-morrow? No! I must find out who it is that seeks my life, if, indeed, there is any one save Burke himself.""Burke'll never tell, I know he'll not," I answered, still hoping to dissuade him."Well, I will get him, anyway, and that will make one enemy the less to guard against," he replied, springing into the saddle.Lifting me up behind him, he put spurs to his horse, and in a few minutes we reached the top of the bluff. Turning into the forest, we made our way to the grove back of the cabin, and here, fastening the horse, we crept forward on our hands and knees to the rear of the hut. Peering within, and everything being as I had left it, we made our way into the dark inclosure. Closing the door, Uncle Job went to Blott, bidding me keep a lookout for Burke; and this I could do through the opening in the wall without in any way betraying our presence. Trying first his pulse and then his heart, Uncle Job exclaimed at last:"There is life in him, but whether he can be brought around or not is another thing." Saying which, he got down on his knees and began to beat the man's arms and chest, prying his mouth open at last, and breathing into it, as if he would force life into the body whether or no.While thus engaged, Burke emerged from the shadows of the trees, and upon my crying out, Uncle Job got up, and taking a pistol in each hand, stationed himself in the middle of the room. Reaching the door, Burke pushed it open, and doing so, stood outlined in the bright moonlight. At this, and before he could enter or suspect our presence, Uncle Job cried out in a terrible voice:"Throw up your hands, Burke, or you are a dead man!"Surprised, the robber stepped back, wavering, as if uncertain whether to fly or grasp his weapons; but Uncle Job advancing, thrust his pistols forward, calling out again:"Quick! before I kill you!" And upon this, Burke, with a dreadful oath, did as he was ordered."Thanks, Colonel, thanks!" Uncle Job went on, more quietly. "I had not expected to meet you so soon again; but back up a little, will you? There, that will do. Now, Gilbert, come and relieve him of his pistols. There is no danger, lad, for I will kill him if he stirs so much as a hair," he added, pressing the weapons close against Burke's breast. Doing as I was told, I went to the robber, and taking his pistols, hid them in the cabin. "We are getting on finely, Gilbert. Now see if he has a knife. Don't be afraid." Obeying, I took from Burke a murderous weapon, which I threw, with all my might into the surrounding weeds. All this while the robber stood still, his eyes darting this way and that, as a wild beast's might when suddenly brought to bay."Now, Colonel, I must trouble you to remove your coat. There, thank you! Gilbert, take off his belt and strap his arms to his body," Uncle Job went on, pleasantly, keeping his pistols all the while leveled upon Burke. "Tighter, lad, tighter! Don't leave any slack. We are getting on, Colonel, we are getting on; so don't be impatient. Now take my belt, Gilbert, and bind his legs together in the same way. Harder, boy! you don't half pull! There, that is better. I am sorry to do this, Colonel, but assassins and those who murder without knowing why must be carefully looked to," Uncle Job ran on in a chatty way, as if costuming a friend and being desirous of doing it well, even at some personal inconvenience. "Now, Colonel, I must ask you to lie down. There, so, so! That will do; and let me advise you to keep still if you value your life, for I am in a mood to kill you," Uncle Job added, soberly enough, examining Burke's fastenings as he spoke, tightening them and turning the belts about so that the buckles could not be reached.To all that was said and done, Burke made no response, seeming to feel that it was useless to make remonstrance. Indeed, his discovery and the dead man lying in full view told him that to beg for mercy was a waste of breath. When at last Uncle Job had things fixed to his liking, he stopped, and looking at Burke, said:"Now that we have some leisure, Burke, I should like to know how it happens you are here, and an outlaw, for when I saw you last you were about to return to Mississippi.""Yes, and I should, except for your robbing me of my winnings, curse you!" he answered, but mildly, and as if speaking to a friend."What difference did that make?" Uncle Job asked."All the difference in the world, for I could then have recouped myself, but being under a ban I dared not go back empty-handed.""Then it was for both gain and revenge that you were going to kill me to-night?""Were you the man I was waiting for?" Burke asked, in surprise."Yes, and you knew it.""No; for if I had I would have gone to Appletop to make sure of killing you," Burke answered."I should have thought Blott's murder enough for one night," Uncle Job answered, impatiently."That was nothing. He brought it on himself, the fool! And I should have slept soundly for a week could I have killed you, too. That is the way such things affect me," Burke replied, looking Uncle Job coldly in the face."Have you no conscience?" the latter asked, out of all patience."Don't talk cant! Conscience is a matter of digestion. If that is good, I sleep soundly; if not, a cricket will make me start with fear.""Have you no mercy, either, Burke?" Uncle Job asked."No, not if it would rob me of a crumb or a drop of water I craved. It is every one for himself as I look at it.""You devil! You don't deserve to live.""Yes, as much as you. We are both animals, only differently built. You can live on vegetables, but I must have meat and plenty of it, and not cooked too well, either.""Well, all this leads to nothing; but I should like to ask you a question, Burke, and if you are wise, you will answer it frankly," Uncle Job responded."You can ask as many as you like, and I will do as I think best about answering them, Mr. Throckmorton," the other replied, with a soft purr in his voice, as if speaking to a comrade."What I want to know is, who told you I was to pass this way to-night, if, indeed, any one told you?""Well, really, I should like to oblige you, but you will have to excuse me," Burke answered, looking at Uncle Job as if it pained him beyond expression to refuse his request."Then you refuse to tell?" Uncle Job replied, disappointment clearly showing in his voice."Thank you, yes; I can't, really. And now may I ask you a question in return?" Burke answered."Yes, but I will not promise to answer you," Uncle Job replied, shortly."Of course not, Mr. Throckmorton, of course not. It is nothing of importance, anyway.""Well, what is it, Burke?""It is this, if you don't mind. Who told you I was waiting by the roadside for you?""I don't know that there is any harm in telling you, but I guess I had better not," Uncle Job replied, glancing at me. "Perhaps it was the same person who told you I was coming this way. Who knows? I will make a bargain with you, though, Burke, if you have a mind. Answer my question and I will answer yours."To this Burke made no reply, shutting his mouth as if it concealed a secret of the greatest value to him."Very well; we will say no more about it," Uncle Job continued. "Now, Gilbert, if you will look after him, I will see if I can do anything for Blott." And going into the cabin, he got down on his knees and commenced to work over the fallen man as before. "His heart flutters and there is life in him, if I only knew how to get at it, but that is just where I fail," he exclaimed at last, rising to his feet. "We must have a doctor, Gilbert, and quickly, if he is to be saved.""A doctor!" I answered."Yes; and to get him we must go to Appletop.""Blott will surely die before he could reach here," I answered."Perhaps not, if you were to go without loss of time," Uncle Job replied, looking at me inquiringly."I'll not go," I answered, shortly, determined not to leave him alone with Burke."Why not? No harm can come to you, and I am as safe here as in bed. Besides, it may save Blott's life. You are not strong enough, though, to stand the ride, I am afraid," he added, scanning my face."I'm all right, but I wouldn't know where to go," I answered."Oh, that will be easy enough. The road we came leads there, and you can't miss it. In the middle of the town as you go forward there is a park where all the roads meet, and at the end of the one you are following there is a tavern, with a wide porch and green blinds. Stop there and tell them what is wanted, and they will do the rest.""I can't leave you here alone," I answered, nowise inclined to do as he said."There is no danger; and how will I dispose of Burke if you don't go for help?" he replied."All right, I'll go," I answered, seeing there was no other way."That is a brave lad! Tell them to send a surgeon and a man to aid. There! not another word. The dapple-gray mare is as gentle as a lamb, and will carry you like the wind"; and without saying more he went and brought her to where I stood, and lifting me into the saddle, shortened the stirrups and tightened the girth. "Don't spare her, my lad. She is good for fifty miles, and a better horse you never had at Wild Plum, if you have the strength to stand the ride.""I'm as strong as an ox," I answered; "and you know I'm used to horses.""Yes; but look well to the saddlebags, my boy, for the money is not mine. Now be off, and God bless you!" he cried, stepping back and waving me away.Glancing over my shoulder as I shot under the trees, he stood where I left him, watching and waving me a fond adieu. For a while the cool air and the novelty of my errand buoyed me up, but after a time, being greatly worn in body, I lost somewhat the security of my seat. This I thought due to the swaying of the overwrought animal, and not to any lack of steadiness on my part; but alarmed, I grasped the saddle, urging the horse with whip and rein to still greater speed. Going on, strive as I would, every trifling thing jarred my nerves and agitated my mind, and soon strange fantasies such as I had never seen before began to dance before my eyes. Riding with my back to the moon, my very shadow came to perplex me, as if it were some unnatural thing. Now it would run on ahead, as if afraid, only to halt directly for me to overtake it. Then, as if tired of the road, it would wander off into the bushes, climbing the sides of the hills and trees in the strangest possible way. Why did it not go on before me, as a shadow should? Then I would be conscious that its vagaries were caused by the windings and inequalities of the road, and nothing else; but straightway I had convinced myself that this was so, I would fall to speculating about it again, as if it somehow boded me evil. How strangely, too, the trees and road blended at times or were lost to sight in utter blackness! Surely there was some mist or storm coming on with the dawn! Then again I would seem to topple and fall from my horse, only to find myself a moment after holding hard and going faster than before. What strange forms the objects by the roadside took on, and how dim and tired my eyes with looking! Or was it the wind? Yes, that was it, for I was always affected that way at Wild Plum when riding at full speed. With all this, I was consumed with a burning desire to get on, and faster, as if the world were about to stop and the sky fall. This mare of Uncle Job's that he thought so fine, why, my pony could beat her; and with the thought I fell to pounding her sides with my heels to make her go the faster. What mattered the smoke that steamed from her sides and the foam that flecked her head and shoulders if she could do no better than this! Then changing, I would praise her, patting her shoulder and calling her the bravest horse in the world. How dreary and long the road, though! And its many devious windings! Why were these not straightened? The hills, too! Surely they might be made easier!Going on in this mood, the moon died out and the gray of the morning came on as I reached the open country, and looking away saw the great river, black and glimmering as if with a sickness of some kind. By this I knew I was far on my way, and urging my horse to still greater speed, rocking this way and that, I came at last, without expectation, full upon the town. Now indeed I was sure, but without halting or looking to right or left I flew onward, until in the uncertain light I came straight upon the park, as Uncle Job had said. Pulling my horse on her haunches, the little tavern, with its sign dangling in the still air, was at my very elbow. With the sight I slipped from my saddle and ran to the door, beating it with my hands and forehead, crying all the time, "Open! open! open!" No response, however, came to my summons until my voice grew hoarse with the effort. Then, as my strength was leaving me and my sight grew dim, the door flew open, and I fell forward into the arms of the man who held it. Of sense I had none left, nor of voice scarce enough to be heard, but clutching him as a drowning man might, I cried:"I'm from Uncle Job—he's at the cabin in Murderer's Hollow! Go—quick, and—take a surgeon—and help—and—and—look to the saddlebags, and—" But that was all, and sinking down, I thought I was dying, and was glad, as one might be who throws off a burden too heavy to bear.CHAPTER XXXICONSTANCEWhen I opened my eyes, I lay without moving, staring and unconscious of life as if I had never been. Presently, tiring with the effort, I sank back into the blackness and stillness of night. Awakening anew, and yet not knowing that I lived, something touched my lips, and I opened them as a young bird will, and swallowed what was given me. Drifting again into somber nothingness, I revived, but after what length of time or wherefore I did not know. Then a face bent over mine, and looking down into my glazed and staring eyes, started back with a sob or stifled cry. Now I began to watch the shadows of the room, as a child might, without knowing they were shadows or what they signified. Relapsing once more into unconsciousness, I awakened, and after a while fell to tracing the objects about me, and with some thought that I had seen them before, but distrustfully, so weak was my understanding. Thus days passed, wherein a shadowy face bent over mine, with sorrowful eyes that were always anxious and often filled with tears. Gaining strength, I made out, little by little, the things about me, and doing so, smiled as children will in their sleep or when a toy is flashed before their eyes. By and by the objects more distinct began to fix themselves, and in the guise of friends, but drifting, and purposely, as if to elude me.Thus the past came back, until at last I need no longer study the great canopied bed with its dangling laces, nor the faces of the king and his minister staring at me from off the wall. They were friends, and craning my neck, I looked about for the curious table, and in the sweep of my eye caught sight of my old enemy, the timber-wolf, above the door. I was not at Wild Plum, then! That was gone; but next to it, and now as dear, at the Dragon—Constance's home. Beyond the window were the big trees and Little Sandy, and about me the treasures that Constance and her father loved. Here it was I had dined and gone to sleep, and strange that it should seem so long when only a night had passed! It was time to rise, and with the thought I sought to lift my head, but all in vain. Falling back and resting, other thoughts came, and not like shadows: the flight from Wild Plum, Moth, the jail, Murderer's Hollow! At this last I shuddered, so real did it appear. Was it a dream after all, or was I dreaming now? Surely the one or the other! Worn out, I raised my hand; but how white and thin it looked! I had been ill, then, and so had never left the Dragon and Little Sandy. That was it; the things I remembered were visions and nothing else. Reasoning thus, I sighed as one will whose heart is weak or breaking; and scarce had it passed my lips ere a face dearer to me than all else in life bent over mine with a look of pity and tenderest love."Constance!""Gilbert!""Come nearer, dearest, so I can see you better," I whispered, after awhile, afraid to speak aloud lest the vision vanish."My face touches yours, Gilbert.""Then kiss me and put your arms about my neck," I answered, partly reassured."Yes, you dear child! I'll do anything you say.""Oh, I am so weary and tired, Constance," I answered, striving to return her caress."Yes, but you will be stronger soon if you lie still"; and the sweet angel laid her fingers on my lips, keeping her face close to mine as I had asked. Kissing her hand, I had no wish to disobey if only I might look into her eyes and feel her breath upon my face; and lest it should be only a dream, I lay still, and looking into her eyes, sank into a gentle sleep.Awakening, I found her bending over me with anxious eyes and troubled face."Constance! you are still there?""Yes, always.""Tell me I'm awake.""Yes, and better, you dear boy!""I'm at the Dragon, and you are surely Constance?" I asked, ready to cry out."Yes, you know I'm Constance"; and she bent over and kissed me as if the better to reassure me."I've had such dreams, Constance! such terrible dreams!""It's nothing, Gilbert. People with fevers always have dreams," she answered, caressing my face."I thought I left Little Sandy with Uncle Job, and then a lot of things happened.""Yes; but don't think of it any more. Dreams never come true, you know," she answered, placing her face beside mine."I won't; only I'm glad I'm in Little Sandy," I answered, lying still. When I next awoke Uncle Job and Setti were beside me, my hands clasped in theirs."You are better, Gilbert," Uncle Job spoke up, stopping short, as if something choked him."I'm all right," I answered, feeling stronger."You are a Little Prince, and my True Knight forever," Setti exclaimed, bending over me and taking my face in both her hands."I'll be anything you wish, Setti, you know," I answered, striving to answer with some spirit."Then I must be careful," she answered, smiling through her tears and kissing me."No, you mustn't," I cried, in great spirits. Then turning to Uncle Job I went on: "I'm sorry to have kept you here, uncle, but I couldn't help it. I've never been very strong, you know," I added, thinking how little a thing it took to upset me."I said I wanted to stay longer in Little Sandy, you remember," he replied, with a show of being cheerful."Your business needed you, though.""Men always say that, Gilbert," he answered, as if it were nothing."What about Aunt Jane?" I asked, fearing to speak her name."Oh, she will never bother you any more.""I'm glad of that, for I dreamed she had a man who followed me everywhere, giving me no peace.""Poor boy! but you must lie still, the doctor says, if you want to get well," he answered, turning away."I've a lot I want to say, Uncle Job," I cried, following him with my eyes."Yes, but not now, Gilbert," Constance interposed, coming to my side and laying her hand on my lips. "Your fever will surely come back if you don't keep quiet.""I must talk, or you'll all vanish and it will turn out to be a dream, I know it will," I answered, holding tight to her hand."No, for it's all real. Please lie still now, Gilbert; for my sake," she whispered, bending over me."I will if you'll stay and sit where I can see you"; and reaching out I sought to lay hold of her, but eluding me, as if she were a shadow, her form faded from my sight and I knew no more. Coming to again, my first thought was of her, and she, sweet angel, as if knowing it would be so, was there to meet my anxious look. When, however, I would have spoken, she placed her hand on my lips, saying:"You must not talk"; and kissing her hand, I was fain to do as she said.In this way many days passed, Constance giving me nourishment, and sitting beside me, her hand clasped in mine. When sometimes I would have talked in spite of her, she would leave her seat as if to go away; at which I would do as she wished, only looking always into her sweet face and gathering there some new hope of life and happiness."You are my little mother, Constance, only different from her, and not different either," I said one day."Yes, always your little mother," she answered, taking my hand."You will not go away as she did, though?" I answered, the fear of losing her being always uppermost in my mind, so sore was my heart."You dear boy, you know I will never leave you," she answered, smiling and patting my hand.Lying thus, my thoughts would sometimes wander, in spite of me, to the visions of my sickness, but if I sought to speak of them and so free my mind and have an end of it, Constance would not listen, saying dreams always came to those who had a fever. So, after a while, not being able to speak of them, they faded away, as such things will when treated irreverently. Thus, at last, I got the peace of mind I needed. Save a visit each day from Uncle Job and Setti, no one came near me except Constance and the doctor. When I slept, Constance rested beside me in a great chair, never seeming to eat nor sleep, nor desire to do either. The doctor I had never seen before, but that was not strange, not having much need of medicine up to this time. He had little to say save to tell me I would soon be on my feet if I but did as Constance told me. One day, however, more talkative than usual, he said, smiling on her, and softly tapping his medicine-case:"You have been ill to death, my lad, and but for this little woman, and the calomel and jalap, would have surely died.""I know it; and except for her I'd not care to live," I answered, my throat filling. Nothing, indeed, could exceed my love for the sweet girl, and it added to my happiness now to think I should always owe my life to her and her tender care.As I grew stronger, Setti came and sat beside me, and I have ever been grateful for this chance that made the gentle being known to me. For with her shy ways I else had never known her as the tender and good in woman should be by those who hold them in respect. As I gained strength Uncle Job's visits were more frequent, but further than caressing my hand or face he scarce said a word, so soft was his heart. The great care with which they watched over me I must believe to have been needed; for one day, when I disregarded some order of Constance's, I fell into such a dreadful faint that all their efforts to bring me to were vain, until Uncle Job and the doctor had been sent for; and thus I found them grouped about my bed when I revived. When at last I had gained strength and was pronounced out of danger, I one day asked Constance if Aunt Jane had been to see me, thinking it strange if she had not, even in one so cold. For a time Constance did not reply, and when she did it was not like her, but as if she were acting a part."No, your aunt has not been here, Gilbert. Do you care much?""I don't know. Only I thought she might have come while I was sick.""It's so far, Gilbert, you know.""So far! her farm is scarce half an hour's ride, Constance. She can't care for me. Or haven't you told her?""No, she doesn't know, Gilbert.""Oh," I answered, not wondering much, but still feeling as if she ought to have been told. "Didn't you want her to know?""We thought to write her, but put it off from day to day, hoping you would be better.""To write her?" I answered, only the more puzzled."You don't understand, Gilbert," Constance answered, moving about the room, as she had a way of doing when anyway disturbed. After a while, recovering herself, she went on, "Suppose your aunt is farther away than you think, Gilbert?""I don't understand, Constance, unless she is dead or has moved away," I answered, greatly disturbed."Suppose this is not Little Sandy, but Appletop. What would you say to that, Gilbert?" she asked, kissing me.At this I was more bewildered than ever, not being able in any way to make out the sense of what she was saying."How can that be and you here?" I answered at last."Well, would it be so very strange? I might be in Appletop, you know," she answered, as if leading me on."This room, too! It couldn't be in both places!" I cried, thinking that for some reason she was seeking to mislead me."Might we not have moved to Appletop and brought these things with us? That would make it clear," she answered, bending over me."Yes—I don't know—only tell me quick!" I answered."That is how it is, Gilbert. This is not Little Sandy, but Appletop," she replied, pressing her face down close beside mine. After a while, raising her head and smiling on me in tenderest love, she added: "Are you glad, Gilbert!""Yes, you being here," I answered, not so much surprised after all, if the truth were told, for I could never quite make myself believe that some part of my dream was not true. "I so longed to see you after we left Little Sandy," I went on, "that I always wished myself back, though a hundred Moths and Aunt Janes were in the way.""Then you are not worried?" she asked, kissing me again."No; why should I be? but have I been sick long?""Yes, many weeks.""How did it happen? I can't remember that I was ailing," I answered."You broke down that morning when you came to our door, and for weeks knew nobody, but raved continually about Moth and Burke and the wild animals that had you imprisoned in a tree of some kind.""Did I talk about such things?" I asked"Yes.""I'm a poor stick, always breaking down and making a show of myself," I answered, ashamed of my weakness."No, you are not. The doctor said your sickness was brought on by fatigue and lack of food and sleep. It was your coming to, though, he most dreaded, fearing you would lose your mind.""Now I see why I am in this room, and why you have made it like the old one," I answered, tears coming to my eyes at the thought of their kindness."Yes, we fixed it up like the other so you would think you were in Little Sandy. See," she added, going to the window and throwing back the curtain, "this is not the old square, but another, larger and finer, with a house hidden away in the trees.""Where all the roads meet, as Uncle Job said," I answered, putting my arm about her and kissing her in such delight of living as I had never known before."There; you will bring on your fever again if you act in that way, you wild boy!" she answered, drawing back."I don't care if I do," I answered, reaching out and taking her hand and pressing it to my lips."Then you don't mind my not telling you all this before?" she asked, as if she had been in doubt how I would take the part she had played in misleading me."No, for now I'll not have to leave you again. Tell me, Constance," I asked, after a while, "why has your father not been to see me? I've looked for him every day.""He had to go back to Little Sandy, but will be here in a few days. It was he who caught you that morning.""Was it? I couldn't see.""We never expected to hear you speak again, for you lay for hours as if dead. Then sleeping and waking you uttered frightful cries, and for weeks we stood about your bed, watching and praying," Constance answered, tears dimming her soft eyes at the remembrance.The next day, being stronger than ever, Constance said I might talk, and with that I fell to questioning her about everything that had happened, and particularly about Uncle Job, who, next to her, was ever uppermost in my thoughts."Did some one go to Uncle Job that night?" I asked."Yes; papa and the doctor.""What did they find?" I asked, lifting myself up."They found your Uncle Job guarding Burke and trying to bring the other man to life," she replied."Did he succeed?" I asked, remembering poor Blott, and with what courage he had stood up at the last."No; but the doctor soon brought him to.""How is he now?""He is well and at work about the stables. Papa doesn't think he is bad, only weak, and that Burke misled him.""Burke!" I exclaimed, a tremor creeping over me at the thought of that cruel villain and his soft, purring way. "What did they do with him?""They put him in prison, but when Blott refused to appear against him he was released.""Why wouldn't Blott appear?" I asked, surprised."Every one urged him to, but he said he was as bad as Burke.""They ought not to have let Burke go!" I cried, thinking of Uncle Job."That is what papa said, but the jail was full and they would have had to board him, and the town being poor, they didn't want to do that, no one appearing against him.""It's too bad," I answered, all Burke's cunning and wickedness rising before me. "Didn't Uncle Job try to detain him?""No; and he seemed much relieved when Burke was released and left the town, at which we all wondered.""It was like him not to think of himself," I answered, remembering the Singletons, and why Uncle Job should wish Burke anywhere but in Appletop."Has he anything to fear from Burke any more than others?" Constance asked, as if my alarm had in some way communicated itself to her."Oh, hasn't he told you?" I asked, stopping short; for if uncle had said nothing about the conspiracy to kill him, ought I to tell?"No."At this I wondered, not being able to see any reason why he should not have told Mr. Seymour. Anyway, I determined to tell Constance, and this I did, but without referring to the Singletons or what happened on the boat. Constance thought it strange, and straightway began to wonder who there could be in Appletop that wished Uncle Job harm, but fruitlessly. Indeed, after a while we concluded it was but a ruse of Burke's to give him an excuse for keeping more than his share of the money. This, we made up our minds, was what Uncle Job thought, and so when he came to visit me I ventured to say as much, but without his vouchsafing any reply."Did Uncle Job get hurt that night?" I asked, continuing my talk with Constance, the better to keep her by my side."No; but when he saw you on his return he was nearly crazed, blaming himself for all you suffered. Nor did he leave the house until the doctor pronounced you out of danger. He was like one out of his mind, and would not go to his room, but slept on a cot before your door. Had you died it would have killed him, the doctor said, so much was he wrought up over your misfortunes.""Poor uncle! he was in no way to blame," I answered. "Tell me, Constance, how it was that you came to leave Little Sandy?" I asked, flying from one thing to another, as people will whose minds are weak. "You had no thought of it when I came away.""No; but papa had grown to dislike the place. After my mother died he wanted to leave, and when your father and mother were gone, he was still more inclined that way. So when your Uncle Job wrote to him to come to Appletop, he did not wait to write, but taking everything, we drove across the country, following the route you took. When we got here we were disappointed not to find you, papa not less than I, for you know he has loved you as if you were his son since that day you saved my life."At this, too full for speech, I drew her to my side and kissed her. For the doctor would have it that I should lie in bed part of the day, to ease my heart, he said—though why my heart should need easing I could not understand; but doctors—once they get you at a disadvantage—exact all kinds of things of you, as every one knows, though for good reasons, it is probable, in most cases."How long have you been in Appletop?" I went on, that I might still hear her voice."We had only been here a little while when you came.""How did you find time to fix this room?" I asked, wondering, it was so like the other."It gave us a lot of trouble, for carpenters are hard to get here; but papa is pleased, for it is dearer to him than everything else.""I know; and have you named this place the Dragon?" I asked, smoothing out her hair, which was ever inclined to fly apart as if impatient of restraint."Yes; for any other would seem odd.""The sign, too, is it like the old one?""Worse, because better painted, papa says. He does better in water-colors though.""Did he paint it?""Yes.""Can he paint real pictures, too?" I asked, thinking how beautiful she was with the sun shining in her hair."Yes, but no one is to know it," she replied; "though why, I don't know.""No?" I answered, gazing on her dear form and thinking how much more fortunate I was than other youths, and all because of her love and tender ways.
CHAPTER XXX
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
When Burke had assured himself a second time that Blott was dead, he reloaded his pistol and hurriedly left the cabin. Waiting till he was gone, I crept to the corner of the building and watched him as he crossed the open space and disappeared in the shadows of the trees. Overcome, I had now but one desire, and that to leave this place of death; and turning, I fled across the moonlit space, past the graves and dangling ropes, to the woods beyond. Directing my course in the direction I had been following, I made a wide detour that I might strike the highway at the top of the hill instead of the bottom, as I had thought. Reaching the road at last, worn out with fatigue, I threw myself down, the better to regain my lost strength. As I lay outstretched, I listened to catch, if I might, the report of Burke's pistol. In vain, however; but perhaps the distance was too great; or what if the traveler had not yet reached the valley! At the thought I sprang to my feet and ran on, hoping I might yet be in time to warn him of his danger. Stopping at intervals to listen, no sound reached my ears save the moan of the wind and the far-off cry of some night-bird in quest of its prey. At last, discouraged and worn out, I threw myself down beside the road, careless of all else if I might only rest and sleep.
As my face touched the ground, and ere I could close my eyes, there struck upon my ear the far-off rhythmical beat of a horse's hoofs at full gallop. Angry at being disturbed, I arose, but standing upright I could hear it no more. Relieved, I lay down again; but no sooner had my head touched the cool earth than the sound came to me once more, and now nearer and deeper than before. There could be no mistake this time, and rising to my feet, the steady pulse-beat of the galloping horse rose full and clear on the still air, saying as in words, "Coming, coming, coming!" Or some obstruction intervening, it would die away, calling back, as in sad adieu, "Going, going, going!" Then the obstruction cleared, or the ground hardening, it came again, clear and welcome as before, "Coming, coming, coming!" Thus I stood trembling and impatient, counting the hoof-beats as the horse came swiftly on. Surely this must be the man I sought; and so believing, I braced myself and waited. As the horse neared the spot where I stood half-hidden by the overhanging trees, it shied at sight of me, but the rider, keeping control with one hand, drew a pistol with the other, and would have fired had I not cried out:
"Stop! stop! stop!"
Bewildered, he hesitated, but distrustfully, calling in fierce anger:
"Throw up your hands, and come into the light, or I will kill you!"
Hastening to do as he said, and the moon striking my face as I stepped into the road, he lowered his pistol, crying out:
"My God, Gilbert!"
Recognizing Uncle Job's voice, I answered, but hardly above a whisper, so overcome was I at seeing him.
"Great heavens! what are you doing here?" he went on, springing from his horse; but I knew no more till I found myself lying in the road and he bending over me.
"There, you are coming round; but, my God! how pale and wan you look, and how torn your face! Have you been ill, or what is the matter?" he asked, his voice choked and trembling.
"No, I'm all right," I answered; and indeed the sight of him filled me with such happiness that my weariness left me ere I had finished speaking.
"There! do not get up. Lie where you are, and when you are strong enough you can tell me how it happens that you are here and alone, and at this time of night," he replied, his face clouded with anxiety.
"I ran away to escape Moth; but I've something else to tell you," I answered, remembering the tragedy at the cabin and Burke waiting beside the road, "and it's about you," I went on, overcome by the recollection.
"There is no hurry to tell it," he answered, tenderly. "We can stay here till morning for all the difference it will make; so calm yourself."
"There is need, though, for Burke is waiting by the road to kill you," I answered, getting to my feet and striving to overcome my weakness.
"What is that you say? Some one waiting to kill me?" he asked, peering into my face, as if he thought I had lost my senses.
"Yes; I heard them planning it in the cabin in Murderer's Hollow," I answered, simply.
"Good heavens! what could have taken you there, Gilbert?" he asked, as if still doubting what I said.
"I was crossing the valley, and reached the cabin as the robbers came up," I answered, striving to make myself clear, "and seeing them first, hid in the shadow of the hut."
"You said one before, and now you say two," he answered, as if the discrepancy confirmed his thought that I was mad.
"There were two—Burke and Blott."
"Burke and Blott?"
"Yes; our Blott, and Burke, who robbed Mr. Singleton; but when Blott refused to aid, Burke killed him."
"What is all this you are telling me, my poor boy?" he replied, his voice shaking. "Surely you are dreaming."
"No, I'm not; and afterward Burke hurried away to wait your coming."
"Burke! What on earth can he be doing here, unless, indeed, he has been driven from his home, and so turned outlaw. Did he know it was me?"
"I think not, for I never thought of you at all."
"How did he know I was coming this way to-night?"
"Some one in Appletop sent him word, he said."
"He only wanted to rob me. He could not have wished to kill me, unless in revenge!" Uncle Job answered, inquiringly.
"Yes, both rob and kill you, and as it had been agreed between him and the person in Appletop, he said."
Upon this I told Uncle Job all that I had heard and seen at the cabin. When I had finished, he stood for a long time silent, asking himself over and over again who it was that could have informed Burke of his coming, or that desired his death, and wherefore, if, indeed, it was not a ruse of Burke's to deceive Blott.
"I can't make it out," he said at last. "The river is too low for boats to pass the rapids, so I had to come this way, and started late on purpose to avoid highwaymen, for I have a lot of money with me."
"Burke knew all about it," I answered; "even the hour you were to start."
"Then it is lucky I was delayed; but I have still time to pay my respects to him, the villain!" he answered, throwing the rein over his horse's neck.
"Time to do what?" I asked.
"To go on to the cabin and take or kill Burke, the cold-blooded assassin!" he answered, grimly.
"No, no! You'll not do that, Uncle Job, surely!" I cried.
"Yes, I must have Burke, or know who it is that sent him word. My life may depend upon it hereafter."
"He'll kill you! He's a devil, but soft and purring like a cat," I answered, remembering Burke's way.
"I will not give him a chance. Besides, Blott may not be dead."
"I know he is, for his hand dropped like lead," I answered.
"Very likely, and deserves it for the company he was in; but pistols don't always kill. You stay here," he went on, preparing to mount; "there is no danger, and I will be back in an hour."
"No. If you're going, I'm going, too," I answered, determined not to be alone again in this forest, so full of horrors.
"Well, do as you like. There will be no danger if we can reach the place without being seen."
"That'll be easy enough, for the trees will hide us; but I wish you'd go back to Appletop," I answered, full of forebodings.
"To be shot from a bush to-morrow? No! I must find out who it is that seeks my life, if, indeed, there is any one save Burke himself."
"Burke'll never tell, I know he'll not," I answered, still hoping to dissuade him.
"Well, I will get him, anyway, and that will make one enemy the less to guard against," he replied, springing into the saddle.
Lifting me up behind him, he put spurs to his horse, and in a few minutes we reached the top of the bluff. Turning into the forest, we made our way to the grove back of the cabin, and here, fastening the horse, we crept forward on our hands and knees to the rear of the hut. Peering within, and everything being as I had left it, we made our way into the dark inclosure. Closing the door, Uncle Job went to Blott, bidding me keep a lookout for Burke; and this I could do through the opening in the wall without in any way betraying our presence. Trying first his pulse and then his heart, Uncle Job exclaimed at last:
"There is life in him, but whether he can be brought around or not is another thing." Saying which, he got down on his knees and began to beat the man's arms and chest, prying his mouth open at last, and breathing into it, as if he would force life into the body whether or no.
While thus engaged, Burke emerged from the shadows of the trees, and upon my crying out, Uncle Job got up, and taking a pistol in each hand, stationed himself in the middle of the room. Reaching the door, Burke pushed it open, and doing so, stood outlined in the bright moonlight. At this, and before he could enter or suspect our presence, Uncle Job cried out in a terrible voice:
"Throw up your hands, Burke, or you are a dead man!"
Surprised, the robber stepped back, wavering, as if uncertain whether to fly or grasp his weapons; but Uncle Job advancing, thrust his pistols forward, calling out again:
"Quick! before I kill you!" And upon this, Burke, with a dreadful oath, did as he was ordered.
"Thanks, Colonel, thanks!" Uncle Job went on, more quietly. "I had not expected to meet you so soon again; but back up a little, will you? There, that will do. Now, Gilbert, come and relieve him of his pistols. There is no danger, lad, for I will kill him if he stirs so much as a hair," he added, pressing the weapons close against Burke's breast. Doing as I was told, I went to the robber, and taking his pistols, hid them in the cabin. "We are getting on finely, Gilbert. Now see if he has a knife. Don't be afraid." Obeying, I took from Burke a murderous weapon, which I threw, with all my might into the surrounding weeds. All this while the robber stood still, his eyes darting this way and that, as a wild beast's might when suddenly brought to bay.
"Now, Colonel, I must trouble you to remove your coat. There, thank you! Gilbert, take off his belt and strap his arms to his body," Uncle Job went on, pleasantly, keeping his pistols all the while leveled upon Burke. "Tighter, lad, tighter! Don't leave any slack. We are getting on, Colonel, we are getting on; so don't be impatient. Now take my belt, Gilbert, and bind his legs together in the same way. Harder, boy! you don't half pull! There, that is better. I am sorry to do this, Colonel, but assassins and those who murder without knowing why must be carefully looked to," Uncle Job ran on in a chatty way, as if costuming a friend and being desirous of doing it well, even at some personal inconvenience. "Now, Colonel, I must ask you to lie down. There, so, so! That will do; and let me advise you to keep still if you value your life, for I am in a mood to kill you," Uncle Job added, soberly enough, examining Burke's fastenings as he spoke, tightening them and turning the belts about so that the buckles could not be reached.
To all that was said and done, Burke made no response, seeming to feel that it was useless to make remonstrance. Indeed, his discovery and the dead man lying in full view told him that to beg for mercy was a waste of breath. When at last Uncle Job had things fixed to his liking, he stopped, and looking at Burke, said:
"Now that we have some leisure, Burke, I should like to know how it happens you are here, and an outlaw, for when I saw you last you were about to return to Mississippi."
"Yes, and I should, except for your robbing me of my winnings, curse you!" he answered, but mildly, and as if speaking to a friend.
"What difference did that make?" Uncle Job asked.
"All the difference in the world, for I could then have recouped myself, but being under a ban I dared not go back empty-handed."
"Then it was for both gain and revenge that you were going to kill me to-night?"
"Were you the man I was waiting for?" Burke asked, in surprise.
"Yes, and you knew it."
"No; for if I had I would have gone to Appletop to make sure of killing you," Burke answered.
"I should have thought Blott's murder enough for one night," Uncle Job answered, impatiently.
"That was nothing. He brought it on himself, the fool! And I should have slept soundly for a week could I have killed you, too. That is the way such things affect me," Burke replied, looking Uncle Job coldly in the face.
"Have you no conscience?" the latter asked, out of all patience.
"Don't talk cant! Conscience is a matter of digestion. If that is good, I sleep soundly; if not, a cricket will make me start with fear."
"Have you no mercy, either, Burke?" Uncle Job asked.
"No, not if it would rob me of a crumb or a drop of water I craved. It is every one for himself as I look at it."
"You devil! You don't deserve to live."
"Yes, as much as you. We are both animals, only differently built. You can live on vegetables, but I must have meat and plenty of it, and not cooked too well, either."
"Well, all this leads to nothing; but I should like to ask you a question, Burke, and if you are wise, you will answer it frankly," Uncle Job responded.
"You can ask as many as you like, and I will do as I think best about answering them, Mr. Throckmorton," the other replied, with a soft purr in his voice, as if speaking to a comrade.
"What I want to know is, who told you I was to pass this way to-night, if, indeed, any one told you?"
"Well, really, I should like to oblige you, but you will have to excuse me," Burke answered, looking at Uncle Job as if it pained him beyond expression to refuse his request.
"Then you refuse to tell?" Uncle Job replied, disappointment clearly showing in his voice.
"Thank you, yes; I can't, really. And now may I ask you a question in return?" Burke answered.
"Yes, but I will not promise to answer you," Uncle Job replied, shortly.
"Of course not, Mr. Throckmorton, of course not. It is nothing of importance, anyway."
"Well, what is it, Burke?"
"It is this, if you don't mind. Who told you I was waiting by the roadside for you?"
"I don't know that there is any harm in telling you, but I guess I had better not," Uncle Job replied, glancing at me. "Perhaps it was the same person who told you I was coming this way. Who knows? I will make a bargain with you, though, Burke, if you have a mind. Answer my question and I will answer yours."
To this Burke made no reply, shutting his mouth as if it concealed a secret of the greatest value to him.
"Very well; we will say no more about it," Uncle Job continued. "Now, Gilbert, if you will look after him, I will see if I can do anything for Blott." And going into the cabin, he got down on his knees and commenced to work over the fallen man as before. "His heart flutters and there is life in him, if I only knew how to get at it, but that is just where I fail," he exclaimed at last, rising to his feet. "We must have a doctor, Gilbert, and quickly, if he is to be saved."
"A doctor!" I answered.
"Yes; and to get him we must go to Appletop."
"Blott will surely die before he could reach here," I answered.
"Perhaps not, if you were to go without loss of time," Uncle Job replied, looking at me inquiringly.
"I'll not go," I answered, shortly, determined not to leave him alone with Burke.
"Why not? No harm can come to you, and I am as safe here as in bed. Besides, it may save Blott's life. You are not strong enough, though, to stand the ride, I am afraid," he added, scanning my face.
"I'm all right, but I wouldn't know where to go," I answered.
"Oh, that will be easy enough. The road we came leads there, and you can't miss it. In the middle of the town as you go forward there is a park where all the roads meet, and at the end of the one you are following there is a tavern, with a wide porch and green blinds. Stop there and tell them what is wanted, and they will do the rest."
"I can't leave you here alone," I answered, nowise inclined to do as he said.
"There is no danger; and how will I dispose of Burke if you don't go for help?" he replied.
"All right, I'll go," I answered, seeing there was no other way.
"That is a brave lad! Tell them to send a surgeon and a man to aid. There! not another word. The dapple-gray mare is as gentle as a lamb, and will carry you like the wind"; and without saying more he went and brought her to where I stood, and lifting me into the saddle, shortened the stirrups and tightened the girth. "Don't spare her, my lad. She is good for fifty miles, and a better horse you never had at Wild Plum, if you have the strength to stand the ride."
"I'm as strong as an ox," I answered; "and you know I'm used to horses."
"Yes; but look well to the saddlebags, my boy, for the money is not mine. Now be off, and God bless you!" he cried, stepping back and waving me away.
Glancing over my shoulder as I shot under the trees, he stood where I left him, watching and waving me a fond adieu. For a while the cool air and the novelty of my errand buoyed me up, but after a time, being greatly worn in body, I lost somewhat the security of my seat. This I thought due to the swaying of the overwrought animal, and not to any lack of steadiness on my part; but alarmed, I grasped the saddle, urging the horse with whip and rein to still greater speed. Going on, strive as I would, every trifling thing jarred my nerves and agitated my mind, and soon strange fantasies such as I had never seen before began to dance before my eyes. Riding with my back to the moon, my very shadow came to perplex me, as if it were some unnatural thing. Now it would run on ahead, as if afraid, only to halt directly for me to overtake it. Then, as if tired of the road, it would wander off into the bushes, climbing the sides of the hills and trees in the strangest possible way. Why did it not go on before me, as a shadow should? Then I would be conscious that its vagaries were caused by the windings and inequalities of the road, and nothing else; but straightway I had convinced myself that this was so, I would fall to speculating about it again, as if it somehow boded me evil. How strangely, too, the trees and road blended at times or were lost to sight in utter blackness! Surely there was some mist or storm coming on with the dawn! Then again I would seem to topple and fall from my horse, only to find myself a moment after holding hard and going faster than before. What strange forms the objects by the roadside took on, and how dim and tired my eyes with looking! Or was it the wind? Yes, that was it, for I was always affected that way at Wild Plum when riding at full speed. With all this, I was consumed with a burning desire to get on, and faster, as if the world were about to stop and the sky fall. This mare of Uncle Job's that he thought so fine, why, my pony could beat her; and with the thought I fell to pounding her sides with my heels to make her go the faster. What mattered the smoke that steamed from her sides and the foam that flecked her head and shoulders if she could do no better than this! Then changing, I would praise her, patting her shoulder and calling her the bravest horse in the world. How dreary and long the road, though! And its many devious windings! Why were these not straightened? The hills, too! Surely they might be made easier!
Going on in this mood, the moon died out and the gray of the morning came on as I reached the open country, and looking away saw the great river, black and glimmering as if with a sickness of some kind. By this I knew I was far on my way, and urging my horse to still greater speed, rocking this way and that, I came at last, without expectation, full upon the town. Now indeed I was sure, but without halting or looking to right or left I flew onward, until in the uncertain light I came straight upon the park, as Uncle Job had said. Pulling my horse on her haunches, the little tavern, with its sign dangling in the still air, was at my very elbow. With the sight I slipped from my saddle and ran to the door, beating it with my hands and forehead, crying all the time, "Open! open! open!" No response, however, came to my summons until my voice grew hoarse with the effort. Then, as my strength was leaving me and my sight grew dim, the door flew open, and I fell forward into the arms of the man who held it. Of sense I had none left, nor of voice scarce enough to be heard, but clutching him as a drowning man might, I cried:
"I'm from Uncle Job—he's at the cabin in Murderer's Hollow! Go—quick, and—take a surgeon—and help—and—and—look to the saddlebags, and—" But that was all, and sinking down, I thought I was dying, and was glad, as one might be who throws off a burden too heavy to bear.
CHAPTER XXXI
CONSTANCE
When I opened my eyes, I lay without moving, staring and unconscious of life as if I had never been. Presently, tiring with the effort, I sank back into the blackness and stillness of night. Awakening anew, and yet not knowing that I lived, something touched my lips, and I opened them as a young bird will, and swallowed what was given me. Drifting again into somber nothingness, I revived, but after what length of time or wherefore I did not know. Then a face bent over mine, and looking down into my glazed and staring eyes, started back with a sob or stifled cry. Now I began to watch the shadows of the room, as a child might, without knowing they were shadows or what they signified. Relapsing once more into unconsciousness, I awakened, and after a while fell to tracing the objects about me, and with some thought that I had seen them before, but distrustfully, so weak was my understanding. Thus days passed, wherein a shadowy face bent over mine, with sorrowful eyes that were always anxious and often filled with tears. Gaining strength, I made out, little by little, the things about me, and doing so, smiled as children will in their sleep or when a toy is flashed before their eyes. By and by the objects more distinct began to fix themselves, and in the guise of friends, but drifting, and purposely, as if to elude me.
Thus the past came back, until at last I need no longer study the great canopied bed with its dangling laces, nor the faces of the king and his minister staring at me from off the wall. They were friends, and craning my neck, I looked about for the curious table, and in the sweep of my eye caught sight of my old enemy, the timber-wolf, above the door. I was not at Wild Plum, then! That was gone; but next to it, and now as dear, at the Dragon—Constance's home. Beyond the window were the big trees and Little Sandy, and about me the treasures that Constance and her father loved. Here it was I had dined and gone to sleep, and strange that it should seem so long when only a night had passed! It was time to rise, and with the thought I sought to lift my head, but all in vain. Falling back and resting, other thoughts came, and not like shadows: the flight from Wild Plum, Moth, the jail, Murderer's Hollow! At this last I shuddered, so real did it appear. Was it a dream after all, or was I dreaming now? Surely the one or the other! Worn out, I raised my hand; but how white and thin it looked! I had been ill, then, and so had never left the Dragon and Little Sandy. That was it; the things I remembered were visions and nothing else. Reasoning thus, I sighed as one will whose heart is weak or breaking; and scarce had it passed my lips ere a face dearer to me than all else in life bent over mine with a look of pity and tenderest love.
"Constance!"
"Gilbert!"
"Come nearer, dearest, so I can see you better," I whispered, after awhile, afraid to speak aloud lest the vision vanish.
"My face touches yours, Gilbert."
"Then kiss me and put your arms about my neck," I answered, partly reassured.
"Yes, you dear child! I'll do anything you say."
"Oh, I am so weary and tired, Constance," I answered, striving to return her caress.
"Yes, but you will be stronger soon if you lie still"; and the sweet angel laid her fingers on my lips, keeping her face close to mine as I had asked. Kissing her hand, I had no wish to disobey if only I might look into her eyes and feel her breath upon my face; and lest it should be only a dream, I lay still, and looking into her eyes, sank into a gentle sleep.
Awakening, I found her bending over me with anxious eyes and troubled face.
"Constance! you are still there?"
"Yes, always."
"Tell me I'm awake."
"Yes, and better, you dear boy!"
"I'm at the Dragon, and you are surely Constance?" I asked, ready to cry out.
"Yes, you know I'm Constance"; and she bent over and kissed me as if the better to reassure me.
"I've had such dreams, Constance! such terrible dreams!"
"It's nothing, Gilbert. People with fevers always have dreams," she answered, caressing my face.
"I thought I left Little Sandy with Uncle Job, and then a lot of things happened."
"Yes; but don't think of it any more. Dreams never come true, you know," she answered, placing her face beside mine.
"I won't; only I'm glad I'm in Little Sandy," I answered, lying still. When I next awoke Uncle Job and Setti were beside me, my hands clasped in theirs.
"You are better, Gilbert," Uncle Job spoke up, stopping short, as if something choked him.
"I'm all right," I answered, feeling stronger.
"You are a Little Prince, and my True Knight forever," Setti exclaimed, bending over me and taking my face in both her hands.
"I'll be anything you wish, Setti, you know," I answered, striving to answer with some spirit.
"Then I must be careful," she answered, smiling through her tears and kissing me.
"No, you mustn't," I cried, in great spirits. Then turning to Uncle Job I went on: "I'm sorry to have kept you here, uncle, but I couldn't help it. I've never been very strong, you know," I added, thinking how little a thing it took to upset me.
"I said I wanted to stay longer in Little Sandy, you remember," he replied, with a show of being cheerful.
"Your business needed you, though."
"Men always say that, Gilbert," he answered, as if it were nothing.
"What about Aunt Jane?" I asked, fearing to speak her name.
"Oh, she will never bother you any more."
"I'm glad of that, for I dreamed she had a man who followed me everywhere, giving me no peace."
"Poor boy! but you must lie still, the doctor says, if you want to get well," he answered, turning away.
"I've a lot I want to say, Uncle Job," I cried, following him with my eyes.
"Yes, but not now, Gilbert," Constance interposed, coming to my side and laying her hand on my lips. "Your fever will surely come back if you don't keep quiet."
"I must talk, or you'll all vanish and it will turn out to be a dream, I know it will," I answered, holding tight to her hand.
"No, for it's all real. Please lie still now, Gilbert; for my sake," she whispered, bending over me.
"I will if you'll stay and sit where I can see you"; and reaching out I sought to lay hold of her, but eluding me, as if she were a shadow, her form faded from my sight and I knew no more. Coming to again, my first thought was of her, and she, sweet angel, as if knowing it would be so, was there to meet my anxious look. When, however, I would have spoken, she placed her hand on my lips, saying:
"You must not talk"; and kissing her hand, I was fain to do as she said.
In this way many days passed, Constance giving me nourishment, and sitting beside me, her hand clasped in mine. When sometimes I would have talked in spite of her, she would leave her seat as if to go away; at which I would do as she wished, only looking always into her sweet face and gathering there some new hope of life and happiness.
"You are my little mother, Constance, only different from her, and not different either," I said one day.
"Yes, always your little mother," she answered, taking my hand.
"You will not go away as she did, though?" I answered, the fear of losing her being always uppermost in my mind, so sore was my heart.
"You dear boy, you know I will never leave you," she answered, smiling and patting my hand.
Lying thus, my thoughts would sometimes wander, in spite of me, to the visions of my sickness, but if I sought to speak of them and so free my mind and have an end of it, Constance would not listen, saying dreams always came to those who had a fever. So, after a while, not being able to speak of them, they faded away, as such things will when treated irreverently. Thus, at last, I got the peace of mind I needed. Save a visit each day from Uncle Job and Setti, no one came near me except Constance and the doctor. When I slept, Constance rested beside me in a great chair, never seeming to eat nor sleep, nor desire to do either. The doctor I had never seen before, but that was not strange, not having much need of medicine up to this time. He had little to say save to tell me I would soon be on my feet if I but did as Constance told me. One day, however, more talkative than usual, he said, smiling on her, and softly tapping his medicine-case:
"You have been ill to death, my lad, and but for this little woman, and the calomel and jalap, would have surely died."
"I know it; and except for her I'd not care to live," I answered, my throat filling. Nothing, indeed, could exceed my love for the sweet girl, and it added to my happiness now to think I should always owe my life to her and her tender care.
As I grew stronger, Setti came and sat beside me, and I have ever been grateful for this chance that made the gentle being known to me. For with her shy ways I else had never known her as the tender and good in woman should be by those who hold them in respect. As I gained strength Uncle Job's visits were more frequent, but further than caressing my hand or face he scarce said a word, so soft was his heart. The great care with which they watched over me I must believe to have been needed; for one day, when I disregarded some order of Constance's, I fell into such a dreadful faint that all their efforts to bring me to were vain, until Uncle Job and the doctor had been sent for; and thus I found them grouped about my bed when I revived. When at last I had gained strength and was pronounced out of danger, I one day asked Constance if Aunt Jane had been to see me, thinking it strange if she had not, even in one so cold. For a time Constance did not reply, and when she did it was not like her, but as if she were acting a part.
"No, your aunt has not been here, Gilbert. Do you care much?"
"I don't know. Only I thought she might have come while I was sick."
"It's so far, Gilbert, you know."
"So far! her farm is scarce half an hour's ride, Constance. She can't care for me. Or haven't you told her?"
"No, she doesn't know, Gilbert."
"Oh," I answered, not wondering much, but still feeling as if she ought to have been told. "Didn't you want her to know?"
"We thought to write her, but put it off from day to day, hoping you would be better."
"To write her?" I answered, only the more puzzled.
"You don't understand, Gilbert," Constance answered, moving about the room, as she had a way of doing when anyway disturbed. After a while, recovering herself, she went on, "Suppose your aunt is farther away than you think, Gilbert?"
"I don't understand, Constance, unless she is dead or has moved away," I answered, greatly disturbed.
"Suppose this is not Little Sandy, but Appletop. What would you say to that, Gilbert?" she asked, kissing me.
At this I was more bewildered than ever, not being able in any way to make out the sense of what she was saying.
"How can that be and you here?" I answered at last.
"Well, would it be so very strange? I might be in Appletop, you know," she answered, as if leading me on.
"This room, too! It couldn't be in both places!" I cried, thinking that for some reason she was seeking to mislead me.
"Might we not have moved to Appletop and brought these things with us? That would make it clear," she answered, bending over me.
"Yes—I don't know—only tell me quick!" I answered.
"That is how it is, Gilbert. This is not Little Sandy, but Appletop," she replied, pressing her face down close beside mine. After a while, raising her head and smiling on me in tenderest love, she added: "Are you glad, Gilbert!"
"Yes, you being here," I answered, not so much surprised after all, if the truth were told, for I could never quite make myself believe that some part of my dream was not true. "I so longed to see you after we left Little Sandy," I went on, "that I always wished myself back, though a hundred Moths and Aunt Janes were in the way."
"Then you are not worried?" she asked, kissing me again.
"No; why should I be? but have I been sick long?"
"Yes, many weeks."
"How did it happen? I can't remember that I was ailing," I answered.
"You broke down that morning when you came to our door, and for weeks knew nobody, but raved continually about Moth and Burke and the wild animals that had you imprisoned in a tree of some kind."
"Did I talk about such things?" I asked
"Yes."
"I'm a poor stick, always breaking down and making a show of myself," I answered, ashamed of my weakness.
"No, you are not. The doctor said your sickness was brought on by fatigue and lack of food and sleep. It was your coming to, though, he most dreaded, fearing you would lose your mind."
"Now I see why I am in this room, and why you have made it like the old one," I answered, tears coming to my eyes at the thought of their kindness.
"Yes, we fixed it up like the other so you would think you were in Little Sandy. See," she added, going to the window and throwing back the curtain, "this is not the old square, but another, larger and finer, with a house hidden away in the trees."
"Where all the roads meet, as Uncle Job said," I answered, putting my arm about her and kissing her in such delight of living as I had never known before.
"There; you will bring on your fever again if you act in that way, you wild boy!" she answered, drawing back.
"I don't care if I do," I answered, reaching out and taking her hand and pressing it to my lips.
"Then you don't mind my not telling you all this before?" she asked, as if she had been in doubt how I would take the part she had played in misleading me.
"No, for now I'll not have to leave you again. Tell me, Constance," I asked, after a while, "why has your father not been to see me? I've looked for him every day."
"He had to go back to Little Sandy, but will be here in a few days. It was he who caught you that morning."
"Was it? I couldn't see."
"We never expected to hear you speak again, for you lay for hours as if dead. Then sleeping and waking you uttered frightful cries, and for weeks we stood about your bed, watching and praying," Constance answered, tears dimming her soft eyes at the remembrance.
The next day, being stronger than ever, Constance said I might talk, and with that I fell to questioning her about everything that had happened, and particularly about Uncle Job, who, next to her, was ever uppermost in my thoughts.
"Did some one go to Uncle Job that night?" I asked.
"Yes; papa and the doctor."
"What did they find?" I asked, lifting myself up.
"They found your Uncle Job guarding Burke and trying to bring the other man to life," she replied.
"Did he succeed?" I asked, remembering poor Blott, and with what courage he had stood up at the last.
"No; but the doctor soon brought him to."
"How is he now?"
"He is well and at work about the stables. Papa doesn't think he is bad, only weak, and that Burke misled him."
"Burke!" I exclaimed, a tremor creeping over me at the thought of that cruel villain and his soft, purring way. "What did they do with him?"
"They put him in prison, but when Blott refused to appear against him he was released."
"Why wouldn't Blott appear?" I asked, surprised.
"Every one urged him to, but he said he was as bad as Burke."
"They ought not to have let Burke go!" I cried, thinking of Uncle Job.
"That is what papa said, but the jail was full and they would have had to board him, and the town being poor, they didn't want to do that, no one appearing against him."
"It's too bad," I answered, all Burke's cunning and wickedness rising before me. "Didn't Uncle Job try to detain him?"
"No; and he seemed much relieved when Burke was released and left the town, at which we all wondered."
"It was like him not to think of himself," I answered, remembering the Singletons, and why Uncle Job should wish Burke anywhere but in Appletop.
"Has he anything to fear from Burke any more than others?" Constance asked, as if my alarm had in some way communicated itself to her.
"Oh, hasn't he told you?" I asked, stopping short; for if uncle had said nothing about the conspiracy to kill him, ought I to tell?
"No."
At this I wondered, not being able to see any reason why he should not have told Mr. Seymour. Anyway, I determined to tell Constance, and this I did, but without referring to the Singletons or what happened on the boat. Constance thought it strange, and straightway began to wonder who there could be in Appletop that wished Uncle Job harm, but fruitlessly. Indeed, after a while we concluded it was but a ruse of Burke's to give him an excuse for keeping more than his share of the money. This, we made up our minds, was what Uncle Job thought, and so when he came to visit me I ventured to say as much, but without his vouchsafing any reply.
"Did Uncle Job get hurt that night?" I asked, continuing my talk with Constance, the better to keep her by my side.
"No; but when he saw you on his return he was nearly crazed, blaming himself for all you suffered. Nor did he leave the house until the doctor pronounced you out of danger. He was like one out of his mind, and would not go to his room, but slept on a cot before your door. Had you died it would have killed him, the doctor said, so much was he wrought up over your misfortunes."
"Poor uncle! he was in no way to blame," I answered. "Tell me, Constance, how it was that you came to leave Little Sandy?" I asked, flying from one thing to another, as people will whose minds are weak. "You had no thought of it when I came away."
"No; but papa had grown to dislike the place. After my mother died he wanted to leave, and when your father and mother were gone, he was still more inclined that way. So when your Uncle Job wrote to him to come to Appletop, he did not wait to write, but taking everything, we drove across the country, following the route you took. When we got here we were disappointed not to find you, papa not less than I, for you know he has loved you as if you were his son since that day you saved my life."
At this, too full for speech, I drew her to my side and kissed her. For the doctor would have it that I should lie in bed part of the day, to ease my heart, he said—though why my heart should need easing I could not understand; but doctors—once they get you at a disadvantage—exact all kinds of things of you, as every one knows, though for good reasons, it is probable, in most cases.
"How long have you been in Appletop?" I went on, that I might still hear her voice.
"We had only been here a little while when you came."
"How did you find time to fix this room?" I asked, wondering, it was so like the other.
"It gave us a lot of trouble, for carpenters are hard to get here; but papa is pleased, for it is dearer to him than everything else."
"I know; and have you named this place the Dragon?" I asked, smoothing out her hair, which was ever inclined to fly apart as if impatient of restraint.
"Yes; for any other would seem odd."
"The sign, too, is it like the old one?"
"Worse, because better painted, papa says. He does better in water-colors though."
"Did he paint it?"
"Yes."
"Can he paint real pictures, too?" I asked, thinking how beautiful she was with the sun shining in her hair.
"Yes, but no one is to know it," she replied; "though why, I don't know."
"No?" I answered, gazing on her dear form and thinking how much more fortunate I was than other youths, and all because of her love and tender ways.