The question with which John Stevens troubled himself is one which any
modest man dislikes to put to himself. If love comes in answer to the
solicitation of love, the question is rarely asked; but if love has
come from an unexpected source, the result is an effort to reciprocate
that affection, or else a vague annoyance, a feeling of being injured
in some inexplicable way, which will intrude upon the consciousness.
The afternoon after his arrival John spent with a hungry, passionate
longing at his heart for a welcoming word from the one woman he had
loved so faithfully and so devotedly for years. As Diantha passed out
of the house on her way toward the river, he wondered why it was his
heart should cling so tenaciously to her, in spite of her coldness and
her neglect.
Why could not he love sweet Ellen best instead of the indifferent Dian,
she who sometimes wounded her best and dearest, if it happened to meet
her mind to do so? No use to ask; however, he knew that if he could not
win her love, eternity would hold a regret for him, for this woman had
become necessary to his happiness.
He sat under the cottonwood tree in the front yard as these reflections
passed through his mind, and pulling his long beard with some
impatience, he looked up in time to catch the laughing eyes of Ellen
Tyler as she passed one of the front windows.
"Why, John, you look as if you saw a whole cavalcade approaching our
house to drive us into the mountains. What on earth is the matter?"
"Nothing much, Ellen; come out and let's take a walk."
"All right, if you will go with me up into town, for Sister Winthrop
wants some things from the Tithing Office."
"Come on, then." And away they sauntered in the warm sunshine, John
determined to conquer his heart by the mere force of will, and Ellen as
determined to grasp this straw of protection and comfort which seemed
held out to her by the strong, safe hand of her loved friend.
John was really lover-like in his manner this afternoon, and poor,
perplexed Ellen's heart opened to the warm sunshine of that sympathy
like a half-withered, thirsty flower. Little by little, she confided to
him the story of Tom Allen's unfortunate dream, and she felt comforted
and strengthened by the serious and kindly way in which John explained
to her the irreverence manifested by Tom in thus attempting to jest
upon such a holy, solemn subject. And John was wise enough to palliate
Tom's error, so that Ellen was left with a peaceful, quieted heart,
which held no bitterness for Tom and very little of anger against Dian
for the unseemly mirth that young lady had manifested. How good, and
how wise John was! What a splendid soul was hid beneath his cool and
deliberate manner! Surely she could win his heart; at any rate she was
going to try.
"Do the soldiers come over on this side of the valley very often?" she
asked, as they had exhausted the other subject.
"I should hope not. I would not want to find any of them prowling
around here; it might be the worse for them, if I did," answered John
in a sort of low, threatening growl.
"Why, John, you would not object to their breathing the same air as we
do, would you?"
"It depends. I don't want them near this town, be assured of that."
A dim suspicion that the young officer she had met so often of late was
right in his surmise that her own people would kill him at sight if
they found him near their towns, made her ask another question:
"John, if you should happen to find one of those soldiers out shooting
or fishing near the river, would you try to do him any violence?"
Something in her tone gave him a vague uneasy twinge. He looked quietly
into the flushed face and bright uplifted eyes for a moment, and then
asked instead of answering:
"Ellen dear, have you ever seen one of those soldiers on this side of
the river?"
It took a great deal of courage for Ellen to answer that question
truthfully; yet with those keen, kindly, piercing eyes upon her, she
could but tell the story of her first meeting with Captain Sherwood,
leaving her story at the close of that long interview without adding
anything as to further meetings and conversations.
She was very glad she took this precaution, for she was fairly
frightened at the terrible expression of wrath which overspread the
features of her companion. He said not a word for several minutes, and
she grew seriously alarmed at the anger in those eyes, always bent upon
her in such kindness, as she wished heartily that she had said nothing
whatever about the matter. At last she ventured to say:
"What is it, John; are you angry with me? I could not help it."
The man divined at once that he had startled the girl, and perhaps
closed her lips for the future; so with a profound effort, he stilled
the tempest of wrath in his heart, and made out to laugh a little, as
he replied:
"What a bear I must be, to frighten an innocent child like you. No, my
dear girl, I am not nor could I be angry with you. You could never give
me cause for anger. I might be hurt or sorry about you, but you would
never make me angry."
He paused again, as if to collect himself still further, and then said:
"Tell me about it again, Ellen dear."
Thus quieted, Ellen began at the beginning.
"Did he say that the 'Mormons' had stabbed him?" asked John.
Ellen had to think a moment, and then answered: "No, I don't think he
mentioned 'Mormons,' but of course, I thought he meant 'Mormons.'"
As the story proceeded, John stopped her at every point, and insisted
on having the most explicit explanations. When the story was again
completed, John turned the keen, kindly eyes on her pleading face and
said:
"You were a brave, true girl to defend your people against the slanders
about the 'Danites;' and I don't think you have it in your power to run
away from a sick kitten, much less an injured man, if you thought you
could help him. So don't blame yourself one bit, it was all right so
far as you were concerned. But as for that devil in human form, let me
show you how improbable his whole story was. For instance, do you think
a man like that would ride around here to hunt and fish? He has seen
some girl down here"--Ellen was glad she did not say anything about the
bathing incident, "and has come over here hunting our girls to ruin and
destroy them. And do you think he would come without a pistol? And if
he had one, would he let someone get near enough to stab him? And if a
man wanted to kill him would he stop short with a cut on the arm? And
then, would such a man tie up the soldier's horse, safely to a tree, so
that he could get up and run away whenever he wanted to? Bosh, it was a
trick which no one but a trusting, unsuspecting woman would have been
ready to accept as a fact. But there, my dear, you are not to blame at
all; it is all over now, thank God, and I am very sure you will not go
out alone again, especially near the river, or far away from home in
any direction."
"Why, John, all our folks go down to the river at times; did not you
see Dian starting for a walk down there just as we were leaving the
house to come up here?"
Again that white, silent wrath spread over the face of her companion,
and added to it was a flaming redness which seemed to leap into his
eyes instead of his cheeks. The effect of her words frightened the girl
at his side. Truly he had seen Dian start out that way; he remembered
it all very clearly now, but in his proud endeavor to drive her out of
his heart, he had also driven her out of his mind.
"I dare say, John dear, she is expecting to meet Tom Allen or Charlie
Rose down by the river, for you know Dian has a way of always having a
string of beaus running after her."
This was said to comfort John, and to assist in driving from his face
that awful anger whose white silence so terrified her.
After a pause John asked her:
"Do you want to go with me down to the river and show me where it is
that you met this man? It is barely possible that Dian may have gone in
the same direction."
They were returning from town now, and Ellen answered:
"Of course she has, for the place where I met him is just where Dian
and I cleared away the underbrush purposely for a little shady retreat
for the both of us, and until we were mad at each other a few weeks
ago, we never went there alone, and rarely missed a day but washdays
and Sundays of going there to talk and rest. Of course, I will go with
you, only let us go by the house, so I can leave these things there for
Aunt Clara."
There was very little said on that riverward walk. Ellen was thinking
sadly of the many times she had met and talked with the young stranger,
of which she dared not speak to her companion, and of how foolish she
had been to run such risks. She was thinking, too, of Dian being down
there, and wondering with a vague jealousy if Dian had also been there
when she knew it not, and if she too was courting the admiration of
the officer. But she put this away in a moment, for she would not do
Dian the injustice to suppose that with all her proud and self-centered
spirit, she could deliberately do such a criminal, deceitful thing as
that would be. She forgot to designate her own conduct as severely
as she was doing the faintly supposed conduct of her friend. But,
then, Dian was such an eminently proper young woman that no one ever
suspected, much less accused her of doing anything unladylike or at all
imprudent.
As for poor John Stevens, he had been laboring for years, ever
since he had been a man, with a man's understanding of life and its
responsibilities, for the acquisition of the severe self-control
necessary to subdue his passionate nature. He had fought such a gallant
fight against his love for Diantha Winthrop, that no one, not even
Dian herself, suspected the profound emotions which had been so hard
for him to control. He had learned to control his temper, that fierce,
vicious thing, which his dead sainted mother had trained him from early
youth to hold in check; about which he had often prayed, aye, and
even fasted, that it might never rise beyond his power of government;
but now, indeed, when he felt both love and anger flooding his soul
in such an overwhelming tide, he was powerless to hold both flood
tides in check. His hands kept clinching and twisting in unavailing
impotence, and his throat was so dry and parched that he could not have
uttered a word. His whole being was for the time a darkened void, where
nought but a fearful apprehension and hot anger could penetrate his
consciousness.
He walked beside his companion in silence, which was far worse than
another man's rage.
"Why, John, I think I am more frightened of you than I was of the
soldier," said Ellen at last. The silence had become too oppressive
for her. "I can't imagine what ails you today. I thought you were the
gentlest and quietest of men."
John stopped short in their walk, looked up a moment into the burning
sky above him, stroked his beard with a slow motion, and with a little
preparatory cough to clear away the dryness in his throat, he said in
his drawling voice:
"Oh, don't be afraid; I would not injure even a soldier, if it were
not wise or right to do so, my girl. I feel a little angry, that is
all, that any one should seek to entangle our girls and draw them away
from the safety and purity of their own innocent happy lives. That is
all. Don't be afraid; I dare say both you and I are imagining a lot of
things which will never happen. You will soon forget all about this
handsome devil, while we will find Diantha down there quietly talking
with Tom or Charlie Rose, or some other nice fellow, and she will be
angry to see us come spying on her love affairs."
Yet, even as he spoke, his keen eyes detected away in the distant
trees, where the brush had been cut away and the eyes could travel
some distance in the green embrasure, a glint of a white dress, and he
was sure that the coat beside the dress was a blue one, not the dark
homespun he knew would be worn by his own people.
Both John and Ellen quieted every evidence of their approach, and Ellen
fell behind her companion, with a dreadful shrinking fear at her heart,
mixed even then with a bit of jealousy of her friend's apparent free
understanding with her own cavalier.
"What are you doing here?" growled a low, husky voice behind the two,
who were seated on a fallen tree, apparently absorbed in a book.
Diantha Winthrop looked up, startled, yet with full control of herself.
"Oh, John, this is Captain Sherwood, of the United States army, you
know, and he is reading Shakespeare to me, for you know how fond of
poetry I am."
"How did you come here?" again growled the husky voice, unheeding the
brave, frank explanation so coolly offered him.
The young officer threw back his head, partly because he was encouraged
by the apparent lack of fear on the part of his companion, and also
because of the fact that no matter if possessed of every fault and sin
in the decalogue, Captain Sherwood was no coward.
"Well, my good fellow, even if your question is not a very civil one, I
will give you a civil answer. I came here, as I usually go everywhere,
on the back of my trusty horse. I suppose that even a soldier is
permitted to go where he pleases in this free and semi-civilized domain
belonging to Uncle Sam. Have you any objections to my going wherever I
please?"
John folded his arms and waited quietly for more explanations.
The soldier also waited a moment, and then, constrained to say
something more, in spite of himself, he added:
"This young lady has condescended to let me read to her some of the
eloquent classics found in our immortal Shakespeare. But perhaps you
know nothing of poetry, and Shakespeare's name may not even have a
meaning for you."
The insolence of this reply did not provoke the other to outward anger,
although it certainly had its effect. Just at this moment Ellen came
out from her retreat, and as the soldier caught sight of her he swept
off his cap in a magnificent bow, and with a fine and dignified manner,
the manner of a southern gentleman to a woman he wishes to please, he
said softly:
"It is a rare pleasure to see Miss Tyler." Then as he saw that the
girl's face was white with fear, and her hands clasped in evident pain,
he bowed and added: "Do not be alarmed, madam; I am too insignificant
for your friend to seek to harm me, and as for him, it is sufficient
to know that he is your friend; he and his are sacred to me from
this moment; I would not injure him or them even if my life pays the
penalty."
There was a grandiosity about this speech which struck upon Dian's
nerves a little unpleasantly, but to Ellen the tone and manner seemed
the most gentlemanly and elegant she had ever witnessed; while his
evident emotion at seeing her flattered her vain soul with infinite
sweetness.
All this while John had stood watching everything and saying nothing.
At last Dian approached him, and laying her hand fearlessly upon his
arm, she said in a slightly shaken voice, although still with perfect
self-control:
"I hope, John, that you will remember that this gentleman has done
nothing offensive, and that it was my fault that he remained here to
read to me. You will allow him to return to his own place without the
least molestation from anyone. For the rest, I alone am to be held
responsible."
John groaned in spite of himself. Both the girls, like the women they
were, would not cast blame upon the sneaking man, thus taking away
his only weapon of revenge. That groan startled Dian, and made Ellen
tremble like a broken reed in the wind, and even the soldier's face
paled a little at its intensity. But Dian was equal to the occasion;
her fine common sense stood her in good stead. This was no time to be
romantic; good practical sense and reason was what they all needed now.
She caught hold of his arm with her own small but firm hand and said
calmly and distinctly:
"Look here, John Stevens, there's no sense in your getting angry. You
know well enough that President Young has said repeatedly that there
should be no blood spilt in these times, and you know, too, that this
gentleman is not to blame if a girl chooses to accept his invitation to
spend an hour in his company. Just calm yourself, for neither Ellen nor
I have committed any sin, and we are old enough to have some rights of
our own. And I am not going to be dictated to by any creature on this
earth, man or woman! Whatever you want to say to me must not be said in
anger."
John looked into the eyes of the woman beside him, and with such a
look! He was muttering under his breath: "Oh, God help me!" And the
anguish and love and anger and struggle for self-control which were
shown in that look shook even Dian's heart with a vague trembling which
she could not understand.
"Dian, you take Ellen and go home. I shall do nothing rash, God help
me, and you need have no fear; but I beg you to go quietly home, and
take good care of Ellen."
Moved by some inexplicable impulse, Dian drew herself close to him and
in a low whisper she said:
"Don't be harsh, John," and then lower still, "if you love me, John."