THE MORNING RIDE.
An old man and a young girl, followed at a little distance by a staid
looking man-servant, in the gubernatorial livery, all mounted on fine
horses, moved briskly through the forest road that ran between Boston
and Salem, on the morning when Barbara Stafford presented herself at the
minister's house. They had been abroad since the dawn, had watched the
sunrise shed its first gold on the pine tops and budding hemlock
branches, with the exhilaration which springs from a bright day. It was
with difficulty that the young girl could keep from giving her horse the
bit and dashing forward, she was so buoyant with animal life, so gay
with the sweet joy that filled her heart.
Elizabeth Parris could never do wrong in her father's eyes. When she now
and then gave her horse the rein and dashed under the forest boughs,
scattering the turf with a storm of diamonds as she passed, the old man
could only follow her with an anxious smile, till she wheeled again and
made her steed come dancing toward him on the sward. Then she would join
him, laughing so gayly in her saddle that the very robins sang louder as
they heard her, as if some mocking-bird had challenged them to a musical
rivalry.
"Look, father, look how beautiful the morning is," she cried, wheeling
her horse around the trunk of a great elm tree, that stood out on the
highway, and caracoling up to his side again; "every footpath which
leads to the forest seems paved with gold, all the branches overhead
quiver again as the dew that wets them begins to burn in the sun. You
are right, father--I feel it in the depths of my heart--you are right in
the pulpit and out, when you tell us to bless God forever and ever, that
he has made us this grand, beautiful world. Oh, I could sing like a
bird, but with a new tune, father; nothing that I have ever learned is
joyous enough for this heavenly morning."
"Heavenly! my child," said the minister, with a gentle effort at rebuke.
"Remember that the holy place, where our Lord rests, is sacred, and must
not be compared to things of earth."
"Why not, father? The same God created the heavens and the earth, and
all that in them is. So when every thing here seems like heaven, why not
say so in sweet thankfulness?"
The minister shook his head.
"Indeed, I can't help it!" continued the girl, dashing up to a thicket
where a red-winged black-bird had settled, and frightening the pretty
creature deep into the woods with her impetuous admiration. "It's a
beautiful morning. I'm going home. Every minute brings me nearer--I
shall see cousin Abby. Oh, how her heart will leap for joy when we come
up! and old Tituba, bless the precious old soul, and Wahpee; upon my
word, father, I think, I am sure that is Wahpee yonder, with that young
man in the hunting-frock. Indeed, I'm quite certain it is: he's coming
to meet us perhaps. Wahpee, Wahpee, you blessed old Indian, how are you?
how are they all at home?"
She rode forward at a gallop, dashing through the shadow, over patches
of sunshine, and calling out for her father not to be afraid, she only
wanted to speak first to dear old Wahpee; but just as she came up to the
spot where he had seemed to be standing, she saw only a young man in a
hunter's frock of dressed deer-skin, with leggins of crimson cloth, and
a cap striped with blue and red velvet, which fell in a point to the
left shoulder, where it terminated in a tassel of silk and glittering
beads. He held a slender gun in his hand, which he planted on the turf
as Elizabeth rode up, leaning upon it with the grace of an Apollo.
The young girl drew in her horse, and looked around, amazed to find the
young man alone, and expecting to see Wahpee spring out from behind some
bush to frighten her with a whoop, as he had done a hundred times
before.
But the morning wind, whispering through the woods, was all the sound
she heard. Where was Wahpee? What could have become of him? Surely it
was his form she had seen a moment before standing by that singular man!
All this passed through her mind while the strange young man was
preparing to move on; but when she saw that he was absolutely alone, the
color mounted hotly to her face, and with a light laugh at herself she
drew her horse on one side, saying, with that exquisite grace which
renders the very boldness of youth sometimes very attractive,
"I beg pardon, sir, for cantering up in this wild way; but in fact I
thought some one was with you whom I love dearly and haven't seen for a
long time; pray tell me, where he is hiding."
The young man had been regarding her with a half smile. His fine black
eyes sparkled with a sort of mocking merriment, mingled with an
expression of such admiration as kept the blushes warm on the young
girl's face.
"You have seen the shadow, which a bright morning sun keeps close to my
side, and mistake it for a warrior, I dare say, young lady; for
certainly no one could be more alone than I am."
He said this in accents so foreign that Elizabeth looked on him with new
interest, wondering greatly from what part of the earth he had come.
His face was dark, certainly, but more from exposure to the sun than any
thing else, and the cluster of raven hair that fell from under his cap,
waving almost into full curl around his temples, had that purplish bloom
which is so beautiful, but seldom found even when black hair is most
glossy. Who could this man be, with those exquisitely cut features, that
form at once so proud and so wildly graceful, above all with a voice
whose broken sweetness went to the soul at once, even when its words
were imperfectly understood?
"Was I, indeed, so miserably cheated?" said Elizabeth, at last, striving
to laugh away her confusion. "Well, well, I ain't the first girl, by
many, that has been caught by shadows. Pray forgive me, sir. I have no
excuse but that Wahpee is a dear, old fellow, who carried me pick-a-back
before I could walk; and I haven't seen him for months; besides, I am
half crazy at getting home again. Perhaps you don't know what it is to
return home, after a long absence, and, and--I beg pardon, sir--what
have I said to offend you?" she cried, suddenly, startled by the look
that shot athwart that handsome face.
"Offend me? Nothing," he answered, with a strange smile.
"Nay, but I am sure you looked either angry or pained," cried the young
girl, anxiously.
"Shadows again. It was but the waving of that tree bough across my face.
Why should any one feel either anger or pain, because a young lady is
rejoiced to get back to her friends, after a long absence?"
"Truly--why should they?" replied Elizabeth, drawing her horse slowly
back, beginning to be conscious that this conversation with a total
stranger was a little out of the ordinary course of her strict, social
life. "So, now that there are no more shadows to distract me, I will
ride back and keep near my father."
"One moment," said the young man, drawing close to her horse, "tell
me--who is your father, and, and--"
"Oh, here he is to speak for himself," cried Elizabeth, drawing a deep
breath, for the young man's approach and earnest manner had startled
her.
The stranger dropped his hand from the neck of her horse, where it had
slightly rested, took up his gun, and with a sharp glance at the
minister, took a footpath which led into the woods.
"What is this, Elizabeth? My dear child, what does it mean?" cried the
minister, riding up with an anxious face; "a stranger with his hand on
your bridle."
"No, no, father: only on my horse's neck. He was asking about
you--nothing else--but did you see his face?"
"Yes, child, it was a dark, beautiful face. Like those we find in that
book of poems by John Milton, where Lucifer shames all the angels with
the majesty of his presence. Be careful, daughter, how you look on such
faces, save with averted eyes, for they are dangerous to the soul."
"Oh, but, father, his smile--I wish you could have seen that--it was
like--yes, father, as I live, it was like cousin Abby's. I declare this
was why it brought the heart into my mouth--oh, father! if you had only
seen him smile, you would never talk of Lucifer and the angels again.
Who can he be?"
"Some loitering Indian, no doubt."
"No, father, no. His hair curls; his eyes are full of fire, not grave
and sullen; he smiles often, and his forehead is white as--yes, as my
cousin's--he is only dressed a little Indian fashion; but I like that
best of all."
"And you heard him speak--that might have guided you a little. Was his
language prompt and clear?"
"Not quite: it had a strange accent."
"Indian?"
"No, no; but something that made his broken speech sweet as music."
"Strange, very strange!" muttered the minister, with a heaviness at the
heart which he could not account for. "It is but a man passing like a
shadow across my path, and yet I am saddened by it."
"Strange," thought Elizabeth, from whom all the surplus life had
departed, leaving her subdued and thoughtful by the minister's
side--"strange! it was but a hunter resting upon his gun; yet I am
terrified by the very beauty of his face. What would Norman Lovel say, I
wonder? What will cousin Abby say? Shall I tell this among the other
wonderful things that have happened during my visit to Lady Phipps's?
Ah, me! if I had never left home, how much happier I might have been!
But then should I have rode so lightly, looked so pretty, or learned to
dance minuets, and dress like a lady? Then would Norman ever have
fancied me but for these things? I hope I shan't be sick of home, and
pining to go back again, the minute I've seen the dear old room and
kissed them all round; that would break poor father's heart. Well, after
all, I should like to know who this stranger is--an Indian indeed--he
looks more like a king."
But all these thoughts were soon driven out of the young girl's head by
the sight of objects that grew more and more familiar, as they neared
home. Now an orchard, heavy with green fruit, crowded up to the wayside,
where she had gathered harvest apples: then a gnarled old peach tree,
with the moss of age creeping over its trunk, hung over the crook of a
fence, and drooped a healthy limb or two over the turf that lined the
highway on either side. Here was a thicket of blackberry bushes, where
she had torn her dress a hundred times; then came a huge old stump,
whose decay had given birth to clusters of red raspberry vines, which
she had plundered time out of mind. Then came a young elm, bending over
the wayside, from which frost grape-vines fell in garlands, that
fluttered out into the sunshine and challenged the wind at every breath,
its leaves singing, and its clusters of unripe fruit quivering over the
wild flowers that slept dreamily below.
At last the house came in sight, with its great sheltering trees, its
little square windows, and its rough logs, overrun with honeysuckles and
morning-glory vines, the most picturesque little bird's-nest of a place
you ever set eyes upon. She began to hear the far-off sweep of the sea,
and feel an invigorating saltness in the air, which brought life back to
her with a glow of pleasure in it.
"Father, father, ride on, ride on--do strike into a canter. Let's have a
run for it. I want wings to get over this little bit of road with. Oh,
father, do strike out of that irritating trot for once!"
No. Samuel Parris loved his child to dotage, but even she could not
induce him to bring scandal on the church by an undignified movement.
Who ever saw a minister of the Presbyterian church cantering toward home
in front of his own meeting-house door, and in sight of the
burying-ground where he had laid half his parishioners down to sleep?
Notwithstanding all her impatience, the minister kept on at his old
measured pace. With all that he most loved at his side, he felt no haste
to get home which might compare with the breathless eagerness that gave
wings to the heart of his daughter.