If one cloud dimmed the happiness of the De Vere household on the
following morning, it was too small to be seen. Reuben awoke with
the birds and from the chicken yard ominous squawks foretold what
would constitute one item in the bill-of-fare for breakfast. “Molly,”
Cornelia’s Jersey cow, was poking her nose through the bars ready
to contribute a generous supply of rich milk, and soon afterward
Margaret’s “Co, boss!” made her step lightly aside while with shining
pail that worthy woman lowered the bars and entered the barnyard.
“Oh, Reuben!” she shouted, “what yo’ doin’ to dem chickens? I ’clare to
goodness, yo’ll drive me plumb crazy.”
“Nebba yo’ min’ dem chickens! Yo’ jes’ pay ’tention to Molly.”
He appeared just then around the corner of the barn with three headless
chickens, and as his wife’s glance fell on them, she exclaimed, with
uplifted hands,--“Fo’ de lan’ sake, ef yo’ aint done gone an’ killt de
baby’s dominick pullet!”
Reuben’s crest-fallen countenance softened her heart, however, and she
said no more and was soon on a stool beside Molly. Did she miss old
associates in the sunny South? If so, no one knew it; as with Reuben,
Massa John and Miss Bessie’s world was hers, and had they gone to the
wilds of Siberia, these two faithful servants would have followed and
been content.
Cornelia’s face sparkling with perfect health just then peeped out of
the kitchen door. She was going “after an appetite,” she declared, and
skipping past Margaret was soon climbing to a point beyond and above
the barn. Reuben’s heart smote him as he thought of the “dominick
pullet,” and he called out to the fast vanishing figure,--“Oh, Miss
Cornelia, don’t yo’ forget Molly’s salt!”
She threw back a laughing glance and ran her hand into her pocket, a
motion he understood, and disappeared from view. She was passionately
fond of animals and particularly of horses. Reuben often declared, “Dat
chile aint afraid of nuffin on fo’ legs.” She certainly understood
and loved them and was an accomplished horsewoman; but this morning
her visit to the barn was a short one and, turning a sharp angle in
the path, her blue dress fluttered in and out among the bushes as she
wandered away upward.
Unseen by her, from a projecting rock above, a pair of eyes as blue
as her dress was watching her, as she sprang from rock to rock, every
motion perfect grace. Pausing, she glanced upward and saw Hernando.
“Well,” she laughed, “what brings you out so early?”
“‘Great minds run in the same channel,’ doubtless I am hunting for the
same thing you are.”
“A bath in the morning dew?”
“You certainly do not need one, and I am looking for a very prosaic
article, known as an ‘appetite.’”
“I’m pretty well drabbled,” she said demurely, not noticing his look of
admiration. “But come, I’m not like Eletheer, Mr. Gallant, help me to a
seat up there beside you.”
He was already preparing to do so and, taking off his coat, he spread
it on the rock, which was still damp with dew, and they sat down
together.
It was not yet seven, the busy city below them had not yet fully
wakened and the air was fresh and sweet. To Hernando, the girl beside
him had always been simply “Cornelia, the baby.” Like Eletheer, he
too had noticed George Van Tine’s marked attentions to her but he had
also noticed that they were not objectionable, and he wondered if she
fully understood the seriousness of marriage. Just now she was looking
intently down among the rocks and bushes and he said gently,--“‘A penny
for your thoughts.’”
“I’m just wondering if my guineas could have stolen their nest in that
thicket,” she answered, pointing to where her glance had been directed.
Restraining a laugh, he asked,--“Are they up to that sort of thing?”
“Up to it? Well I should say so. They deliberately hide them, and are
noted for their bad behavior in that line. Mine have completely eluded
discovery. But I love them, though Eletheer says their cry reminds her
of a rusty pump.”
What could he say to this child, and how assist Eletheer in her
sisterly efforts in what she believed her duty? As Eletheer said,
Cornelia was indeed gifted with an unusual voice which might bring
fame. She also was “young to make a choice which might be regretted
later.” “But after all,” he thought, “these matters are better let
alone when there is nothing radically wrong, and I see nothing in this
case.” Why break the spell which held her a willing captive? To what
nobler use could her voice be put than bringing sweet sounds into a
good man’s home where, surrounded by husband and children, she would
be shielded from temptation? Surely in that, she could find nothing to
regret.
He glanced toward the hills among which lay Shushan, where the last
six years of his own life had been spent, and his mind reverted back
to that awful night of his banishment when life seemed a mockery and
annihilation a bliss. Further back still, he sees a kind old face
crowned with silvery hair and tears of pity filling her eyes. “Dear old
granny,” he thought, “your prayer for mercy is answered; and though we
may view things differently, we look in the same direction.”
The city was stirring now and the busy hum of life had begun. Whistles
from the factories and mills were calling to work. Seven o’clock, and
the distant screech of a locomotive told of the nearing of Ulster
Express.
“I feel it in my bones that we’ll have company for breakfast,” said
Cornelia, rising and standing on tip-toe to see how many passengers got
off. Cornelia’s “feelings” were a family joke, but Hernando also arose
and looked down the road, more to keep his companion from falling than
from any expectancy of “company for breakfast.”
The station was in plain sight and as they turned their heads in
that direction, a very singular-looking passenger jumped from the
train, satchel in hand, clearing the steps at a bound. He was clad in
a hickory shirt, blue jean trousers and brogans. On his head was a
broad-brimmed, soft felt hat. Apparently he stopped to question one
of the station men for the latter pointed toward the mountain and he
started up that way.
“Who on earth can he be!” said Cornelia, clapping her hands in
excitement.
“He looks and walks like a cowboy,” replied Hernando. “Come, let’s go
down. This time, at least, your presentiment seems a true one.”
But for Hernando’s restraining hand, she would have jumped from the
rock on which they were sitting; by dint of engineering, however, he
kept her within bounds until they reached the back yard, when she
started for the house on a keen run. Rushing past Margaret, whose hands
were uplifted in disgust, she burst into the dining-room with cheeks
that vied with the roses on the breakfast table.
----“And this, Mr. Watson, is our daughter Cornelia,” said Mr. De Vere,
laying his hand on her shoulder.
Like Jack, Cornelia was instantly won. All she saw was those same
honest blue eyes and though his grip made her knuckle-bones ache, she
bore it without flinching. His admiring glance made her cheeks rosier
than ever.
“Now that you have seen us all, I am aware of an uneasy sensation in
that region of my anatomy known as the stomach, and Margaret’s coffee
smells mighty good. Shall we sample it?” said Jack, and without more
ceremony they sat down to breakfast.
Contrary to her usual custom, Cornelia remained silent. She glanced
uneasily towards the door and finally, unable longer to keep quiet,
said, “I wonder what keeps Hernando?”
“Sure enough where is he? How thoughtless we are!” Mrs. De Vere
answered, rising and starting towards the hall. “Ah, here you are, Mr.
Truant,” she laughed, as the door at that moment opened. “Come and meet
an old friend!”
“An ever friend,” he corrected, advancing toward Watson with extended
hand.
The latter grasped it with a true Texan grip but his expression of
sympathy gave place to one of amazement as he looked into that pure
face. No marks of resentment or disease there, only an expression of
absolute self-forgetfulness and charity for the weaknesses of others.
Watson’s vindictive feelings toward Mills faded away. Such were out of
place here and his customary “doggone it” escaped without his knowing
exactly why.
The bright morning sunlight streamed into the room as if to accentuate
the happy faces around the breakfast-table. Watson, to all but
Margaret, seemed to have simply dropped into his place. Her feelings
were beyond analysis but she confidentially whispered to Reuben as she
returned to the kitchen to get more hot muffins, “He aint no kwolty.”
Many were the questions to be asked and answered and in consequence,
it was nearly nine o’clock before breakfast was over; then Watson
found himself the center of an admiring group. First of all, he was
buttonholed by Jack and his laugh, hearty as the winds of his own
State, made the walls ring, and all involuntarily joined.
“You ought to be a very happy man, Mr. De Vere,” he said, addressing
the latter.
“I am,” Mr. De Vere replied. “Only a few years ago this beautiful
city was a mere hamlet. The wonderful resources of this valley were
undeveloped and no prospect of better conditions.”
He looked musingly in the direction of the mine. “Hernando came to us
and proved ‘Old Ninety-Nine’ no myth--of course you know the history?”
Mr. De Vere interjected.
“Yes, and Jack tells me you have in your possession one of his ears,
petrified.”
“Had,” corrected Mr. De Vere, “but no curious eyes shall scrutinize
what should not be an object of curiosity. Dr. Herschel pronounced it
the ear of a leper, so I destroyed the poor deformed member, and the
statue of ‘Old Ninety-Nine’ soon to be unveiled in Delaware Park, is
such as he must have been in his prime. You must get Hernando to tell
you of his life at Shushan.”
“Does he speak of it?” Watson inquired aghast. “I’ve been afraid I’d
let something slip. Poor boy, poor boy!”
“Poor boy, indeed!” Jack retorted. “Why, Watson, he loves to, and the
rugged hills of Shushan are to him the most beautiful spot on earth.”
“His face haunts me,” said Watson. “Does he ever say anything about
Mills?”
“Often, and always with compassion.”
Watson was silent, and just then Cornelia came into the room and
dragged him off to inspect her horse, as Jack had told her of his
reputation as a judge of horseflesh. He went willingly enough, for
his ideas on the subject under discussion were not quite clear, and
he also felt a trifle elated at the prospects of showing off the good
points of a horse to such an attractive listener. They could not have
more than reached the barn, when Mr. Genung was announced.
Evidently he was in ignorance of Watson’s arrival; had simply “dropped
in” on his way to the mine where, as one of the largest stock-holders,
his influence was felt. Although unpopular with the miners, all
admitted him to be just according to his convictions and his advice
sound. Hernando’s trouble had aged him greatly. His once black hair was
thickly strewn with grey and after the greetings were over, he sank
into a chair quite exhausted. Eletheer slipped unobserved from the room
and shortly returned with a cup of coffee, well knowing Mr. Genung’s
weakness. He accepted it gratefully, saying, “Ah, my dear, you have
chosen the right profession!”
“If all my duties were to be as pleasant as this, I have certainly
selected an easy one,” she laughed.
“By the way,” he said, “I am the bearer of a message from Dr. Brinton
to you. He was driving like mad up Lombardy Street, but seeing my
direction, I presume, halted long enough to say that he would like to
have you call at his office this afternoon. Dr. Herschel was with him.
Now,” handing her the empty cup, “I have delivered the message, and you
may refer him to me for recommendation.”
Conversation drifted into generalities and Eletheer went to help her
mother in household duties.
Eletheer was not given to presentiments, but the mention of Dr.
Herschel’s name made her shiver. She always thought of him in
connection with that awful night of Hernando’s departure for Shushan
and could barely restrain her excitement at the thought of meeting
him for, in her eyes, he was all-powerful. “Ridiculous,” she thought,
giving herself a mental shake. “I’m a goose to be nervous, and very
likely he is not in any way concerned with Dr. Brinton’s message to me.”
Her hands and feet kept time with her busy brain and long before noon
no trace of disorder was to be seen. As Mrs. De Vere often lamented,
she was not “like other girls.” Generous to a fault and charitable
toward her friends, yet, like Granny, she would not tolerate weakness
nor a deviation from her standard of right.
During her grandmother’s lifetime, her religious training was strictly
in accordance with the teachings of the Reformed Dutch Church. The
Bible, including punctuation marks, she had been taught to regard as
a direct revelation from God and her childish doubts were sternly
rebuked. After the old lady’s death, other influences crept in and
association with people of expanded minds created a tumult in her
naturally analytical brain. But the first impression was too deep to be
completely obliterated, and though she could not conscientiously become
a member of the church in whose doctrine she had been so thoroughly
grounded, any imputation that her belief in it was weak was resented
until obliged to admit that it was true, and even then she recoiled
from the thought. Hernando’s troubles stirred the smouldering fires
anew, and later from her experience among suffering humanity at the
training school, where the physicians and surgeons, and in fact the
entire hospital staff, were decidedly unorthodox, she was obliged to
say when asked her belief, “I don’t know.” To try to do right and let
the future take care of itself became her creed and she accepted it,
knowing no better.
Two o’clock, Dr. Brinton’s office hour, came at last and, in a flutter
of excitement, Eletheer hurried through the busy streets toward his
office. She had not long to wait, for, though the reception-room was
full, on receiving her card Dr. Brinton ushered her into his private
office where who should advance to meet her but Dr. Herschel. Evidently
the appointment was with him for Dr. Brinton had disappeared.
“What can Dr. Herschel want of me!” Eletheer thought, nervously taking
the nearest seat. Her doubts, however, were soon dispelled; as,
drawing from his pocket a formidable-looking document, Dr. Herschel
said,--“This is ‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ will--for such it is to all intents
and purposes--written in Spanish as you see. You know its history
but not its entire contents; however, as you are practically in the
profession, a full understanding of the will may have an added interest
as it shows what advances have been made along bacteriological lines
and, I might add, clearly illustrates the influence of mind over matter.
“After ‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ cure, he continued to live at Shushan,
making occasional trips to his cave, the whereabouts of which were
sacredly guarded from discovery--indeed this document is so carefully
worded as to give not a hint of its locality. While at Shushan, many
years after having been cured, he had another revelation in the form
of a dream. He must fly to his cave or evil spirits would _obsess_ him
for they were powerful, and after this sickness he might not be able to
resist them.”
Here the doctor paused and looked searchingly at his listener but,
seeing only an expression of interest on her face, went on,--“The old
chief hastened to his cave, though not with the vigor of youth, only
to find evil spirits in possession. Putting this document--which in
reality is not a will--no Indian ever makes a will--with his other
treasures into the chest he securely locked it and implored the Great
Spirit to lead him to the Happy Hunting-ground. We can trace him no
further, even the events last narrated are merely inferences from
circumstances. We know that he went to the West Indies and I infer
from collateral facts that he had a Spanish wife who suggested and
formulated this document. His sudden and obscure death deprived her of
any knowledge of the fact.” Dr. Herschel carefully folded the document
and, leaning back in his chair, lit a cigar.
“Was he insane?” Eletheer asked.
“Insanity is a nice word to define. ‘Old Ninety-Nine’ was not insane,
but died in an hysterical seizure. This would explain finding his body
in that dangerous place.”
“Then he did not believe himself cured?” Eletheer said.
“Have you yet taken up the study of the nervous system?” Dr. Herschel
asked, as though what had happened were an every-day occurrence.
“No, that comes in our second year.”
“One year on the nervous system! Ten years, a lifetime; and we are
still in an unexplored realm.
“I wish particularly to point a moral in ‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ case,
as the symptoms there manifested will be among the most difficult
to treat, particularly in the uneducated. First, because the word
leprosy is crystalized in the human mind into an incurable disease and
having once had it, a patient, unless of unusual intellect, lives in
constant dread of its return--our hospitals for the insane would grow
beautifully less by the elimination of that one element _fear_. Leprosy
is a germ disease; the leper bacillus was discovered in 1874. Thus
heredity is disproven. We know it to be a parasitic disease.”
“Then children of leprous parents cannot inherit the disease?”
“No, except a possible predisposition. This does not mean, however,
that I advocate marriage between lepers. If children are born of such
parentage, they ordinarily die young or are a prey to every disease.
The point I wish to illustrate is that nervousness is the worst tyrant
of the day. True, ‘Old Ninety-Nine’ was already an old man; but he
might have lived many years longer only for fear, which, combined with
his racial traits, made a formidable enemy indeed.
“This is a question of great importance to nurses, one with which
they, more than the physician, will have to contend. A nurse is sent
on a case, possibly diphtheria, one of the most fatal diseases known.
When we discover the germ a cure must follow and, as in any germ
disease, corresponding nervous symptoms follow from destruction of
tissue. Strange!” Dr. Herschel said, looking towards Shushan, “the many
discoveries now being made on the physical plane, yet they do not
unlock the doors to the spiritual realm.”
“Hernando claims that they do,” said Eletheer.
This happened to be one of the rare occasions on which Dr. Herschel
laughed; and he did laugh with a right good will. “Yes,” he said with a
twinkle in his eyes, “Hernando explained his philosophy to me at some
length during the last year of his stay at Shushan. As I understand him
he believes that thought, like electricity and magnetism, is a force,
and that it may be intelligently applied in the treatment of disease.
Of course he refers to diseases of nervous origin, such as hysteria and
some allied functional disorders, and in this he is quite right; but,
Miss De Vere, my experience has been on other than metaphysical lines.
As a nurse, yours will be also. This physical body and the material
world it inhabits are our materials to work with and, at this stage of
evolution at least, fate must be reckoned with. Don’t muddle your brain
with these new sciences and cures. Keep on solid ground.
“Now Hernando is a splendid fellow, an ideal patient, and while
I agree with him that the greater part of human ills are largely
imaginary, and that it is natural for vegetable and animal life to
grow from darkness to light, I am also grateful for the knowledge--and
its results--revealed to us by microscopic vision into the world of
micro-organisms. This is something tangible.” And rising, Dr. Herschel
indicated that the interview was over.
After Eletheer left, Dr. Herschel walked rapidly back and forth,
stopping occasionally to look out of first one window and then another;
but the objects he saw were visible only to him. One thing he intended
to do and that was to keep this girl in sight. She was possessed of the
qualifications necessary for the making of an ideal nurse--a trifle
visionary, perhaps; but experience would cure that--and it should be
his duty to see that her aspirations in that line were realized as
nearly as lay in his power. Another year at the training school would
do much, and then he would do the rest.
All unconscious of these plans for her future, the object of them sped
homeward. Turning a corner sharply she almost ran into Mary Genung and
the latter laughingly called,--“Eletheer De Vere, do you mean that as a
cut direct?”
“Certainly not, Mary, I confess to absent-mindedness. Come along home
with me.”
“I’ve just been there. Your mother told me that you were at Dr.
Brinton’s and that I might meet you. Let’s go after rhododendrons in
the paper-mill woods. Please don’t refuse.”
“I’ve no such intention,” laughed Eletheer as she followed her
companion to where, as children, they had spent many, many happy hours
together. How long ago that seemed now--and she listened mechanically
while her friend pointed out critically the architectural beauty of
several newly erected buildings. They were passing the old Reformed
Dutch Church when Mary exclaimed,--“To my mind, no structure in the
city can approach this. In its chaste Corinthian lines, it is indeed a
fitting monument to the religious zeal of our ancestors.”
“Is it not Emerson who says that all men are at heart religious?”
Eletheer answered.
Mary made no reply, and they were soon climbing the steep, rocky
incline near the entrance to the woods. It was known as the “Old Honk
Falls’ path.” The day was excessively warm and strangely quiet. The
Rondout creek tumbled musically over the rocks below, forming many
beautiful cascades, and the girls stopped occasionally at some bend in
the stream to watch the myriads of brilliant-hued dragon-flies glinting
through the branches of some fallen tree; but in the oppressive
afternoon heat even the birds seemed seeking a covert. The girls
quickened their steps and soon disappeared into the woods beyond.
“Oh!” said Mary, as she sank on the carpet of fragrant pine-needles.
“Talk of the ‘murmuring pines and the hemlocks.’ I fail to detect the
slightest motion in these.”
[Illustration: The Rondout Creek tumbled musically over the rocks below
forming many beautiful cascades]
“It does seem unusually quiet, and that with the heat makes me
apprehensive. Reuben would say ‘it means sumfin’,’” Eletheer returned,
seating herself beside her companion.
“Well,” retorted Mary, “if you know a cooler spot, I’ll gladly follow
to it; but did God ever create a more beautiful one?”
It was, indeed, a spot of rare beauty; such as must have inspired the
cathedral-builders of old; great pines and hemlocks reared their lofty
columns upward to be there crowned with a covering so dense as to admit
scarcely a ray of sunshine. A solemn arcade indeed, whose cleft pillars
were bound with brown withes of wild grape-vine. A brown carpet covered
the floor and in this weird semi-twilight, one almost expected to hear
a solemn Te Deum echo from the crossing branches above. The day was one
of unearthly stillness and there was such a downpour of heat outside
that the very air seemed on fire. Even the scattered clumps of ferns
and jack-in-the-pulpits hung their heads as if in exhaustion.
“Are you feeling well to-day, Eletheer? You seem so preoccupied.”
“Physically, yes; but, Mary, I’m actually nervous. Everything looks so
uncanny.”
“You are accustomed to an out-of-door life and I trust have not made a
mistake in your choice of profession. Hark! Did you hear anything?”
“There, Mary, you too, are nervous,” said Eletheer, forcing a laugh.
“See!” pointing upward, “nothing but a pair of stray bats.”
“And a snake coiled among the bushes yonder! Come, Eletheer, let’s go
home. I’m getting the ‘creeps.’”
“Indeed, let’s do no such thing! It’s the heat combined with this utter
silence that affects us. There goes that snake now!”
As they looked, a dirty-green snake trailed his lazy length towards the
creek. At the same time, two bats fluttered over it like shadows, until
they, too, melted into the tremulous haze that overhung everything.
“I was about to add,” Eletheer resumed with a backward glance, “that
Dr. Herschel has been giving me some points on _nerves_. Now is a good
time to put them into practice.”
“Well,” returned her friend, “if you can stand it I can, and that
reminds me, father and I were talking of Hernando this morning. Now
that he is cured, we hope that he will marry and settle down in a home
of his own. As you know, he is the last male of our name and, unless he
does marry, the name dies with him,” and Miss Genung looked searchingly
at her friend.
Eletheer smiled as she replied,--“I can’t imagine a woman just like his
wife ought to be. Honestly, now, can you, Mary?”
“Oh, Eletheer, can’t you trust a life-long friend?” said Mary in a tone
of such genuine feeling that Eletheer was startled. Gradually, however,
the import of her friend’s words dawned upon her and with a troubled
expression she said gently:
“Mary, we are indeed life-long friends so don’t misunderstand me--you
will, however. Your accusation cannot be met with argument; but there
are men and women who mentally complement each other but to whom
marriage, with its obligations, does not appeal.”
“I have read of such attachments,” returned Mary dryly,--“but in
my limited experience they invariably end in something deeper than
friendship. No, Eletheer, you may deceive yourself but not others.”
What could Eletheer say? Experience had taught her the folly of
argument with this sweet little blue-eyed, Dutch-French friend, so she
said coaxingly,--“Never mind that now, dear. Tell me of your proposed
trip abroad next fall.”
“There is little to tell. I hope, of course, to visit France and
Holland as most of us in this valley are either French, Dutch, or a
mixture of both.”
“Strange! that two nations of such widely different characteristics
should have so assimilated.”
The vexed expression had disappeared from Mary’s countenance; she loved
to discuss the early history, and particularly religious, of this
valley, and Eletheer’s interest pleased her.
“Not necessarily so,” she returned. “They were thrown together by a
common persecution. The first settlements of the town of Wawarsing
were made by Huguenots and Hollanders at Nootwyck and ‘The Corners.’
The ancestors of the persons who made them had passed through fiery
persecutions for conscience’s sake and had the principles of the early
reformers thoroughly ingrained in their constitutions. In France,
these reformers were called Huguenots, but all the early Protestants
of France and Holland organized churches on similar principles, which
generally were called Reformed Churches. The French have always been
a people of ardent temperament and decided opinions, and religion
expresses the extreme characteristic of a people.
“Discouraged by fruitless efforts to obtain religious liberty at
home, the Huguenots fled from their native country in great numbers,
estimated at one million of the most industrious, the most intelligent
and the most moral of the French nation, who sought safety in England,
Holland, Prussia, Switzerland and America, taking with them their skill
in the arts and as much of their wealth as could be snatched from the
destroyer, thus impoverishing France and enriching the countries to
which they fled, where they found a most welcome reception.
“In Holland, the Protestants suffered a continued series of
persecutions under Charles V and Philip II of Spain, beginning in
1523 and lasting to the time when religious liberty was secured under
William of Orange, during which time thousands of the best citizens
of Holland were cruelly murdered and tormented for conscience’s sake.
The Huguenots and Hollanders, thus brought into intimate relationship
by common fate and a like persecution, maintained the closest and
most intimate friendship with one another, worshipping together and
intermarrying.”
So utterly absorbed were the girls, that neither of them was aware
of a pair of listeners, Tim Watson and Elisha, who were seated just
a few feet distant on a shelving rock that overhung the creek, and
they also had become oblivious of their surroundings. No one noticed
the increasing murkiness of the atmosphere, nor the baleful, ominous
stillness as though nature was in a vindictive mood and preparing to
spring upon her victim. The dull, yellow sun was fast becoming obscured
by a cloud of inky blackness and a gentle sough of the wind through the
tree-tops had increased to a threatening howl. But as Mary raised her
eyes and glanced toward the creek, a roar like the infernal regions
let loose, followed by a vivid flash of lightning, brought the four
into a realization of their danger. Like a deer, Elisha leaped toward
the girls and grasping an arm of each shouted,--“Out of the woods!”
Another terrific flash from the zenith to the horizon was followed by a
distinctly sulphurous glow. The bolt shivered the tree under which they
stood. A blazing ball plowed up the ground at their feet and all three
fell in an insensible heap.
Watson’s sinewy arms carried the girls tenderly to an adjoining field
and laid them on the soft grass. Returning quickly to Elisha’s
assistance,--“I’ll be doggoned, if they don’t have northers here,”
froze on his lips as he looked at the still form at his feet; for his
practiced eye told him that no human help could avail here. However,
this was no place for examination, so Elisha, too, was carried to a
place beside the girls.
To any one but this Texan, the scene would have been appalling. The
creek, which so short a time before had rolled peacefully on, now
dashed madly over the rocks, impelled onward by an irresistible
force. Giant trees bent almost double and the air was filled with
flying branches. The noise was frightful. All nature seemed bent on
destruction. Watson calmly applied restoratives and guarded his charges
from new danger. The girls, he knew, would recover as they now showed
signs of returning consciousness; and, though he could discover no
outward sign of injury on Elisha’s person, his heart had ceased to
beat. Stimulants, artificial respiration were employed, but all to no
purpose.
Eletheer was the first to recover consciousness. She opened her eyes,
looked around in a dazed manner, sat up and took hold of Watson’s arm.
He had interposed his brawny form so that her glance might not first
rest on the now stiffening body of Elisha.
“Hello, my girl! Just hold up a bit. Miss Genung is coming around all
right. See, she’s squirmin’ now.”
Eletheer looked. “Yes, Mary was not killed but where is Elisha?” she
asked, now fully herself.
“Well ye see, my girl, he--well I’ll be doggoned, I reckon God Almighty
knows best!”
“Is he dead?”
“Well ye see--”
“Yes, I see,” she said, pushing him aside and laying her hand over
Elisha’s heart. No pulsation there, and only too well did she recognize
the look that comes but once to the human countenance. She rebuttoned
the shirt, passed her hand over his face, and folded those hands which
had helped in so many ways.
Watson’s knowledge of the female sex was limited. He knew they were
liable to do various things under circumstances like the present,
and he tried to be prepared, but his voice was very unsteady as he
said,--“I reckon he went mighty quick!”
“Death must have been instantaneous,” Eletheer reasoned aloud, as she
pushed the damp hair from his temples.
“Now I do wonder how the other one will act when she comes ’round,”
thought Watson.
Mary Genung was severely shocked and the united efforts of Watson and
Eletheer only succeeded in bringing a moan of pain from her lips as she
shivered and relapsed into unconsciousness.
The wind was abating now and Watson asked Eletheer if she would be
afraid to be left alone while he went for help.
“Of what!” she said. “Please go. You’ll find willing hands at the
paper-mill yonder.”
Before the sentence was finished he was off and as the distance was not
great, he soon returned with three strong men carrying an improvised
stretcher. Mary still remained unconscious; and tenderly lifting her
and placing her beside Elisha’s still form on the stretcher, the two
were carried to the paper-mill and from there a conveyance took them to
Mr. De Vere’s.
Dr. Brinton was there when they arrived. He and Reuben placed Elisha
on the bed in his old room. No need for a lengthy examination. A mark
over the heart about the size of a nickel showed where the current had
entered his body. His thread of continuity between now and hereafter
had served its purpose.
Leaving to Reuben the task of doing all for Elisha’s remains, Dr.
Brinton went below to the library where the family, with Mr. Genung,
had assembled.
Mary would probably be all right in a few days as consciousness had
already returned. Dr. Brinton said all she needed was good care.
No one dared ask after Elisha as Watson’s description left no chance
for hope, and Dr. Brinton’s manner confirmed this as he entered the
room. Once again had nature donned her brightest robes and from the
west came streaks of golden light. Mr. De Vere advanced to meet the
doctor and, laying a trembling hand on his arm, said,--“We know it,
Doctor, and we also know that God is good.”
“In mercy truly has this been done,” Dr. Brinton replied, “the
transition was painless--instantaneous!” But the man, not the
physician, was talking now. No professional sympathy in the tones of
one whose heart was bleeding. Elisha himself only guessed at the depth
of the love that this good man had for him. When he concluded, there
was not a dry eye in the room; even Watson sobbed audibly, and Margaret
stole quietly upstairs to Celeste, her “baby,” who lay as one dead.
Eletheer opened the door of Mary’s room just as Margaret passed. Her
patient was sleeping, and, throwing her arms around Margaret’s neck,
she whispered through tears which fell thick and fast,--“Oh, Margaret,
and his last act was saving our lives!” Margaret could not speak.
Unlike her husband, she did not accept afflictions meekly and her
heart was full of bitterness now as she thought of her poor stricken
“baby” who had first to hear the dreadful news. “Po’ baby to t’ink dat
dis awful t’ing mus’ happen to yo’ w’en yo’s jes’ stayin’ at de ole
home to be wif Massa Jack!” Margaret threw herself on the floor in an
excess of emotion and, fearing she would wake Mary, Eletheer tapped on
the door of Elisha’s room well knowing Reuben’s soothing influence. He
had finished his sad duties and, true to the time-honored custom, was
“watching.” One quick glance at the face with its look of peace, and,
bidding Reuben go to Margaret and Celeste, she flew back to her charge.
The news of Elisha’s death had spread like wildfire. Always courteous
and just, no one could criticise had he been so inclined, and his
uniformly gentle bearing, that was a part of himself, won for him a
reverential respect from all the miners.
The shock caused by Elisha’s death had stirred them deeply; and a
delegation to express sympathy and a desire that they might be of
service waited on the young wife now prostrated with grief, though
providentially under her father’s roof where she had come to stay at
the old home during her brother Jack’s visit North.
From all over the valley came words of condolence that showed how
deeply Elisha was identified with its material growth; resolutions
of respect from the different orders, and though Elisha’s religious
views were not generally known, regardless of denomination, the pastor
of every church in the city felt that its present sound financial
condition was largely through his instrumentality.
At the door Watson received all messages. “How different,” he thought,
“is the ending of this life from that of Mills!” He had come North with
bitterness in his heart, and the pity which he was prepared to bestow
on this villain’s victim had long been transferred to Mills himself.
Tim Watson would return to Texas with a broader view of justice.
Three days later, Elisha Vedder was buried from the Reformed Church.
This beautiful old building had been carefully preserved and the great
concourse of people there gathered to participate in the last sad
rights over Elisha Vedder’s remains saw the edifice still unchanged.
Every seat was taken, and the aisles, vestibule and even the churchyard
were crowded.
Floral offerings, on account of Elisha’s oft-expressed fondness for the
mountain laurel, were simply great mounds of the green leaves and waxy,
rose-colored blossoms.
A few friends accompanied Dominie Leyden, pastor of the church, to
The Laurels. There, after a short prayer, the remains, followed by
the miners in a body, were taken to the church where the active
pall-bearers were waiting at the entrance and through the cleared
passage-way, the plain oaken casket was carried up the steps, through
the right aisle into the chancel and laid down before a wall of laurel
blossoms.
The burial service was very simple. No eulogy--his acts were apparent.
“Nearer My God to Thee,” was sung by the choir. A few well-chosen
words by the officiating clergyman, and the casket was borne to the old
Dutch burying-ground.
* * * * *
Again the sun is setting behind Old Neversink. The laurels take on
a rosier hue in the warm afterglow, and we recognize two figures,
Hernando and Celeste, wending their way along the Berm toward The
Laurels.
“It does seem,” Celeste was saying, “that some evil genius keeps our
family separated. It’s too bad. Just as Jack has decided to come
back to Nootwyck to live, Eletheer makes up her mind to locate in
California. If she shouldn’t like the West and should return home to
practice, Cornelia and George would most likely move off somewhere.”
“What a home in every sense of the word is George and Cornelia’s!”
“Yes,” Celeste laughed, “they are as happy as two kittens. The Van
Tines are a good old family and mother is satisfied with the match. By
the way, Cornelia tells me that Mr. Watson is seriously considering
your uncle’s proposal that he come North and be associated with him at
the bank.”
[Illustration: The laurels take on a rosier hue in the warm afterglow]
“Yes, and I sincerely trust that he will accept. Uncle’s business cares
are too heavy for him to bear alone; then, too, it would be a good
thing for Watson. A man needs a home. He has a warm welcome awaiting
him at uncle’s and Mary is sighing to be a daughter to him.”
“Mary is a lovely woman and an accomplished housekeeper; but she seems
to have never fully recovered from that shock.”
“Does it seem possible that nearly three years have passed
since--he--Watson--” Then with a gulp Hernando added,--“Mary is still
nervous but Watson’s very presence is an antidote for nerves.”
“He is so steady, so genuine. I can never forget his kindness. Oh, that
awful cloudburst!” Celeste shivered; then, half aloud to herself, she
added,--“Can it be three years since Elisha left us?”
Instinctively both looked backward toward the paper-mill woods and
there, smiling at them “over their right shoulders,” hung the new moon!
Now Hernando knew there was nothing “in” seeing the new moon over the
right shoulder. He did not believe that it has any influence whatever
on our lives; but as he looked at that silver crescent smiling on a
troubled world, a peace, such as he had never known, stole over his
senses, and with it came that clear vision which reveals truth, clears
up the mysterious connection between cause and effect, and the long
lines of our destiny. Forgotten was Hernando’s God of tradition and
dogma; the beautiful system of ethics formulated at Shushan was indeed
good--as far as it went; but that same beautiful system _with God in
it_ is religion, is wisdom, and at last Hernando had “found” it. Oh,
the blessed truth! Nothing in this wide universe but God, Good, whose
Being is manifested through us. One God, one “Great First Cause,” and
His effect, man and the universe the effect of God!
“Just let the Kingdom of Heaven take you”: why struggle for our own
when nothing, “_no thing_,” disputes our claim? All we need do to come
into our full inheritance is prove our identity _as_ legitimate heirs.
Here again, nothing denies the truth. Simple, when we _let_ God show us
how, “so divinely easy that the only wonder is that we have not done
it before!” Like the air and the sky, when we open our “upper eyes,”
Heaven simply _is_; and it is _all_ there is, for God is there.
Yes, this “straining” _is_ the “point”; always _sending_ messages,
unmindful of the fact that no answer _can_ be “received” by a
“transmitter.” How plain it all was now to Hernando. His prayers of
childhood, youth, manhood, when from the very bottom of his heart, had
all been “received” at the great central office, and here were the
answers “in heaps.”
Oh, how much easier his life might have been had he been “willing” to
“receive”; but he had kicked “against the goads” and so must learn
obedience through bitter experience. He _had_ worked back to the “forks
of the road” in “fear and trembling.” Unjust as it all had seemed at
the time, he now saw that in no other way could _his_ lesson have been
learned. The stony road of necessity on which no traveller escapes just
toll, was behind him. Before him once more, the road forked. One fork
led to Hong Kong, to mistaken duty with exactions--not obligations.
On the other fork was the woman he loved, the “helpmeet” he needed,
that other “half” of this man of flesh and blood. He thought over the
last three years; how he had been temporarily filling his friend’s
vacancy at the mine until the way to Hong Kong should open up, little
dreaming that Elisha had only temporarily filled _his_, Hernando’s,
vacancy in Celeste’s heart until he had “proved his claim.”
How sincerely he had tried to comfort her in her bereavement. What joy
it had given him to watch her dimples returning and hear her merry
laugh once more! He looked at her now, standing in the witching light
of the new moon with her sweet, chaste profile outlined against the
shadow, and then, because it was so “natural-like” and he knew it was
right, he held out his arms to Celeste. The call from the very bottom
of his heart was answered. The message read: “_Not Hong Kong!_”
By and by they looked toward The Laurels; the evening shadows had crept
up beyond the house, but father and mother, they knew, were sitting on
the piazza waiting for them. There was a light in Eletheer’s room and
anon they caught glimpses of her as she flitted to and fro packing for
her long journey. Margaret’s voice resounded in a familiar hymn from
the kitchen and there, with his lantern, came dear old Reuben from the
barn. How well they knew that no beast, bird nor living thing could
ever look reproachfully into that black face! They saw him stop, turn,
and with the deliberation that characterized everything he did, look at
the new moon over his right shoulder.
“What did you wish?” Celeste asked, and her voice was as sweet as the
robin’s good-night.
“I wish,” replied Hernando, “that we may live to be as old as ‘Old
Ninety-Nine,’ as loyal as Granny, as happy together as your father and
mother, and that we may ‘keep’ ourselves as ‘unspotted from the world’
as Reuben.”
Transcriber’s Note:
The Contents has been added by the transcriber.
Punctuation has been standardised. Spelling and hyphenation have been
retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows:
Page 256
of the mountain,--Maratanza, A wasting _changed to_
of the mountain,--Maratanza, Awosting