"Wo is the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason's hands the reins."
The morning of the next day, serene and beautiful as a bride decked in her
fresh robes and redolent in her forest perfumery, came smiling over the
wilderness hills of the east, to greet our little pioneer family on their
deliverance from the perils of yesterday. The war of the elements, that had
raged so fearfully round their seemingly devoted domicile, had all passed
away; and, after sleeping off the fatigue and excitement of the previous
day, they rose to look around them, to find themselves safe, and call
themselves satisfied. Their buildings had been, after all, but very
slightly injured, and their green crops but little damaged; their fences,
indeed, were mostly consumed; but these could be replaced from the timber
of the burnt slash, with little more labor than would be required to pile
up and burn that timber where it lay. But, whatever such additional labor
might be, it was more than compensated by the very intensity of the fire
which caused it, and which, at the same time, had so utterly consumed all
the underbrush, limbs of the trees, and even the smaller trees themselves,
that weeks less than with ordinary burns would be required in the clearing.
Elwood, therefore, came in from his morning survey happily disappointed in
the supposed extent of his losses; and, joining his wife and son in the
house, whom he found busily engaged in cutting up, mealing, and placing in
the hissing pan over the fire the broad, red, and rich-looking pieces of
trout, the fruit of yesterday's excursion on the lake, he told them, with a
gratified air, the result of his observation, which, on a merchant-like
calculation of loss and gain from the conflagration, he made out to show
even a balance in his favor. Mrs. Elwood rejoiced with her husband on the
happy turn of affairs, and wondered why her son did not manifest the same
flow of spirits. But the latter, for some reason or other, appeared
unusually abstracted during the whole morning; and, when asked to relate
the particulars of his perilous adventure with the moose, which he had the
evening before but briefly mentioned, he exhibited a hesitation, and a sort
of shying of the question, in that part of the adventure relating to the
rescued girl, which did not escape the quick eye of the mother. It was
evident to her that something was kept back. But what that something was
she was wholly unable to conjecture. It was so unusual for her son to show
any lack of frankness that the circumstance disturbed her, and, though she
knew not exactly why, sent a boding chill over her heart, which caused her
also to become thoughtful and silent. And Mr. Elwood, who possessed none of
those mental sympathies which, in some, will often be found unconsciously
mingling with the thoughts of others, so far, at least, as to apprise them
of the general character and drift of those thoughts, now, in his turn,
wondered why his wife, as well as son, should all at once become so
unsocial and taciturn.
It will doubtless be generally said that this mental sympathy, or the
intuitive perception of the main drift of what is passing in the minds of
others, has an existence only in the fancy of fictionists. We, however,
after years of close observation, have wholly ceased to doubt its reality.
Scores of times have we been affected by thoughts and intentions which we
knew must have a source other than in our own mind. Scores of times have
we, in this manner, been put on our guard against the selfish designs which
others were harboring to our disadvantage, of which no tongue had informed
us, and of which, afterwards, we had tangible proof. And, on careful
inquiry among persons of thought and sensibility, we have become convinced
that the principle holds good to a very considerable extent among others;
and that attention to the subject is only wanting to make it a generally
received opinion. It was this principle that now affected Mrs. Elwood: not
that she had the most distant idea that her son harbored aught of wrong
intention toward any of his family, but she felt that his mind was somehow
becoming subservient to schemes which existed somewhere in the minds of
others, which concerned her or her family. But she _felt_ rather than
thought this; and, knowing she could give no reason for her singular
impression, prudently kept it to herself.
"Good-morning, good-morning, gentlefolks," rang out the cheery voice of the
hunter, who now looked in at the door as the Elwoods were rising from their
breakfast. "Things look a little altered round here, this morning. I should
hardly have known the place without the king pine, which, in its prime, was
a tree of a thousand."
"That tree was an old acquaintance of yours, I suppose," remarked Elwood.
"Yes, of twenty years' standing; and I shall miss and mourn it as an old
friend. But it died like a monarch, yielding only under the direct blow of
the Almighty."
"Then you consider the lightning more especially the instrument of Heaven
than the wind, fire, and other elements, do you?"
"To be sure I do. Wind, we know what it is; fire we know; water we also
know; because we can see them, touch them, measure them. But who can see a
piece of lightning when not in motion? who can find the least fragment of
it after it has struck? It rends a tree, makes a smooth hole through a
board, and ploughs up the ground. But go to the tree, and there is nothing
there; look under the board, it is the same; and dig along the furrow it
has ploughed to where it stopped, and it is not there, as it would be if it
was any material thing, like a bullet, an axe, knife, or other instrument
that produces such effects, in all other instances. No, 'tis not matter; it
is the power of God; and your philosophers, who pretend to explain it,
don't know what they are talking about. But enough of that. I came here to
rally you out to go up the river with the rest of us, for the moose. You
will both go, won't you?"
"Claud will, doubtless," replied Mr. Elwood. "Indeed, I have half a mind to
go myself."
"Perhaps Claud, having had a fatiguing excursion yesterday, will stay at
home, and let his father go, to-day," suggested Mrs. Elwood.
"It was not at all fatiguing, mother," responded Claud.
"The wind blows up the river to-day, ma'am," said the hunter, with a
knowing look.
Little more was said; but the result was that Claud and the hunter now soon
went off together on the proposed excursion. On reaching the mouth of the
Magalloway, they found four others waiting for them, with their canoes,
when the whole party commenced their little voyage up the river. After
leisurely rowing against the here slow and gentle current of the stream for
an hour or two, they reached their destination, and hauled up at a point
most convenient for gaining the spot where the slaughtered moose had been
left the evening before. Led on by the hunter, all now started for the
place just named, except Claud, who, under pretence of taking a short
gunning bout in the woods, and of soon coming round to join his companions,
proceeded, as soon as the latter were out of sight, with slow and
hesitating steps, up the river, for the opening and supposed residence of
the fair unknown who had so long been the object of his wondering fancies,
and who had, notwithstanding the exciting scenes he had witnessed at home,
been the especial subject of his dreams after he retired to rest the night
before. But what a strange, wayward, timid, doubting, and inconsistent
thing is the tender passion in its incipient stages, especially when that
passion has principally been wrought up by the imagination! He soon came to
the clearing of which he was in quest, and obtained a clear view of the, to
him, charmed cottage. But, instead of entering the opening directly, he
went nearly round it, frequently pausing and advancing nearly to the edge
of the woods; but as often retreating, being unable quite to make up his
mind to show himself at all to the inmates of the cottage. Once he gave it
up entirely, and started off for his companions. But, after he had
proceeded a dozen rods, he came again to a stand, hesitated a while, and,
as if ashamed of his irresolution, wheeled rapidly about, proceeded, with a
quick, firm step, to the border of the woods, struck directly for the
house, and, with assumed unconcern, marched up to the door,--where he was
met, not by the young lady he expected first to see, but by her father. But
who was that father? To his utter surprise, it was _his_ father's old
tempter and ruiner, the dark and inscrutable Gaut Gurley!
With a manner, for him, unusually gracious, Gurley extended his hand to
Claud; ushered him into the house; formally introduced him to his wife, an
ordinary, abject-looking woman; and then to his daughter, the fair,
dark-eyed, tall, shapely, and every way magnificent Avis Gurley, the girl
who had so long, but unwittingly, been the object of the young man's dreamy
fancies.
"I have but very lately discovered," remarked Gurley, who seemed to feel
himself called on to lead off in the conversation, after the usual
commonplace remarks had been exchanged, "I have but lately discovered that
I had, by a singular coincidence, again cast my lot in the same settlement
with your family. Having made up my mind, a few months ago, to try a new
country, and coming across the owner of this place, who was on a journey in
New Hampshire, and who offered to sell and move off at once, I came on with
him, struck a bargain, returned for my family, and brought them here about
a fortnight ago. But, having been absent most of the time since, I didn't
mistrust who my neighbors were."
"And you probably perceived, sir," said Avis, turning to Claud, with a
smile, "you probably perceived, in your yesterday's adventure up here in
the woods, that I have been in as bad a predicament as my father."
"How is that, Avis?" asked Gurley.
"Why, father," responded the other, "Mr. Elwood will readily suppose that I
should not have been straying into the wood for flowers and berries, had I
known we had any such neighbors as the one from whose pursuit he so kindly
rescued me last evening."
"I was as much surprised at the ferocity of the animal as you were, I
presume," said Claud, in reply. "And I was far more indebted to the hunter,
Phillips, for my _own_ rescue, than _you_ were to _me_ for _yours_. I
merely turned the furious brute aside. It was he who, coming up in the nick
of time, brought him dead to the earth."
"I supposed there were two of you," remarked Gurley. "I was half a mile up
the river, yet I heard the firing plain enough; and, returning soon after,
and hearing my daughter's story, I went to the place; but, by that time,
you had dressed the animal and were gone. By the voices I heard in the
woods, a short time ago, I concluded you came up, with others, for the
beef."
"We did. You here should certainly be entitled to a liberal share. Will you
not go up there?"
"Yes; I was thinking about it before you came in. I will go; but, as I wish
to go a short distance into the woods, partly in another direction, I will
now walk on and come round to the spot; and, if I don't meet you there, you
may just tell your father how surprised I have been to find myself again in
the same neighborhood with himself."
"Umph!" half audibly exclaimed the hitherto mute wife, with a look that
seemed to say, "What a bouncer he is telling now!" and she was evidently
about to say something, comporting with the significant exclamation, but a
glance from her husband, as he passed out of the door, quelled her into
silence.
On the departure of Gurley, his wife rose and left the room; when Claud,
unexpectedly finding himself alone with his fair companion, instead of
entering into the easy conversation with her which the dictates of common
gallantry would seem to require, soon began to manifest signs of constraint
and embarrassment, which did not escape the eye of the young lady, and
which caused her no little surprise and perplexity. She knew nothing of
what had been passing in his mind, nor once dreamed of the circumstance
which had first impressed her image there. She had, indeed, known nothing
of the Elwoods, except what she had heard her father say of them as a
family, with whose head he had in some way been formerly connected in
business. Had she been asked, she would doubtless have recalled the fact
that her father had, the year before, employed an artist to paint a
miniature likeness of her, which he subsequently pretended to have sent to
a relative of his residing in Quebec, and she never entertained the least
suspicion that it was not thus properly disposed of. She had never seen
Claud till yesterday, when he so opportunely appeared for her rescue; and,
even then, she had no idea who it was to whom she had thus become indebted.
She, however, had been much prepossessed with his appearance and manly
bearing, and felt a lively sense of gratitude for the voluntary service;
and when, by the introduction of her father, she became apprised of the
character of her deliverer, she felt doubly gratified that he had turned
out to be one who, she believed, would not take any mean advantage of the
obligation. For these reasons, she could not understand why he should
appear so reserved, unless it was that she had failed to interest him; and,
finally concluding that this must be the case, she did that which, with her
maidenly pride and high spirit, she would otherwise have scorned to do, she
exerted herself to the utmost to interest and please him; and, when he rose
to return to his companions, she followed him into the yard, and smilingly
said:
"You are fond of gunning excursions, are you not, Mr. Elwood?"
"Yes, O yes, quite so," replied Claud, with awkward hesitation.
"And would not an occasional excursion in _this_ direction be as pleasant
as any other?" she asked, with playful significance.
But, instead of replying in the same spirit, the bewildered young man
turned, and sent a gaze into the depths of her lustrous dark eyes, so
serious and intense that it brought a blush to her cheek; when, stammering
out his intention of often taking her house in his way in future, he
hurriedly bade her good-by, and departed, leaving her more perplexed than
ever.
As for Claud, it would be difficult to describe his sensations on leaving
the house, or make any thing definite out of the operations of his mind.
Both heart and brain were working tumultuously, but not in unison. The
train which his imagination had been laying was on the point of being
kindled into, a blaze by the reality. He knew it; he felt it; but he knew
also that it was the part of wisdom to smother the flame while it yet might
be controlled. The unexpected and startling discovery which he had just
made, that the girl who had so wrought upon his fancy, both when seen in
the picture and met in the original, was the daughter of Gaut Gurley,
raised difficulties and dangers in the path he found himself entering,
which his judgment told him could only be avoided by his immediate
desistance. For he was well aware how deeply rooted was his mother's
aversion to this man, and how fatal had been his influence over his father,
who had but a few months before escaped from his toils, and then only,
perhaps, because there was no more to be gained by keeping him in them any
longer. A connection with the daughter, therefore, however opposite in
character from her father, would not only greatly mar his mother's
happiness, but in all probability lead to a renewal of the intimacy between
his father and Gurley; an event which he himself felt was to be deprecated.
But the Demon of Sophistry, who first taught self-deceiving man how to make
"the wish father to the thought," here interposing, whispered to the
incipient lover that his father had reformed, and why not then Gaut Gurley?
This reasoning, however, could not be made to satisfy his judgment; and
again commenced the struggle between head and heart, one pulling one way
and the other in another way,--too often an unequal struggle, too often
like one of those contests between man and wife, where reason succumbs and
will comes off triumphant.
Such were the fluctuating thoughts and purposes which occupied the agitated
bosom of Claud Elwood, in his solitary walk to the place where the boats
had been left, and where the subject was now driven from his mind, for a
while, by the appearance of his companions and the merry jokes of the
hunter. They had cut up the moose meat, which they had found in good
condition, and brought all they deemed worth saving down to the landing.
And, being now ready to embark, they apportioned the meat among the
different canoes, and rowed with the now favoring current rapidly down the
river together till they reached its mouth, when they separated, and bore
their allotted portions of the moose to their respective homes.
For the two succeeding days and nights the hapless Claud was the prey of
conflicting emotions,--the more oppressive because he carefully kept them
pent up in his own bosom. He dared not make the least allusion before his
parents to the lady whom they knew he had rescued, or his visit to her
home, for he could not do so without revealing the fact that the dreaded
Gaut Gurley, with his family, had found his way into the vicinity; while,
if he did disclose this fact, he felt that he could not hold up his head
before them till he had conquered his feelings towards the daughter. And
sometimes he thought he had conquered them, and resolved that he would
never see her again. But, brooding over his feelings in the solitudes of
the woods, he only cherished and fanned the flame he was thinking to
extinguish; and he again relapsed,--again paused,--again "resolved,
re-resolved, and _did_ the same;" for, on the third day, under the excuse
of taking another excursion on the lake, he was drawn, as surely as the
vibrating needle to the pole, to the beautiful load-star of the Magalloway.
Suspecting the state of young Elwood's feelings towards her, and fearing
that she might have been too forward in her advances at their last
interview, Avis Gurley, this time, received him with a dignity and maidenly
reserve, which, when contrasted with her former sociability and cordiality
of manner, seemed to him like studied coolness. This soon led him, in turn,
to sue for favor. And so earnestly did he pursue his object, that, before
he was aware of what he was saying, he had revealed the secret of his
heart. She received his remarks in respectful silence, but gave no
indication by which he could judge whether the inadvertent disclosure was
pleasing or otherwise, except what might be gathered from her increased
cordiality on other subjects, to which she now adroitly turned the
conversation. This was just enough to encourage him, and at the same time
leave him in that degree of doubt and suspense which generally operate as
the greatest incentive to persevere in the pursuit of an object. It proved
so in his case; and, to this natural incentive to persevere, was now added
another, that of respect for her character,--a respect which every hour's
conversation with her enhanced, and which he might accord to her with
entire justice. Gaut Gurley, like many other bad men, was proud of having a
good daughter. He early perceived that she inherited all that was comely
and good in him, physically and morally, without any of his defects or
faults of character. And, desirous so to rear her as to make the most of
her natural endowments, and so, at the same time, that her character should
not be marred by his example, he had been at considerable expense with her
education, and had even deported himself with much circumspection in her
presence. This, as will be readily inferred of one of his designing
character, he did from a mixed motive: partly from parental pride and
affection, and partly to make her, through some advantageous marriage,
subservient to his own personal interests.
In this state of affairs between Claud and Avis, closed this, their second
interview. Another, and another, and yet another, succeeded at brief
intervals. And so rapid is the course of love, when springing up in
solitudes like these, where nothing occurs to divert the gathering current,
but every thing conspires to increase it,--where to our young devotees all
around them seemed to reflect their own feelings,--where the aeolian music
of the whispering pines that embowered their solitary walks seemed but to
give voice to the melody that filled their own hearts,--where to them the
birds all sang of love,--where love smiled upon them in the pensive beams
of the moon, glistened in the stars, and was stamped on all the expanse of
blue sky above, and on all the forms of beauty on the green earth
beneath,--so rapid, we repeat, is the course of love, thus born, and thus
fostered, that a fortnight had scarcely elapsed before they had both
yielded up heart and soul to the dominion of the well-named blind god, and
uttered their mutual vows of love and constancy.
This was the sunshine of their love; but the storms were already gathering
in the distance.