It was now the middle of May. A month had elapsed since the events
detailed in the preceding chapters. The recollection of the outrage at
Heywood's farm, committed early in April was fast dying away, save
in the bosoms of those more immediately interested in the fate of its
proprietor, and apprehensions of a repetition of similar atrocities
had, in a great measure, ceased. A better understanding between the
commanding officer and his subordinates--the result of a long private
interview, which Ensign Ronayne had had with the former, on the morning
after his promise to Mrs. Headley, followed by an apology on parade
that day, had arisen. Corporal Nixon was now Sergeant Nixon--Collins had
succeeded to him, and Le Noir and the boy--Catholic and Protestant--had
been buried in one grave. Ephraim Giles filled the office of factotum
to Von Vottenberg, whose love of whisky punch, was, if possible, on the
increase. Winnebeg, the bearer of confidential despatches, announcing
the hostile disposition and acts of certain of the Winnebagoes, had not
returned, and Waunangee, who, recovered from the fumes of the claret,
had, in an earnest manner, expressed to Ronayne contrition for
the liberty he had taken with Miss Heywood, had departed from the
neighborhood, no one knew whither. Harmony, in a word, had been some
days restored in the Fort, and the only thing that detracted from the
general contentment, was the uncertainty attending the fate of Mr.
Heywood--regretted less, however, for his own sake, than for that of
his amiable daughter, who vainly sought to conceal from her friends,
the anxiety induced by an absence, the duration of which it was utterly
impossible to divine. As for Mrs. Heywood, she was still in ignorance,
so well had things been managed by the Elmsleys, that any of the fearful
scenes had occurred. She still believed her husband to be at the farm.
But, as it was not likely she could much longer remain in ignorance of
what had been the subject of conversation with every one around her,
it was advised by Von Vottenberg, that, as the warmth of spring was now
fully developed, and all dread of the Indians resuming their hostile
visit, at an end, she should be conveyed back to the cottage, the pure
air around which, was much more likely to improve her health, than
the confined atmosphere of the Fort. She had accordingly been removed
thither early in May, accompanied by her daughter and Catherine.
Ronayne, of course, become once more a daily visitor, and soon beneath
his hand, the garden began again to assume the beautiful garb it had
worn at that season, for the last two years. The interviews of the
lovers here, freed from the restraints imposed upon them while in the
Fort, had resumed that fervent character which had marked them on the
afternoon of the day when they so solemnly interchanged their vows of
undying faith. They now no longer merely looked their love. They spoke
of it--drank in the sweet avowal from each others lips, and luxuriated
in the sweet pleasure it imparted. They were as the whole world to each
other, and although language could not convey a warmer expression of
their feelings, than had already gone forth from their lips, still was
the repetition replete with a sweetness that never palled upon the ear.
Like the man who never tires of gazing upon his gold, so did they
never tire of the treasures of the expressed love, that daily grew more
intense in their hearts. And yet, notwithstanding this utter devotedness
of soul--notwithstanding her flattering heart confessed in secret the
fullest realization of those dreams which had filled and sustained her
in early girlhood--albeit the assurance the felt that, in Ronayne, she
had found the impersonation of the imaginings of her maturer life, still
whenever he urged her in glowing language to name the day when she would
become his wife, she evaded an answer, not from caprice, but because she
would not bring to him a heart clouded by the slightest tinge of that
anxiety with which ignorance of her father's fate, could not fail to
shade it. A painful circumstance which happened about that period, at
length, however, brought affairs to a crisis.
It was a lovely evening towards the close of May, and after a somewhat
sultry morning which had been devoted to a ride on horseback along the
lakeshore--Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley, who had accompanied them,
having returned home, that Ronayne and his betrothed sat in the little
summer-house already described. Mrs. Heywood who had been so far
recovered from her weakness by the change of air, as to take slight
exercise in the garden, supported by her daughter, and the young
officer, had on this occasion expressed a wish to join them, in order
that she might inhale the soft breeze that blew from the south, and
enjoy once more the scenery of the long reach of the river, which wound
its serpentine course from the direction of the farm. To this desire no
other objection was offered, than what was suggested by her companions,
from an apprehension that the fatigue of the ascent would be too great
for her. She, however, persisted in her wish, declaring that she felt
herself quite strong enough--an assertion for which her returning color
gave some evidence. They ceased to oppose her. It was the first time
the invalid had been in the summer-house, since the same period the
preceding spring, and naturally associating the recollection of her
husband, with the familiar objects in the distance, she took her
daughter's hand, and said in a low and husky voice, that proved how much
she had overrated her own strength:
“How is it, Maria, my love, that we have seen nothing of your father,
lately? I have never known him, since we have been in this part of the
country, to be so long absent from us at one time.”
“Nay, dear mamma,” returned the pained girl, the tears starting to her
eyes, in spite of her efforts to restrain them, “I do not exactly know
what can detain him. Perhaps he is not at the farm,” and here her tears
forced their way--“you know, dearest mamma, that he is very fond of long
hunting excursions.”
“Yes, but, my child, why do you weep? Surely there is nothing in that to
produce such emotion. He will soon be back again.”
“Oh! yes, I hope so. Forgive me, my dear mamma, but I have a very bad
head-ache, and never felt more nervous than I do this evening. Perhaps
it is the effect of my ride in the heat of the sun. Shall we go on. It
is nearly sunset, and I dread your being exposed to the night-air.”
“Oh! it is so delicious,” softly returned the invalid; “I feel as if I
had not lived for the last twelve months, until now. Only a little
while longer, shall I not, Mr. Ronayne? Perhaps I may never have an
opportunity of ascending to this summer-house again.”
During this short conversation, trifling in itself, but conveying, under
the circumstances, so much subject for deep and painful reflections,
the young officer had evinced much restlessness of manner, yet without
interposing any other remark than to join Miss Heywood's entreaties that
her mother would suffer herself to be conducted home, before the dew
should begin to fall. In order, moreover, as much as possible to leave
them uninterrupted in the indulgence of their feelings, he had from the
first risen, and stood with his back to them, within the entrance of the
summer house, and was now, with a view to drown their conversation to
his own ear, whistling to Loup Garou, sitting on his haunches outside
the garden-gate, looking fixedly at him.
Touched by the account he had received of the fidelity of the dog, he,
had, with the consent of Sergeant Nixon, who was glad to secure for his
favorite so kind a protector, become possessed of him from the moment of
his return home; and time, which had in some degree blunted the sorrow
of the animal for the loss of one master, rendered equally keen his
instinct of attachment for the other. Within the month he had been his,
every care had been taken by Ronayne himself, as well as by his servant,
to wean the mourner from the grave of Le Noir, on which, for the first
few days, he had lain, absorbed in grief--refusing all food, until,
yielding at length to the voice of kindness, his memory of the past
seemed to have faded wholly away.
Ronayne, however, from a fear of exciting unpleasant recollections
in those who were not ignorant of the former position of the dog, had
endeavoured as much as possible, to prevent him from crossing the river
during his visits to the cottage; but, within the last four or five
days, Loup Garou would not thus be kept back, and when expelled from the
boat, had swam across, taking up his station at the gate, beyond which,
however, he did not presume to pass, as if sensible that the delicate
parterres within, were interdicted ground, and there generally lay
squatted with his nose resting on the grass, between his outstretched
fore-paws, until his master came forth on his return home.
The unexpected and encouraging whistle of the latter on this occasion,
which had been given in pure unconsciousness, caused him to prick
his ears, and uttering a sharp cry, he sprang over the gate, bounding
rapidly towards the eminence on which his master stood. About half-way
between its base and the summit, there was a beautiful rose-bush which
had been planted by Ronayne, and from which he had plucked two flowers,
for the mother and daughter, during the ascent, and presented with
a hand that was observed by Maria Heywood to tremble, and a cheek
unwontedly pale.
On arriving opposite the rose-tree, the animal suddenly stopped, and
putting his nose to the ground close under it, and sniffing almost
furiously, uttered a prolonged and melancholy howl, while, with his
fore-paws he began to scratch up the loose earth around, regardless of
the voice of his master, who renewed his whistling, and called upon him
almost angrily to desist.
Alarmed at this perseverance of action, the ensign descended to the
spot--laid hands on Loup Garou, and sought to remove him, but the
animal, strong of neck--full in the chest--and on the present occasion,
under the influence of furious impulse, was not to be restrained.
The moaning of the dog--the descent-the corrective voice of his master,
and the seeming struggle of both to attain opposite purposes, naturally
attracted the attention of those above, and they both rose and neared
to the doorway Ronayne had so recently quitted. Their horror may well
be imagined when, on looking down, they found that the dog had
already uncovered a human body, which, though disfigured and partially
decomposed, filial and conjugal affection too clearly distinguished as
the father of the one, the husband of the other!
Uttering a feeble shriek, Mrs. Heywood fell insensible within the
threshold of the summer-house, while her daughter, less overwhelmed, but
with feelings impossible to describe, stooped and chafed her mother's
temples, and notwithstanding a horrid thought, which, despite her own
will, shot through her mind, that the man to whom she had given every
affection of her heart, was in some degree connected with this horrid
spectacle, she called vehemently to him for assistance.
The situation of the perplexed officer was scarcely less painful. On
the one hand, feeling all the necessity of retaining his grasp of Loup
Garou, as the only means of preventing him from further uncovering of
the body--on the other, urged by the summons of her, whom he knew, from
her very manner, to be in possession of this fearful secret, his mind
become a perfect chaos, and large drops of perspiration streamed from
his brow. In this irritating dilemma, a sudden transport of rage took
possession of his heart, and seizing Loup Garou with both his hands, he
so compressed them around his throat, that the dog, already exhausted
with his exertions, was half-strangled before being raised with a
frantic effort, and dashed with violence upon the body he had so
unhappily been instrumental in discovering.
Scarcely had this been done--a low moaning from Loup Garou, as if
reproaching him for the act, alone denoting that he breathed, when the
ensign flew up the steps of the summer-house, and regardless of the
involuntary half-shudder of his betrothed, as he approached, caught the
insensible invalid in his arms, and so carrying her, that her eyes, if
she should open them, could not encounter the horrid spectacle below,
again rapidly descended, and hurried towards the house. Maria Heywood,
on passing the rose-tree so recently prized, but now so abhorrent to her
sight, could not resist a strong impulse to look upon the mysteries so
strangely unveiled, but although the twilight had not yet passed away,
nothing could be seen but the displaced earth, and stretched over the
excavation he himself had made, the motionless body of the dog.
Sick at heart, and with wild and unconnected images floating through her
heated brain, she followed almost mechanically to the cottage.
This was no time for ceremony. When answering the loud ring, Catherine
appeared hurriedly at the door, Ronayne bore his inanimate charge into
her bedroom, and in silence and deep grief, sought, by every means in
his power, to restore her. But all his efforts proving vain, he, in a
state of mind difficult to describe, tore a leaf from his pocket-book,
wrote a few hurried lines to Elmsley, requesting him to allow his
wife to come over immediately with Von Vottenberg, and when they had
departed, to call upon Captain Headley and explain the cause of his
absence. This note he gave to Catherine, with instructions to cross in
the boat which was waiting for himself, and to return with Mrs. Elmsley,
or if she did not come, with the doctor.
When left together, beside the insensible body of Mrs. Heywood, the
lovers experienced for the first time, a feeling of restraint, for in
the hearts of both, were passing thoughts which neither seemed desirous
of imparting. But, Maria Heywood, gentle as she was, was not of a
character long to endure the state of uncertainty under which she
labored. The strange wild apprehensions which had arisen, she knew
not how or why, had so preyed upon her quiet, that suspense became
intolerable, and at length, addressing her lover in a voice, never more
melancholy or touching than at that moment, and looking at him with
an expression of deep sadness, while the large tears trickled down her
cheeks.
“Ronayne, you know--you must have known--your whole conduct throughout
this affair, proves you must have known of my poor father's death, and
of his rude--almost insulting burial in that fatal spot. How he came
hither, you best can tell. Oh! Harry, it is very cruel thus to have
reposed the confidence of the entire soul, and then to have been
disappointed. This cruel discovery will be the means of destroying my
peace forever, unless you give the explanation which alone can restore
our confidence in each other--yet how can I, with these glaring truths
before my eyes, expect that you will?”
“Insulting burial! oh, Maria, I feel that I never loved you more than
now when you would break my heart with this unkindness.” He bent his
head upon the same pillow, upon which reclined the unconscious head of
the mother of the woman whom he so ardently loved, and wept tears of
bitterness and sorrow.
“I cannot stand this, Ronayne, dear Ronayne, whatever you be--whatever
you may have done, I love you with all the ardor of the most devoted
soul! But,” she continued, more composedly, “forgive me, if my feelings
and my judgment are at issue. One question I must ask, cost what it may,
for I cannot longer endure this agony of suspense--no, for your sake
I cannot endure it. How is it that you have always made a secret--a
mystery even to me, of the motive of your absence on that fatal night
succeeding the massacre at the firm.”
“Dear Maria. I can well forgive the question in the excitement which
must have been produced in you by the startling events of this evening.”
“Ronayne,” she mournfully interrupted--“your sudden interference with
the dog--your struggle with him--nay, your very manner of speaking now,
convince me that you knew my father lay buried beneath that rose-tree.
In candor, answer me. Yes or no.”
“And, admitting I had had that knowledge, Maria--can you imagine no good
reason for my forbearing all allusion to the subject?”
“Yet, why conceal the fact from one who had supposed you could have
no concealment from her--and then again, how am I to reconcile the
circumstance of my poor father having been reported to be a prisoner--a
report which, sanctioned by yourself, left me not utterly hopeless--and
the fact of his burial here--evidently with your knowledge.”
“Maria,” returned Ronayne, impressively, and with an expression of much
pain at the remark, “as I have already said, I can make every allowance,
in recollection of the painful scene of which I have, in some degree,
been the cause, but is it generous--is it quite appreciating my
character and my feelings towards yourself, to doubt that I had intended
from the first, and at a fitting moment, to explain every thing to you?”
Again was the confidence of the generous girl established, and with
almost passionate warmth, she exclaimed. “Oh! Ronayne, forgive--forgive
me, but this melancholy--this harrowing occurrence has made me so far
not myself--that I almost hate myself. Tell me, dear Ronayne, do you
forgive me?”
“Yes, from the bottom of my soul, do I forgive you, and yet, dearest,
there is nothing to forgive, for how could it be otherwise, than that
your poor and sorely tried heart should be subjected to wild imaginings
inexplicable to yourself. The ordeal to which you have been submitted,
is a severe one, but I am sure your oppressed heart will be greatly
lightened when you shall have been in possession of the truth connected
with this most melancholy affair--your regard for me, will if possible,
be even greater than before. Pardon this seeming vanity. I make the
assertion because I know it will not a little console you, under this
terrible infliction.”
It was a strange sight, that of these lovers, hitherto so devoted and
now only temporarily half-doubting, talking of the fate of one parent
while leaning over the apparent death-bed of the other.
“Ronayne, dear Ronayne, I am satisfied--fully, wholly satisfied, and
as you observe, the assurance which you have now given me, will form my
chief support under this double affliction,” and she pointed, weeping,
to her mother, whose scarcely perceptible breathing alone attested that
she lived.
“Maria,” he said tenderly and gravely, as he took her hand in his, over
the invalid--“the hour of your promise is come--the fate of your father
is known--would that it had been less abruptly revealed--and were other
inducement to keep it wanting, is it not to be found here? But at this
moment I will ask nothing which you may feel reluctance in granting.
To-morrow we will speak of this again--to-morrow you shall know how much
I have sought--how much I have risked--to soften the pang which I knew
would, soon or late be inflicted on her whom I so love.”
“Generous--kind--considerate Ronayne, I can fully understand you, yet,
ah! what must you think of me, who could for a moment doubt your power
to explain every act of your life, however ambiguous in appearance. But
what is that paper you have taken from your pocket-book?”
“One that I have long designed for your perusal. It was written a few
days after the events at the farm, and I have since then frequently
determined to place it in your hands in order that, in the sacredness of
solitude, you might indulge in the bitter tears its few pages will wring
from you; but too selfish--yes, selfish, and severely am I punished for
it--to suffer the joy of the hour to be broken in upon by sadness, I
have hitherto delayed putting you in possession of that which, if only
communicated a day earlier, would have spared us this painful scene. But
I hear footsteps approaching. They must be those of Mrs. Elmsley and the
doctor, with Catherine. Be not surprised, dearest, if I leave you soon
after they enter, for I have something to do this evening which will
require my presence in the Fort. Early in the morning, however, I shall
be here.”
“I understand well what demands your presence elsewhere,” she returned
with a look of deep gratitude and love. “Oh! Ronayne, whatever may
happen,” and the tears streamed down her pale face, as she pointed to
her mother--“hear me declare that whatever you may ask of me one month
hence, I shall not consider myself justified in refusing.”
Scarcely had he time to impress upon her lips his deep but chastened
sense of happiness, when the party expected, entered the room--Von
Vottenberg immediately applying himself to an examination of the
patient, whose condition, it was evident from his unusually grave look,
he conceived to be highly critical.
Dreading to hear his opinion pronounced in the presence of his
betrothed, and the more so, because he had in some degree been its
cause, the young officer, after having warmly shaken hands with Mrs.
Elmsley, whom he thanked for her prompt attention, urged her to do all
in her power to soothe Maria, to whom, at parting, he also offered his
hand, while his eye was eloquent with the feelings he could not well
openly express.
He first directed his course towards the rose-bush, and approached it
with a feeling almost similar to what would have been experienced by
him, had he been the actual murderer of Mr. Heywood. Loup Garou was
sitting crouched near the head and was so far recovered as to growl
rather fiercely at him, as he approached. On hearing the voice of his
master, not in anger but in conciliation, he arose, slightly wagged his
tail, and came forward slowly and crouching, as if in dread of further
punishment, his lip uncurled, showing all his upper teeth, and with a
short, quick sneeze, peculiar to his half-wolf-blooded race.
Calling gently to the animal, he preceded him to the gate, desiring him
to wait there until he returned--an injunction evidently understood by
the dog, which, crouching down in his accustomed posture, ventured not
to move. With the small spud, already alluded to, and then near the
rose-tree, he put back in small quantities the displaced earth, until
the ghastly face, indistinctly seen in the star-light, was again wholly
hidden from view. This done, he approached the bank of the river,
followed by the dog, and gave a shrill whistle, which, without being
answered, speedily brought over the boat in which he now embarked for
the opposite shore.
His first care was to seek Elmsley, who, as officer of the guard, was
up accoutred for duty, and was now looking over an old “Washington
Intelligencer,” that had been read at least a dozen times before, while
he smoked his pipe and sipped from a bowl of whisky punch, which Von
Vottenberg had just finished brewing, when so suddenly summoned to the
cottage.
After Ronayne had detailed to his friend the occurrences of the evening,
and communicated his views, they both issued forth to the guard-room,
where Sergeant Nixon happened to be upon duty. With the latter, a brief
conversation was held by Ronayne, ending with an injunction for him to
come to Lieutenant Elmsley's quarters and announce to him (the former),
when certain arrangements which had been agreed upon, were completed.
Returned to the abode of the latter, the young officer required no very
great pressing to induce him to join his superior in the beverage, to
which anxiety of mind not less than fatigue of body had so much disposed
him, yet of which both partook moderately. While so employed, and
awaiting the appearance of the sergeant, Ronayne, who had now no motive
for further mystery or concealment, detailed at the request of his
friend, but in much more succinct terms than he had done in the paper
he had handed to Maria Heywood, the circumstances connected with his
absence from the Fort, on the night of the attack upon the farm, and the
means taken by him to attain the object in which he had been thwarted by
Captain Headley.