HER FAIRY PRINCE.
"Any letters, Mr. Grey?"
The voice was low and eager. The girl to whom the voice belonged
paused before the dingy counter of the country store and post-office
combined, and stood patiently waiting. The postmaster, a rosy-faced old
gentleman, with a superabundance of bald head, glanced over the meager
assortment of epistolary communications in the little lettered boxes
before him, and shook his head slowly.
"No! Oh--yes, to be sure! Wait a moment, if you please, Miss Beatrix,"
he corrected himself, pouncing upon a large white envelope, which he
placed upon the counter before her with an air of satisfaction. "Here
you are! I nigh overlooked it. It's for your pa--see--'Doctor Frederick
Lynne, Chester, Mass.,' and postmarked New Orleans. Now, who kin it be
from? Your pa got any relative down South? No,"--(as the girl shook
her head decidedly)--"I thought not. I've knowed Doctor Lynne these
one-and-twenty years, and I never heerd him talk o' no relatives down
South. How's your ma, Miss Beatrix?"
The girl's dark eyes flashed.
"My mother?" she repeated, with a little tinge of contempt in her sweet
voice. "You mean Mrs. Lynne? You will please remember, Mr. Grey, that
although I call Doctor Lynne father, his wife is not my mother."
"Eh? What? Waal, I declar'! But still, arter all, you're right. You're
putty nigh always right, Miss Trix. Nothin' more today?" he added,
anxiously, as having slipped the letter into her pocket, the girl was
about to move away.
"No. Yes, there is. You may cut me off fifteen yards of that garnet
merino, if you please, Mr. Grey. Papa said that I might, and--"
"Yes, yes, Miss Beatrix; it's all right. And mercy knows you need a
new dress! Think you'll be able to carry such a big bundle all the way
home? Yes? Waal, young folks orter be strong, and you always was able
to take keer o' yourself. So, Miss Beatrix"--measuring off the soft
folds of merino with deft fingers--"you don't 'pear to like Mrs. Lynne?
Waal, 'tain't in natur' for a gal to keer as much for a 'dopted mother
as she would for her own. Your mother--no one here knows who she was,
Miss Trix; but when I looked upon her dead face, I declar' I thought I
was a-lookin' at the face o' an angel."
The girl's dark eyes filled with tears, but she choked them bravely
back.
"We will not speak of her now, if you please, Mr. Grey," she suggested.
"And, really, I must make haste home, for it is getting late."
Mr. Grey took off his huge steel-bowed spectacles and rubbed them
vigorously upon his sleeve.
"To be sure. The days is gettin' shorter, for a fact. November is a
dreary month hereabouts; and, upon my word, Miss Trix, I really believe
it's goin' to snow. And you have two good miles to walk."
"Yes, sir; I know. I would have come earlier, but Mrs. Lynne objected,
and of course I dared not disobey. Then papa glanced up from his
books--since his affliction all he can do is to read and write, you
know--he glanced up from his books long enough to see that I was really
anxious to go, and then he happened to remember that we had not heard
from the post-office in three days--three whole days--and so he gave me
permission. But I must make haste, for it is five o'clock, and it will
be dark before six."
"To be sure--to be sure, Miss Beatrix. Good-night, my dear. I hope
you'll reach home all right."
"Thank you. Nothing will harm me, I am sure. Good-night."
The door of the weather-beaten old building opened and closed behind
her, and the girl stood alone under the gray of the November sky--a
slight, slim figure in a dowdyish brown serge gown, and a hat of last
year's fashion--a graceful little figure with a face of rare beauty.
Pale, colorless complexion, with straight, delicate features, and
large, velvety dark eyes, and a mass of gold-brown hair, Beatrix Dane
was well worth looking at as she stood there; for even her common--not
to say shabby--attire did not conceal the exquisite grace and beauty of
her face and form. For a moment she stood gazing about her, then with a
low sigh she hastened away.
Two weary miles lay between the little country town and the cheerless
home of Doctor Lynne whom she looked upon as an own father; but the
hard-hearted mistress of the house could never stand in the place of a
mother to the lonely girl. She was thinking of it now as she hastened
over the hard, frozen road, the sun sinking slowly out of sight in the
gloomy west, a light fall of snow beginning slowly to descend.
"How I wish I were rich!" she exclaimed, half aloud; "then I would not
live in a place like this, away from the world. And I would have my own
carriage and need not walk. It must be delightful to have all the money
you wish, and not have to wear the same old gown forever--a dyed old
gown, too, which is positively hideous."
She drew the gayly colored plaid shawl that she wore closer about
her shoulders to keep out the chill evening air, and she shuddered
involuntarily as her eyes fell upon the ugly wrap. The girl was an
artist by nature, and anything incongruous or out of harmony jarred
upon her like a shock, while any unfortunate mistake in the blending of
colors would send a chill through her artistic soul.
"Oh, dear! I wish my fairy prince would come!" she cried, half
laughingly, "and rescue me from my unpleasant surroundings. My fairy
prince! Like the princes in the story-books, he must be young, rich,
and handsome; courteous and--and everything nice. He must be tall and
graceful, with soft dark eyes, and hair as black as midnight; a sweet
mouth, but firm and resolute, and a determined chin. I have seen a
picture like that--where was it? Oh, yes; in Mrs. Lynne's photograph
album. I asked her who it was, and she told me that it was no concern
of mine. To be sure, it was not; but then I only asked a civil answer
to a harmless question. Ah, Mrs. Lynne! you will be the death of me
yet--you and your ugly daughter! Serena Lynne and I can never live as
sisters. The thought of it makes me long for the coming of my Prince
Charming, who will take me away to peace and happiness. I wish my own
father would come for me. I wish my own mother had not died. I--I--Good
gracious! _what is that_?"
She came to a frightened halt, gazing about her with terror-dilated
eyes. A few rods before her a little river remained to be crossed--a
narrow stream, but very deep and with a very rapid current. Spanning
the stream was a dilapidated bridge, which had already been condemned
for the use of vehicles; but still a few venturesome pedestrians
trusted their lives upon its frail strength. Beatrix had crossed upon
the bridge; she had fully expected to return in that way; but now, as
she came to a frightened halt, the sound of a horse's feet broke the
silence, and she beheld an unexpected scene. Just before her, half-way
over the bridge, she saw a big black horse, and upon his back a man--a
young man--a stranger in that vicinity. He was crossing the dilapidated
structure without a suspicion that it was unsafe. Even as the girl's
eyes fell upon the scene, _crash_! went the rotten timbers. There was a
wild cry, a rush through space, then the thud of a falling body as man
and horse struck the swift-flowing current below. The horse, once freed
from its rider, swam swiftly toward the shore and reached the opposite
bank, up which it scrambled and soon disappeared. Pale and trembling,
the girl crept close to the river-bank, and glanced over. She could see
that tall, dark form battling manfully with the waves; the river was
deepest and swiftest at this point--the water ice-cold. If the swimmer
was able to keep up for a time, he must soon succumb to the cold,
half-frozen element. She stood transfixed with horror, her eyes riveted
upon the dark figure rising and falling with the current as he strove
to keep himself afloat, and made a desperate fight for life.
"Heaven have mercy!" cried the girl; "must he die there alone? Oh, what
shall I do? What can I do?"
There was no one within a mile of the spot. Long before she could
summon help he would have sunk to the bottom, chilled through and
through. How could he long persist in his mad efforts to save himself?
All at once an inspiration rushed into the girl's heart--a slim chance,
but it seemed the only one. Fortunately, the stream, though so deep and
swift, was not wide. Her plan seemed feasible. Removing the long, stout
shawl from her shivering shoulders, she crept to the very edge of the
bank and leaned over. The swimmer was nearly paralyzed from the cold,
and was fast giving up; but his eyes fell upon the girl, and he saw at
once what she was trying to do.
"Can you swim near enough to reach it?" she called aloud.
For answer he made one more desperate effort; then she saw for the
first time that he had been injured in some way by the falling
timbers--one of his limbs seemed nearly useless. But with superhuman
efforts he strove to swim within reach of that bright colored banner
streaming out upon the water. A little nearer--a little nearer! He was
faint and chilled to the bone.
She leaned far over the brink of the stream, her teeth set hard
together, her eyes flashing with resolution.
"Try!" she cried once more in her clear, cheery voice. "Don't give up
yet. Try--_try hard_!"
One more desperate plunge and he had caught the strong woolen fabric in
both chilled, numb hands. Could she tow him to shore? Would she have
strength--that frail, slight creature? She stepped slowly backward, and
with all her might pulled upon the impromptu rope.
Moments passed, which seemed hours to Beatrix Dane, but she did not
give up. Her face was set and pale, the little white teeth shut closely
down upon her under lip, her hands grasped the shawl with a strength
born of desperation.
And so at last the deed was done; the body of the man--for he was
quite unconscious now--was dragged to shore, and Beatrix Dane stooped
and gazed into the still, white face. She fell back with a cry of
astonishment. It was the face of her dreams--her imaginary hero, her
fairy prince. His eyes were closed, but there was the hair as black as
midnight, the straight, delicate features, the small, firm mouth, half
hidden by the silky black mustache, the graceful figure. He was all
that her fancy had painted; he was a facsimile of the picture that had
pleased her so.
She gazed upon the still, white face, and her heart thrilled with a
strange and unaccountable feeling; a subtle happiness seemed to pervade
her being.
"How handsome he is!" she exclaimed. "And oh! what can I do to restore
him to consciousness? Poor fellow! he will freeze."
The cold, chilly winds of November were straying about through the
bare, bleak country-side; they swept over the drenched form lying upon
the cold ground. And Beatrix's heart grew chill as a horrible fear
assailed her that he would soon be frozen to death. His clothing was
literally freezing upon his body. Her shawl, the only warm garment
which she possessed, was dripping with water; she wrung out its folds
as well as she could, and hung it upon a neighboring bush to dry. Then
she glanced around her; she must find some way to warm him, or he would
perish there before her. Her eyes fell upon the package which lay upon
the ground near by; the package containing the material for her new
dress--the first new dress that she had had in a whole year. The soft,
warm folds of merino would help to keep the life within his chilled
frame. There was no help for it, the dress must go. Tearing open the
wrapper, she drew forth the pretty garnet merino, and not without a
little pang, as she remembered the rebuke which Mrs. Lynne would have
in store for her, she wound the warm folds about his neck and chest.
Utterly unprotected herself, she stood shivering beside the unconscious
man, chafing his numb hands and wrapping them in her skirts to try and
restore the circulation.
The sun had long since set; night was coming swiftly down. But she
could not leave him to certain death, even were it possible for her to
cross the bridge herself. A thought struck her; she ventured to slip
her hand timidly into the pocket of the young man's coat. If she could
find a few matches! Yes; how fortunate! There, in a tiny metal safe
impervious to the water were plenty of lucifers. She heaped together
a quantity of brushwood and soon had lighted a fire. All at once, she
saw that the stranger's eyes were open and fixed upon her face with a
strange, questioning expression--great dark eyes ideally beautiful. He
struggled to a sitting posture, his form trembling like a leaf.
"What has happened?" he faltered, feebly. "How came I here? And
you--who are you?"
"My name is Dane," the girl replied. "You fell through the bridge, and
I helped you out of the water."
"You saved my life? Ah, yes! I remember now. You are a brave girl.
And, by Jove!"--as his glance wandered to the slight, shivering
figure--"you have no wrap. What is this?" trying to start to his feet,
but falling back once more with an involuntary cry of pain. "I--I fear
that I am going to faint!" he murmured, feebly. "Miss--Dane, will you
please--look in my coat-pocket for a flask--of--brandy?"
She obeyed him in silence, and fortunately found a flask nearly filled
with brandy. She forced him gently to a seat which she had prepared
of moss and dry brushwood. Then, with deft fingers, she removed the
drinking-cup attached to the flask, and poured it nearly full of the
liquor. She held it to his lips, but he motioned it away.
"You must drink some first," he said, in a tone which she never once
thought of disobeying. "Oh, yes! you must! It may help to save your
life. No matter though you do not like it, you must drink it."
With a wry face the girl obeyed him, and drank some of the fiery
liquid, after which the stranger followed her example. Then they
crouched before the fire to await the next move in the little romance.
An hour passed, and then relief came. Two men in a boat, rowing swiftly
down the river, saw Beatrix standing in the light of the brushwood
fire. A few vigorous pulls and the boat was landed, and the story told.
It did not take long to assist the stranger into the boat, and Beatrix
was safely seated in the stern before it occurred to her that she had
not inquired his destination.
"I was on my way to Doctor Frederick Lynne's," the young man explained.
"My name is Keith Kenyon, and my home is in New Orleans."
Keith Kenyon! The name fell upon the girl's ears like a strain of
half-forgotten music. Her great dark eyes met his with a startled
glance of surprise.
"Why, you were going to my home!" she exclaimed. "I am Doctor Lynne's
adopted daughter--Beatrix Dane."
As the words passed her lips their eyes met, and a strange, subtle
thrill went through Beatrix Dane's heart at sight of the strange
expression in his dark eyes.
But they had now reached the opposite shore, where a team and light
wagon were speedily procured, and the kind-hearted men who were acting
the part of good Samaritans to the two so strangely thrown together,
drove them at once to Doctor Lynne's--the old, weather-beaten,
unpainted house where Beatrix Dane had passed her childhood and youth,
and where the strange romance of her young life was destined to begin.