BETRAYER AND BETRAYED.
My gipsy maid! my gipsy-maid!
I bless and curse the day
I lost the light of life, and found
The grief that maketh gray!
Would that the light which blinded me
Had saved me on my way!—_Philip Bailey._
Kate Kyte was an early bird! Late as she had retired on the preceding
evening, she awoke betimes in the morning, wondering to find it so dark.
She knew by her own feeling, as well as by all the matutinal sounds of
the farm-yard, that it must be day. And yet it seemed to be night.
“I must have gone blind or something,” said Kate, jumping out of bed.
She soon found the cause of the darkness. Although there were neither
curtains nor shutters to her windows, yet every ray of light was
excluded by thick blinds of snow drifted against them on the outside.
“Whew! what a day for the last of March!” shivered Kate, as she hurried
into her clothes and hastened out into the kitchen, where old Lucy was
already busy with preparations for breakfast.
It was lighter and cheerfuller there, from the fact that Hubert, who had
returned in the night, had cleared the windows of their outer blinds of
snow.
“When did you get home?” inquired Kate, as he entered the back door,
beating the snow from his broom.
“Why, I came back soon as I saw the snow-storm rising. I came in the
back way, and as I heard you and Miss Lionne talking secrets, I thought
I would not disturb you, so I just went up-stairs and went to bed.”
“How very thoughtful!”
“Ain’t I, though. And I have brushed the snow off the parlor windows,
and made a good fire in there for you, too.”
“You _are_ a real good fellow when you choose to be, Hubert, and now I
must go in and set the table,” said Kate, passing into the front room,
where, to her surprise, she found Lionne already up, and dressed as if
for a journey.
“My stars! It seems, then, that I am the latest riser this morning. How
long have you been up?” asked Kate.
“Not long; I have but just come in here,” replied Lionne.
“And you look as if you had not slept one wink! And you speak like a
person in the last stage of consumption! And you are dressed for a ride!
What does it all mean?”
“It means that I think I shall have to set forward on my journey home
this morning.”
“What? Now you just go to the window and look out! You are a forester
and a mountaineer; you know very well that Braddock’s Road will be
impassible for days, if not for weeks,” said Kate Kyte.
“I have seen the prospect and I will venture,” replied Lionne, in the
tone and with the manner of one not to be turned from her purpose.
Kate Kyte looked into the pale, firm face of the mountain girl, and
ventured no further remonstrance except in saying:
“At least, of course, you will wait until after breakfast?”
“Why should I?—I cannot eat,” replied Lionne, with a slow shake of the
head.
“Why should you, indeed? Why, for _one_ reason, because Hubert has not
fed your horse yet! and, however far human beings, under the spur of
passion, may go on without food, the brute creatures have sense, and
come to a stand without their provender. So, ‘willy-nilly,’ you will
have to stay an hour longer,” said Kate.
“I believe you are right,” admitted Lionne, wearily untying her
riding-hat, and throwing it upon the windowsill, as she herself sank
exhausted on the settee, under the window.
“I declare, you look half dead now!” said Kate, looking upon the worn
face and collapsed form of the lately bright young huntress.
At this moment old Lucy came in the room, bearing in one hand a pot of
hot coffee and in the other a plate of hot rolls. She was followed
immediately by Hubert, bringing in a large dish of broiled partridges.
These edibles were carefully arranged upon the table.
“Come, Lionne, you have swallowed nothing but wrath and one cup of
coffee, since we reached home,” said Kate, placing a chair for her guest
and adding, as she forced her into it—“there is not a traitor in the
wide world worth losing a mouthful of food or an hour’s sleep for.”
“Again, I believe you are right!” said Lionne, receiving from the hands
of her friend a bowl of coffee, which she quaffed with feverish avidity.
“And yet,” she mentally added, “I shall not only lose food and sleep,
but life and soul perchance, for a traitor!”
“That is not _eating_, Lionne,” remonstrated Kate, as her guest held out
her bowl to be replenished—“I declare this living on strong, hot coffee
will kill you!”
“Is that possible?” inquired Lionne, with a strange, mocking smile, as
she raised the forbidden bowl to her lips and drained it to the dregs.
Then, without having eaten a morsel, she arose from the table, went to
the window to look out upon the blockaded paths and the still
fast-falling snow, and then walked up and down the floor in wild
restlessness, until Kate also arose, and removed the breakfast service.
Then stopping in her wild walk, Lionne asked, impatiently—
“Is my horse ready?”
“No,” said Kate, coming from a side-window; “he is not done feeding yet.
The brutes know better than to hurry themselves on such occasions.”
With an impatient gesture, Lionne seized her riding-hat and tied it on,
and then threw herself into a chair beside the table, and resting her
elbow upon the top, leaned her head upon her hand.
Just at this moment, Kate caught through the front windows a glimpse of
a horseman covered with snow, crossing the bridge that spanned Bush
Creek and led into the lawn.
With a half-suppressed exclamation of surprise, she passed into the
hall, just as a sharp rap with the end of a riding-whip, at the front
door, struck upon her ear.
She hastened to lift the latch, and her brow crimsoned with indignation
as she recognized Orville Deville, who had just arrived in search of
Adelaide.
Dropping her eyes, she silently stood aside to let him enter.
“Good morning, Kate,” he said, taking off his hat. “I came to inquire—is
my wife here?”
“_Which of them?_” was the angry question that sprung to the lips of
that honest girl; but the ironical inquiry was suppressed.
With her natural quickness, she instantly divined that it was _Adelaide_
he sought.
And with justifiable vengeance she determined to send him to _Lionne_.
She answered, coldly—
“Yes, you will find her in that room!”
And opening the door, she ushered him into the presence of Lionne, and
retired.