MY LADY BIDDY AND I MEET AGAIN, TO OUR JOYFUL CONTENTMENT.
About sunset (as the Inga had promised) we came to the place where his
tribe were encamped, which was amidst the mountains on the further side
of the river, approached by a very intricate winding way, and so
encompassed with sharp, high rocks that no man not acquainted with those
parts might find his way thither, though he searched a lifetime.
Coming through this tortuous defile to an open space, the Inga, being in
advance some paces, suddenly came to a halt, and, turning to me, pointed
in silence to a little rising hillock not far distant, where stood my
Lady Biddy, shielding her eyes from the rays of the setting sun with her
hand, and scanning the valley below.
For a moment my heart stood still, feeling as if it must burst with the
great joy that flooded it. I think I must have cried aloud in my
gladness (though I know not what I did), for she turned that moment like
a startled doe, and came running down the hillock with her hands
stretched out. So I flew to her, and we stood clasping each other's
hands and gazing into each other's faces, she with a look of gladness in
her face, yet a sad reproach in her eyes, as though she would ask me why
I had been so long a-coming. But neither of us could say one word; so
with a quick impulse, as if our two minds were but one, our silent,
trembling lips drew together, and we exchanged the first kiss they had
known since we were boy and girl.
This kiss was none but such as a brother and a sister might have shared;
'twas not the passionate overthrow of modesty which covers a maiden's
face with blushes, and makes a man's limbs tremble under him; 'twas
simply the overflowing of a sweet, innocent affection that can find no
other mode of expression. After that kiss we looked in each other's
hearts with open, unwinking eyes, and hands still clasped.
"Benet," says she faintly, "how long we have been sundered!"
"Have we?" says I, leading her to a little boulder where there was room
for us to sit together.
"Why, an age!" says she, with a return of her usual merry laugh. "Have
you not missed me?"
"Now I come to think of it," says I, "there has been trouble in my
heart; but my joy is so great to be with you again that the past seems
naught but an evil dream. And 'twas no more than a dream, the worst part
of it; for one while I imagined you lost beyond recovery, and another
while I imagined you dead and eat up by tigers; but this is real, and no
idle fancy," holding her sweet fair hand up to look at it and make sure
I was not stark mad. "But, Lord," says I, dropping my voice for pity,
"'tis much thinner than it was."
"Ay, I shall be a sad old witch to look at ere long," says says she;
"'tis well I have no glass to look into."
"Trust me for a faithful mirror," says I, "when I tell you that you
never looked so sweet as now."
Indeed, I said no more than the truth, as far as my judgment went in
this matter; yet I saw that her face was not so round as of old, and her
skin was rarely pale, so that her eyes looked larger, darker, and more
lustrous thereby. And thinking how she must have suffered by fright,
etc., to have lost flesh and blood in this sort, I was greatly moved
with compassion.
"A joyful heart makes a bright face," says she; "but what would it have
been like had the Indians come back without you? What would have become
of me?"
"Nay," says I, "These Ingas would never have harmed you."
"Is that all?" says she. "Do you think I hold your affection so lightly
that I could have lived to forget you?"
Thus might our conversation have run on till she had expressed all that
it was in her simple, affectionate heart to say to her kinsman, but that
I became silent. For the pressure of her hand and kind looks did stir my
smouldering passion and fan it to a flame, so I had much ado to restrain
myself from flinging my arms about her waist and drawing her to my
breast.
All the love that a warm-souled woman has for a dear brother she wished
to bestow on me, but I had more than innocent love in my heart. Still, I
had the sense to see that my own happiness, as well as hers, would be
blighted if I let my mad desire be known, and I had also the strength to
control it (God be praised!). Still, I dared not trust myself too far,
and counted it best to let go her hand, and talk of other matters. So
getting up, as if I would look about me, I begged her to give me an
account of all that had happened to her. Whereupon she rose also, and
slipping her hand through my arm walked beside me up and down that
pleasant spot, in the waning twilight, telling me of her adventures; how
Lewis de Pino had told her I was gone on with the first part of the
train, seeming in an ill-humor, which appeared less remarkable to Lady
Biddy because I had been particularly dull the day before; how, as they
went on and came not up with me, she grew alarmed, yet had no means of
discovering whether Lewis de Pino had told the truth or not, and so of
force went on, yet with a sinking heart; how, being brought to a stand
in that narrow road in the mountain-side by the bridge being gone, they
were attacked with arrows from above in such sort that the arquebusiers
only succeeded in wounding one of the Ingas, and were themselves shot
down one after the other till not a man was left, even to the Indian
stripling who served De Pino for a page; how the Indians then coming
down from above, she recognized amongst them that poor slave whom she
begged De Pino to take from her yoke; and how finally the dead
Portugals, being rifled of their arms, were cast down over the
precipice, the slaves liberated from their bonds, and they, with my lady
(who from first to last had been treated with the utmost respect and
courtesy), led back along the mountain-path till they came to a narrow
way, by which they descended to the river. Also she told me how with
signs she had given the Inga girl to understand her trouble about me,
which she (being of a quick wit) readily comprehended, and, bringing
forward her husband with further signs, bade her know that I should be
sought and brought safely to her, etc. All these particulars agreed so
well with what Matthew had suggested, and I have set down, that I need
not dwell upon them, but may get on at once with fresh matter.
The light faded away over the western mountains till there was naught
but a faint glow beyond the dark peaks, and still we strolled up and
down, discoursing to one another of our various fortunes; and so
forgetful was I of my late fatigue in the delight of these moments that
it did not enter my head for some time that my lady might be weary; but
suddenly bethinking myself of my selfish disregard to her comfort I
begged to know if she was not weary.
"No," says she gayly; "'tis a relief to talk again, for I was getting
heart-sick of silence. But you, Benet?--men do not care to chatter as we
women do."
"Nay," says I, "you may be sure that I shall never weary of listening
till you weary of talking." And then I ventured to tell her that I
counted this the very happiest moment of my life. Upon which she gave my
arm a little kindly pressure with her hand, which sent a thrill of
inexpossible delight through every nerve of my being.
And so she began to gossip again as merrily as before, which was a great
comfort to me, for I could have found never a word to say at this time
for the tumult of joy in my heart. I would have lingered there till
morning broke, feeling her hand so lightly lying on my arm, and
listening to the sweet purling of her gentle voice; but presently spying
Matthew, who had drawn up at a respectful distance, and stood there
humming and coughing as if he would speak with me, but dared not
approach, I bethought me that I had not yet introduced the faithful
fellow to Lady Biddy. So I called to him, and when he drew near,
scraping and shuffling with his hat in hand, I said:
"This is Lady Biddy Fane, Matthew."
"Your ladyship's humble and obedient servant," says he, with another
scrape.
"My cousin has been talking about you, Matthew," says she, offering her
hand to him; "and I hope you will forgive me being so tardy in
acknowledging my gratitude, for in helping him you have befriended me."
"As for your ladyship's gratitude," says he, "I hope I may yet lay
better claim to it; and as for tardy acknowledgment, I count you were
better occupied; while as for the rest," adds he, "I wish you joy of
your sweetheart."
At these words all the blood rushed into my face, and happy was I there
was little light to reveal my confusion to Lady Biddy.
"How?" cries I angrily; "have I ever spoken so disrespectfully of my
lady that you should take the liberty to speak of me in this relation?"
"Lord love you, master! no," says he; "but 'twas because you always
spoke of her ladyship with such mighty respect that I reckoned she must
be something more to you than a cousin. I meant no offence; and,
indeed," adds he, with ready wit, "'twould have been but a mean
compliment to her ladyship's charms or your understanding if I had set
you down for aught but her admirer."
"Ay," says Lady Biddy, laughing, "and so should I." But I observed that
she was a little more reserved towards me after this, as if she
perceived the imprudence of giving expression to those feelings of
simple, innocent affection which I might take for an acknowledgment of
warmer sentiment.