"Who's here besides foul weather?"
SHAKESPEARE.
Far away stretched the prairie, bounded, ocean-like, only by the
horizon; the monotony occasionally relieved by clumps of aged live
oaks, which tossed their branches to and fro in summer breezes and
in wintry blasts, and lent a mournful cadence to the howlings of the
tempest. Now and then a herd of deer, lifting proudly their antlered
heads, seemed to scorn danger from the hand of man, as they roamed
so freely over the wide, desolate waste which possessed no visible
limits. And groups of cattle, starting at the slightest sound, tossed
their horns in defiance, and browsed along the mosquit, in many places
so luxuriant as well-nigh to conceal their forms. The day had been
unusually warm for January, and the sun beamed down with a sickening
intensity which made the blood tingle in the veins. Toward noon the
sky assumed a dull, leaden cast, and light flakes of cloud, like
harbingers of evil, scudded ominously overhead. The sun passed the
zenith, and a low sighing breeze swept moaningly across the wide
waste, even as the wail of lost spirits floats out on the midnight
air, and then is hushed forever.
The cattle that stood leisurely cropping about, and now and then
moving a few paces, lifted their heads, snuffed the air, and, with
a simultaneous lowing, started at full speed to the timbered tracts,
where they were wont to resort for shelter from the winds of winter.
On, on they rushed, till in the distance one might fancy them a
quantity of beetles, or other insects, dotting the surface before
them. Soon not a vestige remained of the flying herd, and happy it was
for them they made good their retreat, and gained a place of refuge
ere the "norther" burst in all its keenness on the unprotected plain.
Wildly the piercing blasts whistled through the trees, and rushed
furiously on, unimpeded by the forests, which in more eastern lands
present a formidable barrier to the progress. The rain began to fall
heavily, when a small cavalcade sought the protection of a clump of
oaks, by placing the leafy boughs between themselves and the beating,
driving torrents. The party consisted of several ladies and gentlemen,
two children, and as many servants; the latter in a wagon, the
remainder on horseback. With all possible speed the gentlemen
dismounted, and, tightly buttoning their great-coats about them,
proceeded to stretch two tents, by means of poles and pins, carried in
the wagon.
Night closed in, and finding a sheltered spot beneath the trees,
a large fire was kindled, which threw its ruddy light into the
surrounding tents, and illumined the entire grove. The horses were
picketed out, almost within reach from the tents, and the wagon
containing their stores drawn so near as, in some degree, to shelter
them. The servants prepared the evening meal--simple, it is true, yet
enjoyed far more than a sumptuous repast of Indian delicacies, and
untold ragouts, eaten without the sauce of hunger produced by their
long ride. More than a week had elapsed since leaving San Antonio,
and Mary had borne better than they dared to hope the fatigue of the
journey.
To-night, however, she lay exhausted on her pallet, the thin cheek
bright with fever: gently she declined all that was proffered, and her
hollow cough chased the smile from the lips of her friends. Dr. Bryant
knelt beside her, and taking one hot hand in his own, asked, in a low
anxious voice, if she suffered.
Turning away her face, she said--"Oh no, not much. There is, however,
such a painful throbbing about my heart I can scarcely breathe. And I
not feverish?" she continued.
"Yes;" and he placed his fingers on the pulse, beating violently. "I
am afraid you have taken severe cold--the day has been so inclement."
And, with a somewhat unsteady hand, he administered a potion.
"Don't feel uneasy about me, Doctor, I shall be better when I sleep."
And she turned away, and wearily closed her eyes.
When the camp-fire burned low, and all slumbered save Mary, who could
not calm her feverish excitement, and lay wide awake, she fancied
she heard steps around the tent. All was silent; then again came
the sound; and raising herself, she thought she perceived some one
standing near the entrance. The figure disappeared, and then followed
a rumbling, stamping, kicking, as though the horses were verily
bewitched. "The Indians!" thought Mary; and quickly rising, she threw
a black mantle round her, and creeping to the door of the tent,
peeped cautiously out. The horses still seemed restless, stamping and
snorting, and she thought she could softly reach the adjoining tent
and rouse the gentlemen, knowing that their arms were in readiness.
She had just stepped out of her own tent, and stood out of doors, when
she caught a glimpse of a dark, muffled figure walking toward her.
The rain had ceased, but it was very dark, and only by the aid of the
firelight, now grown dim, she perceived it. A cold shudder crept over
her, as, raising her eyes to the blackened sky but an instant, she
sprung forward toward the place where she fancied the gentlemen were
sleeping. A hand was laid on her arm, and a deep voice sounded in her
ear:
"Be not alarmed, Miss Mary, I am here!"
She trembled so that she could scarcely stand. He supported her a
moment, ere she replied in a whisper--
"What causes the disturbance to-night?"
"I feel assured there are Indians about, though you need fear nothing,
for they are not in sufficient numbers to attack us. There are four
men in our party--nearly a dozen muskets, besides my pistols, and
plenty of ammunition. Were you one of the timid sort, I should not
venture to tell you my apprehensions: but I know that you are not. I
have not slept, or even lain down; and a while ago, I heard the sound
of hoofs approaching. Taking my pistols, I went round to the horses,
and had not waited many moments before I saw two figures, evidently
reconnoitering and planning the abduction of our horses, who seemed
much alarmed. I suppose the intruders must have seen me, for they
suddenly wheeled off and galloped away."
"Perhaps there is a party not far distant, for whose assistance they
have gone."
"Possibly, though I think not; but you must not stand on this wet
ground." He led her to the tent, and seating himself near the door,
continued:
"I shall not sleep to-night, and rest assured you will be most
carefully guarded. You were imprudent to venture out on such a night."
"What! when I thought there was danger, and none, save myself, aware
of it?"
"Did you think I could rest, knowing, as I do, how you are suffering?"
"I never imagined you were up, or watching, for I heard no sound near
me."
"Well, no matter; sleep, if you can, and dream of peace, and quiet,
and perfect happiness." He sighed heavily as he spoke, and rising,
renewed the fire.
Mary lay watching him as he paced to and fro in front of the burning
logs--his arms folded across his chest, and his cap drawn over the
brow: gradually a sense of utter weariness stole over her, and she
slept.
At dawn a bustle commenced in the camp, and preparation made--first
for breakfast, then for moving.
When Mary came out, her pale face and wearied look attracted Mrs.
Carlton's attention.
"My dear child, I am afraid you are scarcely able to travel to-day;
did you not sleep well?"
"Not so soundly as I could have wished," she said, passing her hand
over her brow, as if to remove some painful thought.
Dr. Bryant acquainted them with the adventures of the night
suggesting, that in future some of the party should watch, as security
for their horses; and all agreed that it was advisable.
"How readily one might suppose this a gipsy encampment. Miss Hamilton
and myself are quite dark enough to favor the illusion, and Ellen and
Mr. Carlton would pass as of gipsy descent; but what would they think
of Miss Mary? She is decidedly anti-gipsy in her appearance."
"I can tell you, Uncle Frank," cried Elliot, clapping his hands; "they
would take Miss Mary for an angel that came to our tent, like the one
that came down to see Abraham."
"Unfortunately, angels never appear in the form of a lady, Elliot; so
you must tax your ingenuity to dispose of me in a different manner,"
said Mary, smiling gently on the noble boy beside her.
"Indeed, I would sooner think you ought to be an angel than any
gentleman I know, or lady either; don't you think so too, Uncle
Frank?"
"Certainly I do; but, Elliot, you should not have made me say so in
Miss Florence's presence. You forget that she is also a young lady."
"No, I don't, uncle, and I ask her pardon if I was rude; but I heard
you say Miss Mary was an angel, and though I like Miss Florence very
much indeed, I can't help thinking so too."
Dr. Bryant's cheek flushed, and he glanced quickly at Mary. Mr. and
Mrs. Carlton and Florence laughed good-naturedly; and laying his hand
on the boy's head, Frank said:
"My very promising nephew, you will never be accused of want of candor
if you grow up in your present spirit."
Mary drew the child to her, and whispered in his ear:
"Your uncle meant that I should soon be in Heaven, Elliot; and I hope
it will not be very long before I am an angel. Don't you see how thin
and pale I am?"
Elliot's eyes filled, as he looked earnestly at the gentle girl, so
wasted of late, and throwing his arms about her neck, he hid his face
on her shoulder, and murmured:
"Oh! you must not go from us--we can't spare you even to God! Why
does he want to take you? He has plenty of angels already around him!
Mother and uncle and I had almost as soon die ourselves as see you go
away forever."
None heard what passed between them; but Mrs. Carlton saw a look
of pain on Mary's pure white brow, and gently drawing her son away,
changed the conversation by asking if it would not be better for Mary
to ride awhile in the wagon.
"I am afraid she would find the jolting rather too much for her.
However, it will answer as a change, and by driving myself, I can
avoid many inequalities. So, Miss Irving, make up your mind to
relinquish your babicca at least for to-day."
"You are very kind, Dr. Bryant, but I greatly prefer your riding as
usual. Indeed you need not look so incredulous. I won't allow you to
make such a sacrifice."
"I was not aware that I was making any sacrifice," he coldly answered,
and turned away.
Mary's lip quivered with internal pain, but she offered no further
opposition.
All was in readiness for moving on. Dr. Bryant stood arranging
Florence's bridle, and bantering her on her inattention to the reins.
She laughed in her turn.
"Indeed, Doctor, don't you think me a capital horse-woman? you will
certainly admit it, after being vanquished in a race?"
"Really, Miss Florence, I rather think the credit due to your fine
horse than to your skill as a rider.
"Ah, incorrigible as usual, I see, Doctor!" and she rode off to join
Mr. Carlton.
Mr. Carlton had placed Mary in the wagon, and carefully arranged her
shawls that she might rest easily. Frank quietly seated himself, and
drove on.
"I shall not exert myself in the least to entertain you, so you need
not expect it; for having very politely told me you did not desire my
company, I shall not disturb you with my chatter, I promise you, and
take this opportunity to inform you that my tympanums are at your
service the remainder of the day."
He glanced over his shoulder at the frail form nearly buried beneath
the weight of shawls and cloaks wrapt about her. She smiled, and laid
her head on her arm: as she did so, he, looking at her, failed to
perceive a large stone in the track, and the wheels passing directly
over it caused the wagon to jolt most unmercifully.
Florence was just in the rear, and, unable to control her mirth,
laughed outright as Frank and Mary bounced up and down; and, riding up
to them, merrily asked "if Mary duly appreciated her good fortune in
having so careful and scientific a driver?"
Not a little amused, yet scarce able to laugh, the latter replied that
"she did indeed congratulate herself on the change of drivers, as she
would not have survived the day had it been otherwise."
Frank joined heartily in their merriment.
"Miss Hamilton," said he, "if you only knew what caused me to overlook
that unfortunate stone, you would be more lenient in your criticisms."
"I am very sure you will adduce every possible reason in your own
favor, sir, and therefore feel no sympathy for your carelessness," she
retorted.
"Really you make me out as incorrigible a self-excuser as the heroine
of Miss Edgeworth's juvenile tales; though even she chanced upon a
good excuse occasionally. Come, try me, and see what I can urge in my
own defense."
"Well, then, I ask you, _à la Godfrey_, what you were thinking of
when you, who had an ailing lady in your cart, drove directly over the
largest rock you have seen in a week?"
"In the first place, I did not see it. You need not look quite so
incredulous; I assure you I did not."
"That is very evident, but no excuse at all. Pray, where were your
eyes?"
"Where nature intended them to be, I suppose."
"Nonsense! why didn't you use them?"
"Because I have not the faculty of looking two ways at once,
like Brahma; and my optics were irresistibly drawn in an opposite
direction."
"A truce to all such excuses!"
"Patience, Miss Florence, hear me only once more. The reason is, that
I was looking at your cousin over there, and calculating the chances
of her surviving suffocation."
"There is certainly some danger. Pray, Mary, why wrap up so closely?
Æolus has closed the mouth of his cave, and the warring winds are
securely pent in their prison."
"Are you not very much edified Miss Mary? I should beg pardon for such
a waste of time and talk, if I were not aware that
"'A little nonsense now and then,
Is relished by the wisest men.'"
As Mary made no reply, he turned around and regarded her earnestly,
Her hat had fallen back from the face, which rested on his black
cloak. Every vestige of mirth fled from his countenance as they gazed
on the sleeping girl. The feverish flush had left the cheek, now
perfectly wan; the dark brown hair clung on the pure, beautiful
brow, and beneath the closed eyes were dark circles, traced by mental
suffering. The expression of the face was perfectly calm, yet a
wearied look, as though longing to be at rest, lingered there. So
motionless she lay, that Frank hastily placed his hand on hers to feel
if warmth and vitality remained. Slowly and faint came the pulsations,
and, as he watched her deathlike slumber, his cheek grew pale, a look
of unutterable anguish settled on his noble brow, and the finely cut
lips were tightly compressed, as with some acute though hidden pain.
Florence slowly returned to Mr. and Mrs. Carlton--no smile passed her
lips the remainder of the day; she seemed now, for the first time,
to realize her cousin's danger, and naught could divert her mind from
this new grief.
Dr. Bryant bent his head upon his breast, and murmured in saddened
tones: "Oh, Mary! Mary! how gladly would I give all I possess on earth
to see you strong and well again."