mind must serve your mind; for only so may it find its growth for which
it longs. You have led me from darkness to light; and into what future
light you advance I must enter too. I love you as women love men; but I
love you more than that. I love you for what you are separate from what
you can ever be to me. I love you as a mind; I love you as a soul; I
love you as a spirit; I love you with a purity, with an ambition, with a
longing that men cannot interpret and earthly relations cannot express;
but which God understands and which in his Heaven I know there must be a
name for, and a connection that is known through all the social life of
Heaven."
"It must not be," answered the man. "I admit your claim; but it must not
be."
"Why must it not be?" asked the girl.
The man hesitated a moment, and then he said:
"Because my future is uncertain; I dare not say what it will be."
"I care not what it is," answered the girl. "Whatever it is, that I
share, share because I cannot help it. It is not a question of
condition, but of presence. With you I could bear all misery; yea, in
the misery find happiness. Without you my heart could feel no joy
throughout eternity. Master, my master, I love you so!" And as she
looked into the face of the man there came to her countenance the
expression of utter devotion; and in her large eyes tears gathered, and,
having formed, from them slowly fell.
The man groaned aloud, and said:
"Alas! alas! My curse is doubled, being brought on thee."
"There is no curse on thee or me," she answered. "You were but mortal,
and, being sorely tempted, did a wicked deed. But no single deed can
change the nature. You are the same great man; great in your goodness as
you are great in power, and my love, too, remains the same; nay, master,
it is greater. You should stay and live and make atonement by living;
for you cannot live and not better men. You can do deeds that would wipe
out the deadliest guilt. But if you will not stay,--if to you it seems
right to die, and if only--through death your sense of justice can be
met and yourself find peace, then neither will I stay, but go--go where
thou goest. Yea, I will sink or rise with thee; go to this world or
that, I care not which or where, if only I may go with thee. And I pray
thee not to think it hard for me to share thy journey. Why should I be
left behind? And what might I have, thou being gone? What pleasure in
all the world could I find, with thee out of it! I have no home,--thy
presence is my home. I have no kindred and no loves await me anywhere.
How could I have, loving thee? For in thee I have found father and
mother, brother and sister and all sweet relationships. And so whither
thou goest, let me go; and where thou stayest, let me stay. Do not
resist me, but be persuaded, and let me die with thee. So shall we,
passing out of these mortal bodies in the self-same hour, be together
still."
The man made no response; but sat silently gazing at her face. In a
moment the girl moved softly to his side and took his hand in hers; and
so they sat together while the firelight died away and the darkness
enveloped them. But through the darkness the stars beamed mildly, as if
they expressed the sweet mercy which the imaginations of men picture as
throned above the azure in whose blue field they stand suspended.
What happened farther is known only to Him whose eyes see through all
darkness and to whom the night is as the day.
During the night the trapper started suddenly from his sleep. Was it a
woman's cry he heard? Was it only such a sound as comes to us at times
in dreams? He listened but heard nothing save the monotonous murmur of
the rapids and the equally steady movement of the night breeze stirring
through the pine tops. He listened and, hearing nothing, lay down again
and slept.
The morning came,--came as brightly and cheerfully as if the world knew
no sorrow and the men and women in it had no griefs. The morning came;
but before it came, a wing darker than the shadow of the night had
passed over the world; for when the trapper and his companion visited
the camp beyond the balsam thicket, they found the two lying side by
side,--the girl's head on the bosom of the man and her right hand lying
gently in his; no mark of violence on their bodies; no instrument of
death near,--lying as if they had fallen asleep, the man's countenance
in grave repose, the girl's blessedly peaceful; no name on either; no
scrap of paper that might tell who they might be. Perhaps the man's
faith was true. Perhaps the will has power to will itself and all of
life there is in us, out of the body. Be this as it may, the trapper and
his companion only saw this: the unknown man in the prime of his
strength lying dead under the pines and the girl in her loveliness lying
dead by his side.
[Illustration: Tail piece]