THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
Rosa and Ned, without wish or intention on their part, were obtaining
some very interesting information from the Tory leader; and, as the way
was not clear as to a safe method of extricating themselves from the
position of eavesdroppers, they could do nothing more than hold their
peace and allow the entertainment to continue.
The Tory was enraged by the discovery that Rosa was the beloved of
another, who was probably doing all he could at that moment to assist in
placing her beyond his reach, and to raise himself in her affection by
such a display of devotion.
"When are you going to cross over?" inquired his companion.
"Right away--we have waited too long already. The evening is well along,
and we're losing time."
The sounds which succeeded showed that the party were moving nearer the
river shore, having been standing a few feet off while holding the
conversation. Back in the darkness of the wood, Rosa and Ned were
invisible, while they were able to catch the outlines of the moving
figures when thrown against the dim sky beyond. It was plain that the
party meant to use the canoe in which the girl had spent a portion of
the afternoon, and which, it was intended, should serve as a vehicle to
carry the whites to the other side.
The redmen were heard placing the boat in position, and the splash of
the paddle was noticed as all took their places, and the oarsman assumed
his duty of guiding the craft, burdened to its utmost capacity, across
the Susquehanna. Colonel Butler, who had been so talkative a few minutes
before, and also accommodating enough to reveal his purposes to those
most concerned, seemed to have gone to the other extreme, for nothing
more was heard from him. Captain Bagley took upon himself the task of
directing the movements of the others, whenever they needed direction.
The canoe, with its occupants, left the shore and was impelled into the
Susquehanna, heading for the other bank, invisible in the gloom of the
night. Before the craft had vanished, however, Ned caught sight of a
couple of figures on the bank immediately in front of where he was
standing with Rosa.
"'Sh!" she whispered, detecting the fact at the same instant; "they have
left a couple behind."
At this instant one of the forms turned and advanced toward them, the
distance being so short that he had taken but a few steps when he
arrived.
"Did you see them?" he asked, when he was at their side.
"See them? Of course we did," replied Rosa, recognizing her brother,
"and we heard them, too. They've been standing and talking together
right here, close enough for us to hear every word they said."
"Well, what did they say?"
"It would be hard to tell what they didn't say," replied Rosa, with
something of her old spirit of mischief. "Colonel Butler is very sweet
on some young rebel, which I am afraid is about my age, and looks very
much like me. He has gone across the river to catch me before I can
reach Wilkesbarre, but I don't see why he need be in a hurry, for I
don't think we'll see that place within a couple of weeks, unless
Lena-Wingo gets in more of a hurry than he is now."
This "satirical" remark was intended for the ears of the Mohawk, who had
approached during the last few seconds, and who did not lose a syllable;
but it would have taken more bitter words than ever fell from those
sweet lips to stir any resentful feelings in his dusky breast.
"Talk much," was the only response he made, thereby uttering a truth
which not even the young lady herself would deny.
"What else did he say?" asked Jo, referring to Colonel Butler.
"Well, the substance of it all was that he had sent a lot of Iroquois
across the river to cut us off before we can reach Wilkesbarre, and he
has no doubt they will succeed. He goes over himself, so as to be on
hand, I believe, to take charge of me--that is, when _they catch me_."
"Is that all?"
"Do you think of anything more?" asked Rosa, addressing Ned.
"You have given all that was said--that is, all that is worth telling,"
answered the young man, into whose brain were burned some utterances
which had not been referred to by his fair companion.
"If there is anything else," persisted Jo, "why, let's have it; for
though it may seem trifling to you, it may be of importance when weighed
by the Mohawk. Out with all you remember!"
"I have nothing more to tell," replied Ned, feeling the situation
becoming embarrassing.
"I forgot something else," added the girl, in a light manner, that sent
the shivers down the back of young Minturn, for his instinct told him
what was coming. "You can't ask me to tell you all the bad words Colonel
Butler used."
"Not unless you would like to go over them, but let me know what it was
that _caused_ him to speak in that style?"
"Oh! but he had good cause for it all, for that wicked Captain Bagley
told him there was a young gentleman somewhere that thought all the
world of me, and of whom I thought all the world, and the idea that I
liked anybody else besides him was what made him so angry. I believe you
have _all_ now."
"Yes, I believe I have," replied Jo, with a low laugh. "Jack and I were
standing almost as close to them as were you and Ned, and we heard their
conversation."
If the pretty sister had possessed a parasol, she would have made her
brother's head feel the weight thereof. All this was pure jest that
seemed to intrude itself by a law of physiology into the hearts
oppressed so long by grief, dread and anxiety. But there was one heart
upon which the airy words fell with a weight of which the speakers never
dreamed. To Ned Clinton there was something cruel in this reference to
his affection for Rosa. He considered it a sacred secret--perhaps dimly
suspected now by Rosa herself--too sacred, indeed, to be spoken of in
jest by others.
He knew that his friends meant no unkindness, but it touched him
scarcely the less for all that. He and Rosa had passed a few deep,
earnest words, bearing upon that dream of the future which he cherished
so fondly, and not the words merely, but the tones, the manner and the
occasion gave them a significance which was of the profoundest import to
him; and now to hear the maiden refer to them as she did pained him. Was
it, then, all a jest to her? Did she regard the picture he had faintly
limned as one of those unsubstantial dreams which the young and
ambitious are so fond of drawing, and which can never be realized? Did
she look upon him merely as a friend--a dear one, perhaps, whom she had
known and liked from their early childhood, because they had been
schoolmates, and he and her brother were friends?
In short, was it not evidence that she merely _liked_, but felt nothing
at all of _love_--that great over-mastering emotion that pervaded and
swayed his whole nature?