THE WOODRANGER’S SECRET.
As kind Mrs. Stark spoke, the Woodranger entered the apartment in his
swift, noiseless way, to pause just inside the skin door.
“Forgive me――”
“Come right this way, Woodranger,” said Norman, holding out a hand. “I
want to see you, and talk with you.”
“So you shall, lad, so you shall. These ol’ eyes ne’er looked on a more
gladsome sight than to see you alive at this hour, and so well. But
ere I get my ol’ tongue to babbling like a runaway brook, there is the
leetle lassie, who is pining to come to you. Come, lassie!”
Then, to Norman’s joy, Rilma came swiftly to his side, and they were
locked in each other’s arms.
“I cried for you, brother, as I saw that awful flood rush over you.
I never expected to see you again alive. And I never should if brave
Woodranger had not plunged into the roaring water and saved you.
Norman, we all owe our lives to him. He is the bravest, noblest man in
the world.”
“Amen, dear sister; he is all of that. Come here, dear Woodranger, and
let me thank you.”
“Nay, lad, I cannot dissemble; it would be a blameful indiscretion.
While you chat with the lassie I will go out and ketch a whiff o’ fresh
air. That fire do burn up amazing stout,” and before any of them could
interpose he had left the house.
“The strangest man I ever saw, as well as the best,” said Mrs. Stark.
“And he seems queerer than ever to-day. Why, as early as it is, he
has been to Goffe’s and back this morning. I can’t imagine what he is
doing. Acts as if he was looking for some one. But, excuse me, and I
will take myself out of the way, so you can talk.”
“No――no, mother Stark; we don’t want you to go. But you have not told
me of grandfather, Rilma.”
“He is better than you, I think, Norman, though he is more nervous and
excited than ever. Woodranger wouldn’t let me stay a great while with
him. He wants no one but Woodranger, not even Mr. Stark.”
“I must go in and see him by and by. But the old home. Was the house
carried off by the river?”
“Archie tells me it was not injured,” replied Mrs. Stark, “though the
water completely surrounded it, and had it risen another foot must
have undermined it. The river is falling away fast, and we do not think
there is any further danger. Here comes Woodranger back.”
“Come in, Woodranger,” called out Norman. “Don’t run off like that
again.”
“Mebbe I won’t, lad, mebbe I won’t again. We have much to be thankful
for, lad. I think the river is dropping away. I thought perhaps I could
cross this afternoon.”
“You are not going away, Woodranger? We shall not let you.”
“Here is the horn, lad,” said the Woodranger, abruptly, handing Norman
the MacDonald bugle which had come so near costing him his life. “I
found it tight gripped in your hand. For a wonder, your grandfather has
not inquired after it.”
Norman took the bugle with an expression of thanks, saying he would
give it to his grandfather as soon as he could. Then, seeing that the
Woodranger appeared about to be leaving again, he said:
“Aren’t you going to stay with me, Woodranger? You cannot be going
away?”
“Not fur, lad. I cannot dissemble, but I s’pose I oughter go down to
Goffe’s. Mebbe when you get a leetle stronger, I shall have something
to say to you.”
“Say it now, Woodranger. I shall――”
“I durst not, lad, I durst not. Wait a leetle,” and with these words
he went out of the house, and a few minutes later disappeared down the
road.
“I never saw him so uneasy,” said Mrs. Stark.
Though Norman had not received any injuries which were likely to be
permanent, he soon found that it would be several days before he
should be able to leave the house. But the week that followed was not
unpleasant to him. Rilma was with him, the Stark boys came into his
room at their will, and twice Rob Rogers visited him. Of course he saw
considerable of the Woodranger, but not as much as he wished.
The day before Christmas, in the afternoon, he was allowed to see his
grandfather, whom he had not seen since that night’s adventure. The
Woodranger and Rilma were with them. He was surprised to find him
looking so wan and feeble. But the old Highlander grasped his hand with
something of his usual vigour.
“It does ma auld een guid tae gaze on thee again. Ye’ll soon be hame
again.”
“And we shall be so glad, grandfather.”
“Nay, lad, I shall ne’er return tae the auld hame. I hae had a
presentiment that my day be almos’ ower.”
“What’s that, MacDonald?” asked the Woodranger. “Are you getting
childish again? I never knew a MacDonald to die o’ sich a leetle clip
as that which you say is going to kill you. You are no true――”
“Zounds, sirrah!” cried the other, suddenly starting up. “I’m no’ deed
yet! Get me my cane, Norman, an’ let me whack him at my will. Ye’ may
ca’ me a fule, but ye ne’er shall say I’m ne’er a true MacDonald. My
faither, sirrah, was the Chiel o’ Glencoe!”
“So much the worse for you, MacDonald. But I’m not here to stir an
amazement. It should be a day o’ peace. Quiet your heart, MacDonald. I
have enough to still my own. I’m sore perplexed to say what lies next
my heart. The trail o’ the red man is easy to follow, and the tracks
o’ the bear are picked up like beech-nuts arter a frost. But the whims
o’ the heart are spun finer than spider threads. I cannot see these to
pick ’em up!”
Never had the others seen the Woodranger so excited, and they were
almost startled at his appearance.
“What is it, Woodranger?” asked Norman. “Has the old house gone, after
all? We can soon build another, and better one.”
“It is o’ Alick, my bonnie boy, he wishes to speak. Ye’re tae tell me
mair o’ Alick,” declared Mr. MacDonald.
“Nay, nay! I cannot dissemble longer. Lad, _your father is coming
home_!”
No five words that he could have spoken would have caused greater
surprise. In fact, the little group gazed on him in speechless wonder.
Norman was the first to break the silence:
“What do you mean, Woodranger?”
“Just what I said, lad. Your father is living――is even now on his way
here. He should have been here a week ago. I am sure he is now at
Goffe’s.” Norman was unable to make any reply, while such thoughts as
he had never known filled his mind. His first and most natural one was
the inquiry made of himself: “Is Woodranger mad? He has acted strangely
for a week, is it improbable that he has at last lost his reason?” Then
he continued, in a different train: “Can it be possible father is alive
and coming to me?” Trembling from head to foot, he caught the forester
by the arm, saying:
“As you love me, Woodranger, tell me truly what you mean. Is father
living, after all? Is he coming here?”
“I ne’er dissemble, lad. I――”
“Forgive me, Woodranger; I did not mean to doubt you. I don’t know what
I did mean. But you can explain. Please do.”
“It is I who should crave forgiveness, lad, for the deception I have
acted. But it was my foolish way to get round the truth. I have known
that Archie McNiel lived, and I have known the truth o’ his life these
years, but I did not know you were living here until last summer. Then
I sent at once to Archie to come with all speed possible, but, to make
your surprise complete, I said nothing to you. I hope you will all
forgive me. I haven’t prevaricated the great truth, because no one has
questioned me. I――”
“Hold, man!” cried Mr. MacDonald, breaking into his speech, “d’ye dare
tell me that graceless McNiel――the murderer――”
“Stop, MacDonald!” said the Woodranger, “this is no time for your
silliness. Archie McNiel comes with a name as pure as thine. Ah, far
more so, for the MacDonalds, with all their boasts o’ warlike deeds,
can show leetle else. You have told me in your confidential moments,
which I am free to confess is taking a man in his weakness, that you
would receive your Alick if he came under the shadow of the gallows.
He would have to come in that way if he came. Archie McNiel comes with
a heart as pure and spotless as this wee lassie. Here is the proof o’
what I say, which I have carried long to give you.”
As the Woodranger ceased speaking, he drew from under his hunting-frock
a parcel, carefully wrapped in deer skin. As he handed this to Mr.
MacDonald, he said:
“I’m going once more to meet him. He’ll come to-night, I’m sure.
Meanwhile, watch and wait. I admonish thee, MacDonald, to receive him
with open arms. It is the last written request o’ thy son.”
“Some one will go with you, Woodranger,” said Norman. “I am sure Mr.
Stark will be willing to do so.”
“Nay, lad, I must go alone. He will not be overlong in coming. If I
fail to come back with him, yet I will see you all sometime.”
He had reached the door. Then, as if prompted by a sudden impulse, he
retraced his steps, and swiftly kissed the three, Mr. MacDonald first,
then Norman, and last Rilma, whom he held closely in his arms for a
long minute. Putting her down then, he noiselessly left the room before
one of the three could call him back.