THE MISUNDERSTANDING
Trifles, light as air,
Are to the jealous, confirmation strong
As proofs of holy writ —Shakespeare.
‘Tis than delightful misery no more,
But agony unmixed. — Thornson.
Suddenly Kate cried, in a voice almost inaudible from eagerness,
“I see a bridle path, I remember. Follow me.”
As she spoke, she struck Arab with all her strength, so that he shot
forward like a bolt from a cross-bow, entering the forest, on the right,
where the tracks of an old road were dimly visible. The trees had so
overgrown the way, indeed, that Kate had to stoop to his neck, in order
to avoid striking the branches. Her companion darted after her, burying
both rowels into his steed.
There was no sign, as yet, to what point the path would lead. It was
evidently a temporary road, made by the wood-choppers long before, at
some period when they were cutting rails or timber in the forest. There
were scores of such tracks traversing the woods, but their course was
never direct, and often they led back quite near to the place where they
started. A person, unfamiliar with the particular road, might lose
himself speedily in its labyrinths. But the positiveness with which Kate
spoke convinced Major Gordon that she had used the path before, and that
it held out a possibility, at least, of escape.
In confirmation of this, he observed that the conflagration, though
pressing close on their left, moved in a parallel line with them. For
several seconds it was a race for life and death between the advancing
fire and the fugitives. On sped the horses, their muscles starting out
like whip-cord, and the ground fairly flying beneath their hoofs. But
close and hot in pursuit, like a troop of hungry wolves, whose breath
already burns the flying hunter, the conflagration came leaping and
roaring behind. Not once, however, did Kate look around after the first
hurried glance, which ascertained that her companion had understood her
and followed.
Rushing through the forest in this way, they regained, after a while, a
spot where the path widened, the road not being here so much overgrown.
They were now able to see that the way opened ahead into a broad,
well-beaten highway, with several parallel wheel tracks, which crossed
nearly at right angles to the horse path they were in. Never was harbor
a more grateful sight to the mariner than that white, glaring, sandy
road to the Major and Kate. The latter glanced back over her shoulder,
waving her hand as she dashed on; while, the former, in his excitement,
found himself almost bursting into a huzza. The cheer, however, would
have been checked on his lips, if he had yielded to the impulse; for a
second glance revealed a tree, lying right across their path, its
branches forming a chevaux de frieze, while the thickness of the wood on
either side forbade the hope of turning it. Meantime, the forest was
shaking in the eddy which ran immediately before the fire; and looking
back eagerly over his shoulder, he beheld the flames, only about a
pistol shot behind, careering fiercely after them.
But what was his amazement, and an amazement coupled with the wildest
delight, when he saw Kate rushing Arab at the tremendous obstacle before
them. The leap was one, which, except in such an emergency, he would
have thought it suicidal, even for the best horseman, mounted on the
finest of hunters, to attempt; but Kate, not hesitating an instant,
lifted her horse with a sudden cry of encouragement, and went flying
over the impediment, just brushing its top as she passed. Quick as
lightning the Major followed, driving his spurs deep into Selim’s
flanks, and cheering him on.
They had escaped, by what seemed a miracle; for directly after the
conflagration reached the fallen tree. There, checked by the width of
the highway, temporarily, it seemed to rage more furiously than ever,
roaring and leaping like baffled wolves that howl along the shore from
which their prey has escaped.
They galloped forward in silence, for some time, Kate leading the way. A
swampy bit of ground being crossed, they reached the head of a pond,
around which Kate made a short circuit, when she drew in her rein.
“We are safe now,” she said; “this is the pond of Waldo furnace,
and is between us and the fire, so we can take our time.”
She was scarcely audible, and Major Gordon, looking into her face, saw
that it was pale as death. High-spirited as Kate was, the reaction had
been too great for her, and she seemed, for a space, as if she would
actually fall from her saddle.
“Let me help you to dismount—you are fainting,” cried Major
Gordon, springing to the ground.
But she shook her head, smiling her thanks.
“At least rest a while,” he urged, “_dear_ Miss Aylesford.”
It was the first time he had ever used this mode of address, and his
whole frame thrilled as he tremulously uttered it. Kate made no reply.
She was plainly too weak, for the time, to speak. But her eyes drooped,
the color mounted to her face, and the delicate hand which held the rein
shook perceptibly. She did not, however, check her horse; and her
companion seeing, by this, that she preferred not to stop, ceased to
urge her, but vaulting into the saddle, followed her slowly.
The last half hour had opened Major Gordon’s eyes. He had yielded, for
more than a fortnight, to the fascination of Kate’s society, without
inquiring what was the nature of the spell which bound him; but that
moment, when he thought death inevitable, had suddenly, as if by a
lightning-flash, revealed the truth. He knew that he loved Kate with all
the ardor of his soul. Nor, if he had interpreted her look aright, was
he indifferent to her. At any other time, he would at once have urged
his daring suit. But the agitation of Kate forbade it now.
He followed her in silence, therefore, until they reached the vicinity
of the church near Sweetwater, when, just as they were crossing the old
bridge in its rear, Kate drew Arab in.
“I never pass this spot without wishing to stop,” she said.
“Running water and its musical sound always fascinates me.”
The old bridge fascinated Major Gordon also, as he looked at the dark
waters, some twenty feet below, swirling and rushing from under it.
Almost completely shaded by the sombre cedars, which here entirely
overarched it, the river swept swiftly onwards, the color of dark
walnut, except when a stray sunbeam, penetrating the thick canopy, and
falling in broken gleams on its surface, burnished it momentarily into
gold. Insects skimmed to and fro on the water, now darting out into
mid-current to be borne rapidly downwards, and now dozing on the very
edge of the rushing tide, or circling in the eddies that revolved under
the mossy banks. An almost undistinguishable hum pervaded the
atmosphere, from the thousands that buzzed on busy wing about.
Occasionally a low sound, as if the cedars audibly sighed, rose up when
some faint breeze stirred through their ancient boughs. The scene was
the more lovely and absorbing, for its contrast to the conflagration
they had just witnessed.
Suddenly a horse’s hoofs were heard striking the bridge. Kate and her
companion looked up, the former with perceptible embarrassment; a
circumstance which induced Major Gordon to examine the new comer
narrowly.
This person was a young man apparently about eight and twenty years of
age, and attired in an elegant riding-dress, such as only gentlemen of
birth and fortune wore in that day. Slender and tall, though not
disproportionally so, and with a haughty yet graceful carriage, he had
that peculiar air which the world is accustomed to call aristocratic. He
sat his steed with careless ease, managing him principally by the heel.
To the Major’s practiced eye he was plainly an adept in horsemanship;
though his skill was that of the _manege_ rather than of the field; in
short, he was evidently no military man, though so finished a rider. His
face was of the high Norman cast, and would have been strikingly
handsome, if less cold and supercilious in expression. In his fiery eye
were traces of a daring, if not passionate will. But either care, or
late hours, or excessive dissipation, had given to his countenance a
worn and exhausted look, not generally seen out of great cities, nor
often even there in persons so young.
A perceptible scowl gathered on the face of the stranger at sight of the
Major. But without noticing him further, he checked his horse, and
addressing Kate, said, authoritatively—
“Your aunt has sent me for you. She became alarmed at your long
absence, and the woods on fire, too. So, the moment a horse could be
saddled, I galloped in search of you, without even stopping to change my
dusty coat.”
Kate colored, but, to Major Gordon’s surprise, she showed no signs of
resentment, though the Major felt as if he would have liked to punish
the speaker for his insolent tone. In fact, she turned Arab’s head
immediately homeward, as if obedience to the mandate so surlily
delivered was a matter of course.
“Who can the fellow be?” said Major Gordon to himself.
But his curiosity was not destined to annoy him. Kate directly
remembered that the gentlemen were strangers to each other, and
proceeded to introduce them.
“Cousin, this is Major Gordon,” she said, turning to the new comer.
“Major Gordon,” she said, turning to the latter, “my cousin
Charles;” then correcting herself, she added, “Mr. Aylesford.”
The gentlemen bowed distantly. Kate’s cousin, with a supercilious air
he did not attempt to conceal. Major Gordon, with a look, at first of
surprise, and then of marked resentment.
“A cousin,” said the latter to himself, his whole feelings taking a
sudden revulsion, “and I never even so much as heard one mentioned
before! Strange! He seems to exercise more than a cousin’s authority
over her.” And a jealous pang shot through his heart.
A constrained silence followed, which was first broken by the lady.
“When did you leave town, Charles?” she said.
“At daybreak this morning,” was the reply. Then, as if he could no
longer contain himself, he said, emphasizing her name formally,
“Really, Catharine, you do wrong in worrying your aunt in this way.
She insists that you will come to harm, riding out in these troubled
times.” And he looked as if he echoed the opinion. “But, above all,
what or who induced you to go out to-day?”
“Oh! you forget,” answered Kate lightly, affecting not to notice
this last remark, “that Major Gordon attends me.”
“I beg Major Gordon’s pardon,” said the cousin, without even an
attempt to conceal a sneer. “I had quite overlooked that circumstance,
which of course insures your safety, though unfortunately it does not,
it seems, prevent your aunt’s alarm.”
Kate’s face was crimson at these words. But she said nothing, and did
not even look to Major Gordon to implore his forbearance, as the latter,
with a lover’s exacting nature, thought she ought. The consequence was
that the Major, already jealous of the cousin, became irritated at Kate
herself; and insensibly drawing his horse to one side, left Mr.
Aylesford and lady to ride together; for, during this conversation, the
speakers had set off slowly towards Sweetwater.
“What a fool I would have made of myself,” soliloquized Major
Gordon, angrily, “if I had told her, five minutes ago, I loved her, as
I was tempted to do. She is evidently plighted to this cousin, for in no
other way can his cool assumption of authority over her be explained;
and she has been only amusing herself with me; her look I
misinterpreted, or, which is probably truer, she is the most arrant of
coquettes.” An angry lover is rarely just or logical. “Why did I not
see whither I was being led? Yes; if she had not been trifling with me,
she would have mentioned her cousin at some time or another,” he
continued, getting more enraged, “but it was necessary to her success
to keep me ignorant of him, and so his name was studiously avoided. All
she seems to think of now is the possibility of a collision between us,
for he has probably returned sooner than she expected; and she dreads
his haughty insolence. Well, my pretty lady, it would give me a
pleasure, if the gentleman and I were alone, to make him taste my
sword.”
In this way he rode on, sullen and apart, till they reached the gate of
Sweetwater, where courtesy compelled him to approach to make his adieus.
“Won’t you come in?” said Kate, in her old, frank way, though in a
lower, perhaps softer tone than usual.
In an instant he forgot his indignation. But recollecting that he could
not be mistaken, and saying to himself that this was only another of her
wiles, he answered, coldly—
“No, I thank you,” and, replacing his hat ceremoniously, he rode
stiffly on, internally cursing the whole sex, from Kate back to mother
Eve, as irritated lovers will.