SWEETWATER AGAIN
Such is the power of that sweet passion,
That it all sordid baseness doth expel,
And the refined mind doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer form, which now doth dwell
In his high thoughts, that would itself excel,
Which he, beholding still with constant sight,
Admires the mirror of so heavenly light. —Spenser.
But now lead on;
In me is no delay; with thee to go
Is to stay here; with thee here to stay
Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me
Art all things under heaven. —Milton.
It was some time before Kate was able to undertake the fatigues of a
return. At last, however, she set forth, supported by Major Gordon, who
had, notwithstanding his wound, an arm uninjured to offer to her. When
they had emerged from the denser part of the swamp, it was proposed to
construct a litter for her, the road now allowing of her being
transported in this way; but she declined the proffer, insisting that
she was able to walk to the hut, at least.
For, as the way led back to within a mile of that place, Uncle Lawrence
decided that it would be advisable to go there at once, because Kate
could then obtain some repose, while a messenger, despatched to
Sweetwater, might bring a carriage to transport her home, later in the
day. As by this plan Mrs. Warren would obtain intelligence of her safety
sooner than if they all pursued their way to the family mansion
immediately, Kate pronounced in favor of it. Moreover, by this scheme,
she would be able to bring away with her the orphan child, who had been
so instrumental in her escape, and who, now that the reputed uncle was
no more, would be willing, Kate reasoned, to accompany her to
Sweetwater. To this desolate little girl our heroine felt her heart
strangely drawn, even apart from the gratitude which filled her heart
towards the child as the preserver of her life.
Accordingly, when they reached the main road, where Kate had taken the
wrong turn, two of the patriots left the party, and hastened with all
their speed to Sweetwater; while the remainder, striking into the byway
that led to the cabin, advanced at a slower pace, accommodated to our
heroine’s fatigue.
When the latter reached the clearing on the knoll of the swamp, they
found that the child, already forced by circumstances to be a
housekeeper, had removed the evidences of the last night’s debauch,
and restored everything to order and comparative neatness. The table was
set away; the chairs replaced in their positions; the floor swept and
subsequently sanded, as was then the fashion. The child was sitting,
trying to read with difficulty, when the party came up; and the book
falling from her hands in her surprise, Uncle Lawrence took it up, and
discovered, as he had suspected, that it was a Testament.
When she recognized Kate, the orphan stole immediately to her side, and,
clasping the hands of our heroine between both her own little palms,
said, gently,
“I’m so glad you’ve come back. Oh! how I wished, all the morning,
that these good people would find you.”
“I’ve come back to take you away with me,” said Kate, stooping,
and kissing the child. “You musn’t shake your head sadly. There’s
nothing now to keep you here. That bad man, who called himself your
uncle, is dead and gone.”
The orphan looked wonderingly at Kate; then at Uncle Lawrence; and,
finally, around the entire group. Reading a confirmation of this truth
in every eye, her little face assumed an awe-struck expression, and she
burst into tears.
Kate tried to soothe her.
“He wasn’t your uncle at all, dear,” she said, taking the child in
her lap, for they had now entered the house. “These gentlemen,”
turning to Major Gordon and Uncle Lawrence, “say they know all about
you. So you musn’t think of him, except as a bad, bad man, who has
brought death on himself by his own wickedness.”
“It’s that that makes me cry,” said the child, looking up through
her tears.
Uncle Lawrence, laying his hand on her head in his fatherly manner, said
to the orphan,
“I’ve no doubt, my little one, that this lady here is nearer related
to you than maybe you or she thinks. But more of that bye and bye,” he
continued. “It’s to her house you’re to go, and you ought to thank
the Lord, my child, that he’s given you such a friend.”
“Now,” said Kate, kissing her, “you can’t help being my little
sister.”
“I’ll be so glad,” murmured the child, hiding her face on Kate’s
shoulder, and closely entwining her arms around our heroine, who looked
up, smiling through her tears, at Major Gordon and Uncle Lawrence.
Nearly four hours elapsed before the expected vehicle arrived from
Sweetwater. During this interval, Kate was urged to snatch some repose,
for it will be recollected that excepting the short period she slept by
accident the night before, she had not closed her eyes for thirty-six
hours, while, meantime, she had undergone the greatest fatigue of body
and mind. But her nerves were still too excited from the agitating
events which had followed her first capture, to permit her to compose
herself to sleep; and besides, she shrank from re-entering the chamber
where she had passed a night of such agonizing suspense.
Mrs. Warren’s joyful consternation, when she heard of Kate’s safety,
it is almost impossible to describe. The effect of the news was
completely paralyzing to her, as much so, for awhile, indeed, as if it
had been intelligence the most disastrous.
For quite a minute the servants thought she was dying, and being, to use
one of their own expressions, “a’most as flustered as herself,”
they did all sorts of absurd things in the effort to help her. Pomp’s
father seized a flower-vase, which Kate had arranged the preceding
morning, and threw its contents into her face, plants and water alike.
Dinah, his wife, attempted to cut the good lady’s stays with the back
of a bread-knife, with which she had rushed in from the kitchen, being
engaged in slicing a loaf when she heard the uproar. The maid screamed
at the top of her lungs, and ran out of the room, with a vague design of
seeking a vinaigrette bottle in one of the chambers; but she finally
captured a phial of patent medicine, which Mrs. Warren patronized, as
many excellent old dowagers will, and unconscious of her error, rushed
back again, screaming as fast as ever, and popped the horrible compound
under the dame’s nose. Between the application of Jim, and this of the
maid, Mrs. Warren soon came to; and it was fortunate for her she did;
for, as one of the news-bearers said, in rehearsing the tale
afterwards,— “they’d have killed her next, seein’ that we was so
frightened by the infernal screechin’ of that Frenchified gal, with
the physic-bottle, that we thought the old ‘oman had gone for
sartain.”
When Kate at length arrived at Sweetwater, the good dame had recovered
her usual equanimity. Having improved the interval to repair the
disorder of her attire, she now appeared in all her ordinary pomp of
costume; her voluminous furbelowed gown sweeping half the room; her
high, red-heeled shoes pattering, as she rushed down the porch; and the
powder flying like snow from her tower-like head-dress, and perfuming
the air around her, as if the wind blew from a spice-garden.
Extending her arms, into which Kate threw herself, she said,
“Bless us, my child, what trouble you’ve given me, and all from
riding alone. I knew something terrible would happen from the first. But
don’t think I blame you. I’m too glad to see you for that.”
In fact, Mrs. Warren, having discharged her conscience in the way of
reproof, began to kiss her niece passionately, at the same time bursting
into tears. Uncle Lawrence afterwards remarked, that he thought, that
“next to fallin’ into the clutches of a baar, the most dangerous
thing was bein’ hugged by Mrs. Warren, for she nigh a’most squeezed
Katie to death.”
It was a long time before Kate recovered from the effects of that
terrible day and night. Though she had borne up so heroically while the
peril continued, she broke down completely after she found herself
safely at home; and for nearly a week she was unable even to leave her
chamber. By the end of that time, however, she appeared in the parlor,
where, though still pale, she seemed to Major Gordon lovelier than ever.
Our hero, who had called daily to inquire after her progress, was almost
transported beyond himself, when, one morning, on being shown as usual
into the parlor, he saw Kate sitting there instead of her formal aunt.
The young heiress rose immediately, and frankly advanced, extending her
hand.
“This is, indeed, a surprise,” cried Major Gordon, taking the
delicate little palm between his two hands. “I had not hoped so much,
after what Mrs. Warren said yesterday.”
“My good aunt,” replied Kate, with a smile and a blush, “always
takes the worst view of things, you know.”
“Has she done censuring you for being the sole cause of your late
peril, by riding out alone?” asked the Major, smiling also, as he led
her to the sofa.
“She has it over a dozen times a day, and always ends by declaring she
‘knew something dreadful would happen;’ that’s her pet phrase. But
come, we musn’t laugh at aunt’s foibles in this way; she’s an
excellent creature; and, you know, you and she are to be the best of
friends.”
From this opening of the conversation, and from the tone of the
speakers, it was evident that they had come already to a perfect
understanding. Major Gordon, in fact, had written a letter to Kate, when
he found that she could not leave her chamber; for he deemed it due to
both herself and him, that an explicit avowal of his feelings should be
in her hands without delay. This letter was really the best medicine
Kate could have had; for, by assuring her of his love, it removed what
otherwise would have been a source of secret agitation to her.
The reader, indeed, must long since have suspected that Kate was as much
in love with Major Gordon as he with her. The interview at the bridge,
with our hero’s conduct afterwards, had first opened her eyes to the
state of her heart. The letter of our hero afforded her at last an
opportunity, consistent with maidenly propriety, to acknowledge her
affection; and as she was too true-hearted and sincere to trifle with
her correspondent, she wrote immediately such an answer as made the
recipient nearly wild with joy, though the note itself was quite simple
and even laconic.
We leave them together, on this first meeting since their betrothal, to
exchange those questions as to when each first began to love, and renew
those protestations, which made the pair happy beyond words, as such
things have made many another pair, but which would be insipid enough if
printed.