Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with very
different feelings from those I had on entering it. The words of this
ill-starred maiden--attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar to
her race--had filled my heart with most dire forebodings. Her speech
could not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me? She had
scarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positive
foreknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceiving
me?
"Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve."
"Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so
proudly upon your breast."
These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural? However
obtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an implied
forecast of the future--probable as it was painful. The "yellow fawn,"
too. The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn. But the
wolf that had "slept in its lair"? Who was the wolf? Who was to make
her a victim? and how? These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidly
through my mind, and without obtaining reply. I was unable to answer
them, even by conjecture. Enough that there _was_ a wolf; and that
Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!
This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing in
my ears: "You will be too late--too late!" Prompted by their implied
meaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward--as fast
as the nature of the ground would permit. My mind was in dread
confusion--a chaos of doubt and fear. The half-knowledge I had obtained
was more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for I
suffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlined
suspicion. A wolf! In what shape and guise? A victim? How, and by
what means? What the nature of the predicted danger?
The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken
their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! A
storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun--black as the wing of the
buzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky--threatening
to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along
their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came
pattering down upon the leaves--soon to fall thick and continuous! I
heeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elements
to me? What cared I for the clouds or rain--lightning, thunder, or the
riven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart--an electric rush
through my veins--of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky,
or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. "The wolf has slept in the
lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You will
be too late--too late!" These were clouds to be regarded--the fires to
be feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame
infernal burning in my breast?
The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence,
had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free;
and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The door
was open--wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the
interior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me!
Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture--several chairs and a
rough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now in
the same place--just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensions
was allayed by the sight: the family was still there. "Strange that no
one hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!"
I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while.
"Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The day
and hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into his
uncourteous mood?"
It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining
at the moment--as if the very clouds were coming down--and I stood in
need of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I was
suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where was
Lilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It was
indeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian
damsel? Was she, too, an arch creature--a coquette? Had she bestowed
the blossom only to betray me?
I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had
promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant
anticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating an
effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its
carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of
blood!
I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; but
by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. After
a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin.
The interstices between the logs--where they had formerly been covered
with skins--were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closer
scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were
concerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaning
over from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only the
chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of "plenishing,"
remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthless _debris_
strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered
complete. _They were gone_!
It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the
premises--outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, a
supposition. There was nowhere else--the horse-shed excepted--where
they could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they were
not in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall--saddle and
bridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They were
gone.
With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the
shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon the
plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a
survey of the "premises"--my future home. I might have observed with
ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it
needed repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house
or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I
gave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment,
would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be
turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!