Never since early boyhood had Clendenin borne in his bosom so light
and glad a heart as that with which he left Old Town upon the close
of his interview with Reumah Clark.
One thought--that there was now no barrier between him and his sweet
and beautiful Nell, unless indeed, she herself had created one,
filled him with a joy and thankfulness beyond the power of words to
express.
But an enemy lay in wait to rob him of it.
Lyttleton, closely watching Clendenin, had noticed that he tarried
behind in the Indian camp while others were leaving it; but carefully
abstaining from any allusion to the fact, he conducted the young
lady whose escort he was to her home, then leaving the town by the
opposite side, made a circuit through the woods that brought him
back to a hill overlooking the trail to Old Town, ascending which he
waited and watched for Kenneth's return.
Very impatient he grew toward the last, but not to be baulked of his
prey by hunger or weariness, he remained at his post of observation
until his eyes were gladdened by the sight of the manly form of
Clendenin mounted on his gallant steed and following the trail at a
brisk canter that was bringing him rapidly nearer.
Lyttleton now hastily descended the hill, galloped across a bit of
prairie and struck into the trail just in time to meet the man whom
he cordially hated in his heart while in outward seeming he was the
warmest friend.
"So here you are at last, doctor," he said with a genial smile, "I
declare I was actually growing uneasy about you."
"How so?" returned Kenneth in surprise, "it is nothing unusual for
me to be out scouring the country at any or all hours of the day and
night."
"Yes, but among the savages you know. I saw that you lingered behind
as the rest of us set out on our return to the town, and I thought it
not at all impossible that the wild creatures might be moved to do
you a mischief."
He looked keenly at Kenneth as he spoke, thinking to read in his
countenance how his errand had sped. He had never seen it half so
bright and joyous.
"Ah, he has won," he said to himself with a pang of mingled
disappointment and envy. "He has learned all, and it is in his favor.
Curse him, he shan't have her too if I can prevent it!
"You seem to have had a pleasant time," he said aloud, "I think I
never saw you look quite so cheery."
Kenneth only smiled, he felt so free and happy, as light and joyous
as a bird on the wing.
"I congratulate you on your good luck, whatever it may have been,"
continued Lyttleton, still eyeing him curiously; "and I must ask a
return in kind from you, for I too have been made a happy, yes, the
very happiest of men to-day."
Clendenin turned upon him a startled, questioning look, his very lips
growing white; he tried to speak, but could not find his voice.
"Yes," Lyttleton went on with a cruel delight in the pain he saw he
was giving; "I am sure you will think so when I tell you that Miss
Lamar is my promised wife and I shall soon be the husband of the
finest woman in America."
Kenneth answered not a word, the blow was so sudden, so terrible, so
stunning; for it never occurred to him that those words which sounded
the death knell of his fondest hopes were a falsehood, and, ah! he
had thought it impossible that Nell could ever give herself to one
so utterly devoid of noble qualities as this stranger who was now
boasting of having won her.
Lyttleton perceived with savage exultation how he had wrung the heart
of the man whom he hated;--hated all the more bitterly because he
owed him his life and because of his own ill-desert as a trifler with
sweet Marian's affections: whose sworn foe he was even before leaving
England for America; his very errand to this country being one of
wrong to him, an errand which he now foresaw was likely to miscarry
through the information gleaned from the white squaw of the Shawnee
brave.
They were passing a farm-house; some one standing at its gate hailed
the doctor, and with a slight parting inclination of the head to
Lyttleton, Kenneth turned aside and obeyed the call.
The sun was touching the top of the hill which bounds Chillicothe on
the west, as he resumed his homeward way, a different man from the
one who had left Old Town so full of joy and glad anticipation; the
very dropping of his figure, as he moved slowly along with the bridle
lying loosely upon Romeo's neck, spoke of utter dejection.
What was life worth without his love, his darling? Oh, why had not
this knowledge come to him a little sooner, this that unsealed his
lips. Why had he not yielded to his impulse that stormy night as they
stood alone together by the fire, and poured out the story of his
love? How much wiser and kinder to have done it, even though he had
to tell her, too, that an impassable barrier stood between them!
He could see it so plainly now, but then, his eyes were blinded.
And she, how could he blame her if her love had at last turned to
aversion and she had given herself to another?
But alas, alas, how ill she had chosen, a man devoid of principle
and utterly selfish; for so far had Kenneth succeeded in reading
Lyttleton's true character.
But these were vain regrets; he must school himself to bear bravely
his grief and disappointment; trouble did not spring out of the
ground, and the loving Father above never sent to His children one
unneeded pang.
And was life indeed all dark to him? Was it nothing that a terrible
dread had been taken away? That he had reason, intellect, education,
health and strength, that God had given him skill to relieve pain and
suffering?
Ah, his mercies were far beyond his deserts, and life could not be a
desolate waste while power was granted him to minister to the comfort
and happiness of others; and while there remained to him, not only
the love of the two dear ones at Glen Forest, but also the sweeter,
dearer love of Him who saith to His children:
"Lo, I am with you always even unto the end of the world." "I have
loved thee with an everlasting love." "I will never leave thee nor
forsake thee."
The precious comforting words came to him almost as if spoken by an
audible voice, and were as balm and healing to his wounded spirit.
There were business matters claiming his immediate attention, and he
now resolutely turned his thoughts upon them.
He decided upon an early visit to his old home; he must see her whom
he had always called mother, but who, as he had learned from Reumah
Clark, was in reality his sister; sweet Marian, too. Ah, she must
never know that he was less nearly related to her than she fondly
believed. It would but give her unnecessary pain.
But first of all steps should be taken to get Reumah Clark's evidence
in a form that would make it available legal proof of his identity,
for there was much dependent upon that.
On reaching the town he at once sought Godfrey Dale, and they were
closeted together for an hour or more.
In this interview Dale learned what had been his friend's secret
grief, that it had in a measure passed away with the knowledge of his
true parentage, though it was sorrow of heart to him that it proved
the tie of kinship with the dear ones at home less close than he had
once believed, and the importance, for certain grave reasons, of his
being able to bring forward indisputable proof of his identity.
Dale understood the management of the business; the first step in
which was to get the woman into the town and have her deposition
taken before a magistrate.
It was probable that she would come in the next morning of her own
accord, in order to receive the money for which she held Clendenin's
note; if she did not Dale was to go in search of her.
"It is to be hoped that secret foe of yours will not get hold of her
again in the meantime," he remarked. "Who can he be? I know of no one
who has cause for enmity toward you, unless, indeed, as a rival in
the good graces of a certain fair damsel," he added jocosely, "and,
why Kenneth, man, that would be Lyttleton! And he's mean enough to
serve you such a scurvy trick, too. But then, on second thought, how
would he know anything about the woman or your interest in her? No; I
confess I am nonplussed."
"Beside," said Kenneth sadly, "he tells me he is a successful rival,
so he might well afford to refrain from any interference with my
welfare."
"He successful with Miss Nell?" cried Dale with scornful incredulity.
"Don't you believe it! And yet," with a sudden change of tone, "women
are strange, unaccountable creatures, and it is possible her seeming
contempt and dislike were only assumed to hide her real feelings.
Heighho! I really thought your chances better than mine; those last
by no means so poor as Lyttleton's."
A party of the merchants of the town were to start three days from
this time for the East, to buy goods. Their custom was to go in
companies, as, a great portion of the country being still in wild
state, much of it was covered with immense forests, containing but
a few widely scattered dwellings. They must, perforce, carry a good
deal of money with them and it was unsafe for one to travel alone.
Kenneth had announced his intention to join this party, but that
evening's mail brought a letter from Glen Forest which so filled
him with anxiety and alarm, made his presence at home so urgently
necessary, that he at once decided to risk going with no companion
but Zeb, and to set off at dawn of the coming day, leaving to Dale
the whole care and responsibility of getting Reumah Clark's evidence
into proper shape.
Dale used every argument and persuasion to induce his friend to wait
for company; two days he thought would make so little difference, and
the risk to a solitary traveller was so great; but all to no purpose;
Clendenin would hardly stay to hear him out, there was so much to be
attended to in the few hours that remained before he should leave for
an absence that might extend to months.
Several patients must be visited and recommended to the charge of a
brother physician, some purchases made, and some friends called upon
for a word of farewell.
It would seem a strange, unkind, ungrateful thing to go without
saying good-bye to Major Lamar and his family, who had always made
him so entirely one of themselves.
And Nell? Ah, he could not, would not go away without learning from
her own lips if Lyttleton's story were true.
And if it were not? But ah, he dare not think any further.
His heart beat almost audibly as he opened the gate and hurried up
the path to the house.
The bright moonlight showed him the major sitting alone in the porch.
"Ah, good evening, doctor," he said, rising to shake hands and set a
chair for his guest. "I am especially glad to see you to-night, as I
am just in the mood for a friendly chat."
"Thank you, major, but I am in unusual haste," Kenneth answered. "Can
I see the ladies?"
"Sorry to say I cannot give you that pleasure to-night, doctor," was
the laughing reply. "Mrs. Lamar has gone to bed tired out with the
exertion and excitement of the day, and Nell is not at home; won't
be for a week or two, at least; has gone home with a friend living
fifteen miles from town."
Kenneth almost staggered under the blow. Then a wild impulse seized
him to follow her and know his fate from her own mouth, though it
would delay his journey for one day, if not for two. But recalling
some words of the letter just received, words that made him feel
that every moment's delay on his part was hazardous to sweet Marian,
he put it from him with heroic self-denial, briefly explained his
errand, parried some remonstrances such as Dale had already wasted
upon him, and with a cordial parting shake of the hand and a farewell
message for the family, turned and went away.
Lyttleton's heart that afternoon was like a cage of unclean birds
full of malice, envy, anger and hate. Kenneth having left him in
answer to the summons to the farm-house, he pursued his way to the
town muttering imprecations upon the head of his late companion and
mentally resolving schemes for his injury.
"Curse him!" he said again, "is he to have all and I none? Would that
fate were but kind enough to remove him out of my path!"
"Do it yourself!"
It seemed an almost audible suggestion.
He started and glanced around with a shudder, half expecting to see
the tempter.
"No, no, I am not so bad as that!" he answered aloud. "I could never
stain my hands with blood, but if the Indians should slay him in the
woods, as they did Capt. Herrod, or if his horse should happen to
stumble and he fall and break his neck, well, it would not grieve me
very deeply, ha, ha!
"I suppose the girl wouldn't have me even then," he continued with a
gloomy scowl, "but I'd have undisturbed possession of--But nonsense!
I must deal with things as they are."
He continued his cogitations, but had not yet succeeded in arranging
any definite plan when he arrived at his lodgings and dismounted,
giving his horse in charge to Hans.
However, the knowledge casually gained in the course of the evening,
of Kenneth's intended departure early the next morning for the
East, and with no companion but his negro servant, brought a sudden
suggestion to his mind which filled him with fiendish delight.
A letter from England, like Clendenin's received by that evening's
mail, furnished a plausible pretext.
Hans was summoned and given orders to make everything ready to leave
Chillicothe at once.
"Dish night, mynheer?" queried the man in astonishment.
"Yes, this night; there is a moon and we can travel by her light. I
have news from England and must return thither with all speed."
"De horses pe not shtrong enough to go day and night, mynheer,"
remarked Hans, scratching his head and looking not over pleased; for
he was loth to lose his night's rest.
"That's my affair; you have nothing to do but obey orders," was the
haughty rejoinder.
Lyttleton knew that Nell was out of town, and now was glad that it
had so happened, as he did not care to meet her again, yet felt that
it would not look well for him to leave the place without a parting
call on the family.
He met Clendenin coming away, passed him with a cold bow, and joined
the major who was still on the porch, its sole occupant as before.
"What you, too, sir?" he exclaimed, when Lyttleton had explained the
object of his call. "The doctor was in but now to say that he leaves
unexpectedly in the early morning; but it seems that you are making
even greater haste to forsake us. Coming back again, I hope."
"Doubtful, my good sir, and I must leave my adieu to the ladies with
you, regretting deeply that I could not deliver them in person,"
Lyttleton said, lying with a glibness that was the result of long
practice.
He tarried but a few moments, and again the major was left to his
solitary meditations, which now ran upon the question whether Nell
had aught to do with the sudden migration of these two admirers of
hers. He could not tell, for the girl had kept her own council in
regard to her feelings toward them, and Lyttleton's offer of the
previous day.