The scene of my story shifts from the city to the country. A young man,
evidently city bred, was standing beneath the shelter of a woodman's
shanty, while the rain poured in torrents, and sent little brooks
surging like miniature rivers adown the hillsides.
It was in one of the most beautiful localities of the State of Maryland,
where forest, stream, woodland and vale stretched away in picturesque
attractiveness for miles, and where the broad fields of well-to-do
farmers were filled with the golden grain.
The young man was clad in sporting garb, carried a gun, which he
shielded from the dampness, and at his feet crouched a dog, while the
game-bag hanging on a limb near-by proved the sportsman's skill.
It was approaching sunset time, and the storm had been raging for a
couple of hours, the rain-fall being so heavy as to deluge the country,
and make foaming torrents of mere rivulets.
"It is clearing now, and I will venture, for I would not like to be
caught in the wood by darkness, as I would have to remain all night,"
and the sportsman gazed up anxiously at the clouds, breaking away in the
westward.
He was a man of twenty-six perhaps, and his erect form, elegant manners
and handsome face had won many a girl's heart.
A Philadelphian, and the ideal of society, he had run away from
dissipation and comrades for a few days shooting in Maryland, and his
first day of sport had been checked by the storm.
As the rain ceased falling he threw his game bag over his shoulder and
started out upon his return to the little Cross-Roads Inn where he was
stopping.
He had to pick his way carefully, and often, as it was, he went into
water nearly up to the top of his boots.
At last he came to a rustic bridge, across a brook; but the brook was
now surging beyond its banks, and driving furiously along.
"Ho, don't cross there!" cried a voice from the other side.
But the hunter heeded not the warning and sprang upon the bridge.
It was tottering, for its foundations had become undermined; but he
hastened on; it trembled, swerved, rocked, and he sprang quickly toward
the other shore, but too late, as before and behind him the spans were
torn away, and the centre one, upon which he stood must go next.
"Ah! I cannot swim, and am lost!" he cried, in a tone of horror.
"I will save you," shouted the same voice from the shore.
Then followed the words: "Throw your gun and game-bag away, and spring
clear of the wreck when I call to you."
The hunter tossed his fine gun and game-bag from him and nerved himself
for the ordeal.
He saw the one who had called to him--a tall, fearless-faced young
man--throw aside his coat and hat and plunge into the whirling waters,
some distance above the bridge.
As he came sweeping down the bold swimmer called out:
"Now _jump_!"
The hunter obeyed, and sank beneath the foaming current; but, as he
arose, his arm was seized by the swimmer, and at the same instant the
tottering centre of the bridge gave way, and was swept after them.
"Don't be alarmed, but keep cool, and I'll work toward the bank with
you."
"There, put your hands on my shoulders! That's right, and you are as
serene as a May morn; so all will be well;" and the swimmer struck out
for the bank, and at last caught the bough of an overhanging tree.
It blistered his hands to hold on; but he did so, and the hunter, who
was perfectly self-possessed, also grasped the tree, and both clambered
up the bank.
"I owe you my life, my man, and you have but to name your price," said
the sportsman.
"Thank you, stranger, but I am not a professional life-saver, and money
would not have tempted me to have gone to the aid of one who could not
swim."
"But come, I was on my way to Miller Raymond's, and I can make bold to
take you there, as I'm about one of the family, I may say, for I soon
will be."
"The miller will send you over to the inn in his spring waggon, for I
guess you're the city gentleman I heard was stopping there."
The sportsman saw that his bold rescuer, evidently a farmer, was one who
had pride, and merited the treatment of a gentleman.
"I beg pardon for offering you money, but it could never repay the
service, so we'll be friends.
"My name is Schuyler Cluett, and that I appreciate your saving my life
you must know."
The young farmer, for such he was, grasped the outstretched hand, and
said:
"My name is Kent Lomax, and I'm glad you begged my pardon, for it proves
you to be the man I thought you when I saw your pluck in the water. You
were as cool as an icicle. But let us move on, for we'll get cold
staying here."
So on they went along the road bordering the stream, and just at dark,
came in view of an old mill standing upon the bank, the water-wheel
turning furiously, while up on the hillside was a handsome country
house, that had the look of being the abode of one who enjoyed living.
"Well, Kent, you and your friend have been caught in the storm, that's
certain," said an honest-faced old man, meeting them at the door.
"We've been caught in the creek, Miller Raymond; and this is Mr.
Schuyler Cluett, a city gentleman, stopping at the Cross-Roads Inn, for
a few days shooting, and I told him you would send him over."
"I am glad to meet you, sir; but I guess you'd better stay with us
to-night, for we can rig you out, as well as Kent, and I've got a little
apple brandy that will do you both good."
"I thank you, sir;" and then Schuyler Cluett added: "But let me say that
my modest friend here failed to tell you that he saved my life, as the
bridge went in with me, and I cannot swim a stroke."
"Ah! that is just like Kent; but here is my daughter, and he saved her
life years ago in this same stream, when they were children together.
Ruby, this is Mr. Cluett, whose life Kent has just saved; but hasten to
lay out some of my clothes in the spare rooms, and tell your mother that
we have guests to supper.
"Come, Mr. Cluett, you and Kent need a little internal warming up after
your ducking," and the two young men dashed off a glass of apple brandy
of the miller's own making, and then sought their respective rooms to
change their clothes, for, after his eyes had fallen upon Ruby Raymond,
the young sportsman had decided to remain all night at the miller's.
He felt that he did not look his best, in a corduroy suit of the
miller's and a broad shirt collar; but he had to make the best of it,
and so descended to the parlour.
Kent was already there, as was Miller Raymond, his wife, and Ruby, and
the young sportsman was introduced, and again told the story of his
rescue by Kent.
Then supper was served, and such a supper Schuyler Cluett had never sat
down to before, he said, and with truth, for Mistress Raymond was noted
for her housekeeping the country over.
During the evening Ruby sang, in a sweet soprano voice, played the piano
with a skill that surprised the city-bred gentleman, and he found her to
be lovely in face and form, with large, dark-blue eyes, golden hair, and
a smile of the most fascinating sweetness, while her refinement of
manner was as much a surprise to him as were her accomplishments.
Mr. Schuyler Cluett also learned a secret from the miller, and that was
the fact of Ruby's engagement to Kent Lomax.
"Kent is a fine fellow, Mr. Cluett," volunteered the miller, "and we
have known him from boyhood.
"His father married a crossed-grained woman after his first wife's
death, and she made it so warm for the boy he ran away and went to sea.
"He was gone six years, and returned one day to find his step-mother
dead, so he remained at home, took care of his father until his death,
and now owns the farm, a mile from here, and a good one it is.
"He and Ruby have loved each other always, and they are to be married,
come Christmas."
Schuyler Cluett went to his room that night, pondering over all he had
heard, and at last he said half aloud:
"That beautiful girl marry that common fellow? _Never_! she shall be
mine, and _I swear it_!"
And Schuyler Cluett kept his treacherous oath against the man who had
saved his life, for the very eve of her wedding-day with Kent Lomax,
Ruby Raymond stole out of her pleasant room, unlocked the front door,
and glided across the lawn to the foot of the hill, where in a buggy,
with a pair of spirited horses, sat a young man awaiting her.
"Come, hasten, Ruby," he said in a low tone.
"Oh, Schuyler, I have given up all for you, my parents, my happy home,
and poor Kent.
"It will break his heart; but then it would have broken my heart to
become his wife loving you as I do."
And away sped the fleet horses, while the night wore on, the dawn came,
Christmas morn, and Mrs. Raymond hastened to her daughter's room, to
wish her only child a happy Christmas, a happy wedding day.
A shriek that broke from her lips, followed by a heavy fall, brought the
miller to the room.
His wife lay unconscious on the floor, an open letter in her hand.
He read it, and his heart grew cold at the words:
"Forgive me, mother, father, forgive me; but I could not marry
Kent, as I do not love him, my heart being another's.
"Finding out the secret of my heart, I would not perjure myself by
marrying Kent Lomax, and so I fly to-night with the one whose wife
I am to be.
"Some day, when you feel more kindly toward me, I will come back
and plead for your forgiveness.
"Now good-bye, and Heaven bless you and poor Kent, whom my heart
bleeds for in the sorrow I know he will feel.
"Your ever loving daughter,
"RUBY."
Loud and stern rang the miller's voice, calling for aid, and one servant
was dispatched for the village doctor, for Mrs. Raymond still lay in a
swoon, and another for Kent Lomax.
They arrived together, and Kent Lomax looked like a corpse as the miller
read his daughter's letter, for the eyes of the deserted lover were
blinded with grief and all seemed blurred before him.
"Miller Raymond," said the doctor softly, as he bent over the form of
the mother.
"Well."
"Nerve yourself for another bitter blow."
"Oh Heaven! another?"
"_Your wife is dead_," was the low response, and the miller groaned, as
he sank upon his knees by the body of his wife and grasping her hand
buried his face in the pillow by the side of the one who had for twenty
years borne his name, the mother of his child who had struck the
death-blow.
"_Dead! dead!_" shouted Kent Lomax with wild eyes and writhing face.
"That man did this deed, for he fascinated poor Ruby, won her from me,
from home, from all, and by the eternal Heaven I will track him to the
death for this!
"I saved his life once, but now I will take away that life; _I vow it,
so help me Heaven!_"