CHAPTER XII.
SPLENDOUR.
In one short day the hand of fate had divided the little band ofventurers, destroying the physical life of Flower, leading Woodfieldinto the trackless forest and losing him there, and driving Viner intothe unknown country of the south. Viner's course, during its earlystages, may first be followed, beside the lakes and across the thicklywooded plains of the land which was later to be known as the northernpart of the State of Maine.
No event marked his journey during the first day. On the second he sawin the distance a party of Dutchmen, who also sighted him and gavechase; but the swift young athlete shook off these slow men with ease.Later he perceived the smoke of an Indian encampment, and bent off hiscourse, fearing lest the tribe might be hostile to all of hiscomplexion. By doing so he lost his bearings, and while attempting toregain them wandered at evening into a glorious valley, bright withflowers, and green with high grass undulating gently in soundlesswaves. Perceiving a line of trees beyond, Geoffrey determined to gaintheir shelter, and wait for the stars to guide him back to hissoutherly route.
He came to a shallow stream, a mere brook winding through the valleyamid red willow and wild rice and fragrant beds of brown-topped reeds.A flight of swans passed overhead, their necks outstretched, theirbodies casting gaunt shadows across the grass. On the near sidepatches of bush variegated the plain; beyond, the descending sun cast adazzling haze. The wind was murmuring in the reeds, and the whistlingsof aquatic fowl made a plaintive music. The lonely boy relieved hissolitude as he walked, by reciting to the tune of the breeze one of thepoetic fables he had learnt at school:
"And when he was unable to restrain his secret, he crept among thereeds, and murmured, 'King Midas has the ears of an ass.' But thereeds betrayed him. When the wind passed they bent together andwhispered, 'Midas has the ears of an ass--the ears of an ass.'"
Stepping among the sedges, where single stalks shuddered in the coldwater, Geoffrey looked for the ripple which would indicate a place ofcrossing. The reeds inclined their feathery heads towards him, and themalicious whisper seemed to follow, "Geoffrey has the ears of anass--the ears of an ass." Laughing at the idle fancy, he ran on at thesight of a line of foam some little way down the stream. Drawing offhis shoes, he passed across the yellow gravel, the keen water nippinghis ankles, the reeds brushing his head. Old Thames had often been ascold, when as a schoolboy he had waded through its weeds hunting thedive-dapper's nest.
Viner hesitated where the Indian trail split. That to the left raninto the sun. He could scarcely see it, so dazzling was the glory.That to the right was bare and cold, but leading, had he known it,direct to the south. At the foot of a long bank the brook poured awayits water, and above in the fruit-bushes the wild canaries sang awaythe hours. The youth took the bow from his shoulder, held it on end,and let it fall. The bow pointed as he wished, as perhaps his fingershad guided it at the moment of release. It fell into the sun.
A breath of fire was in the splendour ahead, an acrid smoke crept down,he heard the crackling of twigs. It seemed to the traveller that thesun was consuming the grove before him. A voice began to sing.Geoffrey tried to persuade himself that some little yellow bird wassitting in the sun-grove warbling its soul out to him. Then an enviousnight cloud swooped upon the lord of day and rolled him up in its dewyblanket, and immediately a palisade, a grass roof, and a thicketstarted out like black upon white. But the song went on.
A log-cabin stood right in the centre of the setting sun, a snakypalisade winding around, enclosing also a garden planted with corn andpotatoes, where already blade and crinkled leaf pushed from the darkalluvial soil. Trees surrounded the house.
Amid the smoke the side of an iron pot showed at intervals. The singerheld her head back, the slightest frown creasing her forehead. She waswaiting for the fire to burn clearly, and to encourage it she sang.
Her hair, which hung all about her body, was golden-brown, no one tressthe same shade as another, the whole a bewildering mantle of beauty.Its wealth became reckless when one crafty ray of sunlight eluded thecloud and shot across her head.
"Oh, oh!" she sighed, breaking off her bird-like song. "The sun willnot let my fire burn, and--this wicked wind!"
The breeze, delighting to flirt with so glorious a creature, veeredslyly, and fanned the bitter smoke around her. She danced awaycoughing, her cheeks scarlet, her red mouth gasping for pure air, hertresses gleaming in their mesh of sunlight. Her movements were assupple as the swaying dance of the pine-branch over her. She tried tolaugh while she caught at her breath, and, failing, fell back panting,showing her tiny teeth.
Then the violet eyes moved along the path, and all the pretty laughterwent out. A white hand drifted like falling snow, stole a tress ofhair, and shining pearls began cruelly to bite the silk.
No maid could have desired a fairer vision.
Geoffrey, tall, slender, and flushed, stood between the trees, his bowin his hands, his Saxon blue eyes meeting the violet glances oftimidity with free admiration. The maid of the fire-side beheld hisclear complexion, his fair hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck,his strong figure; and as she watched for a few moments, which were notmeasured by time, her bosom began to rise and fall. Had she not prayedfor such a vision? She had surely wasted her sweetness long enoughupon the unsatisfying things of her daily life in that lone, hard land.There was that in her young blood which rebelled against herconvent-like environment, where she had indeed her freedom, but wherethe tree of knowledge had not been trained to grow.
Viner stepped out and doffed his feathered cap.
"Fair mistress," he said, bending before this beauty of the grove,"give me your pardon for coming on you so suddenly. I am a travelleron my way to the south."
Madeleine Labroquerie answered him only with her eyes.
"Can you tell me how many English miles I am from Plymouth?"
He looked up, and learnt that the sun had not yet left the grove. Hesaw the cloud of hair waving iridescent. His gaze wandered over thebeautiful head, until two eyes like purple iris flowers met his.
"But I am not English."
"Yet you speak in English," he protested.
"Why, yes. In England I was brought up. I love England; but I amFrench, and a Protestant."
Geoffrey looked into the grove as he spoke on softly, mindful of hisduty:
"Tell me, lady, how many days must I travel before I come to theprovince of Massachusetts?"
Madeleine Labroquerie had not a word to say. This handsome strangerhad hardly arrived, and already he suggested departure.
"I must not delay," he faltered.
"My fire!" cried Madeleine, stretching out her hands. "It will notburn. Stranger"--she turned to him with a winsome glance--"will you_make_ my fire burn?"
She hurried to the smoking pile. He was beside her instantly.
"You shall not soil those hands."
"They are already smoked and soiled. And see--a burn!"
Because Geoffrey dared not look Madeleine pouted at his back. Then shekicked the smouldering wood, and exclaimed spitefully, "There!"
"Your fire is too closely packed."
"It is not," she snapped, daring him with her eyes.
"You say it is not," he agreed; but loosening the heap.
"I fear that it was," she sighed. "And the wood is damp."
Geoffrey rebuilt the fire, placing the hot embers to face the wind, andfanned the sticks until they burst into flame.
The daylight went out like a failing lamp, and a red glow flung aboutthem as the fire increased.
"I know that you are weary, sir," said the girl winningly. "Let melead you into the house and present you to my mother."
Seeing wonder upon the young man's face, she pointed her shapely handthrough the smoke.
"Down there my father lies," she explained in a hushed voice. "Deep inthe hollow where the beavers bite the bark at night. There the Indiansmade his grave. French though we are, th
e Iroquois have been friendly,because my father, who was a skilled physician, used them well. Heremy father hid from the world. He found a rest here, and yonder herests still hidden. I am with my mother and one native servant, wholoves us because my father saved his life. And I--I have never known afriend."
"Lady," said Geoffrey suddenly, "I would serve you if I might."
"Rest you here a few days," she said quickly, "and tell my mother whatis doing in the world."
"I must down to the coast."
"Did you say Plymouth just now? Learn how ignorant I am. I did notknow there was a town of that name in all the New World. I have beento the English Plymouth. There I saw the brave ships in her harbour,and the red and white flags, and the sailors looking over the sea forwhat might come sailing by, watching thus and hoping all the day. Thatwas a happy time."
"There are yet as good men in Plymouth as ever sailed westward from theHoe," said the boy with eager pride.
While he spoke the expression on Madeleine's face altered. She drewaway, murmuring as she moved, "Here is Madame, my mother." She addedhurriedly, and as he thought with fear, "I pray you be gracious to her."
Viner turned, and there in the fire glow walked a little old woman inblack, a white cap holding her thin grey hair, her face pale, her eyessunken, and her colourless lips a tight line. She smiled coldly, andshowed no amazement when her daughter presented the traveller.
"You are welcome, sir," she said in English. "We are poor and lonelyfolk left to perish in the wilderness. My husband was an atheist, aphilosopher, and every man's hand was against him. He brought his wifeand family to the New World that he might study in peace and learnsomewhat of Nature's secrets. Last summer he was taken, babbling ofthe work of his misspent life, careless of our farewells, heedless ofthe state in which he left us. Philosophy is of a truth the devil'swork, inasmuch as it hardens the heart of man, loses him his God, andwraps its slave in selfishness."
The old woman signed herself slowly; then suddenly pushed beside thetraveller and snatched at her daughter's arm.
"Cross yourself, girl! Infidel, cross yourself!" she cried.
"Mother!" Madeleine shrank back, appealing with her lovely eyes.
"Lutheran!" screamed the little woman. "Make the holy sign, and sostrive to save your wicked soul from the pit of destruction whereinyour father lies."
"My faith is fixed," murmured the girl. "Ah, ah!" she panted.
Madame Labroquerie struck the girl thrice upon her fair cheek, stainingthe white skin red as a roseleaf.
"Madame, forbear!" Viner stood between them, his blood hot with shame."This is no sight for a stranger and a man to witness."
The little woman smiled at him and abandoned her daughter, who bentover the fire to hide her crimson face.
"You are English, sir. Your brave countrymen yield to none in theirrespect for a woman, when she be young and fair to see. Let her beold, they shall call her witch and fling her in the nearest pond.There be young witches, good sir, better able to seduce the soul of manthan the old, though they keep neither cat nor toad, nor ride at nightacross the face of the moon."
Madame Labroquerie made him a low courtesy, and walked noiselessly tothe gate of the palisade.
"That so lovely a daughter should be cursed with such a mother!"muttered the youth as he watched her go.
He came to the side of Madeleine, and found her crying.
"My mother has a strange temper. She has suffered much," the girlsighed.
There was a pause, one of those rare intervals when ears are opened tothe music of the spheres, and souls may meet.
"You are not happy here," he said.
Her glorious eyes were two blossoms heavy with dew.
"Friend!" She put out one hand, groping for something to hold. "I ammiserable."
They stood together, hand in hand.
"She struck you."
There was no answer. Divine pity dropped upon his heart, sweet anddangerous pity out of heaven.
"Stay a little," she whispered. "For the sake of your religion, stay.If for a day only, stay. Stay, for a woman's sake."
It was dark in the grove outside the circle of the fire. He drew ather fingers. He bent his head suddenly and breathed upon them. Sheplaced her other hand--a cold little hand--upon his.
Then the evening breeze flung itself sportingly into the trees, and allthe branches sprang before it, and the foliage danced and shouted in alaugh, singing noisily the old secret of the river reeds, singing,"Midas is a king of gold--a king of gold."
So the fire died down into an angry red, and all the birds of the grovewere songless. Madame walked alone from the rude house, her small facewhite against dark clouds, and passed into the clearing. The Indianwho worked for the widow and daughter approached with a burden of wood.
"Wind is coming," he said in his own tongue.
"May it blow away heresy and all heretics," muttered the little woman.