CHAPTER XXI.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
We must leave our three valiant champions for a few moments in theirpresent critical position, to speak of one of the important persons ofthis story, whom we have neglected too long.
Immediately after the departure of the Indians, John Black, withthat American activity equalled in no other country, set to work,beginning his clearing. The peril he had incurred, and which he hadonly escaped by a miracle incomprehensible to him, had caused him tomake very earnest reflections. He understood that in the isolated spotwhere he was, he could not expect assistance from anyone; that hemust alone confront the danger that would doubtlessly menace him; andthat, consequently, he must, before all else, think about defendingthe settlement against a _coup de main_, Major Melville had heard,through his _engages_ and trappers, of the colonist; but the latter wasperfectly ignorant that he was only ten miles from Fort Mackenzie. Hisresolution once formed, John Black carried it out immediately.
To those people who have not seen American clearings, the processesemployed by the squatters, and the skill with which they cut downthe largest trees in a few moments, would appear as prodigies. Blackconsidered that he had not a moment to lose, and, aided by his sonand servants, set to work. The temporary camp, as we have seen, wassituated on a rather high mound, which commanded the plain for along distance. It was here that the colonist determined to build hishouse. He began by planting all round the platform of the hill a rowof enormous stakes, twelve feet high, and fastened together by largebolts. This first enceinte finished, he dug behind it a trench abouteight feet wide and fifteen deep, throwing up the earth on the edge,so as to form a second line of defence. Then, in the interior of thisimprovised fortress, which, if defended by a resolute garrison, wasimpregnable, unless cannon were brought up to form a breach--for theabrupt slope of the hill rendered any assault impossible--he laid thefoundation of his family's future abode. The temporary arrangementshe had made allowed him to continue his further labours less hastily;through his prodigious activity, he could defy the attacks of all theprowlers on the prairie.
His wife and daughter had actively helped him, for they understood,better than the rest of the family, the utility of these defensiveworks. The poor ladies, little used to the rude toil they had beenengaged in, needed rest. Black had not spared himself more than therest. He understood the justice of his wife and daughter's entreaties,and as he had nothing to fear for the present, he generously granted awhole day's rest to the little colony.
The events that marked the squatter's arrival in the province had lefta profound impression on the hearts of Mrs. Black and her daughter.Diana, especially, had maintained a recollection of the Count, whichtime, far from weakening, rendered only the more vivid. The Count'schivalrous character, the noble way in which he had acted, and--let usspeak the truth--his physical qualities, all combined to render himdear to the young girl, whose life had hitherto passed away calmly,nothing happening to cast a cloud over her heart. Many times since theyoung man's departure she stopped in her work, raised her head, lookedanxiously around her, and then resumed her toil, while stifling a sigh.
Mothers are quick-sighted, especially those who, like Mrs. Black,really love their daughters. What her husband and son did not suspect,then, she guessed merely by looking for a few minutes at the poorgirl's pale face, her eyes surrounded by a dark ring, her pensive look,and inattention.
Diana was in love.
Mrs. Black looked around her. No one could be the object of that love.So far back as she could remember, she called to mind no one herdaughter had appeared to distinguish before their departure from theclearing, where she had passed her youth. Besides, when the littleparty set out in search of a fresh home, Diana seemed joyful, sheprattled gaily as a bird, and appeared to trouble herself about none ofthose she left behind.
After these reflections, the mother sighed in her turn; for, if she haddivined her daughter's love, she had been unable to discover the manwho was the object of that love. Mrs. Black resolved to cross-questionher daughter as soon as she happened to be alone with her; till thenshe feigned to be in perfect ignorance. The day of rest granted by JohnBlack to his family would probably offer her the favourable opportunityshe awaited so impatiently. Hence she joyfully received the news whichher husband gave her in the evening after prayers, which, according tothe custom of the family, were said in common before going to bed.
The next morning, at sunrise, according to their daily habit, the twoladies prepared the breakfast, while the servants led the cattle downto the river.
"Wife," the squatter said, at breakfast, "William and I intend, aswork is suspended for today, to mount our horses, and go and visit theneighbourhood, which we have not seen yet."
"Do not go too far, my friend, and be well armed; you know that in thedesert dangerous meetings are not rare."
"Yes; so be at ease. Although I believe that we have nothing to fearfor the present, I will be prudent. Would you not feel inclined toaccompany us, as well as Diana, and take a look at your new domain?"
The girl's eyes glistened with joy at this proposition; she opened herlips to reply; but her mother laid her hand on her mouth, and spokeinstead of her.
"You must excuse us, my dear," she said, with a certain degree ofvivacity, "but women, as you know, have always something to do. Dianaand I will put everything in order during your absence, which our busylabours of the last few days have prevented us doing."
"As you please, wife."
"Besides," she continued, with a smile; "as we shall probably remain along time here--"
"I fancy so," the squatter interrupted.
"Well, I shall not lack opportunity of visiting our domains, as youcall them, another day."
"Excellently argued, ma'am, and I am quite of your opinion; Williamand I will therefore take our ride alone; I would ask you not to feelalarmed if we do not come home till rather late."
"No; but on condition that you return before night."
"Agreed."
They spoke of something else; still, towards the end of the meal, Sam,without suspecting it, brought the conversation back nearly to the samesubject.
"I am certain, James," he said to his comrade, "that the young man wasnot a Canadian, as you fancy, but a Frenchman."
"Who are you talking about?" the squatter asked.
"The gentleman who accompanied the Redskins, and made them give us backour cattle."
"Yes, without counting the other obligations we are under to him, forif I am now the owner of a clearing, it was through him."
"He is a worthy gentleman," Mrs. Black said, with a purpose.
"Yes, yes," Diana murmured, in an indistinct voice.
"He is a Frenchman," Black asserted. "There cannot be a doubt of that:those Canadian scoundrels are incapable of acting in the way he did tous."
Like all the North Americans, Black heartily detested the Canadians;why he did so, he could not have said, but this hatred was innate inhis heart.
"Bah!" William said, "what matter his country, he has a fine heart,and is a true gentleman. For my part, father, I know a certain WilliamBlack, who is ready to die for him."
"By heaven!" the squatter exclaimed, as he struck the table with hisfist, "you would be only doing your duty, and discharging a sacreddebt: I would give anything to see him again, and prove to him that Iam not ungrateful."
"Well spoken, father," William said joyously; "honest men are too rarein the world for us not to cling to those we know; if we should meetagain, I will show him what sort of man I am."
During this rapid interchange of words, Diana said nothing; shelistened, with outstretched neck, beaming face, and a smile on herlips, happy to hear a man thus spoken of, whom she unconsciously lovedsince she first saw him. Mrs. Black thought it prudent to turn theconversation.
"There is another person to whom we owe great obligations; for ifHeaven had not sent her at the right moment to our help, we should havebeen pitilessly massacred by the Indians;
have you already forgottenthat person?"
"God forbid!" the squatter exclaimed, quickly, "the poor creature didme too great a service for me to forget her."
"But who on earth can she be?" William said.
"I should be much puzzled to say; I believe even that the Indians andtrappers, who cross the prairies, could give us no information abouther."
"She only appeared and disappeared," James observed.
"Yes, but her passage, so rapid as it was, left deep traces," Mrs.Black said.
"Her mere presence was enough to terrify the Indians. That woman Ishall always regard as a good genius, whatever opinion may be expressedabout her in my presence."
"We owe it to her that we did not suffer atrocious torture."
"May God bless the worthy creature!" the squatter exclaimed; "if evershe have need of us, she can come in all certainty; I and all I possessare at her disposal."
The meal was over, and they rose from the table. Sam had saddled twohorses. John Black and his son took their pistols, bowie knives, andrifles, mounted their horses, and after promising once again not to belate, they cautiously descended the winding path leading into the plain.
Diana and her mother then began putting things to rights, as had beenarranged. When Mrs. Black had watched the couple out of sight on theprairie, and assured herself that the two servants were engaged outsidein mending some harness, she took her needlework, and requested herdaughter to come and sit by her side. Diana obeyed with a certaininward apprehension, for never had her mother behaved to her somysteriously. For a few minutes the two ladies worked silently oppositeeach other. At length Mrs. Black stopped her needle, and looked at herdaughter; the latter continued her sewing, without appearing to noticethis intermission.
"Diana," she asked her, "have you nothing to say to me?"
"I, mother?" the young girl said, raising her head with amazement.
"Yes, you, my child."
"Pardon me, mother," she went on, with a certain tremor in her voice,"but I do not understand you."
Mrs. Black sighed.
"Yes," she murmured, "and so it ever must be; a moment arrives whenyoung girls have unconsciously a secret from their mothers."
The poor lady wiped away a tear; Diana rose quickly, and throwing herarms tenderly round her mother--
"A secret? I, a secret from you, mother? Oh, how could you suppose sucha thing?"
"Child!" Mrs. Black replied, with a smile of ineffable kindness, "amother's eye cannot be deceived;" and putting her finger on herdaughter's palpitating heart, she said, "your secret is there."
Diana blushed, and drew back, confused.
"Alas!" the good lady continued, "I do not address reproaches to you,poor dear and well-beloved child. You unconsciously submit to the lawsof nature; I too, at your age, was as you are at this moment, and whenmy mother asked my secret, like you, I replied that I had none, for Iwas myself ignorant of that secret."
The girl hid her face, all bathed in tears, in her mother's breast. Thelatter gently moved the flowing locks of light hair which covered herdaughter's brow, and giving her a kiss, said, with that accent whichmothers alone possess--
"Come, my dear Diana, dry your tears, do not trouble yourself so; onlytell me your feelings during the last few days."
"Alas! my kind mother," the girl replied, smiling through her tears,"I understand nothing myself, and suffer without knowing why; I amrestless, languid; everything disgusts and wearies me, and yet I fancythere has been no change in my life."
"You are mistaken, child," Mrs. Black answered, gravely, "your hearthas spoken without your knowledge; thus, instead of the careless,laughing girl you were, you have become a woman, you have thought, yourforehead has turned pale, and you suffer."
"Alas!" Diana murmured.
"Come, how long have you been so sad?"
"I know not, mother."
"Think again."
"I fancy it is--."
Mrs. Black, understanding her daughter's hesitation, finished thesentence for her.
"Since the day after our arrival here, is it not?"
Diana raised to her mother her large blue eyes, in which profoundamazement could be read.
"It is true," she murmured.
"Your sorrow began at the moment when the strangers, who so nobly aidedus, took their leave?"
"Yes," the girl said, in a low voice, with downcast eyes and blushingforehead.
Mrs. Black continued smilingly her interesting interrogatory.
"On seeing them depart, your heart was contracted, your cheeks turnedpale, you shuddered involuntarily, and, if I had not held you--I whowatched you carefully, poor darling--you would have fallen. Is not allthis true?"
"It is true, mother," the girl said, with a more assured voice.
"Good; and the man from whom you regret being separated--he who causesyour present sorrow and suffering, is--?"
"Mother!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into her arms, and hiding hershamed face in her bosom.
"It is--?" she continued.
"Edward!" the girl said, in an inarticulate voice, and melting intotears.
Mrs. Black directed on her daughter a glance of supreme pity, embracedher ardently several times, and said, in a soft voice,--
"You see that you had a secret, my child, since you love him."
"Alas!" she murmured, naively, "I do not know it, mother."
The good lady nodded her head with satisfaction, led her daughter backto her chair, and herself sitting down, said to her,--
"And now that we have had a thorough explanation, and there is nolonger a secret between us, suppose we have a little talk, Diana."
"I am quite willing, mother."
"Listen to me, then; my age and experience, leaving out of sight theposition in which I stand to you, authorize me in giving you advice.Will you hear it?"
"Oh, mother! you know I respect and love you."
"I know it, dear child; I know too, as I have never left you since yourbirth, and have incessantly watched over you, how generous your mindis, how noble your heart, and how capable of self-devotion. I mustcause you great pain, poor girl; but it is better to attend to thegreen wound, than allow time to render the evil incurable."
"Alas!"
"This raging love, which has unconsciously entered your heart, cannotbe very great; it is rather the awakening of the mind to thosegentle feelings and noble instincts, which embellish existence andcharacterize the woman, than a passion; your love is only in realitya momentary exaltation of the brain's feverish imagination; like allyoung girls, you aspire to the unknown, you seek an ideal, the realityof which does not exist for you; but you do not love. Nay, more, youcannot love; the feeling you experience at the moment is entirely inthe head, and the heart goes for nothing."
"Mother!" the young girl interrupted.
"Dear Diana," she continued, taking her hand, and pressing it, "letme make you suffer a little now, to spare you at a later date thehorrible pangs which would produce the despair of your whole existence.The man you fancy you love you will probably never see again; he isignorant of your attachment, and does not share it. I am speaking coldand implacable reason; it is logical, and spares us much grief, whilepassion is never so, and always produces pain; but supposing for amoment that this young man loved you, you could never be his."
"But if he love me, mother," she said, timidly.
"Poor babe!" the mother continued, with an accent of sublime pity."Do you know even whether he be free? Who has told you that he is notmarried? But I will allow it for a moment: this young man is noble;he belongs to one of the oldest and proudest families in Europe;his fortune is immense. Do you believe that he will ever consent toabandon all the social advantages his position guarantees him?--that hewill bow his family pride to give his hand to the daughter of a poorAmerican squatter?"
"It is true," she murmured, letting her head fall in her hands.
"And even if he did so, though it is impossible, would you consent tofollow him, and
leave in the desert a father and mother, who have onlyyou, and who would die of despair ere your departure? Come, Diana,answer, would you consent?"
"Oh, never, never, mother!" she exclaimed, madly "Oh, I love you mostof all!"
"Good, my darling; that is how I wished to see you. I am happy that mywords have found the road to your heart. This man is kind; he has doneus immense service; we owe him gratitude, but nothing more."
"Yes, yes, mother," she murmured, with a sob.
"You must only see in him a friend, a brother," she continued, firmly.
"I will try, mother."
"You promise it me?"
The girl hesitated for a moment. Suddenly she raised her head, andsaid, bravely,--
"I thank you, mother. I swear to you not to forget him, that wouldbe impossible, but so thoroughly to conceal my love, that, with theexception of yourself, no one shall suspect it."
"Come to my arms, my child; you understand your duty; you are noble andgood."
At this moment James entered.
"Mistress," he said, "the master is coming back, but there are severalpersons with him."
"Wipe your eyes, and follow me, dear; let us go and see what hashappened."
And, stooping down to her daughter's ear, she whispered,--
"When we are alone, we will speak of him."
"Yes, mother," Diana said, almost joyfully, "Oh, how good you are, andhow I love you."
They went out, and looked in the direction of the plain. At aconsiderable distance from the fort, they noticed a party of four orfive persons, at the head of whom were John Black and his son William.
"What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Black said, anxiously.
"We shall soon know, mother; calm yourself; they seem to be riding toogently for us to feel any alarm."