CHAPTER XVII
IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MEETS AN ENEMY
The next day David gave his attention to the letters which he foundawaiting him. One was from Doctor Hoyle in Canada. He had but justreturned from a visit to England, and it was full of news of David'sfamily there.
"Your two cousins and your brother are gone with their regiments toSouth Africa," he wrote. "They are jubilant to be called to activeservice, as they ought to be, but your mother is heartbroken over theirdeparture. You stay where you are, my boy. She is glad enough to haveyou out of England now, and far from the temptation which besets youthin times of war. It has already caused a serious blood-letting for OldEngland. I have grave doubts about this contention. In these days thereought to be a way of preventing such disaster. Write to your mother andcomfort her heart,--she needs it. I was careful not to betray to herwhat your condition has been, as I discovered you had not done so. Holdfast and fight for health, and be content. Your recuperative power isgood."
David was filled with contrition as he opened his mother's letter, whichwas several weeks old and had come by way of Canada, since she did notknow he had gone South. For some time he had sent home only casualnotes, partly to save her anxiety, and partly because writing wasirksome to him unless he had something particularly pleasant to tellher. His plans and actions had been so much discussed at home and he hadbeen considered so censurably odd--so different from his relatives andfriends in his opinions, and so impossible of comprehension (whichbranded him in his own circle as being quite at fault)--that he had longago abandoned all effort to make himself understood by them, and hadretired behind his mask of reserve and silence to pursue his own courseundisturbed. Thus, at best, an occasional perfunctory letter that allwas well with him was the sum total of news they received. Thryng had nomoney anxieties for his family. The needs of his mother and hissister--not yet of age--were amply provided for by a moderate annuity,while his brother had his position in the army, and help from his unclebesides. For himself, he had saved enough, with his simple tastes andmuch hard work, to tide him over this period of rest.
David sat now and turned his mother's letter over and over. He read andreread it. It was very sad. Her splendid boys both gone from her, onepossibly never to return--neither of them married and with no hope ofgrandchildren to solace her declining years. "Stay where you are,David," she wrote; "Doctor Hoyle tells us you are doing well. Don't, oh,don't enter the army! One son I have surrendered to my country'sservice; let me feel that I still have one on whom I may depend to carefor Laura and me in the years to come. We do not need you now, but someday we may."
David's quandary was how to give her as much of his confidence as filialduty required without betraying himself so far as to arouse theantagonistic comment of her immediate circle upon his course.
At last he found a way. Telling her he did not know how soon he mightreturn to Canada, he requested her to continue to address him there. Hethen filled his letter with loving thoughts for her and Laura, and ahumorous description of what he had seen and experienced in the "States"and the country about him, all so foreign and utterly strange to her asto be equal to a small manuscript romance. It was a cleverly writtenletter, so hiding the vital matters of his soul, which he could notreveal even to the most loving scrutiny, that all her motherly intuitionfailed to read between the lines. The humorous portions she gave to therector's wife,--her most intimate friend,--and the dear son's loveexpressed therein she treasured in her heart and was comforted.
Then David rode away up the mountain without descending to his littlefarm. He craved to get far into the very heart of the wildest parts,for with the letters the old conventional and stereotyped ideals seemedto have intruded into his cabin.
He passed the home of Hoke Belew and stopped there to see that all waswell with them. The rose vine covering the porch roof was filled withpink blossoms, hundreds of them swinging out over his head. The air wassweet with the odor of honeysuckle. The old locust tree would soon bealive with bees, for it was already budded. He took the baby in his armsand saw that its cheeks were growing round and plump, and that the youngmother looked well and happy, and he was glad.
"Take good care of them, Hoke; they are worth it," he said to the youngfather, as he passed him coming in from the field.
"I will that," said the man.
"Can you tell me how to reach a place called 'Wild Cat Hole'? I have afancy to do a little exploring."
"Waal, hit's sorter round about. I don't guess ye c'n find hit easy."The man spat as if reluctant to give the information asked, which onlystimulated David all the more to find the spot.
"Keep right on this way, do I?"
"Yas, you keep on fer a spell, an' then you turn to th' right an' follerthe stream fer a spell, an' you keep on follerin' hit off an' on tillyou git thar. Ye'll know hit when you do git thar, but th' still's allbroke up."
"Oh, I don't care a rap about the still."
"Naw, I reckon not. Better light an' have dinner 'fore you go on.Azalie, keep the doc to dinner. I'm comin' in a minute," he called tohis wife, who stood smiling in the doorway.
David willingly accepted the proffered hospitality, as he had often donebefore, knowing it would be well after nightfall ere he could return tohis cabin, and rode back to the house.
While Azalea prepared dinner, Hoke sat in the open door and held hisbaby and smoked. David took a splint-bottomed chair out on the porch andsmoked with him, watching pleasantly the pride of the young father, whoallowed the tiny fist to close tightly around his great work-roughenedfinger.
"Look a-thar now. See that hand. Hit ain't bigger'n a bumble-bee, an'see how he kin hang on."
"Yes," said David, absently regarding them. "He's a fine boy."
"He sure is. The' hain't no finer on this mountain."
Azalea came and looked down over her husband's shoulder. "Don't dothat-a-way, Hoke. You'll wake him up, bobbin' his arm up an' down likeyou a-doin'. Hoke, he's that proud, you can't touch him."
"You hear that, Doc? Azalie, she's that sot on him she's like to turn meouten the house fer jes' lookin' at him. She 'lows he'll grow up apreacher, on account o' the way he kin holler an' thrash with his fists,but I tell her hit hain't nothin' but madness an' devilment 'at gits inhim."
With a mother's superior smile playing about her lips, she glancedunderstandingly at David, and went on with her cooking. As they came into the table, she called David's attention to a low box set on rockers,and, taking the baby from her husband's arms, carefully placed him,still asleep, in the quaint nest.
"Hoke made that hisself," she said with pride. "And Cassandry, she madethat kiver."
Thryng touched the cover reverently, bending over it, and left thecradle rocking as he sat down at Hoke's side and began to put freshbutter between his hot biscuit, as he had learned to do. His motherwould have flung up her hands in horror had she seen him doing this, orcould she have known how many such he had devoured since coming torecuperate in these mountain wilds.
The home was very bare and simple, but sweet and clean, and love was init. To sit there for a while with the childlike young couple, enjoyingtheir home and their baby and the hospitality generously offeredaccording to their ability, warmed David's heart, and he rode awayhappier than he came.
With mind absorbed and idle rein, he allowed his horse to stray as hewould, while his thoughts and memory played strange tricks, presentingcontrasting pictures to his inward vision. Now it was his mother readingby the evening lamp, carelessly scanning a late magazine, only halfinterested, her white hair arranged in shining puffs high on her head,and soft lace--old lace--falling from open sleeves over her shapelyarms; and Laura, red-cheeked and plump, curled, feet and all, in a greatlounging chair, poring over a novel and yawning now and then, her darkhair carelessly tied, with straight, straying ends hanging about herface as he had many a time seen her after playing a game of hockey withher active, romping friends.
His mother and Laura were the only ones at home now, s
ince the big elderbrother was gone. Of course they would miss him and be sad sometimes,but Laura would enjoy life as much as ever and keep the home bright withyouth. Even as he thought of them, the room faded and his own cabinappeared as he had seen it the day before, through the open window, withCassandra moving about in her quiet, gliding way, haloed with light.Again he would see a picture of another room, all white and gold, withslight French chairs and tables, and couches and cushions, andcandelabra of quivering crystals, with pale green walls and gold-framedpaintings, and a great, three-cornered piano, massive and dark, where aslight, fair girl sat idly playing tinkling music in keeping withherself and the room, but quite out of keeping with the splendidinstrument.
He saw people all about her, chatting, laughing, sipping tea, and eatingthin bread and butter. He saw, as if from a distance, another man,himself, in that room, standing near the piano to turn her music, whilethe tinkling runs and glib, expressionless trills wove in and out, aceaseless nothing.
She spent years learning to do that, he thought, and any amount ofmoney. Oh, well. She had it to spend, and of what else were theycapable--those hands? He could see them fluttering caressingly over thekeys, pink, slender, pretty,--and then he saw other hands, somewhatwork-worn, not small nor yet too large, but white and shapely. Ah! Ofwhat were they not capable? And the other girl in coarse white homespun,seated before the fire in Hoke Belew's cabin, holding in her arms thesmall bundle--and her smile, so rare and fleeting!
He saw again the handsome sullen youth in Bishop Towers' garden,regarding him over the hedge with narrowed eyes, and his whole naturerebelled and cried out as before, "What a waste!" Why should he allow itto go on? He must thrash this thing out once for all before he returnedto his cabin--the right and the wrong of the case before he should seeher again, while as yet he could be engineer of his own forces and holdhis hand on the throttle to guide himself safely and wisely.
Could he succeed in influencing her to set her young lover's claims oneside? But in his heart he knew if such a thing were possible, she wouldnot be herself; she would be another being, and his love for her wouldcease. No, he must see her but little, and let the tragedy go on even asthe bishop had said--go on as if he never had known her. As soon aspossible he must return and take up his work where he could not see theslow wreck of her life. A heavy dread settled down upon him, and he rodeon with bowed head, until his horse stumbled and thus roused him fromhis revery.
To what wild spot had the animal brought him? David lifted his head andlooked about him, and it was as if he had been caught up and dropped inan enchanted wood. The horse had climbed among great boulders and pausedbeneath an enormous overhanging rock. He heard, off at one side, therushing sound of a mountain stream and judged he was near the head ofLone Pine Creek. But oh, the wildness of the spot and the beauty of itand the lonely charm! He tied his horse to a lithe limb that swung abovehis head and, dismounting, clambered on towards the rushing water.
The place was so screened in as to leave no vista anywhere, hiding themountains on all sides. Light green foliage overhead, where branchesthickly interlaced from great trees growing out of the bank high above,made a cool, lucent shadowiness all around him. There was a deliciousodor of sweet-shrub in the air, and the fruity fragrance of the dark,wild wake-robin underfoot. The tremendous rocks were covered with themost exquisite forms of lichen in all their varied shades of richnessand delicacy.
He began carefully removing portions here and there to examine under hismicroscope, when he noticed, almost crushed under his foot, a palepurple orchid like the one Cassandra had placed on his table. Alwaysthinking of her, he stooped suddenly to lift the frail thing, and at theinstant a rifle-shot rang out in the still air, and a bullet meant forhis heart cut across his shoulders like a trail of fire and flatteneditself on the rock where he had been at work. At the same moment, with abound of tiger-like ferocity and swiftness, one leaped toward him from anear mass of laurel, and he found himself grappling for life or deathwith the man who fired the shot.
Not a word was spoken. The quick, short breathing, the scuffling of feetamong the leaves, and the snapping of dead twigs underfoot were the onlysounds. Had the youth been a trained wrestler, David would have knownwhat to expect, and would have been able to use method in his defence.As it was, he had to deal with an enraged creature who fought with thedesperate instinct of an antagonist who fights to the death. He knewthat the odds were against him, and felt rising within him a wilddetermination to win the combat, and, thinking only of Cassandra, tosettle thus the vexed question, to fight with the blind passion and theprimitive right of the strongest to win his mate. He gathered all hisstrength, his good English mettle and nerve, and grappled with a grip ofsteel.
This way and that, twisting, turning, stumbling on the uneven ground,with set teeth and faces drawn and fierce, they struggled, and all thetime the light tweed coat on David's back showed a deeper stain from hisheart's blood, and his face grew paler and his breath shorter. Yet a joyleaped within him. It was thus he might save her, either to win her orto die for her, for should Frale kill him, she would turn from him inhopeless horror, and David, even in dying, would save her.
Suddenly the battle was ended. Thryng's foot turned, on a rounded stone,causing him to lose his foothold. At the same instant, with terribleforward impetus, Frale closed with him, bending him backward until hishead struck the lichen-covered rock. The purple orchid was bruisedbeneath him, and its color deepened with his blood. Then Frale rose andlooked down upon the pallid, upturned face and inert body, which lay ashe had crushed it down. As he stood thus, a white figure, bareheaded andalone, came swiftly through the wall of laurel which hid them andpausing terror-stricken in the open space, looked from one to the other.
_"I take it back--back from God--the promise I gave youthere by the fall." Page 171._]
For an instant Cassandra waited thus, as if she too were struck deadwhere she stood. Then she looked no more on the fallen man, but only atFrale, with eyes immovable and yet withdrawn, as if she were searchingin her own soul for a thing to do, while her heart stood still and herthroat closed. Those great gray eyes, with the green sea depths in them,began to glow with a cruel light, as if she too could kill,--as if theywere drawing slowly from the deep well of her being, as it were, a swordfrom its scabbard wherewith to cut him through the heart. Her hand stoleto her throat and pressed hard. Then she lifted it high above her headand held it, as if in an instant more one might see the invisible swordflash forth and strike him. Frale cried out then, "Don't, don't curseme, Cass," and lifted his arm to shield his face, while great beads ofmoisture stood out on his face.
"It's not for me to curse, Frale." Her voice was low and clear. "Cursescome from hell, like what you been carrying in your heart that made youdo this." Her voice grew louder, and her hand trembled and shut as if itgrasped something. "I take it back--back from God--the promise I gaveyou there by the fall." Then, looking up, her voice grew low again,though still distinct. "I take that promise back forever, oh, God!" Herhand dropped. The cruel light died slowly out of her eyes, and sheturned and knelt by the prostrate man, and began pulling open his coat.Frale took one step toward her.
"Cass," he said, with shaking voice, "I'll he'p you."
Her hands clinched into David's coat as she held it. "Go back. Don't youtouch even his least finger," she cried, looking up at him from whereshe knelt like a creature hurt to the heart, defending its own. "You'vedone your work. Take your face where I never can see it again."
He still stood and looked down on her. She turned again to David, and,thrusting her hand into his bosom, drew it forth with blood upon it.
"I say, you Frale!" she cried, holding it toward him, quivering with theferocity she could no longer restrain, "leave here, or with this bloodon my hand I'll call all hell to curse you."
Frale turned with bowed head and left her there.