CHAPTER XI.
LIGHT DAWNS
After Stone and Henry had disappeared through the woods, Dudley did notlong ponder over the late discussion; he found in his environment toomuch food for other thought. He was on the same spot where, ten monthsbefore, he had first been alone with Abby Patterson. Yonder was thefallen log upon which she had sat toying with a spray of goldenrod, herwhite bonnet beside her, the soft wind playing with her brown hair, thesunlight through the overhanging boughs dancing over her head andhands, and making little patches of brightness on her lavender gown.The pungent odor of mint was in the air now as then when she hadgathered some for her uncle's glass of toddy. The water sparkled anddanced in the sunshine, trickling down the mossy rocks into the spring,and yonder in the cleft was the old gourd from which he had pouredwater on her hands.
Somewhere in his reading he had come across the story of the man whoalways "thanked God for the blessings that passed over his head." Oftenin the last few weeks he had had a dim consciousness that perhaps itwas best for both that Abby had not yielded to his pleadings; buthitherto he had thrust the thought from him, as though it weredisloyalty to Abby and to love. But though the recollection of Abby hadstill a tender, half-sad sweetness, Dudley's nature was too vigorousand buoyant long to give way to melancholy and vain regrets. As he laythere in the forest solitude, a renewed hopefulness filled his soul,and he felt that he, too, could thank God for the blessing that hadpassed him by. He got up, intending to return to the encampment, but arecollection of something Abby had said in their last interview, abouthis being blind to the good that fate was ready to bestow upon him,suddenly arrested him. "What could she have meant?" he wondered, as heseated himself on a stump, pulled his hat over his eyes, and, with astick in his hand, idly traced lines and figures in the dust at hisfeet.
A slight noise presently made him look up, and there, standing underthe big oak on the little prominence above him--just where she hadstood that October afternoon, beckoning to him and Abby--was Betsy,again looking down upon him. She did not beckon this time; but as helooked up she turned quickly away, though not before he had caught thewistful, steadfast look in her eyes, and had seen the quick flush thatcovered her face.
Like lightning came the thought, "Was it Betsy whom Abby meant?" and asquickly the truth was flashed upon him with all the force of anelectric shock. In an instant, old things had passed away, and a tumultof feeling stronger than anything he had ever known leaped into life.It was not alone the realization of Betsy's love, coming to him in thatflash of intuition, that set his nerves tingling and made the hot bloodpulse madly through his veins; but, with a rapture that approximatedpain in its intensity, there rushed into his soul an answering love,tender, deep and fixed.
It is supposed by many people that man's love is founded uponuncertainty as to any answering passion in the woman's heart, and thata true woman never gives her love unsought; but there is more proof towarrant the contrary belief--that it is her love, unspoken, carefullyhidden from all eyes, yet revealed by the mysterious telepathy ofspiritual sympathy, that calls his love into being. A man of noble,generous nature is often thus kindled into responsiveness, and his lovethus evoked is often the most reverent and the most lasting.
In a moment Abner had to some extent regained his self-possession,though his pulses still beat riotously. He hastened after Betsy, whoturned as he approached, her face still flushed, her eyes glowing withunwonted fire. She greeted him in her usual nonchalant manner, andwalked demurely beside him, swinging her bonnet carelessly.
"You seem to have forgotten, sir, that a big camp-meeting is inprogress in these woods. You reminded me of Daniel Boone or SimonKenton, sitting on that stump with your 'monarch-of-all-I-survey' air,as though you were alone in the heart of some vast wilderness of whichyou were the sole proprietor. What schemes were you hatching? and whatwere you doing with that stick? Working out some abstruse mathematicalproblem, or calculating how much money your year's crops will bring?This is no time for such worldly thoughts, while all these hair-liftingwonders are occurring yonder. Your leisure moments should be employedin pious meditation, or in repenting of your sins."
Too much agitated by the revelation which had just come to him toanswer her light banter, he walked silently by her side. She, surprisedby his silence, glanced into his face. What she saw there arrested herfootsteps and brought a startled look into her eyes. For a moment theystood still in the pathway, gazing into each other's faces--soulrevealed to soul in the look. Then her eyes fell, a trembling seizedher, and a wave of crimson swept over cheeks and brow and throat. In avoice hoarse with feeling, he exclaimed, "Betty! Betty!" and stretchedout his arms toward her. Tremblingly she threw out her hands as thoughto repel his approach; and then, turning from him, ran down the pathtoward the encampment.
Abner was in no mood for the noise and excitement of the "revival"; sohe turned aside into a ravine where many of the campers' horses weretethered. Here he encountered Henry, to whom he said abruptly, saddlinghis mare as he spoke, "I'm sick of all this; I'm going for a gallop."
"It's a pity to miss to-night's service," Henry answered. "The campbreaks up to-morrow."
"No matter," Dudley replied as he sprang into the saddle. "I'm offnow."
"Better take a snack before you go. You must be hungry," called Henry,but Dudley, already beyond the ravine, gave no heed.
In his overwrought mood hunger and slumber were equally impossible, andthe quiet of his attic room would have been as intolerable as the glareof the torchlights and the singing, shouting, and wild ravings of theencampment. He rode on and on through the moonlight, over hills andfields and roads, until his mare, flecked with foam, was breathinguneasily. Then he allowed the reins to drop loosely over her neck, androde slowly back until he reached his own unfinished cabin. But the airof the unused house was oppressive, and the walls seemed to stifle him.Freeing the mare of saddle and bridle, and turning her out to graze, hethrew himself down on the sward in front of the house. Even then hecould not sleep, but for a long time lay gazing into the clear,star-studded sky; for the sudden broadening of the perspective of hisfuture kept him wide awake. He wondered at his long blindness, and withan agony of uncertainty questioned whether Betsy's sympatheticcomprehension of his old feeling for her cousin might not now hinderthe fulfillment of his dearest hope. But at last the solemn serenity ofthe summer night stilled his unquiet spirit, and he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the flaming radiance in the eastern sky indicatedanother sultry day; but at this early hour there was a dewy freshnessin the air, and all nature was astir and joyous. Upon the bark of ahickory-tree a crimson-crested woodpecker was tapping for hisbreakfast; under the edge of a half-decayed stump a colony of ants hadalready begun the day's labor. Lark and bee were on the wing; squirrelsran up and down the trunk of a big elm, leaping from branch to branch,where redbird, thrush and linnet were making the woods merry with theirmorning concert.