Guy Rivers Part 18

"Why, then,'squire, you must know, and I see no reason to keep the thing from you, I took a liking, a short time after I came here, to a young woman, the daughter of one of our people, and she to me--at least so she says, and I must confess I'm not unwilling to believe her; though it is difficult to say--these women you know--" and as he left the unfinished sentence, he glanced significantly to the youth's face, with an expression which the latter thus interpreted--

"Are not, you would say, at all times to be relied on."

"Why, no,'squire--I would not exactly say that--that might be something too much of a speech. I did mean to say, from what we see daily, that it isn't always they know their own minds."

"There is some truth, Forrester, in the distinction, and I have thought so before. I am persuaded that the gentler s.e.x is far less given to deceit than our own; but their opinions and feelings, on the other hand, are formed with infinitely more frequency and facility, and are more readily acted upon by pa.s.sing and occasional influences. Their very susceptibility to the most light and casual impressions, is, of itself, calculated to render vacillating their estimate of things and characters. They are creatures of such delicate construction, and their affections are of such like character, that, like all fine machinery they are perpetually operated on by the atmosphere, the winds, the dew, and the night. The frost blights and the sun blisters; and a kind or stern accent elevates or depresses, where, with us, it might pa.s.s unheeded or unheard.

"We are more cunning--more shy and cautious; and seldom, after a certain age, let our affections out of our own custody. We learn very soon in life--indeed, we are compelled to learn, in our own defence, at a very early period--to go into the world as if we were going into battle. We send out spies, keep sentinels on duty, man our defences, carry arms in our bosoms, which we cover with a buckler, though, with the policy of a court, we conceal that in turn with a silken and embroidered vestment.

We watch every erring thought--we learn to be equivocal of speech; and our very hearts, as the Indians phrase it, are taught to speak their desires with a double tongue. We are perpetually on the lookout for enemies and attack; we dread pitfalls and circ.u.mventions, and we feel that every face which we encounter is a smiling deceit--every honeyed word a blandishment meant to betray us. These are lessons which society, as at present const.i.tuted, teaches of itself.

"With women the case is essentially different. They have few of these influences to pervert and mislead. They have nothing to do in the market-place--they are not candidates for place or power--they have not the ambition which is always struggling for state and for self; but, with a wisdom in this, that might avail us wonderfully in all other respects, they are kept apart, as things for love and worship--domestic divinities, whose true altar-place is the fireside; whose true sway is over fond hearts, generous sensibilities, and immaculate honor. Where should they learn to contend with guile--to acquire cunning and circ.u.mspection--to guard the heart--to keep sweet affections locked up coldly, like mountain waters? Shall we wonder that they sometimes deceive themselves rather than their neighbors--that they sometimes misapprehend their own feelings, and mistake for love some less absorbing intruder, who but lights upon the heart for a single instant, as a bird upon his spray, to rest or to plume his pinions, and be off with the very next zephyr. But all this is wide of the mark, Forrester, and keeps you from your story."

"My story isn't much, Master Colleton, and is easily told. I love Kate Allen, and as I said before, I believe Kate loves me; and though it be scarcely a sign of manliness to confess so much, yet I must say to you, 'squire, that I love her so very much that I can not do without her."

"I honor your avowal, Forrester, and see nothing unmanly or unbecoming in the sentiment you profess. On the contrary, such a feeling, in my mind, more truly than any other, indicates the presence and possession of those very qualities out of which true manhood is made. The creature who prides himself chiefly upon his insensibilities, has no more claim to be considered a human being than the trees that gather round us, or the rocks over which we travel."

"Well, 'squire, I believe you are right, and I am glad that such is your opinion, for now I shall be able to speak to you more freely upon this subject. Indeed, you talk about the thing so knowingly, that I should not be surprised, 'squire, to find out that you too had something of the same sort troubling your heart, though here you are travelling far from home and among strangers."

The remark of Forrester was put with an air of arch inquiry. A slight shadow pa.s.sed over and clouded the face of the youth, and for a moment his brow was wrinkled into sternness; but hastily suppressing the awakened emotion, whatever its origin might have been, he simply replied, in an indirect rebuke, which his companion very readily comprehended:--

"You were speaking of your heart, I believe, Forrester, and not of mine.

If you please, we will confine ourselves to the one territory, particularly as it promises to find us sufficient employment of itself, without rendering it necessary that we should cross over to any other."

"It's a true word, 'squire--the business of the one territory is sufficient for me, at this time, and more than I shall well get through with: but, though I know this, somehow or other I want to forget it all, if possible; and sometimes I close my eyes in the hope to shut out ugly thoughts."

"The feeling is melancholy enough, but it is just the one which should test your manhood. It is not for one who has been all his life buffeting with the world and ill-fortune, to despond at every mischance or misdeed. Proceed with your narrative; and, in providing for the future, you will be able to forget not a little of the past."

"You are right, 'squire; I will be a man, and stand my chance, whether good or ill, like a man, as I have always been. Well, as I was saying, Kate is neither unkind nor unwilling, and the only difficulty is with her father. He is now mighty fond of the needful, and won't hear to our marriage until I have a good foundation, and something to go upon. It is this, you see, which keeps me here, shoulder to shoulder with these men whom I like just as little perhaps as yourself; and it was because the soldiers came upon us just as I was beginning to lay up a little from my earnings, that made me desperate. I dreaded to lose what I had been so long working for; and whenever the thought of Kate came through my brain, I grew rash and ready for any mischief--and this is just the way in which I ran headlong into this difficulty."

"It is melancholy, Forrester, to think that, with such a feeling as that you profess for this young woman, you should be so little regardful of her peace or your own; that you should plunge so madly into strife and crime, and proceed to the commission of acts which not only embitter your life, but must defeat the very hopes and expectations for which you live."

"It's the nature of the beast," replied the woodman, with a melancholy shake of the head, in a phrase which has become a proverb of familiar use in the South. "It's the nature of the beast, 'squire: I never seem to think about a thing until it's all over, and too late to mend it.

It's a sad misfortune to have such a temper, and so yesterday's work tells me much more forcibly than I can ever tell myself. But what am I to do, 'squire? that's what I want to know. Can you say nothing to me which will put me in better humor--can you give me no advice, no consolation? Say anything--anything which will make me think less about this matter."

The conscience of the unhappy criminal was indeed busy, and he spoke in tones of deep, though suppressed emotion and energy. The youth did not pretend to console--he well knew that the mental nature would have its course, and to withstand or arrest it would only have the effect of further provoking its morbidity. He replied calmly, but feelingly--

"Your situation is unhappy, Forrester, and calls for serious reflection.

It is not for me to offer advice to one so much more experienced than myself. Yet my thoughts are at your service for what they are worth. You can not, of course, hope to remain in the country after this; yet, in flying from that justice to which you will have made no atonement, you will not necessarily escape the consequences of your crime, which, I feel satisfied, will, for a long season, rest heavily upon a spirit such as yours. Your confederates have greatly the advantage of you in this particular. The fear of human penalties is with them the only fear. Your severest judge will be your own heart, and from that you may not fly.

With regard to your affections, I can say little. I know not what may be your resources--your means of life, and the nature of those enterprises which, in another region, you might pursue. In the West you would be secure from punishment; the wants of life in the wilderness are few, and of easy attainment: why not marry the young woman, and let her fly with you to happiness and safety?"

"And wouldn't I do so, 'squire?--I would be a happy fellow if I could.

But her father will never consent. He had no hand in yesterday's business, and I wonder at that too, for he's mighty apt at all such sc.r.a.pes; and he will not therefore be so very ready to perceive the necessity of my flight--certainly not of hers, she being his only child; and, though a tough old sort of chap, he's main fond of her."

"See him about it at once, then; and, if he does not consent, the only difficulty is in the delay and further protraction of your union. It would be very easy, when you are once well settled, to claim her as your wife."

"That's all very true and very reasonable, 'squire; but it's rather hard, this waiting. Here, for five years, have I been playing this sort of game, and it goes greatly against the grain to have to begin anew and in a new place. But here's where the old buck lives. It's quite a snug farm, as you may see. He's pretty well off, and, by one little end or the other, contrives to make it look smarter and smarter every year; but then he's just as close as a corkscrew, and quite mean in his ways.

And--there's Kate, 'squire, looking from the window. Now, ain't she a sweet creature? Come, 'light--you shall see her close. Make yourself quite at home, as I do. I make free, for you see the old people have all along looked upon me as a son, seeing that I am to be one at some time or other."

They were now at the entrance of as smiling a cottage as the lover of romance might well desire to look upon. Everything had a cheery, sunshiny aspect, looking life, comfort, and the "all in all content;"

and, with a feeling of pleasure kindled anew in his bosom by the prospect, Ralph complied readily with the frank and somewhat informal invitation of his companion, and was soon made perfectly at home by the freedom and ease which characterized the manners of the young girl who descended to receive them. A slight suffusion of the cheek and a downcast eye, upon the entrance of her lover, indicated a gratified consciousness on the part of the maiden which did not look amiss. She was seemingly a gentle, playful creature, extremely young, apparently without a thought of guile, and altogether untouched with a solitary presentiment of the unhappy fortunes in store for her.

Her mother, having made her appearance, soon employed the youth in occasional discourse, which furnished sufficient opportunity to the betrothed to pursue their own conversation, in a quiet corner of the same room, in that under-tone which, where lovers are concerned, is of all others the most delightful and emphatic. True love is always timid: he, too, as well as fear, is apt to "shrink back at the sound himself has made." His words are few and the tones feeble. He throws his thoughts into his eyes, and they speak enough for all his purposes. On the present occasion, however, he was dumb from other influences, and the hesitating voice, the guilty look, the unquiet manner, sufficiently spoke, on the part of her lover, what his own tongue refused to whisper in the ears of the maiden. He strove, but vainly, to relate the melancholy event to which we have already sufficiently alluded. His words were broken and confused, but she gathered enough, in part, to comprehend the affair, though still ignorant of the precise actors and sufferers.

The heart of Katharine was one of deep-seated tenderness, and it may not be easy to describe the shock which the intelligence gave her. She did not hear him through without e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of horror, sufficiently fervent and loud to provoke the glance of her mother, who did not, however, though turning her looks frequently upon the two, venture upon any inquiry, or offer any remark. The girl heard her lover patiently; but when he narrated the catastrophe, and told of the murder of the guard, she no longer struggled to restrain the feeling, now too strong for suppression. Her words broke through her lips quickly, as she exclaimed--

"But you, Mark--you had no part in this matter--you lent no aid--you gave no hand. You interfered, I am sure you did, to prevent the murder of the innocent men. Speak out, Mark, and tell me the truth, and relieve me from these horrible apprehensions."

As she spoke, her small hand rested upon his wrist with a pa.s.sionate energy, in full accordance with the spirit of her language. The head of the unhappy man sank upon his breast; his eyes, dewily suffused, were cast upon the floor, and he spoke nothing, or inarticulately, in reply.

"What means this silence--what am I to believe--what am I to think, Mark Forrester? You can not have given aid to those bad men, whom you yourself despise. You have not so far forgotten yourself and me as to go on with that wicked man Rivers, following his direction, to take away life--to spill blood as if it were water! You have not done this, Mark.

Tell me at once that I am foolish to fear it for an instant--that it is not so."

He strove, but in vain, to reply. The inarticulate sounds came forth chokingly from his lips without force or meaning. He strode impatiently up and down the apartment, followed by the young and excited maiden, who unconsciously pursued him with repeated inquiries; while her mother, awakened to the necessity of interference, vainly strove to find a solution of the mystery, and to quiet both of the parties.

"Will you not speak to me, Mark? Can you not, will you not answer?"

The unhappy man shook his head, in a perplexed and irritated manner, indicating his inability to reply--but concluding with pointing his finger impatiently to Ralph, who stood up, a surprised and anxious spectator of the scene. The maiden seemed to comprehend the intimation, and with an energy and boldness that would not well describe her accustomed habit--with a hurried step, crossed the apartment to where stood the youth. Her eye was quick and searching--her words broken, but with an impetuous flow, indicating the anxiety which, while it accounted for, sufficiently excused the abruptness of her address, she spoke:--

"Do, sir, say that he had no hand in it--that he is free from the stain of blood! Speak for him, sir, I pray you; tell me--he will not tell himself!"

The old lady now sought to interpose, and to apologize for her daughter.

"Why, Kate, Katharine--forgive her, sir; Kate--Katharine, my dear--you forget. You ask questions of the stranger without any consideration."

But she spoke to an unconscious auditor; and Forrester, though still almost speechless, now interposed:--

"Let her ask, mother--let her ask--let her know it all. He can say what I can not. He can tell all. Speak out, 'squire--speak out; don't fear for me. It must come, and who can better tell of it than you, who know it all?"

Thus urged, Ralph, in a few words, related the occurrence. Though carefully avoiding the use of epithet or phrase which might color with an increased odium the connection and conduct of Forrester with the affair, the offence admitted of so little apology or extenuation, that the delicacy with which the details were narrated availed but little in its mitigation; and an involuntary cry burst from mother and daughter alike, to which the hollow groan that came from the lips of Forrester furnished a fitting echo.

"And this is all true, Mark--must I believe all this?" was the inquiry of the young girl, after a brief interval. There was a desperate precipitance in the reply of Forrester:--

"True--Katharine--true; every word of it is true. Do you not see it written in my face? Am I not choked--do not my knees tremble? and my hands--look for yourself--are they not covered with blood?"

The youth interposed, and for a moment doubted the sanity of his companion. He had spoken in figure--a mode of speech, which it is a mistake in rhetoricians to ascribe only to an artificial origin, during a state of mental quiet. Deep pa.s.sion and strong excitements, we are bold to say, employ metaphor largely; and, upon an inspection of the criminal records of any country, it will be found that the most common narrations from persons deeply wrought upon by strong circ.u.mstances are abundantly stored with the evidence of what we a.s.sert.

"And how came it, Mark?" was the inquiry of the maiden; "and why did you this thing?"

"Ay, you may well ask, and wonder. I can not tell you. I was a fool--I was mad! I knew not what I did. From one thing I went on to another, and I knew nothing of what had been done until all was done. Some devil was at my elbow--some devil at my heart. I feel it there still; I am not yet free. I could do more--I could go yet farther. I could finish the d.a.m.ned work by another crime; and no crime either, since I should be the only victim, and well deserving a worse punishment."

The offender was deeply excited, and felt poignantly. For some time it tasked all the powers of Ralph's mind, and the seductive blandishments of the maiden herself, to allay the fever of his spirit; when, at length, he was something restored, the dialogue was renewed by an inquiry of the old lady as to the future destination of her antic.i.p.ated son-in-law, for whom, indeed, she entertained a genuine affection.

"And what is to be the end of all this, Mark? What is it your purpose to do--where will you fly?"

"To the nation, mother--where else? I must fly somewhere--give myself up to justice, or--" and he paused in the sentence so unpromisingly begun, while his eyes rolled with unaccustomed terrors, and his voice grew thick in his throat.

"Or what--what mean you by that word, that look, Mark? I do not understand you; why speak you in this way, and to me?" exclaimed the maiden, pa.s.sionately interrupting him in a speech, which, though strictly the creature of his morbid spirit and present excitement, was perhaps unnecessarily and something too wantonly indulged in.