The Knight of the Golden Melice Part 14

"And how dearly I love to have thee near me, Miles," she answered; "the perils I make thee encounter for my sake too plainly tell."

"Nay, sweet, the danger is only in thy imagination. Conscious that the right is on our side, we may defy Master Spikeman and all his wicked devices, certain that we shall yet triumph over them."

"Would that I felt thy confidence, but sometimes I am quite sad."

"Dearest Eveline, why thus cast down?" exclaimed Arundel, looking at her anxiously and kissing off a tear. "Has anything happened? What makes thee unhappy? Of what art afraid?"

"Not cast down, not unhappy, not afraid, Miles, but anxious on thy account, and weary of imprisonment. My jailer hath lately dropped some threats respecting thee which have filled me with apprehension, and it was in consequence of my grief thereat, and of something I said, that Prudence, without my knowledge, sent thee a message, as she afterwards told me."

"And I hope thou art not angry with her for being the cause of my present happiness?"

"I feel not like chiding her or any one," answered Eveline, smiling, "but would speak seriously during the few moments we are together. Oh!

Miles, I have it from a sure hand, (though thou must not inquire thereafter), that Master Spikeman is endeavoring to poison the minds of the Governor and of the a.s.sistants with false reports against thee, such as that thou art disaffected against the government. Oh! Miles, be prudent; for if anything were to happen to thee it would make me very unhappy."

"The lying varlet! the cozening knave!" exclaimed the young man, indignantly. "So this is the way whereby he designs to accomplish his purpose! But I defy his machinations. I have an advantage over him whereof he knows not."

"What is that, Miles?" inquired Eveline, seeing that he hesitated.

"He, whose the right is, hath every advantage over him in the wrong,"

answered her lover, rather evasively; "but would that I could persuade thee to cut the Gordian knot and put an end to this torturing suspense, by flying with me, and giving me a lawful right to be thy protector according to the wishes of thy father."

"Cease, Miles, and do not importune me in a matter wherein the impulses of my heart make me but too ready to forget the suggestions of prudence."

"But how long mean you to submit to this unjust violence?"

"I know not. Be a.s.sured, however, that nothing but dire necessity shall induce me to take a step, the thought of which burns my cheeks with blushes."

"Do you distrust me, Eveline?" said Arundel, reproachfully.

"No; but it becomes Eveline Dunning; it becomes one whom thou hast thought worthy to be sought for across a stormy ocean; it becomes the descendant of a long line of honorable ancestors; it becomes a woman, whether in the thickly peopled city or in the wilderness, among strangers or with her own kindred, to avoid even the appearance of evil. Much will I endure, and long will I bear my thraldom, before I will allow the thought of such a mode of deliverance to harbor in my mind."

"My judgment tells me thou art right, Eveline, however much my heart rebels; but is there no emergency which can make thee cast off this slavery?"

"None such has arisen, and whatever difficulties may harra.s.s me, I hope to be equal to them."

"And years, long years, may drag along with weary feet, while we are wasting our youth in hopeless sighs over the tyranny of a heartless villain, lingering in this dreary land, where a smile is a vanity and a light heart a crime."

"Does it pain thee so much," inquired Eveline, half reproachfully, "to remain in the wilderness?"

"Nay, lovely one, where thou art is no wilderness, but a paradise.

Hither I came, attracted by the love that binds my soul to thine, and this land will I never leave alone. A cabin with thee in these wilds were better than a palace ungraced by thy presence."

"I thank thee, Miles, and thy words strengthen my courage. So long as thou feelest thus, I cannot be unhappy. But shouldst thou ever change; shouldst thou weary of the delays and vexations which thy love for Eveline Dunning doth impose, hesitate not to avow it, and thou shalt be free, though my heart break in bidding thee farewell."

"Eveline, dearest Eveline," cried her lover, catching her to his bosom, "how canst thou speak thus? He who hath found heaven will never voluntarily resign it."

But why pursue a discourse which can have but little interest except for the speakers? The reader will suppose the further conversation which would naturally take place between two young persons in their situation. Owing to the vigilance of Spikeman, it was a long time (so at least it seemed to them) since they had met, and the interview was sweeter for that reason. While the precious moments are flitting by them unheeded, let us return to Waqua.

The Indian was so absorbed in the contemplation of the portrait, that he paid no attention to the jesting observation made by Arundel as he left the room, but continued motionless, gazing fixedly upon it. It represented a man of middle age, of a stern and somewhat forbidding countenance, standing with the open palm of the right hand thrown forward, as if he were addressing the spectator. It was exceedingly well done,--so graceful was the att.i.tude, so boldly stood out the figure, so admirable was the coloring, so illusive the air of life. It was the first portrait that Waqua had seen, and he very naturally mistook it for a living person.

Seeing, as he supposed, a man with eyes fastened on him, standing in an att.i.tude soliciting attention, and as if only waiting until the conversation between those who entered should cease, to address him, Waqua, with instinctive politeness, had stopped, and looking full at the painting, awaited the speech. He was somewhat surprised and scandalized, under the circ.u.mstances, at the garrulity of his companions, and, to confess the truth, Arundel sunk considerably in his estimation. However, he made all allowances for the rude manners of the whites and differences of customs, though hardly restrained by such considerations from uttering a rebuke for the others' want of respect to age, and to the master of the house, for whom he took the picture. As, after Arundel and the girl left the apartment, the figure remained standing, with eyes fastened on Waqua, and his hand continually extended, the Indian, considering it an invitation to be seated, sat down in a chair. He expected now to be addressed, and modestly dropping his eyes waited for what should be said. Thus sat Waqua, until, surprised at the continued silence of the other, he raised his eyes, and beheld him still in the same position, with lips partly open, yet emitting no sound. The situation of the Indian now became more and more embarra.s.sing, and he hesitated what course to pursue. Greatly perplexed, he turned the matter over and over, until finally he reached the conclusion that this was a mode of welcome among the white men, and that the politeness of the other kept him silent, in order that the visitor should first take up the word, in which opinion he was confirmed by the sedate and unmoved expression of the face. With such a notion occupying his mind, he rose from his seat, and throwing the beaver robe a little off the right shoulder to allow opportunity for gesticulation, he stood before the picture, and after a moment of grave thought addressed it.

"Waqua," he said, "is a young man, and ashamed to speak first in the presence of his elder; but the customs of the white men are very different from those of their red brethren, and perhaps among his white brothers the young men speak first that their folly may appear.

Because he thinks his white brother desires him to speak, he will make a very little speech."

"The silent chief (so he called the picture, not knowing what other name to use) knows that Waqua is a friend, because he sees him in company with the white man who went away with the chief's daughter with the strawberry lips. Waqua only asks the hospitality of the silent chief, and permission to remain in his lodge till his friend returns."

Thus having spoken, Waqua gathered up his robe upon his shoulder, and awaited a reply.

But in vain. Still the figure preserved silence, and maintained the same immovable att.i.tude, gazing on him with eyes from which there was no escaping, and which seemed to pierce into his soul. The uneasiness of Waqua increased. He felt no fear, but a confusion of thought which threatened to obscure entirely his faculties. The idea crossed his mind that the man was dumb, but that accounted only for the silence.

Why the immobility? If he were dumb, at least he could walk, for well-formed limbs were visible. But the man was quite still, not even winking, only fastening his eyes steadfastly on his own. To the excited imagination of the Indian, the eyes began to a.s.sume a deeper sternness, and he found it more and more difficult to withdraw his own. Suddenly, a thought darted through his mind, which made him shiver all over, and spring from his seat. The idea of fascination caused the start. He had more than once beheld the black snake extended on the ground, charming, with his glittering eyes the anguished bird which, with fainter and fainter screams, striving to delay a fate it could not escape, kept flying round and round in constantly diminishing circles, until it fell into the jaws of the destroyer. The same fatal influence he had seen exercised upon rabbits and other small game, the prey of the snake, and he did not doubt that a like fascination was attempted to be practiced on himself, and that the man was a conjurer. The thought threw him into a rage, and he determined to take vengeance for the insult. Drawing, therefore, his tomahawk from his girdle and brandishing it over his head, he exclaimed,

"Waqua is a warrior, and not a bird to be made weak by a white medicine."

But before the enraged Indian could cast the weapon from his hand, he felt his arm suddenly arrested, and, turning, beheld the laughing face of Prudence Rix.

"Stop, stop!" cried the girl, hardly able to speak for merriment; "what are you going to do? It is not a man, but only a painting."

It is not probable that the Indian perfectly comprehended the explanation of Prudence, who, in spite of her affected fears, had been, without his knowledge, an amused spectator of his conduct; but her interposition had the effect to prevent any violence, especially, as upon looking again at the portrait, he felt no longer the awe which had oppressed him, and therefore knew that the charm had lost its power. He lowered the tomahawk to his side, and addressed himself to her.

"What white man ever entered the wigwam of Waqua and was not invited to a seat on his mat? Who can say that Waqua fastened his eyes on him like a snake?"

"But see," said the girl, advancing to the portrait, and pa.s.sing her hand over its surface; "it is nothing but a cunning painting. Come and satisfy thyself."

Waqua complied, in part, with Prudence's invitation, feeling some contempt for a man who would permit such an indignity and advancing to the picture regarded it with keen and inquisitive glances. He refused, however, to touch the figure, until Prudence, taking his hand in hers, placed it on the canvas. But no sooner did he feel the flat surface, than, uttering a cry of astonishment, he leaped backward, almost overturning Prudence in his haste, keeping his eyes on the picture, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. twice or thrice the expression, "Ugh!"

"What a simple savage thou art," exclaimed Prudence, "I tell thee it cannot bite. It can neither hear nor see, and thou art a man to be scared by it!"

The Indian felt the taunt, conveyed quite as much in the tone as in the words, and without replying, but as if to show that he was above the feeling of fear, holding the tomahawk in one hand, he pa.s.sed the other over the whole surface, as far as he could reach, winding up the achievement with eyes wild with wonder, and snorting out divers astonished "ughs!"

CHAPTER X.

"Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And--'this to me!'--he said."

MARMION.

At this moment the a.s.sistant Spikeman entered the room. His advance had been so noiseless that it was un.o.bserved by either the girl or the Indian, so entirely were they engrossed by the adventure of the portrait.

"Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Methinks, Prudence, there are other parts of the dwelling more fit for such visitors."

"I desired to see," said the girl, evasively, "how a savage would act who never had beholden a painting. There is no great harm in that,"

she added, pouting.

"And doubtless he mistook it for a live man. Master Vand.y.k.e had skill, I trow, to deceive more learned eyes than those of a wild Indian. But, Prudence, thou knowest that I mean not to chide thee. Far different words arise spontaneously to my lips. But go, now, and I will pay the honors to thy red friend."