Part 48 (1/2)
”I did not know it would offend you,” replied the young girl, in a meek voice. ”Do not the others call you by that name?” she inquired hesitatingly. ”Mr Stebbins does so?”
”Nebba you mind what Ma.s.s' Stabbins he do; da's my affair. You hab a care _you_ no call me so. Da's my affair, too. Jes you say _Aunt_ Lucy 'gain, I soon spoil you' beauty, buckra gal.”
”I shall not do so again, Lucy,” timidly rejoined the young girl.
”_Miss_ Lucy, you please. Don't you tink you still in Tennessee! You'
know better bye 'n bye. Yella woman out heer good as white--marry white man all same--all same 'mong da Mormons--yah, yah, yah!”
A leer towards Lilian accompanied this laughter, rendering its hideous significance more palpably expressive. So provoked was I by the brutal behaviour of the yellow wench, I could scarcely restrain myself from rus.h.i.+ng up, and kicking her over the bank upon which she was standing.
Nothing but the stern necessity of preserving my incognito hindered me from treating her as she deserved; and, even then, it cost me an effort to keep my place. As I continued to watch them. I could see that the young girl cowered beneath the threats of this bold bawdril, who had in some way gained an ascendancy over her--perhaps appointed by Stebbins to act in the double capacity of spy and guardian? Notwithstanding the horrid imaginings to which the woman's presence had given rise, I succeeded in smothering my wrath, and remaining silent. My good star was guiding me; and soon after I was rewarded for the act of prudence.
”Say, gal!” continued the mulatta, still addressing herself to Lilian, ”wha for you sittin' down dar, gazin' into da water? S'pose you tink you see him shadda dar? Yah, yah, yah!”
”Whose shadow?” innocently inquired the girl. I trembled while listening for the reply. ”O Lordy! you berry innocent gal, make 'pear!
S'pose I no see you write him name in dat ere book you got? S'pose I no see you make him letter in de sand, wha we camp on Akansaw? You scratch am name ebberywha; you got um on de big box inside Ma.s.s' Stebbins's waggon. Ha! you better no let Ma.s.s' Stebbins see him name dar!”
I would at that instant have given my horse for a glance at either box or book. But in another moment the necessity was gone; and the revelation, though made by polluted lips, was not the less welcome to my ears. What cared I whether the oracle was profane, so long as its response echoed my most earnest desires?
”S'pose n.o.body read but youseff?” continued the mulatta, in the same jeering tone. ”S'pose n.o.body know what E.W. stand for? yah, yah!
S'pose dat ere don't mean Edwa'd Wa'ffeld? eh missy yella bar--dat him name?” The young girl made no reply; but the crimson disc became widely suffused over her cheek. With a secret joy I beheld its blus.h.i.+ng extension. ”Yah, yah, yah!” continued her tormentor, ”you may see um shadda in da water--dat all you ebba see ob Edwa'd Wa'ffeld. Whoebbar dat ere c.o.o.n may be, you nebbar set you' eyes on him 'gain--nebba!” A dark shade quickly overcast the crimson, betokening that the words gave pain. My pleasure was in like proportion, but inversely. ”You fool, missy' golding har? you' better gone 'long wi' de young dragoon offica who want take you--dat am, if you must had man all to youseff. Yah, yah, yah! Nebba mind, gal! you get husban' yet. Ma.s.s' Stebbins he find you husban'--he got one for you a'ready--waitin' dar in de Mormon city; you soon see! Husban' got fifty odder wife! Yah, yah, yah!”
Words appeared upon the lips of Lilian--low murmured and but half uttered. I could not make out what they were; but they appeared not to be a reply to the speeches that had been addressed to her. Rather were they the involuntary accompaniment to an expression of peculiar anguish, that at that moment revealed itself on her features. The mulatta did not seem either to expect, or care for an answer: for on giving utterance to the fiendish insinuation, she turned upon her slippered heels, and hobbled back towards the camp. I held my face averted as she was pa.s.sing near where I stood. I feared that she might be attracted to stop and examine me; and I had a motive for wis.h.i.+ng her to keep on. Her curiosity, however, did not appear to be very excitable. Such as it was, it evolved itself in a comic fas.h.i.+on--as I could tell by the coa.r.s.e ”Yah, yah, yah!” that broke from her as she pa.s.sed me. I could perceive by the receding of the sound, that she had gone on without stopping.
Lilian followed at a distance of about ten paces. Her body was bent to one side by the weight of the water-can; while her long golden-hair, falling in confusion over the straining arm, almost swept the sward at her feet. The toilsome att.i.tude only displayed in greater perfection the splendid development of that feminine form--which death alone could now hinder me from calling my own.
I had already planned my course of action. I only waited for an opportunity to carry it out. No longer desired I to remain unrecognised by her. The barrier that had hitherto restrained me from giving sign or word--and that would still have continued to do so--had now been removed, happily as unexpectedly. In my heart, now filled and thrilling with joy, there was no motive for further concealment; and I resolved at once to declare myself. Not openly, however; not by speech, nor yet by gesture. Either might provoke an exclamation; and draw upon us prying eyes that were observing at no great distance. As stated, I had already shaped out my course; and, for a minute or more, had been waiting for the very opportunity that now offered.
During the conversation above detailed, I had not been an inactive listener. I had taken from my pocket a sc.r.a.p of paper, and pencilled upon it three simple words. I knew the paper on which I was writing: it was the half-leaf of a letter well-remembered. The letter itself was not there: it was within the folds of my pocket-book; but there was writing on the fly-leaf, and on both faces of it. On one side were those cherished verses, whose sweet simple strain, still vibrating upon the chords of my heart, I cannot help repeating:
”I think of thee, when Morning springs From sleep, with plumage bathed in dew, And like a young bird lifts her wings Of gladness on the welkin blue.
And when at Noon the breath of love O'er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove, I think of thee--I think of thee!
”I think of thee, when soft and wide The Evening spreads her robe of light; And, like a young and timid bride, Sits blus.h.i.+ng in the arms of night.
And when the moon's sweet crescent springs In light o'er heaven's deep waveless sea; And stars are forth like blessed things, I think of thee--I think of thee!”
”O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you; and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live.
”Lilian Holt.”
On the reverse side of the page I had penned, or rather pencilled, a response. Not then, but in an idle hour by the way: with the presentiment, that it might some time reach the hands of her for whom it was intended. In those hands I was now determined to place it--leaving the issue to the cipher itself. The answer ran thus:
To Lilian.
”As music sweet, thy gentle lay Hath found an echo in my heart; At morn, at eve, by night, by day, 'Tis never from my thoughts apart: I hear the strain in every breeze That blows o'er flower, and leaf, and tree; Low murmuring, the birds and bees All seem to sing--I think of thee!
”Perhaps, of me no more a thought Lingers within thy bosom blest: For time and absence both are fraught With danger to the lover's rest?
O Lilian! if thy gentlest breath Should whisper that sad truth to me, My heart would soon be cold in death-- Though dying, still 'twould think of thee!”
”Edward Warfield, _The Indian Hunter_.”