Part 43 (1/2)
”_I_ did not need it, not I,” continued the man, earnestly. ”I knew you had done nothing of your free will that the whole world might not know.
But I knew, too, that you would be pleased to have your innocence established. And I was glad for another reason. I love you, Daisy. I have loved you a very long time. Your sister was right in that. Had you not shown such a marked preference for my friend I would have done my best to win you, months and months ago. While you felt that you were an object of suspicion I knew you would not consent to be my wife. Now, that obstacle is gone and--Daisy--I want you.”
The hands were withdrawn from the tear-stained face, a handkerchief was hastily pa.s.sed over it, and Daisy turned half away from the speaker.
”You will not refuse, my love,” he murmured, bending again toward her.
”You will promise?”
One of her hands strayed toward him, and was clasped joyfully in his own.
”But, in relation to that other matter,” said Daisy, some moments later, when the sweet tokens of love had been given and taken, ”I must be as silent as before. I have listened to you, but I have not replied. You can understand the reason. Never speak of it to me again, if you do not wish to inflict pain. It is something I cannot discuss.”
”I may tell your father, though,” he whispered.
”It would be best not. He is content now. No, I beg you, say nothing to any one.”
And he promised, like the lover he was, and sealed it with another kiss on her pure mouth.
”I may tell him of--of our love?” he asked.
”Oh, yes; we will tell him of that together.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TRAPPING A WOLF.
When s.h.i.+rley Roseleaf left the hotel that morning he carried a fis.h.i.+ng rod, a rifle, a gamebag and other acoutrements of the sportsman. In his earlier years, before he ever came to the city, he had been accounted something of an expert with these implements. Since being in this country where there was so much to tempt a Nimrod he had made a number of similar excursions. Although it was some distance to the locality where he intended to go the young man did not take a conveyance of any kind. He walked briskly over the road, breathing the pure air of that early hour, and whistling in a low tone to himself as he went along.
Among the other things he carried was a light lunch, for he did not care to break his fast so early in the day. He had, besides, a contrivance for making coffee and for broiling the fish he expected to catch. Even if his jaunt lasted till night his physical needs were well provided for. One would not have imagined, to see his free and easy swing over the road, that he had anything of greater moment on his mind than to watch for some stray rabbit, or a possible deer track.
Not less than six miles from his starting point, he came to a small lake, to reach which he had followed a narrow path that led through the wood. On the sh.o.r.e was a primitive rowboat, or rather canoe, which he had purchased on another occasion from a native for an insignificant price. Into this boat the novelist stepped, and after safely depositing his traps, took up the paddle and used it skillfully. When he had reached approximately the centre of the lake, he sat down, prepared his fis.h.i.+ng tackle and began to angle for the denizens of the water below.
With the patience of a true fisherman Roseleaf sat quietly for two hours, during which time he had drawn out but few specimens. The long walk had, however, given him the appet.i.te he needed, and he now pulled his frail craft toward the sh.o.r.e, with the intention of lighting a fire and preparing a meal. But even when he had nearly reached land he saw splinters flying beneath his feet, and immediately after heard a dull sound which showed what had caused the trouble.
A stray bullet, from some careless hunter, had penetrated his canoe. The hole was large enough to render the boat useless, for the water began to come in rapidly. With two more stout movements of the paddle Roseleaf forced his craft against the sh.o.r.e and sprang upon dry land. Then he quietly picked up the things he had brought with him, and walked a little away from the scene.
”These fellows are getting altogether too careless,” he muttered, as he inspected his damp belongings. ”A little more and that thing would have been tearing splinters in me.”
Sc.r.a.ping some dead wood together, he soon had a fire started, and the cooking of his breakfast was begun. He went about the work methodically, whistling again in that low key he had used when on the way from his hotel, and stopping now and then as the noise of a woodbird or some wild quadruped of the smaller kind came to his ears. He sniffed the coffee that was boiling furiously and the freshly caught fish that sent out an appetizing aroma. No meal served at the Hoffman, the Imperial or the far-famed Delmonico restaurant, could equal this primitive repast, for him.
Finally, all was ready. Helping himself to a large plateful of the delicious food, and pouring out a huge tin cup of the coffee, Roseleaf sat down as if to take his ease while breakfasting. But, instead of touching the viands he had been at such pains to prepare, the next thing he did was to fall p.r.o.ne on the ground. And at the same instant a second bullet whizzed past him and buried itself with a tearing of bark and wood in the tree just behind him.
If Roseleaf had laid down with suddenness he rose with no less speed. As he sprang to his feet he picked up his rifle. He made a dozen steps forward, and then, bringing the weapon to his shoulder, cried to some one in front of him:
”Halt, or I fire!”
A human form that had been creeping away on its hands and knees, now stood upright. It was perhaps thirty yards from the speaker, and when it faced him he saw that the countenance was black.
”Don't come any nearer and don't go any farther off,” said the novelist, gravely. ”You are at a convenient distance. I can shoot you best where you stand.”