Chapter X: Lionne

But thou, as yet, hast never felt
The agonizing sense
Of seeing love from passion melt
Into indifference;
The fearful shame that, day by day,
Turns onward still to burn;
To have thrown thy precious heart away,
And met this black return.—_Milnes._

To explain the startling apparition that had so terrified Lady Adelaide in her chamber, it is necessary to return to the forest home of Lionne.

At first the wild girl grieved over the parting with her lover, as only wilful and passionate natures like hers ever grieve over any trouble.

Her stormy bursts of sorrow were, however, only indulged in the privacy of her chamber, the seclusion of her grotto, or the still deeper solitude of the pathless wilderness.

The wildest transient grief of youth leaves no lasting impress on the brow; and thus, whenever Lionne appeared in the presence of her father, she betrayed nothing of the sorrow that occasionally shook her whole nature.

Thus passed several days.

And then, grief having exhausted its first violence, Lionne began to reason, so far as such a child of passion ever reasons, upon the folly of her own excessive lamentations over a transient separation from her lover.

And then she turned her thoughts from the bitter present to the bright past and the brighter future, to live on the memory of Orville’s visit and the anticipations of his return.

And long before there could be any rational expectation of hearing from him she began to look daily for his first letter. And oh, what a joy was that to anticipate!

What would he write? what would his missive be like? would his letter resemble his conversation?

She would soon know.

Daily, under cover of her woodland habits, she would, unquestioned by her father, ride to Winchester in quest of her letter, although the journey there and back consumed the whole day.

This forest girl was much too wild, strange, and beautiful in aspect not to excite the greatest degree of admiration, curiosity and conjecture whenever she appeared in the country town; but there was something in the flash of her eye and the flush of her cheek that effectually repelled impertinence, checked inquiry, and commanded respect.

At last, one day, before she had time to grow seriously anxious, the longed-for letter came! At a quarter to twelve she had reached Winchester. Just at high noon the precious letter was placed in her hands.

At first the sole joy of knowing that she possessed it, holding it in her hand, and gazing upon the superscription and the seal, was enough. She felt its thickness as a miser might have done had it been lined with bank-notes; then, unobserved, she placed it in her bosom, turned her horse’s head, and rode rapidly homeward, deferring to the last hour of day and the privacy of her chamber the pleasure of reading the contents.

Thither, after supper was over and the family had separated, she repaired, locked her door, lighted her candle, and sat down by the fire to the perusal as to the most costly luxury.

It was a “love letter,” and from the man she loved! That is saying enough to make any one comprehend that every precious word within it was dwelt upon, was gloated over, was gloried in as though each were an enchanting picture, a delicious feast, a priceless treasure. Over and over she read it, and at last laid it between her cheek and the pillow, and sank into a happy sleep, to dream of its writer.

Next day she gave Nox, her pony, the extraordinary benefit of a holiday, and gathered writing-materials and went down to her grotto. From no spot but from this bower of their bliss would she answer his first letter—no other place seemed so worthy of the pleasant task. Her letter was like herself—it was a frank, fearless, impassioned outpouring of her love, and joy, and hope!

She finished it, and the next day took it to Winchester, because she would not trust this correspondence to the hands of another, even one so faithful as Vulcan.

How long she lived upon that first letter, carrying it in her bodice all day long, and reading it over many times—not but that she knew every word by heart, but because she loved to follow with her eye the precious tracings of his hand. Ay! how long she lived upon that first letter. And then, before that had begun to lose its freshness, she commenced looking for the second—the answer to her own.

She wondered how he would like _her_ letter,—whether it would not make him as happy as she hoped it might, and in what terms he would acknowledge it.

She would know when he wrote. Oh, how she longed for his answer!

The first fortnight she knew she would not get that answer, and therefore she resolved not to be unreasonable.

The third week she might expect a letter, and as day by day brought disappointment, she began to grow impatient.

The fourth week her impatience increased to anxiety.

The fifth this anxiety became almost insufferable.

The sixth doubt, distrust, and jealousy assailed her heart; but she sought to subdue these agonizing emotions by appealing to his words, wherein he said:

“If you should chance to be a long time without a letter, distrust messengers, post-offices, post-masters—everybody and every thing, save me and my fidelity.”

“And I will,” said Lionne, and she just made up her mind to write to Orville again. “For no doubt his letter has miscarried, and he is at this very time expecting one from me,” she concluded. As it was now the middle of January, and her beautiful grotto was blocked up with ice and snow, so that she could not go to that favorite temple of her love to perform the pleasant task, she gathered writing-materials and went up to her chamber.

The poverty of Lionne afforded no table in her room; so she placed her paper, pens and ink upon the top of an old oak chest, and kneeled down on the floor beside it to commence.

She had but dated the paper, when she was interrupted by an unusual sound—the quick gallop of horses into the yard, followed immediately by a smart rap with a riding-whip at the hall door.

“That is he! he has come! oh, I might have known that he was coming!” she exclaimed, throwing down her pen and starting up, her lips apart, her checks flushed, her eyes flashing with joy!

And before the rap could be repeated, or any one else could answer it, she had sped down-stairs and through the passage, and torn open the door.

She sickened, and nearly swooned with disappointment! She could not immediately recover her presence of mind, or welcome the travellers that stood there mutely claiming her hospitality. She could not answer, or even hear the words that were next addressed to her, until they were somewhat impatiently repeated.

“Myself and brother are lost in this wilderness. Night is coming on, and we are without a lodging. Will you be kind enough to tell us where we can get one?”

Lionne passed her hand once or twice across her brow, as if to clear her vision, and then looked up.

The speaker who had addressed her was a young girl of perhaps sixteen years of age, of a small, slight figure, thin, dark face, with very fierce, black eyes, and straight, black hair, parted over her low brow, and wound up under her hat. She wore a dark-green riding-habit, somewhat stained and faded by exposure and travel, and a round, jockey riding-cap. She rode a small, but well-formed black horse, that looked as weary and weather-beaten as herself.

Her companion was a youth of fourteen, bearing a strong family likeness to his sister; he was clothed in the rather dilapidated uniform of a private in the Provincial troops, and mounted on a good, bay horse, now rather the worse for a surplus of road and deficiency of rest.

“Well, I declare, young lady,” said Kate Kyte, for the travellers were no other than that young huntress and her youngest brother, “well, I declare, we are not highway robbers, that you should look at us as though we told you to ‘stand and deliver!’”

“I—I beg your pardon,” said Lionne, confusedly; “but _who_ did you say you were? What did you require?”

“Merciful Moses! we are a pair of innocent children—a poor boy and girl who have lost our way in the forest.”

“What—what do you need?” inquired Lionne in the same perplexity.

“Powers above! every thing; supper and beds; horse-feed and stalls. And if you can’t tell us where to get them, either for mercy or money, (the less said about the latter the better,) we shall wander all night hand in hand, because our horses can’t carry us any longer; eat poison-berries, because we can’t get any thing else, supposing even we can get them; and finally lie down and die, and be covered over with leaves by the robins, like the babes in the woods,” said Kate, laughing.

“Oh, come along! _She’s_ not a-going to give us any satisfaction,” grumbled the boy, turning his horse’s head.

“Stop where you are, Hubert! The young lady is only perplexed at seeing two such savages as we are before her door. She don’t look over-civilized herself however,” added Kate, in a low voice.

“Oh, I beg you will excuse me,” said Lionne, slowly recovering her presence of mind; “I was expecting—that is to say, I——”

“Was _not_ expecting strangers,” said Kate, finishing the sentence for her.

“No; but the strangers are most cordially welcome!” exclaimed Lionne, with greater animation. “Of course, you must go no farther to-night. Pray dismount. My servant-man will take care of your horses and also attend your orders, sir. Young lady, you come with me. Vulcan! Vulcan, I say!”

The huge dwarf appeared from the back part of the house, and, coming forward, struck Kate with about as much astonishment as any thing she had seen in the course of her travels.

While she was still gazing on the monster, Lionne said—

“Vulcan, show this young man into a room where he can wash and change his clothes, if he wishes, before supper. Take his knapsack and carry it after him; stable and feed the horses; and then report yourself to me in the kitchen.”

“Yes, Lionne,” said the dwarf, in a tone which, though not loud or high, coming from his vast chest, sounded like a peal of deep thunder, and made Kate exclaim:

“You would be a nice one to watch beside a sick-bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Come, young lady,” said Lionne, leading the way up-stairs to her own chamber.

“My name is Kate Kyte,” said the ‘young lady.’

“Come, then, Miss Kyte.”

“I said _Kate_ Kyte! I never _miss_ any_body_, and never _missed_ any _thing_! not even the Huron’s head, through which I sent a bullet at twenty paces!”

“Good heaven! blood on that young hand!” exclaimed Lionne, shrinking from her.

“No, bless you: washed off long ago! I have cleanly habits, ma’am, as old as my riding-coat is. But there has been plenty of it—both ‘the blood of birds and the blood of beasts and the blood of fishes!’ So at last shedding the blood of a two-legged tiger, did not come the least bit awkwardly.”

Lionne shrank farther and farther from her as they went up the stairs.

“Now don’t grind yourself against the wall in horror of me; the blood I shed was spilled in a holy cause! The savage was just in the act of tomahawking that boy of mine, when a message from my persuader here—” she said, indicating a pocket-pistol that was stuck in her belt—“stopped him. He dropped like a felled tree! beautifully! you never saw a better fall! or a better-looking savage after he was down! I couldn’t help stooping to admire him, even before I shook hands with my brother!”

“It was dreadful!” said Lionne.

“It was justifiable! nay, indeed, it was unavoidable. I reckon you would have said so, if you had seen that unarmed boy just under the descending stroke of the tomahawk! It was a neck and neck race between hatchet and pistol! and if my bullet had been half a second later, the tomahawk would have been buried in the boy’s brain.”

“Ugh! do not let us talk any more of such horrors!”

“Why, I declare! _you_ are not chicken-hearted, are you! Now _I_ have as much courage as a hundred other women put together, and you look as if you had ten times as much strength, fire, and firmness as a hundred of me!”

“However that may be, I am not naturally nervous; but for a few months past, I cannot imagine for what reason, I shudder at things that once never would have attracted even my notice!”

These words of Lionne brought them into her chamber where she supplied her guest with water and towels.

Kate was not so fortunate as her brother in the possession of a knapsack; but she had some few necessary articles of apparel in her saddle-bags, and these, at her request, were sent for, and brought up by Vulcan.

And now behold Kate, after her toilet, in a house dress of oldish but still bright crimson merino, that perfectly fitted her lithe and slender figure, a little black lace collar around her neck, and her lustrous, straight, black hair plainly parted over her low brow, and rolled into a coil at the back of her head.

Lionne took her guest down into the sitting-room, where she was soon after joined by her brother, who had meanwhile been engaged in freshening his own dilapidated appearance.

Apologizing for the necessity of leaving them, and begging that they would amuse themselves with such materials as were at hand—intimating the few books upon the table, and the many implements and trophies of the chase—Lionne left the room, to go into the kitchen and take counsel with Vulcan about supper for her guests.

“Kate, I say,” said Hubert, putting down a richly mounted horn that he had been examining; “that is just the handsomest girl I ever saw in my life.”

“Yes; do, now, go and fall in love with a stranger, and love her better than the sister you have known all your life!”

This reply silenced Hubert, who went on with his examination of the old horns, whistles, pipes, flasks, fowling-pieces, and other implements of the chase, all of rich material and elaborate finish, at great variance with the otherwise rude aspect of the lodge and its appointments.

“Kate, I say, it’s my belief that young girl’s father is a gentleman!” said Hubert, with one more attempt at conversation.

“How do you know she has a father, foolish boy?”

“Well, most folks have, haven’t they, Kate?”

“Why, no; _you_ haven’t.”

“But that’s because I’m an orphan, so that _I’m_ no example!”

“No, in truth, you are not!” retorted Kate, in a manner that once more silenced the speaker.

In fact, Kate had got hold of the first copy of Shakspeare that she had ever seen, and that wonderful book, so cosmopolitan in its interest that it charms readers of all ages, characters and conditions, had spell-bound Kate to her chair, where she sat with her feet under the table, her elbows on it, her forehead leaning on the palms of her hands, and her eyes riveted upon the open volume before her, where she remained, while Hubert strolled about looking at, taking down, and sometimes in his awkwardness _throwing_ down various implements and trophies of the chase.

Whenever such a crash came, Kate, without taking her eyes from her book, would say—

“Don’t do any mischief, Hube!”

Or if the noise was louder than usual, she would burst out with—

“Hubert, I say, don’t break things!”

At last, while she was deep in the perusal of the “Tempest,” came a crash that caused her to start impatiently to her feet, exclaiming angrily—

“Hubert, don’t knock things about so! You make me nervous with dread lest you do some damage!”

“’Twa’n’t me at all, now! It was that girl! You better not saved me if you mean to torment the life out of me all the rest of my days!” said the grateful and polite Mr. Kyte.

Kate looked around and saw Lionne, who had come in, calmly picking up a part of an old suit of armor that Master Hubert had taken down to examine, and then carelessly re-hung against the door, and which, in opening, she had thrown down.

“Will you please to come into such a supper as I can offer you, although it will not furnish the luxuries of an eastern table?” said their hostess, smiling.

Kate laughingly apologized for her ludicrous mistake, reluctantly closed her book, and arose to follow her hostess.

Hubert turned eagerly from the contemplation of a pair of ten-tined antlers to the more inviting prospect of feasting upon the animal that might once have worn them.

Lionne led the way into the spacious kitchen, which was glowingly lighted up by a great hickory fire, blazing in the wide fireplace, and a pair of candles in iron candlesticks that stood upon the well spread oak-table.

There was, as usual, no table-cloth, and the supper service was of the plainest earthenware, with cheap iron cutlery; but the meal spread before the guests was both substantial and luxurious, consisting of venison steaks, roasted partridges, home-made bread and butter, and fine coffee with fresh cream. The huge dwarf stood to wait upon the table.

“I say, Kate,” said Hubert, drawing near her and speaking low, “that pretty girl with the short giant waiting on her, is like the ‘Princess and the Dwarf’ in the fairy tale, ain’t it?”

“Yes, and do you know what you are like in the same story?”

“The prince that delivered and married the princess!” inquired Hubert, rather doubtfully.

“No! the court-fool who got the bastinado for talking out of season.”

This philippic, as usual with such, at once silenced Hubert, who meekly took the place pointed out to him at the table, and spoke no more.

Both Kate and Hubert supped after the manner of healthy young travellers, who had ridden thirty miles, fasting, through a sharp winter day.

Lionne saw that full justice was done to her bill of fare, and felt flattered upon the doubtful subject of her housekeeping.

After supper, when they were about to adjourn to the sitting-room, Hubert said that if Mr. Vulcan would be so good as to show him the way, he would like to visit the stable, and see the condition of his horses after their severe travel.

Mr. Vulcan _was_ so good, and with a clumsy nod—for he was too short and square to bow—he took his wolf-skin cap and led the way to the stables.

Lionne conducted her guest back to the sitting-room, mended the fire, and invited her to draw her chair nearer the hearth.

“Do you live here ‘all alone mit yerself,’ as the Dutchman would say?” inquired Kate.

“Oh, no!” answered Lionne.

“Then with only that Dwarf-Titan, like the Princess in the story, to which my brother compared you?”

“No; I have a father, who is absent to-day at Winchester, but who will be home some time to-night.”

“Well,” said Kate, “as I claimed your hospitality, I ought to tell you who I am.”

“That is a question never put by my father to a passing guest. To know that such a one is a traveller, seeking quarters, is sufficient for him.”

“Yes, very likely for _him_; but is it for _you_, with your Eve’s share of curiosity.”

“Even for me, also.”

“Well, then, that is noble, I must say! But just suppose, now, that I feel egotistical, and had rather talk of myself than not?”

“Why, in that case, my little egotist, go on! and I will promise you one interested and attentive listener.”

“Thank you! well, then, you must know that my father and mother both died while I was a little child.”

“Yes.”

“And left me, a solitary girl, to grow up with half a dozen brothers, all older than myself, except Hubert, here, who is a year younger!”

“I see!”

“Well, then, I grew up a boy as far as education and habits go!”

“That accounts for every thing.”

“Don’t it, though? Well, seeing that I was so much of a boy, when my brothers enlisted in the Provincial troops that were going out to fight the French and other savages, I wanted to enlist too! of course I did! but the dunder-head who was recruiting wouldn’t take me!”

“Indeed!”

“No: did you ever hear of such stupidity?”

“Never!” said Lionne, smiling.

“It was no use for me to tell him that I had never been parted from my brothers, and never would be; that we had always lived together in one band, eat and drank together, travelled together, hunted and fished together, ridden and raced together, and that now, by the grave of our parents, we would enlist and go to the war together, and, if necessary, be killed and scalped together!”

“Well, after all, I like that, Kate! But what did the recruiter answer?”

“Answer! the insolent! he said the only way in which I could get to go on the expedition would be to marry _him_ and go as his wife!” said Kate, with flashing eyes.

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing: my horsewhip answered for me with one sharp cut across his impudent face and mouth, that must carry the marks of the lash to this day, if he lives!”

“And then?”

“I put whip to my horse and rode to head-quarters, and went into the very presence of the great military lion himself—General Braddock. I told him all that I had told the recruiting-sergeant, and in addition, I said that I wished to go to take care of Hubert, who, being the youngest of our band, would need my protection (as it turned out he did).”

“And the General?”

“When he heard my story, he broke down into the vulgarest guffaw that ever I heard from a white man. I had left my horsewhip in its rest beside the saddle, else I don’t know what would have been the consequences. Well, I told him he might as well enlist me, for that I was not accustomed to be crossed, any more than I was to be laughed at, and that I would go to the wars in spite of him.”

“And he?”

“Just called an orderly sergeant, and sent out in all directions to inquire whether I had any parents or guardians, and kept me prisoner in a room at his quarters the whole day, until he found that I belonged to myself exclusively, when he cursed the customs of the country and set me at liberty.”

“And you thanked him, of course?”

““Didn’t I, though?” Well, my brothers marched with their company. I was left behind with no other society than old Lucy, our cook, and the hounds. It was not, however, until some time afterwards, when the great battle had been fought and lost, and the troops were massacred, scattered or carried off, that I put my threat of following the army into execution. Then, when straggler after straggler returned, wounded, weary and weather-beaten, bringing each the most frightful accounts of that field of blood, and I could hear nothing in regard to the fate of my brothers, I mounted my horse and set off in quest of news of them.”

“A Quixotic undertaking,” said Lionne.

“It was not so dangerous or difficult as you imagine. I just followed Braddock’s road, stopping to rest each night at the cabin of some squatter, and going forward by day and making inquiries of everybody I saw. I met several late stragglers from the battle, who had been laid up somewhere and detained by their wounds——”

“I knew of several so detained. But—did you succeed in hearing from your brothers?”

“At long last, yes! I will tell you how. It was near sunset, and I was still following the fatal road cut by Braddock’s doomed party to their own destruction, when, between the glinting lights, I thought I saw a boy riding from the opposite direction. Something in the air and manner of the figure set my heart to beating thick and fast——”

“You thought it was one of year brothers?”

“I thought it was Hubert; yes! and I would have ridden faster, only that my horse was ready to drop with fatigue. And just as the boy came around a tree in full sight, and I recognized him as Hubert and was about to shout his welcome—out from the bushes sprang one of those red demons of the forest, and whirling his tomahawk around his head in dazzling gyrations, with a terrible war-whoop he bounded upon the boy, seized him with his left hand, raised his tomahawk in his right, and would the next instant have buried it in the brain of his victim, had I not raised my pistol and sent a bullet through his head.”

“Good heaven of heavens! I wonder terror had not deprived you of your senses!”

“No, it never does! I am woman enough to be frightened at the anticipation of evil; but when sudden danger confronts me it calms my heart and quickens my brain. For see—when I first recognized Hubert my heart was beating painfully with joy; but the instant I saw the savage spring upon him, his sudden, imminent, horrible danger steadied my nerves, my eye and my hand, and enabled me to send my shot home to its mark with the certainty of fate!”

“Kate! Kate! you are a heroine, such as in the old days of chivalry would have inspired brave knights to glorious deeds.”

“What, because I shot an Indian who was about to tomahawk my boy-brother—a thing for which I merit neither praise nor blame, nor desire any other reward than to see the lad alive and have him throw his arms around my neck and call me his _best_ sister,—as if he had several sisters to choose from, poor fellow. I do scold him and put him down sometimes, but it is all for his good.”

“Well, go on, dear Kate, go on!”

“Well, in fact, there is but little more to tell. Hubert told me that after his company had been disbanded, his brothers had joined a troop of hunters who were going farther west to hunt the bison, and that they had directed him to return home and bring me news of their safety. He was on his road when I met him. And now, having travelled thus far on our return, we shall avail ourselves of your kindness for the night, and in the morning resume our homeward journey to the banks of the Potomac.”

“The banks of the Potomac?”

“Why, yes—there is our home.”

“What part of the Potomac?”

“North bank, near St. George’s Island.”

“St. George’s Island! Do you know a place near that called River-view?”

“The seat of Mr. Orville Deville?—of course I do!”

“Do you know Mr. Deville?”

“Know Orville Deville? Well, now, I reckon I do, just a little! and Lady Elizabeth and Lady Adelaide, too!”

“Lady Elizabeth is his mother; but—who is Lady Adelaide?” inquired Lionne—perhaps with a vague, prophetic feeling of unaccountable jealousy—or perhaps only with that deep interest she felt for every one in any way connected with Orville Deville.

“Why, Lady Adelaide Deville, to be sure!” answered Kate.

“And—what is she to him—his cousin?”

“Yes—his half cousin and more than that—his wife!”

“His——WHAT?”

“His wife! his sweet, pretty, young wife!”

“GIRL! IT IS FALSE!”

“Why, what in the world ails you?” said Kate, gazing in surprise at the blanched face of her hostess.

“Oh, I am wrong! here is some misunderstanding, Kate, _I_ am speaking of Lieutenant Orville Deville, the only son of Lady Elizabeth Deville of River-view, Maryland,” said Lionne, with a look of agonizing anxiety.

“And so am _I_! There is no other Orville Deville in the wide world that I know of!—Why, what is the matter with you? Are you _ill_?” said Kate, wondering at the increasing agitation of the forest girl.

“But—but—there _must_ be some mistake here! it _cannot_ be otherwise! The Mr. Deville whom I knew was an officer in his Majesty’s Provincials.”

“Yes.”

“And went in the late fatal expedition against the French and Indians.”

“Certainly—but how in the world did you know him, or why should you care any thing at all about him?”

“He was wounded and was missing for several weeks, during which he remained convalescing here under our care—_was_ this the same man of whom you speak?” cried Lionne, clasping her hands in an agony of suspense.

“Why, _of course_ it was! the very same man! couldn’t possibly have been any other! So this was the house that sheltered him! Well! I heard in Winchester, when I first passed through, that he had taken refuge in some hunter’s lodge! But, good heaven, what is the matter with you! this is very strange! you are certainly going crazy!” exclaimed Kate, staring in astonishment upon the blanched and haggard face, and wringing, writhing hands of the young mountaineer.

“But—but—I say there is something _ill-comprehended_ between us!—There _must_ be! The young gentleman who staid with us was a mere youth—”

“Certainly—twenty or so!”

“Therefore, you see, you _must_ be mistaken!” said Lionne, with a pleading, prayerful gaze.

“_How_ mistake—I tell you I _know_ we are talking of the same man!”

“Well, granting that we are! still, you must be mistaken in supposing that he left a _wife_ in Maryland! It could _not be_, you know! such a mere youth!” said Lionne, striving desperately to keep down the strong, rising passions of her soul.

“Come now, that is rich! Just as if no one ever heard of a young man marrying at the age of twenty! _he_ married younger than _that_, I can tell you!”

“And you say that—that—Lady Adelaide is his—his—his——”

“His _wife!_ what is there strange in that, to make you glare so?”

“_How do you know this?_” demanded Lionne, in a tone that made Kate start and exclaim—

“My stars, don’t give tongue in that way!”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW IT?” thundered Lionne, again.

“Why lord, because I know all about the family, having lived next neighbor to them for years; and because I have been acquainted with Lady Adelaide Deville ever since her marriage with Mr. Orville Deville.”

“And I say you speak _falsely_! FALSELY, girl! Orville Deville is NOT a villain!” gasped Lionne.

“Did I call him one? I begin to think you are crazy!” exclaimed Kate, in consternation.

“Some one—some haughty relative, or other interested party—has bribed you to beguile my ear with a lie!”

“Come now, that is a little too extravagant even for craziness! as if it were worth any one’s while to send me two hundred miles to tell you a story!”

Lionne, with a face white and still as marble, the blanched lips drawn tight across the firm-set teeth, eyes contracted and burning, and hands fiercely clenched together, sat watching the speaker.

—“Just as if it were any thing on earth to you—or to me—whether Mr. Orville Deville were married or single! But I guess how it is,” continued Kate: “the young gentleman has been passing himself off for a single man, and while lying wounded here, has been amusing himself by making love to his pretty nurse! Men will do these things in the world outside!—Ah! don’t murder me!”

With the cry and bound of a wild beast, the forest girl sprang upon the speaker and seized, shook, and tossed her as a lioness might do a kid, exclaiming, breathless the while—

“Girl! wretch! fiend! you _belie_ him! you BELIE him! Speak! say that you belie him, before I choke the truth from your false throat!”

Kate could say nothing, do nothing! She was but as a kid in the claws of a lioness, and so she suffered herself to be throttled, shaken and tossed until the beautiful fury had exhausted her own strength, spurned her victim away, and sunk half dead into her seat.

Then Kate, who had caught the table to steady herself while she stood looking upon Lionne, said—

“Poor girl! I can forgive your violence, because I see that you are half crazy, as I begin to fear that you have reason to be!”

“_Oh, hush, hush! in pity, hush!_” moaned Lionne, who sat with her face buried in her hands.

“As sure as shooting,” thought Kate, “that young man has been idly making love to this girl and has won her lion heart! Well, thank heaven! I never was in love and I hope I never shall be! So of myself I know nothing about it! But judging from newspaper-paragraphs I should think love sometimes drove passionate people mad!” Here she stole another deep, wistful glance at Lionne.

There was no look of the weak suicide about her.

Her head was now raised, her hands clasped upon her lap; every aspect of her face and form betokened strength, will, and determination; the stately head and neck, the tightly-curling, wiry black ringlets, the sternly-corrugated brow, the firmly-compressed lips, the still, contracted, glittering eyes, the strongly-knotted fingers—all combined in an expression of concentrated passion and purpose dangerous as that of a wild beast drawn up for a fatal spring!

“Ugh! Ugh!” shuddered Kate. “If this man has dealt falsely with that girl I would not be in his shoes for a kingdom! A demon in the shape of a woman will be on his track! She will hunt him to the uttermost ends of the earth, and tear him with less compunction than a leopardess would tear an antelope!—and serve him right!”

While Kate pursued her silent reverie, Lionne slowly arose, walked up and down the floor a few turns and then paused, fixed one deep, scrutinizing gaze upon the face of her guest, and reading her whole character in that momentary study, she went up to Kate, and standing before her placed a hand upon each of the girl’s shoulders, and said:

“Kate! pardon my violence! It _was_ madness!”

“I know it! Say no more about it!”

“Kate! if you knew _all_, you would not wonder! I confide in your _truth_; yet I cannot make you my _confidante_, because I am bound to secrecy, and must not break faith until I know, beyond all doubt, that faith has been broken with me!”

“Alas! I do not ask you!”

“Yet I must ask _you_ to be kind enough to tell me all you know, or rather all you _think_ you know of this supposed marriage of Orville Deville.”

“Well, then, sit down quietly by my side, and control yourself, and I will tell you that which I feel you ought to know.”

Lionne drew her chair to the side of her guest and sat down.

Kate commenced and related the whole history of Orville Deville’s romantic marriage.

With wonderful calmness, Lionne heard her through, and then rising and standing before Kate, she laid her hand impressively upon the girl’s breast, and said:

“Kate! I know that you are perfectly frank in telling me what you sincerely believe to be true! but, Kate! I DARE NOT believe your story! I must believe that you are misinformed, mistaken, insane even, rather than venture to credit your statement, except upon the evidence of my own senses.”

“You can have that if you take the trouble.”

“I know! I do not doubt you, Kate! but for _me_ I must not convict upon _hearsay evidence_. Are you determined to set forward on your journey to-morrow?”

“Quite so.”

“Then I shall bear you company, if you will permit me; if not, I will follow in your trail.”

“Oh, come with me, by all means! I will give you all the aid I can!”

“I thank you! Take my hand! a hand pledged to your service henceforth. Take me to where I can have eye-and-ear witness of the truth of your story, and then, when my own senses have confirmed your statement, I will confide to you a secret, which, when you have heard, you will wonder at no after-act of mine!”

“But,” said Kate, “will your father consent to this sudden journey?”

“I know not yet! I only know that in all events the journey _must be taken_,” said Lionne, in a voice of desperation, at the same time raising her stately head, and listening to some sound inaudible to duller ears——

“Father has come,” she said.

And at the same moment the sound of a horse’s feet was heard approaching, and the next moment the rider was heard to dismount at the hall door, and enter the house.

Like magic Lionne cleared her brow and sprang up to meet her father.

“What, my daughter, a visitor with you? This is unexpected!” said Mr. Delaforêt, in a low voice, as he entered the room.

“A belated traveller, my father, who, with her boy-brother, claims our hospitality for the night,” replied Lionne in the same key. Then, aloud, she said—“This is Miss Kate Kyte of Bush Creek, in Maryland,—my father.”

“Miss Kyte, I am happy to see you,” said Delaforêt with stately courtesy. “And now, Lionne, my dear, as I have not supped, I must trouble you to send in a luncheon. What have you ready?”

“No Belshazzar’s feast, my father; yet enough wherewithal to satisfy the craving hunger of a weary traveller,” answered Lionne, gaily.

Surprised at the lightness of her tone, Kate looked up, and saw with astonishment that every vestige of grief and anxiety was banished from the beautiful countenance that she had so lately seen blanched and convulsed with anguish or deadly with fatal purpose.

Leaving Kate wondering at that marvellous self-control, Lionne passed into the kitchen, where she found the dwarf and the boy with their hands together over the embers, telling each other incredible hunting-stories, of which always the narrator was the hero.

She gave her orders to the dwarf, and invited the boy to attend her into the sitting-room, where she presented him to her father.

“A cold night, friends! so much the more need of a warm welcome. Draw all your chairs round in a circle,” said Mr. Delaforêt, stirring the great fire until it blazed again, and piling on great logs of wood.

By the time they were comfortably warm, and were beginning to back out a little from the blazing hearth, Vulcan entered bearing a tray well laden with cold fowl, venison, bread, butter, a bottle of good wine, etc., which he sat upon the centre-table.

The host drew up to the board and lunched like a hungry traveller.

When he had eaten and was filled, and the cloth was removed, as the night was growing still colder, the host piled on more logs and the circle drew in again around the glowing hearth.

And then as conversation grew fluent, the weather, the roads, the Indians, dogs, horses, and game were in turn discussed.

At last Mr. Delaforêt arose, and taking up a night-lamp said—

“Young ladies, I have come off one long journey to-day, and have a longer one before me to-morrow. You, too, if I mistake not, look a little tired and sleepy; and so, with your leave, I will bid you good-night. Lionne, my dear, as I set out to-morrow at daybreak, you will please give directions to have breakfast ready before my departure.”

The heart of Lionne leaped with surprise and almost with joy at this strange announcement; but controlling her emotions, she approached him, and said, calmly,

“Do you remain long away, my father?”

“Yes. My business takes me to Baltimore, where I shall remain nine or twelve days—an unprecedented absence for your father, who never within your recollection passed a single night from home. But, what matter? My brave Lionne will not fear to be left alone with Vulcan for a warder!”

“Oh, no! Do you really start at daybreak?”

“Yes. So have every thing ready. And now, good-night!” said the host; and with a courteous bow to his guests, he left the room.

“What think you of that, Kate?” inquired Lionne, as soon as the two girls were alone in their chamber.

“Think of _what_?” asked Kate, speaking very gently.

“Why, my father leaves here to-morrow at daybreak, so that afterward I shall be able to depart unquestioned with you.”

“Well! I think that if you have any deadly purpose in your journey, Satan is certainly aiding you in its accomplishment!”

Lionne laughed—a strange, sardonic, fearful laugh, that made Kate shudder through all her frame.

As the house had but one extra room, which had been given to Hubert, the two girls were obliged to occupy the same bed. Kate undressed, lay down, and, already worn out with her long ride, was soon asleep.

But no slumber lighted upon the eyelids of Lionne that dreadful night! She lay with both hands clasped over her burning brow, bitter tears rising to her swollen eyes, deep groans bursting from her surcharged bosom!

A long and wretched night,—but it passed at last.

Before the earliest dawn of day Lionne heard her father stirring in his chamber.

She immediately arose, quickly dressed, and went below to attend to his early breakfast.

On entering the kitchen she found the kettle already hanging over a roaring fire, and Vulcan busy setting the table. She helped him in his task with such despatch that in a few minutes a comfortable meal was smoking on the board, and her father was called down to partake of it.

When he had eaten and was satisfied, he took a temporary leave of Lionne, and departed.

She, standing in the hall-door, watched him as he rode along down the narrow path between the ridge and the creek.

“Good-by! Good-by! Who knows whether I shall ever see your face again, my father!” she said, as the horse and his rider disappeared around a jut of the mountain.

Then she returned to the kitchen, directed Vulcan to re-arrange the breakfast-table for her friends, and went up stairs and into the bedchamber, where she found Kate still sleeping.

Unwilling to break her slumbers, Lionne went to the oak chest, upon the top of which she had left that fair sheet of paper intended to have been filled with a letter to Orville,—a letter now, alas! indefinitely postponed.

Kneeling, she wrote a few lines to her father, giving him to understand that she had followed her own sudden and eccentric fancy in going home with Kate Kyte for a visit of a few days, and telling him that if she were not home when he should arrive, she would at farthest be with him a very few days after. She folded, sealed, and directed this letter, and then carried it down-stairs; and explaining to Vulcan that she was going home with Miss Kyte, ordered him to give it to his master upon the return of the latter.

Vulcan started with astonishment; but he was too well accustomed to obey his imperious mistress implicitly, to raise any objections to her strange commands.

When she returned the second time to the bedchamber she found her guest awake. Seeing Lionne, Kate exclaimed:

“Good gracious, how haggard you look! has any thing happened?”

“Nothing new, except that my father left at daybreak, and that therefore all necessity for my wearing a mask and acting a part is happily over.”

Kate fixed a deep, long, wistful gaze upon the face of the unhappy girl, and then sprang out of bed and began dressing herself in great haste.

“What time is it?” she next asked.

“The sun is rising.”

“How soon can we set out?”

“As soon as you please—as soon as you have eaten breakfast, which is now waiting.”

Kate hurried on her clothes, and declared herself ready to go down-stairs.

In the passage they were joined by Hubert, who went with them to the kitchen, where they found an inviting morning-meal, to which the young travellers did ample justice.

While they ate, old Vulcan, at his mistress’s command, went out and saddled the three horses.

And as soon as breakfast was over the three young travellers donned their riding-caps and coats, and set forward upon their journey.

No one was so delighted as young Hubert at having the beautiful forest-girl in their company.

* * * * *

On the evening of the third day the party reached Bush Creek, where Kate found her old servant, Lucy, still alive and moving about, though too deeply fallen into dotage even to feel surprise at the sudden re-appearance of her young mistress and master, whom she received as calmly as though they had but just returned from a day’s hunt.

“Dear Lionne, go no farther to-night,” said Kate.

“I _must_! I should die of suspense otherwise!”

“At least stay to supper.”

“I cannot eat, drink, or sleep until I have been to River-view.”

“Then promise me to return, at all events, to-night.”

“Heaven help me! I cannot even promise that. _When, or where, or how you will meet me again the Lord only knoweth_; but I thank and bless you for your kindness, and, whatever becomes of me,—may you be happy.”