Chapter XIII: At Bush Creek

She clenched her hands, as if to hold
Her soul’s great agony—
“Have I renounced my womanhood
For wifehood unto thee?
And is this the last, last look of thine
That ever I shall see?
Yet God thee save, and mayst thou have
A lady to thy mind!
And God me take with him to dwell,
For him I cannot love too well,
As I have loved my kind.”—_E. B. Browning._

We must proceed to Bush Creek and relate what took place there.

On the same evening of Lionne’s visit to River-view, Kate Kyte sat in her bare and dilapidated front-parlor, which was also the common sitting-room and eating-room of the family, awaiting the return of her guest.

In the adjoining back-parlor, which served as the kitchen, old Lucy was preparing supper. Odors of fragrant coffee, corn-bread and broiled fowl came in through the open door, and still farther stimulated Kate’s keen appetite.

But notwithstanding her hunger, and the uncertainty of her guest’s return, Kate felt bound in common courtesy to wait some time for her appearance.

To help pass the interval, Kate got up and drew out into the middle of the floor an old-fashioned, black walnut table, put up its two broad leaves, and pulling out its end-drawer, took thence an old, threadbare, but clean damask cloth, with which she covered its top. Then going to the quaint corner cupboard to the left of the fireplace, she took thence cups, saucers and plates, of fine, old-fashioned, but mismatched China, and arranged them upon the table. Lastly, from the same repository, she brought a tarnished silver coffee-pot, a relic of better days, and with some pride placed it upon the table.

She had scarcely completed these arrangements when the door opened, and her brother Hubert entered, exclaiming impatiently—

“I say, Kate, when WILL supper be ready? I am almost starved to death!”

“So am I! and supper is ready now! We are only waiting for Lionne.”

“And there’s no telling when _she’ll_ be back! I say, Kate, she’s a beautiful gal; but it’s _my_ belief she’s got a grudge agin some one at River-view. I know it by her looks!” said Hubert, with the look of a sage.

“Don’t be a fool, Hubert!”

“Well, fool or no fool, I had rather it be _they_ than _me_ that she has a grudge against; for I say, Kate, she looks as dangerous as—as—as the muzzle of a blunderbuss at half-cock!”

“Take care, then, that you don’t get into the line of the gun’s mouth!”

“On the contrary, I want to put something into my _own_ mouth. I say, Kate, I’m famished!”

“Boys always are. You must wait!”

“Kate, I can’t; I’m going on a coon-hunt to-night.”

“Well, then, go into the kitchen, and tell Aunt Lucy to give you your supper there,” said his sister, not sorry to be rid of the boy for the evening, so as to have a long tête-a-tête with Lionne, in case that eccentric girl should return and choose to satisfy her curiosity.

Hubert gladly obeyed, and in twenty minutes’ assiduous application, so appeased the cravings of his appetite, as to be able to prepare himself and issue forth for a night’s sport.

The boy had been gone half an hour, and “the shades of night were falling fast,” when Kate, looking up through the uncurtained front window, saw Lionne, weary and exhausted, slowly riding across the bridge.

“Put the supper on the table. Bring in the coffee first, so that I can have it all ready poured out and ready to drink, for my stomach has gone to my back bone from sheer emptiness,” called Kate through the kitchen door.

She was so promptly obeyed that she had time to fill the cups before Lionne reached the door, and dropped, rather than alighted, from her horse, and entered the room.

“Well, how do you do? I am very glad you have come back,” said Kate, placing chairs at the table.

Murmuring some faint, inaudible words of thanks, Lionne staggered towards the table, seized a cup of coffee, quaffed it with feverish haste, and then went and fell exhausted upon the old-fashioned settle to the right of the fireplace.

“You look very tired,” said Kate, going to her, with interest.

“Hush! don’t speak to me yet,” faltered Lionne.

“Well, I won’t; but do have some supper—it will refresh you.”

“I cannot. Eat yourself.”

“Eat myself! Well, I am just hungry enough to do it, if it were possible; in which case, should I be a cannibal or a suicide, or both I wonder? There’s a question for moral philosophy! Lionne, famished as I am, I decline to commit the barbarism of eating myself unless you will keep me in countenance by eating _your_ self!”

“Girl, girl, I cannot!” exclaimed Lionne, impatiently rolling her dark head.

“Well, to tell the truth, I doubt whether _I_ can; but there is nothing like trying, especially as I am famished. Which end of me ought I to begin at—my toes or my nose?”

“Child, cease your folly. Leave me in peace for an hour, and then I will tell you all. And, in the meantime, if you are famished—why, feed, feed.”

“Well, I will follow your advice, especially as the hunger of my stomach is much keener than the appetite of my curiosity, which can wait. And now, as I shall not feed upon myself, I advise you not to lie there devouring your heart because a man acts out his nature in being unfaithful——LORD SAVE US! don’t look at me in that way!” suddenly cried Kate, springing three paces backwards, as Lionne flashed a glance of indignation from her fiery black eyes.

Nothing more was said.

Slowly and gingerly Kate came back, took her place at the table, and commenced her solitary supper. But through one mental emotion and another, Kate’s keen appetite was very much blunted, so that, after all her talk, she made but a very sparing meal.

An hour after this, when the tea-service was removed, the table set back, the fire replenished, the hearth swept, and Kate sat in a chair beside the settle, waiting for her guest to open the conversation, Lionne, without rising from her half-recumbent position, put out her brown hand and taking that of the young hostess, said:

“Kate Kyte, with what little power of preference I have left in me, I like you; and liking you, I will confide in you.”

“And you _may_, Lionne, for, light as my nature seems, I am loyal, and will never abuse your confidence,” said Kate, fervently.

“I am sure of it. And now listen; but—stop. First read this,” and drawing a paper from her bosom, she placed it in the hands of Kate Kyte.

“What is this?” exclaimed Kate, staring at the document.

“It is really what it seems to be; and that is what cannot be said of every thing in this world,” said Lionne.

“It is——” said Kate, looking up incredulously into the face of her guest.

“A certificate of marriage between Orville Deville, of St. Mary’s County, Maryland, and Leonora Delaforêt, of Shenandoah County, Virginia,” said Lionne, calmly.

“But he had already one wife!” exclaimed Kate Kyte, in horror.

“That, you perceive, made no sort of difference in the proceedings of Mr. Deville. He did not even think it necessary to inform _me_ of the existence of such a mere imaginary impediment,” said Lionne, quietly.

“Oh, this is terrible! terrible! terrible!” shuddered Kate, whose worst imagination had not pictured this.

“No,” said Lionne, coolly, “it is not even surprising. Given a certain number of square miles of earth, or a certain number of human beings, there will always be a proportionate number of criminals, sufferers, and—AVENGERS!”

“Oh, this is terrible! And the most horrible part of the whole is your look at this moment, Lionne!”

“I am quiet.”

“Yes! quiet as a thunder-cloud before the bolt decends!”

“But I am also patient.”

“Ay, patient as the crouching lioness waylaying her prey!”

“And, to crown all, I am forbearing.”

“Yes,—you are forbearing as the red demon of our wilderness when he spares the life of the fallen foe, only to carry him off and put him to death by slow and dreadful tortures!” exclaimed Kate, shuddering with horror.

“You have read me aright! No common wrong have I sustained, and it shall be atoned for by no common suffering!”

“Oh, Lionne! Lionne! don’t! don’t! He deserves death, but do not sully your girlish hand with his blood!” cried Kate, imploringly.

“Sully my hand with his blood! _What!_ kill him! _What!_ punish him by one blow, and one instant’s pain, for giving my whole life to waste and misery! How little you feel the burning fire that consumes me, to think its flames can be quenched by his blood!”

“Yet even for the most fearful wrongs death is a dreadful penalty,” said Kate, shivering.

“Is it? What is death? ‘A sleep and a forgetting!’ Can I sleep? can I forget? No! nor shall ever he!”

“Well, I thank heaven, at least, that your deep wrongs will not drive you to the deed I feared.”

“And yet I tell you that in every nerve of his brain, in every vein of his heart, in every instant of his life, shall Orville Deville rue the wrong he has done me!”

“Doubtless he will, when he comes to reflection, even although you should never move in the matter. But I suppose you will move in it. You will appeal to the laws of our country. They will vindicate your wrongs by punishing the wrong-doer. They will either transport or imprison him for years. Ah, after all, such dishonor _will_ be worse than death to him!”

“And so you think that I would turn him over to the law, and promulgate my misfortunes through the world? No, no, no, no!” said Lionne, sternly shaking her head; “_mine_ has been the wrong, and _mine_ shall be the REVENGE!”

Their long conversation had kept them up late into the night, and before Kate could answer the terrible words of Lionne, the clock struck twelve.

As the last stroke vibrated on the air and died away, there came a light tap at the window. And looking up at the same time, the two young girls saw a pale, wan, woful face, pressed against the window-pane.

Kate started up in affright, as one who had seen a ghost.

But Lionne recognized that wretched face, and flew to the window.

The sash was instantly raised, a little note slipped in and the face vanished.

“What is it? For heaven’s sake, what is it? asked Kate, in affright.

“Do you not know?”

“No! how should I? It looked like the ghost of Lady Adelaide! But of course it could not have been!”

“It was Lady Adelaide herself,” said Lionne.

“Lady Adelaide herself? out at this time of night! Why didn’t she come in? Who was with her?” cried Kate, breathlessly, flying to the door, and pulling it open.

“Oh, it is dark as pitch! and snowing—snowing fast! She was crazy—crazy to venture out on such a night! Who could have come with her? How did she come? And what could have been her errand? She must not return home to-night!——Lady Adelaide! Lady Adelaide!” cried Kate, running out into the storm.

“There is not a track to be seen, either of a human foot or horse’s hoof! She is gone, if it were indeed she, and her very tracks are filled up!” said Kate, re-entering the house, and shaking the snow from her skirts and shoes.

“Oh, do not be anxious! doubtless the young mistress of River-view came well attended and well protected from the snow! And if the hour is an odd one young heiresses are privileged to be eccentric,” said Lionne, ironically.

“I hope it is all right,” said Kate, unwillingly closing the door, as though she half fancied that she was shutting out some homeless wanderer.

“If it is not, you cannot help it!” said Lionne.

“But what was that she pushed under the window?”

“It was a little note for me; you can read it,” said Lionne, handing the slip of paper to her young hostess.

Kate took it, resumed her seat by the fire, and read—

“_I have done all that is right under the circumstances. Return to your mountain-home, and wait the issue. All will be well. A. L._”

“A. L.?” said Kate, looking up inquisitively.

“Adelaide Lorne! So you see that even she, the unwedded wife, waives her claim in acknowledgment of my greater one.”

“She always was an angel! But you! What shall you do?”

“Follow her advice! The mission on which I came—the discovery of Orville Deville’s real position—is accomplished. I have nothing to do but to return to my poor father, and—‘_wait the issue!_’” she said, with a horrible laugh.

“Lionne! be patient! since that sweet angel says so, all will be well! I hope the dear girl came in a covered carriage!”

“Doubtless the dainty lady took care of herself!”

“Oh, how bitter you are! If you will not be patient, at least will you go to bed? You are very tired, and it is after midnight.”

“Anyhow, I will not keep _you_ up any longer, Kate! So just show me where I am to lie down, and I will bid you good-night.”

“Come, then; we all sleep down-stairs, because the upper rooms leak,” said Kate, taking a candle and leading the way across the front-passage to an opposite front-room, where there was a poor but clean bed, an old chest of drawers and a flag-bottomed chair.

“I sleep in there,” said Kate, pointing to a door leading into a back room—“so, if you want any thing, call me.” And setting down the candle upon the chest of drawers, she bade her guest good-night, and left her to repose.

Did Lionne sleep that night? Did Kate? Did Adelaide?