The bride of Fort Edward | ||
DIALOGUE IV.
Scene. The ground before Maitland's Tent.
(Maitland and the Indian Chief, Manida, enter.)
Mait.
This is well. (He writes on a slip of paper,
and gives it to the Indian.)
Take that, they will give
you the reward you ask for it. Let me see your face no
more, that is all.
Manida.
Ha, Monsieur?
Mait.
Let me see your face no more, I say. Do you
understand me?
Manida.
(Smiling.)
Oui.
(Maitland turns from him. The Indian goes off in
the opposite direction. He stops a moment, and steals
a look at Maitland,—throws his head back with a
long silent laugh, and then goes on toward the
woods.)
Mait.
(Musing.)
I like this. This is womanly!
Nay, perhaps there is no capriee about it. I may have
misinterpreted that letter in my haste last night. Very
likely. Well,—better this, than that Helen Grey should
come to evil through fault of mine,—better this, than the
anguish of the horrible misgivings that haunted me amid
my journey.
And so pass these faery visions! Nay, not thus. It
will take longer than this to unlink this one day's hope
from its thousand fastnesses. I thought, ere this, to have
met the spirit of those beaming eyes, to have taken to my
heart for ever this soft, pure being of another life.
And yet, even as I rode through those lonely hills this
morning, with every picture my hope painted, there came
a strange misgiving;—like some scene of laughing noon-day
loveliness, darkening in the shadow of a summer's
cloud.
Strange that Alaska should abandon my trust! I cannot
understand it. Why, I should never have trusted
her with this rascal Indian. There was something in
his eye, hateful beyond all thought,—and once or twice
I caught a strange expression in it, like malignant triumph
it seemed. It may be—no, he must have seen
God!—what if—I think my old experience should
have taught me there was little danger of her risking
much in my behalf. Well—even this is better, than that
Helen Grey should have come to evil through fault of
mine.
The bride of Fort Edward | ||