University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

“Poor child! my own sweet Evaline,”
said Madame Mortimer, affectionately, as
the former concluded; “what a singular
life has been yours! and how much you
must have suffered!”

“For which she shall be made happy
the rest of her days,” said Eva, springing
to and imprinting a kiss on her lips.

“Ah!” chimed in Lilian, following the
example of Eva; “did I not say we would
love her as a sister?”

“Ay, but I had no idea you spoke so
much truth, and in a double sense,”
rejoined Eva, glancing archly toward
Charles. “I trust we may love her as a
sister both!”

“Indeed you may,” chimed in I, laughing.
“Eh! Charley?”

“Be quiet, I beg of you!” answered
my friend, in some confusion, while Evaline
hung her head with a blush, and a
pleasant smile played over each face of the
rest of the group.

“And now, dear Evaline,” said Madame
Mortimer, “I suppose we may count
on your spending the remainder of your
days with us?”

Evaline seemed to muse seriously, but
did not reply.

“Surely you do not hesitate, my child?”

“Why, to tell the truth,” she answered,
“I love the Indians, and know they will
be loth to part with me.”

“And has a mother no tie stronger than
that of mere association?” rejoined the
other, reproachfully.

Evaline looked up and her eyes filled
with tears.

“Nay, mother,” she said, “do not speak
thus! Yes!” she exclaimed, suddenly
rising, and throwing her arms around the
other's neck: “Yes, dear mother, I will
go with you, even to the ends of the earth
—for I feel I could not part from you
again. From my very childhood, I have
yearned for this happy moment, to hear
the sweet voice of one I could call mother.
It may be wrong to forsake my calling;
but if it be, I feel I must err; for I am
only mortal after all, and cannot withstand
the temptation of being with those I
already love beyond all others I have ever
seen.”

“Bless you, Evaline, for those words!”

“But I must return to them,” she added.
“I have promised that. I must
return and bid them a last farewell.”

“But where are you to find them, my
child?”

“They will winter on the Black Hills,
some sixty or seventy miles from Fort
Laramie.”

“And will they remain through the
spring?” asked I.

“I cannot say. They may remain there
through the summer, for all are particularly
attached to the spot; and if any place
can be called their home, it is the one in
question.”

“Then you can visit them on our way
to the East; and every thing prosperous,
we shall start as early in the spring as
practicable.”

“O, then we are to go East in earnest!”
exclaimed Eva, clapping her hands for joy.

“Yes,” I replied, “I am anxious to see
home, and cannot think of leaving my
friends behind me.”

“Thank you for this welcome news!”
she returned; “for I am already tired of
the forest.”

“But you do not regret having come
here, Eva?” said her mother, inquiringly.

“Why, I have regretted it all along, till
I found my sweet sister. Of course I cannot
regret being made happy by her presence,
which but for this journey had
probably never been. At the same time,
I am not the less anxious to return now,
and take her with me.”

“And I,” said Mrs. Huntly, “now that
I am blessed with my children, begin to
feel anxious to see my native land again,
to there pass the remainder of my days,
and lay my bones with those that have
gone before me.”

“God grant it may be long ere the
latter event!” returned Charles with feeling.

“Amen!” added I.

“It seems,” observed Madame Mortimer,
after some reflection, “as if Providence
especially directed our steps hither;
and it is the only way I can account for
my anxiety to visit this part of the world,
and thus expose myself and Eva to hardships
and perils. What need had I to
come westward? I had a handsome competence,
and no ambition to be a pioneer;
and yet something whispered me I must
go. Truly, as I said before, God works
in wonders!”

In like conversation an hour or two flew
by, when the party broke up, and Madame
Mortimer and her daughters were conducted
by Huntly and myself to their own
abode, which was close at hand, and the
fatigue and excitement of the day was
soon by each forgotten in the pleasant
dreams of the night.

Time rolled away pleasantly, and the
third night after this, having retired at the
usual hour and fallen into a sweet sleep,
I was awakened by Huntly, whom I found
pacing up and down the room, apparently
in great excitement.

“Good heavens! what is the matter?”
exclaimed I, rubbing open my eyes and
starting up in bed.

“So, then, you are awake at last!” he
replied, his eyes sparkling with what to me
seemed unnatural fire. “Why, Frank,
I was beginning to think you were taking
your last long sleep, and that I might as
well call to a log of wood. Come! up,
now, and give me joy! It is all settled,
my dear fellow—all settled!”

“Is it?” rejoined I, completely, at a
loss to comprehend what he meant, but
somehow, in my sleepy confusion, mixing
it up with a duel of which I had been
dreaming the night previous. “And so
it is all settled, eh? Well, I am glad to
hear it, Charley.

“I knew you would be,” he replied;
“and I awoke you on purpose to have you
share my happiness. Come, give me your
hand!”

“But how did you settle it, Charley?”

“O, I made bold to take up the matter
at last and press it to a conclusion.”

“And so you settled it?”

“Ay, and it is to come off at the same
time as yours.”

“As mine! But my friend, I have no
such affair on hand, to my knowledge.”

“What!” exclaimed Huntly, looking
at me in astonishment. “Why, you have
given me to understand, all along that you
had.”

“I? No, you must be mistaken.”

“Ha! then you have quarreled?”

“No! exactly the reverse. But you
told me a moment since you had settled
the whole matter, and now you say it is to
come off with mine. Somehow I do not
understand it. Either you or I must have
made a mistake. When you said it was
all settled, I supposed you to mean amicably
settled; but I see now you simply
referred to manner, time, and place. Well,
at all events, I will stand by you to the
last, though I sincerely regret the affair
could not have ended without a meeting.
Pistols or rifles, Charles?”

“Pistols or rifles!” he repeated, gazing
at me with a peculiar expression. “Why,
Frank, what do you mean by this strange
language? or are you still asleep? In
the name of all that is curious, pray tell
me if you know yourself what you are
talking about?”

“Why, fighting, of course.”

“Fighting?”

“Ay, you were speaking of a duel, were
you not?”

For a brief moment Huntly looked at
me seriously, and then broke forth in a
roar of laughter that fairly made the cabin
tremble. It was some time ere he could
command his voice sufficiently to make
himself intelligible.

“Go to bed, Frank!” were his first
words, as, half bent over, his hands clasping
his ribs, he stood gazing at me with a
comical look. “Go to bed, Frank, and
dream yourself into a sensible fellow—for
just now you are as wild as a night-hawk.”

“But if you did not allude to a duel,
Charles, pray tell me to what you did
allude?”

“To matrimony — neither more nor
less,” he answered, laughing.

“Ha! I see it all now. Why, how stupid
I must have been! But I was dreaming
of a duel last night, and being awakened
so suddenly, and seeing you so,
excited, got completely bewildered. And
so you have been tete-a-tete with Evaline,

found your tongue at last, and said the
sensible thing, eh?”

“Ay, and am now the happiest fellow
living.”

“You found it all right, did you, just as
I said you would?”

“So far that I found she loved me, and
had from the date of our first meeting;
but that, believing herself a poor, hameless
girl, she had avoided me, and striven
in vain to crush her passion in the bud.
Though she would have loved me, she
said, to the exclusion of all others, even to
the day of her death, yet had matters not
turned out as they have, she would most
assuredly have refused my hand, though
backed by all the eloquent pleadings of
which the human tongue is master.”

“Ay, and indeed would she!” I rejoined,
“for such is her proud, noble nature.
You remember our conversation
years ago respecting her. My remark then
was, if I mistake not, that though she
might love, she would reject you; and
gave, as one reason therefor, that she was
too noble minded to wed above herself.
Strange! what has since transpired, and
for which you may thank your stars! You
and I little dreamed then what the future
had in store—that mighty future, which to
all mortal eyes is a sealed book, on whose
pages are impressed the destinies alike of
worlds, of nations, and of individuals,
which none may read but as its pages are
o'erturned by the wizzard fingers of old
Time. Well, well, thank God all has
turned out for the best!”

“Ay, Frank,” returned my friend, solemnly,
“we may well thank God, and congratulate
each other that we are here
alive, after the thousand dangers to which
we have been exposed.”

“And she accepted your hand?” I said,
after a pause.

“She did, though not without much
urging; for she contended that even now
she was but a simple forest maiden, unused
to the ways of civilization, and far
my inferior in education, and said that I
might aspire higher and be successful. But
she loved—that was enough for me—and
love and my pleadings at last overcame
her scruples, and I left her with a lighter
heart than I have known for many a long
year.”

“Well, my friend, I sincerely congratulate
you on the happy termination. And
so, to speak plainly, your wedding is to
come off with mine?”

“Even so.”

“Mine was to have come off on the day
you returned; such were the conditions;
but the day passed as you know how, and
as we are determined on going East in the
spring, Lilian and I have thought best to
defer it till we arrive at home. Ah!
Charles, how that word thrills me! Home!
Ah, me! how long since I have seen it!
and who knows what disappointment and
sorrow may be there in store for me!
And how must my doting parents have
mourned my long absence! Perchance
they think me dead! Merciful Heaven!
perchance they may be dead themselves!
Oh God! should such be the
case—But, no! I will not, dare not,
think so. I will hope for the best, and
strive not to borrow trouble. It is enough
to bear it when it comes. Come, my
friend, to bed! for the thought of home
has driven all others out of my mind, and
I can talk no more to-night.”