University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The occupant of the boat, we need not say, was Paul Tatnall.
That afternoon he had signified to his mother his willingness to go
to New York and put himself under the charge of his uncle. He
was now on his way to make his farewell visit to the fascinating
Kate Ogilvie, whose charms, lively spirits, and bewitching sauciness,
had quite run away with his head as well as ensnared his
heart. But, like the moth, (to make use of an entirely new similie.)
he fluttered bewildered about the brilliant light of her beauty, heedless
of danger. With a heart sad at the idea of parting from her,
from his beloved parent, from the sublime scenes amid which he
was nartured, he pulled along the shore towards the well known
trysting-place, where he had so often, during the last three months,
stolen after twilight in his light skiff.

About the time he left the cove on his way to Rock Hall, Duncan
Powell, returning from an afternoon's shooting after plover, was
riding at a dashing pace along the low-browed cliff that skirted the
shore, when, in descending a slight declivity of the narrow path-way,
he was surprised at seeing before him a young girl leaning
over the cliff, and looking down the river in an attitude of expectation.
He was close upon her ere he discovered her, and instantly
saw he could not pass her; while, to check his horse, at the headlong
rate he was plunging down the descent, was impossible. She
herself saw her danger, and, terrified at her imminent peril, sunk
paralyzed upon her knees, and with clasped hands awaited the fate
which seemed inevitable. There was no time for thought—scarcely
for action! The flying rider cast a single look at the kneeling
girl, and then glancing into the deep river, which lay like a dark
pool eighteen feet below, he wheeled short round within four feet
of her, buried his spurs deep, and leaped clear of the precipice! A
wild shriek from her, of mingled joy and horror, rose above the terrific
plunge of horse and rider as they descended into the dark wave
below!

`God be thanked!' exclaimed the bold youth as he rose to the
surface seated upon his saddle; `God be thanked! She is safe, and
Deerfoot and I are none the worse!'

Kate Ogilvie, whose fair limbs had so gallantly been rescued
from being trampled into the earth beneath the horse's hoofs, instantly
recovered her self-possession, and thanking him with a full
heart as she leant over the cliff, pointed out to him a spot where he
could land. She was at the point as soon as he was, and caught
his noble horse by the bit as he came ashore, and held him till Duncan,
by springing upon a rock, relieved him of his weight, while he
was still floundering saddle deep.

`It was a lucky escape for you, Miss — Ogilvie — I believe,' he
added, touching his hat.

`I owe you my life, generous sir!' she said, in a voice warm
with feeling. `I cannot too much admire the gallant heroism that
led you to risk your own life to save that of a stranger!'

`Not a stranger now,' he responded, smiling. `You were indeed
in great peril! I knew the path well, for I canter it almost
daily; and as soon as I saw you, in the narrowest part too, I felt
you must be rode down, well knowing there was not three feet
where you stood between the cliff on one side and the precipice
below. You have made a lucky escape.'

`It was a fearful leap,' she said, shuddering at recalling the terrific
plunge.

`I would have taken it on a wager, properly mounted for it,'
he answered, carelessly; `but, as it was, it was full sudden, and I
came off better than I might have done. Shall I see you home!'

`No — that is — pardon me! No one will be more welcome to
Rock Hall; but —

`You are not going that way! I saw you were watching the river.'

`No,' she said, laughing and hesitating; `but I thought you
might need a change of clothes, and it would be a pity for you to
leave your noble horse to stand shivering here, his blood heated, to
escort a foolish girl home, who, if she had been there now, would
have saved you both this unlucky bath.'

`I shall esteem your having rambled so far, and my encounter
with you, the happiest occurrence of my life. Perhaps you are
right about Deerfoot, and a dripping escort would scarcely be endurable.
To-morrow permit me to pay my respects to you. Good
night, then, if you prefer seeking Rock Hall alone!'

`Good night, Mr. Powell,' she said, naively.

`How! do you know me?' he inquired, reining in after he had
mounted and ridden away a short distance.

`Then I am right, hey? I only guessed it. I shall look for you
to-morrow! in the mean while take with you my warmest gratitude
for the service you have done me to-night.'

Duncan lightly touched his finger ends to his lip, and waving her
his adieu, galloped off at the speed he had been riding when he met
her upon the cliff.

Paul, who had been for some time listening to the clatter of
horse's hoofs along the horseman's path, above the low cliff that
lined the inlet, heard the sudden roar and plunge of Duncan Powell's
leap, with a surprise that made his heart bound with fear.
The sound of the heavy plash echoed along the wood-clad hills, and
filled him with amazement. He thought, too, he heard a scream
mingled with the loud noise; and with the idea of danger to Catharine
Powell, he pulled hard in the direction of the sound, his boat
already feeling the motion of the circling waves which is caused
by the submersion of some huge body in the water. It came from
near the spot where Kate usually awaited him, and his solicitude
gave him new vigor, to propel his boat onward toward the place.
To his surprise and delight, Catharine was expecting him at the
foot of the path leading through the wood to the Hall, and met him
with a quiet demeanor singularly in contrast with his perturbed
manner.

`So you are come, loiterer,' said she, in a tone half of reproof, half
of welcome; `why, what is the matter?' she asked, quietly, as he
sprung from his boat at the precise spot where Duncan had come
ashore, marked by a noble elm tree, that spread above and far-reaching
over the water, and by a few yards of curving sandy beach.

`What was that fearful noise, Miss Catharine?' he inquired,
looking around perplexed, and then scanning her face, which, so far
as the twilight would let him see it, was `calm as a summer's
morning.'

`Horses learning to swim!'

`Why, what do you mean?' he asked, laughing at the idea as
well as at the gravity with which she spoke.

`I saw a horse jump from the rocks into the water awhile ago;
I dare say in imitation of the exploits of schoolboys. Was that
what you meant, Paul?'

`It might have been; but it is very odd! What became of him?
Did he drown? But you are jesting.'

`Indeed, I am not. He swam ashore here; you can see how wet
the stones and grass are! and then he galloped off.'

`I did hear a horse clattering along the cliff. He must have
fallen off. It must have been Duncan's. What color was he?'

`He might have been bay; but he looked glossy black as he came
dripping out of the river. How inquisitive you are! I should'nt
wonder if you should ask me next if there was a young man upon
his back!'

Paul remained a moment puzzled how to receive her words, and
wondering in the depths of his heart if there were not a young man
on his back; for jealousy is ever ready to light upon the young
heart; when, as if divining his thoughts, she said, playfully,—

`Come, let us walk, Paul!' and placing her arm within his,
they took their way slowly along the avenue.

`What a lovely night,' said Paul, lingering to gaze upon the
starry river, and the dark mountains, and the deep blue heavens!
`Do you know, Catharine, I feel unusually sad to-night?'

`This is no time to be dull; but yet methinks you have been
wofully melancholy of late! We are too much together, and you
tire of me!' she said, archly.

`No — but —'

`But — but! Well, you are dull, Paul. By the by, do you know,
this young Mr. Powell?'

`Duncan Powell! We have been intimate some years; but of
late we seldom meet.'

`I am told he is handsome, rich, and —'

`Have you seen him?'

`Don't frighten me, by speaking so sharp!'

`I am sorry.'

`Then keep so. Tell me his character.'

`He is my friend,' answered Paul, hesitatingly.

`Then you should know it better. I will catechise you. Is he rich?'

`His father is, and he is an only son.'

`Is he good-natured?'

`Yes; generous and kindly disposed.'

`Something wild, if not dissipated?'

`I fear so. But you know him?'

`No more of him than I do of that horse that jumped off the
cliff; so do not be jealous. Has he any lady-love?'

`None that I am aware of — unless —'

`Well, do not stammer!'

`Unless he has seen you.'

`And do you think he would fall in love with me, Paul?' she
asked, with a manner something between consciousness of power
and a desire to learn his opinion.

`Most certainly; but —'

`What a hesitating youth! But what?'

`He is a dangerous young man.'

`I should like him the better! Do you know we like to show
our power by breaking them in.'

`You are a riddle, Miss Ogilvie,' said Paul, with a painful smile.
`I have been laying the richest treasures of my heart all at your
feet, and I begin to question whether you value them half so much
as I regard your most transient smile!'

`Poor Paul! Nay, do not leave me! I did not mean to convey
offence! Forgive me, if I have woulded your feelings. I owe too
much to you; and so long as my memory retains the fearful scene
of that night upon the river, my heart will throb with gratitude
towards you!'

`Gratitude! this is cold! I would rather you would say you
despised me than to be ever thus talking of gratitude!'

`Why, what would the boy?'

`Your love!' and the impassioned youth knelt at her feet.

`Love!' she repeated, in a voice of such thrilling agony that he
started to his feet! Her hand trembled like an aspen leaf as he
stood by her in wonder and alarm, and he felt the hot tears of some
intense passion dropping upon his hand. The next moment, with
the suddenness of a sunbeam darting through an April cloud, she
said, in a laughing voice,—

`Do not look so serious, Paul! I have not thought of love!'

`Nay, you have in every look and tone confessed it!' he said,
gently. `Last night you permitted me —'

`Let last night pass,' she said, quickly. `I have let you grow
too intimate, I see. I am sorry that my companionship with you,
which I have cherished out of gratitude, and merely to pass time
in these lonely Highlands, should have led you to think of such a
grave matter as love! If you had not thought of that, we might
have yet had many hours of boating, fishing, and rambling together!
But I fear, Paul, we shall have to dissolve copartnercy, unless
you keep at a respectful distance.'

Paul was about to retort by charging her with trifling with his
feelings; but, reflecting that she had not in reality given him more
encouragement than she had confessed, he replied, with suppressed
indignation and grief,—

`I shall be by to-morrow night, I trust, far enough from you. In
the morning I leave for New York, and now have come to bid you
farewell. I am glad, however, before going, to have had this occasion
of learning your true sentiments in reference to me. Now,
Miss Ogilvie, I bid you good night and good bye!'

`Paul!'

Low and sweet was the tone in which she pronounced his name,
while her hand was gently placed upon his wrist. His heart was
nearly bursting with his emotion, for he was as deeply in love as a
boy of eighteen could be, and it was pitiful to have all his bright,
warm hopes at once crushed, and so unfeelingly too! His pride
would have led him to stride away; but his lingering love for the
cruel maiden caused him to linger. `Are you really going away?'
He was of a mind not to answer her; but he found he could not
resist the low soft voice at his side, and, choking his feelings, answered,
coldly,—

`Yes, Miss Ogilvie.'

`Then I am sorry I have hurt you. But it is perhaps best you
should go, Paul. Do you know if I could love any one it would
be you — I think — but I have not thought of it! I have loved
your society, and I like you.'

`But then —'

`Don't say one word, dear Paul, but listen to me! You saved
me from drowning, and gratitude —'

`Eternal gratitude!'

`Listen now! Gratitude led me to repay you by kindness of
manner! You came once, twice, thrice, and each time I found I
liked you better and better, and you seemed to prefer my society,
and this flattered me. After my father interdicted our acquaintance
I yielded to your urgent solicitations to meet you here by
stealth, till, on your side, great mischief has come of it!'

`And were you not to blame, cruel —'

`Don't call any hard names, Paul. It is true I encouraged your
devotion, but I did not dream it would end in a declaration of love!'

Paul held his head down, and looked both mortified and angry.
He was about to speak, when she continued,—

`Now, suppose I had fallen in love with you in turn, how absurd
it would be on both sides! I am but sixteen, you a boy but
eighteen; and, worse still, we are perfect strangers to one another!'

`Strangers!'

`Certainly. I know your name is Paul Tatnall, because you told
me so; and you call me Catharine, and when you are in good humor,
Kate Ogilvie; but you know nothing further of me or my family; and
I only know from your lips that you are the only son of a poor widow.
Ignorant of each other's position in society, condition, or circumstances,
your own good sense, Paul, to speak seriously, will
show you the absurdity of our exchanging lovers' vows. I esteem
you too much to let you love me! I am wiser than you are!'

`Say colder and hard-hearted!' answered Paul, bitterly. `But
what you say is perhaps true! You know nothing of me, but that
I am the son of a poor widow, and this should in itself be sentence
of condemnation against me!'

`There is your proud sensitiveness uppermost again! I think
nothing of your condition, though seriously I should not willingly
marry beneath myself!'

`It is because you esteem me so that you thus scorn me!'

`No. Do you know certainly that I am not even beneath your own condition?' she said, with sudden earnestness. `You do not
know me, or my father, or my race! Dare you say — think before
you speak! — dare you say that you will go hence to-night, and
earn name and fortune in the world, and come back and wed her to
whom now you would swear your troth? Dare you kneel before
me, as just now you did, and solemnly pledge your love to me in
return for mine, without asking of me more of myself than you this
moment know? Dare you do this? Answer me!'

She waited in silence for his reply. Through an opening in the
woodland the light of the sky fell upon her features, which were
pale and excited. Her strange, mysterious words had made him
shrink with fear; and, as she ceased, he unconsciously withdrew a
step backward from her! Fear, he knew not wherefore, had taken
the place of love, and he trembled as if he had escaped some great
moral peril.

`You are silent, Paul!' she said, in her natural manner, while
she smiled at his hesitation.

`Because I know not how or what to reply,' articulated he, in an
agitated voice.

`The question is simple.'

`No,' he at length faintly answered, after a painful struggle.

`Then do not blame me!' she said, calmly. `There is my hand.
We part friends! We shall yet meet friends, I trust! You are to
seek a path to usefulness and distinction. Perhaps, ere the love
you have idly thrown away upon my obdurate heart, is again awakened
by a fairer and more deserving object, we may meet. Good
night, and God bless you, Paul!'

She turned away from him with emotion. He approached her,
and detaining her, said, in a voice trembling with emotion,—

`Tell me, strange, mysterious creature, does there exist any obstacle
to your returning my attachment if it should survive — as
surely it will — the years of boyhood? Answer me, dearest Catharine,
for my happiness, my hopes for success in life, depend upon
your reply!'

`Paul, I can add nothing to what I have already said,' she answered
with feeling, yet with evident impatience.

`You are unhappy from some secret cause,' he ventured to say,
in a sympathising tone.

`Do not, then, add to my sorrows by seeking to penetrate their
hidden source!'

`May I hope?'

`What?' she asked, sharply.

`That when in manhood I return I may find you less —'

`Of the future, Paul, I know nothing. Forget me if you wish to
be happy.'

`I will, to obey you,' he replied between sorrow and anger.
`Farewell!'

`Good night! If aught has transpired unpleasant to you, it was
your own imprudence in mistaking a frank maiden's and somewhat
free bearing for what should not have been suffered to hold a place
in your thoughts. This is not the first time love hath overshot
the butt, wounding friendship beyond.'

`Miss Ogilvie,' cried Paul with passionate energy, catching her
hand and holding it between both his, `I feel myself bewildered,
amazed! I know not whether to be most grieved or angry. I am
perplexed by your character, puzzled by your language, and, to
speak truly, do not know what to make of you! Shall I worship
or despise you?'

`It is better you should despise than love me,' she answered, in a
low tone of feeling.

`Love you I must while the pulse of life throbs in my bosom. If
we must part, Heaven bless you! For, though your words are dark
and significant of guilt, I shall ever feel that you are worthy of the
heart I have laid at your feet.'

`Generous Paul! you but do me justice! There is guilt — guilt,
that forbids —'

Here she stopped, suddenly embarrassed, as if she had said too
much, hastily grasped his hand, and the next moment was out of
sight in the distant gloom of the avenue.

`And thus we part,' said Paul, when he could see her no longer.
`What fearful mystery hangs over her destiny? I am at least its
victim!' He pressed his hands upon his brow, tears trickled
through his fingers, and his heart struggled with the depth of his
emotion! A secret consciousness that she loved him shed a ray
of hope into his breast, and, recovering his manliness, he gathered
a leaf from the tree beneath which she had stood, and, pressing it
to his lips, placed it in his bosom as a memento of their parting,
and then with a heavy heart slowly returned to his boat.

Catharine Ogilvie stayed her flight on a swell of the lawn, and
listened to the quick dip of his oars dying fainter and fainter in the
distance, till the low sounds which held the last link that united
him to her ceased, severing them — but not forever!