University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
CONCLUSION.

It was a scene for a painter: Henry, wild with
hope, standing in the dim light of the cave, striving
to pierce the gloom and fix his eyes upon her who
had called him as from the grave; Tom stealing up
behind him, full of doubt and fear; Isaline, raised
to a sitting posture, breathless and speechless, her
hands clasped before her and her features radiant
with joy; and lastly poor Mary, with the hairy mask
still on her face, cowering down behind her and
quaking with terror.

“Isaline!” spoke Henry, as one would ask some
dread question in a charnel-vault, trembling lest he
had made some fearful mistake, for as yet he could
not see clearly.

“Here!” was the gasping response of Isaline, and
all she could say.

The next moment he was kneeling by her side,
clasping her in his arms, and soul was mingling with
soul.

Oh! the rapture—the ecstasy—of that meeting!
The heart has a language of its own, which the
tongue cannot utter. There are emotions of joy and
grief too deep for words. For a long time not another

syllable was spoken by the lovers; but there
were deep sighs, and tears of joy, and a feeling as if
eternity had given back the loved and lost, and
Heaven had come down to earth.

At last, when Henry drew back his head to gaze
once more upon the sweet face of the idol of his
soul, he started as one who receives a sudden shock.

“Gracious Heaven! what is this?” he cried.

“I have been ill, dear Henry—very ill, I suppose
—though I have no remembrance of it.”

“Oh, my poor darling! and I not with you!”

“But you are now, dear Henry, thank God! And
yet the Indians, dear Henry—the Indians—are we
not in danger from them now?”

“No, my poor darling, they have all been destroyed.”

“Wiped out, marm, like you'd rub out a chork
mark!” now joined in Tom, who all this time had
stood like one in a maze, looking curiously at the
lovers one moment, and fearfully at the dark, dread
Something, still cowering down behind them, the
next.

“Ha! is that you, Tom? my brave, true friend!”
said Isaline, extending her hand.

“I'm your fri'nd, marm, thar's no doubt about
that,” replied the old hunter, coming forward, “and
I'd a kicked up my heels and yelped out my feelings
afore this, 'cept I've been looking to see us all
carried off in a blaze of brimstone by that thar devil
behind you!”

“Oh, my poor Helen!” cried Isaline; “that I
should have forgotten her all this time! and she
wounded, and perhaps bleeding to death!”

“Merciful God!” exclaimed Henry, springing to
his feet, his memory also recalled, and gazing with
horrified amazement upon the poor lunatic; “is that
strange object a human being? and a woman at
that?”

“My poor Helen!” said Isaline, turning round to
her, throwing an arm around her neck, and herself
lifting off the hairy mask.

Both Henry and Tom uttered wild exclamations
of surprise, and the former sprung to the poor girl,
dropped down by her side, and cried, in an agitated
voice:

“God forgive me for firing at her and wounding
her! I hope not mortally! Quick, girl! where are
you hurt? Let me stanch the blood and bind up
your wound!”

“The poor creature has lost her reason!” said
Isaline.

“Oh, my dear, sweet sister, save me!” cried Helen,
throwing her arms around the neck of Isaline and
hiding her face against her throbbing heart.

“There, my poor child—my sweet sister—there
is nothing to fear now—for these are my friends,
come to save us both!” said Isaline, in a tender,
soothing tone.

Tom meantime had been like a man petrified—
staring wildly, with open mouth—not knowing

whether to credit his senses or not. At length he
drew in a long breath, and blew it out like a trumpet
blast.

“Heaven and 'arth! what's all this yere? A gal,
arter all, that we've been skeered out of our senses
at?”

“Nothing but a poor, harmless lunatic!” replied
Isaline.

“A what?” cried Tom.

“A poor girl who has lost her senses!” explained
Henry.

“Then I s'pect I'd better put out and soak my
head fur a _____ fool!” roared Tom. “Whe-e-w!
thunderation! wagh! shagh! git out! go away! let
me spile! whar's the use?”

He kept on with his exclamations, while Henry
hurriedly proceeded to examine the wound he had
himself inflicted. Fortunately his aim had not been
steady, and the ball, sped at the life of the supposed
Phantom, had passed through the fleshy portion of
her arm, without severing an artery or doing her
any serious injury. He cut away the covering of
skins around it, and bound it up with a strip torn
from the lining of his own coat—poor Helen, now
apparently satisfied that she had nothing more to
fear, looking on quietly, and even smiling. When
at last all was completed, he said:

“There, my poor girl, I thank God I did you no
greater harm! and for even this I will make
amends.”

“You ought to be my brother,” replied Helen;
“but then I never had a brother.”

“I will be a brother to you, poor child!” returned
Henry.

“This is my sweet sister!” pursued Helen, looking
fondly at Isaline and caressing her.

“Indeed I am,” replied Isaline, “and will ever be.”

“Woofh!” grunted Tom. “S'pect I'd better be
your father to onet!”

“How about the fire and brimstone?” asked
Henry, playfully.

“See he-yar, younker, you kin blow!” replied
Tom; “but I s'pect you'll allow as I warn't the only
white gintleman as war skeered!”

“Indeed you were not!” smiled Henry; “and perhaps
you were not the only one who saw fire and
brimstone, blue blazes, and several other things!”

“Shagh! whar's the use?” growled Tom.

“Never mind, my brave friend!” rejoined Henry;
“the best of us are liable to mistakes; and I fervently
thank God that we have all made them in
some things, and that all has ended so happily for
us!”

He then turned to Isaline, and put many tender
inquiries concerning her present condition and her
wonderful escape, and was thrilled with horror at
her recital of her fall over the cliff and the fearful
events that had followed.

“And has this poor girl since been able to keep

you supplied with such food as you could eat,
dearest?” he inquired.

“Of food I have tasted none, dear Henry, since
I was carried off by Methoto!” replied Isaline.

“What?” cried Henry, all aghast.

“What?” yelled Tom: “not eat nothing fur a
week? Why, marm, that ar' would kill a hoss!”

“Gracious Heaven! how have you lived?” exclaimed
Henry.

“Fortunately for me, I have not been fully conscious
of existence but a few hours!” returned
Isaline. “But what do you mean by speaking of a
week?” she pursued, wonderingly. “Surely it is
not a week since I fell over the cliff?”

“Not quite, I think,” replied Henry, “but at least
some five or six days.”

“I thank Heaven then that the time has passed
without my knowledge!” said Isaline; “for had I
been left all that period to racking thought, I fear I
should now have been no better than my poor friend
here!”

“Oh, it is terrible! terrible! to think how near I
have been to losing you forever, my darling!” said
Henry, in a tremulous voice. “But you must have
something to eat now, dear Isaline!” pursued the
excited lover; “and what can we give you that will
not injure you?”

“Broth!” said Helen; “like we made for our dear
papa when he was so sick.”

“Ah, yes, that would do—but how to prepare it

at once!” said Henry. “Tom, do you know of any
way?”

“Thar's meat enough up whar we camped,” replied
the old woodman, “ef thar war any way to
bile it; but thar arn't a dish about, 'cept our drinking
cups. Stop! I've got a idee, Harry—I'll fix
it. How long kin you wait, marm?”

“I am not suffering with hunger,” replied Isaline;
“in fact I have but little desire for food; I only feel
weak and faint, that is all.”

“Lord bless your purty soul, no wonder!” cried
Tom. “A week without eating? Why, I'd hev a
holler in me by that time as ud take in a hull buffaler—yes,
marm! Wall, jist you hold on a bit,
and keep up your sperits, and I'll fotch you so'thing
afore long. You kin stay with her, Harry, and
cheer her up.”

With this, and muttering to himself, “a week
without nary thing to eat!” Tom hurried out of
the cave.

“And now, dear Henry, you must tell me about
yourself, and by what mercy of Heaven I see you
here!” said Isaline, as he seated himself by her side,
drew her fondly to him, and supported her pale, thin
face against his noble heart, that beat only for her.

He did tell her all that had befallen him, speaking
in that low, tender tone that was music to her soul;
and with deep sighs, and tearful eyes, and now and
then a shudder at his sufferings or perils, she rested
her head against his manly breast, looked up

lovingly into his handsome face, and felt she had
never known pure happiness till then.

“And so our cruel enemies are all dead?” she
said, with a shudder, when she had heard the tragic
tale.

“All gone, dearest—you have nothing more to
fear from them.”

“Ah, dear Henry, what an end for those three
white men—Hampton, Blodget and Methoto!”

“And do you not think they all deserved their
fate, dearest?”

“It is not for me to judge, dear Henry,” replied
Isaline, solemnly: “let us leave them in the hands
of God!”

“Oh, to think I was so near you more than once,
my darling, groaning out my despair, and yet going
away and leaving you to suffer!”

“All has been for the best, dear Henry!” returned
Isaline; “all has been for the best, my noble friend!
Let us regret nothing—repine at nothing—but
thank God, with all our souls, that He has brought
us together again!”

“I do, dearest—I do!” replied Henry; “and when
I cease to thank Him, I shall deserve to lose the
happiness which now I feel. Oh, if, when so near
you again to-day, I had gone away and left you here
to perish! I tremble even now to think of it!
And yet I might have done so, but for the Providence
that directed me hither through our poor
sister Helen!”

“You wanted to kill me,” now joined in the poor
girl, who had remained a quiet listener to Henry's
narrative; “but God wouldn't permit it! If you had
murdered me,” she pursued, “I should have come
back to sister Ellen here, because she was murdered
once and came back to me!”

“The reason you were shot at and wounded, dear
Helen,” explained Isaline, “was because you had
this hairy mask on your face, and were supposed to
be some wild animal. You must never wear it
again, dear Helen—will you?”

“No, sweet sister, I will throw it away!” replied
Helen.

“She seems to understand some things!” said
Henry.

“Yes, and I believe, with kind, gentle treatment
and care, she will yet fully regain her reason!” returned
Isaline. “But tell me how it happened that
you discovered her so near this place?”

“After I had learned from Blodget, on the evening
before his execution, that he had seen nothing
of you, dear Isaline, either living or dead,” replied
Henry, “I believed you were lost to me forever, and
felt as if I had nothing more to live for. Thinking
it possible I might find your remains somewhere in
this vicinity, I resolved to come back here alone
and search for them, and perhaps end my days here;
but when, the day following, which was yesterday, I
attempted to separate from my brave, true friend,
Rough Tom, I found it impossible—for he declared

I should not leave him behind—and so we came
together to this place, which we reached last night
a little before dark.”

“Were you indeed here last night, dear Henry?”

“Not at this cave, but at the spot where you went
over the cliff, my darling, which is scarcely more
than a hundred yards distant.”

“Ah, that is what I have been so anxious to find
out, but my poor Helen here could not comprehend
me.”

“I brought you here, sweet sister!” said Helen.

“I know you did, poor girl, and have tenderly
cared for me since, and, if I live, you shall never
regret it!” returned Isaline.

“You ought to have seen her among the wolves,
dear brother!” said Helen to Henry.

“It must have been awful! awful!” shuddered
Henry; “and to think that on that night, of all nights,
I was sleeping soundly in the Indian camp! I do
not understand it!”

“Providence sent you that sleep to save you from
madness, dear Henry!” said Isaline.

“At least I will endeavor to think so,” answered
Henry, “for otherwise I must severely blame myself—though
I could have done nothing for you
then, dearest, even had I been at liberty. Yes, I
feel that all has indeed been for the best! But to
resume. Tom and I made another search last night,
till it grew dark, and then we went up the cliff, to
where we had camped before, and spent the night

there—a wretched night for me indeed! This morning
we resumed our search along the beach, and
even passed this spot, going a mile or two below.
Then we went up the cliff into the forest and killed
a deer; after which we came back, searching carefully
along the top of the cliff, but of course finding
nothing to reward us for our labor. I need not
detail all that followed. Suffice it to say, that, being
once more down on the beach, we suddenly espied
what we believed to be the Phantom of the Forest;
and against the remonstrance of my companion, I
raised my rifle, took a quick, unsteady aim, and
fired, with what success you know. I humbly thank
God that my aim was no better! for had I killed
this poor girl on the spot, I might still have lost
you, dear Isaline, and I should have had the everlasting
regret of knowing I had sent a fellow-being
to eternity! That the object I fired at was human,
I did not for a moment suppose, but rather that it
was some wild beast, of an unknown genus and
species. Poor Helen shrieked and fled to this cave,
and Tom and I followed, he protesting that my life
would be sacrificed to my folly, and I then caring
little how soon I might lose it, but determined to
solve the mystery at any hazard. When I reached
the cave and heard you call my name, I could not
credit my senses, but with a wild hope bounded
forward, and would have done so had I even known
I was plunging into the jaws of death!”

“God bless you, dear Henry!” said Isaline, in a

low, tremulous tone, looking up so lovingly into his
clear, blue eyes; “how can I ever repay you for all
you have done and sacrificed for me?”

“I am ten thousand times repaid already!”
answered Henry, folding the lovely girl to his heart.

In something like a couple of hours Rough Tom
returned, with an air of triumph, bringing a cup
full of broth.

“I've done it!” he exclaimed; “I've done it beautiful!
Thar's more ways nor one to skin a cat,
without pulling the hide off over her head. Begs
your pardon, marm! but thar arn't no cats about
this yere—no, marm! It's the ginewine thing—
made of the best deer meat you ever eat. I'll tell
you how it war cooked. You see I couldn't put
this yere cup over the fire to bile, case it wouldn't
stand no sich nonsense; but I found a holler stone,
as would hold a heap of water, and I filled that thar
from the river, and put hot stones into that till that
biled, and so kept that a byling till this yere biled,
and now I've got so'thing as you kin take to start
with.”

“A thousand thanks, my dear friend!” said Isaline,
as she took the cup from the hands of Tom and
slowly drank off the steaming contents. “Really,
this gives me new life and strength!” she added.

As it was then late in the day, it was thought
best, considering the condition of Isaline, to remain
in the cave at least another night. This was done;
and Tom prepared another cup of broth, which Isaline

drank, and found herself in a state to justify
her eating a little meat on the following morning.
She was still too weak to walk through the wilderness,
and the first plan of her companions was to
carry her on a litter. They had already begun to
construct one, when Tom suddenly exclaimed:

“Stop, younker—I hev it! Wagh! Whar's the
use of heving brains, lad, ef we don't use 'em!
Thar's the hosses we left, hey?”

“Oh, yes—do you think we can find them now,
Tom?” cried Henry, with a joyous hope.

“Leastways I'll go and see!” answered Tom.
“Jest you stay he-yar with the colonel's darter till I
comes back!”

He immediately set off, and Henry remained with
Isaline and Helen, passing the time very happily
till his return with the horses, which cost him so
long a search that it was late in the afternoon before
his welcome shout was once more heard.

Isaline had been steadily improving under the
watchful care of Henry; but it was now thought
best to pass still another night in the cave, which
was accordingly done. By the following morning
she had recovered so much strength as to be able to
sit her horse; and then our friends set off slowly
through the wilderness, and before night reached
one of the stations on the Kentucky River, where
they were received with true border hospitality, and
where they remained for several days, enjoying a

happiness the more sweet for the many sufferings
and perils through which they had passed.

But little more remains to be told. A few days
later they reached Harrod's Station in safety, where
Isaline was clasped in the arms of her father and
her two black servants, as one who had truly come
back from the grave. The father wept for joy; and
Priscilla and Rhoda, who had reached that place
some days in advance of our heroine, mourning her
as lost to them forever, were perfectly wild with
delight.

“Oh, my dear, dear, dear Miss Isaline! God
bress you, honey!” cried Rhoda, throwing her arms
around her mistress' neck, clinging to her spasmodically,
and giving way to a wild burst of tears.

“Oh, honey darling—honey darling—angel ob
goodness—lubly creatur'—bress God Ise got you
ag'in, arter all the skeers Ise had out on you!”
yelled Priscilla, almost smothering her mistress in
turn.

Isaline, never more happy in her life, wept with
them all.

After Colonel Holcombe had heard the whole
story of his daughter's sufferings, perils, hairbreadth
escapes, wonderful preservations, and the devotion
of the two brave men who had at last brought her
safely to his arms, he took Tom and Henry aside.

First giving his hand to the old woodman, he
said, in a faltering voice, and with tear-dimmed eyes:

“Tom Sturgess, my brave, noble fellow, God bless

you! If half my fortune can recompense you for
what you have done for me, it is yours!”

“Agh! wagh! whar's the use?” cried Tom. “Ef
I arn't paid already, Colonel, I'm a nigger and
oughter spile! Don't say another word, Colonel,
'cept you wants to see a feller about my size break
fur tall timber! Woofh! thunderation! catermounts
and allergators! whar's the use?”

“And to you, my friend,” pursued the Colonel,
grasping Henry's hand in turn, “I have only one
thing to say. Will you accept the dear girl you
have saved for your reward?”

Henry struggled to speak, but his tongue would
not articulate, and so he wrung the Colonel's hand
in silence.

A few days later, Rough Tom danced at the wedding
of Henry Colburn and Isaline Holcombe—one
of the brightest, gayest and happiest ever seen in
the wilds of Kentucky.

Tom went back alone to the wilderness, or with
other companions, and for years continued his
perilous occupation, proving himself one of the
boldest and bravest scouts and hunters of the border.
After the signing of the treaty of peace with the
Indians at Greenville, he returned to his dearest
friends, and settled down near them, a confirmed
but happy old bachelor.

Some three years after her marriage with Henry,
Isaline was agreeably surprised to find she had fallen
heir, by will, to the great fortune of her mother's

half uncle, in England, Sir Joshua Speed—the same
fortune, it will be remembered, to obtain which,
through the possession of herself, had led Charles
Hampton, alias Stephen Rogers, to concoct the
wicked plot that in the end had cost him his life.
This fortune Isaline was only too happy to place in
the hands of her noble husband, who subsequently
became one of the richest landholders in Kentucky
and one of the foremost men in the State.

Helen Mervine recovered her reason, and afterward
married a man of legal eminence, settling
down near her sweet sister, as she ever continued to
call Isaline. As with her originated, so with her
ended, the Phantom of the Forest.