10. X.
A SINGULAR PERSONAGE.
AROUND the small house upon the side of the
mountain, the finest tints of autumn seemed to
cluster. The great oaks were like pyramids of
crimson; the tufted pines, resembling the tall
tropic palms, which wave their gigantic plumes in the
breezes of the Indian ocean, rose clear and beautiful against
the sky—and over all fell the rosy haze of autumn like a
happy dream.
The house was of logs, rough-hewn, and with clap-boards
for a roof; the windows small, and evidently constructed
with an eye to defence; the stone chimney in the rear
leaned, as it were, against a huge mass of rock, fringed with
close-set shrubbery. Flowers of autumn were in bloom
beside the low door—and the whole mansion had about it
an indefinable air, which seemed to indicate the presence of
a woman or a child. George assisted Cannie to the ground,
and fixing the bridle of his horse to a bough, followed her
into the house. The room which they entered was simply
furnished, but scrupulously neat; some books were lying
on the rude shelf used as a mantel-piece; and the whole
apartment was very cheerful and attractive.
As Cannie entered, an old man came to meet her; and the
eyes of this personage were fixed upon her companion
with an intentness which was for the moment not at all
agreeable. They seemed to look through him, and that,
without the least effort, and in an instant.
Then the expression of the old man's face changed; he
greeted the boy with collected courtesy; and when Cannie,
in a broken and agitated voice, spoke of her accident and
rescue, the old man's expression changed more and more,
and with a slight color in his pale cheeks, he held out his
hand, and grasped that of George with the warmest gratitude.
George scanned the figure of his host; and this scrutiny
evidently resulted in a manner similar to that former one in
regard to the child. The old man was evidently no rude
backwoodsman; his countenance and eyes wore the unmistakable
stamp of the student, and the man of intellectual
cultivation; and even in his dress the same difference was
discernible. He was clad in a suit which had once been
rich, and still exhibited traces, beneath a thousand stains
and rents, of its former splendor. Upon one of the thin
fingers, sparkled a diamond ring, and a pair of large, gold-cased
glasses covered his eyes, rolling beneath their heavy
white eyebrows.
As Cannie related, in her grave, sweet voice, the events of
the morning, George read in the eyes of the old man a
depth of tenderness, which he had never before seen in the
face of mortal. When she told how George had saved her
life, the wan cheeks flushed, and holding out, as we have
said, his thin, white hand, the strange host inclosed the
youth's in a grasp, which resembled the pressure of steel
springs.
“You have saved two lives, sir,” he said, with a singular
nobility of tone; “thanks, thanks! And now, my child,”
he added, turning to Cannie, “go change your dress, or
you will be ill.”
The girl obeyed, and disappeared for a quarter of an hour,
during which time the singular host spoke calmly on a variety
of subjects. There was an air of collected strength and
composure about the speaker, which puzzled George more
and more—for he felt that he was in the presence of a superior
man. In the midst of the conversation, Cannie re-appeared,
with a primrose in her hair, and a smile on her lips
—far more beautiful, George thought, than before. She
joined simply in the conversation—and an hour fled by imperceptibly,
during which the youth found himself more and
more absorbed in the process of gazing at Cannie. Then
remembering his agreement with Captain Wagner, he arose,
and in spite of the most courteous urging, declared he must
depart.
“I really must return, sir,” he said; “they will expect me
at Greenway Court.”
“At Greenway Court!” said his host, with an unmistakable
start; “are you staying at Greenway Court?”
And the piercing eyes seemed to dive into his own, as
though their owner wished to read his very soul.
“Yes, I came to the Valley but a day or two since,” replied
the young man, “and stopped at Lord Fairfax's.
What surprises you, sir?”
“Nothing, nothing, my young friend—it is nothing!”
And withdrawing, as it were, into himself, the speaker
controlled every exhibition of emotion. But George afterwards
remembered the quick start—and understood why the
utterance of the simple words produced an effect so singular.
With the promise that he would come very soon again,
to know if Cannie had recovered from her accident, he at
last departed—the grave, sweet face of the girl going with
him—her smile seeming to light him on his way. A thouand
speculations chased each other through his bewildered
mind; he tried in vain to imagine who his eccentric host
could be. But he was completely at fault. He gave up
finally in despair; and turned with a sort of delightful relief
to the image of the grave little maiden.
He was still absorbed in his thoughts of her, when the silence
of the lonely road was suddenly broken. The notes of
a bugle rang out clear from the mountain side—the echoes
chased each other from cliff to cliff—and then a great trampling
and baying was heard near at hand, and a huge stage,
pursued by a score of hounds, bounded into the gorge, and
fell bleeding to the earth, almost at the young man's feet.
