42. XLII.
IN THE MOUNTAIN.
HALF an hour after the departure of Mr. Argal
and his daughter for Greenway Court, Falconbridge
drew up before the house, and leaping
from his horse, entered the mansion, smiling and
joyful.
His love for the young lady had reached that point now,
that out of her presence he scarcely lived. His life was
concentrated into those hours of each day when he sat by
her, and looked into her eyes. All the rest was a dull, cold
blank to him, with no pleasure in it all. He existed, simply,
there at the Ordinary, and passed all his moments in musing
upon the interview which had passed by, or on the one
which was to occur again on the morrow. As he mounted
his horse to go away, his form would droop, his eyes become
gloomy—when he put spur to Sir John, to go and
see her, he was the picture of buoyant joy and light-heartedness.
These words will explain the emotion of the young man,
when one of the servants informed him that Miss Argal had
departed, and above all, departed for “Lord Fairfax's.”
As the words were uttered, he felt a dizziness, a sudden
sinking of the heart. Lord Fairfax's! She had gone to
Greenway Court! All the scene, when that morning she
had insulted him so carelessly, rushed back; he remembered
the whole interview; he saw her glances, her wiles, her
witcheries to attract his lordship. For a moment, then, he
stood still and gazed at the servant with an expression
which almost frightened her.
It was for a moment only. His presence of mind returned,
and simply requesting her to inform Miss Argal of
his visit, on her return, he issued forth and mounted his
horse again.
Should he go thither? Yes! He would go and be a
witness of what he felt was the scene at Greenway—a witness
of her smiles and cajoleries, and fascinations, aimed at
the Earl—he would go and sup full upon his jealousy and
resentment!
And digging the spur into the side of Sir John, he set
forward like lightning upon the road to Greenway.
A mile from Mr. Argal's he suddenly drew rein, so suddenly
that Sir John reared and almost fell upon his
haunches. Was it advisable to go there? Would she relish
this persistent pursuit of her—this jealous supervision,
as though he suspected her fidelity to him? Was it worth
while to go and suffer, and get no thanks, rather coldness
for it? No! He would return to his lonely chamber and
see no one.
And he turned his horse's head in the direction of the
Ordinary, going along now very slowly, his head drooping,
his brow overshadowed.
“No, no,” he murmured, “no, I cannot go back there.
Mrs. Butterton would annoy me with her wearying conversation—I
need movement, fresh air.”
With these words he stopped and looked round. The
Fort Mountain raised its great ramparts and seemed to
beckon him; the prairie, swept by the wind, whispered to
him. He had met George in the morning, at the Ordinary,
on his way to the “Fort,” and now remembering the fact,
directed his course straight toward it.
He at last reached the river; pushed his horse through
the current, and skirting the noisy Passage Creek, ascended
the winding bridle-path toward the cottage of the wizard.
As he went onward many wild sights and sounds greeted
him, and dissipated, in a measure, his possessing thoughts.
A great eagle rose, with slow, flapping wings, from a crag
near at hand, and swept away into the opposite mountain:
a stag flitted across a distant opening, and disappeared;
more than once he heard in the tangled thicket near at
hand, the stealthy tread of a panther or a bear, crackling
over the dry twigs, and rustling the dead leaves of the
forest. He went on without heeding these things, however,
and soon reached the steep knoll upon which the wizard's
cottage was situated. As he arrived at this point, he all at
once saw, in the porch of the house, a pleasant little rustic
picture.
On one of the benches a young girl was seated, graceful
and smiling; and her smiles seemed to be occasioned by
the attempt which a young man, occupying a lower seat at
her feet, was making to place a wreath of pale primroses on
her forehead.
Beside them was stretched, indolently sleeping, a huge
black bear, to whose presence no attention at all seemed to
be paid.
Cannie and George were so much interested in their occupation
that they did not hear the foot-falls of the horse,
and it was not until Falconbridge had tied Sir John to a
bough, and ascended the declivity on foot, that they became
aware of his presence.
The bear rose with a growl, and exhibited a ferocious
mouth filled with white, sharp teeth, but at a word from
the young girl, accompanied by a warning tap on his head
from her little hand, lay down quietly again, and dozed
serenely.
The boy and the girl welcomed Falconbridge with the
warmest cordiality, and Cannie, with a smile, informed him
that he need fear nothing from “Bruin,” who was a long
tried friend and pet, and quite harmless. With these words
she pushed the animal with her small foot, and bade him
move. Bruin acquiesced with perfect good humor, and rising
lazily, waddled off to a sunny knoll, and lying down,
speedily went to sleep again.
Cannie, meanwhile, had entered the house, and announced
the visit of Falconbridge to her grandfather, who
soon came forth and welcomed him. They were still exchanging
courteous expressions, and the young man was
looking with great interest at Cannie, when another incident
occurred. A sudden fluttering in the air attracted
their attention—a suppressed croak was heard—and an
immense hawk, with an arrow through his wing, fell almost
at the young man's feet.
“Why, Lightfoot is here!” said Cannie; “he has shot the
hawk that was after my pigeons!”
“Who is Lightfoot?” asked Falconbridge, whose gloom
began to yield before the innocent smiles of the girl; “another
friend, like the bear?”
“Oh, no sir! he is an Indian. He is a true friend, however.
He once saved my life, and we love him, even George.
There he comes—he has been to see us twice lately—he
lives in the mountain.”
As Cannie spoke, the young Indian was seen approaching
down the abrupt, almost precipitous path which led upward
to the summit. From the tall mass of rock above, he
had seen and transfixed the hawk, and now came to pick
it up. He was welcomed with great affection by Cannie,
and when she pointed to Falconbridge, and said: “This is
another good friend, Lightfoot,” the Indian stretched out
his arm, and shook hands, as he had learned to do, with a
grave dignity and courtesy which might have graced an
emperor.
