66. LXVI.
LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS.
THE three women consulted for some time in
animated whispers, and their plan was rapidly
formed.
They would remain quiet until the Indians
went to sleep; and then, when the cavern was all silent, and
occupied only by slumbering forms, would steal up the
staircase into the cave above, ascend to the next, then to the
next—and finally make their exit through the fissure in the
roof of the last. Thereafter, escape would not be difficult.
As soon as day-light came they would be able to make their
way back by the path which they had followed in coming
—the broken twigs would direct them.
“And then, Cannie,” said Miss Argal, placing her arm
around the girl, drawing the little head down to her bosom,
and kissing the white brow; “then, Cannie, dear, you will
get back to your grandfather, and we will all be happy
again.”
“Oh, yes! I long to see grandpapa!” returned the girl,
clasping her hands; “he is miserable about me, I know, and
would be following me, if he had not been wounded—Oh!
so cruelly wounded!”
A sob accompanied the words.
“There, don't cry,” said the young lady, smoothing the
girl's curls, “hope for the best—and one thing which I rely
upon more than all, is just what you have spoken of—a party
must be coming to rescue us. I know they are coming.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Butterton, “Captain Wagner will not
stay long—but oh! my poor, poor father!'
And a sob, deeper than Cannie's, came from the warm-hearted
woman's lips.
“Captain Wagner will surely come,” said Miss Argal, a
shadow of anguish passing over her countenance, “and—Mr.
Falconbridge!”
She paused a moment, overcome apparently by some cruel
memory: then controlling her emotion, added:
“We must go, however, and meet them. That is part of
my plan. The Indians will follow us, unless they are afraid,
but the pursuers will not suffer them to re-capture us.”
“We will trust in God, at least,” said Cannie, with touching
simplicity; “you know if we trust in Him He will not desert
us; and all He does is for the best.”
Miss Argal did not reply. She seemed suddenly absorbed
in painful reflection, continuing to caress the girl's hair.
Then she turned her dark eyes upon the little face, and
gazed at Cannie with an expression of such hopeless anguish
that it made the girl's countenance flush with pity and sympathy.
No one could have recognized in the changed features
of Miss Argal, the proud and imperial woman of the
past. The penetrating eyes no longer glittered with their
dazzling and seductive magnetism; the lips no longer curled
with disdain or provoking coquetry. The eyes were bathed in
moisture—the lips quivered. The drooping lashes nearly
rested upon the pale cheek; and as Cannie gazed, tear after
tear flowed silently down, and fell upon her upturned face.
“You are erying!” said the girl. “Oh! what are you crying
for?”
The arm of the young lady tightened its fold around the
slender form, and bending down her head, she pressed a kiss
upon the girl's lips, and burst into tears.
“I am crying because I am so bad, and you make me so
ashamed,” she said in a broken voice; “I am so untruthful
and bad, and miserable! Oh! Cannie! what you have said
breaks my heart!—for I do not trust in God! I have tried
but I cannot! I cannot! I am evil and miserable! and He
hates me!”
“Oh, no!” returned the girl, mingling her tears with
those of her companion, “He does not hate you! He cannot,
if you feel that you have done wrong and ask His forgiveness!”
“I cannot ask it! I am unfit to pray! Once I prayed
at mamma's knees—but I have not prayed for years—I have
done so much evil! But—but—Cannie—do you know!”—
And the poor girl sobbed convulsively.
“Do you know—I am—my mind is not sound—I am out
of my head—sometimes!—always, I think:—and I have
thought that He will pardon a poor—miserable—insane girl
—for her wickedness! Oh! teach me to pray, Cannie—you
pity me and do not turn away—I almost think God will forgive
me if you kneel and ask Him to. May I kneel down
with you?”
Cannie scarcely knew how, but in a moment she was
kneeling upon the floor of the cavern—between the two women
in the same posture—and praying in a low, broken, but
earnest voice. She could not tell how the words came—she
did not hesitate an instant, nevertheless; her prayer was
tearful, impulsive, and filled with deep feeling.
When she rose, Miss Argal leaned her head upon the tender
bosom, encircled Cannie's neck with her arm, and sobbing,
exhausted, trembling with emotion, whispered faintly
in her ear:
“I think God has heard me, and forgiven me.”
The dying firelight no longer fell upon a countenance full
of anguish and shame:—a sad smile played over the lips
and half-closed eyes:—the heart pressed to the heart of
the child, beat tranquilly.
At the same moment Lightfoot entered the cavern.
