The Reckoning

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XV

  BUTLER'S FORD

  For four breathless days the broad, raw trail of a thousand men inheadlong flight was the trampled path we traveled. Smashing straightthrough the northern wilderness, our enemy with horses, wagons, batmen,soldiers, Indians burst into the forest, tearing saplings, thickets,underbrush aside in their mad northward rush for the safety of theCanadas and the shelter denied them here. Threescore Oneida hatchetsglittered in their rear; four hundred rifles followed; for the RedBeast was in flight at last, stricken, turning now and again to snarlwhen the tireless, stern-faced trackers drew too near, then running onagain, growling, impotent. And the Red Beast must be done to death.

  What fitter place to end him than here in the wild twilight of shaggydepths, unlighted by the sun or moon?--here where the cold, brawlingstreams smoked in the rank air; where black crags crouched, watchingthe hunting--here in these awful deeps, shunned by the deer, unhauntedby wolf and panther--depths fit only for the monstrous terror that cameout of them, and now, wounded, and cold heart pulsing terror, wasscrambling back again into the dense and dreadful twilight of eternalshadow-land.

  One by one their pack-laden horses fell out exhausted; and we foundthem, heads hanging, quivering and panting beside the reeking trail;one by one their gaunt cattle, mired in bog and swamp, entangled inwindfalls, greeted us, bellowing piteously as we passed. The forestitself fought for us, reaching out to jerk wheels from axle, bringingwagon and team down crashing. Their dead lay everywhere uncared for,even unscalped and unrobbed in the bruised and trampled path of flight;clothing, arms, provisions were scattered pell-mell on every side; andnow at length, hour after hour, as we headed them back from trail andhighway, and blocked them from their boats at Oneida Lake, driving,forcing, scourging them straight into the black jaws of a hungrywilderness, we began to pass their wounded--ghastly, bloody, raggedthings, scarce animate, save for the dying brilliancy of their hollowedeyes.

  On, on, hotfoot through the rain along the smoking trail; twilight byday, depthless darkness by night, where we lay panting in starlessobscurity, listening to the giant winds of the wilderness--vast,resistless, illimitable winds flowing steadily through the unseen andnaked crests of forests, colder and ever colder they blew, heraldingthe trampling blasts of winter, charging us from the north.

  On the fifth day it began to snow at dawn. Little ragged flakeswinnowed through the clusters of scarlet maple-leaves, sifted among theblack pines, coming faster and thicker, driving in slanting, whirlingflight across the trail. In an hour the moss was white; crimson spraysof moose-bush bent, weighted with snow and scarlet berries; thehurrying streams ran dark and somber in their channels betweendead-white banks; swamps turned blacker for the silvery setting; theflakes grew larger, pelting in steady, thickening torrents from theclouds as we came into a clearing called Jerseyfield, on the north sideof Canada Creek; and here at last we were met by a crackling roar froma hundred rifles.

  The Red Beast was at bay!

  Up and down, through the dense snowy veil descending, the orange-tintedrifle-flames flashed and sparkled and flickered; all around us a showerof twigs and branches descended in a steady rain. Then our brown riflesblazed their deadly answer. Splash! spatter! splash! their dead droppedinto the stream; and, following, dying and living took to the darkwater, thrashing across through snowy obscurity. I heard their horseswallowing through the fords, iron hoofs frantically battering therocky, shelving banks for foothold; I heard them shriek when the Oneidatigers leaped upon them; I heard their wounded battling and screamingas they drowned in the swollen waters!

  We lay and fired at their phantom lines, now attempting to retreat at adog-trot in single file; and as we knocked man after man from theplodding rank the others leaped over their writhing, fallen comrades,neither turning nor pausing in their dogged flight. The snow slackened,falling more thinly to the west; and, as the dazzling curtain grewtransparent, a mass of men in green suddenly rose from the whitenedhemlock-scrub and fired at our riflemen arriving in column.

  Then ensued a scene nigh indescribable. With one yelling bound, Rangerand Oneida were on them, shooting, stabbing, dragging them down; and,as they broke cover, their mounted officers, dashing out of thethicket, wheeled northward into galloping flight; and among them atlast I saw my enemy, and knew him.

  A dozen Oneidas were after him. His horse, spurred to a gallop, crashedthrough the brush, and was in the water at a leap; and he turned inmidstream and shook his pistol at them insultingly.

  By Heaven, he rode superbly as the swollen waters of the ford boiled tohis horse's straining shoulders, while the bullets clipped the gildedcocked-hat from his head and struck his raised pistol from his hand.

  "Head him!" shouted Elerson; "don't let that man get clear!" Indiansand Rangers raced madly along the bank of the creek, pacing thefugitive as he galloped.

  "Take him alive!" I cried, as Butler swung his horse with a crashstraight into the willow thickets on the north. We lost him to view asI spoke; and I sounded the rally-whistle, and ran up the bank of thecreek, leading my horse at a trot behind me.

  The snowfall had ceased; the sun glimmered, then blazed out in theclearing, flooding the whitened ground with a dazzling radiance.Running, stumbling, falling, struggling through brush and brake andbrier-choked marsh, I saw ahead of me three Oneida Indians swiftlycross my path to the creek's edge and crouch, scanning the oppositeshore. Almost immediately the Rangers Murphy, Renard, and Elersonemerged from the snowy bushes beside them; and at the same instant Isaw Walter Butler ride up on the opposite side of the creek, glancebackward, then calmly draw bridle in plain sight. He was fey; I knewit. His doom was upon him. He flung himself from his horse close to theford where, set in the rock, a living spring of water mirrored the sun;then he knelt down, drew his tin cup from his belt, bent over, andlooked into the placid silver pool. What he saw reflected there Christalone knows, for he sprang back, passed his hand across his eyes, andreached out his cup blindly, plunging it deep into the water.

  Never, never shall I forget that instant picture as it broke upon myview; my deadly enemy kneeling by the spring, black hair disheveled,the sunshine striking his tin cup as he raised it to his lips; thethree naked Oneidas, in their glistening scarlet paint, eagerly raisingtheir rifles, while the merciless weapons of Murphy and Elerson slowlyfell to the same level, focused on that kneeling figure across the darkwaters of the stream.

  A second only, then, God knows why, I could not endure to witness ajustice so close allied with murder, and sprang forward, crying out:"Cease fire! Take him alive!" But, with the words half-sped, flameafter flame parted from those leveled muzzles; and through the whirlingsmoke I saw Walter Butler fall, roll over and over, his body and limbscontracting with agony; then on all fours again, on his knees, only tosink back in a sitting posture, his head resting on his hand, bloodpouring between his fingers.

  Into the stream plunged an Oneida, rifle and knife aloft, glittering inthe sun. The wounded man saw him coming, and watched him as he leapedup the bank; and while Walter Butler looked him full in the face thesavage trembled, crouching, gathering for a leap.

  "Stop that murder!" I shouted, plunging into the ford as Butler, achinghead still lifted, turned a deathly face toward me. One eye had beenshot out, but the creature was still alive, and knew me--knew me, heardme ask for the quarter he had not asked for; saw me coming to save himfrom his destiny, and smiled as the Oneida sprang on him with a yelland ripped the living scalp away before my sickened eyes.

  "Finish him, in God's mercy!" bellowed the Ranger Sammons, running up.The Oneida's hatchet, swinging like lightning, flashed once; and thesevered soul of Walter Butler was free of the battered, disfiguredthing that lay oozing crimson in the trampled snow.

  Dead! And I heard the awful scalp-yell swelling from the throats ofthose who had felt his heavy hand. Dead! And I heard cheers from thosewhose loved ones had gone down to death to satiate his fury. And nowhe, too, was on his way to face those pale accusers waiting the
re towatch him pass--specters of murdered men, phantoms of women, whiteshapes of little children--God! what a path to the tribunal behindwhose thunderous gloom hell's own lightning flared!

  As I gazed down at him the roar of the fusillade died away in my ears.I remembered him as I had seen him there at New York in our house, hisslim fingers wandering over the strings of the guitar, his dark eyesdrowned in melancholy. I remembered his voice, and the song he sang,haunting us all with its lingering sadness--the hopeless words, the sadair, redolent of dead flowers--doom, death, decay!

  The thrashing and plunging of horses roused me. I looked around to seeColonel Willett ride up, followed by two or three mounted officers inblue and buff, pulling in their plunging horses. He looked down at thedead, studying the crushed face, the uniform, the blood-drenched snow.

  "Is that Butler?" he asked gravely.

  "Yes," I said; and drew a corner of his cloak across the marred face.

  Nobody uncovered, which was the most dreadful judgment those silent mencould pass.

  "Scalped?" motioned Colonel Lewis significantly.

  "He belongs to your party," observed Willett quietly. Then, lookingaround as the rifle-fire to the left broke out again: "The pursuit hasended, gentlemen. What punishment more awful could we leave them tothan these trackless solitudes? For I tell you that those few amongthem who shall attain the Canadas need fear no threat of hell in thelife to come, for they shall have served their turn. Sound the recall!"

  I laid my hand upon his saddle, looking up into his face:

  "Pardon," I said, in a low voice; "_I_ must go on!"

  "Carus! Carus!" he said softly, "have they not told you?"

  "Told me?" I stared. "What? What--in the name of God?"

  "She was taken when we struck their rear-guard at one o'clock thisafternoon! Was there no one to tell you, lad!"

  "Unharmed?" I asked, steadying myself against his stirrup.

  "Faint with fatigue, brier-torn, in rags--his vengeance, but--_nothingworse_. That quarter-breed Montour attended her, supported her,struggled on with her through all the horrors of this retreat. He hadherded the Valley prisoners together, guarded by Cayugas. Theexecutioner lies dead a mile below, his black face in the water. Andhere _he_ lies!"

  He swung his horse, head sternly averted. I flung myself into mysaddle.

  "This way, lad. She lies in a camp-wagon at headquarters, asleep, Ithink. Mount and your Oneida guard her. And the girl, Montour, liesstretched beside her, watching her as a dog watches a cradled child."

  The hunting-horns of the light infantry were sounding the recall as werode through the low brush of Jerseyfield, where the sunset sky wasaflame, painting the tall pines, staining the melting snow to palestcrimson.

  From black, wet branches overhead the clotted flakes fell, showering usas we came to the hemlock shelter where the camp-wagon stood. A fireburned there; before it crowded a shadowy group of riflemen; and oneamong them moved forward to meet me, touching his fur cap and pointing.

  As I reached the rough shelter of fringing evergreen Mount and LittleOtter stepped out; and I saw the giant forest-runner wink the tearsaway as he laid his huge finger across his lips.

  "She sleeps as sweetly as a child," he whispered. "I told her you werecoming. Oh, sir, it will tear your heart out to see her small whitefeet so bruised, and the soft, baby hands of her raw at the wrists,where they tied her at night.... _Is_ he surely dead, sir, as theysay?"

  "I saw him die, thank God!"

  "That is safer for him, I think," said Mount simply. "Will you comethis way, sir? Otter, fetch a splinter o' fat pine for a light. Mindthe wheel there, Mr. Renault--this way on tiptoe!"

  He took the splinter-light from the Oneida, fixed it in a split stick,backed out, and turned away, followed by the Indian.

  At first I could not see, and set the burning stick nearer. Then, as Ibent over the rough wagon, I saw her lying there very white and still,her torn hands swathed with lint, her bandaged feet wrapped in furs.And beside her, stretched full length, lay Lyn Montour, awake, darkeyes fixed on mine.

  She smiled as she caught my eye; then something in my face sobered her."He is dead?" she motioned with her lips. And my lips moved assent.

  Gravely, scarcely stirring, she reached up and unbound her hair,letting it down over her face. I understood, and, stepping to the fire,returned with a charred ember. She held out first one hand, then theother, and I marked the palms with the ashes, touched her forehead, herbreast, her feet. Thus, in the solemn presence of death itself, sheclaimed at the tribunal of the Most High the justice denied on earth,signing herself a widow with the ashes none but a wedded wife may dareto wear.

  Lower and lower burned the tiny torch, sank to a spark, and went out.The black curtains of obscurity closed in; redder and redder spread theglare from the camp-fire; crackling and roaring, the flames rose,tufted with smoke, through which a million sparks whirled upward,showering the void above. Dark shapes moved in the glow with a sparkleof spur and sword as they turned; the infernal light fell on the nakedbodies of Oneidas, sitting like demons, eyes blinking at the flames.And through the roar of the fire I heard their chanting undertone,monotonous, interminable, saluting their dead:

  "_Cover the White Throat at Carenay, Lest evil fall at Danascara, Lay the phantom away, Men of Thendara, Trails of Kayaderos And Adriutha Cover our loss! Tree of Oswaya, From Garoga To Caroga Cover the White Throat For the sake of the Silver Boat afloat In the Water of Light, O Tharon! This for the pledge of Aroronon Lest the Long House end And the Tree bend And our dead ascend in every trail And the Great League fail. Now by the brotherhood ye've sworn Let the Oneida mourn._"

  And I heard from the forest the deadened blows of mattock and spade,and saw the glimmer of burial torches; and, through the steady chantingof the Oneida, the solemn voice of the chaplain in prayer for dead andliving:

  "Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us. And establish Thou thework of our hands upon us--yea, the work of our hands, establish Thouit!"

  * * * * *

  It lacked an hour to dawn when the harsh, stringy drums rolled from theforest and the smoky camp awoke; and I, keeping my vigil, there in theshadow where she lay, listening and bending above her, was aware of abandaged hand touching me--a feverish arm about my neck, drawing myhead lower, closer, till, in the darkness, my face lay on hers, and ourtremulous lips united.

  "Is all well, my beloved?"

  "All is well."

  "And we part no more?"

  "No more."

  Silence, then: "Why do they cheer so, Carus?"

  "It is a lost soul they are speeding, child."

  "His?"

  "Yes."

  She breathed feverishly, her little bandaged hands holding my face."Lift me a little, Carus; I can not move my legs. Did you know heabandoned me to the Cayugas because I dared to ask his mercy for theinnocent? I think his reason was unseated when I came upon him there atJohnson Hall--so much of blood and death lay on his soul. His own menfeared him; and, Carus, truly I do not think he knew me else he hadnever struck me in that burst of rage, so that even the Cayugasinterposed--for his knife was in his hands." She sighed, nestling closeto me in the rustling straw, and closed her eyes as the torches flaredand the horses were backed along the pole.

  In the ruddy light I saw Jack Mount approaching. He halted, touched hiscap, and smiled; then his blue eyes wandered to the straw where LynMontour lay, sleeping the stunned sleep of exhaustion; and into hisface a tenderness came, softening his bold mouth and reckless visage.

  "The Weasel drives, sir. Tim and Dave and I, we jog along to ease thewheels--if it be your pleasure, sir. We go by the soft trail. A weekshould see you and yours in Albany. The Massachusetts surgeon is hereto dress your sweet lady's hurts. Will you speak with him, Mr.Renault?"

  I bent and kissed the bandaged hands, the hot forehead under thetangled hair, then whispering that all was we
ll I went out into thegray dawn where the surgeon stood unrolling lint.

  "Those devils tied their prisoners mercilessly at night," he said, "andthe scars may show, Mr. Renault. But her flesh is wholesome, and thetorn feet will heal--are healing now. Your lady will be lame."

  "For life?"

  "Oh--perhaps the slightest limp--scarce to be noticed. And then again,she is so sound, and her blood so pure--who knows? Even such tenderlittle feet as hers may bear her faultlessly once more. Patience, Mr.Renault."

  He parted the hanging blankets and went in, emerging after a littlewhile to beckon me.

  "I have changed the dressing; the wounds are benign and healthy. Shehas some fever. The shock is what I fear. Go to her; you may do morethan I could."

  As the sun rose we started, the Weasel driving, I crouching at herside, her torn hands in mine; and beside us, Lyn Montour, watching JackMount as he strode along beside the wagon, a new angle to his cap, anew swagger in his step, and deep in his frank blue eyes a strangesmile that touched the clean, curling corners of his lips.

  "Look!" breathed Murphy, gliding along on the other side, "'tis the gayday f'r Jack Mount whin Lyn Montour's black eyes are on him--thebackwoods dandy!"

  I looked down at Elsin. The fever flushed her cheeks. Into her facethere crept a beauty almost unearthly.

  "My darling, my darling!" I whispered fearfully, leaning close to her.Her eyes met mine, smiling, but in their altered brilliancy I saw sheno longer knew me.

  "Walter," she said, laughing, "your melancholy suits me--yet love isanother thing. Go ask of Carus what it is to love! He has my soul boundhand and foot and locked in the wall there, where he keeps the lettershe writes. If they find those letters some man will hang. I think itwill be you, Walter, or perhaps Sir Peter. I'm love-sick--sick o'love--for Carus mocks me! Is it easy to die, Walter? Tell me, for youare dead. If only Carus loved me! He kissed me so easily that night--Itempting him. So now that I am damned--what matter how he uses me? Yethe never struck me, Walter, as you strike!"

  Hour after hour, terrified, I listened to her babble, and that gaylittle laugh, so like her own, that broke out as her fever grew, waxingto its height.

  It waned at midday, but by sundown she grew restless, and the surgeon,Weldon, riding forward from the rear, took my place beside her, and Imounted my horse which Elerson led, and rode ahead, a deadly fear in myheart, and Black Care astride the crupper, a grisly shadow in thewilderness, dogging me remorselessly under pallid stars.

  And now hours, days, nights, sun, stars, moon, were all one tome--things that I heeded not; nor did I feel aught of heat or cold, sunor storm, nor know whether or not I slept or waked, so terrible grewthe fear upon me. Men came and went. I heard some say she was dying,some that she would live if we could get her from the wilderness sheraved about; for her cry was ever to be freed of the darkness and thesilence, and that they were doing me to death in New York town, whithershe must go, for she alone could save me.

  Tears seemed ever in my eyes, and I saw nothing clearly, only the blackand endless forests swimming in mists; the silent riflemen trudging on,the little withered driver, in his ring-furred cap and caped shirt, toobig for him; the stolid horses plodding on and on. Medical officerscame from Willett--Weldon and Jermyn--and the surgeon's mate, McLane;and they talked among themselves, glancing at her curiously, so that Igrew to hate them and their whispers. A fierce desire assailed me toput an end to all this torture--to seize her, cradle her to my breast,and gallop day and night to the open air--as though that, and thefierce strength of my passion must hold back death!

  Then, one day--God knows when--the sky widened behind the trees, and Isaw the blue flank of a hill unchoked by timber. Trees grew thinner aswe rode. A brush-field girdled by a fence was passed, then a meadow,all golden in the sun. Right and left the forest sheered off and fellaway; field on field, hill on hill, the blessed open stretched to abrimming river, silver and turquoise in the sunshine, and, beyond it,crowning three hills, the haven!--the old Dutch city, high-roofed,red-tiled, glimmering like a jewel in the November haze--Albany!

  And now, as we breasted the ascent, far away we heard drums beating. Awhite cloud shot from the fort, another, another, and after a longwhile the dull booming of the guns came floating to us, mixed with thenoise of bells.

  Elsin heard and sat up. I bent from my saddle, passing my arm aroundher.

  "Carus!" she cried, "where have you been through all this dreadfulnight?"

  "Sweetheart, do you know me?"

  "Yes. How soft the sunlight falls! There is a city yonder. I hearbells." She sank down, her eyes on mine.

  "The bells of old Albany, dear. Elsin, Elsin, do you truly know me?"

  She smiled, the ghost of the old gay smile, and her listless armsmoved.

  Weldon, riding on the other side, nodded to me in quiet content:

  "Now all she lacked she may have, Renault," he said, smiling. "All willbe well, thank God! Let her sleep!"

  She heard him, watching me as I rode beside her.

  "It was only you I lacked, Carus," she murmured dreamily; and, smiling,fell into a deep, sweet sleep.

  Then, as we rode into the first outlying farms, men and women came totheir gates, calling out to us in their Low Dutch jargon, and at firstI scarce heeded them as I rode, so stunned with joy was I to see hersleeping there in the sunlight, and her white, cool skin and her mouthsoft and moist.

  Gun on gun shook the air with swift concussion. The pleasant Dutchbells swung aloft in mellow harmony. Suddenly, far behind where ourinfantry moved in column, I heard cheer on cheer burst forth, and thehorns and fifes in joyous fanfare, echoed by the solid outbreak of thedrums.

  "What are they cheering for, mother?" I asked an old Dutch dame whowaved her kerchief at us.

  "For Willett and for George the Virginian, sir," she said, dimpling anddropping me a courtesy.

  "George the Virginian?" I asked, wondering. "Do you mean hisExcellency?"

  And still she dimpled and nodded and bobbed her white starched cap, andI made nothing of what she said until I heard men shouting, "Yorktown!"and "The war ends! Hurrah!"

  "Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted a mounted officer, spurring past us up thehill; "Butler's dead, and Cornwallis is taken!"

  "Taken?" I repeated incredulously.

  The booming guns were my answer. High against the blue a jeweled ensignfluttered, silver, azure and blood red, its staff and halyards wrappedin writhing jets of snow-white smoke flying upward from the guns.

  I rode toward it, cap in hand, head raised, awed in the presence ofGod's own victory! The shouting streets echoed and reechoed as wepassed between packed ranks of townspeople; cheers, the pealing musicof the bells, the thunderous shock of the guns grew to a swimming,dreamy sound, through which the flag fluttered on high, crowned withthe golden nimbus of the sun!

  "Carus!"

  "Ah, sweetheart, did they wake you? Sleep on; the war is over!" Iwhispered, bending low above her. "Now indeed is all well with theworld, and fit once more for you to live in."

  And, as we moved forward, I saw her blue eyes lifted dreamily, watchingthe flag which she had served so well.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE END

  That brief and lovely season which in our Northland for a score of dayschecks the white onset of the snow, and which we call the Indiansummer, bloomed in November when the last red leaf had fluttered to theearth. A fairy summer, for the vast arches of the skies burned sapphireand amethyst, and hill and woodland, innocent of verdure, were clothedin tints of faintest rose and cloudy violet; and all the world put on amagic livery, nor was there leaf nor stem nor swale nor tuft of mosstoo poor to wear some royal hint of gold, deep-veined or crustedlavishly, where the crested oaks spread, burnished by the sun.

  Snowbird and goldfinch were with us--the latter veiling his splendidtints in modest russet; and now, from the north, came to us silentflocks of birds, all gray and rose, outriders of winter's crystalcortege, still halting somewhere far in the silvery north
, where thewhite owls sit in the firs, and the world lies robed in ermine.

  All through that mellow Indian summer my betrothed grew strong, and herhurts had nearly healed. And I, writing my letters by the open windowin the drawing-room, had been promised that she might make her firstessay to leave her chamber that day--sit in the outer sunshine perhaps,perhaps stand upright and take a step or two. And, at this first trystin the sunshine, she was to set our wedding day.

  From my open window I could see the city on its three hills against theazure magnificence of the sky, and the calm, wide river, still as agolden pond, and the white sails of sloops, becalmed on glassy surfacesreflecting the blue woods.

  A little stream ran foaming down to the river, passing the housethrough a lawn all starred with late-grown dandelions; and even yet thetrout were running up to the still sands of their breeding-nooksabove--great brilliant fish, spotted with flecks that glowed likeliving sparks; and now I looked to see if I might spy them pass,shooting the falls, gay in their bridal-dress of iridescent gems,wishing them good speed to their shadowy woodland tryst.

  Too deeply happy, too content to more than trifle with the letters Imust pen, I idled there, head on hand, listening for her I loved,watching the fair world in the sunshine there. Sometimes, smiling, Iunfolded for the hundredth time and read again the generous letter fromSir Peter and Lady Coleville--so kindly, so cordial, so honorable, allpatched with shreds of gossip of friend and foe, and how New York laystunned at the news of Yorktown. Never a word of the part that I hadplayed so long beneath their roof--only one grave, unselfish line,saying that they had heard me praised for my bearing at Johnstownbattle, and that they had always known that I could conduct in no wiseunworthy of a soldier.

  Too, they promised, if a flag was to be had, to come to Albany for ourwedding, saying we were wild and wilful, and needed chiding, promisingto read us lessons merited.

  And there was a ponderous letter from Sir Frederick Haldimand in answerto one I wrote telling him all--a strange melange of rage at Butler'sperfidy and insolence, and utter disgust with me; though he said,frankly enough, that he would rather see his kinswoman wedded to twentyrebels than to one Butler. With which he slammed his pen to anungracious finish, ending with a complaint to heaven that the world hadused him so shabbily at such a time as this.

  Which sobered Elsin when I read it, she being the tenderest of heart;but I made her laugh ere the quick tears dried in her eyes, and she hadwritten him the loveliest of letters in reply, which was already on itsjourney northward.

  Writing to my father and mother of the happy news, I had not as yetreceived their approbation, yet knew it would come, though Elsin was alittle anxious when I spoke so confidently.

  Yet one more happiness was in store for me ere the greatest happinessof all arrived; for that morning, from Virginia, a little packet cameto Elsin; and opening it together, we found a miniature of hisExcellency, set in a golden oval, on which we read, inscribed: "Withgreat esteem," and signed, "Geo. Washington."

  So, was it wonderful that I, sitting there, should listen, smiling, forsome sound above to warn me of her coming?

  Never had sunshine on the gilded meadows lain so softly, never so pureand soft the aromatic air. And far afield I saw two figures moving,close together, often pausing to look upon the beauty of the sky andhills, then straying on like those who have found what they had soughtfor long ago--Jack Mount and Lyn Montour.

  And, as I leaned there in the casement, following them with smilingeyes, a faint sound behind me made me turn, start to my feet with acry.

  All alone she stood there, pale and lovely, blue eyes fixed on mine;and, at my cry, she took a little step, and then another, flushing withshy pride.

  "Carus! Sweetheart! Do you see?"

  And at first she protested prettily as I caught her in my arms, liftingher in fear lest her knees give way, then smiled assent.

  "Bear me, if you will," she breathed, her white arms tightening aboutmy neck; "carry me with all the burdens you have borne so long, mystrong, tall lover!--lest I dash my foot against a stone, and fall atyour feet to worship and adore! Here am I at last! Ah, what am I to sayto you? The day? Truly, do you desire to wed me still? Then listen;bend your head, adored of men, and I will whisper to you what my heartand soul desire."

  THE END