Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

  CHAPTER X.

  RECONCILIATION.

  Alice Wilde had been taught by her father to "read, write, and cipher,"and was not ignorant of the rudiments of some of the sciences; for,curiously enough, considering surrounding circumstances, therewas quite a little library of books at the cabin-home, and someold-fashioned school-books among the number. If, when she first wentinto the seminary at Center City, some of the young ladies weredisposed to ridicule her extreme ignorance upon some matters, theywould be surprised by superior knowledge upon others; and finally werecontent to let her assert her own individuality, and be, what shewas--a puzzle; a charming puzzle, too, for her kindness and sweetnessmade her beauty so irresistible that they could look upon it withoutenvy. Another thing which helped her along both with teachers andpupils was the excellence of her wardrobe and her lavish supply ofpocket-money, for it is tolerably well known that the glitter of goldconceals a great many blemishes. Before the first term was over she wasthe praise, the wonder, and the pet of the school; flying rumors of hergreat beauty and her romantic "belongings" having even winged their wayover the pickets which sentineled the seminary grounds, and wanderedinto the city.

  The evening that Philip Moore reached home, after his eastern journey,chanced to be the same as that upon which the seminary began itsannual exhibition, previous to closing for the long August holiday. Hewould not have thought of attending any thing so tiresome; but, takingtea with his partner, whose pretty wife was going and urged him toaccompany them, he was persuaded against his inclination.

  "As you are already spoken of for mayor, Raymond, and as I am one ofthe city fathers, I suppose we must show a becoming interest in all thevarious 'institutions' which do honor to our rising town," laughedPhilip, as he consented to attend with his friends.

  "It will be very encouraging, especially to the young ladies, to seeyour wise and venerable countenance beaming upon them," remarkedRaymond.

  "But really, Mr. Moore, there's somebody there worth seeing, I'mtold--somebody quite above the average of blue-ribbon and white-muslinbeauty. I've heard all kinds of romantic stories about her, but Ihaven't seen her yet," chatted the young wife. "She's the daughter ofa fisherman, I believe, who's grown enormously rich selling salmonand white-fish, and who's very proud of her. Or else she's an Indianprincess whose father dug up a crock of buried gold--or something outof the common way, nobody knows just what."

  Philip's heart gave a great bound. "Could it be?" he asked himself."No--hardly--and yet"--he was now as anxious to be "bored" by thestupid exhibition as he had hitherto been to escape it.

  They took seats early in the hall, and had leisure to look aboutthem. Philip bowed to acquaintances here and there. After a time hebegan to feel unpleasantly conscious of some spell fastening uponhim--some other influence than his own will magnetizing his thoughtsand movements, until he was compelled to look toward a remote part ofthe room, where, in the shadow of a pillar, he saw two burning eyesfixed upon him. The face was so much in the shade that he could notdistinguish it for some time; but the eyes, glowing and steady as thoseof a rattlesnake, seemed to pierce him through and transfix him. Helooked away, and tried to appear indifferent, yet his own eyes wouldkeep wandering back to those singular and disagreeable ones. At lasthe made out the face: it was that of the young man who had brought himdown from Wilde's mill the last autumn. What was Ben Perkins doing insuch a place as this? He began to feel certain who the mysterious pupilwas.

  "She has thought to please and surprise me," he mused; "yet I believe Iwould rather she would have kept herself just as unsophisticated as shewas, until she learned the world under _my_ tutelage."

  Young ladies came on to the stage, there was music and reading--butPhilip was deaf, for _she_ was not amid the graceful throng.

  At last she came. His own timid wild-flower, his fawn of the forest,stole out into the presence of all those eyes. A murmur of admirationcould be heard throughout the hall. She blushed, yet she wasself-possessed. Philip gazed at her in astonishment. Her dress, ofthe richest blue silk, the flowers on her breast and in her hair, thebow, the step, the little personal adornments, were all _a la mode_.His woodland sylph had been transformed into a modern young lady. Hewas almost displeased--and yet she was so supremely fair, such a queenamid the others, that she looked more lovely than ever. He wonderedif everybody had been teaching her how beautiful she was. There wasnothing of coquetry or vanity in her looks--but a pride, cold andstarry, which was entirely new to her.

  He turned to look at Ben Perkins, who had leaned forward into the lightso that his face was plainly visible; and the suspicions he had oftenentertained that the youth loved Alice were confirmed by his expressionat that moment.

  "Poor boy! how can he help it?" thought the proud and happy gentleman,regarding the untaught lumberman with a kind of generous compassion. Henow saw that Mr. Wilde was sitting by Ben's side, his heart and eyesalso fixed upon the stage.

  "I've seen that face before," whispered Mr. Raymond; "where was it?Ah, I remember it well, now. I can tell you who she is, Philip. She'sthe daughter of Captain Wilde, that queer customer of ours, who hailsfrom the upper country. She's a glorious, remarkable girl! By the way,Phil., did you flirt with her? Because I've a message for you. Capt.Wilde told me to inform you that if you ever set foot on his premisesagain he should consider himself at liberty to shoot you."

  "Flirt with her! let me tell you, Raymond, I'm engaged to her, andintend to marry her just as soon as I can persuade her to set a day.I love her as deeply as I honor her. There's something gone wrong,somewhere, or her father would not have left such word--he's a stern,high-tempered man, but he does not threaten lightly. They could nothave received my letters."

  "I presume I made part of the mischief myself," confessed Raymond, "foralmost the first thing I told them when they entered my store thisspring, was, that you had gone off to marry your elegant cousin. Youneedn't look so provoked, Phil.; I told them in good faith. You used tolove Virginia in the days when you confided in me; and if you'd havekept up your confidence, as you should, I would have been posted, andcould have given your friends all the information they were in searchof. Don't you see 'twas your own fault?"

  "I suppose it was," replied Philip, with a smile, but still feelinguneasy, and oh, how intensely anxious to get where he could whisperexplanations to the heart, which he now saw, had suffered more in hisabsence than he could have dreamed. Henceforth his eyes were fixed onlyupon Alice. Soon she perceived him; as their eyes met, she grew palefor a moment, and then went on with her part more calmly than ever. Tohim, it seemed as if they both were acting a part; as if they had nobusiness in that hour, to be anywhere but by each other's side; he didnot even know what share she had in the performances, except that onceshe sung, and her voice, full, sweet, melancholy, the expression of thelove-song she was singing, seemed to be asking of him why he had beenso cruel to her.

  The two hours of the exercises dragged by. The people arose to go;Philip crowded forward toward the stage, but Alice had disappeared. Helingered, and presently, when she thought the hall was vacated, shecame back to see if her father had waited to speak with her. He wasthere; other parties were scattered about, relatives of the pupils, whowished to speak with them or congratulate them. She did not see him,but hurried down the aisle to where her father and Ben were standing.She looked pale and fatigued--all the pride had gone out of her air asthe color had gone out of her cheek.

  "Alice! dear Alice!" exclaimed Philip, pressing to her side, just asshe reached her father.

  Instantly she turned toward him with haughty calmness.

  "Mr. Moore. Allow me to congratulate you. Was that your bride sittingby your side during the exercises."

  "That was Mrs. Raymond, my partner's wife. But what a strange questionfor _you_ to ask, Alice. I supposed _you_ had consented to take thatname, if ever any one. Mr. Wilde, I received your message through Mr.Raymond, but I knew you were once too sincere a friend of mine, and arealways too honorable a man, to refuse m
e a chance of explanation."

  "Say your say," was the raftsman's curt reply.

  "You need not speak one word, Philip. It is I who ought to beg _your_forgiveness, that I have wronged you by doubting you. Love--oh, love,should never doubt--never be deceived!" exclaimed Alice.

  "It would have taken much to have disturbed my faith in you, Alice."

  "Because I had every motive for loving you; while you--you had pride,prejudice, rank, fashion, every thing to struggle against in choosingme."

  "Indeed!" cried Philip. "Yes, every thing, to be sure!" and he castsuch an expressive glance over her youthful loveliness that she blushedwith the delicious consciousness of her own charms. "Old, ugly,awkward, and ignorant, how ashamed I shall be of my wife!"

  "But, Philip!" her tearful eyes, with the smiles flashing through them,made the rest of her excuses for her.

  Holding her hand, which was all the caress the presence of strangerswould permit, Philip turned to the raftsman.

  "I asked you for your daughter's hand, in the letter which I sent youon the return of the young man who brought me from your home, lastautumn, since your sudden change of plans prevented my asking you inperson. I have not yet had your answer."

  When he said "letter" Alice's eyes turned to Ben, who had been standingwithin hearing all this time; he met her questioning look now with oneof stubborn despair.

  "You gave us no letters, Ben."

  Philip also turned, and the angry blood rushed into his face.

  "Did you not deliver the letters I sent by you, young man?"

  "Ha! ha! ha! no, by thunder, I didn't! Did you think a man was such afool as to help put the halter round his own neck? I didn't give theletters, but I told all the lies I could to hurt you, Philip Moore. Youought to be a dead man now, by good rights. The game's not up yet. Letme tell you that!" and scowling at the party, he strode away into thenight.

  "He ought to be arrested--he is a dangerous fellow," said Mr. Wilde,looking after him uneasily.

  "I am sorry for him," said Philip, "but that can do him no good."

  "Look out for him, Philip; you can not be too wary--he will kill you ifhe gets a chance. Oh, how much trouble that desperate boy has given me.I can not be happy while I know he is about."

  "Thar', thar', child, don't you go to getting nervous again. We'll takecare of Ben. Don't you trouble your head about him."

  "If you could guess what I have suffered this winter past," whisperedAlice, pressing closer to her lover.

  "My poor little forest-fawn," he murmured. "But we must stop talkinghere; eavesdroppers are gathering about. I suppose this ogre ofa seminary will shut you up to-night; but where shall I see youto-morrow, and how early? I have yet to explain my absence to you andyour father--and I'm eager, oh, so eager to talk of the future as wellas the past."

  "Meet us at the Hotel Washington, at my room," replied Mr. Wilde,speaking for her. "We will be there at nine o'clock in the morning. Andnow good-night, puss. You did bravely to-night. I'm going to see Philipsafe home, so you needn't dream of accidents."

  Alice kissed her father good-night. That she wanted to kiss hiscompanion too, and that he wanted to have her, was evident from thelingering looks of both; but people were looking askance at them, andtheir reluctant hands were obliged to part.

  That night the store of Raymond & Moore was discovered to be on fire;the flames were making rapid headway when the alarm was given; it wasthe hour of night when sleep is soundest, but the alarm spread, andpersons were thundering at the door and windows in two minutes.

  "Does any one sleep in the store?" shouted one.

  "Yes! yes! young Moore himself--he has a room at the back."

  "Why don't he come out then? He'll be burned alive. Burst in the doors.Let us see what has happened him."

  "The fire seems to come from that part of the building. He will surelyperish."

  The crowd shouted, screamed, battered the doors in wildexcitement--some ran round to the back, and a ladder was placed at thewindow of his room, which was in the second story. Light shone fromthat room. David Wilde, whose hotel was not far distant, mingling withothers who rushed out at the alarm, as is the custom in provincialtowns, was the first to place his foot upon the ladder; his strengthwas great, and he broke in the sash with a stroke of his fist, leapedinto the building, appearing in a moment with the young man, whom hehanded down to the firemen clambering up the ladder after him.

  "He's nigh about suffocated with the smoke--that's all. Dash water onhim, and he'll be all right presently," he cried to those who pressedabout. "It's that Ben, I know--cuss me, if I don't believe the boy'scrazy," he muttered to himself.

  Philip soon shook off the stupor which had so nearly resulted in themost horrible of deaths, and was able to help others in rescuing hisproperty. The fire was got under without much loss to the building,though its contents suffered from smoke and water. The young firm wasnot discouraged by this, as all loss was covered by insurance; they hadthe promise of a busy time "getting to rights" again, but that was theworst.

  It was apparent, upon examination, that the fire was the work of anincendiary; Philip felt, in his heart, what the guilty intention was,and shuddered at his narrow escape. It was decided by him and Mr. Wildeto put the authorities upon the proper track; but the perpetrator hadfled, and no clue could be got to him in the city. Mr. Wilde at oncesuspected he had gone up the river, and feeling that they should haveno peace until he was apprehended, and not knowing what mischief hemight do at the mill, he took the sheriff with him and started forhome, leaving Alice, for the present, at the school, with permissionof the principal to see her friends when she chose, as it was nowvacation. Before he left there was a long consultation between thethree--Philip, Alice, and her father. Philip explained his absence. Ashe went on to speak of Mortimer Moore and his daughter, of his death,the troubled state of the family affairs, etc., the raftsman betrayeda keener interest than his connection with those affairs would seem towarrant.

  "Poor Virginia! she is all alone, and she is your cousin, Philip," saidAlice.

  "She tried hard to get back her old power over me, Alice. You mustbeware how you compassionate her too much. But when we are married,and have a home of our own, we will share it with her, if you consent.I've no doubt she can find somebody worthy of her, even in this savageWest, as she thinks it. And, by the way, I think we ought to get a homeof our own as soon as possible, in order to have a shelter to offer mycousin--don't you, Alice?"

  "She's tongue-tied. Girls always lose their tongues when they need 'emthe most."

  "Now, father, I should think you might answer for me," said Alice,trying to raise her eyes, but blushes and confusion would get thebetter of her, and she took refuge in her father's lap.

  "Well, puss, I s'pose you want to go to school five or six yearsyet--tell him you've made your cacklations to keep in school tillyou're twenty-two."

  "School! I'll be your teacher," said Philip.

  "Choose for yourself, puss. I s'pose the sooner you shake off yer oldfather, the better you'll like it."

  "I shan't shake you off, father. Neither shall I leave you alone upthere in the woods. That matter must be settled at the start. I shallnever marry, father, to desert you, or be an ungrateful child."

  "Suppose we arrange it this way then. We will live with your father inthe summer, and he shall live with us in the winter. I don't want aprettier place than Wilde's mill to spend my summers in."

  "Oh, that will be delightful," exclaimed the young girl; and then sheblushed more deeply than ever at having betrayed her pleasure.

  "Then don't keep me in suspense any longer, but tell me if you will getready to go back to New York with me in the latter part of September.We will be gone but a few weeks, and can be settled in the new mansionI've given orders for, before the winter is here. Shall it be so?"

  "Say 'yes,' cubbie, and done with it, as long as you don't intend tosay 'no.' I see she wants to say 'yes,' Mr. Moore, and since it's gotto be, the sooner the susp
ense is over, the better I'll like it;"and with a great sigh, the raftsman kissed the forehead of his childand put her hand in that of Philip. With that act he had given awayto another the most cherished of his possessions. But children neverrealize the pang which rends the parent heart, when they leave theparent nest and fly to new bowers. "All I shall be good for now, willbe to keep you in spending-money, I s'pose. You're going to marry afashionable young man, you know, cubbie, and he'll want you tricked outin the last style. How much can you spend before I get back?" and hepulled his leather money-bag out of his pocket.

  "I haven't the least idea, father."

  "Sure enough, you haven't. You'll have to keep count of the dollars,when you get her, Mr. Moore; for never having been indulged in thepastime of her sex, going a-shopping, she won't know whether she oughtto spend ten dollars or a hundred. Like as not, she'll get a passionfor the pretty amusement, to pay for having been kept back in herinfancy. You'd better get some of your women friends to go 'long withyou, puss. Here's, then, for the beginning." He poured a handful ormore of gold into her lap.

  "Nay, Mr. Wilde, you need not indulge her in any thing beyond yourmeans, upon _my_ account, for--although she may have to conform to moremodern fashions, as she has already done, since moving among otherswho do--she will never look so lovely to me in any other dress, as inthose quaint, old-fashioned ones she wore when I learned to love her.And Alice, whatever other pretty things you buy or make, I requestyou to be married in a costume made precisely like that you wore lastsummer--will you?"

  The raftsman heard, two or three times, on his way up the river, fromboatmen whom he hailed, of Ben's having been seen only a little wayahead of him, and he, with the sheriff, had little doubt but theyshould capture him immediately upon their arrival at Wilde's mill. Butupon reaching their destination they could not find him. The men hadseen him hovering about the mill, and Pallas had given him his dinneronly a few hours before, when he came to the house, looking, as shesaid, "like a hungry wild beas', snatching what I give him and trottingoff to de woods agin."

  Help was summoned from the mill and the woods scoured; but no farthertrace of the fugitive could be discovered. They kept up the search fora week, when the sheriff was obliged to return. David Wilde wished tobelieve, with the officer, that Ben had fled the country and gone offto distant parts; but he could not persuade himself to that effect. Hestill felt as if the unseen enemy was somewhere near. However, nothingfurther could be done; so cautioning the house-servants to keep a goodwatch over the premises, and the mill-hands to see that the propertywas not fired at night, or other mischief done, he returned for hisdaughter.

  "Give Pallas this new dress to be made up for the occasion, and tellher to be swift in her preparations, for the time is short. It willbe a month, Alice, before I see you again--a whole, long month--andthen I hope for no more partings. I shall bring Mr. and Mrs. Raymondto the wedding, with your permission," said Philip, with other partingwords, which being whispered we can not relate, as he placed her onthe sail-boat, well laden down with boxes and bales containing thenecessary "dry-goods and groceries" for the fete.

  "We'll charter a steam-tug next time," growled the raftsman, lookingabout him on the various parcels.