CHAPTER II.
INFORM MY FRIENDS OF MY RESOLVE—THEIR SURPRISE—DEPARTURE POSTPONED ONE DAY—PREPARATIONS—GENERAL LEAVETAKING— TRYING INTERVIEW WITH LILIAN, AND FINAL ADIEU.
As I neared the residence of Mrs. Huntly and Lilian, (which had also been mine for some months) for the purpose of bidding my friends another long adieu, I heard the merry voice and ringing laugh of Eva Mortimer. Another time this would have been music to my ears; but now my spirits were greatly depressed, and I was not in a mood to appreciate it. The cabin—it would scarcely bear a more exalted title—seemed surrounded with an air of gloom. It was as good as any, better than most, which formed the village of Oregon City; but yet, what a place to be the abode of those who had been used all their lives to the luxurious mansion of wealth!—and I could not avoid making a comparison between the condition of the tenants now, and when I had approached to bid them farewell some three years before— nor of thinking with what Christian-like resignation they had borne, and still bore, their misfortunes. Their present dwelling was built of unhewn logs, whose crevices were filled with clay, had a thatched roof, puncheon floors, and three apartments. One of these had been assigned to Teddy and myself, another to Lilian and her mother, and the third answered the treble uses of parlor, sittingroom and kitchen. A few beds and bedding, a table, one or two chairs, together with a few benches, and the most common househould utensils, comprised the principal furniture. And this was the abode of the lovely and once wealthy heiress, Lilian Huntly! And she could seem contented here! What a happy spirit, to adapt itself to all circumstances— to blend itself, if I may so express it, with every fortune! With this reflection I crossed the threshhold, and beheld Lilian and Eva in gay conversation, and Mrs. Huntly seated by the table, perusing a book. Both the young ladies turned to me as I entered, and Eva at once exclaimed: "So, Mr. Francis, you have just come in time—we have it all settled." "May I inquire what?" returned I, gravely. "May you inquire what?" she repeated, with a playful curl of the lip. "Did you ever see such a starch, ministerial look, Lilian?—as grave is he as a sexton. Why, one would suppose all his friends were dead, and he had come to invite us to the funeral. Heigh-ho! if ever I get a lover, he shall wear no such look as that; if he do, it will be at the risk of having his hair combed and powdered, I assure you." "But I have reason for looking grave," I replied. "Eh! what!" cried Eva, changing instantly her whole expression and manner "Surely you have no bad news for us?" and she approached and laid her hand upon my arm, with a troubled look, while Lilian sunk down upon a seat, as if she had some sad foreboding, and Mrs. Huntly turned her eyes upon me inquiringly. "Give yourselves no alarm," I hastened to reply. "I have only come to say, we must separate for a time." "Indeed!" exclaimed Eva, looking serious. "You have heard tidings of Charles?" added Mrs. Huntly. I glanced at Lilian, but she said not a word, though all color had forsaken her features. "No, I have not heard from Charles," I rejoined, in answer to Mrs. Huntly; "but presume I shall ere I return." "Good heavens! then you are going far?" cried Eva, in astonishment. "I contemplate making a journey to the east, and may meet Charles on the way, in which case I shall return at once— otherwise, I may be absent the summer." "Why, Francis, what has made you resolve thus so suddenly?" inquired Mrs. Huntly. "How are we to do without you? I thought—(she paused and glanced toward Lilian, who had turned her head aside and seemed deeply affected,)—that—that you intended to pass the summer with us." "Cruel man," said Eva, in a whisper, "how can you leave the sweetest being on earth? O, you men!" And then she continued aloud: "I wish we were all going with you. Can you not take us all along?" "Why, I fear it would not be safe." "As safe as it is here, I am certain. Surely we could not be more than killed if we went, and who knows but some of these Indians, that are in the habit of visiting our great city here, may take a notion we have lived long enough, and so murder us all, or marry us, which would be the same thing! But whoever knew a gentleman gallant enough to do what was asked of him? Ah! I see—you don't even listen now—your thoughts are all with somebody else—and so I will retire. L et me know when it is over, as I wish to bid you adieu;" and she darted out of the room. Mrs. Huntly was on the point of interrogating me farther, but perceiving by a sign from Lilian that the latter wished to see me alone, she made some excuse, and went into an adjoining apartment. The moment she had disappeared, Lilian sprang up and flew into my arms. "Is this true, Francis?" she exclaimed. "Are you really going to leave us?" "I fear I must for a time," I said, in a not very firm voice. "A long time then," sighed the fair girl; "a long time, if you are going east. O, Francis, I did not think we should part so soon! What have you heard? Something, surely—for you have never intimated this before—and you would not deceive one who loves you!" This was said so touchingly, with such naivete, that for a time I only replied by pressing her more closely to my heart, and imprinting a kiss upon her ruby lips. "I cannot tell my Lilian everything," I at length made answer. "Suffice, that I have important reasons for going; and sometime, God willing, you shall know all. My resolution to leave was formed to-day, and to-day we must part." "To-day?" she gasped, and I felt her whole form quiver like a reed shaken by the wind. "O, no! not to-day, Francis! that would be too much—too sudden! You must not go to-day!" "Why not, dearest? I shall return one day sooner for it doubtless; and it will be as hard to part to-morrow as to-day." "But it is so sudden—so unexpected," she pleaded. "Delay till to-morrow Francis!" "Well, anything to please you," and I stamped the promise with the seal of love "Be cheerful as you can in my absence Lilian, and when I return with your brother—" "O, then you are going to find him!" she exclaimed, interrupting me. "That return will be joyful indeed! Poor Charles! If you do not meet him on the way, most likely you will in Boston. Cheer him all you can, Francis, and tell him we are as happy as circumstances will allow us to be." "Beg pardon, your honor," said the voice of Teddy at this moment, startling Lilian, like a frightened roe, from my arms. "Beg pardon for interrupting yees— but the baast ye buyed this while ago, is not inywhere to my knowing." "Never mind, Teddy, go and hunt it. It must be about, unless the Indians have stolen it, in which case I must get another. Hunt for it—I shall not leave to-day." "Troth, thin, I'll 'av another parthing mesilf, jist," returned Teddy, as he disappeared with a pleased look. At this moment Mrs. Huntly, hearing another voice, reappeared, and my tete-a-tete with Lilian was for the present broken off. The former had a great many questions to ask me—why I had decided leaving so suddenly—when I expected to reach Boston, and the like—so that I had no little difficulty in replying in a way not to commit myself. Then she had letters to write to her friends; and Lilian had letters to prepare also; and the news of my departure having circulated quickly through the village, numbers called to see me, to send messages and letters to their native land—so that with listening to their requests, to an extra amount of advice as to the proper mode of conducting myself under all circumstances, and attending to my own affairs, I was kept busy all day, without the opportunity of another private interview with Lilian. A fine horse, which I had purchased a few days before of an Indian, was lost— the owner I suppose, or some of his friends, thinking it best to recover the animal without troubling me in the matter at all, Consequently, another beast was to be procured; and as this was for Teddy, I allowed him to make his own selection— the one I had ridden hither still being in my possession. At last, everything being prepared, I retired to my couch, heartily fatigued with my day's work. But thought was too busy to allow me much sleep; and I question if at least one other did not pass a restless night from the same cause; for on appearing in the morning, I noticed the features of Lilian were very pale, and her eyes red as if from recent weeping. But she seemed firm, ready to endure the separation, and uttered not a single word of complaint. I could have loved her for this, if for nothing else—her conduct was so womanly and sensible. She did not feel the less, that she did not show it more, I knew. She was about to part with one she had loved from childhood— one to whom her heart and hand we
re given — and this in a strange, wild country, for a long separation, full of peril to both, with no certainty of ever seeing him again. It could not but be painful to her in any situation—doubly so in the one she was placed — and I fancy I appreciated her noble firmness as it deserved. The countenances of Mrs. Huntly, Madame Mortimer, Eva, and many others, all were grave; and I read in their looks unfeigned sorrow at my close-coming departure. The morning meal was partaken in silence, as all were too sad and full of deep thought for unnecessary conversation.— Ere it was finished, my friends had all collected to bid me farewell and God speed; and the announcement by Teddy that the horses were ready, was the signal for me to begin the parting scene. Commencing with those I cared least about, I shook each heartily by the hand, and passed from one to the other as rapidly as possible. "Francis Leighton," said Madame Mortimer, when I came to her, and her hand pressed mine warmly, and her voice trembled as she spoke, "remember that to you and your friend my daughter owes her life, and I a debt of gratitude that may never be canceled. If my prayers for your safe and happy return be of any avail, you have them. God bless you, sir! and remember, that whatever may happen in this changing world, in me, while living, you have a warm friend; and (approaching and whispering in my ear) so has Lilian and her mother. While I have aught, they shall never want. Farewell, my friend, farewell—but I hope only for a time." It may not surprise the reader, if I say the pressure of my fingers was none the less for this information, nor my heart any heavier, unless it was by the additional weight of tears of joy. Madame Mortimer stepped aside, and I turned to Eva. There was no merriment in her look—nothing light upon her tongue. "You have heard the words of mother," she said, impressively. "They are not meaningless. To you and your friend I am indebted for my life. My conversation at times may have seemed light and trifling; but notwitstanding, Francis, I would have you believe, there is a heart beneath all that does not overlook the merits of its friends, nor feel lightly for their welfare. When you see your friend, tell him that he is prayed for daily, by one who, though she never saw, can never cease to remember him. Adieu! and may God bear you safely through all peril!" and she turned away, as if to hide a tear. "Francis," said Mrs. Huntly, striving to command her voice, which trembled not a little, as she held both my hands in hers: "Francis, it is hard—very, very hard—to part with you. But I suppose I must, and hope it is all for the best. I have had so much trouble within a few years—have seen so many of those I once supposed my friends forsake me—that it really becomes grievous to part with any of the few I have tried and not found wanting. But go, Francis, and God protect you! Should you be fortunate enough to meet with dear Charles (here her voice faltered to a pause, and she was forced to dash away the tears dimning her eyes),—tell— tell him all. Break the matter gently, if he does not already know it—and—and comfort him the best way you can. My love, my deepest, undying love to your parents and all my friends. There— there—I can say no more—no more. Go, Francis, and God's blessing and mine attend you! Good-by! farewell!" and shaking my hands warmly, with her head averted, she dropped them and disappeared into another apartment, seemingly too much affected to tarry longer in my presence. With a proper delicacy, for which I gave them ample credit, one after another departed, until I was left alone with Lilian. While these several partings were taking place, she had remained seated, watching the whole proceedings, with what feelings, I leave lovers to judge. I now turned to her, and felt the grand trial was at hand, and my heart seemed in my very throat. Her sweet countenance was pale and death-like, her very lips were white, and her eyes full of tears. There was no shyness—no trembling—no apparent excitement. She seemed, as her heavenly blue eyes fixed upon mine, rather a beautiful figure, cut from the purest marble, cold and motionless, than a living, breathing human being. But oh! what thoughts, what agonies were rending that soul within, mastered only by a most powerful will! With a step none of the firmest, I approached and took a seat by her side, and laid my hand upon hers. "Lilian," I said, in a scarcely articulate voice: "Lilian, the time has come to—to—part." She did not reply in words—she could not; but she sprang to her feet, her ivory arms encircled my neck, and her feelings found vent in tears upon my heaving breast. Smile, if you will, reader—you who have passed the romantic bounds of a first pure and holy passion, and become identified with the cares and dross of a money-getting, matter-of-fact, dollar-and-cent-life— smile if you will, as your eye chances upon this simple passage, and curl your lip in proud disdain of what you now consider foolish days of love-sick sentimentality; but remember, withal, that in your long career of painful experience, you can refer to no period when you felt more happiness more unadulterated joy, than that when the being of your first ambition and love lay trustingly in your arms. It is a point in the life of each and al l, who have experienced it (and to none other are these words addressed), which can never be erased from the tablet of memory; and though in after years we may affect to deride it as silly and sentimental, it will come upon us in our reflective moments like a warm sunshine suddenly bursting upon a late cold and gloomy landscape and insensibly, as it were, our spirits will be borne away, to live over again, though briefly, the happiest moments of our existence. The man who has passed the prime and vigor of manhood without ever having felt this—without this to look back to—I pity; for he has missed the purest enjoyment offered to mortal; and his whole path of life must have been through a sterile desert, without one garrer blade or flower to relieve its barrer aspect. For some moments the heart of Lilian beat rapidly against mine, and her tear flowed hot and fast. I did not attempt to restrain the latter, for I knew they would bring relief to an overcharged soul, and I rejoiced that she could weep. At length they ceased, and Lilian spoke. "I will not detain you longer, dear Francis. Between you and I who know each other so well, words are idle and unmeaning, or at least, unexpressive of our feelings. Avoid danger for your own sake, and for the sake of her who loved you; and do not forget that she will count the days, the hours, ay, the minutes, of your absence." "I will not, dearest Lilian," I exclaimed, straining her to my breast, and pressing my lips again and again to hers. "I will not forget what you have told me. I will not forget there lives an angel to make happy my return, and God send my return may make her happy also! Adieu, dearest— take heart—do not despond—and Heaven grant our meeting may be soon There, God bless you! and holy angels guard you!" and taking a farewell salute, I gently seated her as before, and rushed from the cottage. Two fiery horses stood saddled and bridled at the door, pawing the earth impatiently. Everything was ready for a start; and snatching the bridle of one from the hand of Teddy, I vaulted into the saddle. The next moment I was dashing away through the forest at a dangerous speed, but one that could scarcely keep pace with my thoughts.
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