by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY.
THOUGHTS.
That night I passed without repose. How was it with Eugenie? How withAurore?
Mine was a night of reflections, in which pleasure and pain weresingularly blended. The love of the quadroon was my source of pleasure;but, alas! pain predominated as my thoughts dwelt upon the Creole! Thatthe latter loved me I no longer doubted; and this assurance, so far fromgiving me joy, filled me with keen regret. Accursed vanity, that canenjoy such a triumph,--vile heart, that can revel in a love it is unableto return! Mine did not: it grieved instead.
In thought I reviewed the short hours of intercourse that had passedbetween us--Eugenie Besancon and myself. I communed with my conscience,asking myself the question, Was I innocent? Had I done aught, either byword, or look, or gesture, to occasion this love?--to produce the firstdelicate impression, that upon a heart susceptible as hers soon becomesa fixed and vivid picture? Upon the boat? Or afterwards? I rememberedthat at first sight I had gazed upon her with admiring eyes. Iremembered that in hers I had beheld that strange expression of interestwhich I had attributed to curiosity or some other cause--I knew notwhat. Vanity, of which no doubt I possess my share, had not interpretedthose tender glances aright--had not even whispered me they were theflowers of love, easily ripened to its fruits. Had I been instrumentalin nurturing those flowers of the heart?--had I done aught to beguilethem to their fatal blooming?
I examined the whole course of my conduct, and pondered over all thathad passed between us. I thought of all that had occurred during ourpassage upon the boat--during the tragic scene that followed. I couldnot remember aught, either of word, look, or gesture, by which I mightcondemn myself. I gave full play to my conscience, and it declared meinnocent.
Afterwards--after that terrible night--after those burning eyes and thatstrange face had passed dreamlike before my disordered senses--afterthat moment I could not have been guilty of aught that was trivial.During the hours of my convalescence--during the whole period of my stayupon the plantation--I could remember nothing in my intercourse withEugenie Besancon to give me cause for regret. Towards her I hadobserved a studied respect--nothing more. Secretly I felt friendshipand sympathy; more especially after I had noted the change in hermanner, and feared that some cloud was shadowing her fortune. Alas,poor Eugenie! Little did I guess the nature of that cloud! Little didI dream how dark it was!
Notwithstanding my self-exculpation, I still felt pain. Had EugenieBesancon been a woman of ordinary character I might have borne myreflections more lightly. But to a heart so highly attuned, so noble,so passionate, what would be the shock of an unrequited love? Terribleit must be; perhaps the more so at thus finding her rival in her ownslave!
Strange confidante had I chosen for my secret! Strange ear into which Ihad poured the tale of my love! Oh that I had not made my confession!What suffering had I caused this fair, this unfortunate lady!
Such painful reflections coursed through my mind; but there were othersequally bitter, and with bitterness springing from a far differentsource. What would be the effect of the disclosure? How would itaffect our future--the future of myself and Aurore? How would Eugenieact? Towards me? towards Aurore--_her slave_?
My confession had received no response. The mute lips murmured neitherreply nor adieu. I had gazed but a moment on the insensible form.Aurore had beckoned me away, and I had left the room in a state ofembarrassment and confusion--I scarce remembered how.
What would be the result? I trembled to think. Bitterness, hostility,revenge?
Surely a soul so pure, so noble, could not harbour such passions asthese?
"No," thought I; "Eugenie Besancon is too gentle, too womanly, to giveway to them. Is there a hope that she may have pity on _me_, as I pity_her_? Or is there not? She is a Creole--she inherits the fierypassions of her race. Should these be aroused to jealousy, to revenge,her gratitude will soon pass away--her love be changed to scorn. _Herown slave_!"
Ah! I well understood the meaning of this relationship, though I cannotmake it plain to you. You can ill comprehend the horrid feeling. Talkof a _mesalliance_ of the aristocratic lord with the daughter of hispeasant retainer, of the high-born dame with her plebeian groom--talk ofthe scandal and scorn to which such rare events give rise! All this islittle--is mild, when compared with the positive disgust and horror feltfor the "white" who would ally himself _in marriage_ with a _slave_! Nomatter how white _she_ be, no matter how beautiful--even lovely asAurore--he who would make her his _wife_ must bear her away from hernative land, far from the scenes where she has hitherto been known! His_mistress_--all! that is another affair. An alliance of this nature ispardonable. The "society" of the South is satisfied with the_slave-mistress_; but the _slave-wife_--that is an impossibility, anincongruity not to be borne!
I knew that the gifted Eugenie was above the common prejudices of herclass; but I should have expected too much to suppose that she was abovethis one. No; noble, indeed, must be the soul that could have thrownoff this chain, coiled around it by education, by habit, by example, byevery form of social life. Notwithstanding all--notwithstanding therelations that existed between herself and Aurore, I could not expectthis much. Aurore was her companion, her friend; but still Aurore was_her slave_!
I trembled for the result. I trembled for our next interview. In thefuture I saw darkness and danger. I had but one hope, one joy--the loveof Aurore!
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I rose from my sleepless couch. I dressed and ate my breakfasthurriedly, mechanically.
That finished, I was at a loss what to do next. Should I return to theplantation, and seek another interview with Eugenie. No--not then. Ihad not the courage. It would be better, I reflected, to permit sometime to pass--a day or two--before going back. Perhaps Mademoisellewould send for me?
Perhaps--At all events, it would be better to allow some days to elapse.Long days they would be to me!
I could not bear the society of any one. I shunned conversation;although I observed, as on the preceding day, that I was the object ofscrutiny--the subject of comment among the loungers of the "bar," and myacquaintances of the billiard-room. To avoid them, I remained inside myroom, and endeavoured to kill time by reading.
I soon grew tired of this chamber-life; and upon the third morning Iseized my gun, and plunged into the depth of the forest.
I moved amidst the huge pyramidal trunks of the cypresses, whose thickumbellated foliage, meeting overhead, shut out both sun and sky. Thevery gloom occasioned by their shade was congenial to my thoughts; and Iwandered on, my steps guided rather by accident than design.
I did not search for game. I was not thinking of sport. My gun restedidly in the hollow of my arm. The raccoon, which in the more open woodsis nocturnal, is here abroad by day. I saw the creature plunging hisfood into the waters of the bayou, and skulking around the trunks of thecypresses. I saw the opossum gliding along the fallen log, and the redsquirrel, like a stream of fire, brushing up the bark of the talltulip-tree. I saw the large "swamp-hare" leap from her form by theselvage of the cane-brake; and, still more tempting game, thefallow-deer twice bounded before me, roused from its covert in the shadythickets of the pawpaw-trees. The wild turkey, too, in all the glitterof his metallic plumage, crossed my path; and upon the bayou, whose bankI for some time followed, I had ample opportunity of discharging mypiece at the blue heron or the egret, the summer duck or the snake-bird,the slender ibis or the stately crane. Even the king of wingedcreatures, the white-headed eagle, was more than once within range of mygun, screaming his maniac note among the tops of the tall taxodiums.
And still the brown tubes rested idly across my arm; nor did I oncethink of casting my eye along their sights. No ordinary game could havetempted me to interrupt the current, of my thoughts, that were dwellingupon a theme to me the most interesting in the world--Aurore thequadroon!