This miniature fortress, now called Fort Sullivan, was about three hundred feet square, with strong block-forts at the four corners, so situated as to command both rivers; and these fortifications were now so nearly completed that the men of the invalid corps who were to garrison the place had already marched into their barracks, and were now paraded for inspection.
The forts had been very solidly constructed of great logs, the serrated palisade, deeply and solidly embedded, rose twelve feet high. A rifle platform ran inside this, connecting the rough barracks and stables, which also were built of logs, the crevices stuffed with moss and smeared and plastered with blue clay from the creek.
These, with the curtain, block-forts, and a deep ditch over which was a log bridge, composed the military works at Tioga; and this was the place into which we now walked, a sentry directing us to Block-House No. 2, which overlooked the Chemung.
And no sooner had we entered and climbed the ladder to the women’s quarters overhead, than:
“What luxury!” exclaimed Lois, looking down at her bed of fresh-cut balsam, over which their blankets had been cast. “Could any reasonable woman demand more? With a full view of the pretty river in the rain, and a real puncheon floor, and a bed of perfume to dream on, and a brave loop to shoot from! What more could a vain maid ask?” She glanced at me with sweet and humorous eyes, saying: “Fort Orange is no safer than this log bastion, so scowl on me no more, Euan, but presently take Lanette and me to the parapet where other and lovelier wonders are doubtless to be seen.”
“What further wonders?” asked Lana indifferently.
“Why, sky and earth and river, dear, and the little dicky birds all a-preening under this sweet, sunny veil of rain. Is not all this mystery of nature wonderful enough to lure us to the rifle-platform?”
Said Lana listlessly: “I had liefer court a deeper mystery.”
“Which, dear one?”
“Sleep,” said Lana briefly; and I saw how pale she was, kneeling there beside the opened box and sorting out the simple clothing they had brought with them.
For a few minutes longer we conversed, talking of Otsego and of our friends there; and I learned how Colonel Gansevoort had left with his regiment and Lieutenant-Colonel Willet, and was marching hither with Clinton after all.
A soldier brought a wooden bowl, an iron sap-kettle full of sweet water, a hewn bench, and nailed up a blanket cutting the room in two. Their quarters were now furnished.
I pushed aside the blanket, walked to the inner loop, and gazed down on the miniature parade where the invalids were now being inspected by Colonel Shreve. When I returned, Lana had changed to a levete and was lying on her balsam couch, cheek on hand, looking up at Lois, who knelt beside her on the puncheon floor, smoothing back her thick, bright hair. And in the eyes of these two was an expression the like of which I had never before seen, and I stepped back instinctively, like a man who intrudes on privacy unawares.
“Come in, Euan!” cried Lois, with a gaiety which seemed slightly forced; and I came, awkwardly, not meeting their eyes, and made for the ladder to get myself below.
Whereat both laughed. Lois rose and went behind the blanket to the loop, and Lana said, with a trace of her former levity:
“Broad-brim! Do you fly blushing from my levete? The Queen of France receives in scanter attire, I hear. Sit you on yonder bench and play courtier amiably for once.”
She seemed so frail and white and young, lying there, her fair hair unpowdered and tumbled about her face — so childlike and helpless — that a strange and inexplicable apprehension filled me; and, scarce thinking what I did, I went over to her and knelt down beside her, putting one arm around her shoulders.
Her expression, which had been smiling and vaguely audacious, changed subtly. She lay looking up at me very wistfully for a moment, then lifted her hands a little way. I laid them to my lips, looking over them down into her altered eyes.
“Always,” she said under her breath, “always you have been kind and true, Euan, even when I have used you with scant courtesy.”
“You have never used me ill.”
“No — only to plague you as a girl torments what she truly loves.... Lois and I have spoken much of you together — —” She turned her head. “Where are you, sweeting?”
Lois came from behind the blanket and knelt down so close to me that the fragrance of her freshened the air; and once again, as it happened at the first day’s meeting in Westchester, the same thrill invaded me. And I thought of the wild rose that starlight night, and how fitly was it her symbol and her flower.
Lana looked at us both, unsmiling; then drew her hands from mine and crook’d her arms behind her neck, cradling her head on them, looking at us both all the while. Presently her lids drooped on her white cheeks.
When we rose on tiptoe, I thought she was asleep, but Lois was not certain; and as we crept out onto the rifle-platform and seated ourselves in a sheltered corner under the parapet, she said uneasily:
“Lanette is a strange maid, Euan. At first I knew she disliked me. Then, of a sudden, one day she came to me and clung like a child afraid. And we loved from that minute.... It is strange.”
“Is she ill?”
“In mind, I think.”
“Why?”
“I do not know, Euan.”
“Is it love, think you — her disorder?”
“I do not know, I tell you. Once I thought it was — that. But knew not how to be certain.”
“Does Boyd still court her?”
“No — I do not know,” she said with a troubled look.
“Is it that affair which makes her unhappy?”
“I thought so once. They were ever together. Then she avoided him — or seemed to. It was Betty Bleecker who interfered between them. For Mrs. Bleecker was very wrathful, Euan, and Lana’s indiscretions madded her.... There was a scene.... So Boyd came no more, save when other officers came, which was every day. Somehow I have never been certain that he and Lana did not meet in secret when none suspected.”
“Have you proof?” I asked, cold with rage.
She shook her head, and her gaze grew vague and remote. After a while she seemed to put away her apprehensions, and, smiling, she turned to me, challenging me with her clear, sunny eyes:
“Come, Euan, you shall do me reason, now that my curly pate is innocent of powder, no French red to tint my lips and hide my freckles, and but a linsey-woolsey gown instead of chintz and silk to cover me! So tell me honestly, does not the enchantment break that for a little while seemed to hold you near me?”
“Do you forget,” said I, “that I first saw my enchantress in rags and tattered shoon?”
“Oh!” she said, tossing her pretty head. “Extremes attract all men. But now in this sober and common guise of every day, I am neither Cinderella nor yet the Princess — merely a frowsy, rustic, freckled maid with a mouth somewhat too large for beauty, and the clipped and curly poll of a careless boy. And I desire to know, once for all, how I now suit you, Euan.”
“You are perfection — once for all.”
“I? What obstinate foolishness you utter! In all seriousness—”
“You are — more beautiful than ever — in all seriousness!”
“What folly!” She began to laugh nervously, then shrugged her shoulders, adding: “This young man is plainly partizan and deaf to reason.”
“Being in love.”
“You! In love! What nonsense!”
“Do you doubt it?”
“Oh!” she said carelessly. “You are in love with love — as all men are — and not particularly in love with me. Men, my dear Euan, are gamblers. When first you saw me in tatters, you laid a wager with yourself that I’d please you in silks. A gay hazard! A sporting wager! And straight you dressed me up to suit you; and being a man, and therefore conceited, you could scarcely admit that you had lost your wager to your better senses. Could you? But now you shall admit that in this frowsy, woollen gown the magic of both Cinderel
la and the Princess vanishes with yesterday’s enchantment, and, instead of Chloe, pink and simpering, only a sturdy comrade stands revealed who now, as guerdon for the future, strikes hands with you — like this! Koue!” And with the clear and joyous cry on her lips she struck my palm violently with hers, nor winced under my quick-closing grip.
“Is all now clear and plain between us, Euan?” she inquired. And it seemed to me that her eagerness and fervour rang false.
“You can not love me, then?” I asked in a low voice.
“I? What has love to do with us — here in the woods — and I without knowledge and experience — —”
“You do not love me, then?”
“I can not.”
“Why?”
She made no answer, but bit her lip.
“You need not reply,” said I. “Yet — that night I left Otsego — and when I passed you in the dark — I thought — —”
“My heart was full that night! What comrade could feel less and still possess a human heart?” she said almost sullenly.
“Your letter — and mine — encouraged me to believe — —”
“I know,” she said, with the curt and almost breathless impatience of haste, “but have I ever denied our bond of intimacy, Euan? Closer bond have I with no man. But it must be a comrade’s bond between us.... I meant to make that plain to you — and doubtless, my heart being full — and I but a girl — conveyed to you — by what I said — and did — —”
“Lois! Is it not in you to love me as a woman loves a man?”
“I told you that when the time arrived I would doubtless be what you wish me to be — —”
“You can love me, then?”
“How do I know? You perplex and vex me. Who else would I love but you? Who else is there in the world — except my mother?”
There was a silence; then I said:
“Has this passionate quest of her so wholly absorbed and controlled you that all else counts as nothing?”
“Yes, yes! You know it. You knew it at Otsego! Nothing else matters. I will not permit anything else to matter! And, lest you deem me cold, thankless, inhuman, ask of yourself, Euan, why such a lonely girl as I should close her eyes and stop her ears and lock her heart and — and turn her face away when the man — to whom she owes all — to whom she is — utterly devoted — urges her toward emotions — toward matters strange to her — and too profound as yet. So I ask you, for a time, to let what sleeps within us both lie sleeping, undisturbed. There is a love more natural, more imperious, more passionate still; and — it has led me here! And I will not confuse it with any other sentiment; nor share it with any man — not even with you — dear as you have become to me — lonely as I am, — no, not even with you will I share it! For I have vowed that I shall never slake my thirst with love save first in her dear embrace.... After these wistful, stark, and barren years — loveless, weary, naked, and unkind — —” Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, bowing her head to her knees.
“Yet you bid me hope, Lois?” I asked under my breath.
She nodded.
“You make me happy beyond words,” I whispered.
She looked up from her hands:
“Is that all you required to make you happy?”
“Can I ask more?”
“I — I thought men were more ruthless — more imperious and hotly impatient with the mistress of their hearts — if truly I am mistress of yours, as you tell me.”
“I am impatient only for your happiness; ruthless only to secure it.”
“For my happiness? Not for your own?”
“How can that come to me save when yours comes to you?”
“Oh!... I did not understand. I had not thought it mattered very greatly to men, so that they found their happiness — so that they found contentment in their sweethearts’ yielding.... Then my surrender would mean nothing to you unless I yielded happily?”
“Nothing. Good God! In what school have you learned of love!”
She nodded thoughtfully, looking me in the eyes.
“What you tell me, Euan, is pleasant to think on. It reassures and comforts; nay, it is the sweetest thing you ever said to me — that you could find no happiness in my yielding unless I yield happily.... Why, Euan, that alone would win me — were it time. It clears up much that I have never understood concerning you.... Men have not used me gently.... And then you came.... And I thought you must be like the others, being a man, except that you are the only one to whom I was at all inclined — perhaps because you were from the beginning gentler and more honest with me.... What a way to win a woman’s heart! To seek her happiness first of all!... Could you give me to another — if my happiness required it?”
“What else could I do, Lois?”
“Would you do that!” she demanded hotly.
“Have I any choice?”
“Not if your strange creed be sincere. Is it sincere?”
“There is no other creed for those who really love.”
“You are wrong,” she said angrily, looking at me with tightened lips.
“How wrong?”
“Because — I would not give you to another woman, though you cried out for her till the heavens fell!”
I began to laugh, but her eyes still harboured lightning.
“You should not go to her, whether or not you loved her!” she repeated. “I would not have it. I would not endure it!”
“Yet — if I loved another — —”
“No! That is treason! Your happiness should be in me. And if you wavered I would hold you prisoner against your treacherous and very self!”
“How could you hold me?”
“What? Why — why — I — —” She sat biting her scarlet lips and thinking, with straight brows deeply knitted, her greyish-purple eyes fixed hard on me. Then a slight colour stained her cheeks, and she looked elsewhere, murmuring: “I do not know how I would hold you prisoner. But I know I should do it, somehow.”
“I know it, too,” said I, looking at my ring she wore.
She blushed hotly: “It is well that you do, Euan. Death is the dire penalty if my prisoner escapes!” She hesitated, bit her lip, then added faintly: “Death for me, I mean.” After a moment she slowly lifted her eyes to mine, and so still and clear were they that it seemed my regard plunged to the very depths of her.
“You do love me then,” I said, taking her hand in mine.
Her face paled, and she caught her breath.
“Will you not wait — a little while — before you court me?” she faltered. “Will you not wait because I ask it of you?”
“Yes, I will wait.”
“Nor speak of love — until — —”
“Nor speak of love until you bid me speak.”
“Nor — caress me — nor touch me — nor look in my eyes — this way — —” Her hand had melted somehow closely into mine. We both were trembling now; and she withdrew her hand and slowly pressed it close against her heart, gazing at me in a white and childish wonder, as though dumb and reproachful of some wound that I had dealt her. And as I saw her there, so hurt and white and sweet, all quivering under the first swift consciousness of love, I trembled, too, with the fierce desire to take her in my arms and whisper what was raging in my heart of passionate assurance and devotion.
And I said nothing, nor did she. But presently the wild-rose tint crept back into her pale cheeks, and her head dropped, and she sat with eyes remote and vaguely sweet, her hands listless in her lap.
And I, my heart in furious protest, condemned to batter at its walls in a vain summons to the silent lips that should have voiced its every beat, remained mute in futile and impotent adoration of the miracle love had wrought under my very eyes.
Consigned to silence, condemned to patience super-human, I scarce knew how to conduct. And so cruelly the restraint cut and checked me that what with my perplexity, my happiness, and my wretchedness, I was in a plight.
No doubt the spectacle that my features pr
esented — a very playground for my varying emotions — was somewhat startling to a maid so new at love. For, glancing with veiled eyes at me, presently her own eyes flew open wide. And:
“Euan!” she faltered. “Is aught amiss with you? Are you ill, dear lad? And have not told me?”
Whereat I was confused and hot and vexed; and I told her very plainly what it was that ailed me. And now mark! In place of an understanding and sympathy and a nice appreciation of my honourable discomfort, she laughed; and as her cheeks cooled she laughed the more, tossing back her pretty head while her mirth, now uncontrolled, rippled forth till the wild birds, excited, joined in with restless chirping, and a squirrel sprung his elfin rattle overhead.
“And that,” said I, furious, “is what I get for deferring to your wishes! I’ve a mind to kiss you now!”
Breathless, her hands pressed to her breast, she looked at me, and made as though to speak, but laughter seized her and she surrendered to it helplessly.
Whereat I sprang to my feet and marched to the parapet, and she after me, laying her hand on my arm.
“Dear lad — I do not mean unkindness.... But it is all so new to me — and you are so tall a man to pull such funny faces — as though love was a stomach pain — —” She swayed, helpless again with laughter, still clinging to my arm.
“If you truly find my features ridiculous — —” I began, but her hand instantly closed my lips. I kissed it, however, with angry satisfaction, and she took it away hurriedly.
“Are you ashamed — you great, sulky and hulking boy — to take my harmless pleasantry so uncouthly? And how is this?” says she, stamping her foot. “May I not laugh a little at my lover if I choose? I will have you know, Euan, that I do what pleases me with mine own, and am not to sit in dread of your displeasure if I have a mind to laugh.”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 723