LOVE.
Doña Luz and Loyal Heart were placed with regard to each other, in a singular position.
Both young, both handsome, they loved without daring to confess it to themselves, almost without suspecting it.
Both, although their lives had been spent in conditions diametrically opposite, possessed equal freshness of feeling, equal ingenuousness of heart.
The childhood of the maiden had passed away, pale and colourless, amidst the extravagant religious practices of a country where the religion of Christ is rather a paganism than the pure, noble, and simple faith of Europe.
She had never felt a beating of the heart. She was as ignorant of love as she was of sorrow.
She lived thus like the birds of heaven, forgetting the days gone by, careless of the morrow.
The journey she had undertaken had completely changed the colour of her existence.
At the sight of the immense horizons which spread out before her in the prairie, of the majestic rivers which she crossed, of the grand mountains round whose feet she was often obliged to travel, and whose hoary heads seemed to touch heaven, her ideas had become enlarged, a bandage was, so to say, removed from her eyes, and she had learnt that God had created her for something else than to drag out a useless existence in a convent.
The appearance of Loyal Heart, under the extraordinary circumstances in which he had presented himself to her, had won upon her mind, which was at that time particularly open to all sensations, and ready to retain all the strong impressions it might receive.
In presence of the exalted nature of the hunter, of that man in wild costume, but possessing a manly countenance, handsome features and noble bearing, she had felt agitated without comprehending the reason.
The fact was, that unknown to herself, by the force of the secret sympathies which exist between all the beings of the great human family, her heart had met the heart she sought for.
Delicate and frail, she stood in need of this energetic man, with the fascinating glance, the leonine courage, and an iron will, to support her through life, and defend her with his omnipotent protection.
Thus had she, therefore, from the first moment, yielded with a feeling of undefinable happiness, to the inclination which drew her towards Loyal Heart; and love had installed himself as master in her heart, before she was aware of it, or had even thought of resisting.
Recent events had awakened with intense force the passion which had been slumbering at the bottom of her heart. Now that she was near him, that she heard, at every instant, his praises from the mouth of his mother, or from those of his companions, she had come to consider her love as forming part of her existence, she could not comprehend how she could have lived so long without loving this man, whom it appeared she must have known from her very birth.
She no longer lived but for him and by him; happy at a look or a smile, joyful when she saw him, sad when he remained long absent from her.
Loyal Heart had arrived at the same result by a very different route.
Brought up, so to say, in the prairies, face to face with the Divinity, he was accustomed to adore in the great works he had constantly before his eyes, the sublime spectacles of nature; the incessant struggles he had to sustain, whether against Indians or wild beasts, had developed him, morally and physically, in immense proportions. As, by his muscular strength and his skill with his weapons, he had overcome all obstacles that had been opposed to him; so, by the grandeur of his ideas and the delicacy of his sentiments, he was capable of comprehending all things. Nothing that was good and nothing that was great seemed to be unknown to him. As it always happens with superior organisations early placed at war with adversity, and given up without other defences than themselves to the terrible chances of life, his mind had developed itself in gigantic proportions, still remaining in strange unconsciousness of certain sensations, which were unknown to him, and would always have remained so, but for a providential chance.
The daily wants of the agitated and precarious life he led, had stifled within him the germ of the passions; his solitary habits had, unknown to himself, led him to a taste for a contemplative life.
Knowing no other woman but his mother, for the Indians, by their manners, inspired him with nothing but disgust, he had reached the age of six-and-thirty without thinking of love, without knowing what it was, and, what is more, without ever having heard pronounced that word which contains so many things in its four letters, and which, in this world, is the source of so many sublime devotions and so many horrible crimes.
After a long day's hunting through woods and ravines, or after having been engaged fifteen or sixteen hours in trapping beavers, when, in the evening, they met in the prairie at their bivouac fire, the conversation of Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur, who was as ignorant as himself in this respect, could not possibly turn upon anything but the events of the day.
Weeks, months, years passed away without bringing any change in his existence, except a vague uneasiness, whose cause was unknown, but which weighed upon his mind, and for which he could not account. Nature has her imprescriptible rights, and every man must submit to them, in whatever condition he may chance to be placed.
Thus, therefore, when accident brought Doña Luz before him, by the same sentiment of instinctive and irresistible sympathy which acted upon the young girl, his heart flew towards her.
The hunter, astonished at the sudden interest he felt for a stranger, whom, according to all appearances, he might never see again, was almost angry with her on account of that sentiment which was awakening within him, and gave to his intercourse with her an asperity which was unnatural to him.
Like all exalted minds, who have been accustomed to see everything bend before them without resistance, he felt himself irritated at being subdued by a girl, at yielding to an influence from which he no longer could extricate himself.
But when, after the fire in the prairie, he quitted the Mexican camp, notwithstanding the precipitation of his departure, he carried away the remembrance of the fair stranger with him.
And this remembrance increased with absence.
He always fancied he heard the soft and melodious notes of the young girl's voice sounding in his ears, however strong the efforts he made to forget her; in hours of watching or of sleep, she was always there, smiling upon him, and fixing her enchanting looks upon him.
The struggle was severe. Loyal Heart, notwithstanding the passion that devoured him, knew what an insuperable distance separated him from Doña Luz, and how senseless and unrealizable this love was. All the objections possibly to be made in such cases, he made, in order to prove he was mad.
Then, when he had convinced himself that an abyss separated him from her he loved, overcome by the terrible conflict he had maintained against himself, supported perhaps by that hope which never abandons energetic men, far from frankly acknowledging his defeat, but yielding to the passion which was from that time to constitute his sole joy, his sole happiness, he continued doggedly to struggle against it, despising himself for a thousand little weaknesses which his love was continually making him commit.
He shunned, with an obstinacy that ought to have offended the maiden, all opportunities of meeting her. When by chance they happened to be together, he became taciturn and sullen, only answering with difficulty the questions she put to him, and, with that awkwardness peculiar to unpractised lovers, seizing the first opportunity for leaving her.
The young lady looked after him sadly, sighed quietly but deeply, and sometimes a liquid pearl flowed silently down her rosy cheeks at seeing this departure, which she took for indifference, and which was in reality love.
But during the few days that had passed since the taking of the camp the young people had progressed without suspecting it, and this was greatly assisted by the mother of Loyal Heart, who, with that second sight with which all mothers worthy of the name are endowed, had divined this passion, and the honourable combats of her son, and had constituted herself the secret confidante of their love, assisting it unknown to them, and protecting it with all her power, whilst both lovers were persuaded that their secret was buried in the depths of their own hearts.
Such was the state of things two days after the proposal made by the captain to Doña Luz.
Loyal Heart appeared more sad and more preoccupied than usual; he walked about the grotto with hasty strides, showing signs of the greatest impatience, and at intervals casting uneasy glances around him.
At length, leaning against one of the projections of the grotto, he let his head sink on his chest, and remained plunged in profound meditation.
He had stood thus for some time, when a soft voice murmured in his ear—
"What is the matter, my son? Why are your features clouded with such sadness? Have you received any bad news?"
Loyal Heart raised his head, like a man suddenly awakened from sleep.
His mother and Doña Luz were standing before him, their arms interlaced, and leaning upon each other.
He cast upon them a melancholy glance, and replied with a stifled sigh,—
"Alas! mother, tomorrow is the last day. I have as yet been able to imagine nothing that can save Doña Luz, and restore her uncle to her."
The two women started.
"Tomorrow!" Doña Luz murmured; "that is true; it is tomorrow that that man is to come!"
"What will you do, my son?"
"How can I tell, mother?" he replied impatiently. "Oh! this man is stronger than I am. He has defeated all my plans. Up to the present moment we have not possibly been able to discover his retreat. All our researches have proved useless."
"Loyal Heart," the young lady said, softly, "will you then abandon me to the mercy of this bandit? Why, then, did you save me?"
"Oh!" the young man cried, "that reproach kills me."
"I am not reproaching you, Loyal Heart," she said warmly; "but I am very unhappy. If I remain, I cause the death of the only relative I have in the world; if I depart, I am dishonoured!"
"Oh, to be able to do nothing!" he cried, with great excitement. "To see you weep, to know that you are unhappy, and to be able to do nothing! Oh!" he added, "to spare you the least anxiety I would sacrifice my life with joy. God alone knows what I suffer from this want of power."
"Hope, my son, hope!" the old lady said, with an encouraging accent. "God is good. He will not abandon you."
"Hope! how can you tell me to do so, mother? During the last two days my friends and I have attempted things that would appear impossible—and yet without result. Hope! and in a few hours this miserable wretch will come to claim the prey he covets! Better to die than see such a crime consummated."
Doña Luz cast upon him a glance of a peculiar expression, a melancholy smile for a moment passed over her lips, and then she gently laid her delicate little hand upon his shoulder,—
"Loyal Heart," she said, with her melodious, clear voice, "do you love me?"
The young man started; a tremor pervaded every limb.
"Why that question?" he said, in a deeply agitated tone.
"Answer me," she replied, "without hesitation, as I put the question to you; the hour is a solemn one; I have a favour to ask of you."
"Oh! name it, señora; you know I can refuse you nothing!"
"Answer me, then," she said, trembling with emotion; "do you love me?"
"If it be love to desire to sacrifice my life for you—if it be love to suffer martyrdom at witnessing the flowing of a tear which I would purchase with my whole blood—if it be love to have the courage to see you accomplish the sacrifice that will be required from you tomorrow in order to save your uncle—oh! yes, señora, I love you with all my soul! Therefore, speak without fear: whatever you ask of me I will perform with joy."
"That is well, my dear friend," she said, "I depend upon your word; tomorrow I will remind you of it when that man presents himself; but, in the first place, my uncle must be saved, if it were to cost me my life. Alas! he has been a father to me: he loves me as his daughter. It was on my account that he fell into the hands of the bandits. Oh! swear to me, Loyal Heart, that you will deliver him," she added, with an expression of anguish impossible to be described.
Loyal Heart was about to reply when Belhumeur and Black Elk entered the grotto.
"At last!" he cried, springing towards them.
The three men talked for a few minutes together in a low voice: then the hunter returned hastily towards the two women.
His face was glowing with animation.
"You were right, my dear mother," he exclaimed, in a cheerful tone, "God is good: He will not abandon those who place their confidence in Him. Now it is my turn to say, Hope, Doña Luz, I will soon restore your uncle to you."
"Oh!" she cried, joyfully, "can it be possible?"
"Hope! I repeat! Adieu, mother! Implore God to second me; I am about, more than ever, to stand in need of His help!"
Without saying more the young man rushed out of the grotto, followed by the greater part of his companions.
"What did he mean by what he said?" Doña Luz asked, anxiously.
"Come with me, my daughter," the old lady replied, sorrowfully; "come, let us pray for him."
She drew her softly towards the retired part of the grotto which they inhabited.
There only remained about half a score men charged with the defence of the two women.