CHAPTER XXVIII THE LIFTED VEIL
After Dan had left the Mission House Madeline was kept busy for a while getting breakfast for herself and Donnie. The latter had slept soundly, and awoke much refreshed, with more of the old healthy colour in his cheeks. He opened his eyes, and looked around. Hearing sounds in the kitchen he tumbled out of bed, and standing in the doorway gave a chuckle of delight when he saw that Madeline was really there, and had not left him again. Soon he was enfolded in her arms, and his lips and cheeks showered with fervent kisses of welcome. Then he was carried off bodily to have his face and hands washed, and his tangled hair combed into something approaching order. He was hungry, too, and could hardly wait until Madeline had finished before beginning his breakfast. His little tongue wagged incessantly as he sat at the side of the table opposite Madeline. He asked many questions, especially about the unconscious man lying on the cot.
"What's the matter wif 'im?" he asked. "Why is he so still? Is he asleep?"
"He was hurt, dearie," was the quiet reply.
"Who hurt 'im, Malin?" and Donnie's eyes opened wide.
"The Indians, dear. They shot at him."
"Oh, I'm sorry. He was so dood to me. He said he loved 'ou, Malin, an' would take me to 'ou."
"Did he say that, dearie? Are you sure?" and Madeline leaned eagerly forward.
"Ya, me sure," was the simple response.
Madeline sat silently for a while lost in thought. Then it must he true, she said to herself, while a sweet joy stole into her heart. She had meditated much over what Dan had told her, and wondered if the old trapper had said those things merely to cheer her drooping spirits. But such words from the lips of a little child she could not doubt. Norman must have told him. They were surely true.
After breakfast was over Madeline washed the few dishes, put them carefully away, and then tidied up the room. This done she took her place by Norman's side. She could see no change, nothing but that deep heavy stupor. She felt now in her heart that he had loved her during those terrible days when she thought he had cast her away forever. But if he would only awake and tell her so. What joy to hear the blessed truth from his own lips.
For some time Donnie had remained seated upon the floor, looking over several picture books Madeline had found for him on one of the shelves. These satisfied him for a while, but at length, wearying of this amusement, he rose and came to Madeline's side.
"Tell me a 'tory, Malin, pleath."
"What shall it be, dearie?" was the reply, as Madeline lifted him upon her lap.
"When 'ou was 'ittle, Malin. I like dat."
It was not so hard for Madeline to tell of her old home life now. She remembered how she had first told it to Donnie on that terrible night when he had been torn from her arms. How much had happened since then! Slowly and simply she told again of her happy home across the great water, the big house, the garden with the beautiful flowers, and the many kind people she knew. To all this Donnie listened with wondering ears, his little head leaning against her arm.
"There," Madeline at length said, "I've told you enough now. Are you not satisfied?"
"I like dat 'tory, Malin. 'Ou will tell it again some time, won't 'ou?"
"Yes, dearie."
"An' 'ou will sing to me, Malin, won't 'ou?" he pleaded. "I like to hear 'ou sing. 'Ou sounds just like my mamma."
"What shall I sing, dearie? A hymn? It must be only one, and short, too, for it might hurt him," and she nodded toward the cot.
"Oh, do 'ou fink it would?" and Donnie's eyes opened wide. "But maybe a 'ittle one wouldn't hurt 'im; dat one about de star. 'Ou sang it one night when I was tired, an' I went to sleep."
"So I did, Donnie, and you shall have it now. But you mustn't go to sleep, you know. I want you to watch with me and keep me company."
"All right, Malin. I won't go sleep."
In a low, sweet voice Madeline sang the simple song she had learned years before:
"Lead me, O Thou Star of Heaven,
Guide me through the world's dark night,
Lead me to the restful haven,
Bring me to the morning light.
Star of Heaven, bright and fair,
Keep me ever in Thy care.
Brighten, O Thou Star of Heaven,
Death's dark valley deep and wide,
Lighten up the way before me,
Till I reach the other side.
Star of Heaven, lead me on,
When the light of earth is gone."
Scarcely had Madeline begun to sing ere an invisible veil lifted from the brain of the wounded man by her side. He came forth from the blank world of darkness, and a voice fell upon his ears which made him lie very still. It was so sweet and familiar. He had heard it before, and it led him into gardens of the most beautiful and fragrant flowers. And in the centre—the fairest flower of all—stood Madeline as of old.
Presently the singing ceased, and Grey opened his eyes, and fixed them full upon the bright scene before him.
Madeline turning, saw him, noted the look of intelligence upon his face, and her heart bounded with joy. Grey tried to speak, but words would not come. He gave a weary smile, and stretched out his hand. Madeline seized it, and pressed it gently.
"Hush," she whispered. "Don't try to talk. You are weak, so go to sleep now."
Again he smiled, and gave her such a look of love and gratitude that she trembled with emotion, while a deep blush suffused her cheeks. She longed for Norman to speak, to hear the truth from his own lips. She read it in his eyes, however, and was happy. But she did not wish to excite him in his present condition, and knew that a deep refreshing sleep would be the best thing for him.
"My head!" Grey faintly murmured, as he lifted his hand to the wound.
"Yes, I know," she replied. "Go to sleep, and it will feel better."
With a deep sigh of extreme weariness he closed his eyes in a slumber which Madeline knew was natural and refreshing.
"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" she breathed to herself. "The veil is lifted. He knew me, and did not turn away from me in disgust."
She sat watching him for a few minutes, and then some subtle influence caused her to turn her face toward the door. It was partly open, for the morning was mild, and the room warm. And as she looked out upon the world beyond in a half-abstracted manner, she became aware that someone was approaching the house. Then she started, placed Donnie upon the floor, rose to her feet, and took a few steps forward. Her face, which but a few moments before had flushed with joy, was now as white as death. The person coming toward her was the Indian woman, Nadu. She recognised her in an instant, and her first impulse was to close and securely fasten the door. But something seemed to hold her spellbound. She was unable to move and stood perfectly still, fascinated by that slowly advancing figure.
Nadu walked with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her head covered with the old scarf. She was moving as in a dream, heeding nothing about her. Was she coming to visit for the last time the house in which she had passed so many happy days, to look upon the scenes so familiar to her? Was she thinking of the missionary and his wife who would never live there again, the two who had been so kind to her, and who had taught her about the nobler things of life? Was there any feeling of remorse in her heart for the woman she had sent so ruthlessly through the swirling rapids? She reached the door, placed a foot upon the threshold, and lifted her head. As she did so a look of wonder, quickly succeeded by a wild fear, leaped into her eyes. She started back and threw out her arms as if to drive away the scene, while from her lips came a piercing shriek of terror. There before her stood the white woman. It could not be, she was drowned in the rapids, and was this her ghost returned to confront her? The teaching she had received at the Mission House and the years she had spent among white people could not altogether eradicate from Nadu's mind the ingrained superstition of her race. The roaring of the wind, the roll of thunder and the rippling of the stream were to her so many voices of the unseen spirits. Only in times of extreme passion were the voices silent. She heeded nothing then, but rushed madly forward like some impetuous torrent. Only when the violent force had been exhausted did the voices return as before. So on this day her passion of jealousy and hatred was subdued by the sight of her old friend and teacher lying cold in death. And then to be confronted by this spirit, as she thought, of the very one she wished to banish from her mind was most startling. Pain, hardship and even death she would have suffered without a complaint. But this vision of the supernatural, this spirit of the woman she had sent to her death, was more than her sturdy stoicism could endure. Sinking to her knees upon the floor, she buried her face in her hands to blot out that strange sight. And as she knelt there Madeline stepped forward and laid her hand gently upon the bowed woman's shoulder. The touch caused Nadu to shrink back with a gurgling, inarticulate cry.
"Don't be afraid," Madeline said, half surmising the cause of the Indian woman's fear. "I won't hurt you. I forgive you."
Lowering her hands and lifting her head Nadu looked slowly up, while her eyes scanned the white woman's face intently for an instant. Then she reached out fearfully a trembling hand and touched Madeline's dress.
"You not dead?" she gasped. "You not speerit?"
"No, no," came the laughing reply. "Do I seem like a dead person? Get up, and take a good look at me."
Realising how she had been mistaken, Nadu quickly regained her feet, while the old expression of hatred leaped back into her eyes.
"Don't look at me that way!" Madeline cried, laying her hand upon the woman's arm. "Why do you hate me? I have not hurt you. Why do you want to kill me?"
"White woman steal Bill's heart, savvey?" came the quick response.
"Steal Bill's heart!" repeated Madeline. "What do you mean?"
"White woman no savvey?" and Nadu gave a sarcastic laugh. "No savvey Siwash Bill at Hishu?"
In an instant the truth flashed upon Madeline's mind. Why had she been so dull of comprehension? she wondered. She recalled now the squaw man's numerous advances, and his protestations of love that night she had fainted at the door of Old Meg's house. So here was the secret of it all. The Indian woman believed it was her fault, which caused the hatred to burn like a wild, consuming fire.
"Look at me, Nadu," she commanded, drawing closer, "and know that I am telling you the truth. I did not try to steal the heart of your husband. It is a lie! He came to me, but I would not listen. He is bad, bad! You see that man lying there?" and she pointed to the constable. "I knew him a long time ago. I never forgot him. See? Why should I want Siwash Bill?"
Nadu's eyes turned toward the cot, and for the first time she saw the sleeping man lying there. She remained silent for a few minutes, and then a new light shone in her eyes as she turned them upon Madeline's face.
"You no love Bill?" she asked. "You no steal his heart?"
"I tell you, no," was the emphatic reply. "You are wrong. You have tried to kill me when I did nothing to you. It is that man, Bill, who is bad; oh, he is terrible!"
Madeline hardly expected to convince this woman that what she said was true. It was, therefore, a great surprise when Nadu suddenly dropped upon the kitchen floor, seized Madeline's right hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips.
"Me sorry. Me sorry," she moaned. "Nadu once happy here. But Bill take Nadu away. Nadu savvey now."
Then she sprang to her feet with a look of wild determination in her face.
"Me hate heem! Me hate heem!" she cried, while her hands clinched hard. "Heem bad, ugh!"
With that she turned and hurried out of the house, leaving Madeline standing gazing wonderingly after her. She felt that Nadu's hatred would now be turned toward Siwash Bill. What course her anger would take she could not tell, but a sigh of relief escaped her lips as she realised that she herself was no longer the object of this strange woman's revengeful moods.
She was still standing there when Buckskin Dan crossed the threshold. He glanced at Madeline, and then toward the cot. His eye brightened as he noted the natural expression upon Norman's face.
"So the change has come fer the better, miss," he said.
"Yes, and he is sleeping quietly now," was the reply. "But you have been away most of the morning. I did not think a funeral, especially here, would take so long."
"Set down, miss, while I tell ye all about it, an' then ye must give me an account of when yon laddie come to."
Grey slept for the remainder of the day, and did not awake again until early the next morning. He started up and looked around. Daylight was streaming into the room, and the objects within were quite discernible. He saw Dan lying on the floor a short distance away, and wondered what he was doing there. Then slowly his mind cleared and the past stood out vividly before him. He remembered the stand they had made behind the columns of stone, and how he had rushed forward to rescue the old man. But where was Madeline? He had a faint idea that she had been close by his side, had held his hand, and spoken to him. But he now believed it was all a dream. He wished to get up, for he felt strong enough for that. He was also hungry, and longed to explore the room to see what it contained in the way of food. But he did not wish to disturb the old trapper, who must be very tired. So he lay quietly on the cot, thinking and wondering about many things.
At length Dan opened his eyes, and with an ejaculation of annoyance sprang to his feet.
"Wall, I'll be blowed," he exclaimed. "I only intended to rest a bit thar on the floor, an' didn't I go fast asleep."
His delight knew no bounds when he saw Grey's improved condition, and he set hastily to work getting breakfast. But occasionally he cast his eyes in the direction of Madeline's room, and when at length he heard her moving across the floor toward the door he slipped quickly and quietly out of the kitchen into the fresh morning air.
"Guess I'm better out here," he chuckled with delight. "They don't want an old humbug hangin' around at sich a critical time like this. I'll jist slip over to whar the Injuns are camped, an' have a few words with 'em. I've been thinkin' things over a bit lately, an' want thar help. They're a queer lot of varmints, but they kin help us to git outer this hole."
When he returned a half hour later the jubilant expression had left his face, and his furrowed brow was troubled. He noted the happy scene in the Mission House, Norman and Madeline sitting close to each other, with Donnie playing near by.
"They're gone!" he exclaimed. "Them Injuns, the mean wretches, have cleared out."
"Well, what does it matter, Dan?" Grey replied. "We don't need them now, do we?"
"Don't need 'em? Don't need 'em, do ye say? It's jist the time we do need 'em. Jist as soon as ye git a little more strength into yer body we've got to hike outer this back to Hishu. I wanted them Injuns to go with us, fer I'm thinkin' thar'll be trouble up yon with Siwash Bill an' his gang. With them Injuns at me back I'd soon settle thar hash. But now they've hiked off to the interior—both Hishus an' Big Lakes—to hold a great pot-latch. Blame their dusky skins. They're jist as troublesome an' unsartin as a hull nest of fleas."
"But we can face them, Dan," Grey insisted. "I feel stronger every minute, and I have good cause for it, too, have I not? Oh, Dan, this is the happiest day of my life. The veil is not only lifted from my mind, but the veil so dark and terrible which separated Madeline and me is lifted, too. Come, banish that gloom from your face, and be happy with us for to-day. We've had enough darkness and hardship together of late, Dan, so let us enjoy the sunshine and joy for a few hours at least. To-morrow we can start back to Hishu. I do not fear those vile serpents now, though, they were ten to one."
"Very wall, pardner," and Dan scratched his head doubtfully. "I don't want to spile yer pleasure to-day. So I'll jist think me thoughts, an' hold me tongue fer a change."