The last half hour had opened Major Gordon’s eyes. He had yielded, for more than a fortnight, to the fascination of Kate’s society, without inquiring what was the nature of the spell which bound him; but that moment, when he thought death inevitable, had suddenly, as if by a lightning-flash, revealed the truth. He knew that he loved Kate with all the ardor of his soul. Nor, if he had interpreted her look aright, was he indifferent to her. At any other time, he would at once have urged his daring suit. But the agitation of Kate forbade it now.
He followed her in silence, therefore, until they reached the vicinity of the church near Sweetwater, when, just as they were crossing the old bridge in its rear, Kate drew Arab in.
“I never pass this spot without wishing to stop,” she said. “Running water and its musical sound always fascinates me.”
The old bridge fascinated Major Gordon also, as he looked at the dark waters, some twenty feet below, swirling and rushing from under it. Almost completely shaded by the sombre cedars, which here entirely overarched it, the river swept swiftly onwards, the color of dark walnut, except when a stray sunbeam, penetrating the thick canopy, and falling in broken gleams on its surface, burnished it momentarily into gold. Insects skimmed to and fro on the water, now darting out into mid-current to be borne rapidly downwards, and now dozing on the very edge of the rushing tide, or circling in the eddies that revolved under the mossy banks. An almost undistinguishable hum pervaded the atmosphere, from the thousands that buzzed on busy wing about. Occasionally a low sound, as if the cedars audibly sighed, rose up when some faint breeze stirred through their ancient boughs. The scene was the more lovely and absorbing, for its contrast to the conflagration they had just witnessed.
Suddenly a horse’s hoofs were heard striking the bridge. Kate and her companion looked up, the former with perceptible embarrassment; a circumstance which induced Major Gordon to examine the new comer narrowly.
This person was a young man apparently about eight and twenty years of age, and attired in an elegant riding-dress, such as only gentlemen of birth and fortune wore in that day. Slender and tall, though not disproportionally so, and with a haughty yet graceful carriage, he had that peculiar air which the world is accustomed to call aristocratic. He sat his steed with careless ease, managing him principally by the heel. To the Major’s practiced eye he was plainly an adept in horsemanship; though his skill was that of the manege rather than of the field; in short, he was evidently no military man, though so finished a rider. His face was of the high Norman cast, and would have been strikingly handsome, if less cold and supercilious in expression. In his fiery eye were traces of a daring, if not passionate will. But either care, or late hours, or excessive dissipation, had given to his countenance a worn and exhausted look, not generally seen out of great cities, nor often even there in persons so young.
A perceptible scowl gathered on the face of the stranger at sight of the Major. But without noticing him further, he checked his horse, and addressing Kate, said, authoritatively—
“Your aunt has sent me for you. She became alarmed at your long absence, and the woods on fire, too. So, the moment a horse could be saddled, I galloped in search of you, without even stopping to change my dusty coat.”
Kate colored, but, to Major Gordon’s surprise, she showed no signs of resentment, though the Major felt as if he would have liked to punish the speaker for his insolent tone. In fact, she turned Arab’s head immediately homeward, as if obedience to the mandate so surlily delivered was a matter of course.
“Who can the fellow be?” said Major Gordon to himself.