In the morning they all assembled at the table; and without tiring the reader with the conversation that was carried on, or the entire detail of their plans, which were discussed over the morning meal, we will give a synopsis of the whole in a few words. It was arranged that William, his sister, and Mr. Wigton, accompanied by Tom and Mrs. Rainsfield, should ride over to Fern Vale. William and Mr. Wigton were to remain there with John, while the rest of the party returned to Strawberry Hill. Mr. Wigton had declined the invitation of the Rainsfields to remain with them for a short time on the ground that he would not have long to remain in their quarter, and he wished to devote as much as possible of his time to his young friends. Kate was to fulfil her promised visit until her brother's house was ready for her reception.
The arrangements for the passage over to Fern Vale pleased all parties but Kate, who had been industriously persevering to induce Eleanor to accompany them. But her friend had excused herself on the plea that she very rarely rode, was not at all a good horsewoman, and almost invariably felt ill after a ride. So Kate, finding entreaty useless, was constrained to do without the companionship of her friend. The party took their departure early in the forenoon, without seeing Mr. Rainsfield; who, they understood, was engaged with some person, Mr. Billing had sent word to say, had been waiting to see him.
CHAPTER XIV.
"Nature, indeed, denies them sense, But gives them legs and impudence, That beats all understanding." Williams.
When the black boy, whom John Ferguson had named Billy, was released by his captors, after the castigation we have seen him subjected to by Rainsfield and Smithers, he made the best of his way to Fern Vale; and there, with his bleeding back substantiating his statement, told his tale of woe. John and his friend Tom Rainsfield could hardly credit their sight; the latter especially, who could not think but that if his brother had any hand in the barbarity it must have been as a passive instrument at the disposal of Smithers. The young men felt for the poor aboriginal, and in their sympathy tended his wounds and gave him what assistance they could. With the black the injury sank deep into his heart; savage as he was he felt the ignominy of his treatment; and he cherished that feeling of deep revenge which is innate in the natures of all God's creatures, but especially in those, who like the savage, have never had an ethic inculcation to restrain their passions. He gave vent to his agony, as he lay prostrate on his pallet, in wails of anguish and vituperative mutterings; uttered in the unintelligibleness of his own language.
After the subsiding of the first surprise and indignation the agitation of his own thoughts too much occupied John's mind to admit of his being much diverted by the sorrows of his black boy; and Tom was too much affected by the dejectedness of his friend to entertain any lasting concern for the sable sufferer. As he sat ruminating on the incidents of the day, until he fell into a reverie almost as deep as one of those indulged in by his companion, he roused himself by uttering the following exordium: "Cheer up, John, my dear fellow; don't permit yourself to feel disappointed, for I am sure from the glimpse Eleanor has had to-day of Smithers' real nature she cannot entertain any respect for him; and, as for her ridiculous persistence in binding herself to a foolish engagement, I have no doubt she will now see the necessity of abandoning it."
"My dear Tom," replied the other, "I cannot consent to oppose the claims of Bob Smithers so long as Eleanor herself holds them sacred. She admitted her engagement to him in his and my presence, and at the same time abstained from giving me any direct answer to my proposal; I imagine, as she thought, to avoid paining my feelings; so I must not dare to hope."
"That's all moonshine," cried Tom, "banish the idea of Bob Smithers from your head altogether. You say Eleanor gave you no direct answer to your entreaties; I don't profess to be a judge in such matters, but it appears to me her hesitation was not disadvantageous to you. If that ruffian had not appeared I am sure you would have overcome all her scruples. Persevere John! you know the adage, 'faint heart never won fair lady;' rouse yourself, and act upon it, and I will stake my existence on the result."