For the two succeeding days and nights the hapless Claud was the prey of conflicting emotions,—the more oppressive because he carefully kept them pent up in his own bosom. He dared not make the least allusion before his parents to the lady whom they knew he had rescued, or his visit to her home, for he could not do so without revealing the fact that the dreaded Gaut Gurley, with his family, had found his way into the vicinity; while, if he did disclose this fact, he felt that he could not hold up his head before them till he had conquered his feelings towards the daughter. And sometimes he thought he had conquered them, and resolved that he would never see her again. But, brooding over his feelings in the solitudes of the woods, he only cherished and fanned the flame he was thinking to extinguish; and he again relapsed,—again paused,—again "resolved, re-resolved, and did the same;" for, on the third day, under the excuse of taking another excursion on the lake, he was drawn, as surely as the vibrating needle to the pole, to the beautiful load-star of the Magalloway.
Suspecting the state of young Elwood's feelings towards her, and fearing that she might have been too forward in her advances at their last interview, Avis Gurley, this time, received him with a dignity and maidenly reserve, which, when contrasted with her former sociability and cordiality of manner, seemed to him like studied coolness. This soon led him, in turn, to sue for favor. And so earnestly did he pursue his object, that, before he was aware of what he was saying, he had revealed the secret of his heart. She received his remarks in respectful silence, but gave no indication by which he could judge whether the inadvertent disclosure was pleasing or otherwise, except what might be gathered from her increased cordiality on other subjects, to which she now adroitly turned the conversation. This was just enough to encourage him, and at the same time leave him in that degree of doubt and suspense which generally operate as the greatest incentive to persevere in the pursuit of an object. It proved so in his case; and, to this natural incentive to persevere, was now added another, that of respect for her character,—a respect which every hour's conversation with her enhanced, and which he might accord to her with entire justice. Gaut Gurley, like many other bad men, was proud of having a good daughter. He early perceived that she inherited all that was comely and good in him, physically and morally, without any of his defects or faults of character. And, desirous so to rear her as to make the most of her natural endowments, and so, at the same time, that her character should not be marred by his example, he had been at considerable expense with her education, and had even deported himself with much circumspection in her presence. This, as will be readily inferred of one of his designing character, he did from a mixed motive: partly from parental pride and affection, and partly to make her, through some advantageous marriage, subservient to his own personal interests.
In this state of affairs between Claud and Avis, closed this, their second interview. Another, and another, and yet another, succeeded at brief intervals. And so rapid is the course of love, when springing up in solitudes like these, where nothing occurs to divert the gathering current, but every thing conspires to increase it,—where to our young devotees all around them seemed to reflect their own feelings,—where the aeolian music of the whispering pines that embowered their solitary walks seemed but to give voice to the melody that filled their own hearts,—where to them the birds all sang of love,—where love smiled upon them in the pensive beams of the moon, glistened in the stars, and was stamped on all the expanse of blue sky above, and on all the forms of beauty on the green earth beneath,—so rapid, we repeat, is the course of love, thus born, and thus fostered, that a fortnight had scarcely elapsed before they had both yielded up heart and soul to the dominion of the well-named blind god, and uttered their mutual vows of love and constancy.
This was the sunshine of their love; but the storms were already gathering in the distance.
CHAPTER VIII.
"The sigh that lifts her breastie comes.
Like sad winds frae the sea,
Wi' sic a dreary sough, as wad
Bring tears into yer e'e."
When Claud Elwood reached home, on the eventful visit to the Magalloway which resulted in the exchange of vows between him and Avis Gurley, as intimated at the close of the last chapter, he at once suspected, from the sad and troubled looks of his mother and the disturbed manner of his father, that the secret of his late visits abroad, as well as of the unexpected advent of the family visited, had, in some way, become known to them in his absence. A feeling of mingled delicacy and self-condemnation, however, prevented him from making any inquiries; and, with a commonplace remark, which was received in silence, he took a seat, and, with much inward trembling, awaited the expected denouement. But it did not come so soon nor in so harsh terms as he expected. There are occasions when we feel so deeply that we are reluctant to begin the task of unburdening our minds; and, when we do speak out, it is oftener in sorrow than in anger. It was so in the present instance. Mr. Elwood had that day been abroad among the settlers, and, for the first time, learned not only that Gaut Gurley had moved with his family into the settlement, but that Claud was courting his daughter, and a match already settled on between them. On his return home, Elwood felt almost as much reluctance in making known his discoveries to his wife as Claud had before him; for he well knew how deeply they would disquiet her. But, soon concluding there would be no wisdom in attempting concealment, he told her what he had heard. As he had anticipated, the news fell like a sudden thunderclap on her heart. She had experienced, indeed, many strange misgivings respecting her son's late mysterious absences; but she was not prepared for such a double portion of ill-omened news as she deemed this to be, and it struck her mute with dismay, for it at once brought a cloud over the future, which to her eye was dark with portents. Elwood himself was also obviously considerably disquieted by the news, showing no little uneasiness and excitement,—an excitement, perhaps, resembling that which is said to be manifested by a bird in the presence of the devouring reptile. He doubtless would gladly have been relieved from any further connection with Gaut. He doubtless would gladly have avoided even the slightest renewal of their former acquaintance. But, for reasons which he had never disclosed, he felt confident he should not long be suffered to enjoy any such exemption. And feeling, for the same reasons, how weak he should be in the hands of that man, he was troubled, far more troubled than he would have been willing to own, at the discoveries of the day, even if that part of it relating to the intimacy of his son and Gaut's daughter should prove, as he believed, a mere conjecture.
It was at this juncture, and before a word of comment had been offered either by Mrs. Elwood or her husband on the news he had related, that Claud arrived and entered the room.
"Well, God's will be done!" sadly uttered Mrs. Elwood, at length breaking the embarrassing silence, but without raising her eyes from her work, which lay neglected in her lap.
"What does mother mean?" doubtfully asked Claud, turning to his father.