“There! now, whenever you get that hateful Maria Theresa look, I hate you, Katterin! I hate to see strength in women! It don’t belong to them, nor grace them, anyhow!”
“Strength of affection does, Carl. But now please call the gentlemen down to supper,” said Kate.
Carl rapped at the foot of the ladder, and summoned the travellers accordingly.
Now, though Fairfax had honorably withdrawn from the trap-door, the moment he found that his services would not be required, and that the conversation between Kate and Carl was growing confidential, yet every word of that conversation had been distinctly heard by both young men, and had produced an effect upon both. Frank with difficulty withheld himself from exclaiming aloud, as pity, disgust, anger or approbation moved him in turn. Captain Clifton, far less impressible, and more reserved than his companion, had remained perfectly quiet and silent, though his thoughts were more practically busy with the case than those of his companion. They went down, and were received at the foot of the ladder by Carl, who, with a sort of rough politeness, placed stools at the table, and invited them to be seated. They placed themselves at the board, at the head of which Kate already presided, with folded hands and downcast eyes. Then to their utter astonishment, the rude, irreverent young man, Carl, stood up and asked a blessing, saying, afterwards, that he was no parson, nor no Methodist, but Kate would have it so, and he thought it was best upon the whole, not to oppose females in such notions, And then he began to wait upon his guests.
Their supper consisted of good coffee, with cream and maple sugar; good bread, with fresh butter and cheese; venison steak and broiled chickens; and lastly, of a dish of baked pears, cold, and a pitcher of milk. Frank was surprised to find such excellence of fare amid the ragged poverty of the mountain cabin; but, on afterwards expressing this surprise to Captain Clifton, he was told by the latter, that such contrasts were by no means rare. Mr. Fairfax applied himself with zeal to the good things before him, until the sharpness of his appetite was sated, and then lingered long over the meal, conversing with his host upon the state of the country in his region, the climate and soil, productions, market, etc., and receiving from the young mountaineer the information that there was no great amount of produce about there, except in the glens, grazing for the cattle, and that the roads were so bad, and the towns and villages so distant, that nothing was raised for market, except such kind of produce as could walk thither, to wit: flocks and herds. That his grandfather, before the infirmities of age had come upon him, had raised herds of kine and hogs, which he drove fifty miles to market every year; but that was some years ago, when he himself was a child. That now they only had a few sheep, which his sister tended while he was at work on a plantation at the foot of the mountain. In reply to a question Frank put while leisurely using his gold tooth-pick, the young man informed him farther that himself and his sister were of German and Irish descent. That the old man, their grandfather, was a German by birth, but had lived nearly seventy years in America. That his name was Carl Wetzel, and his only daughter, Caterina, had been married to an Irish emigrant, of the name of Kavanagh. That they were the parents of himself and sister. Finally, that they had been dead nearly seven years. It was farther ascertained that old Carl Wetzel had been a man of considerable education; and it was easily seen that Carl Kavanagh had inherited much of his father’s Irish quickness of intelligence, and much of his grandfather’s German love of knowledge.
Frank, on his part, was equally communicative, and, in spite of the haughty reserve of Captain Clifton, informed his host that he had come up in that neighborhood for the purpose of acting as groomsman at the approaching marriage of his friend, Captain Clifton, of the —— Regiment of Cavalry, to his cousin, Miss Carolyn Gower Clifton, of Clifton Place. That their journey, so far, had been rather disastrous; that they had set out from Washington City on horseback, but had become so fatigued by the excessive heat, that they had been obliged, on arriving at Winchester, to take places for themselves in the stage for Staunton, and to hire a man to bring their horses after them—riding one and leading the other, and so alternately. That before reaching Staunton, they had been thrown from the stage—without serious injury to themselves, however, and had been obliged to walk some ten miles to a village on their route, and wait the arrival of their horses, which, fortunately, were not many hours behind them. That they had ridden all day in a thick fog, lost their way, came near going over a fearful precipice, and finally got caught in the tempest that drove them for shelter to the cabin.
During all this time, Captain Clifton had seemed lost in thought, and only once spoke to inquire of the young mountaineer whether it were possible for them to pursue their journey that night. To this the young man replied that it would be impossible, even if it were then daylight, inasmuch as the torrents were swollen so greatly. And at the thought of pursuing their journey, a pang of remorse for his forgetfulness of his horses shot through the breast of Frank, and—
“What the devil can have become of Saladin?” he exclaimed, starting up.
“Oh, he is safe,” answered Clifton. “I saw them both in the shed as I looked from the little window up stairs.’
“Who put them there?”