"Ah, Miss Prevost," he said, "it's a sad thing for a young lady like you to part for the first time with those she loves when they are going to battle, and I don't know that a woman's heart ever gets rightly accustomed to it; but it don't do to love anything too well in this world--no, not even one's own life. It's a sad stumbling block, both in the way of our duty and our happiness. Not that I'd have people keep from loving anything; that would never do. They wouldn't be worth having if they couldn't love their friends, and love them very well; but I guess the best way is to recollect always when we've got a thing, that it is but a loan--life itself all the same as everything else. It's all lent--all will be recalled. But only you see, my dear young lady, we've got a promise that if we use what we've lent to us well, it shall be given to us forever hereafter; and that should always be a comfort to us--it is to me."
A slight sigh followed his words, and he walked on in silence for a minute or two, probably pursuing the course which he had laid down for himself in his very excellent philosophy, of marching on straight to a high object, and casting from him all thought of the unavoidable sufferings of the way. Soon after, he looked up to the sky and said: "It's getting wonderfully black out there. I shouldn't wonder if we had a flaw of wind and a good soaking rain. I say, Master Chaudo, put that bearskin over the young lady's baggage and hold the horse better in hand, or you'll have him down amongst these stumps. You ride better than you lead, my friend."
The negro grinned at him, but did as he was directed, and a few minutes after they issued out of the wood upon a small open space of ground extending over the side of a slight eminence. The view thence was prolonged far to the westward in a clear day, showing some beautiful blue hills at the distance of some eight or nine miles. Those hills, however, had now disappeared, and in their place was seen what can only be called a dense black cloud, although those words give a very inadequate idea of the sight which presented itself to Edith's eyes. It was like a gigantic wall of black marble, with a faint, irregular line at the top. But this wall evidently moved, coming forward with vast rapidity, although where the travelers were not a breath of air was felt. On it rushed toward them, swallowing up everything, as it were, in its own obscurity. Each instant some tree, some undulation of the ground, some marking object in the prospect, disappeared in its deep, gloomy shadow, and for a few moments Edith sat still upon her horse, gazing in awe, and even in terror. Woodchuck himself seemed for an instant overpowered, but then he caught Edith's rein and turned her horse, exclaiming: "Back, Miss Prevost! Back as fast as possible! That's the blackest cloud I ever see in all my days. There! there! to the eastward! Get under them big old hemlocks! Keep away from the pines and the small trees! It'll need to have been fastening to the ground for a hundred years to stand what's coming!"
As he spoke he ran on fast by the side of Edith's horse till they reached the edge of the wood, and there he checked her. "Not too far in! not too far in! You must be ready to jump out if you find that even these old fellows commence crashing!"
He then left her bridle and walked carefully round several of the trees, examining their trunks and roots with a very critical eye, to ascertain that they were firmly fixed, and not decayed, and then approaching Edith again, he held out his hand, saying: "Jump down! Here's one will do. He must ha' stood many a hard storm and bitter blast, and p'raps will bear this one, too; for he's as sound as when he started up, a little twig, before the eyes of any mortal man now living winked in the sunshine--aye! or his father's, either. There, Chaudo, take the horses and grip them all tight, for depend upon it they'll caper when the wind and rain come. Now, my dear, put yourself on this side of the tree, keep close to it, and listen well. You may find him shiver and sway a bit, but don't mind that, for he's not so tall as the rest, and twice as stout; and what makes me trust him is that in some storm his head has been broken off and his feet have stood stout. He won't catch so much wind as the others, and I think he'd stand it if he did. But if you hear him begin to crack, jump clear out here to the left, into the open ground. They'll fall t'other way. If you keep close, the branches won't strike you when they fall, and the rain won't get at you, for it's taking a long sweep."
The next moment it came. The wind, blowing with the force of a hurricane, rushed over the valley below; the leaves were torn off, the small twigs, with their umbrageous covering, carried aloft into the air and scattered; a few large drops of rain fell, and then the whole force of the tempest struck the hillside and the more open space where Edith stood. In an instant the scene of confusion and destruction was indescribable. The gusts seemed to hiss as they passed through the branches of the trees and between the tall stems. Large branches were torn off and scattered far; the young pines and birches bent before the force of the storm. As in the case of war and pestilence, the weak, and the sickly, and the young, and the decayed, suffered first and most. Wherever the roots had not got a firm hold of the ground, wherever the frosts of the winter and the thawing of the spring, or the heavy rains had washed away the earth, or loosened it, the trees came thundering and crashing down, and the din was awful, the howling wind, the breaking branches, the falling trees, all joining in the roar; and a moment after the pattering rain, rustling and rushing amongst the withered leaves left by the winter, becoming thicker and more dense every moment, seemed more as if a river was falling down from the sky, hardly separated into drops, than a fertilizing shower passing over the landscape.
Edith gazed round her in affright, for she could, as Woodchuck had predicted, feel the enormous but low-stemmed hemlock against which he had placed her, tremble and quiver with the blast; and a number of trees hard by were rooted up and cast prostrate, bearing the turf and earth in which they had stood up into the air, while here and there some more firmly fixed in the ground, but defective higher up, snapped in the middle, and then the whole upper part was carried many yards away. But though she gazed, little was the distance she could see, so thick and black was the covering of the sky; while all around, what between the close-falling deluge and a sudden mist rising up from the ground, the sort of twilight that the storm cloud left was rendered still more murky and obscure.
The two negroes, as usual with that race, were clamorous and excited, adding the noise of their tongues to the roar of the tempest; but the horses, contrary to the expectation of Woodchuck, seemed cowed and paralyzed by fear. Instead of attempting to break loose and rushing away, they merely turned from the wind and rain, and with hoofs set firm, and drooping heads, abode the storm, with now and then a shivering thrill, showing the terror that they felt. Woodchuck himself stood silent, close by Edith, leading his strong shoulder against the tree, and, with his eyes bent down upon the ground, seemed to lose himself in heavy thought. A man who has parted with the world and the world's hopes is tempest-proof.
After the first rush of the storm there came a lull, and then another fierce roar, and more falling trees and crashing branches. The whole forest swayed and bent like the harvest in a breeze, and down came the torrent from the sky more furiously than ever. But in the midst of it all Woodchuck started, leaned his head a little to one side, and seemed to listen, with his eye fixed upon vacancy.
"What is the matter?" asked Edith, alarmed by his look.