"You have, Lettie; but stop saying any more." I spoke sternly. "Good-night."
She did not return my greeting, and I heard her slam the door behind her.
That night, late as it was, I wrote a long letter to Marjie. I had no pangs of jealousy, and I felt that she knew me too well to doubt my faith, and yet I wanted just once more to assure her. When I had finished, I went out softly and took my way down to "Rockport." It was one of those glorious midsummer moonlit nights that have in their subdued splendor something more regal than the most gorgeous midday. I was thankful afterwards for the perfect beauty of that peaceful night, with never a hint of the encroaching shadows, the deep gloom of sorrow creeping toward me and my loved one. The town was sleeping quietly. The Neosho was "chattering over stony ways," and whispering its midnight melody. The wooded bottoms were black and glistening, and all the prairies were a gleaming, silvery sea of glory. The peace of God was on the world, the broad benediction of serenity and love. Oh, many a picture have I in my memory's treasure house, that imperishable art gallery of the soul. And among them all, this one last happy night with its setting of Nature's grand handiwork stands clear evermore.
I had put my letter safe in its place, deep where nobody but Marjie would find it. I knew that if even the slightest doubt troubled her this letter would lift it clean away. I told her of Rachel Melrose and of my fear of her designing nature, a fear that grew, as I reflected on her acts and words. I did not believe the young lady cared for me. It was a selfish wish to take what belonged to somebody else. I assured my little girl that only as a gentleman should be courteous, had been my courtesy to Rachel. And then for the first time, I told Marjie of her father's dying message. I had wanted her to love me for myself. I did not want any sense of duty to her father's wishes to sway her. I knew now that she did love me. And I closed the affectionate missive with the words:
"To my father and Aunt Candace you are very dear. Your mother has always been kind to me. I believe she likes me. But most of all, Marjie, your father, who lies wrapped in the folds of that Springvale flag, who gave his life to make safe and happy the land we love and the home we hope to build, your father, sent us his blessing. When the roar of cannon was changing for him to the chant of seraphim, and the glare of the battle field was becoming 'a sea of glass mingled with fire' that burst in splendor over the jewelled walls and battlements of the New Jerusalem, even in that moment, his last thought was of us two. 'I hope they will love each other,' he said to my father. 'If they do, give them my blessing.' And then the night shut down for him. But in the eternal day where he waits our coming and loves us, Marjie, if he knows of what we do here, he is blessing our love.
"Good-night, my dear, dear girl, my wife that is to be, and know now and always there is for me only one love. In sunny ways or shadow-checkered paths, whatever may come, I cannot think other than as I do now. You are life of my life. And so again, good-night."
I had climbed to the rock above the crevice and was standing still as the night about me for the moment when a grip like steel suddenly closed on my neck and an arm like the tentacle of a devilfish slid round my waist. Then the swift adroitness of knee and shoulder bent me backward almost off my feet. I gave a great wrench, and with a power equal to my assailant, struggled with him. It was some moments before I caught sight of his face. It was Jean Pahusca. I think my strength grew fourfold with that glimpse. It was the first time in our lives that we had matched muscle. He must have been the stronger of the two, but discipline and temperate habits had given me endurance and judgment. It was a life-and-death strife between us. He tried to drag me to the edge of the rock. I strove to get him through the bushes into the street. At length I gained the mastery and with my hand on his throat and my knee on his chest I held him fast.
"You miserable devil!" I muttered, "you have the wrong man. You think me weak as O'mie, whose body you could bind. I have a mind to choke you here, you murderer. I could do it and rid the world of you, now." He struggled and I gave him air. There was something princely about him even as he lay in my power. And, fiend as he was, he never lost the spirit of a master. To me also, brute violence was repulsive now that the advantage was all mine.
"You deserve to die. Heaven is saving you for a fate you may well dread. You would be in jail in ten minutes if you ever showed your face here in the daylight, and hanged by the first jury whose verdict could be given. I could save all that trouble now in a minute, but I don't want to be a murderer like you. For the sake of my own hands and for the sake of the man whose son I believe you to be, I'll spare your life to-night on one condition!"
I loosed my hold and stepped away from him. He rose with an effort, but he could not stand at first.
"Leave this country to-night, and never show your face here again. There are friends of O'mie's sworn to shoot you on sight. Go now to your own tribe and do it quickly."