The tale aroused him from his apathy—more especially the episode, which related to my first meeting with Lilian, and the encounter that followed. As a hunter, this last would have secured his attention; but it was not altogether that.
The scene touched a chord in unison with his own memories; for by some such incident had he first won the favour of Marian. As I approached the finale of the duel scene—that point where the stranger had appeared upon the stage—I could perceive the interest of my listener culminating to a pitch of excitement; and, before I had pronounced ten words in description of the clerical visitor, the young hunter sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did so—“Josh Stebbins!”
“Yes; it was he—I know it myself.”
I continued the narrative; but I saw I was no longer listened to with attention. Wingrove was on his feet, and pacing the floor with nervous irregular strides. Every now and then, I saw him glance towards his rifle—that rested above the fireplace; while the angry flash of his eyes betokened that he was meditating some serious design. As soon as I had described the winding up of the duel, and what followed—including my departure from Swampville—I was again interrupted by the young hunter—this time not by his speech but by an action equally significant. Hastily approaching the fireplace, he lifted his rifle from the cleets; and, dropping the piece upon its butt, commenced loading it!
It was not the movement itself, so much as the time and manner, that arrested my attention; and these declared the object of the act. Neither for squirrel nor coon—deer, bear, nor panther—was that rifle being loaded!
“Where are you going?” I inquired, seeing that he had taken down his coon-skin cap, and slung on his pouch and powder-horn. “Only a bit down the crik. You’ll excuse me, stranger, for leavin’ o’ ye; but I’ll be back in the twinklin’ o’ an eye. Thar’s a bit o’ dinner for ye, if you can eat cold deer-meat; an’ you’ll find somethin’ in the old bottle thar. I won’t be gone more’n a hour. I reckon I won’t.”
The emphasis expressed a certain indecision, which I observed without being able to interpret. I had my conjectures however.
“Can I not go with you?” I asked in hopes of drawing him to declare his design. “The weather has cleared up; and I should prefer riding out, to staying here alone. If it is not some business of a private nature—”
“Thar’s nothin’ particularly private about it, stranger; but it’s a bizness I don’t want you to be mixed up in. I guess ye’ve got yur own troubles now; ’ithout takin’ share o’ myen.”
“If it is not rude, may I ask the business on which you’re going?”