It was better there; the pine-trees moan when there is no breath to stir them—sunshine and singing-birds penetrate their solemn depths but rarely; and at last I stopped, panting and trembling, on a knoll that rose abruptly in the midst of this forest sanctuary. I sunk down on the slippery ground at the foot of a tall pine, and leaning my throbbing temples on my hands, tried to think and reason.
Do the wild flowers and mountain herbage raise their heads and meet the sunshine and shake off the blight, an hour after the burning lava has swept over their frail beauty? Thought, reason, faith, were as impossible at that moment to me, as growth, and feeling, and verdure are to them. I did not think—I could not reason; some hateful words rang in my ears, and a wild, confused purpose mingled with the chaos that passion had made in my mind; but beyond that I was incapable of thought.
An hour, perhaps, passed so; the sunset was fast fading out of the sky, when the sound of voices through the woods struck my ear, and listening, I recognized the tones of the returning riding-party. There was a bridle-path, I knew, just below this knoll, through which they were returning from Norbury, and springing up, I gathered my light muslin dress about me, and pressing through the thicket that lay between it and me, waited for them to pass. A low fence ran across the ravine, and half-kneeling behind this, I watched for them with eager eyes. At last they came, defiling past me one by one, through the narrow path, the gentlemen first, then Ella Wynkar, and in a moment after, Madge Wildfire's glossy head appeared through the opening, so near that I might have patted her arched neck, or felt the breath from her dilated nostrils, and touched the gloved hand that held the reins so tightly in her impatient mouth. Josephine's dark cheek glowed with exercise and excitement, and as she sat, with her head half-turned, in attention to the low tones of the horseman who followed her closely, I could not help acknowledging, with a sharp pang, the beauty that I had never before appreciated. And her companion saw it too; his stern face softened as he watched the radiant smiles chase each other over her varying mouth; his eye, restless with an impatient fire, fell with pleasure on her eager, attentive face.
He was thinking—how well I knew it! A thousand devils whispered it in my ear—he was thinking, "this face is gentle and womanly—it turns to me for pleasure—it is bright and gay—no storms sweep over it; it has never repulsed and disappointed me. Shall I end the doubt, and say, it is the face that shall be the loadstar of my future, the sunshine and pleasure of my life?"
The horses threaded their way daintily down the narrow ravine—the pleasant voices died away in the distance; I raised myself from my bending attitude, and with blanched cheeks and parted lips, strained my gaze to catch the last trace of them. If the assembled tribes of earth and air had been there to see, I could not have brought one tinge of color to my pallid face, nor taken the deadly stare out of my eyes, I could only have done as I did now, when suddenly I found I was not alone, utter a faint exclamation, and turning sick and giddy, lean against the fence for support. The stealthy, cat-like tread of the intruder brought him to my side in a moment. I knew, from the instant I met the glance of his basilisk eyes, that he had been reading my face to some purpose—that he knew the miserable story written on it.
"You look agitated," said Dr. Hugh, bending toward me obsequiously. "May I ask if anything has happened to distress you?"
His tones were so hateful that I cried quickly: "No, nothing so much as seeing you;" and, springing across the low barrier, I hurried down the path. I knew he was following me stealthily; nothing but that fear would have driven me back to the house again. The path was narrow and irregular; other paths branched off from it, and before I got within sight of the lake again, I was thoroughly bewildered, and in the gathering twilight, the huge trees took weird forms, the "paths grew dim," and no familiar landmark appeared to guide me. Pausing in fright and bewilderment, I crouched for a moment behind a clump of trees, and listened. I had eluded my pursuer; in a second's time, I heard his soft step treading cautiously and swiftly down the path that I had inadvertently left. With a sigh of relief, I looked about me, and finding that the lake was just visible through an opening in the trees, knew my whereabouts immediately, and only waited for Dr. Hugh to be well out of the way to start across the park toward the house.
Several minutes elapsed before I ventured to rise from my hiding-place; listening again intently, I was about to spring from the thicket, and effect my escape across the park, when, with a start of fear, I heard a heavy step crashing among the underbrush in the direction from which we had come; a heavy step, and then a pause. My heart seemed to stand still as I waited to hear more. The next sound was a low whistle; a long pause, and then the signal was repeated. No answer came; and with a low and surly oath, the new-comer advanced nearer to where I crouched. Through a gap in the thicket, I could see him as he approached, and even by this dusky light, I recognized the thickset figure and slouching gait of the man whom Victor had so wantonly insulted on the evening of our arrival—of whose enmity there could be no reasonable doubt. It was not a comfortable thought, but certainly some evil purpose must have brought him here; and for whom, too, was that signal given? It seemed almost incredible that such a spirit of revenge should possess itself of such a sluggish, low-born nature; yet I could not doubt that it was some design of revenge that kept him lurking about the neighborhood. I knew that Victor would be in peril if he were abroad to-night. And it was not comfortable, either, to remember that it was my fault that he had given the insult; for my protection that he had incurred this malice. How should I ever forgive myself if any evil came of it? Victor was my only friend at Rutledge; I could not but be grateful; the recollection of a thousand kindnesses started up at the thought of the danger I had involved him in, and I almost forgot that now I shared it.
Motionless and breathless, I saw him pass within two feet of me, stop, whistle again, and then, after a pause, throwing himself at full length on the ground, with his face toward the park, within a few yards of where I was, lie waiting for I did not dare to think what. Victor, I was certain, would be somewhere about the grounds, watching for my return; this direction, sooner or later, he would inevitably take. Moment after moment crept on; every movement of the stranger—even his heavy breathing—were as distinct as if he had been within reach of my hand, and the least motion on my part—the faintest rustle of my dress, or of the branches of the thicket—would, of course, be as audible to him, and most dangerous to me; indeed, if he were to turn this way, I could hardly hope to escape detection, for my light drapery, only half hid behind the dark thicket, would inevitably betray me. How long this would last—how determined he could be in his vigil—I dreaded to conjecture. None but Victor was likely to come to my assistance, and that was just the very worst of all.
There was still enough light left in the west to distinguish, as I looked eagerly that way, that a figure, from the direction of the house, was crossing the lawn toward us. I turned sick with fear as I recognized, bounding before the rapidly-approaching walker, Victor's constant companion, little Tigre; and this, no doubt, was Victor. I alone could warn him of the danger that awaited him; but, faint and almost paralyzed with fear, I had not strength nor courage to stir. The villain beside me, less quick-sighted, had not yet discovered his advance.