To the westward, the undulations of the Prairie, wrapped in heavy folds of mist, rose in confused heaps, like the waves of a boundless ocean: to the south he could just distinguish the lodges and the smouldering fires of the encampment, whence, at intervals, there fell upon his ear mingled and indistinct sounds, disagreeable perhaps in themselves, but rendered harmonious by distance, and by their unison with the wildness of the surrounding objects; while to the eastward lay a dense and gloomy range of woods, over the summits of whose foliage the dawning sun was shedding a stream of golden light.
Reginald gazed upon the scene with wonder and delight; and every moment while he gazed called into existence richer and more varied beauties. The mists and exhalations rising from the plain curled themselves into a thousand fantastic shapes around the points and projections of the hills, where they seemed to hang like mantles which the earth had cast from her bosom, as being rendered unnecessary by the appearance of the day; swarms of children and of dusky figures began to emerge from the encampment, and troops of horses to crop the pasture on the distant hills; while the splendour of the sun, now risen in its full glory, lit up with a thousand varying hues the eastern expanse of boundless forest. Reginald’s heart was not insensible to the impressions naturally excited by such a scene; and while he admired its variegated beauties, his thoughts were raised in adoration to that almighty and beneficent Being, whose temple is the earth, and whose are the “cattle upon a thousand hills.”
Having made his way again to the banks of the stream, and found a spot sheltered by alder and poplar trees, he bathed and made his morning toilet; after which he returned towards the encampment, his body refreshed by his bathe, and his mind attuned to high and inspiring thoughts by the meditation in which he had been engaged. As he strolled leisurely along, he observed a spot where the trees were larger, and the shade apparently more dense than the other portions of the valley; and, being anxious to make himself acquainted with all the localities in the neighbourhood of his new home, he followed a small beaten path, which, after sundry windings among the alders, brought him to an open space screened on three sides by the bushes, and bounded on the fourth by the stream. Reginald cast his eyes around this pleasant and secluded spot, until they rested upon an object that riveted them irresistibly. It was a female figure seated at the root of an ancient poplar, over a low branch of which one arm was carelessly thrown, while with the other she held a book, which she was reading with such fixed attention as to be altogether unconscious of Reginald’s approach. Her complexion was dark, but clear and delicate, and the rich brown hair which fell over her neck and shoulders, still damp and glossy from her morning ablutions, was parted on her forehead by a wreath of wild flowers twined from amongst those which grew around the spot: the contour of her figure, and her unstudied attitude of repose, realised the classic dreams of Nymph and Nereid, while her countenance wore an expression of angelic loveliness, such as Reginald had never seen or imagined.
He gazed—and gazing on those sweet features, he saw the red full lips move unconsciously, while they followed the subject that absorbed her attention; and forgetful that he was intruding on retirement, he waited, entranced, until those downcast eyes should be raised. At length she looked up, and seeing the figure of a man within a few paces of her, she sprang to her feet with the lightness of a startled antelope; and darting on him a look of mingled surprise and reproof, suppressed the exclamation of alarm that rose to her lips. Reginald would fain have addressed the lovely being before him—he would fain have excused his unintended intrusion; but the words died upon his lips, and it was almost mechanically that he doffed his hunting–cap, and stood silent and uncovered before her! Recovering from the momentary confusion, she advanced a step towards him, and with an ingenuous blush held out her hand, saying in a gentle tone of inquiry, and with the purest accent, “Netis, my brother’s friend?”
“The same, fair creature,” replied Reginald, whose wonder and admiration were still more excited by the untaught grace and dignity of her manner, as well as by hearing his own tongue so sweetly pronounced; “but, in the name of Heaven, who—what—whence can you be?” Blushing more deeply at the animation and eagerness of his manner, she was for a moment silent; when he continued, striking his hand on his forehead:—“Oh, I have it, fool, tortoise, that I was. You are ‘Prairie–bird,’ the sister of whom Wingenund has told me so much.” Then, gently pressing the little hand which he had taken, he added, “Dear Wingenund! he saved my life; his sister will not consider me a stranger?”
Again a warmer blush mantled on the cheek of Prairie–bird, as she replied, “You are no stranger: you speak of Wingenund’s good deed: you are silent about your own! You drew War–Eagle from the deep and swift waters. I have heard it all, and have often wished to see you and thank you myself.” There was a modest simplicity in her manner, as she uttered these few words that confirmed the impression made on Reginald by the first glimpse of her lovely form and features; but beyond this there was something in the tone of her voice that found its way direct to his heart; it fell upon his ear like an old familiar strain of music, and he felt unwilling to break the silence that followed its closing accents.
It is not our province, in a simple narrative of this kind, to discuss the oft–disputed question, whether love at first sight deserves the name of love; whether it is merely a passing emotion, which, though apparently strong, a brief lapse of time may efface; or, whether there be really secret irresistible natural impulses, by which two human beings, who meet together for the first time, feel as if they had known and loved each other for years, and as if the early cherished visions of fancy, the aspirations of hope, the creations of imagination, the secret, undefined longings of the heart, were all at once embodied and realised.[28] We are inclined to believe that, although not frequent, instances sometimes occur of this instinctive sympathy and attraction, and that, when they do so, the tree of affection (like the fabled palm at the touch of the genius’ wand) starts into immediate luxuriance of flower and foliage, striking its tenacious roots far into the kindly soil, destined thenceforward to become the nurture of its verdant youth, the support of its mature strength, and at length the resting–place of its leafless and time–stricken decay.
Such seemed to be the case with Reginald and Prairie–bird; for, as they looked one at the other, each was unconsciously occupied with teeming thoughts that neither could define nor express, and both felt relieved at hearing approaching footsteps and the voice of the Black Father, who called out in English,
“Come, my child, I have allowed you full time this morning; we will return to the camp.” As he spoke his eye fell upon Reginald, and he added, courteously, “You have been early abroad, young sir.”
“I have,” replied Reginald. “I went to the top of yonder heights to see the sun rise, and was amply repaid by the beauty of the scene: on my return, I wandered accidentally into this secluded spot, and trust that my intrusion has been forgiven.”