CHAPTER XV.
ARRIVE AT MRS. HUNTLY'S — PAINFUL SURMISES— THE WELCOME VOICE — MEETING OF LOVERS — OF BROTHER AND SISTER — OF MOTHER AND SON -- TIDINGS OF MY FRIEND'S CAPTIVITY — ITS EFFECT UPON THE HEARERS -- TALE OF MY ADVENTURES-- PRAIRIE FLOWER DESCRIBED — AFFECTIONATE CURIOSITY — LILIAN'S ENTHUSIASM FOR EVA -- VARIOUS MATTERS DISCUSSED -- A HAPPY NIGHT.
To describe my feelings and those of Huntly, when we halted within view of the dwellings containing those around the very tendrils of whose hearts our own were entwined — on whose happiness or misery our own were depending — would be impossible; and therefore I shall not attempt it. The day's journey had been very severe — for we had all ridden hard, in order if possible to reach the village before nightfall. In this we had not succeeded; but knowing we were near, we still pressed forward after night set in, and by nine o'clock in the evening, had come in sight of the glimmering lights, as shown in the last chapter. We now held a short consultation, which resulted in Huntly, Teddy and myself resolving to go forward, while Prairie Flower and her companions should encamp and remain where they were through the night. Our object in this was to see our friends alone, and prepare them to receive our fair benefactress, whom we intended to introduce as an Indian maiden, and then leave matters to take their own course. Having at length arranged everything to our satisfaction, we rode forward, and in less than half an hour drew rein near the humble cottage of Mrs. Huntly. "And is it here," said Charles, as he gazed with a sigh upon the rude edifice: "And is it here I again meet my dear mother and sister? Alas! Frank, there is a change indeed in our fortune! and now I feel it." "Repine not," returned I; "but rather thank God you are safe, and look forward to better days!" "I will not repine," he said. "But, Frank, there is such an air of poverty here, I could not avoid giving vent to my thoughts." As we spoke we dismounted, and giving our horses in charge of Teddy—with orders to take good care of them, and seek another place of rest for himself, — we approached the door with trembling steps, and with conflicting feelings of hope and fear. What if something had happened, and we should find a stranger in place of those we sought! But no! no! we would not harbor such a thought—would look to clasp our friends to our beating hearts! The house was tightly closed, but not uninhabited, as we could see by the light which here and there shone through a crevice. "Go forward!" whispered Huntly; and I advanced and rapped timidly on the rough door with my knuckles. To this there came no answer, and I repeated it, but harder and louder. "Who is there?" said a soft voice from within. Gracious heavens! how its tones thrilled me! I knew it! I would have known it among a million! It was the voice of my own beloved Lilian! "A friend," answered I, as with one hand I grasped the arm of Charles, who was now trembling with agitation. "Pardon me!" answered Lilian; "but will you give me your name—as it is already somewhat late, and there is no one within but mother and myself." "And do you not know me, Lilian?" "That voice!" I heard her exclaim; "that voice!" and the next moment there was an agitated rattling at the door, which instantly swung open, and revealed the idol of my thoughts standing before me, pale and trembling. "Lilian!" I exclaimed, "thank God we meet again!" and in an instant she was folded in my embrace and weeping with joy. "O," she ejaculated, looking up affectionately into my face: "O, Francis, this is more than I have prayed for — more than I expected: I did not look for you this season. But, ha!" she exclaimed, as the shadow of her brother, who had stolen in behind her unperceived, fell upon her vision — "we are not alone — who have we here?" She turned suddenly round, and her eyes met the tearful ones of Charles, as, with outstretched arms, he stood ready to receive her, too much affected to utter a syllable. For a brief moment she remained speechless and motionless, as if fearing to believe her senses; and then gasping "My brother!" she staggered forward and sank fainting upon his breast. At this moment Mrs. Huntly, who had been on the point of retiring, but had been deterred by the sound of voices, entered the room from an adjoining apartment. "Who have we here?" she said, as she advanc ed toward us, looking from one to the other inquiringly, but unable from the position of the light to see our features. "Francis!" she exclaimed joyfully, as I took a step forward; "Francis, my son! do I indeed see thee again!" and ere the words were concluded, I found myself closed in a motherly embrace. "This is indeed a happy surprise!" she added, warmly. "But there," returned I, pointing to Charles, who, still straining Lilian to his breast, was now gazing upon his mother with that singular expression of intense joy, which the imprisoned soul, struggling as it were for release, and choking all utterance, stamps upon every feature: "There," said I, "a more happy surprise awaits you;" and springing forward, I took the half unconscious form of Lilian from the arms of my friend. For a moment mother and son stood face to face, gazing upon each other, completely overpowered by their feelings. "Mother!" at length burst from the lips of Charles. "My son!" and staggering forward, they fell upon each other's neck, and gave their overcharged souls vent in tears and sighs. For sometime no one spoke; then raising her tearful eyes to Heaven, and in a voice of deep solemnity, Mrs. Huntly ejaculated: "Almighty God! I thank thee for this moment of unclouded happiness — for restoring the wanderer safe to the only parent he has on earth!" "Ay, the only parent," added Charles, with a fresh burst of emotion; "the only one, dear mother. My father—alas! my father!" He paused, overcome by his feelings. But I will not prolong the affecting scene. Suffice, that for more than an hour very little was said, except in the way of thanks to the Supreme Ruler for bringing us all safely together once more. And well might we be thankful to that watchful Providence, which had slumbered not in the hours of grief and danger, and had brought us all out, as it were, from the very "Valley of the Shadow of Death." The first transports of joy over, we gradually grew calm; and having formed a small circle before the cheerful fire: "Now," said Mrs. Huntly, "let me hear something of my friends in Boston." "Alas!" sighed I, my mind reverting at once to my own parents, "I can give you no news in that quarter." "And have you not been home?" she asked in surprise. I shook my head. "Then you met Charles on the way, and he perhaps can tell me?" and she turned to him inquiringly. "Nay, mother," he answered sadly, "I have not seen the land of my nativity since I there parted from you." "Why, what means this?" she asked, turning to me. "Pardon me," I said in some embarrassment, "if I once deceived you both!— but I did it for the best." "Deceived us!" exclaimed both Lilian and her mother in a breath. "Pray explain yourself, Francis!" added the latter. "You remember I told you that when I parted with Charles, he was going eastward?" "Well! well!" "But I did not add, it was only intended as a parting of a few minutes, and that when I met you on the mountains, I believed him lost to us all forever." "Lost?" screamed Mrs. Huntly. "Lost?" echoed Lilian. "Lost!" rejoined I. "Ay, lost indeed— for I believed him dead." "O, speak, Francis!" exclaimed Mrs. Huntly, greatly agitated, and looking from me to Charles, and from Charles to me: "Speak, Francis, and tell us what you mean!" "Charles," I returned, in a trembling voice, "was taken prisoner by a band of guerrillas; but I — I — believed him dead— for no trace of him could be found." "A prisoner! You, Charles, my son, a prisoner?" cried his mother; and again throwing herself upon his neck, she burst into tears; while Lilian, gliding up to his side, took his hand in silence, and gazed mournfully upon him with swimming eyes. "Is it so, Charles?" asked his mother. "Is it so? Have you indeed been in captivity?" "I have, dear mother, I have!" he answered in a voice choked with emotion. Drawing back, Mrs. Huntly gazed upon him with a look of unutterable fondness and affection, and then turning to me, said somewhat coldly: "Francis, how could you deceive me! I did not think this of you." I was about to reply, when Lilian turned quickly round and confronted her mother: "Mother," she said, "do not speak in that manner. If Francis did not tell us all, it was because he feared to wound our feelings — to give us unnecessary pain. Was it not so?" she asked, appealing to me with her soft blue eyes. "It was!" I exclaimed, struggling to command my feelings. "It was, dear Lilian— God bless you for an angel--it was!" "I cra
ve pardon!" said Mrs. Huntly, taking my hand. "I did not intend to wound your feelings, Francis, and sincerely believe you did all for the best. But the suddenness of the news — the shock -- surprised and alarmed me, and I did not heed what I said. I now know it was all for the best; for had I known Charles was lost, I fear the result might have been fatal. Thank God," she continued, turning again to her son: "Thank God, you are safe before me now! O, Charles, my son," she added, covering her eyes with her hands to conceal her emotion, "you must never, never leave me again." "Never, mother," he answered solemnly, "till we are parted by death." "And this," said Lilian, turning fondly to me, "is why you became so agitated whenever I mentioned my brother. I understand all now. And this, too, is the cause of your abrupt departure, which has ever appeared so singular to me, and over which Eva and I have speculated many an hour, without solving the problem." "And did my departure indeed appear so singular, sweet Lilian?" I inquired in surprise. "Did I not tell you I was going to seek your brother?" "Ay! but you forget you did not tell me he was lost—and we, you know, supposed him in Boston, There was nothing so remarkable in your going to meet him, as in the hurried manner which you departed, without any previous notice, as if you had heard bad tidings. It was this that put us to conjecture." "True, I did overlook that." "Well, well, dear Francis, never mind; you are here again; and now we must hear the tale of your adventures, and how you found Charles." "Yes," rejoined Mrs. Huntly, "I am all anxiety to hear the story." "Who shall tell it?" asked I. "You, Frank," answered Charles. "You can tell it better than I." The tale I told: beginning with the loss of my friend at Pueblo de los Angelos, and its subsequent effect upon me, up to the time when I met with his mother and sister near the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains. I then narrated my last adventure, and gave a brief description of the scenes already laid before the reader, and how I had, little by little, traced Charles to the very spot of his captivity, only to find that another had released him. This led me to Prairie Flower, whom I described as a beautiful being, and as good as she was beautiful. I described our first meeting with her and her tribe, and something of their manners and customs, and recalled to mind how she had, at the risk of her life, appeared to warn the emigrants, on that memorable night before they crossed the Rocky Mountains. I then reverted to Charles, and how I had found him in company with the tribe. In fact, I gave an outline of all the principal incidents of interest, carefully avoiding any allusion to the attachment existing between my friend and Prairie Flower, as also that we had any suspicions as to who the latter might be, or that she had accompanied us on our last journey. During the recital, both Mrs. Huntly and Lilian listened eagerly, occasionally interrupting me with some question or exclamation, when the incidents detailed were unusually exciting. In fact, whenever I described a scene of danger to myself, Lilian would press close to my side, and gaze up into my face, pale and breathless, sometimes shuddering at the picture called up in her mind, and seem to hang upon my words as intensely as though they were actually imparting life or death to him she loved. Nay, more than this: On several occasions did she become so lost in the thrilling tale, as to utter exclamations of horror; and then, remembering where she was, she would clasp my hand with a hearty pressure, and in a low voice thank God for my deliverance and present safety. "And where is this beautiful Indian maiden?" she asked when I had done. "What a singular being! O, I should love her so! for her goodness, and her kindness to those so dear to me." "Ay, Lilian, you would indeed love her," I answered; "for she is one of the sweetest beings you ever knew." "Always excepting Eva," she rejoined, playfully. "Nay, Lilian, I will except no one but your own sweet self." She blushed, and smiled, and added: "You are too complimentary." "But what has become of this Prairie Flower?" inquired Mrs. Huntly. "You did not tell us where you had left her." "And what if I should say she is near at hand?" "Near at hand!" repeated Lilian. "Explain, Francis!" added Mrs. Huntly. "She crossed the mountains with us." "Indeed! and where is she now?" "Within sight of the lights, of this great city." "Is is possible! And why did you not bring her here at once?" "Why, it was already late; and as she has several companions with her, we thought it better for the party to encamp and remain till morning, while we went forward and prepared you to receive them." "O, I am so anxious to see her!" rejoined Lilian; "and so will Eva be, when she hears of her. While she remains with us, we will treat her as a sister." "I believe you," returned I, pointedly, and fixing my eye upon Huntly, who blushed and turned his head aside, but made no remark. "O, what a surprise awaits Eva on the morrow!" pursued Lilian. "She does not dream you are here; and yet she has been praying for your return with brother Charles, every day since you left." "I thank her, from my heart, for her int erest in our welfare. She is a noble girl." "She is indeed!" rejoined Lilian, enthusiastic in praise of her friend; "and I love her as a sister—which I hope she may be ere long," she added, playfully, turning to Huntly with a smile, who appeared not a little embarrassed. "O, Charles," continued Lilian, pursuing her train of thought, "If ever one being loved another without seeing him, dear Eva loves you—for your name is ever on her tongue." "I am very grateful for it, certainly," replied Charles, evasively, feeling himself pressed for an answer. "And well you may be—for her equal does not live!" persisted Lilian with spirit, loth to quit the subject. "Do not assert that!" returned I, with a smile. "You forget that Eva had a sister." "But who knows anything of her sister, Francis?" "Ay, who knows!" answered I, reflecting on what I suspected, and on what the morrow might reveal. "But come, Lilian, since Eva has so much place in your thoughts, tell me how it has fared with you since last we met." "O, as well as could be expected, and you away," she answered, naively. "We have walked, and rode, and played, and sung, and read, and talked, and wondered fifty times a day where you were, and when you would return, and if Charles would come with you, and so on. To sum up, the spring, summer and most of the autumn have passed—but somehow the time has been more tedious than I could have wished. There is not the society here to please us, and on the whole we have not been very well contented. There has been quite an addition of settlers here during the past season, and the village has much improved since you saw it. In fact, it begins to assume the aspect of a civilized town; but still I feel I could never be happy here." "And would you like to return to the east?" "O, dearly!" "You shall start in the spring, then," I rejoined. "O, that is joyful news. And Eva shall go also?" "All that desire to accompany us, Lilian." "Eva will be so rejoiced at this. But mother has invested what little means she had in the purchase of land." "Well, that can be sold again; and it will have lost nothing in value, since the town has begun to flourish." "And will you go, mother?" asked Lilian, addressing the good old lady, who, meantime, had been conversing with Charles in an under tone. "As my children desire," answered Mrs. Huntly. "I shall leave all to you, my children. But, come, Charles is about to tell us of his captivity; and although it is late, I am anxious to hear his tale." Thus ended my conversation for the time with Lilian; and forming a half circle around her brother, we all attentively listened to his thrilling narrative. By the time he had concluded, the night was far advanced; and though I had a thousand things to say to Lilian, I deferred them all to another opportunity, and retired to rest with a lighter heart than I had known for many a long year.
Bennett, Emerson - Prairie Flower 02 Page 12
