Chapter 39
"I think so."
There was a pause. I seated myself. Then the soft and indecisive sound of ripples stirred by an idle hand broke the heated silence.
"You say they all are your good friends?" she remarked thoughtfully.
"I know them all. Lana Helmer I have known intimately since we were children."
"Then why is it not better to present me to her first--if you know her so very well?"
"Mrs. Bleecker is older."
"Oh! Is this Miss Helmer then so young?"
"Your age."
"Oh! My age.... And pretty?"
"The world thinks so."
"Oh! And what do you think, Euan?"
"Yes, she is pretty," said I carelessly.
There was a long silence. I sat there, my knees gathered in my arms, staring up at the stars.
Then, faintly came her voice:
"Good-night, Euan."
I rose, laid hold of the willow bush that sc.r.a.ped my shoulders, felt over it until I found the dangling broken branch; stepped forward, groping, until I touched the next broken branch. Then, knowing I was on my trail, I turned around and called back softly through the darkness:
"Good-night, little Lois!"
"Good-night, and sweet dreams, Euan. I will be dressed and waiting for you in the morning to go to Mrs. Bleecker, or to receive her as you and she think fitting.... Is there a looking gla.s.s in that same wonder-box?"
"Two, Lois."
"You dear and generous lad!... And are there hair-pegs? Heaven knows if my clipped poll will hold them. Anyway, I can powder and patch, and--oh, Euan! Is there lip-red and curd-lily lotion for the skin? Not that I shall love you any less if there be none----"
"I bespoke of Mr. Hake," said I, laughing, "a full beauty battery, such as I once saw Betty Schuyler show to Walter Butler, having but then received it from New York. And all I know, Lois, is that it was full of boxes, jars, and flasks, and smelled like a garden in late June. And if Mr. Hake has not chosen with discretion I shall go South and scalp him!"
"Euan, I adore you!"
"You adore your battery," said I, not convinced.
"That, too. But you more than my mirrors, and my lip-red, and the lily lotion--more than my darling s.h.i.+fts and stays and shoon and gowns!... I had never dreamed I could accept them from you. But you had become so dear to me--and I could read you through and through--and found you so like myself--and it gave me a new pleasure to humble my pride to your desires. That is how it came about. Also, I saw those ladies.... And I do not think I shall be great friends with your Lana Helmer--even when I am fine and brave in gown and powder to face her
"Lois, what in the world are you babbling?"
"Let me babble, Euan. Never have I been so happy, so content, so excited yet so confident.... Listen; do you dread tomorrow?"
"I?"
"Yes--that I might not do you honour before your fas.h.i.+onable friends?... And I say to you, have no fear. If my gowns are truly what I think they are, I shall conduct without a tremour--particularly if your Lana be there, and that careless, rakish friend of yours, Lieutenant Boyd."
"Do you remember what you are to say to Boyd if he seems in any wise to think he has met you elsewhere?"
"I can avoid a lie and deal with him," she said with calm contempt.
"But there is not a chance he'd know me in my powder."
There was a silence. Then the unseen water rippled and splashed.
"Poor Euan!" she said. "I wish you might dare swim here in this heavenly place with me. But we are not G.o.d and G.o.ddess, and the fabled age is vanished.... Good-night, dear lad.... And one thing more.... All you are to me--all you have done for me--don't you understand that I could not take it from you unless, in my secret heart, I knew that one day I must be to you all you desire--and all I, too, shall learn to wish for?"
"It is written," I said unsteadily. "It must come to pa.s.s."
"It must come," she said, in the hushed voice of a child who dreams, wide-eyed awake, murmuring of wonders.
I slept on the river-sand, not soundly, for all night long men and horses splashed in the water all around me, and I was conscious of many people stirring, of voices, the dip of paddles, and of the slow batteaux pa.s.sing with the wavelets slapping on their bows. Then, the next I knew--bang! And the morning gun jarred me awake.
I had bathed and dressed, but had not yet breakfasted when one of our regimental wagons came to take the box to Lois--a fine and n.o.ble box indeed, in its parti-coloured cowhide cover, and a pretty pattern of bra.s.s nails all over it, making here a star and there a sunburst, around the bra.s.s plate engraven with her name: "Lois de Contrecoeur."
Then the wagon drove away, and the Sagamore and I broke bread together, seated in the willow shade, the heat in our bush-hut being insupportable.
"No more scalps, Mayaro?" I taunted him, having already inspected the unpleasant trophies behind the hut. "How is this, then? Are the Cats all skinned?"
He smiled serenely. "They have crept westward to lick their scars, Loskiel. A child may safely play in the forest now from the upper castle and Torloch to the Minnisink."
"Has Amochol gone?"
"To make strong magic for his dead Cats, little brother. The Siwanois hatchets are still sticking in the heads of Hiokatoo's Senecas. Let their eight Sachems try to pull them out."
"So you have managed to wound a Seneca or two?"
"Three, Loskiel--but the rifle was one of Sir William's, and carried to the left, and only a half-ounce ball. My brother Loskiel will make proper requisition of the Commissary of Issues and draw a weapon fit for a Mohican warrior."
"Indeed I will," said I, smilingly, knowing well enough that the four-foot, Indian-trade, smooth bore was no weapon for this warrior; nor was it any kindness in such times as these to so arm our corps of Oneida scouts.
After breakfast I went to the fort and found that Major Parr and his command had come in the night before from their long and very arduous scout beyond the Canajoharrie Castle.
The Major received me, inquiring particularly whether I had contrived to keep the Sagamore well affected toward our cause; and seemed much pleased when I told him that this Siwanois and I had practiced the rite of blood-brotherhood.
"Excellent," said he. "And I don't mind admitting to you that I place very little reliance on the mission Indians as guides--neither on the Stockbridge runners nor on the Oneidas, who have come to us more in fear of the Long House than out of any particular loyalty or desire to aid us."
"That is true, sir. They had as soon enter h.e.l.l as Catharines-town."
The Major nodded and continued to open and read the letters which had arrived during his absence.