Silent Struggles Part 37

"And crowd on all the work we can," joined in the carpenter.

"Yes! yes!"

"That is easy understood," observed the hired man. "I only wish that I could swing a broad axe."

"Now I must go," said the lady, taking the hard hand of Goody Brown in her friendly clasp. "You have been kind to me and I can never forget it.

Only help me to these sh.o.r.es, and see if I prove ungrateful."

These words had hardly left the lady's lips when she was outside the door and moving toward the woods in a rapid walk.

These three men and Goody Brown flocked to the window and looked after her as she moved through the light of a moon buried half the time under the fleecy whiteness of drifting clouds. She approached the woods and they saw her engulfed in shadows that seemed to move and sway with the wind. Directly she came forth, riding on a milk-white horse, that stood out from the leaden shadows distinct as marble; for that instant the moon threw off its fleecy burden of clouds, and rode clear and bright across a plain of blue sky. Directly another horse and rider, that looked black as ebony in the distance, came out of the shadows, and then a third; but whether the riders of these black steeds were men or women no one could tell. For a little time the horses kept along the edge of the woods, but at last they plunged into some forest path and were gone.

Still the inmates of the farm-house watched by the window, for there was something weird in the woman's departure which stimulated curiosity. As they looked, the edges of the wood grew alive. Dusky forms moved to and fro, now in the darkness, now in fitful gleams of light; and the forests began to sway and moan as if oppressed by some evil presence, which made all its boughs heave and its foliage quiver. Then a m.u.f.fled yell broke out from the heart of the woods, and a line of what seemed to be human forms came into an open field that lay close to the forest, and, curving onward like an enormous serpent, crept away through the darkness.

There was little said in the farm-house that night about these mysterious appearances, but a vague superst.i.tion took possession of those three men, and they all felt as if the gold they had received might vanish into thin air before morning.

When the day broke, Brown and his hired man went into the barn in order to clear the thras.h.i.+ng-floor of all inc.u.mbrances. They found the door shut and every thing in place. But when the man went to the corner where those ponderous boxes had been stored, they were gone. Then the thick hair on Jason Brown's head stood up with terror, and turning from the astonished look of his companion he went into the house.

"Wife, take that purse of gold from your bosom and give it to me."

The woman obeyed him, and drew forth the purse. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hold, left the house, and ran down to the sh.o.r.e. When he reached the verge of the water, great drops stood on his forehead, and he panted for breath. A little way off was a line of breakers das.h.i.+ng up spray from a cl.u.s.ter of hidden rocks. Brown waded knee-deep into the water, swung his arm backward, and hurled the purse into the seething foam.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

NOON IN THE WOODS.

Old Wahpee had procured a forest-bred horse for Barbara Stafford and another for his own use. Restless from a strong desire to leave the country, she had besought him to act as her guide to the stone farm-house. Their object was unknown to the family, for the Indian was sadly afraid that Samuel Parris would know of his share in the business, and for this reason Barbara promised to keep her journey a secret.

t.i.tuba alone of all the household was taken into their confidence, and she undertook to divert attention from Barbara's movements.

This was no very difficult matter, for the cousins were occupied with each other, and Samuel Parris in his self-absorption would hardly have missed his guest had she remained absent a week. So one day Barbara went as usual into the margin of the forest, mounted the white horse that Wahpee held by the bridle, and following a trail which the Indian informed her led by a short cut to Boston, entered fearlessly on her adventure. The vast solitude of the wilderness harmonized with the solemn depression of her own thoughts. Its profound silence filled her with a sentiment of sublime resignation. Sometimes, as she rode along, a whispered prayer brightened her face, and you would have thought that she was travelling through those deep forest shades directly into that happier world where the weary are at rest. So far as conversation went, she was completely alone. Wahpee never talked, and if she asked him a question it was answered in some brief monosyllable. So deep was the forest and so remote the way, that wild deer leaped across her path, and stopped to gaze on her more than once with almost human curiosity.

No matter how deep or persistent unhappiness may be, there is something in nature that will charm it half away, if the heart it troubles is capable of real poetic sentiment. The unselfish and pure-minded cannot look upon all the munificence of G.o.d lavished everywhere in objects of beauty and usefulness--for the glorious Artist of the universe has created no one thing that has not a peculiar gift of beauty to recommend it--without an outburst of thankfulness. If the supreme object for which the heart yearns so hungrily is withheld, nature holds forth a thousand lures of beauty which are sure to draw the soul out of itself and thus nearer to its G.o.d.

Barbara Stafford was very unhappy. Since landing in America, her life had been one struggle. She was a woman of gentle nature, not the less pliant and sweet because her will was firm and her powers of endurance wonderful. She was now absolutely without earthly hope. If she turned to the past, it was full of pain. The future lay before her a desert. She could not endure, even in thought, to travel over the waste which lay between her coming sea-voyage and the grave. But though unhappy, disappointed, and dejected, she was neither bitter nor cynical. The grandeur and breadth of character which had led her silently into making almost impossible sacrifices would be sufficient to carry her to the end without faltering. Her history and her object, whatever they were, remained a secret in her own bosom. That she suffered, no one who looked upon the lines about her mouth and the shadows in those eyes could doubt. Yet a casual observer would have guessed nothing of this, and even a friend might have sometimes mistaken her kindness and urbanity for the expression of a serene life.

Let her history be what it might, the woman was sufficient unto herself.

She knew how "to suffer and grow strong," without hope and without counsel. That day, as she rode through the woods, so rich in leafiness, so lavish in beauty, her soul expanded itself thankfully to the sweet influences that opened upon her. She was no longer young, but, perhaps, more capable of enjoyment when alone with G.o.d's works for that very reason. So for the hour she put aside the one great sorrow that haunted her life, and rode cheerfully through the woods, enjoying each ferny knoll or gra.s.sy hollow, with a brook whispering along the bottom, as if she had nothing but suns.h.i.+ne in her heart.

It must have been somewhat after noon when Wahpee came upon a little opening in the trees, where some Indian hunter had cleared away the undergrowth and cut down a few trees in order to build a lodge, which was now a heap of mossy logs. It was a lovely spot, lifted a little from the level of the woods and crested with half a dozen stately old trees, through which the suns.h.i.+ne came s.h.i.+mmering down upon the forest turf, luring ten thousand lovely blossoms up through its greenness. Half in the suns.h.i.+ne, half in the shadow of overhanging pines and hemlocks, a lovely brook went singing on its way through bending ferns and the wild vines whose roots drank life from its crystal waves; while around this bright spot the dark barriers of the forest crowded up on three sides, rendering its green slopes more sunny from their sombre contrast.

Barbara drew up her horse as she felt the suns.h.i.+ne bursting so warmly over her path, and uttered an exclamation, half astonishment, half delight: "Why, Wahpee! You have led the way to a paradise," she said, gazing around. "One almost forgets to be mortal in a place like this, but my horse reminds us that he at least is hungry."

In her admiration, Barbara had loosened her bridle, and the beautiful animal which she rode was cropping the sward with great zest, eagerly sweeping up gra.s.s and blossoms in one fragrant mouthful, as if he feared that her hand might the next instant curb him up from his sweet repast.

Wahpee got down from his own horse, and cast him loose. Then he lifted Barbara from her saddle, and saying only, "Come here," led her along the margin of the brook, where she observed, with some surprise, that the gra.s.ses and ferns had been recently trodden into something like a path.

The brook swept its crystal curves around one side of the clearing, which took the sun so warmly, then widened into a beautiful pool, margined with golden willows, growing wildly, under a sumptuous drapery of vines. Beyond this basin of water Barbara saw a column of blue smoke curling up from the foot of a great hemlock, and flashes of fire shot in and out through the quivering green of the undergrowth.

Pleased and expectant, for Barbara began to surmise that she had not been brought to that lovely place by accident, she followed her guide in silence, and at last came out on a mound of grand circ.u.mference, covered so thickly with gra.s.s that her feet trod a hundred tiny flowers to death without her seeing them. The willows that margined the miniature lake at its base, and the hemlocks that crowded up from the forest, hedged in this pretty eminence, flickering its edges with tangled shadows and suns.h.i.+ne, but leaving a broad flat rock on the summit bathed in golden light. Around this rock, cl.u.s.ters of wild trumpet vines, trailing arbutus, and golden bitter-sweet, wove their beauties together in luxuriant wildness, creeping in rich traceries over the rock, or falling in garlands down the gra.s.sy sides of the mound. The centre of this rocky table was bright with sparkling crystals and clean as granite could be made. Something more than the hand of nature had been at work there. Not a dead leaf or broken twig could be found littering on the rock or in the gra.s.s.

"Ah, how lovely!" exclaimed the lady, flinging back the hood of her mantle, and looking around in pleasant astonishment. "Surely, Wahpee, this is not your work?"

"Would you be offended, lady, if it were mine?" said a voice close by, and from beneath the bending hemlocks came forth Philip, or Metacomet, the young man whose fate had been so strangely enwoven with her own.

"Nay, Philip, I am neither offended nor surprised. It was kind to provide me this lovely spot to rest in, and I am glad to look once more on the face of a friend."

Barbara sat down on the rock as she spoke, and unfastening the clasp of her scarlet cloak, allowed it to fall loosely around her. Philip flung himself on the gra.s.s at her feet, kindling up its green with the gorgeousness of his savage raiment. Seated thus, they could catch gleams of blue water under the willow branches, and watch the broad lily pods heaving softly up and down as if stirred with human pulses.

Barbara's face brightened, and her lips parted with smiles. She was naturally of a cheerful disposition, and such beauty as this gladdened her whole being.

"It seems like enchantment," she said; "some beautiful witchcraft has been at work here."

"It has brought a smile to that face, and I am happy," answered the young man.

"Have you known this spot long?" asked Barbara. "It looks like a corner in some English park. The clearing must have been made years ago, for, save that once ma.s.sive stump, which is now more than half moss, no trace of the axe is visible."

"It was cleared years ago, lady, for I was born here."

"Here!"

"Yes, my father was out hunting with the chiefs of his tribe. He never went even to the war-path that his wife did not follow and rest somewhere near him. That year he built her lodge in this spot. A few of the old logs lie in the clearing yonder even yet, held together by the moss that has been years and years creeping over them. When Wahpee told me that you would ride through the forest, I directed him to bring you along this trail. But you look tired and must be hungry."

"Yes, a little tired, and not a little hungry," answered Barbara. "In my anxiety I quite forgot that food might be needed on the way."

"Would to heaven that I could always think for you!" was the humble reply. "Oh, lady, how lovely these forests would be if you never left them!"

Barbara looked around, and her eyes filled with tears. "If you were my son."

The young man made an impatient gesture.

"Or my brother," she added. "Then, Philip, I might find that rest here which all other places in the world deny me. But my destiny leads me into the world, where I shall be far more alone than you can be here."

The young man looked searchingly into Barbara's face, and saw how honestly she spoke.

"I know! I knew from the first how hopeless this fatal love was," he said, pa.s.sionately. "Yet spite of every thing it will break forth to offend you."

"No, I am not offended," answered the lady. "G.o.d forbid that honest affection should anger me! I am only sorrowful that my destiny is always to give pain. I do not even reason with you, Philip, knowing well that human love is not the growth of human will. But you must learn patience, my friend, and strive, as I must, to be useful, and with G.o.d's help happy, without love."

Philip shook his head, and arose suddenly that she might not see how near he was to weeping. He advanced a few paces into the forest and came to another small opening in the trees. There a fire was blazing up redly, surrounded by a group of Indian women, who were busy turning a half-dozen birds, fastened by delicate withes of bark to the branches overhead, and roasting before the fire.

"Come," said the chief, in the Indian tongue, "is all ready?"

A woman was busy peeling strips of birch bark from the trunk of a sapling close by. She cut the bark into fragments and gave them to the women about the fire, who laid the roasted birds daintily upon them, nesting each one in leaves from a golden spice bush which grew near.

Then they took hot corn-cakes from the ashes, and brought from under a cool thicket two little painted baskets full of blue berries, with the bloom on them.