Bart Ridgeley Part 44

"You were too far to be heard by your father and friends; and I was too late to hear you. I called several times, when I found the hood.

Of course no answer came, and following the trail where it could be seen, I went on. I missed it often, and circled about until I found it, or something like it, always bearing away deeper and deeper into the wood. Then the wind blew awfully, and the snow began to sift down.

My first torch was well burned out, and I knew I had been out some hours. I lighted the other and went on; soon I struck this creek, and fancied that you, if you had reached it, would follow it down."

"I did."

"Soon after, at a soft place where a little branch came in, I found your tracks again, several of them; and I knew I was right, and was certain I should find you. In my great joy, I thanked G.o.d, with my whole heart. It was storming fearfully; and trees were cracking, and breaking, and falling, in the fury of the wind. I called, but I knew n.o.body could hear me a dozen rods away. It had become intensely cold, and I feared you would become exhausted and fall down, and perhaps perish ere I could reach you. I hurried on, looked by every tree and log, calling and searching. I don't know where I struck the creek, though I knew every rood of the woods: I am, as you know, a born woodsman, and know all wood craft. Although I was certain I would find you, I began to grow fearfully anxious, and almost to doubt. As I went I called your name, and listened. Finally a faint sound came back to me, and I sprang forward--when you rose partly up before me. Oh, G.o.d!

oh, G.o.d!" and his voice was lost in emotion. "For one moment I was overcome, and did, I know not what, save that I knelt by you and kissed your hands. Their chilly touch recalled me. I felt that I had saved you not only for your father and mother, but for your pure self, and to be the bride of some unknown man; and I was resolved that no memory of yours, and no thought of his, should ever occasion a blush for what should occur between us."

"How n.o.ble and heroic you were--"

"You know all that happened after."

"And in your anxiety to save me from myself, you would not even let me thank you. And when I slept, you stole away."

"What could I do. Julia? I had saved you, I had redeemed myself; and found a calm, cold peace and joy in which I could go. In view of what had happened between us before, how hard and embarra.s.sing for you to meet and thank me, and I feared to meet you. It was better that I should go, and with one stolen look at your sweet, sleeping face, I went."

"Arthur, my poor best will I do to repay you for all your pain and anguish."

"Am I not more than repaid, proud and happy? It was for the best. I needed to suffer and work; and yet how blessed to have carried the knowledge of your love with me!"

"Oh, I wanted to whisper it to you, to have you know; and I was unhappy because I knew you were," she murmured.

"My poor letter in answer to yours I fear was rude and proud and unmanly. What could I say? The possibility that I could be more than a friend to you never occurred to me, and when Ida tried to persuade me that you did love me, her efforts were vain; I could hardly induce her to abandon the idea of writing you."

"There is a blessed Providence in it all, Arthur; and in nothing more blessed than in bringing us together here, where we could meet and speak, with only the suns.h.i.+ne and this bright stream for witnesses."

"And what a sweet little story of love and hope and joy it carries murmuring along!" said Bart, struck with the poetry of her figure.

"But we must not always stay here," said the practical woman. "We must go home, must not we, Prince?" addressing the horse, which had stood quietly watching the lovers, and occasionally looking about him.

"You have changed his name?" said Bart.

"Yes. You see he is your horse, and I called him Prince Arthur the very day I received him, which was the day your letter came. I call him Prince. He is a prince--and so is his namesake," she added, playfully pulling his moustache. "You don't like that?" said Bart; "the moustache? I can cut it away in a moment."

"I do like it, and you must not cut it away. Stand out there, and let me have a good look at you; please turn your eyes away from me--there so."

"You find me changed," he said, "and I find you more lovely than ever," rus.h.i.+ng back to her.

"You spoilt my view, sir."

"You will see enough of me," he said, gaily.

"You are changed," she went on, "but I like you better. Now, sir, here is your horse. I deliver you, Prince, to your true lord and master; and you must love him, and serve him truly."

"And I have already dedicated you to your lady and mistress," said Bart, "and you must forever serve her."

"And the first thing you do, will be to carry Wilder down to my dear mother, with a letter--how blessed and happy she will be!--asking her to send up a carriage--unless you have one somewhere?"

"Me? I haven't anything anywhere, but you. A carriage brought me into this region, and I sent it back. Keep and ride the Prince, as you call him; I can walk. I've done it before."

"You shall never do it again; if you do I will walk with you. We will go to Wilder's, and see Mrs. Wilder, who is a blessed woman, and who knew your secret, and knows mine; and Rose, who took me into her bed; and we will have some dinner, unromantic ham and eggs; and when the carriage comes, I will drive you to your mother's, and then you shall drive me home--do you understand?"

"Perfectly; and shall implicitly obey. Do you know, I half suspect this is all a dream, and that I shall wake up in Albany, or Jefferson, or somewhere? I know I am not in Chardon, for I could not sleep long enough to dream there."

"Why?"

"I was too near Newbury, and under the spell of old feelings and memories; and I don't care to sleep again."

As they were about to leave the dear little nook, "Arthur," said Julia, "let us buy a bit of this land, and keep this little romantic spot from destruction." So they went out through the trees in the warm sun, Bart with Prince's bridle in his hand, and Julia with her skirt over one arm and the other in that of her lover.

"I hold tightly to your arm," said Bart, laughing, "so that if you vanish, I may vanish with you."

"And I will be careful and not go to sleep while we are at Wilder's, for fear you will steal away from me, you bad boy. If you knew how I felt when I woke and found you had gone--"

"I should not have gone," interrupted Bart.

Thus all the little sweet nothings that would look merely silly on paper, and sound foolish to other ears, yet so precious to them, pa.s.sed from one to the other as they went.

Wilder had eaten his dinner, and lounged out into the sun, with his pipe, as they walked up. He knew Julia, of course, and Prince, and looked hard at Bart, as they pa.s.sed; when the comely wife came running out.

"Oh," she exclaimed, taking Julia's hand, "and this--this is Mr.

Ridgeley."

"It is indeed," said Bart, brightly.

"And you are not--not--Oh! your two hearts are happy I see it in both your faces. I am so glad."

Julia bent and kissed her.

"Oh, I knew when he went off so heart-broken, that it wasn't your fault, and I always wished I had kept him."

Sweet, shy, blus.h.i.+ng Rose came forward, and Bart took her hands and hoped she would look upon him as an older brother long absent, and just returned. And little lisping George, staring at him curiously, "Are you Plinth Arthur?"

"Prince Arthur?" cried Bart, catching him up, "do I look like a prince?"

"Yeth."

"Take that," said Bart, laughing, giving him a gold coin.

"He is a prince," said Julia, "and you see he gives like a prince."

"Exactly," answered Bart; "princes always give other peoples' gold for flattery."

"And now, Mr. Wilder, I want you to put your saddle on Prince, and gallop straight to my mother, and drive back a carriage. I found this unhappy youth wandering about in these same woods, and I am going to take him with me this time."

When Wilder was ready, she gave him the following note:

"_Dear Mother_:--I am so blessed and happy. Arthur and I met this morning in the dear old nook under the rocks, and we are the happiest two in the world.