CHAPTER XLVI.

SWEETWATER AGAIN

Such is the power of that sweet passion, That it all sordid baseness doth expel, And the refined mind doth newly fashion Unto a fairer form, which now doth dwell In his high thoughts, that would itself excel, Which he, beholding still with constant sight, Admires the mirror of so heavenly light. —Spenser.

But now lead on; In me is no delay; with thee to go Is to stay here; with thee here to stay Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven. —Milton.

It was some time before Kate was able to undertake the fatigues of a return. At last, however, she set forth, supported by Major Gordon, who had, notwithstanding his wound, an arm uninjured to offer to her. When they had emerged from the denser part of the swamp, it was proposed to construct a litter for her, the road now allowing of her being transported in this way; but she declined the proffer, insisting that she was able to walk to the hut, at least.

For, as the way led back to within a mile of that place, Uncle Lawrence decided that it would be advisable to go there at once, because Kate could then obtain some repose, while a messenger, despatched to Sweetwater, might bring a carriage to transport her home, later in the day. As by this plan Mrs. Warren would obtain intelligence of her safety sooner than if they all pursued their way to the family mansion immediately, Kate pronounced in favor of it. Moreover, by this scheme, she would be able to bring away with her the orphan child, who had been so instrumental in her escape, and who, now that the reputed uncle was no more, would be willing, Kate reasoned, to accompany her to Sweetwater. To this desolate little girl our heroine felt her heart strangely drawn, even apart from the gratitude which filled her heart towards the child as the preserver of her life.

Accordingly, when they reached the main road, where Kate had taken the wrong turn, two of the patriots left the party, and hastened with all their speed to Sweetwater; while the remainder, striking into the byway that led to the cabin, advanced at a slower pace, accommodated to our heroine’s fatigue.

When the latter reached the clearing on the knoll of the swamp, they found that the child, already forced by circumstances to be a housekeeper, had removed the evidences of the last night’s debauch, and restored everything to order and comparative neatness. The table was set away; the chairs replaced in their positions; the floor swept and subsequently sanded, as was then the fashion. The child was sitting, trying to read with difficulty, when the party came up; and the book falling from her hands in her surprise, Uncle Lawrence took it up, and discovered, as he had suspected, that it was a Testament.

When she recognized Kate, the orphan stole immediately to her side, and, clasping the hands of our heroine between both her own little palms, said, gently,

“I’m so glad you’ve come back. Oh! how I wished, all the morning, that these good people would find you.”

“I’ve come back to take you away with me,” said Kate, stooping, and kissing the child. “You musn’t shake your head sadly. There’s nothing now to keep you here. That bad man, who called himself your uncle, is dead and gone.”

The orphan looked wonderingly at Kate; then at Uncle Lawrence; and, finally, around the entire group. Reading a confirmation of this truth in every eye, her little face assumed an awe-struck expression, and she burst into tears.

Kate tried to soothe her.

“He wasn’t your uncle at all, dear,” she said, taking the child in her lap, for they had now entered the house. “These gentlemen,” turning to Major Gordon and Uncle Lawrence, “say they know all about you. So you musn’t think of him, except as a bad, bad man, who has brought death on himself by his own wickedness.”

“It’s that that makes me cry,” said the child, looking up through her tears.

Uncle Lawrence, laying his hand on her head in his fatherly manner, said to the orphan,

“I’ve no doubt, my little one, that this lady here is nearer related to you than maybe you or she thinks. But more of that bye and bye,” he continued. “It’s to her house you’re to go, and you ought to thank the Lord, my child, that he’s given you such a friend.”

“Now,” said Kate, kissing her, “you can’t help being my little sister.”

“I’ll be so glad,” murmured the child, hiding her face on Kate’s shoulder, and closely entwining her arms around our heroine, who looked up, smiling through her tears, at Major Gordon and Uncle Lawrence.

Nearly four hours elapsed before the expected vehicle arrived from Sweetwater. During this interval, Kate was urged to snatch some repose, for it will be recollected that excepting the short period she slept by accident the night before, she had not closed her eyes for thirty-six hours, while, meantime, she had undergone the greatest fatigue of body and mind. But her nerves were still too excited from the agitating events which had followed her first capture, to permit her to compose herself to sleep; and besides, she shrank from re-entering the chamber where she had passed a night of such agonizing suspense.

Mrs. Warren’s joyful consternation, when she heard of Kate’s safety, it is almost impossible to describe. The effect of the news was completely paralyzing to her, as much so, for awhile, indeed, as if it had been intelligence the most disastrous.

For quite a minute the servants thought she was dying, and being, to use one of their own expressions, “a’most as flustered as herself,” they did all sorts of absurd things in the effort to help her. Pomp’s father seized a flower-vase, which Kate had arranged the preceding morning, and threw its contents into her face, plants and water alike. Dinah, his wife, attempted to cut the good lady’s stays with the back of a bread-knife, with which she had rushed in from the kitchen, being engaged in slicing a loaf when she heard the uproar. The maid screamed at the top of her lungs, and ran out of the room, with a vague design of seeking a vinaigrette bottle in one of the chambers; but she finally captured a phial of patent medicine, which Mrs. Warren patronized, as many excellent old dowagers will, and unconscious of her error, rushed back again, screaming as fast as ever, and popped the horrible compound under the dame’s nose. Between the application of Jim, and this of the maid, Mrs. Warren soon came to; and it was fortunate for her she did; for, as one of the news-bearers said, in rehearsing the tale afterwards,— “they’d have killed her next, seein’ that we was so frightened by the infernal screechin’ of that Frenchified gal, with the physic-bottle, that we thought the old ‘oman had gone for sartain.”

When Kate at length arrived at Sweetwater, the good dame had recovered her usual equanimity. Having improved the interval to repair the disorder of her attire, she now appeared in all her ordinary pomp of costume; her voluminous furbelowed gown sweeping half the room; her high, red-heeled shoes pattering, as she rushed down the porch; and the powder flying like snow from her tower-like head-dress, and perfuming the air around her, as if the wind blew from a spice-garden.

Extending her arms, into which Kate threw herself, she said,

“Bless us, my child, what trouble you’ve given me, and all from riding alone. I knew something terrible would happen from the first. But don’t think I blame you. I’m too glad to see you for that.”

In fact, Mrs. Warren, having discharged her conscience in the way of reproof, began to kiss her niece passionately, at the same time bursting into tears. Uncle Lawrence afterwards remarked, that he thought, that “next to fallin’ into the clutches of a baar, the most dangerous thing was bein’ hugged by Mrs. Warren, for she nigh a’most squeezed Katie to death.”

It was a long time before Kate recovered from the effects of that terrible day and night. Though she had borne up so heroically while the peril continued, she broke down completely after she found herself safely at home; and for nearly a week she was unable even to leave her chamber. By the end of that time, however, she appeared in the parlor, where, though still pale, she seemed to Major Gordon lovelier than ever.

Our hero, who had called daily to inquire after her progress, was almost transported beyond himself, when, one morning, on being shown as usual into the parlor, he saw Kate sitting there instead of her formal aunt. The young heiress rose immediately, and frankly advanced, extending her hand.

“This is, indeed, a surprise,” cried Major Gordon, taking the delicate little palm between his two hands. “I had not hoped so much, after what Mrs. Warren said yesterday.”

“My good aunt,” replied Kate, with a smile and a blush, “always takes the worst view of things, you know.”

“Has she done censuring you for being the sole cause of your late peril, by riding out alone?” asked the Major, smiling also, as he led her to the sofa.

“She has it over a dozen times a day, and always ends by declaring she ‘knew something dreadful would happen;’ that’s her pet phrase. But come, we musn’t laugh at aunt’s foibles in this way; she’s an excellent creature; and, you know, you and she are to be the best of friends.”

From this opening of the conversation, and from the tone of the speakers, it was evident that they had come already to a perfect understanding. Major Gordon, in fact, had written a letter to Kate, when he found that she could not leave her chamber; for he deemed it due to both herself and him, that an explicit avowal of his feelings should be in her hands without delay. This letter was really the best medicine Kate could have had; for, by assuring her of his love, it removed what otherwise would have been a source of secret agitation to her.

The reader, indeed, must long since have suspected that Kate was as much in love with Major Gordon as he with her. The interview at the bridge, with our hero’s conduct afterwards, had first opened her eyes to the state of her heart. The letter of our hero afforded her at last an opportunity, consistent with maidenly propriety, to acknowledge her affection; and as she was too true-hearted and sincere to trifle with her correspondent, she wrote immediately such an answer as made the recipient nearly wild with joy, though the note itself was quite simple and even laconic.

We leave them together, on this first meeting since their betrothal, to exchange those questions as to when each first began to love, and renew those protestations, which made the pair happy beyond words, as such things have made many another pair, but which would be insipid enough if printed.