Part 16

“Where? Oh! of course. The lion and the lamb. Mrs. Colter is literary, writes things, reads Browning understanding (happy woman!), quotes Greek to people that never harmed her, and herds the lamb, who never has any capers in his sauce, and who is, I am told, her third matrimonial venture.”

“A fulfillness of prophecy,” murmured Harry, “'And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together.'”

“Harry, you are incorrigible. The young man of peculiarly unwholesome appearance who has just sneaked in is, I am morally certain, Uriah Heep, though he says his name is Penrose. That [as a handsome old lady of large proportions came into the room] is Miss Eldridge. She is very nice, but is omnipresent, so we call her 'The Almighty,' Her escort is Mr. Hinton; he is the biggest, jolliest and--except my Tom--the bestnatured man here. Everyone calls him 'Jumbo' or 'Billy' Look out for him, Buz; he is another rival and determined to have the chromo at any price. There she is with 'Buttons' in tow, and the disconsolate 'Wafer' vainly endeavoring to console himself with his divinity's aunt.”

The young gentlemen were aptly named. The first, a handsome young West Pointer on furlough, in all the glory of cadet gray and a multitude of bell buttons; the other, a pleasant-faced fellow, surprisingly tall and thin. Nell had introduced Van Zandt and me to Miss Solander and her aunt shortly after dinner, and I had had a very pleasant chat with the stately, whitehaired old lady, who was so proud and fond of her exquisite niece. She was Mr. Solander's sister and the widow of Captain Dupont of the French Navy.

Several friends of Mrs. Northrup joined her, and Van Zandt excused himself and went to make one of the little group of men around Miss Solander, followed by a parting injunction from his sister to remember that benzine would remove paint spots if applied while they were fresh.

Beautiful as this flower-faced girl was at all times, by lamp light and in evening dress she was lovely beyond all power of words to express, and as I came to know her I found that her beauty was not alone in her superb coloring, in the perfect lines of her face and figure or in her exuberant health, but was in her life; for she was--and is--that rare, sweet thing, a womanly woman, brave, strong, gentle, generous, pure of heart and clean of thought, a lover of truth, a hater of meanness, with a mind broadened by travel and burnished by attrition; and she carried, moreover, a cloak of charity of such wide and ample fold that it fell lovingly over even the follies and frailties of those weaker ones of her own sex and was proof against the arrows of envy.

With old people and children she was a great favorite; the men were her enthusiastic admirers, and a good half dozen of them were helplessly, hopelessly, over head and ears in love with her; but a number of the young married women and girls professed strong disapproval of her, on similar grounds to those outlined by Mrs. Northrup on the steamer, though I had my private suspicions that, in some cases at least, they were a trifle jealous of the attention she received from the men, who, as is generally the case at summer resorts, were not overabundant. Mrs. Northrup's dislike was an honest one, for she firmly believed the girl was artificial, and having carefully avoided an intimacy knew but little of the lovely nature and bright mind that no one was better fitted to appreciated than she.

Besides, Madame Nell was a born matchmaker and wanted her adored brother to marry her particular friend and crony, Miss Carrie Belmont, a brighteyed, keen-witted, merry little soul, who took nothing seriously except medicine and had about as much fixedness of purpose as a month-old kitten. To a man like Van Zandt, who needed both the curb and spur of a mentality as strong and earnest as his own, she would have been about as valuable a helpmeet as was poor little Dora to David Copperfield. But Nell was fond of the pretty, clever little creature, felt sure (as our mothers and sisters, God bless 'em! always do) that her brother was thoroughly incapable of picking out the right kind of a wife, and weeks before he came had perceived in Miss Solander's marvelous loveliness a dangerous and powerful factor in the personal equations she wished to make equal to each other, so that by the transposition of matrimony they should become one.

Of course this knowledge came to me gradually; but even that first evening, as Van Zandt and Miss Solander passed near us in the waltz, I could see that he was wonderfully taken with his fair partner. For the next few days he was more or less the victim of some little sisterly traps that were set with great tact and amused Northrup and me immensely. Then my young gentleman escaped and made great running, distancing “Buttons,” “The Wafer,” “Balaam's Ass,” and the rest of what Nell called the “fry,” and crowding Hinton closely for what each felt was his life's race for a prize that might be for neither of them. They were a nice, manly, generous pair of rivals, and I never saw either take an unfair advantage of the other. I remember one day I was fishing, when they both rushed down to their boats and started for the island at racing stroke. Just as they were abreast of me Van Zandt, who was leading, broke a rowlock, and Hinton forged ahead; but the moment he saw what had occurred he backed water, tossed Harry an extra rowlock, waited until he had put it in, and then away they went again.

Which was the favored one it was for some time difficult to decide, as the girl was evidently used to a great deal of attention, and accepted it gracefully and even gratefully; but yet somehow as though it was a matter of course. She took many things as matters of course, by the way, among others her beauty, of which she was as little vain as a flower is of its color or perfume, and she labored under the pleasant delusion that men liked her simply because she could dance and ride and row and shoot and play tennis. There was another thing she played beside tennis, and that was the banjo, and it seemed to me that her rich, flexible contralto, the liquid tingle of the banjo and the Spanish words of the song she loved best to sing, made a harmony as soft and sweet as the fragrant, moonlit nights of her Southern home.

Until I read the generous and intelligent praise of the banjo by the gifted pen of America's greatest writer of romance, I had been rather diffident of expressing my liking for this charming instrument, partly because it was rather impressed upon me by my parents, who were a little tinged with Puritanism, that it was low, and partly because a musical friend, whose opinion in matters harmonic I always deferred to, disliked it; but, under the rose, I thought it delicious, and many years ago I used to wander pretty often to a beer garden in New York, where an old darky named Horace touched the strings with a master's hand and drew from them the half sad, half merry, but wholly sweet melodies of his child-hearted race, which always struck some responsive chord in me that no other music ever did.

There was a good deal of musical talent in the three hotels that summer. Miss Solander, Miss Belmont, Hinton and Van Zandt were a capital quartet; Mrs. Robinson was an accomplished pianist and accompanist; a young girl from Troy sang Irish songs to a zither delightfully; “Buttons” gave us the lays of West Point, and “Balaam's Ass,” as Mrs. Northrup expressed it, “really brayed very melodiously.”

Van Zandt had one decided advantage over the other men in his wooing, for he had brought his own saddle horse with him, and as Miss Solander had hers, a beautiful and very fast bay mare, and was an enthusiastic horsewoman, riding nearly every day, wet or dry, he frequently managed to be her escort.

They asked me to go with them one morning for a long ride through the mountains, and as it was not impossible that we might see a deer or some birds Miss Viola took her repeating shotgun, a pretty and close-shooting little weapon with which she was very expert, and Van Zandt and I our Stevens rifles.

My mount was the best to be had in the village, and was a strong, slow animal, intended by nature to grace a plow.

It was a grand day, crisp and clear, and the first level stretch of road we came to my young companions decided to have a race. Away they went, Blarney and I at an increasing interval behind them. At a turn in the road, about a quarter of a mile ahead, Harry's big gray was leading the mare by a good length, and when they rejoined me Miss Solander acknowledged her defeat handsomely, but put in a saving clause for her pet by adding, “She runs her best when frightened. I don't think even your splendid gray could catch her if we saw a bear.”

Harry laughed pleasantly, said he imagined his horse, too, might develop unexpected speed under such circumstances, and we cantered on. A little before noon we left the main road and struck into a bridle path that led through a dense pine forest, utterly impassable by reason of fallen trees and underbush, except on the narrow trail. We had not gone far when our way seemed barred by a huge dead pine that had fallen slantingly across the path and rested on a great boulder on the other side. It was too high to jump near the roots without great danger and the triangular opening by the rock did not look high enough for a horse to go through. However, we dismounted and managed to get the animals through, though there was very little room to spare.

In about half a mile we came to the edge of the wood, and the trail widened out to ten or twelve feet, bordered by a dense second growth of ash. Perhaps a thousand yards farther on Blarney became excited over some fresh tracks in the sandy soil, which we found were those of a deer that had passed only a few minutes before, as was shown by a clump of fern that was slowly straightening its crushed and bent fronds by the side of the narrow road. Miss Solander and I halted, while Harry rode quietly on ahead after Blarney, who was acting rather queerly, I thought, following the deer track for a few feet, then pausing, with nose in the air and bristling back, to snuff the air and growl. Van Zandt spoke to him, and the dog went steadily and slowly forward. He was a clever beast and the only setter I ever saw that could hunt all kinds of game well. Miss Solander promptly emptied the magazine of her shotgun, and refilled it with wire cartridges loaded with “buck and ball.”

I was watching Van Zandt, who was a few hundred feet away, when there was a crashing noise in the brush, and midway between him and us a good-sized black bear stepped out on the trail. My horse made a buck jump that nearly unseated me and backed half his length into the bush. Bang! Bang! went Miss Viola's gun. The bear stumbled, gave a roar of pain and rage, and started for us. The mare plunged wildly, wheeled about sharply and flew back by the way we came. The brute I rode was paralyzed with terror and I could not budge him, nor did I dare to shoot for fear of hitting Van Zandt, and my position of course kept his rifle silent. But he took in the situation at a glance, fired in the air, gave a yell that a panther might have envied, and came toward us at a gallop.

The bear turned to look at this new enemy, and rose promptly on his hind legs to receive him. I saw the gray swerve slightly, heard a savage “Jump, ------ you!” from Van Zandt, saw his spurs go home, and then the great horse rise to the leap and skim over the bear in a splendid arch. Blarney, who was just behind his master, was not so fortunate. He lit fairly on the bear, and was sadly scratched and bitten before he got away. Van Zandt shouted, “I must catch her before she gets to the fallen tree!” and went by me like a whirlwind. It was not much over a mile, she had a hundred yards and more the start of him, and the mare was going like the wind. I fired a shot as soon as the gray passed me, and the report seemed to rouse my horse, who, oblivious to spur and voice, had cowered shivering in the brush, for he shook himself, snorted, took a last look at the bear, which was preparing to join the procession, turned tail and fled, developing speed of which I would not have believed him capable.

It was a horrible ride, not on account of the bear, which might have been a mouse for all the thought I gave it, but because there, ahead of me, in that narrow road, a beautiful girl, just blossoming into splendid womanhood, was rushing to an awful, ghastly death, and a few cruel yards behind her the man that loved her and would so gladly have given his life for hers. Oh, how my heart ached for him, and how I wished the old man that was third in that terrible race might die instead of that sweet child-woman! Could he overtake her? He was spurring fiercely and the gray was doing his best; but though the gap between them was closing, it was closing slowly--and we had entered the wood. Yes, he was surely gaining now, sixty feet more and he would have her. But there was the tree, and he couldn't reach her in time. I covered my eyes with my hands and turned sick and faint. Then came back to me in a man's voice grown shrill with agony, one word, and following it crash! crash! in rapid succession, and again the sound of the hurrying hoof beats.

I opened my eyes. Was I blinded by my tears? There were no dreadful bundles under the tree. Then that word, with its fierce, imperious note of command, which had conveyed no meaning to me in that first awful moment, came through the porch of the outer ear, where it had lingered, into the brain, and I understood--“Jump!” He had taken the one chance left to them at the last moment, shrieked his order at her, and she had obeyed, lifting her mare to a leap that looked impossible. He had followed her, and they had cleared it safely, for I could see their heads over the fallen trunk. I checked my horse, dismounted, led him through the opening and galloped on again.

In a few moments I had the pleasure of seeing the gray range up alongside of the mare and Van Zandt seize her bridle. I joined them and found they were sound in life and limb. Harry was standing by the mare's head, quieting her, and somehow he had gotten possession of a little gauntleted hand and was looking at the girl with a world of love in his fine eyes. She was quite pale, but her face was steadfast and strong, and in it as she met Van Zandt's look frankly was the dawning of something that she was unaware of yet, something that, if she lived would crown her lover's life with happiness “sweet beyond compare”--and my old heart was glad for them both.

Neither Blarney nor the bear was in sight, and as I had hung on to my rifle half unconsciously I proposed going back to look for the dog, but they insisted on accompanying me, and Miss Solander showed her own gun in its carbine holster with the flap buttoned. I tell you it took nerve for a girl on a runaway horse to do that bit of work. Well, we went cautiously back, Van Zandt holding a strap fastened to the mare's bridle, and I on ahead. Nothing in sight until we got out of the wood and had made a slight turn. Then we saw Blarney, very ragged and bloody, but with an air of proud ownership, sniffing around the dead body of the bear. We had some trouble in bringing up the horses, but managed it finally.

Everyone seemed to feel after that that Van Zandt would win and wear the violet. Even Mrs. Northrup was preparing to bow gracefully to the inevitable, when Ethel came on the scene in the rôle of “enfante terrible” and spoke her little piece.

It was a lovely summer afternoon. The next day, Monday, was Miss Viola's twenty-first birthday; her father was to arrive by the evening boat, and several of the young men had planned rowing and sailing races in her honor. Mr. and Mrs. Northrup, Miss Belmont, Hinton and I were chatting in a little summer house just by the edge of the lake, and a few feet away, Viola, Harry and Ethel were skipping flat stones over the water. In a pause in our talk, which had been of Byron, just after someone had quoted:

She was his life,

The ocean to the river of his thoughts,

Which terminated all,

We were all looking at the trio outside and speculating probably upon the future of two of them, when we saw Ethel seize Miss Solander's hand, look up at her adoringly, and heard her say, in her childish pipes: “You're so pretty! Why does mamma called you 'the colored lady?' You're not a nigger, are you?”

The girl flushed painfully, but stooped, kissed the child and, looking straight at Mrs. Northrup, said very gently: “No, dear; and if mamma knew me better she would not think I was colored.” Then she turned, bowed slightly and walked rapidly up the beach. Nell burst into tears, Van Zandt muttered something that didn't sound like a prayer and tore after his lady love. Northrup was so startled and angry that, instead of comforting his wife, he gave her a little shake and exploded with: “It's too ----- ---------- bad! A nice mess you and the brat have made of things!” Then, as the ludicrous side of the affair appealed to his fun-loving nature: “To save time, I'll spank Ethel while you roll out the crust of a nice, re: “To save time, I'll spank Ethel while you roll out the crust of a nice, big humble pie.”

Hinton and Miss Belmont slunk off, and I was preparing to follow them, when the unhappy little woman sobbed out, “Oh, Doctor, please, please don't go! Stay and tell me what to do. Tom's so nasty--if you laugh, Tom dear, I'll kill you.” So I stayed, and while we were consulting what was best to do Van Zandt came quietly into the summer house, his face and tightly-closed lips ashen, and his eyes the eyes of a strong man in pain. Nell rushed at him, exclaiming: “My poor Harry, my darling brother! I am so sorry; try to forgive me!”

He put her away from him with no show of anger, but very coldly, and then, very evenly and in an emotionless, mechanical sort of way, he said: “I have asked Miss Solander to be my wife. She refused me. I hope you are satisfied. I give you my word of honor that I will never forgive you, nor speak to you, until she accepts your apology and my love--and that will be never,” he added, heavily, and half under his breath. There was no doubt that he meant it and would stick to it, and his sister, who knew he never broke his word, after one appealing look at him, threw herself in her husband's arms and sobbed miserably. I followed the boy and took an old man's privilege. He listened patiently and thanked me affectionately, but it was of no use. Then I tried to find Miss Viola, and came across Nell on the same quest; but no one saw her until the next afternoon.

Monday was cloudy and windy, a real gray day. The races were to begin at 3 o'clock, and the entire community was gathered on the shore of the lake. Both Miss Solander and Van Zandt were entered, and I knew their pride would make them show up. The first race was for ladies in Long Lake boats over a half mile course and return, six entries, a handicap of one hundred yards on Miss Solander and fifty on Mrs. Claggett. Viola beat it handsomely and then rowed directly across to the island, where she would have a good view of the sailing race, though I think her object was more to escape the crowd.

After an interval of a few minutes three canoes, manned by Hinton, Van Zandt and another man, came up to the starter's boat.

The canoes got away together, Van Zandt to leeward. They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when a squall from the opposite shore struck them, and the canoe with the violet pennant (Harry's) went over like a flash, the other two, with loose sheets, running before the wind. Mrs. Northrup screamed, and so did several other women; but Van Zandt was a capital swimmer, and I expected every moment to see him on the bottom of the canoe.

Half a dozen men started in rowboats, but one shot out from the island and fairly flew for the capsized craft. It was Viola, and we saw her, when she reached her goal, stand up, shake off her outer skirts and dive. I had a powerful glass, and when she came up I saw she had him and was trying to reach her boat, which was drifting away. She gave that up and struggled toward the canoe. They went down, and then the rescue boats hid them. It seemed an eternity before two boats pulled swiftly toward us. In the first was Van Zandt, a nasty cut on his head and unconscious, but breathing faintly. In the next, held in the arms of poor “Buttons,” whose tears were dropping on her lovely white face, was the sweet child-woman, all the wonderful rose tints gone from lip and cheek and in its place the sad, cold hue of death. There was no sign of vitality, and I was hopeless from the first; but we were still working over her when the steamer came in, and the next thing we knew there was a heart-broken cry and her father had her in his arms.

Was it the bitter agony and yearning love in that strong man's cry that called back the fleeing life, or was it the sudden jar of lifting her and the fierce clasp of her father's arms that started the stilled lungs? I do not know; but, physician though I am, I incline to the former solution. Whatever may have been the cause there was a faint flutter in pulse and breast, and we renewed our efforts. In half an hour she was breathing softly and the color was coming back to her bonny face. Her father carried her up to the hotel and her aunt and Mrs. Northrup got her to bed. She recovered rapidly, but Van Zandt was pretty ill for about a week, and positively refused to see his sister.

Well, I suppose it was officious and meddlesome in me, but one day when I knew where Violante was I took Nell's hand in my arm and brought them together. In a few minutes they were crying over each other in real womanly fashion, and I prowled off. In about ten minutes little Nell, her eyes shining with happiness, hunted me up and said, “I want you to take me to Harry.” She showed me in her hand a beautiful and curious ring, which I knew was the engagement ring of Miss Viola's mother. Harry was sitting in an easy chair, with his back to the door, when we entered, and, without turning his head, he asked, “Is that you, Doctor?”

I answered him, and then Nell stole up behind him, dropped the great ruby in his lap, and whispered, with a sob in her voice, “With my dear sister Violante's love.” Harry looked at the ring stupidly for an instant, then Nell came around in front of him, and he pulled her down into his arms without a word. And I stole away with wet eyes and a glad heart, and told the news to Tom and Carrie and that prince of good fellows, “Jumbo” Hinton.

That is about all. Mr. Solander gave his consent and something more substantial, and two months later I went to the wedding of “The Lady in Rouge.”

THE BREAKING OF WINTER, By Patience Stapleton

|That's the fust funerel I've went to sence I was a gal, but that I drove to the graveyard.”

“I dunno as that done the corp enny good.”

“An' seems all to onc't I miss old Tige,” muttered the first speaker half to herself.

It was snowing now, a fine mist sifting down on deep-drifted stone-walls and hard, shining roads, and the tinkle of sleigh-bells, as a far-away black line wound over the hill to the bleak graveyard, sounded musical and sweet in the muffled air. Two black figures in the dazzling white landscape left the traveled road and ploughed heavily along a lane leading to a grove of maples, cold and naked in the winter scene.