Chapter 30

A STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN.

Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with very different feelings from those I had on entering it. The words of this ill-starred maiden--attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar to her race--had filled my heart with most dire forebodings. Her speech could not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me? She had scarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positive foreknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceiving me?

"Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve."

"Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so proudly upon your breast."

These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural? However obtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an implied forecast of the future--probable as it was painful. The "yellow fawn," too. The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn. But the wolf that had "slept in its lair"? Who was the wolf? Who was to make her a victim? and how? These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidly through my mind, and without obtaining reply. I was unable to answer them, even by conjecture. Enough that there _was_ a wolf; and that Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!

This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing in my ears: "You will be too late--too late!" Prompted by their implied meaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward--as fast as the nature of the ground would permit. My mind was in dread confusion--a chaos of doubt and fear. The half-knowledge I had obtained was more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for I suffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlined suspicion. A wolf! In what shape and guise? A victim? How, and by what means? What the nature of the predicted danger?

The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! A storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun--black as the wing of the buzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky--threatening to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came pattering down upon the leaves--soon to fall thick and continuous! I heeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elements to me? What cared I for the clouds or rain--lightning, thunder, or the riven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart--an electric rush through my veins--of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. "The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You will be too late--too late!" These were clouds to be regarded--the fires to be feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame infernal burning in my breast?

The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free; and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The door was open--wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the interior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me!

Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture--several chairs and a rough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now in the same place--just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensions was allayed by the sight: the family was still there. "Strange that no one hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!"

I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while. "Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The day and hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into his uncourteous mood?"

It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining at the moment--as if the very clouds were coming down--and I stood in need of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I was suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where was Lilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It was indeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian damsel? Was she, too, an arch creature--a coquette? Had she bestowed the blossom only to betray me?

I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I had promised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasant anticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating an effect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Its carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of blood!

I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; but by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. After a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin. The interstices between the logs--where they had formerly been covered with skins--were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closer scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were concerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaning over from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only the chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of "plenishing," remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthless _debris_ strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered complete. _They were gone_!

It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the premises--outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, a supposition. There was nowhere else--the horse-shed excepted--where they could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they were not in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall--saddle and bridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They were gone.

With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon the plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a survey of the "premises"--my future home. I might have observed with ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it needed repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I gave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment, would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!