Mabel's Mistake

Sophia Stephens Ann

Description

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. It was autumn, one of those balmy Indian summer days which, if the eyes were closed, would remind you of Andalusia when the orange trees put forth their blossoms with the matured fruit still clinging to their boughs, burying its golden ripeness among cool, green leaves, and buds of fragrant snow. Still, save in the delicious atmosphere that autumnal sunset would not have reminded you of any land but our own. For what other climate ever gave the white wings of the frost the power to scatter that rich combination of red, green, gold and dusky purple upon a thousand forests in a single night? What other land ever saw the sun go down upon a world of green foliage, and rise to find the same foliage bathed in a sea of brilliant tints, till the east was paled by its gorgeousness?

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819916574
• Langue: English

Extrait

CHAPTERIi

 THE STEP-MOTHER AND STEP-SON.

 It was autumn, one of those balmy InBian summer B ays which, if the eyes were closeB, woulB reminB you of AnBalusia when the orange trees put forth their blossoms with the matureB fruit still clinging to their boughs, buryi ng its golBen ripeness among cool, green leaves, anB buBs of fragrant snow. Still, save in t he Belicious atmosphere that autumnal sunset woulB not have reminBeB you of any lanB but our own. For what other climate ever gave the white wings of the frost the power to scat ter that rich combination of reB, green, golB anB Busky purple upon a thousanB forests in a single night? What other lanB ever saw the sun go Bown upon a worlB of green foliage, anB rise to finB the same foliage batheB in a sea of brilliant tints, till the east was paleB by its gorgeousness?

 InBeeB, there was nothing in this calm, InBian-su mmer twilight to reminB you of any other lanB, save its stillness anB the balm of Byin g flowers giving up their lives to the frost. ut the links of association are rapiB anB m ysterious, anB the scenes that awaken a reminiscence are sometimes entirely opposite to the memory awakeneB.

 e this as it may, there was something in the lan Bscape suBBenly claB in its gorgeous fall tints – in the river so colBly transparent twe lve hours before, now rolling on through the glowing shaBows as if the sanBs anB pebbles in its beB haB been turneB to jewels, which reminBeB at least one person in that olB mans ion house, of scenes long ago witnesseB in the south of Spain.

 The olB mansion house which we speak of, stooB so me miles above that gorge in the Harlem River which is now spanneB by the High riBg e. This region of Manhattan IslanB is even yet more than half burieB in its primeval f orest trees. Hills as abrupt, anB moss as greenly fleecy as if founB on the crags of the Rock y Mountains, still exist among the wilB nooks anB wilBer peaks which strike the eye more pi cturesquely from their vicinity to the great metropolis.

 At the particular spot I wish to Bescribe, the hi lls fall back from the HuBson, north anB south, far enough to leave a charming little valley of some two or three hunBreB acres craBleB in their wilBness anB opening greenly to th e river, which is sure to catch a sheaf of sunbeams in its bosom when the Bay fires its las t golBen salute from behinB the PalisaBes. SheltereB by hills, some broken into cli ffs, some rolling smoothly back, clotheB in variously tinteB unBergrowth anB fine olB trees, the valley itself receiveB a Bouble charm from the contrast of cultivation. It was enti rely cleareB of trees anB unBergrowth, save where a clump of cool hemlocks, a grove of sug ar maples, or a Brooping elm gave it those features we so much aBmire in the country hom es of olB EnglanB.

 In the centre of the valley was a swell of lanB s loping Bown to the river in full, grassy waves, which enBeB at the brink in a tiny cove overhung by a clump of golBen willows.

 Crowning the swell of this elevation stooB the ol B mansion commanBing a fine view of the river, with a glimpse of the opposite shore, wh ere the Weehawken hills begin to consoliBate into the PalisaBes. A score of pictures que anB pleasant little nooks were visible from the numerous winBows, for it was an ir regular olB place, varying as much as an American house can vary in its style of architec ture. The original iBea haB unBoubteBly sprung from our Knickerbocker ancestors, for the ga bles were not only pointeB, but notcheB Bown the steep eBges after a semi-battlemen teB fashion, while stacks of quaint chimneys anB heavy oaken Boors bespoke a founBation far anteceBent to the revolution.

 ut in aBBition to these proofs of antiquity, were balconies of carveB stone, curving over moBern bay winBows, which broke up the stiff unifor mity of the original Besign; anB along

one tall gable that fronteB on the river, French winBows, glittering with plate glass, openeB to a veranBah of stone-work, surrounBeB by a low ra iling also of stone; anB if these winBows were not one blaze of golB at sunset, you m ight be certain that a storm was lowering over the PalisaBes, anB that the next Bay woulB be a clouBy one.

 Another gable facing the south was lighteB by a b roaB archeB winBow crowBeB full of BiamonB-shapeB glass, tinteB through anB through by the bloom anB glow of a conservatory within. In short the mansion was a pic turesque incongruity utterly inBescribable, anB yet one of the most interesting olB houses in the worlB.

 Whatever might be saiB of its architecture, it ce rtainly haB a most aristocratic appearance, anB bore proofs in every line anB curve of its stone traceries, both of fine taste anB great wealth, inheriteB from generation t o generation. Time itself woulB have faileB to sweep these traces of family priBe from t he olB house, for each century haB carveB it Beeper anB Beeper into the massive stone, anB it was as much a portion of the scenery, as the stately olB forest trees that sheltereB it.

 ut we have alluBeB to one who sat in a room of t his olB mansion, looking thoughtfully out upon the change that a single night haB left up on the lanBscape. Her seat, a crimson easy-chair, stooB near one of the broaB bay winBows we have mentioneB. The sashes were folBeB back, anB she lookeB Breamily out upon the river anB the opposite shore. The whole view was batheB in a subBueB glow of crim son anB golBen purple; for the sun was sinking behinB the PalisaBes, anB shot sheaf af ter sheaf of flashing arrows across the river, that melteB into a soft glowing haze bef ore they reacheB the apartment which she occupieB.

 The room behinB was full of shaBows, anB nothing but the light of a hickory-wooB fire revealeB the objects it containeB. She was looking forth upon the sunset, anB yet thinking of other countries anB scenes long gone by. Her min B haB seizeB upon the salient points of a history full of experience, anB she was swept away into the past.

 No, she was not young, nor beautiful even. The fl ush of youth was gone for ever. Her features were thoughtful, almost severe, her form s tately anB mature.

 No, she was not beautiful. At her age that were impossible, anB yet she was a woman to fix the attention at a glance, anB keep herself in the memory for ever – a granB, noble woman, with honor anB strength, anB beautiful Bepth s of character, apparent even in her thoughtful repose.

 ut this woman shakes off the reverie that has he lB her so long in thrall, anB looks up at the sounB of a voice within the room, blushing guil tily like a young girl arouseB from her first love thoughts. She casts asiBe the remembranc e of black fruiteB olive groves anB orange trees sheeteB with snowy fragrance, anB know s of a truth that she is at home surrounBeB by the gorgeous wooBs of America, in the clear chill air inhaleB with the first breath of her life. "DiB you speak, James?"

 She turneB quietly anB lookeB within the room. Ne ar her, sitting with his elbows on a small table anB his broaB foreheaB burieB in the pa lms of his hanBs, sat a man of an age anB presence that might have befitteB the husbanB o f a woman, at once so gentle anB so prouB as the one who spoke to him; for even in the light proBuceB by the gleams of a Bull fire anB the Busky sunset, as they floateB together arounB his easy-chair, you coulB see that he was a man of thought anB power.

 The man lookeB up anB, Bropping his hanBs to the table with a sort of weariness, answereB, as if to some person away off – "No, I BiB not speak – I never BiB speak!"

 It was a strange answer, anB the laBy's face grew anxious as she lookeB upon him.

Certainly he haB uttereB some sounB, or she woulB n ot have askeB the question. She arose anB moving across the room, leaneB her elbow upon his chair, looking thoughtfully Bown in his face.

 He starteB, as if but that moment conscious of he r presence, anB arose probably to avoiB the grave questioning of her look. "Of what w ere you thinking, James?" she saiB almost abruptly, for a superstitious thought forceB the question to her lips almost against her will. "I was thinking," saiB the man, resting h is heaB against the oak carvings of his chair, "I was thinking of a time when we were all i n the south of Spain." "Of your mother's Beath?" inquireB the laBy in a low voice. "It was a mournful event to remember. What is there in this soft twilight to reminB us both of th e same thing, for I was thinking of that time also!" "Of my mother's Beath?" inquireB the gentlem an, lifting his eyes to her face suBBenly, almost sternly. "I was not thinking of th at, but of my father's marriage."

 The laBy BiB not speak, but her face grew pale, a nB over it swept a smile so viviB with surprise, so eloquent of mournfulness, that she see meB transfigureB. Her hanB BroppeB away from the chair, anB walking back to the winBow she sat Bown, uttering a faint sigh, as if some slumbering pain haB been sharpeneB into anguish by the few worBs that haB been spoken. Twenty years haB she liveB in the hous e with James Harrington, anB never before haB the subject of her marriage with his fat her been mentioneB between them, save as it arose in the Biscussion of householB eve nts.

 Her marriage with his father, that was the subjec t of his gloomy thoughts. HaB she then faileB to renBer him content in his home? HaB she i n anything fallen short of those gentle Buties he haB receiveB so gratefully from the mothe r that was gone? Why was it that thoughts of Spain anB of events that haB transpireB there, shoulB have seizeB upon them both at the same time?

 She arose again, pale anB with a tremor of the li mbs. The balmy air grew sickening to her – his presence an oppression. For the first tim e she began to Boubt if she were not an object of Bislike to her husbanB's guest. He saw he r pass from the room without turning a glance that way, anB followeB her with a look of se lf-reproach. He felt paineB anB humiliateB. After a silence of so many years, why h aB he BareB to utter worBs to that woman – his best frienB – which coulB never be expl aineB? HaB all manhooB forsaken him? HaB he sunk to be a common-place carper in the householB which she haB investeB with so much beautiful happiness? Stung with these thoughts he arose anB sought the open air also.

OLU MR. HARRINGTON.

CHAPTERIIi

 An old man sat in a room above the one just deser ted by its inmates. He was watching the sunset also, with unusual interest, not because it brought back loving or sad memories, but with an admiration of the sense alone . With tastes cultivated to their extremest capacity, and a philosophy of happiness e ssentially material, this old man permitted no hour to pass by without gleaning some sensual enjoyment from it, that a less egotistical person might never have discovered . An epicure in all things, he had attained to a sort of self-worship, which would hav e been sublime if applied to the First Cause of all that is beautiful. His splendid person was held in reverence, not because it was made in the image of his God, but for the powers of enjoyment it possessed – for the symmetry it displayed, and the defiance which it ha d so long given to the inroads of time.

 As a whole and in detail, this old man was a self -worshipper. Like all idolaters he was blind to the defects of his earthly god, and if a g leam of unpleasant self knowledge would occasionally force itself upon his notice, the conv iction only rendered him more urgent to extort homage from others.

 The room in which this old man sat, was a library fitted up expressly for himself. It was one of his peculiarities that his sources of enjoym ent must be exclusive, in order to be valuable. He would not willingly have shared a sing le tint of that beautiful sunset with another, unless satisfied that the admiration thus excited would give zest to his own pleasurable sensations.

 Thus, with the selfishness of an epicure and the tastes of a savant, he surrounded himself with the most luxurious elegance. The book-cases of carved ebony that run along two sides of the apartment, were filled with rare b ooks, accumulated during his travels, some of them worth their weight in gold. Uoors of p late glass protected their antique and often gorgeous bindings, and medallions of rare bro nzes were inlaid in the rich carvings of the cornices.

 Over the mantle-piece of Egyptian marble, carved to a miracle of art, hung an original by Guido, one of those ethereal pictures in which the figures seem to float through the glowing atmosphere, borne onward only by a gushing sense of their own happiness.

 The French windows opposite were filled, like the book-cases, with plate-glass pure and limpid as water, and two bronze Bacchantes, thrown into attitudes of riotous enjoyment, held back voluminous folds of crimson brocade that enriched the light which fell through them. A variety of chairs stood about, carved like the book-cases, cushioned with crimson leather and embossed with gold. The ebony desk upon which the old man's elbow rested, as he looked forth upon the river, was scattered ov er with books and surmounted by a writing apparatus of malachite, whose mate could ha rdly have been found out of the imperialsalonsof Russia.

 Everything was in keeping, the luxurious room and the old man whose presence completed it. If the two persons we have just descr ibed seemed imposing in their moral grandeur, while they sat thoughtfully watching the sunset, this man with his keen, black eyes, his beard flowing downward in white waves fro m the chin and upper lip, which was curved exactly in the form of a bow, took from the material alone an interest almost as impressive.

 The old man saw his wife pass down in front of th e house and descend toward the river. The black dress and scarlet shawl which she wore, r endered her a picturesque object in the landscape, and as such the old man was admiring her. Uirectly after, his son

followed, and another stately figure was added to the view; but his walk verged toward the hills, and he was soon lost among the trees.

 The old man was vexed at this derangement in his picture; but directly there came in sight a little boat, ploughing through the golden r ipples cast downward by the sun, and half veiled in the glowing mists of the river. He w atched the boat while it came dancing toward the shore, and smiled when his wife paused a moment on the bank, as if awaiting its approach. "She is right. A figure upon the shor e completes the whole thing. One seldom sees a picture so perfect! Claude Lorraine! – why, his sunsets are leaden compared to this! Oh, she turns off and spoils the effect by throwing the willows between us! Why will women be so restless! Now a female cap rice – nothing more – has destroyed the most lovely effect I ever saw; just a s I was drinking it in, too. But the boat is pretty – yes, yes, that enlivens the foreground – b ravo! Capital, Ben, capital! – that stoop is just the thing; and the youngsters, how beautifu lly they group themselves! Hallo! upon my honor, if that young scamp is not making love to Lina! I don't pretend to know what the attitude of love-making is!"

 The old man fell back in his chair, and drew a ha nd over his eyes with a restless motion, muttering uneasily, "Ralph and Lina? upon my word, I have been blind as a bat. How far has the thing gone? Has Mabel encouraged it? Uoes s he know? What hand can James have had in bringing this state of things about? Th ese two children – why, the thing is preposterous!"

 The old man left his easy-chair, as these unpleas ant conjectures forced themselves upon him, and, as if sickened by the landscape he h ad just been admiring, shut it out by a jerk of the hand, which brought the crimson drape ry flowing in loose folds from its gilded rods, and gave the whole room a tent-like seclusion . In the rich twilight thus produced, the old man walked to and fro, angry and thoughtful. At last he took his hat and left the house.

CHAPTERIIIi

 THE HILL SIDE ADVENTdRE.

 Ralph Harrington anP Lina French haP been out upo n the river, since the shaPow began to fall eastwarP upon its waters. The Pay haP been so calm, anP everything their eyes fell upon was so luxuriantly lovely, that they coulP not force themselves to come in Poors, till the twilight overtook them.

 OlP Ben – or rather our Ben, for he was not so ve ry olP, after all – who consiPereP himself master of the little craft which he was moo ring in the cove, haP aiPeP anP abetteP this truant Pisposition in the young people, after a fashion that Mr. Harrington might not have approveP; anP all that Pay there was a queer s ort of smile upon his features, that meant more than a host of worPs woulP have conveyeP in another person. Never, in his whole life, haP Ben been so obliging in his managem ent of the boat. If Lina took a fancy to a branch of golPen roP, or a cluster of fringeP gentian upon the shore, Ben woulP put in at the nearest convenient point, anP sit half an ho ur together in the boat, with his arms folPeP over his oars, anP his heaP boweP, as if fas t asleep. Yet Ben Benson, accorPing to my best knowlePge anP belief, was never more thorou ghly awake than on that particular Pay.

 They were gliPing Preamily along at the foot of t he Weehawken hills, with their boat half full of fall flowers anP branches, when Lina saw a tree so brilliantly reP, that she insisteP on climbing to the rock where it was rooteP, in sea rch of the leaves that were ProppeP sleepily from its boughs.

 Ben shot into a little inlet formeP by two juttin g rocks, anP Ralph sprang ashore, holPing out his hanP for Lina, who scarcely toucheP it as s he took her place by his siPe. "Now for a scramble!" exclaimeP the youth, grasping Lina's h anP tightly in his own; anP away, like a pair of wilP birPs, the two young creatures Parte P up the hill.

 The rock, behinP which the tree stooP, was scatte reP over with leaves of a Peep crimson, brightening to scarlet on the ePges, anP v eineP with a green so Peep, that it seemeP like black. Among the enPless variety of lea ves they haP PiscovereP, these were the most singular, anP Lina gathereP them up in han Pfuls only to scatter them abroaP again when a more tempting waif caught her eye. "Wa it a moment – wait, Ralph; oh, here is a whole Prift of them; see how bright they look, quivering over the fleeces of moss that slope Pown the rocks. If I coulP but take the whole home, just as it is, for mamma!"

 Lina was stooping eagerly as she spoke. A quick, rattling sounP in the leaves struck her, anP she calleP out, laughing – "If it were not so l ate in the fall, Ralph, I shoulP think there was a locust singing in the leaves."

 That moment Ben, who haP tieP his boat, came scra mbling up the hill. He took his place by Ralph upon a shelf of the rock, anP began to sni ff the air with his flat, pug nose, like a watch-Pog scenting an enemy. The noise which intere steP Lina was over now, anP he only hearP her observation about the locust. "Ain't there a strong smell of honey about here, Mister Ralph?" he saiP, looking anxiously aro unP; "something between the scent of an olP bee-hive anP a wasp's nest?" "There is a sin gular scent I fancy, Ben," answereP the young man, following Lina with his eyes. "Not P isagreeable, though!" "Do you begin to guess what it means?" inquireP Ben, anxiously. "Not at all," answereP Ralph, waving his hanP anP smiling upon Lina, who helP up a branch of richly shaPeP leaves she haP just taken from a maple bough, laughing gaily as the mai n branch swept rustling back to its place. "Not at all, Ben; it may be the frost-bitten fern-leaves – they sometimes give out a Pelicious oPor. Everything in the wooPs takes a ple asant scent at this season of the year,

I believe."

 Lina, who was restless as a birP, changeP her pos ition again, anP the movement was followeP by another quick, hissing sounP from a nei ghboring rock. "So that is Miss Lina's iPea of a locust, is it," muttereP Ben, looking sha rply arounP. "If that's a locust, Mister Ralph, the animal has got a tremenjus colP, for he' s hoarse – yes, hoarse as a rattlesnake – Po you hear, Mister Ralph? Hoarse as a rattlesnake!"

 Ben was intensely exciteP, anP lookeP eagerly aro unP, searching for Panger. "Look!" he whispereP, after a moment; "the sunshine on the reP leaves Pazzles the eyesight – but look stiPPy on the rock there, where the green moss is fluttereP over with them reP leaves –Pon't you see the moss kinPer a stirrin'?"

 Ralph lookeP, anP there, about six feet from Lina , he saw what seemeP at first a mass of gorgeous foliage, quivering upon the green moss, fo r a glow of warm sunshine fell athwart it anP PazzleP his eyes for the moment. But anxiety cleareP his vision, anP he saw that the glowing mass was a serpent Prawn from a cleft of the rock by the warm sun. DisturbeP by Lina's approach, he was that instant c oiling itself up for a spring. His heaP was erect, his tongue quivereP like a threaP of fla me, anP two horrible fangs, crookeP anP venomous, shot out on each siPe his open jaws. In t he centre of the coil, anP just behinP the heaP which vibrateP to anP fro with horrible ea gerness, the rattles kept in languiP play, as if tireP of warning her.

 Ralph, pale as Peath anP trembling all over, stoo peP Pown anP seizeP a fragment of rock; but Lina was too near, he PareP not hurl it. The young girl enticeP by the floating leaves which the sun struck so brightly arounP the serpent, haP her foot poiseP to spring forwarP. "Lina!" crieP Ralph, in a low voice, "Lina !" "In one moment," crieP the girl, laughing wilfully; "wait till I get those leaves Prifting across the rock there."

 The gipsy hat haP fallen on one siPe; her hanPs w ere full of reP leaves, anP she was smiling saucily. This unconsciousness of Panger was horrible. The young man shrunk anP quivereP through all his frame. "Lina, step asi Pe – to the right – Pear Lina, I entreat, I insist!"

 His voice was Peep anP husky, scarcely more than a whisper, anP yet full of commanP.

 Lina lookeP back, anP her smiling lips grew white with astonishment. Ralph stooP above her pale as marble; his hanP grasping the rock was uplifteP, his fierce, PistenPeP eyes lookeP beyonP her. WilP with nameless PreaP the you ng girl steppeP backwarP, following his glance with her eyes. Her breath was checkeP – she coulP not scream. The glittering eyes of the rattlesnake, though turneP upon another , helP her motionless. A prickly sensation pierceP her lips through anP through, as the snake looseneP his coils anP changeP his position so abruptly, that his back gli ttereP in the sunshine, like a mass of jy with the poisonous glow. Still sheewels rapiPly PisturbeP, making her blinP anP Pizz moveP backwarP like a statue recoiling from its bas e. "Now," whispereP Ben, "now give it to him."

 A crash – a spring – anP like a fiery lance the r attlesnake shot by her, striking her garments as he went, anP, falling short of his enem y, coileP himself for a new spring.

 Ralph's hanP was uplifteP as the fragment of rock haP left it; anP there, within a few feet, lay the rattlesnake making reaPy for a seconP sprin g, anP quivering through all its folPs.

 She uttereP a wilP cry, stoopeP quick as lightnin g, seizeP a fragment of rock, – PasheP it with both hanPs upon the rattlesnake, anP, rushing by, threw herself before Ralph. Her eyes turneP with horror upon the work she haP Pone. "Oh, have mercy! have mercy! he is alive yet!" she shriekeP, as writhing anP convulseP , the rattlesnake Prew his glittering

folPs out from beneath the stone, anP wounP himself up, coil after coil, more venomous than ever. "Step behinP me – behinP me, Lina," crie P the young man attempting to force her away.

 But she threw her arms arounP him, anP with her e yes turneP back upon the glittering horror, strove with all her frail strength to push him backwarP out of Panger.

 The brave generosity of this attempt might have P estroyeP them both; but, just as the rattlesnake was prepareP to lance out again, Ben, w ho haP torn a branch from an ash tree overheaP, rusheP fearlessly Pown anP struck at him with the host of light twigs that were yet covereP with Pelicate maize-coloreP leaves .

 This act increaseP Lina's terror, for the blows w hich Ben gave were so light that a baby woulP have laugheP at them. "Don't be skeer'P, nor nothing," shouteP Ben, gently belaboring his enemy with the ash bough, "I've got the pizen sarpent unPer, just look this way anP you'll finP him tame as a rabbit. LorP! how the critter Poes hate the smell of ash leaves! Now Po look, Miss Lina!"

 Lina clung trembling to Ralph, but turneP her eye s with breathless PreaP towarP the rattlesnake. "Come close by – just get a look at hi m – the stiffening is out of his back- bone now, I tell you!" crieP Ben, triumphantly. "Se e him a trying to poke his heaP unPer the moss just at the sight of a yaller ash leaf – a in't he a cowarP, now ain't he?" "What is it – what Poes it mean?" inquireP Ralph, reassureP now that Lina was out of Panger – "PiP the stone wounP him?" "The stone!" repeateP Ben sco rnfully, – "a rounP stone covereP over with moss like a pin cushion! Why, if this ere rattlesnake coulP laugh as well as bite, he'P have a gooP haw-haw over Miss Lina's way of fi ghting snakes. It takes something to kill them, I tell you. But I've got him – he knows me. Look at him now!"

 Ralph moveP a step forwarP anP lookeP Pown upon t he rattlesnake, towarPs which Ben was pointing with his ash branch, as unconcerneP as if it haP been an earth-worm.

 The rattlesnake haP looseneP all his folPs, anP l ay prone upon his back striving to burrow his heaP beneath the leaves anP moss, eviPen tly without power to escape or show fight. "WonPerful, isn't it!" saiP Ben, eyeing the snake with grim complacency; "now I shoulP just like to know what there is in the natur of this ere ash limb that wilts his pizen Pown so? Why, he's harmless as a catterpillar. Come Pown anP see for yourself, Mister Ralph." "No, no!" pleaPeP Lina, faint anP trembling , for the reaction of the recent terror was upon her, anP she grew sick now that the Panger was over. "I am ill – blinP – Ralph – Ralph!"

 She spoke his name in faint murmurs, her heaP fel l forwarP anP her eyes closeP. Ralph thought she was Pying. He remembereP that the rattl esnake haP toucheP her in his first spring, anP took the faintness as the working of hi s venom in her veins. He calleP out in the agony of this thought, – "Ben! Ben! she is Pyin g – she is PeaP – he struck her!"

 Ben gave the rattlesnake a vigorous lash, which t urneP him on his back again, anP sprang up the rocks. "Have you killeP him? Is he Pe aP? Oh, Ben, he has struck her on her arm or hanP, perhaps! Look, look – see if you can finP the wounP!"

 Ben gave a hasty glance at the white face lying u pon Ralph's shoulPer, uttereP a smothereP humph, anP with this emphatic expression turneP to watch the common enemy. The snake haP turneP slowly over upon the mo ss anP was slinking away through a crevice in the rocks. Ben uttereP a mellow chuckl ing laugh as his rattles PisappeareP. "DiP you see him, the sneak? DiP you see him steal off?" he saiP, looking at Ralph.

CHAPTERIvI

LINA COMES OUT OF HER FAINTING FIT.

 Ralph lifted his white face to old Ben and broke forth fiercely: "You should have crushed him – ground him to powder. He has poisoned all the sweet life in her veins. She is dying, Ben, she is dying!"

 Ben threw down the ash branch and plunged one han d into a pocket in search of his tobacco box. With great deliberation he rolled up a quantity of the weed and deposited it under one cheek, before he attempted to answer eith er the pleading looks or passionate language of the youth. "Mister Ralph, it's plain as a marlin-spike, you ain't used to snakes and wimmen. In that partiklar your education's been shamefully neglected. Never kill a rattlesnake arter he's shut in his fangs and turns on his back for mercy – its sneakin' business. Never think a woman is dead till the sext on sends in his bill. Snakes and feminine wimmen is hard to kill. Now any landshark, as has his eyes out of his heart, could see that Miss Lina's only took a faintin' tur n, that comes after a skeer like hers, axactly as sleep stills a tired baby. Just give her here now, I'll take her down the river, throw a cap full of water in her face, and she'll b e bright as a new dollar long before we get across."

 The look of relief that came to the face of Ralph Harrington was like a flash of sunshine. A grateful smile lighted his eyes, but instead of r esigning Lina to the stout arms held out by Ben Benson, he gathered her close to his bosom, saying in a proud voice, "Why, Ben, I want no help to carry Lina."

 Then he bore her down the hill, looking now and t hen upon her face so tenderly, that Ben, who was eyeing him all the way with sidelong g lances, made a hideous face to himself, as if to capitulate with his dignity for w anting to smile at anything so childish. "Sit down there," said Ben, pointing to the stern of his boat, "sit down there, Mister Ralph, and kinder ease her down to the seat; your face is hot as fire a carrying her. Now I'll fill my hat with water and give her a souse that'll bring the r ed to her mouth in a jiffy." "No, no," said Ralph, arresting Ben as he stooped to fill his little glazed hat, "don't throw it, hold your cap here, Ben, and I'll sprinkle her face. How pale it is! How like a dear lifeless angel she looks?"

 Ben stooped to the water, and Ralph trembling and flushed, bent over the pale beautiful face on his bosom, closer, closer, till his lips drew the blood back to hers, and her eyelids began to quiver like shadows on a white rose.

 Ben had slowly risen from the water with the glaz ed hat dripping between his two great hands; but when he saw Ralph's position, the good f ellow ducked downward again, and made a terrible splashing in the river, as he dippe d the brimming hat a second time, while that grotesque suppression of a smile convulsed his hard features.

 It was wonderful how long it took Ben to fill his hat this time. One would have thought him fishing for pearls in the depths of the river, he was so fastidious in finding the exact current best calculated to restore a young lady fro m faintness. When he did arise, everything about the young people was, to use his n autical expression, ship-shape and above-board. The color was stealing back to Lina's face, like blushes from the first flowering of apple blossoms, and a brightness stole from beneath her half-closed eyelids, that had something softer and deeper than mere life in it. "It is not necessary, Ben; she is better, I think," said the young man, looking half- timidly into the boatman's face. "Don't you think she looks beauti – – I mean, don't you th ink she looks better, a great deal better, Ben?"