The Trapper's Daughter Part 28

"But I am waiting for my son, my beloved child; I cannot see him soon enough."

"Come, calm yourself, you are quite in a fever."

"Oh! fear nothing, father, joy never kills. The sight of my son will restore my health, I feel sure."

"Poor mother!" the priest could not refrain from saying.

"Am I not?" she said. "Oh, it is a terrible thing, if you but knew it, to live in these continued horrors, to have only a son who is your joy, your delight, and not to know where he is, or what he is doing, whether he is dead or alive. The most cruel torture for a mother is this continual uncertainty of good and evil, of hope and disappointment. You do not understand this, you can never understand it, you men; it is a sense wanting in you, and which we mothers alone possess--love of our children."

There was a short silence, then she went on:

"Good heaven! How slowly time pa.s.ses. Will not the sun soon set? Which way do you think my son will come, father? I should like to see him arrive, though I have not seen him for a long time. I feel certain that I shall recognise him at once; a mother is not mistaken, look you, for she does not see her child with her eyes, but feels him in her eyes."

The missionary led her to the entrance of the cave, made her sit down, placed himself by her side, and said, as he stretched out his arm in a southwestern direction:

"Look over there, he must come that way."

"Thanks!" she said, eagerly. "Oh, you are as kind as you are virtuous.

You are good as a saint, father. G.o.d will reward you, but I can only offer you my thanks."

The missionary smiled softly.

"I am happy," he said, simply.

They looked out, the sun was rapidly sinking in the horizon; gloom gradually covered the ground; objects were confused, and it was impossible to distinguish anything, even at a short distance.

"Let us go in," Father Seraphin said; "the night chill might strike you."

"Nonsense," she said, "I feel nothing."

"Besides," he went on, "the gloom is so dense that you cannot see him."

"That is true," she said, fervently, "but I shall hear him."

There was no reply possible to this. Father Seraphin took his seat again by her side.

"Forgive me, father," she said, "but joy renders me mad."

"You have suffered enough, poor mother," he answered, kindly, "to have the right of enjoying unmingled happiness this day. Do what you please, then, and have no fear of causing me pain."

About an hour elapsed ere another word was uttered by them: they were listening; the night was becoming more gloomy, the desert sounds more imposing, the evening breeze had risen, and groaned hoa.r.s.ely through the _quebradas_, with a melancholy and prolonged sound. Suddenly Madame Guillois sprang up with flas.h.i.+ng eye, and seized the missionary's hand.

"Here he is," she said, hoa.r.s.ely.

Father Seraphin raised his head.

"I hear nothing," he replied.

"Ah!" the mother said, with an accent that came from her heart, "I am not mistaken--it is he! Listen, listen again."

Father Seraphin listened with greater attention, and, in fact, a scarcely perceptible sound could be heard on the prairie, resembling the prolonging roaring of distant thunder. The noise became gradually louder, and it was presently easy to distinguish the gallop of several horses coming up at full speed.

"Well," she exclaimed, "was it fancy? Oh! A mother's heart is never mistaken."

"You are right, madam; in a few minutes he will be by your side."

"Yes," she muttered, in a panting voice.

That was all she could say--joy was stifling her.

"In Heaven's name," the missionary exclaimed, in alarm, "take care! This emotion is too great for you; you are killing yourself."

She shook her head with a careless gesture, full of inexpressible happiness.

"What matter?" she said; "I am happy--oh, very happy at this moment."

The hors.e.m.e.n entered the defile, and the gallop of their horses grew very loud.

"Dismount, gentlemen," a powerful voice shouted, "we have arrived."

"'Tis he! 'Tis he!" she said, with a movement as if going to rush forward; "it was he who spoke--I recognised his voice."

The missionary held her in his arms.

"What are you about?" he exclaimed, "you will kill yourself!"

"Pardon me, father, pardon me! But on hearing him speak, I know not what emotion I felt; I was no longer mistress of myself, but rushed forward."

"A little patience, he is coming up; in five minutes he will be in your arms."

She started back hurriedly.

"No," she said, "not so, not so, the recognition would be too hurried; let me enjoy my happiness without losing a morsel. I wish him to find me out as I did him."

And she hurriedly dragged Father Seraphin into the grotto.

"It is Heaven that inspires you," he said; "yes, this recognition would be too abrupt--it would kill you both."

"I was right, father, was I not? Oh, you will see--you will see. Hide me at some spot where I can see and hear everything unnoticed; make haste, here he is."

The cavern, as we have said, was divided into a number of cells, each communicating with the other; Father Seraphin concealed Madame Guillois in one of these, whose walls were formed of stalact.i.tes, that had a.s.sumed the strangest forms. After hobbling their horse, the hunters climbed the mountain. While coming up, they could be heard talking together; the sound of their voices distinctly reached the inhabitants of the grotto, who listened greedily to the words they uttered.

"That poor Father Seraphin," Valentine said; "I do not know if you are like myself, caballeros, but I am delighted at seeing him again. I feared lest he had left us forever."

"It is a great consolation for me in my grief," said Don Miguel, "to know him so near us; that man is a true apostle."

"What is the matter, Valentine?" General Ibanez suddenly asked; "Why do you stop?"

"I do not know," the latter replied, in a hesitating voice, "something is taking place in me which I cannot explain. When Spider told me today of the father's arrival, I felt a strange contraction of the heart; now it is affecting me again, though I cannot say for what reason."