The Last of the Foresters Part 97

One hero only seems to be seriously injured.

He is a man of forty-five or fifty, with a heavy black beard, thick sensual lips, and dog-like face. He is clad roughly; and the few words which he utters prove that he is a German.

The fight has taken place opposite Mr. Rushton's office, and thither this man is borne.

Mr. Rushton growls, and demands how he had the audacity to break the peace. The man mutters. Mr. Rushton observes that he will have him placed in the stocks, and then sent to jail. The German groans.

Suddenly Mr. Rushton feels a hand upon his arm. He turns round: it is Redbud.

"That is the man who sold me the necklace, sir!" she says, in a hesitating voice. "I recognize him--it is the pedlar."

Mr. Rushton starts, and catches the pedlar by the arm.

"Come!" he commences.

The pedlar rises without a.s.sistance, sullenly, prepared for the stocks.

"Where did you get this necklace? Speak!"

The lawyer's eyes awe the man, and he stammers. Mr. Rushton grasps him by the collar, and glares at him ferociously.

"Where?"

In five minutes he has made the pedlar speak--he bought the necklace from the mother of the young man standing at the door.

"From the Indian woman?"

"Yes, from her."

Mr. Rushton turns pale, and falls into a chair.

Verty hastens to him.

The lawyer rises, and gazes at him with pale lips, pa.s.ses his hand over his brow with nervous, trembling haste. He holds the necklace up before Verty there, and says, in a husky voice--

"Where did your mother get this?"

Verty gazes at the necklace, and shakes his head.

"I don't know, sir--I don't know that it is her's--I think I have seen it though--yes, yes, long, long ago--somewhere!"

And the young hunter's head droops, thoughtfully--his dreamy eyes seem to wander over other years.

Then he raises his head and says, abruptly:

"I had a strange thought, sir! I thought I saw myself--only I was a little child--playing with that necklace somewhere in a garden--oh, how strange! There were walks with box, and tulip beds, and in the middle, a fountain--strange! I thought I saw Indians, too--and heard a noise--why, I am dreaming!"

The lawyer looks at Verty with wild eyes, which, slowly, very slowly, fill with a strange light, which makes the surrounding personages keep silent--so singular is this rapt expression.

A thought is rising on the troubled and agitated mind of the lawyer, like a moon soaring above the horizon. He trembles, and does not take his eyes for a moment from the young man's face.

"A fountain--Indians?" he mutters, almost inarticulately.

"Yes, yes!" says Verty, with dreamy eyes, and crouching, so to speak, Indian fas.h.i.+on, until his tangled chestnut curls half cover his cheeks--"yes, yes!--there again!--why it is magic--there! I see it all--I remember it! I must have seen it! Redbud!" he said, turning to the young girl with a frightened air, "am I dreaming?"

Redbud would have spoken. Mr. Rushton, with a sign, bade her be silent. He looked at the young man with the same strange look, and said in a low tone:

"Must have seen what?"

"Why, this!" said Verty, half extending his arm, and pointing toward a far imaginary horizon, on which his dreamy eyes were fixed--"this!

don't you see it? My tribe! my Delawares--there in the woods! They attack the house, and carry off the child in the garden playing with the necklace. His nurse is killed--poor thing! her blood is on the fountain! Now they go into the great woods with the child, and an Indian woman takes him and will not let them kill him--he is so pretty with his long curls like the suns.h.i.+ne: you might take him for a girl!

The Indian woman holds before him a bit of looking-gla.s.s, stolen from the house! Look! they will have his life--oh!"

And crouching, with an exclamation of terror, Verty shuddered.

"Give me my rifle!" he cried; "they are coming there! Back!"

And the young man rose erect, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.

"The woman flies in the night," he continues, becoming calm again; "they pursue her--she escapes with the boy--they come to a deserted lodge--a lodge! a lodge! Why, it is our lodge in the hills! It's _ma mere_! and I was that child! Am I mad?"

And Verty raised his head, and looked round him with terror.

His eye fell upon Mr. Rushton, who, breathing heavily, his looks riveted to his face, his lips trembling, seemed to control some overwhelming emotion by a powerful effort.

The lawyer rose, and laid his hand upon Verty's shoulder--it trembled.

"You are--dreaming--," he gasped. Suddenly, a brilliant flash darted from his eye. With a movement, as rapid as thought, he tore the clothes from the young man's left shoulder, so as to leave it bare to the armpit.

Exactly on the rounding of the shoulder, which was white, and wholly free from the copper-tinge of the Indian blood, the company descried a burn, apparently inflicted in infancy.

The dazzled eyes of the lawyer almost closed--he fell into the old leather chair, and sobbing, "my son! my son Arthur!" would have fainted.

He was revived promptly, and the wondering auditors gathered around him, listening, while he spoke--the s.h.a.ggy head, leaning on the shoulder of Verty, who knelt at his feet, and looked up in his eyes with joy and wonder.

Yes! there could be no earthly doubt that the strange words uttered by the boy, were so many broken and yet brilliant memories s.h.i.+ning from the dim past: that this was his son--the original of the portrait. The now harsh and sombre lawyer, when a young and happy man, had married a French lady, and lived on the border; and his little son had, after the French fas.h.i.+on, received, for middle name, his mother's name, Anne--and this had become his pet designation. His likeness had been painted by a wandering artist, and soon after, a band of Delawares had attacked the homestead and carried him away to the wilderness, and there had remained little doubt, in his father's mind, that the child had been treated as the Indians were accustomed to treat such captives--mercilessly slain. The picture of him was the only treasure left to the poor broken heart, when heaven had taken his wife from him, soon afterwards--and in the gloom and misanthropy these tortures inflicted upon him, this alone had been his light and solace.

Retaining for the boy his old pet name of Anne, he had cried in presence of the picture, and been hardened in spite of all, against Providence. In the blind convulsions of his pa.s.sionate regret, he had even uttered blasphemy, and scouted anything like trust in G.o.d; and here now was that merciful G.o.d leading his child back to him, and pardoning all his sin of unbelief, and enmity, and hatred; and saying to him, in words of marvellous sweetness and goodness, "Poor soured spirit, henceforth wors.h.i.+p and trust in me!"

Yes! his son Arthur, so long wept and mourned, had come to him again--was there before him, kneeling at his feet!

And with his arms around the boy, the rugged man bent down and wept, and uttered in his heart a prayer for pardon.

And we may be sure that the man's joy was not unshared by those around--those kind, friendly eyes, which looked upon the father and son, and rejoiced in their happiness. The very suns.h.i.+ne grew more bright, it seemed; and when the picture was brought forth, and set in his light, he shone full on it, and seemed to laugh and bless the group with his kind light--even the little laughing child.

CHAPTER LXIX.