The Hidden Children Part 31

"When I had opened my packet and had understood its contents, I made of my clothes a bundle and took the highway to ask of all the world where lay the road to the vale Yndaia, and where might be found the Regiment de la Reine. Wherever was a camp of soldiers, there I loitered, asking the same question, day after day, month after month. I asked of Indians--our Hudson guides, and the brigaded White Plains Indians. None seemed to know--or if they did they made no answer. And the soldiers did not know, and only laughed, taking me for some camp wanton----"

Again she pa.s.sed her slender hand slowly across her eyes, shaking her head.

"That I am not wholly bad amazes me at times.... I wonder if you know how hunger tampers with the will? I mean more than mere hunger; I mean that dreadful craving never completely satisfied--so that the ceaseless famine gnaws and gnaws while the sick mind still sickens, brooding over what the body seems to need of meat and drink and warmth--day after day, night after night, endless and terrible." She flushed, but continued calmly: "I had nigh sold myself to some young officer--some gay and heedless boy--a dozen times that winter--for a bit of bread--and so I might lie warm.... The army starved at Valley Forge....

G.o.d knows where and how I lived and famished through all that bitter blackness.... An artillery horse had trodden on my hip where I lay huddled in a cow-barn under the straw close to the horses, for the sake of warmth. I hobbled for a month.... And so ill was I become in mind as well as body that had any man been kind--G.o.d knows what had happened!

And once I even crept abroad meaning to take what offered. Do you deem me vile, Euan?"

"No--no--" I could not utter another word.

She sighed, gazing at s.p.a.ce.

"And the cold! Well--this is July, and I must try to put it from my mind. But at times it seems to be still in my bones--deep bitten to the very marrow. Ai-me! I have seen two years of centuries. Their scars remain."

She rocked slightly forward and backward where she sat, her fingers interlaced, twisting and clenching with her memories.

"Ai-me! Hunger and cold and men! Hunger and--men. But it was solitude that nigh undid me. That was the worst of all--the endless silence."

The rain now swept the roof of bark above us, gust after gust swis.h.i.+ng across the eaves. Beyond the outer circle of the lantern light a mouse moved, venturing no nearer.

"Lois?"

She lifted her head. "All that is ended now. Strive to forget."

She made no response.

"Ended," I said firmly. "And this is how it ends. I have with my solicitor, Mr. Simon Hake, of Albany, two thousand pounds hard sterling. How I first came by it I do not know. But Guy Johnson placed it there for me, saying that it was mine by right. Now, today, I have written to Mr. Hake a letter. In this letter I have commanded some few trifles to be bought for you, such as all women naturally require."

"Euan!" she exclaimed sharply.

"I will not listen!" said I excitedly. "Do you listen now to me, for I mean to have my way with you--say what you may----"

"I know--I know--but you have done too much already----"

"I have done nothing! Listen! I have bespoken trifles of no value--nothing more--stockings, and s.h.i.+fts, and stays, and powder-puffs, and other articles----"

"I will not suffer this!" she said, an angry colour in her cheeks.

"You suffer now--for lack even of handkerchiefs! I must insist----"

"Euan! My s.h.i.+fts and stays and stockings are none of your affair!" she answered hotly.

"I make them mine!"

"No--nor is it your privilege to offer them!"

"My--what?"

"Privilege!" she said haughtily, flus.h.i.+ng clear to her curly hair; and left me checked. She added: "What you offer is impertinence--however kindly meant. No friends.h.i.+p warrants it, and I refuse."

I know not what it was--perhaps my hurt and burning silence under the sudden lash of her rebuff--but presently I felt her hand steal over mine and tighten. And looked up, scowling, to see her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears and merriment.

"How much of me must you have, Euan? Even my privacy and pride? You have given me friends.h.i.+p; you have clothed me to your fancy. You have had scant payment in exchange--only a poor girl's grat.i.tude. What have I left to offer in return if you bestow more gifts? Give me no more--so that you take from me no more than--grat.i.tude."

"Comrades neither give nor take, Lois. What they possess belongs to both in common."

"I know--it is so said--but--you have had of me for all your bounty only my thanks--and----" she smiled tremulously, "----a wild rose-bud.

And you have given so much--so much--and I am far too poor to render----"

"What have I asked of you!" I said impatiently.

"Nothing. And so I am the more inclined to give--I know not what."

"Shall I tell you what to offer me? Then offer me the privilege of giving. It is the rarest gift within your power."

She sat looking at me while the soft colour waned and deepened in her cheeks.

"I--give," she said in a voice scarce audible.

"Then," said I, very happily, "I am free to tell you that I have commanded for your comfort a host of pretty things, and a big box of wood and bra.s.s, with a stout hide outside, to keep your clothing in!

The lady of Captain Cresson, of the levies, has a n.o.ble one. Yours is its mate. And into yours will fit your gowns and shoon, patches and powder, and the hundred articles which every woman needs by day and night. Also I've named you to Mr. Hake, so that, first writing for me upon a slip of paper that I may send it to him--then writing your request to him, you may make draughts for what you need upon our money, which now lies with him. Do you understand me, Lois? You will need money when the army leaves."

Her head moved slightly, acquiescent.

"So far so good, then. Now, when this army moves into the wilderness, and when I go, and you remain, you will have clothing that befits you; you will have means to properly maintain you; and I shall send you by batteau to Mr. Hake, who will find lodging suitable for you--and be your friend, and recommend you to his friends not only for my sake, but, when he sets his eyes on you, for your own sake." I smiled, and added:

"Hiero! Little rosy-throated pigeon of the woods! Loskiel has spoken!"

Now, as I ended, this same and silly wild-thing fell silently a-crying; and never had I dreamed that any maid could be so full o' tears, when by all rights she should have sat dimpling there, happy and gay, and eager as I.

Out o' countenance again, and vexed in my mind, I sat silent, fidgetting, made strange and cold and awkward by her tears. The warm flush of self-approval chilled in my heart; and by and by a vague resentment grew there.

"Euan?" she ventured, lifting her wet eyes.

"What?" said I ungraciously.

"H--have you a hanker? Else I use my scandalous skirt again----"

And the next instant we both were laughing there, she still in tears, I with blithe heart to see her now surrender at discretion, with her grey eyes smiling at me through a starry mist of tears, and the sweet mouth tremulous with her low-voiced thanks.

"Ai-me!" she said. "What manner of boy is this, to hector me and have his will? And now he sits there laughing, and convinced that when the army marches I shall wear his finery and do his bidding. And so I shall--if I remain behind."

"Lois! You can not go to Catharines-town! That's flat!"

"I've wandered hungry and ragged for two years, asking the way. Do you suppose I have endured in vain? Do you suppose I shall give up now?"

"Lois!" I said seriously, "if it is true that the Senecas hold any white captives, their liberation is at hand. But that business concerns the army. And I promise you that if your mother be truly there among those unhappy prisoners she shall be brought back safely from the Vale Yndaia. I will tell Major Parr of this; he shall inform the General.

Have no fear or doubt, dear maid. If she is there, and human power can save her, then is she saved already, by G.o.d's grace."