The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

And when the moon’s sweet crescent springs
In light o’er heaven’s deep waveless sea;
And stars are forth like blessed things,
I think of thee – I think of thee!”

“O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you; and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live.

“Lilian Holt.”

On the reverse side of the page I had penned, or rather pencilled, a response. Not then, but in an idle hour by the way: with the presentiment, that it might some time reach the hands of her for whom it was intended. In those hands I was now determined to place it – leaving the issue to the cipher itself. The answer ran thus:

To Lilian.

“As music sweet, thy gentle lay

Hath found an echo in my heart;

At morn, at eve, by night, by day,

’Tis never from my thoughts apart:

I hear the strain in every breeze

That blows o’er flower, and leaf, and tree;

Low murmuring, the birds and bees

All seem to sing – I think of thee!

“Perhaps, of me no more a thought

Lingers within thy bosom blest:

For time and absence both are fraught

With danger to the lover’s rest?

O Lilian! if thy gentlest breath

Should whisper that sad truth to me,

My heart would soon be cold in death —

Though dying, still ’twould think of thee!”

    “Edward Warfield, The Indian Hunter.”

The words at the moment added were those appended to my own name – which I had introduced to aid in the recognition. However inappropriate might be the scheme for making myself known, I had no time to conceive any other. The interruption caused by the mulatta had hindered me from a verbal declaration, which otherwise I might have made; and there was no longer an opportunity for the periphrasis of speech. Even a word might betray me. Under this apprehension, I resolved to remain silent; and watch for the occasion when I might effect the secret conveyance of the paper.

As the young girl drew near, I stepped towards her – pointing to my lips, and making sign that I wished to drink. The action did not alarm her. On the contrary, she stopped; and, smiling kindly on the thirsty savage, offered the can – raising it up before her. I took the vessel in my hands, holding the little billet conspicuous between my stained fingers. Conspicuous only to her: for from all other eyes the can concealed it – even from those of the bizarre duenna, who had faced round and was still standing near. Not a word escaped me, as I pretended to drink. I only nodded towards the paper as I raised the vessel to my lips.

Ah! that weird instinct of a woman’s heart – a woman who loves! How pleasant to watch its subtle play, when we know that it is exerted in our favour! I saw not the action, nor yet the emotion that may have been depicted on that radiant face. My eyes were averted. I dared not trust them to watch the effect. I only knew that the can was taken from my hands – the paper along with it; and, like a dream, the fair water-carrier passed from before me – leaving me alone upon the spot! My eyes followed the receding form, now side by side with that of the chiding guardian. Together they entered the corral – Lilian upon the nearer side; but, as the maiden’s face disappeared behind the sombre shadow of the waggons, a glance given back through those shining tresses convinced me that my scheme had succeeded!

Chapter One Hundred

A Sister’s Appeal

I hastened to inform Marian of what had passed – having returned to the tents, without giving any sign of the excitement that was stirring within my breast. Why not to-night? Why not at once – within the hour? These were my reflections, put interrogatively, as I hurried over the ground. The huntress still remained within her tent; but, enjoying the fraternal privilege, I could enter; and, stooping, I passed under the covering of skins.

“You have seen sister Lilian!” she said, affirmatively, as I entered.

“I have.”

“And spoken with her?”

“No – I dared not trust myself to speak; but I have given her a token of recognition.”

“In writing? I saw you. She knows, then, that you are here?”

“By this time she should – that is, if she has found an opportunity to look at the paper.”

“She will find that, I daresay. Oh, she is beautiful – very beautiful. I do not wonder, sir, that you love her! Were I a man – Knows she that I too am here?”

“Not yet. I feared to tell her, even in writing. I feared that in the sudden transport of joy which such a discovery would produce, she might proclaim it to your father – perhaps to him!”

“You are right – there might have been a risk of that. She must not know that I am here, till we can caution her against declaring it. How do you propose to act?”

“I have come to take counsel from you. If we could only make known to her that you are present, she might find an opportunity of stealing forth; and in the darkness, all the rest could be accomplished. Even to-night – why not this very night?”

“Why not?” echoed the huntress, catching eagerly at the idea. “The sooner the better. But how am I to see her? Should I enter their camp? Perhaps – ”

“If you write to her, I – ”

“Would, stranger? say could. Writing is not one of my accomplishments. My father cared little to teach me – my mother still less: she cared not at all. Alas! poor ignorant me: I cannot even write my own name!”

“It matters not: dictate what you would say to her. I have here paper and pencil; and shall write for you. If she has read the other, she will be on the look-out – and no doubt we may find an opportunity of giving a note to her.”

“And she of reading it, no doubt. Yes; it does seem the best course we can pursue – the surest and safest. Surely Lilian has not forgotten me? Surely she will follow the advice of a sister who dearly loves her?”

Drawing out my pencil, and tearing a leaf from the memorandum-book, I stood ready to act as amanuensis. The intelligent though unlettered maiden, resting her forehead upon her hand – as if to aid in giving shape to her thoughts – commenced the dictation:

“Beloved sister! – A friend writes for me – one whom you know. It is Marian who speaks – your own sister Marian – still living and well. I am here with others – in the disguise of Indians – those you have seen. We are here on your account alone. We have come to save you from a danger – O sister! a dreadful danger: which your innocent heart cannot have dreamt of!”

I was not so certain of this. The shade I had observed upon Lilian’s countenance – produced by the taunting speeches of the mulatta – had convinced me that the young girl was not without some presentiment of her peril, however vaguely outlined. So much the better for our purpose; and, as I had already declared this belief to Marian, I did not interrupt her. She continued: “When you have read this, do not show it to any one. Do not make known its contents even to – ”

The maiden paused for a moment. Filial affection, too cruelly crushed, was causing her voice to falter. Tremblingly and low muttered came the words:

“Our father – !”

“Dear Lil!” proceeded she in a firmer tone, “you know how dearly I loved you? I love you still the same. You know I would have risked my life to save yours. I now risk that and more – ah! far more, if I could tell you; but some time you shall know all. And you, dear Lil! your danger is even greater than of life – for it is the danger of dishonour! Hear me, then, beloved sister, and do not refuse to follow my advice! When it is dark – and to-night if possible – steal out from the camp. Separate yourself from the vile people who surround you – separate yourself – O sister! it is hard to say the word – from him, our father – him who should have been our protector, but who, I fear – Alas! I cannot speak the thought. To-night, dear Lil! if possible, to-night! To-morrow it may be too late. Our disguise may be discovered, and all our plans frustrated. To-night – to-night! Fear not! your friend awaits you – as also your old favourite, Frank Wingrove, with other brave companions. Your sister will receive you with open arms.”