LIBRARY 
 
 UHW ERS1TY OF CfvUFORNlA 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 Near to 
 
 Nature's 
 
 Heart 
 
 New York 
 Dodd, Mead & Company <
 
 Copyright, 1876, 
 By DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1904, 
 By MRS. E. P. ROE
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE autumn winds are again blowing, and the even- 
 ings are growing longer. At the time when the fires are 
 kindled once more upon the hearth, I send this story out 
 to visit those whom I can almost hope to regard as 
 friends. If it meets the same kind welcome and lenient 
 treatment which my previous works have received, I 
 shall have more than sufficient reason to be satisfied. If, 
 in addition to being a guest at the fireside, it becomes an 
 incentive to the patient performance of duty in the face 
 of all temptation, I shall be profoundly thankful. I am 
 not afraid to inform the reader that these books are 
 written with the honest, earnest purpose of helping him 
 to do right ; and success, in this respect, is the best re- 
 ward I crave. I do not claim for these books the 
 character of beautiful works of art. Many things may 
 have good and wholesome uses without exciting the 
 world's admiration. A man who cannot model a per- 
 fect statue may yet erect a lamp-post, and place thereon 
 a light which shall save many a wayfarer from stum- 
 bling. 
 
 It is with much diffidence and doubt that I have 
 ventured to construct my story in a past age, fearing lest 
 I should give a modern coloring to everything. But, 
 while the book is not designed to teach history, I have 
 carefully consulted good authorities in regard to those 
 parts which are historical. 
 
 Captain Molly has her recognized place in the Revo- 
 lution, but my leading characters are entirely imaginary. 
 Still, I hope the reader may not find them such pale
 
 iv PREFACE 
 
 shadows that their joys, sorrows, and temptations will 
 appear mere sickly fancies, but rather the reflex of 
 genuine human experiences. They have become so real 
 and dear to me that I part with them very reluctantly. 
 
 Cornwatt-on-the-Hudson, N. K
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A CHILD OF NATURE , i 
 
 II. VERA AND HER HOME 12 
 
 III. THE ICONOCLASTS 27 
 
 IV. " FOR WORSE " 34 
 
 V. WASHINGTON'S SERMON 44 
 
 VI. "A SCENE AT BLACK SAM'S" 55 
 
 VII. NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 61 
 
 VIII. LARRY MEETS His FATE 68 
 
 IX. LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 81 
 
 X. THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS . . . .113 
 
 XL THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD . .128 
 
 XII. BEACON FIRES 146 
 
 XIII. LIBERTY PROCLAIMED AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 156 
 
 XIV. ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 167 
 
 XV. SAVILLE'S NIGHT RECONNOISSANCE 178 
 
 XVI. DARK DAYS 185 
 
 XVII. "THE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" . .198 
 
 XVIII. THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS " . . 204 
 
 XIX. A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 215 
 
 XX. GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 225 
 
 XXI. CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 239 
 
 XXII. THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 254 
 
 XXIII. THE WIFE'S QUEST AMONG THE DEAD .... 266 
 
 XXIV. VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 269 
 
 XXV. THE WOMAN IN VERA AWAKES 277 
 
 v
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVI. VERA'S ONLY CRIME ...... . .287 
 
 XXVII. VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 300 
 
 XXVIII. A HASTY MARRIAGE .... 310 
 
 XXIX. SEEMING SUCCESS 315 
 
 XXX. A MASTER MIND AND WILL , . 320 
 
 XXXI. THE REVELATION 333 
 
 XXXII. GROPING HER WAY 341 
 
 XXXIII. STRONG TEMPTATION 350 
 
 XXXIV. A STRANGER'S COUNSEL 356 
 
 XXXV. THE PARTING 362 
 
 XXXVI. SEEKING DEATH 370 
 
 XXXVII. SEEKING LIFE 383 
 
 XXXVIII. A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES . . 398 
 
 XXXIX. EXPLANATIONS 421 
 
 XL. HUSBAND AND WIFE 435 
 
 XLI. WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING . 443
 
 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 
 
 THE granite mountains that form the historical High- 
 lands of the Hudson have changed but little during the 
 past century. On the I7th of June, about one hundred 
 years ago, a day inseparably associated in American 
 memory with Bunker Hill, and the practial severance of 
 the cable of love and loyalty that once bound the colonies 
 to the mother country, these bold hills undoubtedly ap- 
 peared much as they do now. In the swales and valleys, 
 the timber, untouched as yet by the woodman's axe, was 
 heavier than the third or fourth growth of our day. But 
 the promontories overhanging the river had then, as now, 
 the same grand and rugged outlines of rock and precipice. 
 The shrubbery, and dwarf trees, that catch and maintain 
 their tenacious hold on every crevice and fissure, softened 
 but little the frowning aspect of the heights, that, like 
 grim sentinels, guard the river. 
 
 But nature in her harshest moods can scarcely resist the 
 blandishments of June ; even as the sternest features relax 
 under the caresses of youth and beauty. On this warm 
 still day of early summer, when over the city of Boston 
 the wildest storm of war was breaking, the spirit of peace 
 seemed supreme even in that rugged gorge into which the 
 Hudson passes from Newburgh Bay, and a luminous haze 
 softened every sharp outline. The eastern shore was 
 aglow with the afternoon sun, like a glad face radiant
 
 2 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 with smiles. The western bank with its deepening 
 shadows was like a happy face passing from thought into 
 revery, which, if not sad, is at least tinged with melan- 
 choly. 
 
 From most points of observation there were no evi- 
 dences of other life than that distinctively belonging to 
 the wilderness. If the pressure of population has brought 
 so few inhabitants in our time, there was still less induce- 
 ment then to settle where scarcely a foothold could be 
 obtained among the crags. Therefore the region that is 
 now rilling up with those who prefer beautiful scenery to 
 the richest lowlands, was one of the wildest solitudes on 
 the continent, though amidst rapidly advancing civiliza- 
 tion, north as well as south of the mountains. 
 
 While at that time the river was one of the chief high- 
 ways of the people, the means of communication between 
 the seaboard and a vast interior, so that the batteaux of 
 voyagers and passing sails were common enough, still the 
 precipitous shores offered slight inducement to land, and 
 the skippers of the little craft were glad to pass hastily 
 through this forbidding region of sudden flaws and violent 
 tides, to the broad expanse of Tappan Zee, where the 
 twinkle of home lights and the curling smoke from farm- 
 house and hamlet in the distance reminded them that 
 they were near their own kind. 
 
 But there was neither boat nor sail in sight on the 
 memorable afternoon upon which my story opens, not a 
 trace of the human life that now pulsates through this 
 great artery of the land, save a small sailboat drifting 
 slowly under the shadow of Cro' nest. The faint breeze 
 from the west died away as the sun declined, and the 
 occupant had dropped the sail that only flapped idly 
 against the mast. The tide was still setting up in the 
 centre of the river, but had turned close in-shore. There- 
 fore, the young man, who was the sole occupant of the 
 boat, reclined languidly in the stern, with his hand on the
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 3 
 
 tiller, and drifted s'owly with the current around the 
 mimic capes and along the slight indentations of the shore, 
 often so close that he could leap upon a jutting rock. 
 
 Though the almost motionless vessel and the seemingly 
 listless occupant were in keeping with the sultry hour, 
 during which nature appeared in a dreamy revery, still 
 their presence was the result of war. A nearer view of 
 the young man who was mechanically steering, proved 
 that his languid attitude was calculated to mislead. A 
 frown lowered upon his wide brow, and his large, dark 
 eyes were full of trouble now emitting gleams of anger, 
 and again moist in their sympathy with thoughts that must 
 have been very sad or very bitter. His full, flexible 
 mouth was at times tremulous with feeling, but often so 
 firmly compressed as to express not so much resolve, as 
 desperation. In contrast to nature's peace, there was 
 evidently the severest conflict in this man's soul. In his 
 deep preoccupation, he would sometimes permit his boat 
 to drift almost ashore ; then his impatient and powerful 
 grasp upon the tiller bespoke a fiery spirit, and a strong, 
 prompt hand to do its behests. 
 
 But, by the time he had crossed the flats, south of 
 " Cro'nest," he seemed inclined to escape from his 
 painful revery, and take some interest in surrounding 
 scenes. He looked at his watch, and appeared vexed at 
 his slow progress. He took the oars, pulled a few strokes, 
 then cast them down again, muttering, 
 
 " After all, what do a few hours signify? Besides, I 
 am infinitely happier and better off here than in New 
 York ; " and he threw himself back again in his old listless 
 attitude. 
 
 His boat Was now gliding around that remarkable 
 projection of land that has since gained a world-wide 
 celebrity under the name of West Point. When a little 
 beyond .what is now known as the old Steamboat Landing, 
 he thought he heard a woman's voice. He listened
 
 4 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 intently, and a snatch of wild melody, clear and sweet, 
 floated to him through the still air. He was much sur- 
 prised, for he expected to find no one in that solitude, 
 much less a woman with a voice as sweet as that of a 
 brown-thrush that was giving an occasional prelude to its 
 evening song in a shady nook of the mountains. 
 
 He at once proposed to solve the mystery, and so divert 
 his thoughts from a subject that was evidently torture to 
 dwell upon ; and keeping his boat close to the land, that 
 it might be hidden, and that he could spring ashore the 
 moment he wished, he pursued his way with a pleasant 
 change in a face naturally frank and prepossessing. 
 
 As he approached the extreme point where now the 
 lighthouse stands, the notes became clear and distinct. 
 But he could distinguish neither air nor words. Indeed, 
 at his distance, the melody seemed improvised, capricious, 
 the utterances of a voice peculiarly sweet but untrained. 
 
 It soon became evident that the songstress was on the 
 south side of the rocky point, on which grew clumps of 
 low cedar. Standing with an oar in the bow of his boat, 
 and causing it to touch the shore so gently that the keel 
 did not even grate upon the rock, he sprang lightly to 
 land, and secured his vessel. He next stole crouchingly 
 up behind a low, wide-spreading cedar, from whence he 
 could see over the ridge. 
 
 It was a strange and unexpected vision that greeted 
 him. He naturally supposed that some woodman's or 
 farmer's daughter had come down to the bank, or that a 
 party of pleasure had stopped there for a time. But he 
 saw a creature whom he could in no way account for. 
 
 Reclining with her back towards him on a little grassy 
 plot just above a rock that shelved down to the water, 
 was a young girl dressed in harmony with her sylvan 
 surroundings. Her attire was as simple as it was strange, 
 consisting of an embroidered tunic of finely dressed fawn- 
 skin, reaching a little below the knee, and ending in a
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 5 
 
 blue fringe. Some lighter fabric was worn under it and 
 encased the arms. The shapely neck and throat were 
 bare, though almost hidden by a wealth of wavy, golden 
 tresses that flowed down her shoulders. Her hat ap- 
 peared to have been constructed out of the skin of the 
 snowy heron, with its beak and plumage preserved intact, 
 and dressed into the jauntiest style. Leggings of strong 
 buckskin, that formed a protection against the briars and 
 roughness of the forest, were clasped around-a slender 
 ankle, and embroidered moccasins completed an attire 
 that was not in the style of the girl of the period even a 
 century ago. She might have passed for an Indian 
 maiden, were it not for the snowy whiteness of her neck, 
 where the sun had not browned it, and for her good pro- 
 nunciation of English. In her little brown hand she held 
 a fishing-rod, but she had ceased to watch her floral float, 
 which was the bud of a water-lily tied to the line. Indeed, 
 the end of her pole dipped idly in the water, while she, 
 forgetful of the sport or toil, whichever it might be, sang 
 her passing feelings and fancies as unaffectedly as the 
 birds on the hills around, that now were growing tuneful 
 after the heat of the day. 
 
 Thus far, our hero, whom we may as well introduce at 
 onceasTheron Saville, had been able to distinguish only 
 disjointed words, that had no seeming connection ; mere 
 musical sparkles, rising from the depths of a glad, in- 
 nocent heart. But imagine his surprise when she com- 
 menced singing to an air that he had often heard in 
 England : 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows." 
 
 She broke off suddenly, sprang up, and commenced 
 winding the line upon her pole. Then Saville saw that, 
 though very young seemingly, she was taller and more 
 fully developed than he had supposed. At first glance
 
 6 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 she had appeared to be little more than a child, but as 
 she stood erect, he saw that she was somewhat above 
 medium height and straight as an arrow. 
 
 He was most eager to see her face, thinking that it 
 might help to solve the mystery, but she perversely kept 
 it from him as she leisurely wound up her line, in the 
 meantime chattering to herself in a voice so flexible and 
 natural that it seemed to mirror every passing thought. 
 Now, in mimic anger she cried, " Out upon you, fishes, 
 great and small whales, leviathans, and minnows ! 
 Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook ? Canst 
 thou put a hook into his nose ? ' No, I can't ; nor in the 
 nose of a single perch, white or yellow. Did I not whisper 
 when I first came, ' Come home with me to supper ? ' 
 Scaly, unmannerly knaves, out upon you ; I'll none of 
 you." 
 
 Then, with instant change to comic pathos, she con- 
 tinued, " ' Alas, 'tis true, 'tis pity ; and pity 'tis, 'tis true.' 
 I'll none of you when I wanted a dozen." 
 
 Suddenly, with a motion as quick as a bird on its spray, 
 she turned, and appeared to look directly at Saville. He 
 was so startled that he almost discovered himself, but 
 was reassured by noticing that she had not seen him, but 
 was looking over his sheltering cedar at something be- 
 yond, with a pouting vexation, that he learned a mo- 
 ment later was only assumed. He now saw her features, 
 but while they awakened a thrill of admiration, they gave 
 no clue to her mystery. The hue of perfect health glowed 
 upon her oval face, while her eyes were like violets of 
 darkest blue. The mouth was full, yet firm, and unlike 
 Saville's, which was chiefly expressive of sensibility and 
 suggested an emotional nature. 
 
 Altogether, she seemed a creature that might haunt a 
 painter's or a poet's fancy, but have no right or real exist- 
 ence in this matter-of-fact world. Saville could not ac- 
 count for her, and still his wonder grew when she ex-
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 7 
 
 claimed in tones as mellow as the notes of the bird she 
 addressed : 
 
 " What are you saying there, saucy robin ? You're so 
 proud of your scarlet waistcoat, you're always putting 
 yourself forward. ' The sun's behind the mountain, and 
 it's time for evening songs,' you say. Well, I can see 
 that as well as you. Go sing to your little brown wife on 
 her nest, and cease your ' mops and mowes' at me. 
 
 " ' I can sing in sunshine, 
 I can sing in shadow, 
 In the darkest forest glen, 
 O'er the grassy meadow, 
 At night, by day, 'tis all the same, 
 Song is praise to his loved name,' " 
 
 Then she lifted her face and eyes heavenward, as if 
 from an impulse of grateful devotion. Her white throat 
 grew full, as in slower measure, and with a voice that 
 seemed to fill the balmy June evening with enchantment, 
 she sang as a hymn those exquisite words from Isaiah : 
 
 " For ye shall go out with joy, 
 And be led forth with peace ; 
 The mountains and the hills 
 Shall break forth before you into singing, 
 And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." 
 
 Saville was in a maze of bewilderment and delight. 
 Was this a creature of earth or heaven ? A fairy or an 
 ideal Indian maiden, the perfect flower of sylvan life ? 
 All his classic lore flashed upon him. Oreads and dryads, 
 nymphs of the mountain and forest tripped through his 
 brain to no purpose. She seemed to him as much a 
 being of the imagination as any of them, but was so 
 tantalizingly near and real, that he could see the blood 
 come and go in her face, the rise and fall of her bosom, 
 the changing light of her eyes ; and yet he feared almost
 
 8 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 to breathe lest she should vanish. Morever, a pure 
 English accent, and familiarity with Shakespeare and the 
 Bible, savored not of tlie wigwam nor of Greek mythology. 
 He resolved to watch her till she seemed about to de- 
 part, and then seek to intercept her, and by questions 
 solve the enigma. 
 
 The girl stood quietly for a moment as the last sweet 
 notes of her voice were repeating themselves in faint echoes 
 from the hillsides, and then in a low tone murmured, 
 
 " How can I be lonely when God makes all his crea- 
 tures my playmates? " 
 
 In the quick transition that seemed one of her character- 
 istics, she soon snatched up her fishing-rod, exclaiming : 
 
 Old Will Shakespeare, I know more than you." And 
 she sang again, 
 
 " ' I know a bank ' where the strawberry ' blows,' 
 Where the red ripe strawberry even now grows/ 
 ' Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
 With sweet musk roses and with eglantine ; ' 
 These I can gather long before the night, 
 And carry home to mother ' with dances and delight ' 
 
 with dances and delight" and as she repeated this re- 
 frain, she lifted her slight pole like a wand over her head, 
 and commenced tripping on the little grassy plot as strange 
 and fantastic a measure as ever wearied Titania, the fairy 
 queen. 
 
 There was another low cedar nearer to her, and Saville 
 determined to reach this, if possible. He did so, unper- 
 ceived, and for a moment gazed with increasing wonder 
 on her strange beauty. Though she seemed a perfect 
 child of nature, as unconventional as a fawn in its gam- 
 bols, there was not a trace of coarseness or vulgarity in 
 feature or action. 
 
 Suddenly the girl ceased her improvised dance, and 
 looked around as with a vague consciousness of alarm.
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 9 
 
 It was evident she had not seen nor heard anything dis- 
 tinctly, but as if possessing an instinct akin to that of 
 other wild creatures of the forest, she felt a danger she 
 could not see. Or, perhaps, it was the influence of the 
 same mysterious power which enables us in a crowded 
 hall to fix our eyes and thoughts on one far removed, and, 
 by something concerning which we hide our ignorance by 
 the term " magnetism," draw their eyes and thoughts to 
 ourselves. 
 
 From her quivering nostrils and dilating eyes Saville 
 saw that his nymph of the mountain, wood, or water the 
 embodied enigma that he was now most curious to solve 
 was on the eve of flight ; therefore, cap in hand, and with 
 the suave grace of one familiar with the salons of Paris, 
 he stepped forth from his concealment. 
 
 But, seemingly, his politeness was as utterly lost on the 
 maiden as it would have been on a wild fawn, or the 
 heron whose plumage mingled with her flowing hair ; for 
 like an arrow she darted by him up the steep ascent, with 
 a motion so swift, so seemingly instantaneous, that he stood 
 gazing after her as helplessly as if a bird had taken wing. 
 
 It was not until she had gained a crag far above him, 
 and there paused a moment, as if her curiosity mastered 
 her fears, that he recovered himself, and cursed his stupid 
 slowness. 
 
 But, when he again advanced towards her and essayed 
 to speak, she sprang from her perch, and was lost in the 
 thick copse-wood of the bank. Only her light hazel 
 fishing-rod, and the line with the water lily bud, remained 
 to prove that the whole scene was not an illusion, a piece 
 of witchery that comported well with the hour and the 
 romantic region. 
 
 Correctly imagining that though invisible she might be 
 watching him, he took the flower and put it in his button- 
 hole, leaving the pole on the bank ; then, taking off his 
 hat, he again bowed in the direction whither she had fled.
 
 10 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 with his hand upon his heart, which pantomime he hoped 
 contained enough simplicity and nature to serve in place 
 of the words she would not stay to hear. 
 
 He then pushed his boat from the shore (for he no 
 more thought of following her than he would a zephyr that 
 had gone fluttering through the leaves), and permitted it 
 to drift down with the tide as before. 
 
 With the faint hope of inducing her to appear again, he 
 took up a flute, of which he had become quite a master, 
 and which he usually carried with him on his solitary ex- 
 peditions, and commenced playing the air to which she 
 had sung the words, 
 
 " I know a bank " 
 
 He was rewarded by seeing first the plumage of the 
 snowy heron, then the graceful outline of the maiden's 
 form on a projecting rock where now frowns Battery 
 Knox. He again doffed his hat, and turned the prow of 
 his boat in-shore, at which she vanished. 
 
 Believing now that she was too shy to be won as an ac- 
 quaintance, or resolute in her purpose to shun a stranger, 
 he pursued his journey with many wondering surmises. 
 But partly to please himself, and with some hope of pleas- 
 ing her, he made the quiet June evening so resonant with 
 music that even the birds seemed to pause and listen to 
 the unwonted strains. 
 
 Thus he kept the shores echoing and reechoing till his 
 boat was gliding under a precipitous bluff, where it would 
 be impossible to land. Here a light northern breeze came 
 fluttering down the river with its innumerable retinue of 
 ripples, and Saville threw down the flute and hoisted his 
 sail. As he glided out from the shadow of the bluff to 
 the centre of the river, the same weird and beautiful voice 
 resounded from the rocks above him, with a sweetness 
 and fulness that filled the whole region and hour with 
 enchantment,
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE 11 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." 
 
 Then he saw the plumage of the snowy heron waving 
 him a farewell, and distinguished the half concealed form 
 of the maiden. The northern gale tossed her uncon fined 
 hair for a moment, and then the vision vanished. 
 
 The wind freshened, and soon the water was foaming 
 about the bow of his boat. Taking up his flute, he gave 
 as a responsive farewell the simple melody which had be- 
 come a kind of signal between them, the one link of 
 mutual knowledge, the gossamer thread that might draw 
 their lives closer together. 
 
 The maiden, who no longer needed the sheltering 
 foliage, but was concealed by the deepening twilight, 
 listened till the faintest echoes had died away in the dis- 
 tance, and then, quite as bewildered and full of wonder- 
 ment as the hero of our story, slowly retraced her steps 
 towards West Point. 
 
 Saville gazed lingeringly and regretfully back upon the 
 landscape that grew more picturesque every moment in 
 the uncertain light, and felt that he was leaving a fairy 
 land for one of stern and bitter realities.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 VERA AND HER HOME 
 
 WITH slow and thoughtful steps, the young girl pur- 
 sued her way, rinding a path where, to another, there 
 would have been only a tangled forest, growing among 
 steep ridges and jagged rocks. But the freedom and 
 ease with which she picked her way with almost noiseless 
 tread, might have deepened the impression that in some 
 occult manner she was akin to the wilderness in which 
 she seemed so much at home. Having crossed a rocky 
 hill, she entered a grassy foot-path, and soon approached 
 a dwelling whence gleamed a faint light. Though her 
 steps apparently gave forth no sound, they were heard, 
 for suddenly innumerable echoes filled the silent valley, 
 and two dogs, that must have been large and fierce, judg- 
 ing from their deep baying, came bounding towards her. 
 With a low laugh she said : 
 
 " Here's 'much ado about nothing.' There, there, 
 Tiger and Bull; two precious fools you have made of 
 yourselves, not to know me." 
 
 The great dogs fawned at her feet and licked her 
 hands, and, by the humblest canine apologies, sought for- 
 giveness for their rude greeting. 
 
 The light from within fell upon the somewhat haggard 
 and startled face of a man who stood upon the door-step 
 and peered out into the darkness. 
 
 " It's only I, father ; " and in a moment the girl was at 
 his side. 
 
 The man responded but slightly to her caress, and,
 
 VEEA AND HER HOME 13 
 
 entering the one large living-room of the cottage, sat 
 down, without a word, in its most shadowy corner, seem- 
 ingly finding something congenial in its gloom. 
 
 " What has kept you so late, Vera? " asked a woman 
 who was taking from a rude cupboard the slender ma- 
 terials of the evening meal. 
 
 " I was watching a queer little sailboat, mother." 
 
 "Sailboat, sailboat; has it landed near us?" asked 
 the man, starting up. 
 
 "No, father. I watched till it disappeared down the 
 river," said the girl, soothingly. 
 
 "That's a good child. Still it does not signify ; no one 
 could have any business with me." 
 
 But the slight tremor of excitement in the girl's tone 
 caused the mother to give her a quick, searching glance, 
 and she saw that something unusual had occurred. 
 
 Vera looked smilingly and significantly into the pale, 
 anxious face turned to her, and her glance said, " I will 
 tell you all by and by." 
 
 The woman continued her tasks, though in a manner 
 so feeble as to indicate that the burden of life was grow- 
 ing too heavy to be borne much longer, while Vera as- 
 sisted her with the quickness of youth and the deftness of 
 experience. 
 
 From a little " lean-to " against the side of the house, 
 used as a kitchen, an aged negress now appeared. A 
 scarlet handkerchief formed a sort of turban above her 
 wrinkled visage. She was tall, but bent with years, and 
 there was a trace of weird dignity in her bearing, that was 
 scarcely in keeping with her menial position. 
 
 " Did de young missis bring anyting?" she asked. 
 
 " Nothing, Gula," said the young girl, lightly. " The 
 unmannerly fish laughed me to scorn. Though I tempted 
 them above with a lily bud, and beneath with a wriggling 
 angle-worm, not one would come home with me. They 
 were afraid of you, Gula."
 
 14 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Den dare's nothin' for supper but milk and bread," 
 muttered the old woman. 
 
 " It will suffice for me. To-morrow I will be up with 
 the lark, and have a dish of strawberries for breakfast." 
 And she hummed to herself : 
 
 " I know the bank whereon they grow 
 A thing Will Shakespeare does not know." 
 
 The mother looked at her fondly, but her smile ended 
 in a sigh. With her, almost everything in life was now 
 ending with a sigh. 
 
 The frugal repast being ready, the father was sum- 
 moned, but before he would leave his partial conceal- 
 ment, he asked Vera to close the window-shutters, so as 
 to preclude the possibility of any one looking in from the 
 outer darkness. The man seemed haunted by some 
 vague fear which was not shared by the rest of the family, 
 but which, in his case, was tacitly recognized and 
 humored. He ate his supper hurriedly, and then retired 
 again to his dusky corner, where he sat the remainder of 
 the evening, silent, save when spoken to by his wife and 
 daughter, who evidently tried to retain him as part of the 
 family circle, though he morbidly shrank within himself. 
 
 The mother and daughter were left alone at the table, 
 at which they sat even after Gula had removed to the 
 kitchen the slight remnants of the meal. A dip-candle 
 burned dimly between them, and lighted up, but with 
 deep contrasts of shadow, two remarkable faces not 
 such as one would expect to find in a rude log cabin of 
 the wilderness ; for the uncertain rays revealed the fact, 
 though disguised by many a dainty rural device, that the 
 walls of the dwelling were of rough-hewn logs. But the 
 homely surroundings only brought out more clearly the 
 unmistakable refinement of the faces of mother and 
 daughter, now turned towards each other in a subtle 
 irlerchange of sympathy that scarcely needed words.
 
 VERA AND HER HOME 15 
 
 They seemed to have formed the habit of communicating 
 with each other by significant glances and little signs 
 apparent to no one save themselves, and there existed 
 between them a love so deep and absorbing that it was 
 ever a source of tranquil pleasure to look into each other's 
 eyes. This silent communion was rendered necessary in 
 part, because there was much of which they could not 
 speak in the presence of the father and husband in his 
 present warped, morbid condition of mind. To her 
 mother Vera embodied her name,, and was truth itself, 
 revealing, like her playmates the mountain streams, 
 everything in her crystal thoughts. To her father she 
 was equally true, but was so through a system of loving 
 disguises and concealments. If she had told him of her 
 adventure of the afternoon he would have been greatly 
 excited, and sleep were banished for the night. 
 
 The mother saw that Vera had a confidence to give, 
 and quietly waited until they should be alone ; and gs 
 she looked tenderly upon her child, her pale, spiritual 
 face might have realized the ideal of pure motherly love. 
 As such, in after years, Vera remembered it. It was well 
 that she should look long and fondly upon those dear 
 features, for in their thin transparency they promised soon 
 to become only a memory. 
 
 But Vera knew nothing of death. She had never seen 
 a pallid, rigid human face, and the thought that the dear 
 face before her could ever become such, was too dreadful 
 to have even entered her mind. 
 
 The mother, with a secret and growing uneasiness, had 
 been conscious of her failing powers. Her usual house- 
 hold cares became daily more burdensome. She panted 
 for breath, after tasks that once seemed light. Her rest, 
 instead of being sweet and refreshing, was broken through 
 the long night by a hacking cough, which the bland air 
 of June did not remove as she had fondly hoped. But, 
 in the strange delusion of her disease, she ever expected
 
 16 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 to be "better in a few days," and she never had the 
 courage to blanch the joyous face of Vera with the vague 
 fear which in spite of her hopes sometimes found entrance 
 to her mind. The malady had been so slow and in- 
 sidious in its advances, that Vera had not noticed the 
 daily yet almost imperceptible changes, but old Gula 
 sometimes shook her head ominously, though she said 
 nothing. The husband was too deeply shadowed by one 
 oppressive fear to have thought for anything else ; and 
 so the poor exile (for such she was) unconsciously to her- 
 self and those she loved, daily drew nearer to the only 
 home where the heart is at rest. 
 
 Upon a rustic shelf above Vera's head were two books 
 that originally had been quite handsomely bound. They 
 were the products of a time when things were made to 
 last ; and yet such had been their vicissitudes and con- 
 stant use that they looked old and worn. They were the 
 only books Vera had ever seen. They had been the 
 story-books of her childhood, and long before she could 
 read them, her mother had beguiled her by the hour with 
 their marvelous tales. They had been the school-books 
 in which she had conned her letters ; and, following her 
 mother's pointing finger, she had spelled her way through 
 them, when the long and unpronounceable words were 
 to her lisping tongue what the rugged boulders around 
 their home were to her little feet. She had often stumbled 
 over both ; still she had learned to love the mossy 
 boulders and the equally formidable words, and the latter 
 had gradually become stepping-stones to her thoughts. 
 These books were now yearly developing for her deeper 
 and richer meanings, and were having no small part in 
 the formation of her character. The gilt letters on their 
 backs were not so faded and worn but that the titles 
 could still be read the " Plays of William Shakespeare," 
 and " Holy Bible." 
 
 The former had been given to Vera's mother in other
 
 VERA AND HER HOME 17 
 
 and happier days, and in another land, by the man, now 
 but a wreck of the handsome, spirited youth, who then 
 gave glances and words with the gift, which she valued 
 more than the book. She had given him the Bible in 
 return, and he formerly had read it somewhat for her 
 sake, though seldom for its own. The Bible was much 
 the smaller and plainer volume, and suggested that the 
 purse of the donor might not have been as large as her 
 love. In the sudden and dire emergency which made 
 them exiles, these two gifts of affection had been hastily 
 snatched among the few other things they had been able 
 to take, in the confused and hurried moment of departure. 
 
 At a sign from her mother, Vera took down this Bible, 
 and drawing the failing candle nearer, read a few verses 
 from the I4th chapter of St. John, commencing, " Let 
 not your heart be troubled." At the close of each day, 
 for many sad and anxious years, the poor woman had 
 tried to sustain her faith by these divine, reassuring 
 words. They were read first, not only for her own sup- 
 port, but in the hope that they might have a soothing, 
 calming effect upon the disquieted mind of her husband. 
 To Vera, also, she believed that they might eventually 
 become a legacy of hope and strength. After they were 
 read, some other passage was also chosen. 
 
 The mother had opened the kitchen door that Gula 
 might hear, if she would, since she never could be per- 
 suaded to be present at the family altar. Gula had been 
 stolen from her African home, where, as she once hinted 
 in a moment of anger, she had possessed some rude 
 and savage kind of royalty, and since that time she 
 had suffered cruelty and wrongs without stint from those 
 who called themselves Christians ; thus she naturally 
 chose to remain a pagan. 
 
 As Vera read the sacred words, the mother's face, 
 where she sat, a little back from the light, was sweet and 
 shadowy enough to be that of a guardian spirit.
 
 18 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 The corner in which the father remained had grown 
 so dark that only the gleam of his restless eyes could be 
 seen. Vera's voice was sweet, low, and reverent. It 
 was not a form, but a heartfelt service in which she was 
 leading, and one that she knew to be dear to her mother. 
 
 She made a pretty picture, with the dim candle light- 
 ing up her classic profile and a bit of her golden hair. 
 All the rest was in partial and suggestive shadow. 
 
 After the lesson of the day had been read, they sat a 
 few moments in prayerful silence. With the shrinking 
 timidity which some women find it impossible to over- 
 come, this Christian wife had learned to pray unceasingly 
 in her heart, but could never venture upon outspoken 
 words. Her nature was gentleness itself, and strong only 
 in its power to cling with unselfish, unfearing tenacity to 
 those she loved. Had her husband been condemned to 
 suffer any form of death, her meek spirit would have ut- 
 tered no protest, but only force could have prevented her 
 from sharing her fate. If, by interposing her own life she 
 could save her daughter's, she would give it up so nat- 
 urally and instinctively that the thought of self-sacrifice 
 would not even occur to her. Years before, she had re- 
 nounced, for the sake of her love, everything save honor ; 
 and though knowing that exile and soon death itself 
 would result, she never considered the possibility of any 
 other course, but in resignation accepted what she re- 
 garded as her inevitable lot. Where she loved most, 
 with the certainty of gravitation, her steps would follow, 
 while the power remained. She was one whom the world 
 would call weak, but whose strength God would honor, 
 because possessing in her humble sphere his loftiest attri- 
 bute, patient, all-enduring love. 
 
 Before seeking her own little nest, Vera went out to 
 speak to the old negress, whom she found sitting on a 
 low door-step, smoking her pipe. 
 
 " Art lonely, Gula ? "
 
 VERA AND HER HOME 19 
 
 " No, chile, I'se got past clat. Dare's lots talkin' to 
 ole Gula." 
 
 " Why, I hear nothing save the whippoorwiils, and the 
 frogs in the marsh." 
 
 " I doesn't hear dem. De voices dat come to me come 
 from far back o f dese mountains. I isn't lonely any 
 mo'." 
 
 " How queer ! " said Vera musingly. " But you were 
 lonely once, Gula? " 
 
 " Yes, chile ; for nigh on twenty summer and winter 
 my heart was a-breakin'. I was so homesick like, dat I 
 wanted to die ebery minute. Den I died. My heart 
 was jus' a heavy stun in my bres' ; only my body was 
 kind o' half alive so it could work when dey whipped it. 
 But de heart inside didn't tink nuffin, nor feel nuffin, nor 
 know nuffin. On a sudden, one night, I kind o' woke 
 up and heerd voices a callin' me to run, and I got up and 
 run, and trabbled for days and nights till I got here ; 
 den de voices tole me to stop. And I'se a stoppin' and 
 a waitin' to see what de voices say nex'." 
 
 " I can't understand it," said Vera wonderingly. 
 
 " No, chile, you needn't try." 
 
 " Where do these voices come from ? " 
 
 " From way back o' dese hills from farder dan de 
 great water whar dem floatin' miseries, dey call ships, 
 go, from whar de sun shine hotter dan it did to-day, all 
 de time. Oh, dis poor ole heart's nebber been warm 
 since dey carried me, screamin', on de floating misery. 
 Go to bed, chile, go to bed ; ole Gula hopes you'se 
 body'll nebber be alive arter your heart's dead." 
 
 " Poor old Gula," said Vera, in a voice so gentle, so 
 sympathetic, that it would have moved the stoniest 
 nature. " I'm very sorry for you. ' Let not your heart 
 be troubled,' Gula." 
 
 The old woman was touched by the young girl's com- 
 passion ; but she had a strange, rugged pride, that pre-
 
 20 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 vented her from ever receiving openly what still was 
 balm in secret. Probably the voices that had induced 
 the fugitive to stay at the humble cottage were those of 
 her present mistress and Vera, speaking in the long un- 
 heard accents of kindness, though in the poor creature's 
 disordered fancy they had blended with those she imag- 
 ined coming from her old tropical home. Therefore, the 
 roughness with wWich she said, 
 
 " Dare, dare, chile, none o' dat, don't keep you'se 
 mudder waitin' ; go to bed," was only assumed to dis- 
 guise the sudden relenting which usually takes place 
 when the flintiest heart is touched by the potent wand of 
 kindness. 
 
 "Good night, Gula," said Vera. "Among your 
 voices you shall always hear mine ; and I hope it won't 
 be cross often ; " and she followed her mother, who had 
 already gone on before to her child's sleeping apart- 
 ment. 
 
 It was as strange a little nook as one could imagine ; 
 and if Vera had been a nymph of the mountains, as 
 her appearance had suggested to Saville, this resting- 
 place would have been in harmony. The rude cottage 
 had been built at the sloping base of the rocky height 
 crowned in later years with the frowning walls of Fort 
 Putnam. Just above the cabin on the southern side, a 
 huge crag projected so far from the rocky steep as to 
 form a natural shelter or sort of cave. This little niche 
 had been enlarged by excavation, and the granite eaves 
 extended by rough-hewn boards, so as to form quite a 
 roomy apartment, which Vera and her mother had dis- 
 guised into as dainty a rural bower as any grotto of the 
 Grecian nymphs. It was connected with the main 
 living-room of the cabin by a covered- way securely 
 thatched and protected at the sides by heavy logs, fast- 
 ened in the securest manner. Indeed the entire dwell- 
 ing had been built with almost the strength of a fortress,
 
 VERA AND HER HOME 21 
 
 and Vera's father seemed to find a growing satisfaction 
 in strengthening its various parts with stone and wood. 
 The brief ascent to her " nest " as the young girl called 
 it was made by stone steps. When her mother grew 
 feeble, Vera brought home a slender grapevine that she 
 had found swinging from a lofty forest-tree, and stretched 
 it from her door to that of the living-room. By laying 
 hold of this, the ascent could be made with greater ease. 
 A stout cord passed along the roof, so that if anything 
 happened, summons or alarm could be given instantly. 
 But though the poor man who arranged all these pre- 
 cautions seemed burdened with an increasing dread, the 
 years had passed, and they had been unmolested in 
 their wilderness retreat. 
 
 The mother placed the candle on a little bureau, and 
 sat, panting from her climb, on the edge of Vera's couch. 
 The daughter drew a bench forward, and dropping on 
 it, leaned her arms on her mother's lap and looked up 
 into her face as she did when a little child. Indeed, in 
 her guileless innocence and ignorance of the world from 
 which she had ever been secluded, she was still a child, 
 though fully sixteen. 
 
 " Now, mother, you have been working too hard again 
 to-day," she said reproachfully. " See how tired you 
 are." 
 
 " No, dear I am only a little breathless from climb- 
 ing to your nest. I get out of breath so easily of late. 
 Now tell me what has happened." 
 
 Vera described her adventure of the afternoon, which 
 in her tranquil life was a notable event. She dwelt long 
 and somewhat admiringly upon the stranger's appearance 
 and manner, especially his act of putting the water-lily 
 bud in his button-hole. 
 
 " If he loves flowers, mother, he can't be bad." 
 
 But it was upon the notes of his flute that she descanted 
 most enthusiastically. "And do you know, mother, he
 
 22 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 played the same air that I had been singing, and which 
 you taught me years ago. But he must have thought me 
 wild as a hawk." 
 
 " No, dear, as timid as a dove." 
 
 " Well, I was greatly startled at first. When I got a 
 good look at him I was not so much afraid. But you, 
 and especially father, have so often warned me against 
 making acquaintances. You don't think I was rude, 
 now ? " 
 
 " No, dear, no more than the birds that take wing 
 when you come too near." 
 
 " The birds are getting very presuming, mother ; they 
 either think that I am one of them or not worth minding. 
 They only cock their little heads on one side and give me 
 a saucy look, and then go about their business just as if I 
 were not near." 
 
 "They know and do not fear their friends," said the 
 mother abstractedly, " and you have been their harmless 
 playmate so long that they know all about you." And 
 the poor woman gave a long sigh. 
 
 " Now what does that mean, mother? " 
 
 "That you cannot always have such innocent and 
 harmless companions. You are growing up, Vera. 
 You cannot always be a little wild-flower of the woods. 
 You must make acquaintances ere long. It is needful 
 that you should. But how are you to make them ? 
 Where are you to find them ? We are strangely situated. 
 I wish we had some good neighbors, and your father did 
 not feel as he does." 
 
 "Ought I then to have stayed and spoken to this 
 young man? " 
 
 " No, darling, you did right. He was an utter 
 stranger. And yet such are all the world. The ordinary 
 ties which unite us to our fellow creatures seem utterly 
 broken, and our isolation is so complete that I see no es- 
 cape from it. For myself I do not mind it. I am con-
 
 VESA AND HER HOME 23 
 
 tent. But for your sake, Vera, I do indeed wish it were 
 otherwise." 
 
 " I too am content, mother. The woods are full of 
 playmates for me, and we chatter away to each other as 
 merrily as the day is- long. We are beginning to under- 
 stand each other too. Do you know, mother, that the 
 sounds of nature seem a sort of language which I am 
 fast learning ? I went out on the hills the other day after 
 the shower, and found a brook and a brown-thrush sing- 
 ing a duet together, and I sat down and mocked them till 
 I learned what they were saying " and in almost perfect 
 mimicry she first gave the gurgling murmur of the stream 
 and then the mellow whistle of the thrush. 
 
 " You are a strange child, Vera. But what did the 
 brook and bird say ? I do not understand their 
 language." 
 
 "Why, it's plain as can be. They said, ' Cheer up, 
 Vera. Let not your heart be troubled. After the shower 
 comes the sunshine.' What else could they mean? 
 There was the brook sparkling in the sunlight, and sing- 
 ing the louder for the shower ; and there was the little 
 bird, which neither the lightning nor the rain had hurt." 
 
 Tears came into the mother's eyes, and kissing her 
 child, she said : 
 
 " Good-night, Vera ; you are so innocent that God 
 talks with you, as he did with Adam and Eve in the 
 garden." 
 
 The mother returned to the main room, which was also 
 used as a sleeping apartment. Gula had already retired 
 by some rude steps to her loft overhead. 
 
 With the dawn of the next day, the mother was awak- 
 ened by Vera's receding voice, mingling with the songs 
 of her music-masters, the birds, and knew that she had 
 gone for the promised strawberries. Before very long, 
 she returned with an oddly constructed basket of broad 
 leaves, heaped up with the dantiest fruit of the year, and
 
 24 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 a moment later the cabin was filled with their wild aroma, 
 as, with scarlet fingers, Vera quickly prepared them for 
 breakfast. 
 
 " How kind it was of you to get us these berries," said 
 her mother. " I thought 1 had lost my appetite alto- 
 gether, but these taste so good that I must be better. Per- 
 haps they will make me well." 
 
 The flush of pleasure that came into Vera's face vied 
 with the ruby fruit, and she said, joyously : 
 
 " You shall have them, mother, as long as there is one 
 to be found in the shadiest nook." 
 
 The light of day now revealed clearly the character of 
 their abode, which, in its exterior, did not differ greatly 
 from the ordinary log cabin of the frontier. There had 
 evidently been an effort to make it exceedingly strong, 
 and on every side were loop-holes, through which could 
 be passed the muzzle of a rifle. 
 
 But the usual bareness and unsightliness of these 
 primitive dwellings had been quite removed by festoons 
 of the American woodbine (or ivy) which Vera had 
 planted at the corners, and trained along the eaves and 
 to the very ridge. There were also attempts at flower- 
 beds, in which she had sought to tame some of her wild 
 favorites of the woods. 
 
 But the interior was an interesting study, from the 
 effort of refinement, everywhere manifest, to triumph 
 over the rudest materials. Such of the furniture as had 
 been bought, was strong and plain, and had evidently 
 been selected from motives of economy. This had been 
 added to and supplemented as far as the ingenuity of the 
 inmates permitted, and on every side were seen pretty 
 little things that were not childish, and yet would please 
 a child. 
 
 Autumn leaves, still brilliant, which Vera had pressed, 
 with great pains, between dry leaves preserved for the 
 purpose, festooned the unsightly walls, producing an ef-
 
 VEEA AND HER HOME 25 
 
 feet that gave the young girl more content then Gobelin 
 tapestry gives to its princely possessors. Mingling with 
 these festoons were button-balls, cut the preceding 
 autumn from the plane-tree, and bright red berries. In 
 one corner was a huge hornet's nest, suspended from the 
 branch where its savage little architects had built it the 
 year before, and whose construction Vera had watched 
 with great interest, until, in the fall, the paper citadel, 
 that an army would hesitate to attack, was evacuated ; 
 then she had carried it home as a trophy. But she found 
 that it still contained a small garrison, which occasioned 
 no little commotion as they recovered from their torpor in 
 the warmth of the room. On a spray beside this fortress, 
 was placed, for contrast, an abode of peace a hum- 
 ming-bird's tiny nest. In place of prosaic pegs and 
 hooks, the antlers of the stag were fastened here and 
 there, and served many a useful purpose. Rustic 
 brackets, and a cross of gray bark, with a mossy base, 
 divested the apartment of all appearance of the squalid 
 poverty that often characterizes the pioneer's cabin. 
 
 But the principal feature was the wide stone fireplace 
 into which for many years Vera could pass without stoop- 
 ing, and in the corner of which she still sat on winter 
 evenings, reading by the light of the blazing fire, her in- 
 exhaustible story book, the " Plays of William Shake- 
 speare." Over the hearth was a great iron crane ; and 
 it was a proud day for Vera when she learned to relieve 
 her mother by swinging it in and out, deftly hanging 
 thereon the sooty kettle, without smirching her hands or 
 dress. Above a rude mantel, on which Vera had placed 
 some odd little ornaments gathered in her rambles, were 
 suspended a long rifle of very fine workmanship, and a 
 silver-mounted fowling-piece, which the exiles had 
 brought with them, rightly estimating their value when 
 seeking a refuge in the wilderness. The shotgun was light 
 but strong, and of exquisite finish, and had in other days
 
 26 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 brought down many a pheasant in English parks. It 
 carried just as truly now, and Vera had learned to be 
 almost as unerring in its use as her father. In conse- 
 quence, a plump partridge frequently graced their board 
 that too often was meagre enough. For a large part of 
 the year game was their principal food, as her father sup- 
 ported his family by hunting and trapping. But of late 
 he had grown so moody and uncertain in his actions, that 
 for days he would sit in his shadowy corner brooding over 
 some dark secret of the past. It would then devolve on 
 Vera alone to supply the needs of the household, and at 
 times the poor child's heart was heavy, as weary and dis- 
 couraged she returned in the evening only to report 
 her ill-success. Then her father would rouse up as if his 
 manhood were struggling against the paralysis creeping 
 over his mind, and he would be more like his former self. 
 But as Vera grew older, and more acquainted with the 
 habits and haunts of game, and learned in what waters 
 to drop her line successfully, she became more self-reliant 
 and confident that she could at least maintain a supply of 
 food if the worst came to the worst. On days when the 
 man's mind was most unclouded, he would, at his wife's 
 solicitation, take the skins and products of the chase to 
 some village down the river, and barter them for such 
 things as were needed. A little of the hoard of gold 
 which they had brought with them still remained, and 
 was kept for some emergency of the future. 
 
 Thus the years passed on, and Vera was ceasing to be 
 a child in appearance, though still a child in guileless 
 simplicity, and content with the pleasures and duties 
 which had filled her time thus far.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ICONOCLASTS 
 
 THE northern breeze caused Saville's boat to glide rap- 
 idly through the looming shadows of the lower Highlands, 
 and in comparatively brief time lights glimmered invitingly 
 from the village of Peekskill, which was situated at the 
 head of a wide bay upon the eastern shore. Here he 
 decided to seek refreshment and spend the night, intending 
 to pursue his homeward journey the following morning. 
 
 The episode of the afternoon had formed a pleasing but 
 temporary diversion to the thoughts it had interrupted ; 
 but now, with increasing power to pain and agitate, they 
 came trooping back. In the consciousness of solitude and 
 in the enshrouding darkness, he made less effort at self- 
 control. His features were distorted by contending 
 emotions, and he often gave vent to passionate exclama- 
 tions. It was evident that a painful question was press- 
 ing upon him for immediate solution, and that the 
 results of his action in any case would be very serious. 
 
 But by the time he reached the rude wharf he regained 
 his self-command, and having moored his boat, sought a 
 dwelling which combined the character of farmhouse and 
 tavern. Here he received a welcome that was but in 
 part professional, for in those days of limited travel, a 
 stranger was an event, and a guest in reality as well as 
 in name, being often made much of, and becoming an 
 object of absorbing interest, it might be added also, of 
 curiosity, to his entertainers. 
 
 Saville found the little inn already in a state of excite-, 
 ment and bustle over the arrival of an old acquaintance
 
 28 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 of his own, a wealthy, pleasure-loving young gentleman 
 from the city below, who was off on a fishing excursion, 
 and who eagerly sought to gain Saville as a companion. 
 
 " What is the news from the army before Boston? " 
 asked Saville, gloomily. 
 
 " ' The army before Boston ' be hanged, and the army 
 in Boston also. I could not sit down to dinner but a fire- 
 brand of a patriot would pluck one sleeve, and demand, 
 ' Are you for Liberty ? ' and an. ancient fossil who had 
 brushed against a duke, or mayhap a duchess, would 
 pluck the other sleeve, and querulously question, ' Are 
 you not for the King ? ' It was in vain that I anathema- 
 tized both, and said, ' No, I'm for dinner.' There is no 
 such thing as peace down there, unless you are ranting 
 on one side or the other. So I snatched my fishing tackle, 
 and showing a clean pair of heels, am here among the 
 mountains. It's a confounded poor world for a man to 
 enjoy himself in. There are always two parties in it 
 bound to devour each other, and if you won't raven on 
 one side or the other, they'll both turn in and rend you. 
 I don't care whether the laws are made in Philadelphia 
 or London, if they will only let me alone. There, I'm 
 through with the accursed squabbles of the hour. I'm 
 here to get rid of them, and intend for the next few days 
 to forget the existence of both Parliament and Congress. 
 So come with me, and keep out of purgatory as long as 
 you can." 
 
 In spite of his prolonged mental conflict, Saville still 
 felt himself unequal to solve the question that burdened 
 him ; and so to gain time and distract his thoughts, he 
 complied with his friend's wish. 
 
 On the following morning they started, equipped for 
 the sport. It was the Sabbath, but in Saville's estima- 
 tion the day was no more sacred than would be a Decadi 
 of the coming French Revolution. He had lived in in- 
 fidel France sufficiently long to regard the Sabbath as a
 
 THE ICONOCLASTS 29 
 
 relic of superstition. He was a disciple of the " New 
 Philosophy," and had faith in naught save man, and 
 man was a law unto himself. 
 
 But the sport which completely absorbed his companion 
 dragged heavily with Saville, and after a few days he 
 returned to his boat, resolving to put off his decision no 
 longer ; so the latter part of the week saw him again 
 beating southward against the wind with many a long 
 tack, as the river broadened before him. 
 
 Saville' s position was a trying one, and yet not peculiar 
 in that day when the plowshare of division ran, not only 
 through communities, social circles, and churches, but 
 also through families, severing the closest ties. In order 
 that his present circumstances and character may be 
 better understood, it will be necessary to take a brief 
 glance into the past. 
 
 Theron Saville combined both the F'rench and Dutch 
 elements in his parentage. On his father's side he came 
 from that grand old Huguenot stock which has largely 
 leavened for good the American character. He had 
 thus inherited a legacy of prayer and sacred memories 
 from his ancestry, and might if he would, receive the 
 blessing which descends to children's children : a " cove- 
 nant-keeping God" would faithfully seek to reclaim 
 him from evil. But he had utterly abandoned the faith of 
 his fathers, and was now an open unbeliever. 
 
 His moral state was the natural result of the influences 
 he had fallen under during his education. In accordance 
 with a custom quite common among patrician families in 
 colonial days, he had been sent to Europe to finish his 
 studies. After a few years at an English university he 
 went to Paris to acquire his profession, that of military and 
 civil engineering. But his tastes did not lead in the di- 
 rection of exact and practical science, and he appreciated 
 the French opera far more than French roads and fortifi- 
 cations. But it was the new and skeptical literature of
 
 30 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 that chaotic age that chiefly fascinated him. The bril- 
 liant theorists and iconoclasts who were then, with jest 
 and infinite wit, recklessly sapping the foundations of the 
 slowly built structures of human belief, of social custom, 
 and of established government, seemed to him the heroes 
 of the world. He, as little as they, foresaw the crashing 
 ruin for which they were preparing. Bigoted violence 
 had succeeded only too well in stamping out and exiling 
 the Huguenot element, and what then passed for religion 
 in France, was such a wretched imposition as to be de- 
 spised even by its consecrated priests. Social distinc- 
 tions were arbitrary and unnatural. Etiquette ruled in 
 the place of fidelity and principle, and behind this tinsel 
 mask gross license rioted. Government had become 
 simply the oppression of the many by the few an organ- 
 ized system to rob the people that the titled might indulge 
 in unbounded extravagance. The corner-stone, which is 
 the family, with its sacred and guarded rights, had crum- 
 bled, and the whole social and political fabric was conse- 
 quently tottering in inevitable weakness. The character 
 of the times made it far easier to scoff and strike at all 
 institutions that should be sacred than to reform them ; 
 and the leading minds of the day were great only in their 
 genius for satire and innovation. But it was the fearful 
 degeneracy in the institutions themselves that gave point 
 to the sarcasm, and it was their crumbling weakness that 
 made blows, which now seem puny, then to appear 
 herculean. 
 
 Young Saville, unschooled by experience, had just the 
 temperament to be carried away by the railing and ir- 
 reverent spirit of the age. Naturally visionary, enthusi- 
 astic, and gifted with far more imagination than judg- 
 ment, he reveled in the "Atheistic Philosophy," and 
 exulted over it as the groundwork of a new and better 
 order of things. Voltaire enchained him by his bound- 
 less wit. Diderot, and even Helvetius with his grcss,
 
 THE ICONOCLASTS 31 
 
 materialistic theory, that sensation originates all that 
 there is in man, became his masters, while in political 
 creed he was a disciple of Jean Jacques Rousseau. 
 Liberty, which was of an impossible kind liberty, which 
 from the absence of safeguards and foundations must, 
 and in fact did, degenerate into the wildest license, be- 
 came his dream ; and he hoped to become eventually 
 an apostle of this French ideal of freedom, in his own 
 land. 
 
 Yet when the time came for Saville to return to New 
 York, he had not become utterly vitiated by the evil in- 
 fluences which were then demoralizing a nation. Some- 
 thing in the old Huguenot blood and in his early training 
 still remained in his nature as a germ that might be de- 
 veloped into healthful growth. He was not false, though 
 unrestrained by religion, or even by what was regarded 
 as morality in his own land ; he accepted the world's 
 code of honor and unlike the world in which he had 
 been living, was true to it. His word bound him ; and 
 though capable of very wrong action, he shrank from 
 anything mean, base, or ungrateful. He was not coldly, 
 selfishly, and deliberately depraved at heart. He scoffed 
 with his favorite author, Voltaire, not at what he believed 
 sacred, but at what, in that false age, pretended to 
 sacredness, and was in fact a solemn and venerable farce. 
 The truth back of this, which had been corrupted or 
 abandoned altogether, he did not recognize nor even be- 
 lieve in its existence. A false priesthood had made re- 
 ligion a byword and a hissing. As ignorant and super- 
 ficial as the leaders of opinion, he did not distinguish the 
 purer faith of his fathers from the gross superstition from 
 which it had separated itself, but condemned all religion 
 as the folly of credulity, the evidence of a weak and 
 unenlightened mind. 
 
 He was heartily in sympathy with Rousseau's best 
 characteristic, hatred of the artificial and unnatural, and
 
 32 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 joined in his protest against the absurd and arbitrary 
 tyranny of etiquette and monstrous custom. He believed 
 with the great innovator, that after the rags had been 
 taken from the peasant, and the titles and court dress 
 lifted from the noble, in each case remained that essential 
 atom of society man ; and he held that this human 
 unit, with its innate rights and qualities, naturally devel- 
 oped, must be the starting point in the reorganization of 
 the political fabric. 
 
 He could not then see that he and his teachers would 
 ever build in vain, even were they to attempt reconstruc- 
 tion ; for they ignored man's moral and spiritual nature 
 and its needs. Let man build his side of the arch never 
 so well, the work would crumble, because the opposite 
 side, which is God and the pure morality of his law, and 
 the key-stone, which is intelligent faith and obedience, 
 would be utterly lacking. 
 
 But there was hope for Saville, because he was so sin- 
 cere in his skepticism ; because he accepted so enthusi- 
 astically theories, the majority of which now have in 
 history a record like that of brilliant meteors only. He 
 had not reached the most hopeless of mental attitudes, 
 that of coldly doubting everything, nor had he sunk into 
 the apathy of discouragement, or plunged into the reck- 
 lessness of those who see nothing good or sure save 
 present gratification. 
 
 His authors were demi-gods, and adorned a temple of 
 fame which he might enter. He was not near enough to 
 know the selfishness, meanness, and often baseness of 
 their lives. If he had read the confessions of Rousseau, 
 he might not so readily have become his disciple. The 
 fact that he could honestly believe in these writers and 
 their teachings, proved him capable of accepting the truth 
 with equal heartiness, when once apprehended. 
 
 Saville heard with pleasure of the growing restlessness 
 in the American colonies under British rule, and ardently
 
 THE ICONOCLASTS 33 
 
 hoped that he might there become a leading advocate of 
 the broad liberty of the new philosophy. 
 
 It became his favorite dream that he might be one of 
 the founders of a republic in the new world, in which 
 liberty and equality should be the corner-stones, human 
 reason the sole architect, and nature the inspiration. 
 During his voyage home, he spent much of his time in 
 the imaginary construction of this Utopia of the future, 
 in which he hoped to have no mean place. Nor was it 
 at all surprising that one of his age and temperament 
 should have fallen completely under the influence of the 
 philosophy that was then sweeping over the world.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 " FOR WORSE" 
 
 SAVILLE had not been long in his native city before an 
 event occurred that changed the spirit of his dreams, or 
 rather blended them with others of a different nature. 
 The nebulous goddess of liberty, at whose feet he had 
 been worshiping, was exchanged for a creature of flesh 
 and blood, earthy indeed, material even to her mind. 
 But Saville had a faculty of seeing things, not as they 
 were, but through a transfiguring mist of his own imag- 
 ination. 
 
 During his voyage home, his father had died suddenly, 
 and, in consequence, young Saville, for a few months 
 immediately after his return, was much secluded from 
 social and political life. Sorrow renders the heart more 
 tender and receptive, and there were long and vacant 
 days to be beguiled. His mother, who had inherited the 
 thrifty traits of her Dutch ancestry, availed herself of this 
 opportunity to secure an alliance which worldly wisdom 
 would commend, inasmuch as the young lady in ques- 
 tion was the heiress of property which would double the 
 large wealth of her son, and thus, of course, double his 
 happiness. Their mutual acres were so situated that 
 they could be joined together with great advantage. 
 Whether the moral and mental qualities of the parties 
 themselves were equally adapted to union, was not con- 
 sidered, and indeed seldom is, by your sagacious match- 
 maker, who to the end of time will be filled with self- 
 congratulation on having united estates. That two poor 
 souls must henceforth dwell in purgatorial fires of dis- 
 cord, or become polished icicles under the steady frost
 
 "FOR WORSE" 35 
 
 of indifference, is a mere matter of sentiment. Two acres 
 instead of one is a solid consideration, and ought to 
 satisfy any heart. 
 
 Mrs. Saville loved her son after her fashion, and was 
 serving him, as she supposed, in the best and most en- 
 during manner. She was aware that society would re- 
 gard the match as brilliant ; and to have the world nod 
 approval was as great a thing a hundred years ago as to- 
 day. She had met the parents, the uncles, and aunts of 
 the coveted heiress, in solemn conclave on the subject, 
 and found them quite as ready to enter into the arrange- 
 ment as herself. With many fine speeches they disguised 
 the property considerations uppermost in each mind, and 
 it was agreed that the young lady's disposition should 
 be delicately inclined to assist. That wilful factor in the 
 problem, however, bluntly said, "I'll wait and see him 
 first." 
 
 This very natural decision disturbed Mrs. Saville but 
 little ; for she knew that unless her son had changed 
 greatly, his appearance would be in his favor. Her 
 chief ground of anxiety was the action of the young man 
 himself. 
 
 "Men are so unreasonable," she said; "but unless 
 Theron is utterly blind to his own interests, he must see 
 things as we do. The young lady I have chosen for 
 him is rich, handsome, and of one of the first families 
 in the colony. Indeed her relatives in England are 
 titled." 
 
 All this was true. Mrs. Saville had weighed externals 
 carefully. Julia Ashburton was very handsome after her 
 type and style. The prudent mother had considered 
 everything save the viewless, subtle spirit which dwelt 
 within the beauty, and which would prove, to the sorrow 
 of all concerned, the spirit of a Tartar. 
 
 Verily Saville was utterly blind to his own interests ; 
 for, soon after his return, he delighted his mother and
 
 36 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the other schemers by action that accorded with their 
 plans. 
 
 Miss Ashburton was eminently gifted with the power to 
 awaken passion ; and in one who, like Theron Saville, 
 saw everything through the transfiguring haze of his own 
 fancy, she could even inspire an approach to love. But 
 a man who desired a wife, a home, and domestic peace, 
 would look askance at her. Her black eyes were too 
 near together, and emitted scintillations rather than the 
 pure, steady light of a womanly nature. They could 
 fascinate and beguile with something of a serpent's 
 power, but they would drop abashed before the search- 
 ing gaze of an honest man. Her forehead was none too 
 low, but it was narrow. The development of her lower 
 face was full ; not too much so, perhaps, for sensuous 
 beauty, but to a close observer it would suggest the trait 
 of stubbornness, and the possibility that passion might 
 triumph over all restraint. But it was the perfection of 
 her form which she was not at all chary in displaying 
 and her grace of carriage, which constituted her chief 
 attractions. She was as lithe and supple as a leopard, as 
 well as feline in many of her qualities. 
 
 But Saville glorified her into ideal womanhood, and 
 she for a time fostered his delusion. Having seen the 
 handsome young stranger, who possessed all the courtly 
 bearing and polish that could be acquired in French 
 salons, she readily joined in the family conspiracy. She 
 was as gentle and sympathetic as it was in her nature to 
 be, and gave him most of her time. A spirit less exuber- 
 ant than Saville' s would have had a vague sense of dis- 
 satisfaction a consciousness of something wanting in 
 both her words and manner ; but his heart, generous to a 
 fault, was deeply touched by her show of regard for his 
 recent bereavement, and his love for her was mingled 
 with gratitude. Soon she saw him a captive at her feet, 
 and could make her own terms.
 
 "FOR WORSE" 37 
 
 During the long hours spent together, he, hoping to 
 find a sympathetic and congenial spirit, had often en- 
 larged (to her horror) on his favorite dreams of broad, 
 democratic liberty and equality. He even permitted her 
 to see his bitter hostility to everything that bore the name 
 of religion, or superstition, as he would characterize it, 
 and he regarded all forms of faith as the chosen instru- 
 ments of tyranny. He believed that he could soon 
 kindle in her an enthusiasm equal to his own for the new 
 and glorious ideas that he had acquired abroad, and for 
 the reception of which, he imagined, events were rapidly 
 preparing America. 
 
 Now, Miss Ashburton was, by nature and education, 
 as hostile to these ideas as it was possible for any one to 
 be. She was a Tory and royalist to her heart's core, as 
 were all her family ; and their descent from a titled*house 
 in England was the cherished source of their abounding 
 pride. 
 
 The girl to whom Saville often discoursed of his 
 Utopian dreams, in a manner so rapt and preoccupied 
 that he scarcely noted her effort to disguise her apathy 
 and distaste, was not capable of enthusiasm for anything 
 save herself. Selfishness, the bane of all character, 
 especially of woman's, had consumed the kindly endow- 
 ments of her nature, and sometimes, when her lover's 
 face was flushed in the excitement of his own thronging 
 thoughts, which were at least large and generous, if 
 mainly erratic, there would come a crafty, and even 
 vindictive, gleam into her eyes, which seemed to say, 
 " I will endure with such patience as I can, until the 
 uniting links in the chain are forged, and then you must 
 listen to me." 
 
 If, at times, her manner chilled him, and he imagined 
 her lacking in sympathy, he consoled himself by the 
 thought that she did not yet understand these great 
 themes, and that he could not expect her to reach in a
 
 38 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 few weeks the advanced views, which, in his case, had 
 required years, and that, too, where they formed the 
 political and social atmosphere in which men lived. 
 
 As for Miss Ashburton, she soon perceived what she 
 regarded the weak point in his character the one that 
 would give her the advantage in the inevitable conflict 
 that must come after marriage ; and that was his loyalty 
 to his word a scrupulous, generous, though perverted 
 sense of honor. He was a true gentleman, after the 
 fashionable French ideal, and not according to the 
 French reality. It was a sad fact, that in that debauched 
 and chaotic age, the ninth commandment, and, indeed, 
 every other in the Decalogue, rested as lightly on the 
 French conscience as the seventh. Of course there 
 were many honorable exceptions, and to these Saville 
 belonged. 
 
 Therefore, when in due time he poured out his passion, 
 she was full of demure hesitancy and doubt. " Would 
 he be faithful to her? " she asked. " He had lived too 
 long in Paris, where men's eyes and fancies were given 
 too great freedom. He believed in such new and strange 
 French doctrines, which seemed to unsettle everything, 
 even religion, and was captivated by French ideas in 
 general. How could she be sure that she had secured a 
 steady, loyal, English husband?" 
 
 In view of Saville's theories and rhapsodies she might 
 perhaps have urged these objections with some reason. 
 But the astute maiden had no fears on these grounds. 
 She was skilfully playing part of a prearranged game. 
 She would bind him by many and varied pledges. She 
 would keep him. from the course on which his heart 
 was bent, by promises that now seemed silken cords 
 of love and loyalty, but would afterwards prove galling 
 fetters by which she would hold him captive ander a 
 merciless tyranny. 
 
 Unsuspicious of her object, he gave her pledges in-
 
 "FOR WORSE" 39 
 
 numerable, which could readily be made to bear the 
 meaning she designed, but which in his mind had -no 
 such purport. Having ensnared and woven a web 
 around her victim, she gracefully permitted herself to be 
 won. 
 
 It was a rude awakening that Saville had from his de- 
 lirium of love, and dream of inspiring sympathy in his 
 career as an apostle of the broadest liberty, wherein all 
 kings, human and divine, were to be overthrown. His 
 wife had been under restraint too long already for one of 
 her wilful, self-pleasing nature, and she threw off the 
 mask with unseemly haste. To his dismay he found that 
 he had married a pretty bigot, who would not hear a 
 word against church or state, the venerable abuses of 
 which were even dearer to her than their excellencies. 
 Nay, more, she told him that by all his oaths of loyalty 
 to her he was bound to the Tory side, which was then 
 rapidly becoming defined in distinction from the Whig, 
 or patriot party ; and such was the ingenuity of her 
 feminine tact, that in his bewilderment he half feared 
 that she was right ; and that he, like the Hebrew slaves, 
 would be compelled to build the structures he would 
 gladly tear down. 
 
 At first, he chafed like a lion in the toils ; but on every 
 side she met him with the meshes of his own unwary 
 promises. In vain he protested that loyalty to her did 
 not involve loyalty to institutions that he hated. 
 
 " I am identified with these causes," she would coolly 
 reply. 
 
 By this chain of loyalty to her, she would even drag 
 him to church, and made religion seem tenfold more hate- 
 ful by the farce she there enacted. His eyes were now 
 opened, and he readily saw that she was a bigot to the 
 forms of worship, and that the doctrines of her church 
 were neither understood nor considered. Her spirit was 
 that of the Italian bandit, who will shed his own blood
 
 40 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 to carry out the purposes of his priest, and the blood 
 of any one else that his interest or revenge may require. 
 
 Thus the wretched months dragged on, and Saville was 
 a moody captive. As the stirring events thickened which 
 prepared the way for the overt acts of the Revolution, he 
 was often greatly excited, and inclined to break his fet- 
 ters ; but he was ever confronted by a will more resolute 
 than his own. 
 
 "To whom do you owe the more sacred duty," 
 she would ask ; " this wretched cabal of blatant rebels 
 who will find halters around their necks if they go much 
 further, or your wife to whom you have pledged your 
 honor ? " 
 
 His young friends in the patriot ranks were greatly dis- 
 appointed in him. Before marriage, his utterances had 
 been pronounced and radical ; now he was silent and 
 kept himself aloof. 
 
 There were many sneers about the "apron-strings of 
 a Tory wife," and the "difference between large swell- 
 ing words and the giving and taking of honest blows." 
 Some of these flings reached Saville, and stung him al- 
 most to frenzy. 
 
 Of course anything like love or even passion died out 
 between these two, whom relatives had so complacently 
 matched, but who never could be mated. 
 
 At first, Saville often appealed to her, earnestly and 
 even passionately, to be a wife in reality, and not to 
 thwart every hope and aspiration of his life. 
 
 She would exasperate him by coolly replying, " Only 
 as I check and thwart your wild fancies and mad action 
 can I be a true wife. Can't you see that you are bent 
 on ruining us both ? Your mind is full of monstrous 
 innovations. It is as if you should say in the dead of 
 winter, I have a vague plan of a better home than this. 
 Let me tear down our house, and I will build something 
 different. Not while I keep my senses. What would
 
 "FOR WORSE 11 41 
 
 our property be worth under the ' nouvelle ordre ' as you 
 call it?" 
 
 " But, madam, you do not consider me at all, but only 
 the property. Am I to have no other career than that of 
 a steward of our joint estates ? " 
 
 "That is better than a rebel's halter. But let us end 
 this useless discussion. You are a man of honor, and 
 your word is pledged." 
 
 The tidings of the battle of Lexington almost brought 
 things to a crisis, and resulted in a stormy scene be- 
 tween husband and wife. His passion and invective 
 were so terrible as to alarm even her for a time. And 
 yet it only served to intensify the settled obstinacy 
 of her nature. It also greatly increased a growing dis- 
 like for him, which needed only time to develop into 
 hatred. 
 
 At the close of this memorable interview, she said 
 harshly, 
 
 " I have endured this folly long enough. You must 
 either give up this madness wholly and utterly, or else 
 trample upon your honor and duty, and proclaim your- 
 self a perjured villain. The day you join the rebel crew, 
 you desert your wife ; and I will never so much as touch 
 your hand again." 
 
 " Do you mean that? " he asked hoarsely. 
 
 " The God you dare to despise is my witness. I do." 
 
 " Pitiful are the gods which attract such worshipers," 
 he sneered, and turning on his heel, he left her. 
 
 He now saw that the crisis had indeed come. He 
 had learned to know his wife sufficiently well to be aware 
 that neither appeals nor circumstances could change her 
 views and actions. She formed her opinions and pur- 
 poses solely on the grounds of her own prejudices and 
 wishes ; and a nature without generous impulses made her 
 coldly obstinate in their maintenance. 
 
 And now what should he do? The epithet "perjured
 
 42 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 villain ' ' stood in the path to patriotic action, like a grisly 
 spectre, for perjured he knew that she would make him 
 appear to her family. 
 
 If his own interests only were involved, he would not 
 have had a moment's hesitancy. But was it right to risk 
 his property and life in rebellion, and perhaps bring his 
 mother to poverty and danger in her old age ? For she, 
 too, by many an eloquent appeal assured him that he 
 would be false to the sacred duties which he owed her in 
 her widowhood ; and by the whole force of the filial 
 bond, sought to chain his generous nature to inaction. 
 He was thus torn by contending emotions, and tortured 
 by conflicting claims. His cheeks grew wan, and his face 
 haggard, in as cruel a captivity as ever man endured. 
 But both mother and wife looked on unsympathetically. 
 They were in the most aggravating condition of mind 
 towards the sufferer, complacently sure that they were 
 right and he wrong ; that they were acting for his best 
 good, and that he, like a rash, foolish child, must be held 
 in steady restraint until he should pass beyond the folly 
 of his youth. Their treatment was as humiliating as it 
 was galling. 
 
 And yet he did not know what was right, for he had no 
 true moral standard. He had cast away that book of 
 divine ethics, which clearly defines the relative force of 
 each claim upon the conscience, and which, in an 
 emergency like this, calmly lifts a man up to the sacrifice 
 of himself and every earthly tie, that God may be honored, 
 and humanity at large served. 
 
 But, in his creed, as we have seen, man was his own 
 law; and while his heart said, "Join the cause of free- 
 dom," a perverted sense of honor said, " No, your word 
 has made you the slave of your wife's bigotry, and your 
 mother's fears." 
 
 In vain he appealed to his mother, telling her how 
 patriotic ladies in the city were urging their sons to
 
 "FOE WORSE 11 43 
 
 heroic action, and teaching even their little children the 
 alphabet of liberty. She would only weep and prophesy 
 dismally. 
 
 " When these mothers see their sons brought home 
 mangled corpses, and their pleasant homes burned, and 
 their children turned adrift upon the heartless world, they 
 will shed tears of blood over their folly. I love you too 
 well to permit you to rush to your own destruction as 
 truly as to mine." 
 
 She always assumed that it would be impossible for 
 him to go without her permission. 
 
 His bitter reply at last became, " Your love will be my 
 death by slow torture." 
 
 " Nonsense, my child," the old lady answered, almost 
 petulantly. "You will soon see the day when you will 
 thank me from the bottom of your heart for having kept 
 you out of this wretched broil, which will ruin all who 
 engage in it." 
 
 Thus there was not even sympathy for him at home, 
 but only a riveting of the fetters which were eating into 
 his very soul. So he came to indulge in long and lonely 
 expeditions, by which he sought to escape, in some de- 
 gree, the painful conditions of his city life.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 
 
 THE explanatory digression of the two previous chapters 
 left Saville returning from one of these flights from the 
 tormenting difficulties of his position. In due time he 
 approached his native city, passing for miles along rugged 
 and heavily wooded shores, that now are occupied by 
 spacious warehouses, and wharves crowded with the 
 commerce of the world. 
 
 By the time he reached a point opposite where Canal 
 Street now ends at the North River, his attention was 
 drawn to a large flotilla, just leaving the Jersey shore. 
 Remembering that it was Sunday afternoon, he was still 
 more surprised to find that on grounds adjoining his own 
 estate, near the foot of Murray Street of our day, an 
 immense concourse of people were assembled. His boat 
 soon reached his private quay, where he found his body- 
 servant, who had come down to the shore, with thousands 
 of others, to witness some great event. 
 
 His master's face was sufficient interrogation to gar- 
 rulous Larry, and he at once launched forth. 
 
 "Glad ter see yer honor. Yer jist in time. Faix, 
 sure, there's great doin's on foot. The rebels, as yer 
 leddy calls 'em, are gittin' bold as lions, an' will eat us 
 up if we don't jine the bastes. I'm half a mind to turn 
 rebel meself." 
 
 " Stop your nonsense, Larry. Who are those coming 
 yonder across the river, and what does this concourse 
 mean?" 
 
 " It manes more than I can tell ye in a breath, yer 
 honor. But that's Gin'ral Washington himself that's a
 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 46 
 
 comin' there, and the rebels have knocked bloody blazes 
 out of the red-coats in Bosting." 
 
 These tidings were sufficient to arouse Saville's ardent 
 spirit to the highest pitch of excitement. Mingling with 
 the throng at the spot near which the disembarkation 
 must occur, he met an acquaintance from whom he ob- 
 tained a more satisfactory, if not succinct, explanation 
 of what he saw. 
 
 The battle of Bunker Hill had been fought, and be- 
 hind a slight breast-work constructed by a few hours' 
 labor, his countrymen had met and thrice repulsed 
 the veterans of Europe. In the torrent of blood which 
 flowed that day, the Revolution had become a fact to 
 which men could close their eyes no longer. The time 
 had arrived when all must take sides ; and Saville recog- 
 nized the truth that he must now choose with which party 
 he would east his lot. He was in an agony of conflicting 
 feelings, and hoped that something in the stirring events 
 of the hour might settle the question which he felt 
 scarcely able to decide himself. 
 
 He gained a standing place upon a projecting rock on 
 the beach, from which he had a good view both of the 
 crowded shore and the approaching flotilla, and his en- 
 thusiastic nature kindled momentarily as he gazed on 
 the scene. 
 
 It was a lovely summer afternoon. The sun shone 
 bright but not too warm, and gave a touch of beauty 
 and lightsomeness even to things prosaic and common- 
 place in themselves. But there was little that was or- 
 dinary on this occasion. There, facing him on a 
 sloping bank, was such a throng of his fellow townsmen 
 as he had never before seen together, their faces aflame 
 with excitement. Near him were drawn up in martial 
 array a thousand men with glittering accoutrements, 
 and bayonets whose points the declining sun tipped with 
 fire.
 
 46 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 When the boats approached the land, even the heavy 
 booming of the cannon was drowned by that most awe- 
 inspiring sound of earth the shout of a multitude, 
 wherein the thought, the intense feeling and resolute 
 purpose of the soul finds loud, vehement utterance. It 
 is a sound that stirs the most sluggish nature. How 
 then would the spirit of one be moved who, like Theron 
 Saville, believed that the voice of the people was the 
 voice of God ? He did not shout with the others. His 
 excitement was too deep for noisy vent, but his face 
 grew stern, and his lips compressed with his forming 
 purpose. He was growing desperate, and \vas passing 
 into a mood in which he was ready to trample every tie 
 and extorted pledge under foot that he might join what 
 he believed would prove a crusade against all tyrants, 
 temporal and spiritual. 
 
 But his chief desire now was to look into the face of 
 Washington, of whom he had heard so often, and who 
 had even now gained much of that remarkable influence 
 which he was destined to possess over the young men of 
 the country. His rural and hunting tastes, his romantic, 
 military experience on the frontier, and his reputation for 
 the most daring courage, had already made him a hero 
 in a new country where such qualities would be most ap- 
 preciated. But to Saville, he was more than a hero, 
 more than a patriot and chivalrous soldier : he was a 
 forerunner and inaugurator of the golden age of liberty 
 and equality, which his fancy portrayed in the near 
 future. Groaning himself under the thraldom of the old 
 and hated regime, he regarded the coming commander- 
 in-chief as a captive in hard bondage might welcome a 
 deliverer. He expected to see a face that was a revolu- 
 tion in itself, eager, fiery, kindling others into flame by 
 its intense expression. 
 
 But, when a tall and stately man in the prow of the 
 foremost batteau uncovered, as he drew near the shore..
 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 47 
 
 in acknowledgment of the resounding acclamations, he 
 was at first disappointed. He was not looking on the 
 bold, defiant features of an innovator. There was 
 scarcely a trace even on that calm, noble face, of the 
 enthusiasm that was burning like a flame in his own 
 heart. 
 
 Wherein lay the man's greatness and power? In his 
 eagerness to see more nearly the one he now felt would 
 largely shape his own destiny, as well as that of others, 
 he sprang down the rock, and unconsciously stood in the 
 shallow water. Washington noted his eager action, and 
 turned his face full upon him with a kindly look and half- 
 inclination, while Saville removed his hat at once. 
 
 As Washington again lifted his eyes to the waiting 
 thousands, the young man scanned his face as if he 
 would there read his own fate. Here was a man who 
 had larger wealth and higher social position than himself, 
 and yet he had joined his fortunes to a cause which Sa- 
 ville's relatives characterized as both desperate and dis- 
 reputable. Here was the man towards whom the national 
 heart instinctively turned, and hailed as leader and chief. 
 As Washington looked to God for guidance and help, 
 Saville looked solely to man, and as we have said before, 
 with all the eagerness which the hope of his own deliver- 
 ance and the realization of his dreams could inspire, he 
 scrutinized the face before him to gather if this were the 
 coming man of the nouvelle ordre. 
 
 He did not see what he expected the embodied prin- 
 ciples of the French iconoclasts and reckless innovators, 
 but the native quickness of his race enabled him to ap- 
 prehend the spirit which animated Washington, and 
 which found expression in his honest face. There was 
 no elation, no appearance of gratified pride, which such 
 a reception would have evoked, had the elements of per- 
 sonal vanity existed largely in his nature. There was an 
 absence of all complacent self-confidence and self-asser-
 
 48 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 tion, and yet he inspired confidence, and more some- 
 thing of his own heroic and patient spirit of self-sacrifice 
 in behalf of a sacred cause. His face wore the solemn 
 aspect of one who felt himself charged with awful re- 
 sponsibilities. As he saw the thousands turning towards 
 him in hope and trust, the burden of the nation's weal 
 pressed heavier upon him. And yet there was not a 
 trace of weakness or shrinking in view of his mighty 
 tasks. His face had the calm, strong expression of one 
 who had counted the cost, who was wholly consecrated, 
 and who, without a thought of self, proposed to serve a 
 cause in which he fully believed, leaving to God the issue. 
 Like the ancient Hebrew leader who climbed Sinai's 
 height to the presence of God, he also had been prepared 
 above the clouds to lead the people who tarried on the 
 plain below. 
 
 Though Saville could not understand the source of 
 Washington's strength, still the calm, noble face quieted 
 him. Half unconsciously he was taught the difference 
 between mere enthusiasm and personal ambition, and a 
 resolute purpose combined with unselfish devotion. He 
 was generous and noble enough himself to appreciate the 
 heroic qualities embodied before him, and to be won to 
 something of the same spirit for the time being. Wash- 
 ington's appearance and character reconciled Saville's 
 heart and conscience, which had long been at variance, 
 and made him feel with the certainty of intuition, that the 
 cause which had won such a man was so sacred, that he 
 could be true to it, and at the same time true to every 
 duty he owed his wife and mother. 
 
 There are times when the mind, thoroughly aroused, 
 works with marvelous rapidity ; and the few moments 
 that intervened between the near approach and disem- 
 barking, gave that face, towards which so many were 
 turning for inspiration, time to preach Saville the only 
 sermon which he had ever heeded. The most effective
 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 49 
 
 sermons, after all, are those which are embodied. The 
 Word of God was a living person a Divine Man. 
 
 He who had been harassed so long by conflicting 
 claims, hesitated no longer. With his eyes fixed on the 
 man that, in his humanitarian creed, he was ready to 
 worship, he said in the low, deep tone of resolve 
 
 " His cause is mine from this hour forth. Liberty, 
 equality, or death." 
 
 Washington had landed, and Saville was possessed 
 with a desire to hear him speak, and so pressed towards 
 him with many others. General Schuyler, who stood at 
 his chief's side, had noticed the eager and interested air 
 of the young man. He knew Saville slightly, and the 
 thought occurred to him that it might be a good oppor- 
 tunity to secure the adherence of one who had thus far 
 stood aloof, but whose wealth and talents would be a 
 welcome addition to the cause. He spoke in a low tone 
 to Washington, and then stepping up to Saville, said, 
 
 " Let me present you to his Excellency, with others of 
 your fellow-citizens." 
 
 Before Saville could realize it, the man he adored had 
 taken him by the hand, saying, 
 
 " Mr. Saville, I hope you are with us in this good 
 cause." 
 
 With deep emotion, Saville replied, 
 
 " I am with you in any service the humblest which 
 your Excellency may require." 
 
 " Rest assured," said Washington, kindly, " that it will 
 be honorable service, for which your country will reward 
 you." 
 
 The young man stepped back, more proud and pleased 
 than if he had been decorated by all the sovereigns of 
 Europe. 
 
 The procession was now commencing to form. Saville 
 pushed his way out of the throng to where Larry was 
 gaping at the strange sights, and called,
 
 50 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Bring me my horse, saddled, within five minutes." 
 
 " Och, by the holy poker," gasped Larry, as he ran to 
 obey the order, " the maister is a goin' to turn rebel. 
 Thin I'll be a rebel, too ; for there's nary a man of 'em 
 all that can fight ould England wid a better stomach 
 than meself. Didn't she take the last praty out of me 
 bin at home? " 
 
 A little later, Saville, mounted on his favorite horse, 
 took a flying leap over his garden wall, and joined the 
 cavalcade of leading citizens who were to escort the 
 Commander-in-chief down Broadway ; while Larry fol- 
 lowed with the populace on foot, chaffing right and left 
 to the amusement of many listeners. 
 
 At length the pageantry was over, and in the purple 
 twilight Saville sought his home. Everything in nature 
 that Sabbath evening breathed of peace and tenderness, 
 but he justly feared that a scene of bitter and unrelenting 
 hostility was awaiting him. The coming battles in which 
 he would take part, would never require the nerve and 
 self-control that he must maintain this quiet June evening, 
 and in his own home. 
 
 In his exalted and generous mood, he determined to 
 make one more appeal before the final separation with 
 his wife took place. But meeting her on the piazza, he 
 saw by a glance that it would be a vain and humiliating 
 waste of words. 
 
 Her features were inflamed with passion, and upon her 
 full lower face rested the very impress of wilful stubborn- 
 ness. She had evidently heard of his action during the 
 afternoon, and surmised the result. Having never been 
 thwarted in her life, she now hated the man whose course 
 and motives were so utterly repugnant to her. 
 
 She stood in the doorway, dressed for walking, and, 
 not waiting for him to speak, said harshly : 
 
 " Well, sir, in a word, what is your decision ? " 
 
 " I have decided that I am a free man and a patriot."
 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 51 
 
 " A rebel and a perjurer, you mean." 
 
 "That is your unjust version, madam," he replied 
 quietly, for Washington's calm, strong face was before 
 him. 
 
 Her features grew fairly livid, but she was about to 
 pass out without a word. 
 
 "Julia!" he exclaimed, intercepting her, "listen for 
 one moment before you take this rash, irrevocable step. 
 If I am true to the sacred cause of Liberty, I can be true 
 to you. I " 
 
 " Stand aside! " she cried, imperiously stamping her 
 foot. " I will not hear one word of your idiotic drivel. 
 The idea of you being true to anything, who break pledges 
 made at God's altar, and cast off your wife to join a herd 
 of ragged, blaspheming rebels ; I shall never darken 
 your doors again." 
 
 11 Well-chosen phrase, madam. You have indeed dark- 
 ened my door, and darkened my life. But farewell : I 
 will not reproach you. I will be loyal to the name of 
 wife : the reality I never had." 
 
 She deigned no reply, but passed down the path that 
 led to the adjoining residence of her parents, with such 
 hot wrath in her heart that it was strange the roses did 
 not wither as she passed. 
 
 Saville breathed more freely after she was gone. It 
 seemed as if a deadly nicubus had been lifted from 
 him. 
 
 But he soon found that the meeting with his mother 
 would be a far severer ordeal. When he entered her 
 room, and saw her, who was usually so stately and com- 
 posed, utterly broken down, rocking back and forth as if 
 in mortal agony, with her gray hair hanging in disorder 
 over her face, he felt as if a sword had pierced him. 
 
 " Ruined ! ruined ! all is lost ! " groaned the wretched 
 woman. 
 
 "Why are we ruined," he exclaimed impetuously,
 
 62 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART , 
 
 " more than thousands of families who have joined the 
 patriotic cause? " 
 
 " We shall soon be homeless and penniless." 
 
 " No, mother, not at all. I shall have it distinctly 
 known that you still adhere to the ci-own. I will put all 
 the property in your name, and content myself with a 
 soldier's fare." 
 
 " And I shall then be childless and alone in the world ! " 
 she continued in the same despairing tone. 
 
 " Oh, cease, mother ; you may break my heart, but 
 you cannot change my purpose. My word is pledged to 
 Washington and Liberty." 
 
 "It has been pledged before," was the reproachful 
 reply. 
 
 " No ! " said the young man sternly ; " do not charge 
 me with dishonor. I can endure that from the woman to 
 whom the miserable haphazard chance of this world and 
 priest-craft temporarily joined me, but not from you. I 
 never deliberately and consciously made a pledge against 
 my present course ; and to-day I have seen a man who 
 has taught me how I can be true to you, and at the same 
 . time true to Liberty. You say, '-my child,' do you not 
 realize that I am a man, who must be guided by his own 
 independent will or be despised by all ? I have chosen 
 my lot." 
 
 With these decisive words, Saville retired to his room, 
 that he might regain his calmness and form some plans 
 for the future. 
 
 Among his first acts during the next few weeks was the 
 transfer of a large sum of money to Paris, subject to his 
 own or his mother's order. Having thus cast an anchor 
 to the windward, he felt that he had 'done much to pro- 
 vide against the vicissitudes of that stormy period, and 
 thus could give his thoughts more fully to the stirring 
 work of the hour. He explained his situation, as far as 
 a scrupulous delicacy would permit, to Captain Sears,
 
 WASHINGTON'S SERMON 53 
 
 more generally known by the sobriquet of " King " Sears, 
 and told this recognized leader of the populace in all 
 daring revolutionary acts, that after the few weeks re- 
 quired to settle his affairs and provide for his mother, he 
 would be ready to enter the regular service, and that, in 
 the meantime, if any enterprise were on foot, he could 
 be depended upon at any moment. His young Whig 
 acquaintances had no further cause to complain of his 
 absence from their councils, or of a disposition to shrink 
 from " honest blows" if any were to be received. He 
 found a congenial spirit in a fiery young student of King's 
 College, whom his companions nick-named " the Little 
 Giant," but who is now known to the world as Alexander 
 Hamilton ; and the two young rebels plotted treason 
 enough, in Tory estimation, to satisfy the shade of Guy 
 Fawkes, and were quite as ready to blow up Parliament 
 and all other anciently constituted authorities. 
 
 Mrs. Saville's manner was for a time that of cold and 
 stony despair, and considering her views and feelings, it 
 was more real than assumed. But beneath the thick 
 crust of her worldliness and conservatism, there was a 
 warm, motherly heart, which soon began to yearn towards 
 her only son, who, she now feared, might any day be lost 
 to her forever. Her coldness soon gave place to a cling- 
 ing tenderness, which she had never before manifested, 
 and which made it a hundredfold harder for her son to 
 carry out the steadfast purpose which the expression of 
 Washington's face had inspired. Morever, such are the 
 contradictions of woman's heart, she secretly admired 
 her handsome son, in his buff and blue uniform, and re- 
 spected him far more than if he had been content to re- 
 main merely the steward of the large joint estates which 
 her thrifty scheming had united. 
 
 Both pride and indifference prevented Saville from 
 making advances towards his wife, and there was noth- 
 ing in her nature that would prompt to any relenting.
 
 54 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 On the contrary, as her husband's outspoken republi- 
 canism and skepticism were bruited through the city, her 
 hatred grew more intense and vindictive. Not only was 
 his opposition to church and state most offensive, but the 
 fact that he could break her chains and ignore her ex- 
 istence was humiliating, and taught the spoiled beauty, 
 for the first time, that her despotic will could be disre- 
 garded. Nothing so exasperates some natures as to be 
 first thwarted, and then severely let alone. 
 
 He scrupulously re-transferred her dower and every 
 vestige of property to which she had the slightest claim ; 
 and she, in impotent spite, refused to be known any 
 longer by his name ; but the irrevocable marriage vows 
 had been spoken, and this past act of folly, like a hidden 
 rock had seemingly wrecked the happiness of both. 
 They might hate each other, but they were forbidden to 
 love any one else.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "A SCENE AT BLACK SAM'S " 
 
 ON the evening of the 23d of August, 1775, a large 
 mansion standing at the corner of Broadway and Dock 
 (now Pearl) Street, appeared to be the centre of unusual 
 excitement, even at that time of general ferment. The 
 place was well-known as the down-town tavern of Samuel 
 Fraunces, who, from the swarthiness of his complexion, 
 went by the sobriquet of " Black Sam." This tap-room 
 and restaurant was a general resort, not only because 
 Fraunces was the Delmonico of that day, and could 
 serve a dinner and cater in wines better than any other 
 man in the city, but also because Sam's patriotism ef- 
 fervesced as readily as his champagne or strong beer ; 
 and, it may be added, for the reason that they were often 
 served by his pretty, black-eyed daughter, Phoebe 
 Fraunces. To her, perhaps, in the following year, 
 Washington owed his life, since she was able, through 
 the confidence given her by a lover who was one of 
 Washington's body-guard, to penetrate a Tory plot to 
 destroy the dread commander-in-chief by poison. True- 
 hearted Phoebe was not to be won by a lover who pro- 
 posed to administer such potions, so, having smilingly 
 beguiled from him his secret, she furnished him with an- 
 other noose than that of Hymen's make, and donning her 
 brightest petticoat, went cheerfully to his hanging. 
 
 But upon this memorable occasion, she was the em- 
 bodiment of exuberant health and spirits, and seemed as 
 sparkling as the wines she brought to the guests that 
 thronged this favorite haunt of the city. It was warm, 
 and her round, stout arms were bare, and her swelling
 
 56 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 throat and bosom snowy white, while her eyes were black 
 as coals. But while she was coquettish and piquant, 
 there was nothing pert or bold in her manner, and he was 
 either drunk or brutish who gave her a wanton word the 
 second time. In her ready tongue she carried a keener 
 weapon than the swords that dangled and clattered at the 
 sides of the incipient warriors on whom she waited ; and 
 when provoked she gave thrusts which brought the hot 
 blood at least to their faces. But while she inspired a 
 wholesome respect, she was generally bubbling over 
 with good humor and arch repartee, and so was a general 
 favorite. Her mercurial nature readily caught the spirit 
 of the hour, and to-night her dark eyes were ablaze with 
 excitement, and her white teeth, which frequent smiles 
 displayed, and her white neck and arms, gave to her 
 quick movements a glancing, scintillating effect. As she 
 flitted here and there among the noisy patriots, many an 
 eager sentence was suspended and but lamely finished, 
 as the speaker's eyes followed her admiringly. 
 
 Little wonder that she was the blooming Hebe of this 
 bacchanalian Elysium, for the majority habitually craved 
 the boon of drinking to her health. She would graciously 
 comply, and then chuckle with her father over the coins 
 resulting, when, at the late hour (at that primitive time) 
 of ten at night, they counted the gains of the day. It is 
 to such places that men resort who appear to value public 
 and purchased smiles from those who sell to all alike, 
 more than similar glances from wives and children, 
 which they rarely seek to win, and more rarely deserve. 
 Phoebe was not above reaping this harvest from fools ; 
 but she did it so fascinatingly that they felt well repaid. 
 
 Black Sam, broad and swarthy, stood behind his bar, 
 controlling and directing his large establishment from 
 this central point like a captain on the deck of his ship. 
 His eyes were a trifle duller than Phoebe's, and indicated 
 that he indulged occasionally in more than the sips of a
 
 " A SCENE A T BLACK SAM'S 57 
 
 connoisseur. But to-night they glanced rapidly and 
 shrewdly around, seeing that his daughter and her as- 
 sistants neglected no one ; and he found time, in the 
 meanwhile, to add a word in his heavy bass to the 
 various pronounced political discussions and utterances 
 going on around him. It was very evident that Sam and 
 his patrons had little reverence for the " divinity which 
 doth hedge a king," and these quasi subjects of George 
 III spoke of him with a refreshing candor which it 
 would have been well for him to have heard, for it might 
 have saved a world of trouble. It has ever been the 
 chief misfortune of potentates that they are surrounded 
 by a dead wall of courtiers that excludes every rude but 
 warning sound. 
 
 Phoebe's excitable temperament correctly interpreted 
 the occasion. There was something abroad in the air 
 which charged the summer night with subtle and electri- 
 fying power. Though many were evidently in ignorance, 
 it was noted that Fraunces exchanged significant glances 
 with several present, and seemed dilating with some por- 
 tentous secret. His suppressed excitement grew more 
 apparent, as his rooms filled rapidly, and the crowd in- 
 creased about the doors. It was also observed that all 
 the newcomers were armed, and that among the rapidly 
 appearing faces were those which, like beacon fires, 
 always betokened some doughty undertaking. The gen- 
 eral stir and hoarse murmur of voices was greatly aug- 
 mented when Saville entered with young Hamilton, fol- 
 lowed by fifteen students from King's College, all fully 
 armed. The latter were soon chaffing with Phoebe as 
 they took from the tray she brought them, glasses brim- 
 ming over with rich Madeira, for which the tavern was 
 most famous. 
 
 " With father's compliments, "' said Phoebe, courtesying. 
 
 Then, boy-like, they proposed three cheers for the 
 prince of caterers and the fair Hebe who had borne
 
 58 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 them the nectar which he alone could furnish ; and they 
 were given with deafening heartiness and glasses raised 
 aloft. 
 
 They were scarcely drained, before a young man, 
 leaning upon the bar, and who was more noted for his 
 drinking powers than his discretion, cried, 
 
 " I propose another toast Saville, who is doubly 
 to be congratulated, since he has escaped a double 
 bondage that of King George and also of his Tory 
 wife ; having slipped the cable of her apron-string by 
 which " 
 
 Before he could finish his sentence, Saville's fist was 
 planted upon his mouth with such force as to send him 
 reeling to the floor, with his glass clattering after him. 
 Standing over the prostrate and half-tipsy man, and 
 trembling with rage, Saville said, threateningly, 
 
 " The man who dares to cast a slur upon my wife shall 
 do so at his peril." 
 
 There was the usual uproar and confused sound of 
 conflicting voices, when a cry arose which drowned all 
 else, " Sears, Sears, King Sears," and that great fire- 
 brand of the American Revolution, whose headlong zeal 
 and courage kindled so many fires of contention with the 
 royal authorities, stood among them. 
 
 " Come, come, comrades," he cried, " no need of in- 
 terchanging blows here among yourselves. Come with 
 me, and I will give you a crack at our common enemy. 
 Colonel Lamb, with his artillerymen, and Captain Lasher, 
 with his company, are marching down Broadway to take 
 the guns at the fort, without saying so much as ' by your 
 leave.' Who will follow me to their aid ? " 
 
 There was a loud acquiescing shout, while Black Sam 
 sprang over his bar, crying, 
 
 "Lead on, King Sears, and the man who refuses to 
 follow may choke with thirst before my hand serves him 
 again."
 
 " A SCENE A T BLA CK SAM 1 8 ' ' 59 
 
 In Fraunces's estimation, this was the direst threat he 
 could make, and in fact, to many present, the fulfilment 
 would be like cutting off the springs of life. 
 
 Hamilton took Saville's arm, saying, 
 
 " Come, comrade, fall in. What do the maudlin 
 words of that drunken fellow signify ? Come, you know 
 we've grand work on hand to-night." 
 
 In a few brief moments the crowded, noisy rooms were 
 deserted. The street became full of hoarse shoutings, and 
 the confused sound of many feet, as Sears, Hamilton, 
 and other extemporized officers marshaled the citizen- 
 soldiery in something like orderly array. Then from the 
 head of the column rang out those stirring words which, 
 though causing many hearts to bound with hope and 
 thrill with grand excitement, have yet been the death- 
 knell of myriads. 
 
 " Forward march ! ' 
 
 With strong and steady tramp the dusky figures 
 receded towards Broadway, while Phoebe, with eyes 
 ablaze, stood in the door waving a farewell with her 
 handkerchief, its flutter meaning anything rather than a 
 truce with King George's agents of oppression. 
 
 Black Sam's buxom wife took his place behind the 
 bar, while Phoebe repaired to an upper window that she 
 might see if the English man-of-war in the harbor had 
 anything to add to the drama of the evening. The 
 hitherto thronged hostelry became silent, being deserted 
 by all save a few old men whose age precluded them 
 from taking part in the events of the night. It was an 
 occasion when not even the famous Madeira of Sam's 
 tavern could tempt any loyalists thither ; and such of the 
 Whigs as were too prudent to join the raid, skulked away, 
 much preferring to face a dozen English batteries than to 
 hear the comments of Phoabe Fraunces upon their dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 As for the young woman nerself, she repined bitterly
 
 60 
 
 at the usages of society which prevented her from taking 
 hand in the promised m^lee, and was half inclined to don 
 her father's habiliments, and be a man in spite of 
 fate.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 
 
 COLONEL LAMB and Captain Lasher with their com- 
 panies halted on Broadway till Sears and his following of 
 citizens joined them ; then they proceeded at once to 
 Fort George, which had its front on Bowling Green, and 
 was located within the space now bounded by State, 
 Bridge, and Whitehall Streets. Tory informers had 
 revealed to the authorities in charge of this work the in- 
 tended attack. In view of the overwhelming force, no 
 resistance was made by the small garrison. Unmolested 
 at first, the patriots went to work with feverish zeal to 
 dismount the cannon from the bastions, and load them 
 on the heavy wagons that came lumbering down Broad- 
 way for the purpose. 
 
 To Alexander Hamilton and his party was given the 
 task of capturing Grand Battery, another and smaller 
 work nearer the river, which was also accomplished with- 
 out resistance. 
 
 But the fiery young spirits composing this band were 
 much disappointed at the quiet and peaceful nature of the 
 enterprise thus far. 
 
 " We might as well have come armed with only 
 pickaxes and crowbars," growled Hamilton. 
 
 "Yes," responded Saville, in like discontented mood. 
 " A brigade of carmen was all that was required on this 
 occasion. I had hoped that the night would be enlivened 
 by a few flashes at least. Suppose we go down to the 
 water's edge and take a look at the Asia." 
 
 Securing the approval of their superior officers, and 
 leaving a guard in charge of the work, the rest of the party
 
 62 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 commenced patrolling the shore, casting wistful glances 
 at the ship, whose masts and yards were faintly outlined 
 against the sky. 
 
 " Now, if we had only a dozen whale-boats," said 
 Hamilton, " and could go out and board that old tub, 
 we would have a night's work that would stir one's 
 blood." 
 
 " Not a little would be set running, no doubt," replied 
 Saville ; "and it would not all be on our side either, I 
 imagine. But see, they are waking up on board. We 
 may have a bout with those water dogs yet." 
 
 It soon became clear that there was an unusual stir and 
 excitement on the vessel. Lights gleamed and glanced 
 rapidly from point to point, and faint and far away came 
 the sound of orders hastily given. 
 
 Then there was a heavy splash in the water. 
 
 " Hurrah! " cried Hamilton, "they are manning a 
 boat. We will resolve ourselves into a committee of 
 reception." 
 
 The measured cadence of oars confirmed the surmise 
 just made, and the young men eagerly pressed to the 
 furthest point of land, and looked well to the priming of 
 their firelocks. The barge was pulled steadily towards 
 them until at last a dusky outline emerged from the night, 
 and then the shadowy figures of the crew. 
 
 "Make not a sound, and let them land if they will," 
 said Hamilton in a low tone. 
 
 But the barge approached warily, with lengthening 
 rests after each dip of the oars. At last, the officer in 
 command detected the little party in waiting, and 
 shouted : 
 
 " Who and what are you ? What deviltry's on foot to- 
 nigh t ? " 
 
 "Come and see," cried Hamilton laconically. 
 
 But the officer's night-glass, together with the ominous 
 sounds from Fort George, clearly showed that this was
 
 NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 63 
 
 not good advice under the circumstances. There was a 
 hurried consultation, and then, whether by order or not 
 cannot be known, some one in the boat fired a musket, 
 and the hot young bloods, for the first time, heard the 
 music of a whistling bullet. 
 
 " Give 'em a volley quick! " cried Hamilton. 
 
 Obedience to the order was indeed prompt, and yet 
 not so hasty but that the marksmen, familiar with the rifle 
 from boyhood, took good aim, and several in the barge 
 were killed and wounded. The silent oars at once 
 struck the water sharply, and the boat rapidly disap- 
 peared towards the man-of-war ; but the young men 
 heard enough to satisfy them that their shots had taken 
 effect. 
 
 Immediately upon the report of the first musket, 
 Colonel Lamb, Captain Lasher, and King Sears hastened 
 to the shore with many others, and learned from Hamilton 
 what had occurred. In the meantime the barge reached 
 the vessel and reported, satisfying Captain Vanderput of 
 the Asia that the intimations he had received of the pro- 
 posed attack upon the forts were correct. The British 
 authorities hitherto had hesitated in taking decisive action, 
 knowing that it would precipitate the conflict at once. 
 But now the point of forbearance seemed passed, and he 
 ordered the port-holes opened and the rebels dispersed 
 by a few shots. In quick succession three flashes came 
 from the ship's sides, and three balls plowed into the 
 Battery. 
 
 But so far from dispersing quietly, Lamb ordered the 
 drums to beat to arms, and the church bells to be rung, 
 and soon the silent city was in an uproar. 
 
 English blood, as well as American, was now at boiling 
 point, and the defiant sounds from the shore were no 
 longer answered by single shots but by broadsides, the 
 thundering echoes and crashing balls of which awoke 
 both Whigs and Tories to the realization of the true
 
 64 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 meaning of war. The experiences of Boston, the very 
 thought of which had caused many to tremble, were now 
 their own in the aggravated form of a midnight cannon- 
 ade. Men, women, and children, many but partially 
 clad, rushed into the streets and joined the increasing 
 throng of fugitives that pressed towards the open country, 
 away from the terrible monster in the harbor, whose 
 words were iron, and whose hot breath threatened to 
 burn their homes over their heads. Tories, as they ran, 
 cursed the rebels, whom they regarded as the cause of 
 the trouble ; and the Whigs anathematized British 
 tyranny. But faster and hotter than their oaths the 
 heavy balls crashed into their houses or over their heads, 
 with the peculiar, demoniacal shriek of a flying shot. 
 
 A night bombardment is a terrible thing for strong, 
 brave men to endure. The roar of cannon is awe-inspir- 
 ing in itself; but when it is remembered that every flash 
 and thunder peal has its resistless bolt which is aimed at 
 one's life, only those who have nerved themselves to 
 risk their lives calmly, or who, like the patriots on the 
 Battery, are lifted by mad excitement above all fears, 
 can stand unmoved. But how could the sick and the 
 aged how could helpless women and children endure 
 such an ordeal ? Only the pitying eye of God noted all 
 the fainting, mortal fear of those who tremblingly snatched 
 children, treasures, or sacred heirlooms, and sought to 
 escape. Hearts almost ceased their beating, as the 
 terror-stricken fugitives heard balls whizzing towards 
 them. The messengers of death might strike out of the 
 darkness anywhere and any one. Broadway has wit- 
 nessed many scenes, but never a more pitiable one than 
 when, in that August midnight, a hundred years ago, it 
 was thronged with half-clad, shrinking, sobbing women, 
 and little children wailing for parents, lost in the dark- 
 ness and the confusion of flight. When, at last, the open 
 fields beyond the range of the Asia s guns were reached,
 
 NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 65 
 
 the strangely assorted 'multitude, from whom the gloom 
 of night and common misfortune had blotted out all dis- 
 tinctions, sat down panting and weary, and prayed for 
 the light of day. 
 
 Many who were helpless and a few who were brave 
 remained in their homes, either in an agony of fear or in 
 quiet resignation. Among the latter was Phoebe Fraun- 
 ces. But there was not a particle of resignation in her 
 nature, for she chafed around her father's tavern like a 
 caged lioness ; and when a round shot, well and spite- 
 fully aimed at the " pestilent rebel nest," as it was called 
 on the Asia, crashed through the house, shattering a de- 
 canter of Madeira that the gunner would rather have 
 drained himself, she forgot the softness of her sex utterly, 
 and seizing a huge cutlass that hung over the bar, and 
 leaving her mother to recover from a fit of hysterics as 
 best she might, she started for the scene of action in a 
 mood that would have led her to board the Asia single- 
 handed, had the opportunity offered. But, as she ap- 
 proached Fort George and heard the rough voices of the 
 men at work, her modesty regained its control, and she 
 realized that it was scarcely proper for a young woman 
 to be abroad and alone at that time of the night ; so, she 
 who was ready to attack a man-of-war, turned and fled 
 before that which a true woman fears more than an army 
 the appearance of evil. But it would have been a 
 woful blunder for any rude fellow to have spoken to 
 Phoebe that night, armed as she was with the old cutlass, 
 and abundance of muscle to wield it. His gallant ad- 
 vances would have been cut short instantly. 
 
 Although there was panic in the city, there was noth- 
 ing of the kind within the dismantled walls of Fort 
 George, from which the cannon were fast disappearing ; 
 nor upon the Battery, where Colonel Lamb's artillery- 
 men, flanked by Hamilton and his students, were drawn 
 up, to prevent the Asia from interfering with their opera-
 
 66 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 tions by landing a force from the vessel. But Captain 
 Vanderput prudently contented himself with striking 
 from a distance, supposing that the terrors of a night 
 bombardment would soon bring the contumacious rebels 
 to their knees. To make the warning lesson still more 
 effectual, and to increase their punishment greatly, he 
 ordered the guns to be loaded occasionally with the 
 deadly grape-shot. 
 
 But, in the morning, both he and the populace had a 
 surprise. The Battery was not covered with killed and 
 wounded. In fact, there was not a Whig to be seen, 
 dead or alive. But neither was there a cannon to be 
 found in the royal forts. While he had been thundering 
 his disapproval from the harbor, the " raw militia," who, 
 his officers jocularly asserted, " would not stop running 
 south of King's Bridge," had steadily completed their 
 tasks, and spirited off every gun to parts unknown. 
 
 And when, in the peaceful summer morning, the fugi- 
 tives, who had spent the night in the open air, concluded 
 they had better go home to breakfast, and appear in less 
 picturesque toilets, they found, instead of death, carnage, 
 and gutters running with blood, no wounds save those 
 which the carpenter and joiner could heal. It was an- 
 other remarkable example of how little destruction may 
 be caused by a bombardment even in a crowded city. 
 The mercurial temperament of the people, which their 
 descendants seem to have inherited, led those of Whig 
 proclivities, who were overwhelmed with terror but a few 
 hours previous, to react into cheerfulness and exultation. 
 Many doughty citizens, who stole into their back en- 
 trances, strangely appareled, soon afterwards appeared, 
 dressed in different style, at their front doors, hoping 
 that their flight had been covered by the darkness ; and 
 not a few, who had made excellent time towards King's 
 Bridge, ventured, over their dram at the corners of the
 
 NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 67 
 
 streets, to descant on ' ' the way we carried off the British 
 bulldogs from the fort." 
 
 The Tory element in the city was very quiet that day ; 
 but a sullen, vindictive expression lowered upon many 
 faces. The timid and conservative sighed, again and 
 again, 
 
 " Where is this thing to end ?" 
 
 In a beautiful up-town villa, the face of one fair woman 
 was often distorted with passion and hate, as she hissed, 
 through her teeth, "He was foremost in this vile night 
 work." But when Saville, hungry and exhausted, 
 reached his home, his mother, who had been a sleepless 
 watcher, only folded him in her arms, murmuring, 
 
 " Thank God! you are yet spared to me." 
 
 Then she gave him a breakfast that in future cam- 
 paigning caused many a longing sigh as he remembered 
 it.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 
 
 HAVING completed all the arrangements possible for 
 his mother's comfort, and settled his affairs as far as the 
 times permitted, Saville made known his readiness to 
 enter the regular service at any point where he could be 
 most useful. His education as an engineer led to his 
 being sent to Martelear's Rock (Constitution Island) in 
 the Highlands of the Hudson. He would have much 
 preferred serving under Washington, before Boston, but 
 had too much of the spirit of a soldier to think of aught 
 save prompt obedience. Having been commissioned as 
 lieutenant, he repaired to the scene of his duties about 
 the last of September, and found that he was to serve 
 under an officer by the name of Colonel Romans, 
 who had arrived on the ground with a small working 
 force about a month earlier. He was assigned to the 
 duty of superintending the details of labor and the carry- 
 ing out of the plans of the chief engineer in respect to the 
 incipient fortifications. 
 
 While strolling around the rocky island, the evening 
 after his arrival, he soon came in full view of the extreme 
 point of land on the western shore, whereon he had seen 
 such a strange vision a few months previous. In the 
 press and excitement of succeeding events, the circum- 
 stance had quite faded from his memory ; but now, with 
 the purpose of diverting his mind from painful thoughts, 
 he decided to solve the pretty enigma by which he had 
 been so unexpectedly baffled. He made some inquiries 
 of the small garrison with whom he was associated ; but 
 they, like himself, were newcomers, and knew nothing of
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 69 
 
 the few inhabitants of the region. For several days he 
 was too much occupied with the effort to obtain the mas- 
 tery of his duties to think of aught else, and, when even- 
 ing came, was well contented to climb some rocky point 
 on the island, and rest, while he enjoyed the wonderful 
 beauty of the landscape ; for this historic region was just 
 as weird and lovely then as now, when it is admired by 
 thousands of tourists. 
 
 But one warm afternoon, early in October, he took 
 with him the garrulous Larry, his body-servant, who had 
 followed the fortunes of his master, and started in a little 
 skiff down the river to a cottage on the western bank, 
 which he had noted on his journey up. This might be 
 the home of the wood-nymph, or he there might learn 
 something about her. 
 
 " Come, Larry, I want time for a little shooting after I 
 land," said Saville, impatiently ; " so pull away, and I 
 will steer, for the tide is against us." 
 
 " I'm obleeged to yer honor," replied Larry, dryly, 
 tugging at the oars ; " there's nothing like dewision of 
 labor." 
 
 "You can rest while I am tramping round with my 
 gun," said Saville, who gave Larry something of the 
 license of a court jester. " I shall expect you to wait for 
 me where I leave you, so that there may be no delay in 
 our return." 
 
 " Faix, sur, I hope ye's gun will be more ready to go 
 off than I'll be, arter this pull." 
 
 Having descended the river half a mile below the 
 foaming cascade now known as Buttermilk Falls, they 
 fastened their boat and ascended the bank to the cottage, 
 or, more correctly, log cabin. 
 
 Saville quickly saw enough to convince him that this 
 could not be the home of the young girl who sang 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows."
 
 70 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 A huge, fat hog reclined in the sun near the step, and 
 chickens passed in and out of the door, as if they had 
 equal rights with the family, while the cow-stable formed 
 an extension to the dwelling, and was quite as well built 
 as the rest of it. Were it not for his wish to make in- 
 quiries, he would have turned away in disgust. 
 
 But for Larry the scene appeared to have unwonted 
 attractions. With arms akimbo he struck an attitude of 
 admiring contemplation, as he exclaimed, 
 
 " I'm glad I come wid your honor, for I've seen 
 nothink so swate since I left the ould counthry. Now, 
 isn't that a beautiful soight ? Pace and plenty ! 'Twas 
 jist such a pig as that as grunted at me father's door. 
 Faix, sur, it makes me a bit homesick ; " and Larry's 
 shrewd, twinkling eyes grew moist from early memories. 
 
 As they proceeded a little further, Larry saw that 
 which proved quite as attractive to him as the vision of 
 Vera had been to Saville a few months before ; but the 
 elements of mystery and romance were wholly wanting. 
 In a small inclosure back of the house a young Irish- 
 woman was digging potatoes. As the men approached, 
 she leaned leisurely upon her fork-handle, and stared at 
 them unblenchingly. Her head was bare, but well 
 thatched with thick, tangled tresses which were a little 
 too fiery to be called golden. Her eyes were dark, ex- 
 pressive, and bold ; her stout arms were red and freckled, 
 as was also her full and rather handsome face. In sim- 
 plicity and picturesqueness no fault could be found with 
 her dress, for it appeared to consist only of a red petti- 
 coat and a scant blue bodice ; but it might well have 
 been mended at several points. Her feet and ankles 
 were as bare as those of Maud Muller, if not so shapely 
 and slender. But, as she stood there, aglow with exer- 
 cise, in the afternoon sun, she seemed to Larry a genuine 
 Irish houri the most perfect flower of the Green Isle that 
 he had ever seen ; and he hoped that his master, who
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 71 
 
 had accosted an old woman knitting in the doorway, 
 would keep him waiting indefinitely, so that he might 
 make the acquaintance of this rave creature. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you well, madam, and enjoying the 
 fine afternoon," began Saville, with French suavity. 
 
 " Umph ! " responded the old woman, and after looking 
 him over briefly, went on with her knitting. 
 
 "Have you any neighbors in this region?" asked 
 Saville, undaunted by his forbidding reception. 
 
 " Mighty few as is neighborly." 
 
 " But there are other families living near." 
 
 " A small sprinklin'." 
 
 " Haven't you some neighbors further up the river, 
 and nearly opposite the island where we are building the 
 fort?" 
 
 " Indade, an' we have not Our neighbors be dacent 
 folks who own their land, and not skulkin' and hidin' 
 squatters." ' i . 
 
 " Would you mind taking a shilling for a bowl of 
 milk?" said Saville, pursuing his object with a little 
 finesse. 
 
 " Now ye talk sinse," replied the old woman, rising. 
 " No, nor two on 'em. I ax your pardon for being a bit 
 offish, for I've seen sogers in the ould counthry, an' no 
 good came o' 'em. Yer grinnin' man there is not a 
 soger, be he ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ; Larry is a man of peace." 
 
 " 'Kase I want 'em all to understand that if any sogers 
 come a snoopin' round here arter Molly, they'll be arter 
 catchin' me 'stead o' her." 
 
 " I don't think any will come, then," said Saville 
 gravely. " But I'm sorry you give your neighbors up 
 the river such a bad character." 
 
 "It's not meself that gives 'em a bad character, bur 
 their own bad dades." 
 
 " Why, what have they done ? "
 
 72 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "That's more'n any one knows; sumpin' the ould 
 man's mighty 'shamed on, for he won't look honest folk 
 in the face ; and as for that wild hawk of a gal o' his'n, 
 the less said 'bout her the better. She's kind of a witch, 
 anyhow, and 'pears and dodges out o' sight while yer 
 winkin'. She needn't turn up her nose at my Molly 
 there, that's come o' dacent folk." 
 
 " And has she been guilty of that offense ? " 
 
 " Dade an' she has ; Molly comes 'cross her now an' 
 thin, out berryin', and fust she tried to speak her fair, 
 but the ill-mannered crather would kinder stare at her a 
 minute, and thin vanish in a flash. She's larnt more o' 
 that ould heathen black witch, as lives wid 'em, than 
 any thin' good." 
 
 " What is the name of the family ? " 
 
 "That, too, is more'n anybody knows. They calls 
 'emselves ' Brown ' ; but I know 'tain't their name ; for it 
 was meself that did a bit o' washin' for 'em once when 
 the woman was sick, and there was two names on the 
 linen, but nary one nor tother was Brown. I couldn't 
 jist make out what they was, for I hain't good at readin' ; 
 but one thing is sartin, husband and wife don't have two 
 names." 
 
 " Have they done anything wrong since they came 
 here ?" 
 
 " Well, I can't say they are robbin' and murderin' 
 every night, and yet how they live nobody knows. But 
 it's 'nuff that they're hathen. They did widout the 
 praste in the fust place, and nary a thing have they had 
 to do wid praste or parson since. The ould black witch 
 worships the divil, for Molly's seen her in the woods 
 a-goin' on as would make yer har stan' up ; and I'm 
 a-thinkin" the divil will git 'em all ; an' he may, for all o' 
 me." 
 
 By the time Saville had finished his bowl of bread and 
 milk, he came to the conclusion that the crone had more
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 73 
 
 spite and prejudice against her neighbors than knowledge 
 of them. It was the old story of resentment on the part 
 of the ignorant and the vulgar towards superiority and 
 exclusiveness. It was very probable, however, that 
 some guilty secret of the past led to this utter seclusion. 
 Saville well knew that there were many hiding in the 
 wilderness whose antecedents would not bear much light. 
 And yet his curiosity, so far from being satisfied, was 
 only piqued the more by the old woman's dark intima- 
 tions. Taking his gun, he said to Larry, who was now 
 digging potatoes vigorously, 
 
 " So that is the way you are resting." 
 
 " Diggin' praties is an aisy change, and kind o' home- 
 like ; and thin, yer honor, ye wud not have me a-standin' 
 like a great lazy lout, while a fair leddy was a-workin'." 
 
 " Very well ; but save enough muscle to row me home." 
 And he went back upon the hills in quest of game, leav- 
 ing his deeply smitten factotum to the wiles of Molly, who, 
 with hands upon her hips, contemplated his chivalric 
 labors in her behalf with great complacency. 
 
 " The top o' the mornm' to ye," Larry had said as he 
 approached, doffing his hat. 
 
 " Faix, an' ye're a green Irishman not to know the 
 afthernoon from mornin'," was Molly's rather brusque 
 greeting. 
 
 " The sight o' ye wud make any time o' night or day 
 seem the bright mornin'," was Larry's gallant re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " Ye kissed the blarney-stone afore ye left home, I'm 
 a-thinkin'." 
 
 " An' ye'll let me kiss yer own red lips, I'll dig all these 
 praties for ye." 
 
 " I see ye're good at a sharp bargain, if ye be a bit 
 green. But I'll wait till ye dig the praties." 
 
 <l But ye'll give me jist one buss when I'm half through, 
 to kinder stay me stomach."
 
 74 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " There's plenty lads as wud be glad to dig the praties 
 for me widout a-drivin 1 hard bargains for it." 
 
 " So they'll tell yees afther the praties is dug. They'll 
 be very svvate about it whin the cowld snow kivers the 
 ground." 
 
 "An* ye think ye're very swate about it now," said 
 Molly, with her head coquettishly on one side. 
 
 " No, but I'm a-hopin' ye'll be swate about it." 
 
 " What's yer name, anyhow ? " 
 
 "Larry O'Flarharty ; an' ye may have it yerself any 
 day that ye'll go wid me to the praste." 
 
 " Is that what ye say to every gal ye mate ? " 
 
 " Faix, an' it is not. It's to yersel' that I've fust said 
 it." 
 
 " Ye're better at talkin' than doin'. I thought I'd git 
 at least one hill o' praties dug by yees." 
 
 " Give me the fork, thin, and I'll show ye that Larry 
 O'Flarharty can take care o' ye and a dozen childer into 
 the bargain." 
 
 " Och, ye spalpeen! Ye'll have me coorted, mar- 
 ried, and a gran'mother, afore ye git a praty out the 
 dirt." 
 
 Larry set about his labor of love with such zeal that the 
 potatoes fairly hopped out of the ground, carroling, as he 
 worked, 
 
 " I'll dress ye up in silks so foine, 
 An' ye shall drink the best o' woine. 
 Be jabers ! but we'll cut a shoine 
 The day when what's yer name is moine. 
 
 How's that for a dilicate way of axing ye yer name ?" 
 
 " What do I want wid a name since ye're goin' to give 
 me yourn ? " 
 
 " What shall I call ye till the happy day comes? " 
 
 " Molly, for short." 
 
 " Let it be for short, thin, and not for long."
 
 LA BEY MEETS HIS FATE 75 
 
 " D'ye think I wud marry a man o' all work? I'm 
 goin' to marry a gallant soger boy." 
 
 " No ye hain't, nayther," struck in her mother, whose 
 age had evidently not impaired her hearing. 
 
 Molly gave her head a defiant toss which indicated that 
 the maternal leading-strings had parted long ago. Larry 
 paused abruptly in his work, and leaning his chin on the 
 fork-handle, asked, 
 
 "Are ye sarious about that now ?" 
 
 " Ah, go on wid yer work and sthop yer foolin'," said 
 Molly, who saw that she had made a false move in her 
 little game to get her potatoes dug by another. 
 . " Divil a praty will I dig till ye tell me." 
 
 " Divil another shall ye dig any way, ye impudent 
 spalpeen!" retorted Molly, who was touchy as gun- 
 powder ; and she took the fork out of his hands, and 
 turning her back upon him, struck it into the potato hill- 
 ocks as only a spiteful termagant could. Discomfited 
 Larry in the meantime perched himself on the fence, that 
 he might take an observation, and hold a council of war 
 in his own mind. But the more he looked the more the 
 charms of this wonderful creature grew upon him, and 
 his soft, impressible heart became as wax. He soon 
 hopped down from his rail, and said, 
 
 " Come now, Molly darlint, what's the use o' a-goin' 
 agin fate ? Ye shall marry a soger bhoy, I see that by 
 the cut of yer perty jib, as the sailors say. Ye've spunk 
 and fire enough for a rigiment. Give me the fork agin, 
 and one o' yer own swate smiles." 
 
 " Well, since ye're a sort o* baste o' burden, an' loike 
 workin' better nor fightin', ye may have yer way." 
 
 " Faix, an' I will be a baste wid the burden of a sore 
 an' heavy heart, if ye talk to me in that way." 
 
 Molly could come out of a pet as quickly as she fell 
 into it, and so she said, 
 
 " I'll be swate thin till ye git the praties dug."
 
 76 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Yis, an' many a long day afther. I know the soger 
 bhoy ye're goin' to marry." 
 
 " No, ye don't." 
 
 "Yis, I do." 
 
 " What's his name ? " 
 
 " Larry O'Flarharty. The masther may git a new 
 man, for I'm goin' to 'list. The nixt time ye see me I'll 
 be a gay and gallant soger bhoy. I'll " 
 
 " Hush, mother's comin'." 
 
 Larry delved after the potatoes as if they were half- 
 way down to China. 
 
 The old woman looked sharply and suspiciously at 
 them, but only said, 
 
 " Molly, go afther the cows." 
 
 " I'll go wid ye," cried Larry, throwing down the 
 fork. 
 
 "No, ye won't," retorted the old woman; " yer 
 masther tould ye to bide here till he come." 
 
 " I'm a-thinkin' I'll be me own masther," said Larry, 
 straightening himself up; "everybody's gittin' free an' 
 indepindent, and I'll thry a hand at it meself." 
 
 " Go along and git 'em yerself, mother," added Molly, 
 who began to entertain some thoughts of her own in re- 
 gard to this ardent admirer that was so subservient to her 
 will and moods. " They hain't far off; and ye wud not 
 have me treat the man what has been a-workin' for me 
 all the afthernoon so oncivil as to lave him alone. Go 
 along, and we'll have the praties dug agin ye git back." 
 
 The old woman was in straits what to do, since in either 
 case she must leave her daughter alone with one at least 
 nearly connected with the dreaded " sogers " ; but at last 
 she hobbled grumblingly after the cows, the tinkle of 
 whose bells proclaimed them near. 
 
 With the usual perverseness of human nature, Molly 
 grew friendly towards the soldiers as her mother showed 
 prejudice against them. The more she learned about
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 77 
 
 their life, the more attractive its publicity, vicissitudes, 
 and excitement became to her bold, restless spirit, and 
 she had already resolved to enter the camp in some 
 capacity at the earliest possible moment. The thought 
 now occurred to her that perhaps she might find in this 
 plastic, garrulous stranger just the chance she hoped for. 
 Molly was aware of her infirmity of temper, and if she 
 could find a "soger" that could be kept submissively 
 under her thumb, she would consider herself blessed with 
 better luck than she had ever dared to expect. 
 
 Larry made his first favorable impression when he 
 good-naturedly dismounted from his rail, and recom- 
 menced the work which she was ready enough to leave 
 to him ; and she was not long in coming to the con- 
 clusion that if this pliable and useful man of all work 
 could be transformed into a regular soldier, and then be 
 captured as a sort of base of operations, which would 
 enable her to lead a free, wild, rollicking life, she. had 
 better make the most of the opportunity. But she went 
 direct to her point with feminine indirectness, and so 
 when her mother was out of hearing, said, 
 
 " Ye're not brave enough to be a soger." 
 
 " An' ye are not brave enough to marry one." 
 
 " Some foine day, when ye're a-blackin' yer masther's 
 boots, ye'll find yerself mistaken, for ye'll see me 
 a-walkin' into camp the wife o' the handsomest man o' 
 the lot o* yees." 
 
 " Now what do ye mane be that ? " asked Larry, ab- 
 ruptly suspending his labors, while his chin and troubled 
 phiz again surmounted the fork-handle. 
 
 "I mane," said Molly yawning, "that I'm only 
 a-waitin' to make up me mind which of me soger swate- 
 hearts to take." 
 
 " An' how many have ye, sure ? " said Larry, in some- 
 thing like dismay. 
 
 "Oh! sumthin' less than a dozen."
 
 78 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " But ye hain't made up yer mind on any on 'em 
 yit ? ' ' queried the anxious lover. 
 
 " Well, not yit. There's two or three on 'em I could 
 worry along wid if I thried." 
 
 " Yis, an' it would be worryin' along, Molly, me dear ; 
 while wid me ye'd be happy as a quane." 
 
 " But I tailed ye afore I was goin' to marry a soger." 
 
 " And I tailed ye afore I was a-goin' to be a soger." 
 
 " Yis, a-goin' an* a-goin', but I'll belave it when I see 
 it." 
 
 " An' one wake from this day ye will see it," protested 
 Larry, with hearty emphasis. 
 
 " Now ye begin ter talk a little sinse," said Molly, more 
 complacently. " Well, well, I'll thry ye, and give ye an 
 aven start wid me other swatehearts. If ye' re down by 
 the wather a wake from this afthernoon dressed as a gay 
 soger boy, I'll think ye mane sumthin', but all yer foine 
 words now is loike spilt wather." 
 
 " Och, Molly, me darlint," cried Larry, and pitching 
 away his fork, he threw his arms around the bewitching 
 creature, and took full payment for his labor of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 " Hold on, Larry," cried his master, who had returned 
 just in time to witness this last demonstration ; " hold on, 
 or you will never be able to row me back to camp." 
 
 " Faix, yer honor," said Larry, somewhat abashed 
 that his gallantry had been observed, " I fale much re- 
 freshed." 
 
 " Well, come along, then ; it's time we were off." 
 
 " Good-bye, thin, Molly, my dear, for one long wake." 
 
 " Ye're nothin' but a wild Irishman," said Molly, half 
 angry, and half laughing ; " but mind ye, come in the 
 toggery I tould ye on, or don't ye come at all." 
 
 " Don't ye fear. Whin I come agin, yer other swate- 
 hearts will be like the stars when the sun comes over the 
 mountain."
 
 LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 79 
 
 " An' hist ! " continued Molly ; " don't ye come up to 
 the house, or mother'll take yer life. I'll mate ye at the 
 wather." 
 
 That night Larry made known his purpose to enlist at 
 once. In vain Saville protested. Like the immortal 
 Romeo, Larry had found his Juliet, and was in feverish 
 haste to don the uniform that would give him an " aven 
 sthart wid the other spalpeens of swatehearts," whose 
 imagined rivalry, Molly had shrewdly guessed, would be 
 a most powerful incentive to prompt action. 
 
 " But don't ye mind, yer honor ; it's in the 'tillery I'm 
 goin' to 'list, and so I can do yer odd jobs jist the 
 same." 
 
 " Are you going to marry that carroty-headed girl over 
 there?" 
 
 " If ye spake of the swate crathur in that way, divil a 
 turn will I do for ye agin." 
 
 " Mark my words, Larry, you are giving up one 
 master to find a harder one," at which his quondam 
 servant went growling and muttering away. 
 
 Larry was true to his tryst, and the reader may be as- 
 sured that the strategic Molly was not absent. After two 
 or three meetings, in which she nearly tormented the 
 poor fellow out of his senses, with fear and jealousy of 
 the mythical "swatehearts" who were just about to 
 carry her off, Molly permitted the entrancing concession 
 to be wrung from her, " I will stale away wid ye to the 
 praste, if I kin only git a pair o' shoes." 
 
 Having received this sweet assurance of affections 
 won, Larry, on his return, made pacific overtures to his 
 former master. 
 
 " Ye know that I served ye long and faithfully." 
 '" Well, that will do for preface. What do you want 
 now, Larry ? " 
 
 " Faix, sur, an* if ye'll give me a pair o' yer shoes, I'll 
 do many a good turn to pay for 'em."
 
 80 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " With all respect for your understanding, Larry, I 
 don't think they'll fit you." 
 
 "I've taken the measure of a fut as they will fit, yer 
 honor." 
 
 " Oh ! I see now ; yes, yes, there are the shoes ; and 
 by the way, Larry, I have a pair of leather breeches 
 which you may take her also ; for she struck me as one 
 who would be sure to wear them before long." 
 
 " Bless yer honor, ye mustn't judge all the women o' 
 the world by yer own bad luck." And with this home- 
 thrust, Larry went chuckling away with the shoes that 
 were to consummate his happiness. 
 
 Before a week of wedded bliss had passed, the newly 
 fledged artilleryman found that he had, indeed, ex- 
 changed his old master for a more exacting one, and he 
 dubbed the redoubtable Molly " captain," long before 
 she won the title by her military prowess.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 
 
 THE changes that war was about to make, in the wild 
 and secluded region which Vera's father had chosen as 
 his retreat and hiding-place, soon began to manifest 
 themselves. The arrival of the engineer, Colonel Ro- 
 mans, with his working force, at Constitution Island, 
 was discovered almost immediately by the young girl, 
 while out upon one of her excursions, in the latter part 
 of August. Nor could the advent of the soldiery be 
 kept from her father, as the morning and evening guns, 
 and the notes of the drum and fife, announced their 
 presence, with startling distinctness, in the quiet sum- 
 mer air. 
 
 At first the morbid and conscience-stricken man was 
 in great excitement and alarm, and, with the tendency 
 common to persons in his condition, connected the 
 unlooked-for event with danger to himself. His fears led 
 him to propose that they should all leave their home, 
 and seek some more secluded spot far back in the 
 mountains ; but for once his meek and gentle wife was 
 firm in her opposition to his will. She saw that her 
 husband's mind had become so warped that it was no 
 longer capable of correct judgment in any matter where 
 his fears were concerned. The reason for the military 
 occupation of the island opposite she had not yet learned, 
 but could not see how it necessarily threatened them 
 with danger. Moreover, her desire that Vera might 
 form acquaintances, who could rescue her eventually 
 from a seclusion that might at last leave the girl utterly 
 alone in the world, increased daily. In spite of her
 
 82 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 false hopes, which were a part of her disease, and an 
 earnest desire to live, she had failed so rapidly, during 
 the oppressive heats of summer, that vague fears for the 
 future often gave her great uneasiness. She clearly 
 recognized her husband's growing distemper of mind, 
 and old Gula was still less to be depended upon. How 
 could she leave her child so friendless and unshielded? 
 
 In her terrible anxiety, the gentle creature would at 
 times become almost stern and fierce in her appeals to 
 heaven, crying : 
 
 " O God ! as thou art good and true, preserve my 
 child, and bring her to me at last, pure and unspotted 
 from the world. I commit her to thy care, and I hold 
 thee to thy many promises." 
 
 While her growing weakness made it apparent, even 
 to her husband, that she could not be moved, and he was 
 thus induced to remain in his present home, he continued 
 steady and unrelenting in his determination that no acr 
 quaintances should be formed with the newcomers. Of 
 this purpose Vera and her mother had a very dishearten- 
 ing illustration about the middle of October. 
 
 One day, just as they were about to sit down to their 
 meagre dinner, the two huge dogs bounded out from the 
 door-step, with fiercest clamor. 
 
 Mr. Brown, as he maybe called at present, sprang up, 
 and was only in time to prevent a conflict between a 
 stranger and the savage beasts. 
 
 Vera also ran to the door, in order to see the cause 
 of the alarm and her heart throbbed quickly, as she 
 recognized in the stranger the young man who had 
 surprised her, in the manner already described, while 
 fishing. 
 
 "Back, Tiger and Bull," said their master; and, as 
 the dogs reluctantly obeyed, he advanced with a dignity 
 which Saville was quick to recognize, and said, coldly, 
 
 " Have you any special business with me ? "
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 83 
 
 The young man commenced replying suavely, and in 
 a manner which he hoped would pave the way to an 
 acquaintance ; but, still more coldly and sternly came 
 the interrupting question : 
 
 " Have you any business with me, sir? " 
 
 " I cannot say that I have, save that as a temporary 
 neighbor I would be glad to show myself neighborly." 
 
 The man regarded him suspiciously, but continued, 
 with the same repelling coldness, 
 
 " You have the bearing of a gentleman." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and the character and standing of one." 
 
 "I shall put that assertion to the test," was the for- 
 bidding response; "and if you fail to make good, I 
 shall know how to act hereafter. I desire seclusion for 
 myself and family. This cottage, though very humble, 
 is my castle, and I regard any visits to it or to this 
 locality as an intrusion." 
 
 Saville flushed deeply, for, if this man were a guilty 
 outlaw, he could assume a hauteur and loftiness which 
 were oppressive. He felt almost as if an ancient baron 
 were ordering him, as a poacher, off his grounds. But 
 in the face of Vera, who stood excited, trembling, in the 
 doorway, he thought he detected a different and friendly 
 expression ; so he made one more effort to remove the 
 suspicious exclusiveness of the father. 
 
 " But suppose I come in the spirit of kindliness," he 
 said. 
 
 "I thought I made it clear that I desired no visits 
 whatever," was the stern reply. 
 
 "You are unwise, sir," said Saville with correspond- 
 ing haughtiness. " I am an officer and a gentleman, 
 and as such might have extended protection to you and 
 your family. This region will soon become full of armed 
 men, and how can you escape visits from the rude 
 soldiery, who may not always be over-scrupulous? " 
 
 "They will come at peril to life and limb," said the
 
 84 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 man savagely ; and he began to show symptoms of great 
 agitation. 
 
 Saville saw that the young girl's eyes had overflowed 
 with tears, that her hands were clasped, and that her 
 whole manner was a mute appeal. But whether it was 
 to leave them at once, or to give unasked, the protec- 
 tion against the danger at which he had hinted, and 
 which her father had so harshly refused, he could not 
 tell. He also saw that the man was becoming excited 
 and dangerous, and that the dogs, quickly catching their 
 master's spirit, were bristling towards him. Vera sprang 
 down with words of rebuke, and soon had the fierce 
 animals crouching at her feet. As she stood between 
 them in her simplicity and unconscious beauty, tears 
 gemming her eyes like dew upon violets, she made a 
 picture that Saville did not soon forget. 
 
 With a silent bow and smile to her, which she returned 
 by a grave and graceful inclination, he turned away, 
 and soon disappeared among the trees. He had seen 
 enough, however, to kindle his vivid imagination, and 
 on his way back among the hills, in search of game, 
 indulged in many wild surmises in regard to the people 
 who so resolutely secluded themselves. But he could 
 scarcely fail in reaching the conclusion that fear was 
 the motive, and that the man was hiding from the con- 
 sequences of some act of the past, the discovery of 
 which would lead to terrible punishment. It was still 
 more certain that he had belonged to the superior and 
 educated classes, for his unkempt appearance and rude 
 attire could not disguise his proud and stately bearing. 
 At the same time, even the brief glimpse that Saville 
 had caught of the externals of the cabin, proved that 
 some one dwelt there who had an eye and a love for 
 beauty. 
 
 The rude logs were prettily disguised by crimson fes- 
 toons of the American ivy. Clumps of eglantine with
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CASE 85 
 
 equally brilliant foliage stood on either side of the open 
 door, through which he could see a little of the rustic 
 decoration within. The impression, however, that the 
 man was a criminal chilled his desire for personal 
 acquaintance, and save some generous pity that the fair 
 young girl should be left to develop under such forbid- 
 ding circumstances, he soon became indifferent to the 
 inmates of the cabin from which he had been so rudely 
 repelled. With the exception of the maiden, the other 
 inmates were probably subjects for the detective and 
 constable. Whether right or wrong, Saville was as open 
 as the day, and had no taste for mysteries or crime. 
 
 But the results of his attempted visit were not so 
 slight or transient in the little cabin among the moun- 
 tains. Vera, and especially her mother, were bitterly 
 disappointed. To the latter it seemed as if a providen- 
 tial opportunity of gaining some hold on the outside 
 world had been lost ; and when her husband became 
 calmer, she so remonstrated with him that he half re- 
 gretted his own action. But the trouble was that he 
 could not be depended on, for when his mind had 
 been enabled for a moment to struggle towards a correct 
 judgment, another dark and engulfing wave of fear 
 would sweep over it, carrying him back into the depths 
 of his old despondency and morbid dread of strangers. 
 
 But the remark of Saville, that the region would soon be 
 filled with armed men, while it greatly increased his un- 
 easiness, also kindled a faint gleam of hope. In his 
 occasional expeditions to distant villages for the purpose 
 of barter, he had heard faint mutterings of the storm 
 that had now broken over the land. The only hints 
 which he had obtained were from the casual remarks of 
 others, for he had feared to ask questions, as this would 
 give the right to question him. He was regarded, at the 
 few places where he traded, as an odd, half-deranged 
 man, and received but little thought or attention.
 
 86 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Indeed, it was his policy to assume something like im- 
 becility on all matters save that of securing a fair return 
 for his merchandise. 
 
 The few expressions which he had happened to hear, 
 indicating trouble between England and her colonies, 
 had made but little impression on him, however, as the 
 idea that there could be any resistance to her mighty 
 power never entered his mind. But now what else 
 could the presence of so many soldiers mean, save 
 resistance? Were the soldiers that had already come, 
 and that were coming, under British rule or hostile to it ? 
 If they were English troops, nothing could induce him 
 to remain. If they were American forces in armed 
 rebellion, then there would be hope that in their success 
 he might finally escape the jurisdiction of English law. 
 His mind became so far aroused and clear that he was 
 enabled to act intelligently, though characteristically. 
 Instead of going over to Constitution Island, where he 
 might readily have learned the situation, he prepared a 
 large pack of articles for barter, and started for a 
 distant village down the river. Here he assumed his 
 old, stolid manner ; but he heard enough to so stimulate 
 his curiosity and awaken his hopes that he at last 
 brought himself to question an old and inoffensive- 
 appearing man who was working alone in his garden. 
 Learning from him the principal facts which had thus 
 far transpired, and the open resistance into which the 
 colonies had gradually passed, he started for home in a 
 state of wild and almost exultant excitement. At first, 
 he half proposed to take an open part in the struggle. 
 But long before he reached his cabin, the old wave of 
 morbid fear returned, and the habit of secretiveness, and 
 disposition to shrink from every one, resumed their 
 mastery. He decided to remain in his present home as 
 a post of observation. 
 
 " I'll wait and see what headway the rebellion makes,"
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 87 
 
 he muttered ; "for if it fails after I have committed my- 
 self to it, I am lost utterly." The man had become such 
 a wreck of his former self that his only thought was for 
 his own personal safety. His terrible secret had seem- 
 ingly blasted every generous and noble trait with its 
 deadly shade. 
 
 During his absence Vera and her mother ardently 
 hoped that the young stranger might come again. Vera 
 even went down to the shore, and looked wistfully at the 
 island opposite, from which the din of labor on the forti- 
 fications came faintly across the river. But she saw not 
 the one to whom she now felt she could almost find cour- 
 age to speak, and ask for that protection which he had 
 intimated they might need. 
 
 During the summer and autumn, they had been left 
 utterly alone. Even Vera, in her youth and inexperi- 
 ence, had become alarmed at her mother's feebleness 
 and hacking cough, and her thoughtful efforts to alleviate 
 and help were as pathetic as they were beautiful. She 
 felt that they had a very trying winter before them, and 
 knew that her father could be depended upon less and 
 less as a support. But she induced him to repair the 
 cellar under the cabin, so that the vegetables from a 
 small garden might be stored securely. She also had 
 persuaded him to enlarge a spring near the house into a 
 little pond, and in this her skill enabled her to place quite 
 a number of fish. She did her best to follow the example 
 of her wild playmates of the woods, that were busy most 
 of the time in providing against the cold, dark days to 
 come, and she even diminished the squirrels' hoards, by 
 the quantities of nuts which she gathered and dried for 
 winter use. She also carefully noted the haunts of rab- 
 bits, partridges, and quails, and prepared traps and 
 snares which could be used when the snow covered the 
 ground. 
 
 But, as the autumn winds sighed through the moun-
 
 68 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 tains, she sighed also ; for a strange depression and bod- 
 ing of evil was stealing over her. Her face, which had 
 been full of sunshine and mirthfulness even in darkest 
 days, grew unwontedly thoughtful and oppressed with 
 care ; but her features were none the less lovely, as they 
 began to express womanly solicitude and responsibility 
 instead of a child's light-hearted confidence. In her 
 mother's presence she ever sought, however, to maintain 
 her cheerful hopefulness. But the mother's love pierced 
 all disguises, and it was one of the bitterest drops in her 
 overflowing cup that her child should be so early and 
 heavily burdened. 
 
 The bond of clinging affection appeared to grow 
 stronger and tenderer between mother and daughter, as 
 their relations towards each other changed, and Vera 
 began to give the failing parent the care she had once 
 received herself. There were days when the poor woman 
 could scarcely leave her bed, and then Vera's every 
 touch was a caress. But the bracing air of autumn and 
 winter appeared to agree with the invalid better than the 
 relaxing heat of summer. The generous diet of game 
 which Vera carefully prepared did much also to keep up 
 her strength. But perhaps her gain in vigor was due to 
 the element of hope which her sympathetic spirit caught 
 from her husband ; for he had at once informed his wife 
 of the struggle that was commencing with the Power 
 he dreaded, and both felt that in its success would come 
 a calming sense of security. The wife urged her hus- 
 band to take an open part in the conflict, correctly judg- 
 ing that daily contact with others would be the best 
 antidote against his habit of morbid brooding. But in his 
 unnaturally developed caution and shrinking fear of dis- 
 covery, the man was not equal to this, and, for the time, 
 became only a secret and anxious watcher of the events 
 which he hoped might work out his deliverance. The 
 habit of suspiciously shunning every one had grown to be
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 89 
 
 a disease. Indeed, so warped had he become that he 
 began to dread lest his wife the only one in this land 
 who knew his dire secret might reveal it to Vera in some 
 unguarded moment ; and at times he even harshly cau- 
 tioned her against such a possibility. 
 
 Thus the winter passed rather sadly and drearily away. 
 Vera's powers were taxed to their utmost as nurse, 
 watcher, and housekeeper. Her father also had bad 
 days when nothing could induce him to leave his dusky 
 corner, and then her hands and feet were pinched with 
 cold, as she visited the traps and snares among the hills, 
 carrying the fowling-piece also, in order that their meagre 
 larder might not become utterly bare. 
 
 In the midst of her deepening anxiety and increasing 
 burdens her mystic sympathy with nature increased, and 
 she found comfort and companionship even in the wintry 
 landscape. Bible ideas and imagery blended with what 
 she saw around her. As with the lightness of a fawn she 
 bounded through the newly fallen snow, she would ex- 
 claim with an ecstatic thrill of hope, 
 
 " My robe, one day, will be as white and sparkling, 
 and the gems in my crown brighter than the icicle's 
 gleam hanging over yonder ledge of rocks. God teaches 
 me, even in winter, by such pretty things, what he is pre- 
 paring for his children." 
 
 When at times every branch, spray, and twig was en- 
 cased with snow, and the evergreens were bending be- 
 neath their fleecy burdens, she would be half wild with 
 delight at the beauty of the scene, and would cheer her 
 mother by saying, 
 
 " See what God can do in a single night. Won't our 
 mansions in heaven, which we so often read about, be 
 beautiful, mother ? for he has had ever so many years in 
 which to prepare them. Don't you think he is making 
 them prettier all the time ? " 
 
 " Yes, Vera," her mother would reply ; " as we grow
 
 90 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 better, God makes them prettier. Never distrust him, 
 for you see what he can do even in this world which is 
 so full of evil and trouble. 
 
 Thus, every beautiful object in nature became to the 
 young girl an evidence of her Heavenly Father's good- 
 will and love, and an assurance that he would fulfil at 
 last all the wonderful promises of the Bible. And dark 
 and dreary days, and disagreeable things, were expres- 
 sions of the evil in the world, from which she had his 
 promise also, that she should be protected, and finally 
 delivered. 
 
 Often, when the cold, bitter wind was blowing, and the 
 trees and shrubbery were tossing in its power, she would 
 draw a slender spray with its securely encased buds 
 against her glowing cheeks, as she said, caressingly, 
 
 " Don't fear! We shall be taken care of. Next May 
 will be like last May, and the wind will come softly from 
 the south." 
 
 Again, she would stand in the snow upon a violet bank, 
 and call, 
 
 " Heigh-ho, down there, tucked away in your winter 
 bed ! Do you ever dream of me in your sleep ? " 
 
 Thus nature, even in mid-winter, suggested to her 
 child sleep rather than death ; and hope, instead of fear 
 and despair ; and when her heart grew heavy and full of 
 vague forebodings of evil, as she saw her mother's 
 weakness, and her father so deeply enshrouded in gloom, 
 she would take her trusty gun and one of the great dogs, 
 and spend hours among the defiles of the mountains, 
 finding peace and good cheer, where to another would 
 have been only blackness and desolation, or the awful 
 solitude and grandeur of a mountain landscape in winter. 
 While Vera's character was simplicity itself, this noble 
 companionship with things that were grand and large, 
 though at times stern, took away utterly the elements of 
 silliness and triviality which make many young girls at
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 91 
 
 her age a weariness to all save those as empty as them- 
 selves. And the sternness of many scenes was more ap- 
 parent than real ; for in frowning ledges of rocks Vera 
 found cosy nooks in which she was protected from the 
 winds as she rested, and the sun would often light up the 
 face of the precipice, as a smile might illumine the rugged 
 features of one who seemed harsh and cold in nature, but 
 who, on closer acquaintance, would be found to possess 
 traits that are kindly and gentle. 
 
 The winter passed, and Vera was being prepared for 
 the part she must take in life for temptations and 
 ordeals which would test the strength and integrity of the 
 strongest. Her teachers were not such as the fashionable 
 would choose or desire sickness and sorrow at home, 
 and the solitude of wintry mountains without ; and yet 
 these stern-visaged instructors made their pupil more 
 sweet, unselfish, and womanly every day. They en- 
 dowed her with patience, and, at the same time, inspired 
 her with hope. Moreover, she had the two grand books 
 of the world, the Bible and Shakespeare ; and often as, 
 she watched in the corner of the wide fireplace, she half 
 read and half brooded over their glowing pages, until her 
 own mind was full of thronging thoughts and fancies, 
 which, in their beauty and character, were at least akin 
 to those she read. 
 
 Still, she often had a sense of loneliness, and the 
 natural craving for a wider companionship and sympathy. 
 From the day on which she had at first met Saville, there 
 had been in her mind a vague, faint unrest, and a desire 
 to know more of the world to which he belonged. His 
 attempted visit had greatly increased this desire, and 
 concentrated her thoughts upon him as the only one con- 
 cerning whom she had any knowledge, or who had shown 
 any interest in her. She often found herself vividly re- 
 calling the two occasions on which she had seen him, and 
 which had ended so unsatisfactorily. His manner, ap-
 
 92 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 pearance, and his words and tones even, were dwelt 
 upon ; and he became to her like one of Shakespeare's 
 knightly and heroic characters half real, half ideal. 
 She would end by sighing, 
 
 " He has probably gone away, and thinks of us only 
 as rude, ill-mannered mountaineers." 
 
 As spring advanced her mother failed rapidly, and 
 Vera's heart and hands became too full for thoughts of 
 aught else save the deepest and tenderest solicitude. 
 Old Gula shook her head more frequently and ominously, 
 and Vera had the most painful misgivings. 
 
 One day, after her mother had recovered from a ter- 
 rible paroxysm of coughing, she followed the old negress 
 to the little kitchen, and asked, 
 
 " Why do you shake your head so discouragingly ? " 
 
 " I'se a tinkin' dat missis is a hearin' voices as well as 
 ole Gula." 
 
 " What voices? " 
 
 "You'se can't understan', chile; but you will, some 
 day. Dey come to de homesick like." 
 
 " Where do they come from ? " 
 
 " Why, from home, honey. You'se mudder is like 
 ole Gula far from home. I heerd her a talkin' in her 
 sleep of a green, flowery island, way off 'yond de big 
 water. She, no more'n ole Gula, hab allers lived 'mong 
 dese cold, stony mountains. An* now de voices is a 
 callin' her home." 
 
 " Do you think do you think mother oh ! can mother 
 die ? " said Vera, in a terrified whisper. 
 
 " Dunno nuffin 'bout dyin", chile ; don't tink dere's 
 any such ting. But some day you'll find dis ole body 
 lyin' cold and still, but 'twon't be Gula, 'twon't be me. 
 I'll be far away, a followin' de voices ober de big wabes, 
 where de floatin' miseries go, and Gula will be home 
 where de sun shines warm all de time, and de palm-trees 
 wave. Oh! oh! ole Gula's heart is sore; sore wid
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CAEE 93 
 
 waitin'." And the poor creature threw her apron over 
 her head, and rocked herself back and forth in all the 
 tropical demonstrativeness of grief. 
 
 But Vera's heart was sore also, and finding that she 
 was losing self-control, she hastened out into the twilight, 
 and sitting down upon a rock back of the cabin, sobbed 
 as if her heart would break. 
 
 Gula soon forgot her own grief in the young girl's dis- 
 tress, and removing her apron, her quaint, wrinkled face 
 became full of commiseration. At last she rose and 
 hobbled to her, and laying her hand on the bowed head, 
 said in husky tones, 
 
 " Dare, dare, po' young missis ; don't take on so. 
 You mustn't be sorry dat you'se mudder's goin' home. 
 When she gits back where she lived afore, she won't be 
 sick any mo'." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! there's no use of trying to be blind 
 any more. Mother is going home ; but not to England 
 to a better home than that. But, oh ! to be left alone 
 what shall I do ? how can I bear it ? " 
 
 Calming herself by a great effort, she at last returned 
 to her mother, who had surmised her daughter's distress, 
 and looked at her so wistfully that Vera again lost self- 
 control, and kneeling by the bed, gave way to an agony 
 of grief. 
 
 " O mother," she sobbed, " how can you leave me ? " 
 
 The poor woman gave her child a startled look, and 
 then, more fully than ever before, realized the inevitable 
 separation soon to come ; she also saw that the sad truth 
 could be no longer concealed from Vera. Reaching out 
 her feeble hands, she took her child into her arms, and 
 they wept together till both were exhausted. Then the 
 mother whispered the old sweet refrain that had soothed 
 and sustained her through so many troubled years : 
 
 " ' Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be 
 afraid. In my Father's house are many mansions ' I
 
 94 NEAE TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 think I shall soon be in mine, Vera ; and I will watch 
 and wait for you." 
 
 " I don't want another mansion, mother. I'll ask God 
 to let me live with you. One mansion will be enough for 
 us both. Oh, why can't I go with you? " 
 
 " Your father needs you here, Vera. Oh, my poor 
 husband ! For my sake he fell into this gulf of darkness. 
 Had it not been for me " 
 
 " Hush! " said a stern voice ; and mother and child 
 became very still, the one oppressed by a dark secret 
 known, and the other by the same secret unknown, but 
 which the girl, even in her inexperience and ignorance 
 of evil, began to realize must be very sad and dreadful. 
 She retired for a time to her little grotto-like apartment in 
 the side of the hill, and then came back calm and strength- 
 ened, and entered upon her patient watch. 
 
 The husband, who had been a silent, and, up to the 
 time of his harsh interruption, a forgotten witness of the 
 scene just described, was terribly agitated by contending 
 emotions. The words ,he had heard had aroused him 
 from his deep preoccupation, and he too began to realize 
 for the first time that his wife might be near her end 
 that this was more than a temporary illness. His mind 
 was not so utterly warped but that he foresaw his loss 
 with the keenest anguish. He had loved this faded, 
 dying woman with all the strength of his nature, and the 
 thought that she could die and leave him had never been 
 entertained. But now it came like a revelation a light- 
 ning flash into his darkness, making everything the 
 darker thereafter. At one moment his heart would yearn 
 towards her with an infinite tenderness and remorse ; and 
 then the thought would come surging up, born of his 
 guilty secret and demoralizing fear, that if she died, no 
 one, at least in this land, would know thg past. It 
 seemed to him that he had arrested her just as she was 
 on the point of revealing the secret to his child. She
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CASE 95 
 
 might do so still. He remembered that the dying were 
 prone to unburden their hearts to some one. He de- 
 termined that this must be prevented at all hazards ; and 
 in spite of his morbid suspiciousness, he still had such 
 trust in the woman who had been so true to him, as to 
 be satisfied that if she gave him her solemn promise to be 
 dumb never to tell even Vera she would keep her 
 word. 
 
 When their daughter had left them alone, he said ah* 
 ruptly, and yet in a tone that trembled, 
 
 " Esther, are you going to die ? " 
 
 " Yes, Guy," said the wife, wearily and faintly. 
 
 After a moment, and still more tremblingly, the man 
 said, 
 
 " Will you protect me to the last, as you have in all 
 these years ? " 
 
 "Yes, Guy." 
 
 " Will you give me your word, which you have never 
 broken, not to tell even Vera ?" 
 
 " Yes, Guy ; not even Vera. 
 
 " Will you swear it ? " he said hoarsely, 
 
 God is my witness, I will be silent. The deed was 
 not done in malice God will forgive you, Guy. Oh, let 
 the ' Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of 
 the world ' lift the load from your heart. He has from 
 mine. But how how can I leave yoxi and my darling 
 child? And yet you may be better off without me. I 
 fear I have become a burden." 
 
 The man gave way, and throwing himself down on his 
 knees beside his wife, groaned and sobbed in a perfect 
 tempest of grief. 
 
 " I've blighted your life, Esther/' he cried. " Think 
 what you might have been. You might have dwelt in a 
 palace. ' ' 
 
 " Hush, Guy," said his wife solemnly. " If all could 
 be done over again from that night when you came and
 
 96 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 told me what had happened, I would act just the same. 
 I loved you then. I love you now, and God loves you." 
 
 " What kind of a God is he that permits such hor- 
 rors? " groaned the wretched man, showing that even 
 the love of the unbelieving can in such emergencies do 
 little else than wound and pain those who cling to them. 
 
 " He is the God who only can deliver from such hor- 
 rors, and remedy the fatal mistakes and deeds of this 
 life," said his wife eagerly. 
 
 "How has he remedied them? You are dying, and 
 we will be left alone in this dreary wilderness, in which 
 we must cower and hide till we also die." 
 
 " O Guy, Guy, time is short, and eternity very long. 
 So trust, so live, that all may be well hereafter. I 
 shall wait for you and Vera ; and it seems to me that 
 heaven will not begin till you both come to me." 
 
 The man was silent, and became more composed. 
 
 "And Guy," continued his wife faintly, for she was 
 growing very weary, " I fear this utter seclusion is unwise 
 and unsafe. It may be fatal to Vera's happiness. Go 
 out and take an open part in this conflict for liberty. 
 You will be your old self after you have mingled awhile 
 with your fellow men." 
 
 " Not yet," groaned the man. " I dare not yet." 
 
 The wife sighed deeply, but said no more. But her 
 sore heart was comforted when her husband rose and for 
 the first time for years bent over her, giving a kiss and 
 gentle caress, as he said, 
 
 " Poor little wife, you have been faithfulness itself." 
 
 Then he went back to his dusky corner ; but the 
 watchful glitter of his eyes was often dimmed with tears ; 
 and Vera found on her return that her mother had fallen 
 into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion. 
 
 The spring night deepened and darkened, but a shadow 
 darker than the night had fallen across the cottage ; for 
 all at last realized that death was near. Towards morn-
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CAKE 97 
 
 ing the man dozed in his chair, but Vera's eyes were 
 fixed with a wide and fearful gaze into that dread future 
 when she should be alone in the world that to her was so 
 strange and unexplored. More than once the thought 
 crossed her mind in reference to Saville, 
 
 " If he knew, would he come? " 
 
 And yet all through that interminable night, she was 
 sustained and comforted by the memory of One who she 
 felt sure would know and care. 
 
 But in the light of the lovely May morning, and in 
 view of the fact that her mother seemed a little stronger 
 and easier, hope revived. 
 
 " Father, I think a surgeon might help mother," said 
 Vera with decision. 
 
 The man gave his daughter a startled look, and her 
 words had evidently awakened a sudden conflict in his 
 mind. But his aroused and better nature prevailed. 
 
 "Perhaps he might," he faltered; "perhaps he 
 might." 
 
 " Then where can one be found? " 
 
 He strode up and down the room a moment, then cast- 
 ing a compassionate look at his wife, muttered, 
 
 " She shall have the chance, cost what it may." 
 Then aloud to Vera " There is no doubt a surgeon at 
 the garrison on the Island." 
 
 I will go for him at once," said Vera. 
 
 " Will you will you go ? " said her father with an air 
 of great relief. 
 
 " Yes, if I could only keep mother with us, I would go 
 anywhere and face anything." 
 
 The poor woman smiled faintly, but shook her head. 
 
 But old Gula barred Vera's exit, till she had finished 
 her morning bowl of bread and milk. 
 
 " You'se not a sperrit, honey, do' you'se growin' to 
 look mighty like one." Old Gula had considerable sense 
 still in spite of her weird ways.
 
 98 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " I will take our little skiff out of its hiding-place and 
 launch it for you," said her father ; "and I will be on 
 the watch with my rifle all the time to see that no harm 
 comes to you." 1 
 
 In less than an hour Vera's light shell shot out of a 
 little cove above the point of land opposite Constitution 
 Island, and was soon dancing on the waves raised by the 
 southern breeze blowing against the tide. 
 
 Saville was engaged as usual, directing the work upon 
 the fortifications, when a casual glance towards the river 
 revealed to him the approaching skiff. Its occupant so 
 puzzled him that he hastened for his glass, and soon 
 recognized the shy maiden who had eluded him on the 
 point just opposite, and whom he had half forgotten. 
 But now she seemed coming boldly to the shore a little 
 below where he stood. As Vera looked around and 
 saw who it was, she seemed startled, and rested on her 
 oars. 
 
 "Are you, too, afraid of me?" asked Saville kindly. 
 
 Her reply was a few vigorous strokes which brought 
 her boat to his feet, and then rising steadily, she stepped 
 lightly to the shore, before he could offer his hand. 
 
 "You see I trust you, sir," she said simply, as she 
 stood tremblingly before him with downcast eyes. 
 
 " And am I such an ogre that you fled from me once, 
 and now tremble before me as if I might eat you up ? 
 Though if I were an ogre I should be sorely tempted to 
 fall to ; for I doubt if one ever sat down to a daintier 
 meal." 
 
 The young girl's eyes overflowed with tears, as her 
 only reply to this light badinage. 
 
 "You are in trouble," said Saville quickly, and in a 
 very different tone. 
 
 "Yes," was all that Vera could say. 
 
 " Tell me what I can do for you ? " 
 
 Putting her hand upon her bosom to still its wild throb-
 
 LEFT TO NATUBE'S CASE 99 
 
 bing, caused by embarrassment, excitement, and her 
 violent exercise, she at last was able to Say, 
 
 " Is there I would see a surgeon." 
 
 "Sit down, my child, and rest. Do not be afraid; 
 you may trust me fully. I will bring the surgeon to 
 you." 
 
 " I am much beholden to you for your courtesy," 
 said Vera, naturally falling into the quaint language of 
 the book with which she was so familiar, and whose 
 courtly phraseology seemed to her appropriate in ad- 
 dressing a stranger. 
 
 Saville was interested in the contrast between her 
 stately words and simple, grateful manner, for she was 
 much relieved at finding that she need not face the stare 
 of the garrison. 
 
 Calling one of his men, Saville told him to stand guard, 
 and permit no one to approach his prote'gee, and then 
 hastened for the surgeon. Neither he nor the man who 
 stood mechanically at his post, though with many a 
 curious glance at the strange visitor, realized that their 
 good behavior was greatly to their advantage ; for if 
 they had been capable of anything else, an unerring 
 rifle would have spoken from the opposite shore. 
 
 Saville soon returned with a stout, burly, but kindly- 
 featured man, who, on learning Vera's errand, looked 
 with dismay at the slight skiff. 
 
 "Look ye here, my child," he said brusquely, " I'm 
 not a fairy like yourself, and can't swim. Did you imag- 
 ine you could take a fully developed surgeon across the 
 river in that shell? I wouldn't venture in it for twelve 
 months' pay in advance." 
 
 Vera turned her face, full of distress and disappoint- 
 ment, and mute appeal to Saville, who immediately said, 
 cordially, 
 
 "That's right ; you can trust me to keep my promise 
 of help; so don't spoil your pretty eyes with tears. You
 
 100 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 can lead the way in your skiff, and I will take this heal- 
 ing monster over in a pontoon boat, or ship-of-the-line, 
 so that he be kept from the element he most dreads. 
 But wait a moment, and I'll get you something that will 
 do your mother more good than all his medicines," and 
 he hastened to his quarters, and brought Vera a bottle 
 of French brandy. "There," he said, "I put that in 
 your charge ; for it won't do to trust the doctor with it. 
 He will tell your mother how to use it, but do not let him 
 show her." 
 
 But not a glimmer of a smile came into Vera's face at 
 Saville's light talk. Indeed, it grated harshly on her 
 ears, as she remembered her mother's critical state. 
 
 "Now, cheer up," added Saville kindly, " and lead 
 the way. If our good doctor is helpless on the water, he 
 is skilful on the land, and no doubt will soon restore 
 your mother to health." 
 
 Vera, whose sore heart was in such need of sympathy, 
 lost her control at Saville's kindly tones and manner, and 
 bursting into tears, said, 
 
 "I fear mother is sick unto death;" and turning 
 hastily sprang into her little boat, and was soon out in the 
 stream, where she kept the light craft waiting in position, 
 with the care and precision of a water-fowl. 
 
 Saville's pontoon proved to be a handsomely modeled 
 boat of his own, which he kept for his private pleasure or 
 for patroling the river should occasion require, and he 
 soon struck out vigorously after Vera's guiding skiff. 
 She led them to a point from which the ascent to the cot- 
 tage could be made with comparative ease. Saville was 
 about to accompany them, having again become inter- 
 ested in the unique character of the maiden, and feeling 
 assured that if the cabin was the hiding-place of crime, 
 none of its occupants could be vulgar criminals ; while 
 the thought of evil was not to be entertained in regard to
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CASE 101 
 
 the maiden. But Vera arrested his steps, by saying, 
 with painful embarrassment, 
 
 " Father said I must bring no one save the surgeon." 
 
 Saville's quick spirit was hurt, and he flushed resent- 
 fully. Vera felt herself cruelly trammeled, but was un- 
 able to see how she could explain the apparently rude re- 
 quital of his kindness. Her troubled face, however, 
 almost instantly disarmed him, and he saw that her 
 words were not at all prompted by her own feelings ; and 
 when she suddenly stepped up to him and said in a low 
 tone, 
 
 "'Charity suffereth long and is kind,' " he took her 
 hand and answered gently, 
 
 "Charity also ' thinketh no evil.' You are a good 
 girl, though you are rather odd. Good-bye, and don't 
 worry about me. May your mother soon get well." 
 
 "And may God requite thy kindness," Vera said so 
 earnestly, that for the moment he felt as if she had ap- 
 pealed to One who had an existence. But a moment 
 later, after she was gone, he shrugged his shoulders, and 
 soliloquized, 
 
 " That's the way it always is crime and superstition go 
 together. That girl's parents, who no doubt are hiding 
 from the constable, are very religious, and have taught 
 this poor child their pious jargon. Still she seems to 
 have the natural grace to use it with skill and taste. She 
 is, indeed, very odd, and her seeming familiarity with the 
 two greatest works of fiction in the world is unaccount- 
 able in one so young and isolated. I must find some 
 means of propitiating her churlish father ; for I would like 
 to pursue this strange acquaintance further." 
 
 The surgeon's practiced eye at once saw that Vera's 
 mother was in the last stages of consumption, and to the 
 questioning and entreating eyes that were turned upon 
 him, could only shake his head and say,
 
 102 NEAR TO NATURES HEART 
 
 " Neither I nor any one else can do much for you, 
 madam ; you must prepare for a better world." 
 
 Vera gave a faint cry, as if she had received a mortal 
 wound, and was about to give way to her grief, when her 
 mother restrained her by saying, 
 
 " Be calm, darling, for my sake. It is just as I sup- 
 posed. Let us patiently submit to God's will." 
 
 "That's a good child," added the kindly surgeon. 
 " Try to control yourself and listen to me, and you can 
 make your mother's last days much easier ; " and he 
 gave full directions, and left alleviating remedies. " But 
 Saville was right," he concluded, " the brandy will do 
 more to sustain your mother at times than anything else. 
 You needn't come back with me. I can find my way to 
 the boat." 
 
 The doctor's visit had not been so brief but that he had 
 been much impressed by the mother's refinement, and 
 the appearance of the cottage. 
 
 "You may depend upon it," he said to Saville on his 
 return, " those people there are very far from being ordi- 
 nary mountaineers." 
 
 Thus the young man's interest was still further stimu- 
 lated, and he resolved, though with no motive of vulgar 
 curiosity, if possible, to penetrate the mystery. 
 
 The lovely spring day without, was a dark and dreary 
 one within the cabin, for the last hope of recovery had 
 vanished. The husband sank into the deepest gloom, 
 from which nothing could arouse him ; but he was un- 
 wontedly tender and thoughtful of his wife. From that 
 day he so managed and provided for the family that 
 Vera could give all her time to the sick-room. But this 
 seclusion from her outdoor life, combined with her broken 
 rest and burden of sorrow, told heavily on the young 
 girl, and she was beginning to look almost like the min- 
 istering spirit Gula had spoken of. The mother would 
 often urge her to go out and take the air, but Vera would
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 103 
 
 always reply, in the pathetic words of one whom in sim- 
 plicity and fidelity she resembled, " Entreat me. not to 
 leave thee." 
 
 And yet it was an unspeakable comfort to the dying 
 woman that her husband so provided for the household 
 as to leave her beloved child a continuous watcher at her 
 bedside ; for had Vera been compelled, as had often been 
 the case in the past, to spend much of her time roaming 
 the hills and following the brooks in order to keep up a 
 supply of food, the cup of her bitterness would have over- 
 flowed. As well as she could, in view of her own igno- 
 rance of the world and the peculiarities of their situation, 
 she tried to advise and guard her child in reference to 
 the future. 
 
 " Let your name," she said one day, " which your 
 father gave you because he said I had been true to him, 
 express your character. Be true to your God and your 
 faith, be true to my poor teachings and your own pure 
 womanly nature. Let the Bible guide you in all things, 
 and then you will always have peace in your heart, and 
 find sympathy in nature without. But rest assured, Vera, 
 however wise and greatly to your advantage anything 
 may seem, if your Bible is against it, do not hesitate to 
 turn away, for it would not end well. Keep thy heart 
 with all diligence. When it troubles you when your old 
 playmates, the innocent flowers, look at you reproach- 
 fully, something will be wrong. Keep true, my darling, 
 and our separation won't be long. But, oh ! how can I 
 leave you in the world, so unshielded and alone ? O 
 thou who callest thyself a ' covenant-keeping God,' fail 
 not my child." 
 
 Again, at another time she said, " Vera, one of the most 
 painful things in your future lot will be that you cannot 
 trust the judgment of your father. Indeed, you will have 
 to be his guardian and protector more truly than he will 
 be yours. Be very tender and patient with him, for my
 
 104 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 sake as well as from your own love, and yet be firm 
 when your own and his interests require it. I do not 
 think this utter seclusion wise or safe. It will draw rather 
 than avert suspicion and trouble." 
 
 " Why does father shrink so from strangers? Though 
 I have often asked, you have never told me much about 
 your old life in England." 
 
 " Well, my darling, you must be content to know little, 
 for your life will be burdened enough, I fear, with your 
 own troubles, and I would not add to them those of the 
 past. Let it satisfy you to know that your father met 
 with a sudden and great misfortune, and was compelled 
 to leave his native land. I loved him, and followed him, 
 as I would again, if I were free to choose. But, Vera, he 
 took me to a minister of God before we left England, and 
 with this plain ring, and with sacred words, we were 
 joined in holy wedlock. I had thought to be buried with 
 this ring, but it can serve better uses. I now put it on 
 your hand, as a kind of charm against evil. Give no 
 man any rights, Vera ; permit not even a caressing touch 
 from one that you may even love, unless he will wed you 
 with your dead mother's ring, and in the presence of 
 God's minister, in accordance with the teachings of God's 
 Book." And she placed the plain gold band upon Vera's 
 finger. 
 
 Did not God inspire the act ? 
 
 Of course Vera had spoken often of Saville's kindness, 
 and the mother seemed to have a presentiment that he 
 might have much influence upon her daughter's destiny. 
 " I wish I could have seen him, for it is said that the 
 dying often have great insight into character," she 
 sighed, one day, as Vera was speaking gratefully of his 
 words and manner ; and the girl deeply regretted that 
 she had not permitted him to come. 
 
 " If he ever does seek your acquaintance, find out if 
 he is true, above all other things. If truthfulness is
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 105 
 
 wanting, you can depend on nothing else. I pray God 
 that he, or some other strong, honest friend may be 
 raised up for you ; for when I remember the words, 
 This region will soon be full of armed men," my heart 
 fails me. I fear your father's manner will only draw sus- 
 picion and hostility." 
 
 Thus the dying mother tried to counsel Vera against 
 the time, when, though still a child, she should be en- 
 tirely dependent for guidance on her own judgment and 
 conscience. 
 
 After all hope of life had been removed by the surgeon's 
 visit, she failed quite rapidly, until at last her life seemed 
 but a breath, that might cease at any moment. She felt 
 that her end was very near, and one day, in the latter 
 part of May, would not permit her husband to leave the 
 house. Still, she slept most of the time, only rousing, now 
 and then, to give the watchers a faint smile. The man 
 sat most of the time with his face buried in his hands, 
 overwhelmed with remorse and gloom. But Vera's eyes 
 were continually fixed on her mother's face, as if she 
 feared her treasure might vanish should she turn away 
 an instant. 
 
 As the sun sank below the mountains, the sleeper 
 aroused, and her face was so peaceful and painless that 
 Vera said : 
 
 " You are better, mother." 
 
 " Yes, darling, I shall soon be well. Where's old 
 Gula?" 
 
 Vera called her, and the aged negress, with her 
 wrinkled face working strangely, stood at her bed- 
 side. 
 
 " Good-bye, Gula. Oh ! that among your voices you 
 could hear that of our Saviour, saying, ' Come unto me, 
 and I will give you rest.' I shall wait and watch for 
 you, too, my poor old friend." 
 
 " You'se will git home 'fore ole Gula, but I'se a goin'
 
 106 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 soon wery soon." And the poor old creature threw her 
 apron over her head, and going back to the door-step f 
 rocked back and forth, crooning a low, continuous wail 
 of sorrow. 
 
 " Guy," said the wife. 
 
 Her husband came and took her hand, already cold 
 with approaching death. She fixed her large and un- 
 naturally bright eyes upon him while he trembled like an 
 aspen in his effort at self-control. 
 
 " Guy," at last she faltered, " I left all things to follow 
 you ; won't you follow me to the home where we shall be 
 safe and at rest ? " 
 
 " I will try," he groaned. 
 
 " Be gentle with Vera be thoughtful of her. If he 
 who so kindly aided her in bringing the surgeon comes 
 again, do not drive him away." 
 
 The man could not trust himself to speak, but bowed 
 his head in assent. 
 
 " Oh ! my husband," said his wife in sudden and pas- 
 sionate earnestness, " I love you ; I would follow you 
 again to the ends of the earth. ' Let not your heart be 
 so troubled.' ' 
 
 With a cry like that of one desperately wounded, he 
 rushed from the room, exclaiming, " My punishment is 
 greater than I can bear." 
 
 Her eyes followed him with infinite regret and tender- 
 ness, and the expression of her face must have been akin 
 to that of Christ, as he wept over the doomed and unbe- 
 lieving city. For a few moments she was silent, and her 
 lips moved in prayer. Then she turned, and took her 
 child in one last close embrace. 
 
 " Vera, darling," she whispered, " it's only for a little 
 while, and then we'll not part any more. Assurance has 
 been given me that he who took into his arms the chil- 
 dren that mothers brought him, and blessed them, will 
 take my place to you. My heart is not troubled, neither
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CABE 107 
 
 is it afraid. I leave you in his charge, and no one shall 
 be able to pluck you out of his hands." 
 
 "Mother," said Vera suddenly, "do you think God 
 would permit any one to have two guardian angels ? 
 Might he not let me have two, at least till I find some one 
 who will take care of me ? " 
 
 " Well, dear, if he will, what then? " 
 
 " It may be selfish, mother darling, to ask you to leave 
 heaven ; but God says in his Book that after we go to 
 him we shall be 'like unto the angels.' If he will let 
 you, would you mind coming down sometimes to watch 
 over me ? I shall be so very, very lonely without you, 
 and if I thought you were near me at times, it would be 
 such a comfort." 
 
 " I believe he will let me come, darling, and it seems 
 to me that not all the joy of heaven could keep me from 
 being continually at your side. But whether I can come 
 or not, he has said, ' I will never leave thee nor forsake 
 thee ' ; and his words seem very sure to-day." 
 
 The mother's voice, in her mortal weakness, had sunk 
 to the lowest whisper. 
 
 After a few moments, she said, " Can you sing me the 
 twenty-third Psalm, darling? " 
 
 Vera had long before passed beyond sobbing and tears, 
 and now possessed the strange, unnatural calmness of 
 those who are lifted by some great emergency of sorrow 
 far above their ordinary moods and powers. 
 
 Rising from this last close embrace, she chanted those 
 sublime yet tender words, which have been like an all- 
 powerful and sustaining hand to myriads of weary pil- 
 grims in the last dark stage of the journey home. The 
 music was simple and improvised, but so sweet and full 
 of pathos, that even her father, who had returned, was 
 calmed and melted by it, and sat down by Vera's side to 
 watch and wait for the end. The mother's face was very 
 peaceful, and she seemed to be sleeping. Suddenly her
 
 108 NEAR TO NATUEE'S HEART 
 
 eyes opened wide and her face appeared illumined by a 
 coming light. Her lips moved, and Vera, bending over, 
 heard her whisper, 
 
 " Oh, my Saviour, hast thou deigned to come thyself 
 for me ? ' Behold the handmaid of the Lord.' ' 
 
 Then, as if remembering those she was leaving, she 
 looked back to them with a smile that Vera never forgot, 
 for it seemed spiritual rather than human, and said quite 
 plainly, 
 
 " Good-bye for a little while. All is well. Let not your 
 heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." 
 
 Her breast rose and fell with two or three long sighs, 
 and then the frail, earthly tabernacle was tenantless, but 
 upon the pallid face the departed spirit had left the im- 
 press of peace. To Vera, in her excited and exalted 
 state, the dusky cabin seemed filled with the rustle of 
 angels' wings. 
 
 "Is she dead?" asked the husband in a hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 " No," said Vera gently, " she is in heaven." 
 
 Her father went back to his dark corner, and sat there 
 through the long night, motionless, sleepless, and scarcely 
 seeming to breathe. Vera, still holding her mother's cold 
 hand, watched mechanically, too stunned and bewil- 
 dered to think or to realize her loss, and yet sleepless 
 from excitement and the long habit of wakefulness. Old 
 Gula brought her a cup of milk, but she shook her head. 
 
 "Now, missy, mind your mudder jus' de same. 
 Wouldn't she say take it ? " and Vera drank it eagerly. 
 
 The night deepened, and was full of the strange, weird 
 sounds to which she had always loved to listen, but she 
 did not hear them. The silent stars passed over her head 
 as unnoted as the hours. With the same steadfast gaze 
 she looked towards the dead face, which, though hidden 
 by the darkness, was ever distinctly before her. At last, 
 as the morning dawned, the face began to take shape to
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CASE 109 
 
 her outward vision. At first it was shadowy and spirit- 
 like, then that of a quiet and peaceful sleeper ; but at last 
 a broad ray of light, streaming through the casement, 
 fell full upon it, giving it a strange gladness, and the ef- 
 fect of recovered youth, health, and beauty. God seem- 
 ingly transfigured the wasted features, suggesting to the 
 desolate young watcher what had really taken place in 
 the sunny land " wherein the inhabitant shall no more 
 say, I am sick." To Vera's strong and simple faith it 
 was like the vision of her mother's glory in heaven, and 
 the ray became, and was ever remembered, as an angel 
 of light and comfort. 
 
 Then Gula entered and said, " Keep a-doin' jus" as 
 you'se mudder would like, honey. Go to de spring and 
 bathe your face, and den come and see what I'se got for 
 you.'.' 
 
 Vera went at once, and the cool water, coming from 
 the heart of the mountain, calmed her feverish excite- 
 ment. She sat down on a mossy rock, and looked 
 around like one who had entered a new world and a new 
 life, and could not yet comprehend it. But gradually the 
 familiar sights and sounds of nature gained her attention, 
 and began to speak to her in the language she loved and 
 understood so well. 
 
 " Look at us," said the violets, blooming at her feet. 
 " All last winter we slept in seeming death, as your 
 mother is Sleeping now ; but at the right time God 
 awakened us, and here we are to comfort you." 
 
 "Look at me," said the bubbling spring. "The 
 black ice shut me in, as the black earth will cover your 
 mother, but it did not hurt me ; and, sparkling again 
 this morning as brightly as ever, I am here to comfort 
 you." 
 
 "Listen to us," said the birds over her head. "We 
 did not sing here last winter, but we were singing where 
 the cold winds never blow. So your mother has only
 
 110 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 ftown away to a sunnier clime, and we are here to com- 
 fort you." 
 
 " Look at me," cried the sun, rising in unclouded 
 splendor over the eastern hills. " Do I not come back to 
 you after the darkness of the night ? So will he, whose 
 light I reflect, shine away your sorrow, and he has sent 
 me to comfort you." 
 
 "Watch me a little while," said a drop of dew, hang- 
 ing on a delicate wind-flower that she had unconsciously 
 plucked ; " and, ere you are aware, the sun will draw me 
 up towards himself into the sky. So God has taken your 
 mother, and soon he will take you, and he himself will 
 wipe away all tears and comfort you." 
 
 Then, to the fancy of the solitary girl, who had little 
 companionship save that of nature's children, these voices 
 all seemed to join in a swelling chorus : \ 
 
 " Oh ! trust with us the great Creator, 
 
 Whose Jaw of love our love enthralls 
 Unnoted by our Heavenly Father 
 Not e'en a fluttering sparrow falls. 
 
 " Let not your heart be faint and troubled, 
 
 And neither let it be afraid ; 
 For God will guard, with care redoubled, 
 The child in his own image made." 
 
 Thus the peace and hopefulness of nature were breathed 
 into her heart, and she went back to the cottage, trusting 
 in him to whom all things seemed to point. 
 
 But, when she entered the cabin, and the sleeper did 
 not awake with the wonted smile of recognition and 
 words of welcome ; when she kissed the cold lips, and 
 found that they were indeed cold and unresponsive, a 
 mysterious dread chilled her own heart, and the realiza-
 
 LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 111 
 
 tion of her loss, loneliness, and helplessness was so vivid 
 as to be well-nigh overwhelming. 
 
 But tears, nature's relief, came at last, and she wept 
 and sobbed until she grew quiet from exhaustion. Then 
 Gula again resumed her homely ministry, and after in- 
 ducing the stricken orphan to take a little food, was at 
 last pleased to see her escape from sorrow for a time in 
 the deep oblivion of sleep. 
 
 The husband, who for many hours had seemed stunned 
 and paralyzed by his loss, at last aroused himself, and 
 told Gula that he would go with the skiff up the river for 
 a coffin, and that it would be late before he returned. 
 Having taken some provisions, and leaving the two dogs 
 as protection, he departed. 
 
 Vera slept quietly until the time her mother had died 
 the previous evening, when something, perhaps, in the 
 recurring hour caused her to start up as if called. But 
 time had been given for her healthful nature to recuper- 
 ate, and though the sense of desolation, all the more op- 
 pressive from her father's absence, was indeed terrible at 
 times, she was able to resume her post of watcher for the 
 night, saying to Gula, 
 
 " I will feel better sitting here by mother, as if she were 
 still alive, than I would anywhere else." 
 
 " I'se a gwine to stay here wid de young missy," said 
 Gula resolutely ; and she crouched down in the wide fire- 
 place, the faint flicker of the flames often giving a 
 strange effect to her face and form as she crooned weird 
 snatches of the barbarous music learned long ago in her 
 tropical home. 
 
 It was a remarkable group : the mother, once beautiful 
 and abounding in hope, now faded and dead in the 
 mountain cabin ; the exile, the old African princess, who 
 had been stolen from her home, and wronged, until her 
 mind had become even a greater wreck than her scarred 
 and shriveled form ; and the young maiden, who was like
 
 112 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 some of her favorite mountain flowers, that grew into 
 fragrant loveliness among rocks and cliffs, where it would 
 seem they could scarcely live at all. 
 
 The night deepened, and it may be well believed that 
 other and viewless watchers gathered round the sorrow- 
 stricken girl.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 
 
 As the lovely spring day, which had brought to Vera 
 a brief respite from her sorrow, was drawing to a close, a 
 man might have been seen issuing from a log cabin lo- 
 cated among the mountains west of the Hudson, and at 
 a considerable distance from the river. His manner was 
 brisk and decided, as if he were looking forward to the 
 labors from which, in view of the hour, he should 
 naturally be returning. His house was built very strongly, 
 and appeared as if it might be used as a refuge and de- 
 fense, as well as a dwelling. The place had a certain 
 rude air of thrift, and yet there was nothing to indicate 
 from whence the owner's revenue came. There was no 
 cleared and arable land near, and certainrf the beautiful 
 horse, that cropped the grass in the small inclosure 
 around the cabin, had never served as one of a wood- 
 man's team. 
 
 The man's action was still more irreconcilable with 
 any peaceful pursuit ; for he rapidly ascended the lofty 
 hill back of his house, which was one of a succession of 
 wooded highlands, stretching away towards the river, and 
 having gained the summit, scanned the valley to the 
 westward, giving especial attention to some object far 
 distant upon the road leading southward. 
 
 As he stood there, partially concealing himself among 
 the low trees, glass in hand, we may sketch him briefly. 
 He was a little past middle age, tall, and most powerfully 
 built ; his quick movements, however, adding an impres- 
 sion of lightness and something like grace to that of
 
 114 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 strength. The aspect of his face was bold, even to reck- 
 lessness. He had the bearing of one gifted with unlim- 
 ited natural daring, rather than the calm, patient courage 
 which would lead a man to die at his post. His restless 
 black eyes had the habit of glancing rapidly from side to 
 side, as if he were on a perpetual reconnoissance. The 
 light that came from them was not the diabolical gleam 
 of those who know themselves to be villains, but rather 
 the keen, alert expression often seen in beasts of prey. 
 There was scarcely anything to indicate the presence of 
 a moral nature. The eagle, perched upon his eyrie, 
 scanning the valley to see where he could swoop down to 
 the best advantage, would be the most correct type of 
 this man, Claudius Smith by name, and the terror of 
 the whole region, during the early years of the Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 Apparently satisfied by his scrutiny, he went rapidly 
 back among the hills, instead of returning to his own 
 house. Within less than half an hour he reached a se- 
 cluded glen.. Before descending this, he again took an 
 observation not of the exquisite landscape, with valleys 
 lying in shadow, and rugged highlands aglow with the 
 setting sun, and all decked in the tender and tinted foli- 
 age of May. The gleam of a rifle barrel would catch 
 Smith's eye instantly, but the perception of beauty was 
 not in his line. 
 
 Again everything appeared satisfactory, and he de- 
 scended the hillside nearly to its base, and then, instead 
 of giving the conventional signal of thrice whistling, he 
 imitated with marvelous exactness the neigh of a horse. 
 A flat stone, quite hidden by some copse-wood near 
 where he stood, was thrown back, and eight men emerged, 
 as it were, from the bowels of the earth, and the leader 
 and his band were together. 
 
 " It's all right, boys," he said hurriedly. " I watched 
 the squad of militia till they disappeared to the southeast.
 
 THE ROSIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 115 
 
 The coast is clear. Meet me, mounted and armed, at my 
 house within an hour ; " and with the lightness and celerity 
 of movement that characterized him, he vanished among 
 the trees. 
 
 His men well understood their part, and were seem- 
 ingly glad to be released from confinement. The pres- 
 ence of soldiery in the neighborhood made the resort to 
 this hiding-place (of which they had several in the moun- 
 tains) a precaution which their leader insisted on, for this 
 Tory gang had already become so notorious that parties 
 had attempted their capture. After carefully covering 
 the mouth of the cave, they went to their secluded moun- 
 tain homes, or where their horses were in hiding, and 
 within the time named, were reassembled at Smith's 
 house, armed and mounted in true moss-trooper style. 
 
 Never was a group of Italian bandits among the Apen- 
 nines more picturesque and suggestive of ruthless deeds 
 than these highland Tories and Cowboys ; and not a 
 classic brigand of them all was more unscrupulous. 
 
 They were all dressed somewhat as their leader, in red 
 flannel shirts and short coats, which could be buttoned 
 tightly or hang oose like a cavalryman's jacket. Buck- 
 skin breeches, and topboots armed with spurs, completed 
 their simple attire ; but their leathern belts bristled with 
 weapons, while across each one's back was slung a short 
 musket. Though little more than midnight plunderers, 
 they were ever prepared for desperate fighting, should 
 the emergency require it. As they hastily devoured the 
 rude meal which the wife of their leader had prepared, 
 they certainly were a savage-looking crew, with their un- 
 shaven faces, and eyes gleaming out from under slouched 
 hats, which they had not the grace to remove. 
 
 But of their horses, the beautiful and innocent ac- 
 complices of their crimes, too much could scarcely be 
 said in the way of praise. And little wonder, for the 
 freebooters had taken the pick of the whole countryside.
 
 116 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 The splendid and spirited beasts made the quiet evening 
 resonant with their neighing, as they impatiently pawed 
 the earth while waiting for their ignoble masters. 
 
 At last, in the dusky twilight, the men formed a circle 
 about the door, and Claudius Smith held aloft a flask of 
 whiskey, as he cried, 
 
 " Here's to a big night's work ; " and he took a heavy 
 draught. 
 
 " Tip it well, boys," he added ; " for you've plenty of 
 rough, hard riding before you, and mayhap some fight- 
 ing." 
 
 A shout greeted this announcement, and the flask was 
 drained, 'and filled again for the emergencies of the night. 
 
 Slinging their muskets over their shoulders, they sprang 
 lightly into their saddles, and were soon following Smith 
 along a rough road which skirted a mountainside. 
 Where the road was rough and precipitous, they walked 
 their horses ; but at times they would break into a sud- 
 den gallop over level reaches, showing that they knew 
 every inch of the way. At last they descended to the 
 valley, and struck out rapidly across the open country, 
 till they approached a secluded farmhouse, where, draw- 
 ing rein, they entered the gateway, and surrounded the 
 dwelling. 
 
 " This is the right kind of a Whig, boys, for he's got a 
 pile of hard money stowed away somewheres ; so don't 
 let him escape. Bring him out, Cole." 
 
 The man thus addressed dismounted, and taking from 
 the adjacent wood-pile a log of wood, crashed in the door, 
 thus rudely arousing their victim from his slumbers. 
 
 " If you want to save your life, come out and speak to 
 me," shouted Smith ; " but if you pull a trigger you are., 
 a dead man. You know Claud Smith." 
 
 The wretched farmer knew him only too well, and 
 called, " I'll come as soon as I get my clothes on." 
 
 " No matter about your clothes. We ain't over
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 117 
 
 modest, and it's not women you've got to deal with, I 
 can tell yer." 
 
 The man, partially dressed, appeared in the doorway, 
 with face so pale that it looked white even in the star- 
 light. 
 
 "Now," continued Smith, " I've got two things agin 
 you. Fust, you're a Whig ; and second, you're hoardin' 
 up money that others need more'n you do. If you want 
 me to let yer off on the first offense, you must bring out 
 every shiner you've got." 
 
 " Now, Smith," began the man tremblingly, " you are 
 entirely mistaken. I haven't got any " 
 
 " Stop your jaw," said the robber coarsely. " A man 
 that's so near eternity as you be ought to look out how he 
 lies." 
 
 " But I tell you I haven't " 
 
 " String him up, boys ; we'll help his memory." 
 
 They were provided with a rope for such style of per- 
 suasion, and throwing it over the well-sweep, they fast- 
 ened it around the neck of their victim, and lifted him off 
 his feet for a moment. 
 
 " Can you remember where it is now ? " asked Smith 
 unfeelingly. 
 
 But they had misjudged their man, for he had that 
 kind of passive courage and obstinacy which rises up 
 against outrage, and is strong to endure. Moreover, his 
 gold was his heart's treasure, and he doggedly resolved 
 to part with life first ; so he said, 
 
 " I know you, Smith ; you've no more feeling than a 
 stone. I expect you'll take my life anyway, but you 
 shan't have my money." 
 
 " Oh ! you want some more persuasion, do you? Up 
 with him again, boys." 
 
 They kept him struggling and strangling as long as 
 they dared and still preserve the breath of life, and then 
 let his feet rest on the ground.
 
 lie NEAR TO 
 
 " Now you see how mistaken you are, and how tender- 
 hearted I am. Here I've given you another chance for 
 life ) but be quick, for this is only the beginning of our 
 night's work/' 
 
 " No," gasped the man doggedly. 
 
 "No? curse you! I'll soon change that tune. Up 
 vrith him again." 
 
 With oaths and ribald revilings, the bandits, whose 
 dusky figures seemed those of demons, obeyed the dia- 
 bolical order. When they again let him down, the farmer 
 was unable to stand ; but, in response to their kicks and 
 questions, he maintained an obstinate silence. 
 
 "Shall we string him up and leave him?" asked 
 Cole. 
 
 Smith hesitated, and for a moment the man's life de- 
 pended on the caprice of the bandit's lawless will. 
 
 Then he said, c&relessly, 
 
 " No, let him alone, I rather like his grit, and I've 
 nothing agin him. If I had, old feller, I wouldn't even 
 give you time to say your prayers. Let us look for our- 
 selves, boys. Mayhap we'll find enough to pay us for 
 coming out of our way." 
 
 The victim crawled to his door-step, on which he sat in 
 Sullen silence while they ransacked his house in no gentle 
 Style> breaking their way where locks resisted. But the 
 farmer had concealed his coin too well for discovery. In 
 Order to spite him, however, they carried off many valu- 
 able papers, and all light articles of value on which they 
 Could lay their hands, and with the parting salutation of 
 A. kick to their half-murdered host, they vanished in the 
 darkness as rapidly as they had come. 
 
 The inmates Of farmhouses and cabins trembled as they 
 clattered by, but they were safe for that night, as the 
 next point at which Smith meant to strike was far distant. 
 It was a part of his policy to mislead and bewilder the 
 authorities by depredations so far apart as to make it
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS U9 
 
 seem impossible that he and his gang were the authors in 
 each case. 
 
 Their long 1 , swinging gallop soon brought them to the 
 mountains again, and for an hour they slowly ascended 
 the precipitous sides ; then, like the, wind, they crossed a 
 level plateau, and afterwards continued through wild and 
 unfrequented roads known to few save themselves, find- 
 ing breathing places for their horses when the ascent or 
 descent was. steep. In about three hours they com- 
 menced defiling down what was Uule more than a path, 
 from various points of which the. gleam, of the Hudson 
 River could he seen in the; starlight. The way was 
 rough and rocky, but their horses had been trained for 
 their work by many similar expeditions. At last they 
 djrew near the recently commenced military works at 
 Fort Montgomery, and their approach became, quiet and 
 stealthy. 
 
 " We must captures one of the garrison," said Smith ; 
 " for if we can send a full account of what the Whigs are 
 doing here, our Tory friends, in the city will, pay us well 
 for it." 
 
 Leaving their horses in a clump of dark., overshadow- 
 ing trees, with several of the party in charge, Smith and 
 three others, cautiously re.connoitered. on foot until they 
 reached the unfinished line of the works,. Stealing a.k>n$ 
 this a little distance, their steps were soon arrested by a 
 slight sound. Listening intently for a few moments, Smith 
 turned and whispered succinctly, 
 
 "It's some cuss, asleep. Leave him to me.." 
 
 Advancing cautiously a few steps further, he saw the 
 faint outline of a sentinel leaning against a small tree, 
 with his hands crossed on the muz?le of a musket, above 
 which a bayonet gleamed* The Tory, quick at ex- 
 pedients, instantly formed a plan for his capture. Sum- 
 moning his three- comrades, he directed them how to. 
 support his undertaking. He then took from one of
 
 120 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 them his leather belt, and stole noiselessly up behind the 
 tree against which his victim was leaning, and whose 
 nasal organ made the night anything but musical. 
 Then, like a flash, he threw the belt around both tree and 
 man, and secured his prisoner by drawing the buckle tight. 
 
 " Och, Molly, me darlint, hold on a bit. Bloody 
 blazes ! what's " 
 
 Smith's hand stopped further utterance, and then a 
 handkerchief was tied securely over his mouth. The 
 other bandits came up, and before the unwary sentinel 
 (who was no other than the unfortunate Larry, and whose 
 faculty of getting into trouble never deserted him) was 
 fairly awake, he was bound and spirited away, giving the 
 garrison he was set to guard no other warning than the 
 remonstrance which Molly's sharp tongue and heavy 
 hand had made habitual. 
 
 When they reached the secluded spot where the others 
 were in waiting, Smith put a pistol to Larry's head, and 
 said, 
 
 " Now speak low, and speak to the point, if you ever 
 want to speak again. Answer my questions ; I can tell 
 whether you are* lying or not. At your first lie my men 
 will cut your juggler." And removing the handkerchief, 
 he asked rapidly about the number of the garrison and 
 the nature of the work. 
 
 Larry's discretion preserved him to die for his country 
 upon a more auspicious occasion, and he answered as 
 well as his chattering teeth would permit. Smith was 
 soon convinced that he had drawn from him all he knew, 
 and then said coolly, 
 
 " Now you are going to desert, you know. If I should 
 kill you and leave you here, it might make me trouble. 
 You will have to disappear, and make your cursed Whig 
 commander believe that you have gone off to parts un- 
 known. We shall have to take you with us till we find a 
 good place for you to desert in."
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 121 
 
 These words had such a mysterious import that Larry 
 resolved to make a desperate effort to escape. But his 
 hands were tied behind his back, and the rope they had 
 used on the farmer was about his neck, with which 
 they hustled him along as they resumed their march 
 northward, tending towards the river bank. 
 
 " Sure an' ye' re not goin* to murther me ? ' ' gasped Larry. 
 
 " Well, I s'pose that's about it, in plain English," said 
 Smith. 
 
 " Surely ye'll not shed innocent blood ? " 
 
 " Your blood isn't innocent. In the first place, you're 
 
 a Whig ; in the second place, you were sleeping 
 
 on your post, and your own officers would shoot you for 
 that to-morrow ; at least they ought to, and we'll save 
 them the trouble." 
 
 "What are yees goin' to do wid me?" asked Larry 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Oh, put you quietly out of the way, where you will 
 do no harm," said Smith, who rather enjoyed Larry's 
 terror. " They say dead men tell no tales ; but it's an in- 
 fernal lie. There are times when I don't want either 
 dead or live men on my trail." 
 
 Larry was now satisfied that if he ever saw Molly again 
 he must act promptly, and with almost superhuman 
 strength he tugged at the cord that bound his hands. 
 With a thrill of hope he was at last able to draw one 
 hand out of its confinement, and thus relieved them both, 
 but had the presence of mind to keep them together as be- 
 fore, so that their freedom was unnoted, and continued 
 on a little further with the gang, till they came to where 
 a steep bank shelved down into the darkness on one side 
 of the road. Then, with the celerity which his desperate 
 emergency prompted, he drew his knife, cut the rope 
 around his neck, and bounded over the bank, rolling, 
 tumbling, springing, he knew not whither, in the mad 
 desire to get away.
 
 122 NEAR TO NATURE'S BE ART 
 
 For a moment his captors were so astonished that they 
 did not move ; then Smith Cried, 
 
 " Don't shoot. After him ; Cut his throat, and hide 
 his body." 
 
 Two of the most active sprang from their horses, and 
 commenced descending the rocky, precipitous bank. 
 But Larry had the start, and his pursuers were not will- 
 ing to go at his breakneck pace. For a wonder, he 
 reached the bottom of the ravine sound in limb, and 
 darted off in the darkness among the concealing copse- 
 wood, soon becoming utterly lost to view. The baffled 
 brigands gave up the chase, and returned, grumbling 
 and swearing, to their horses. Nor were their ruffled 
 tempers soothed by the volley of Curses received from 
 their leader. 
 
 " I could have shot him if you hadn't stopped me," 
 said Cole. 
 
 " Yes, and br&ught the garrison clattering after us. I 
 had other work on Viand before I crossed the mountains, 
 and I won't be balked either ; so Come." And away 
 like a thundergust they sped to work destruction else- 
 where. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time, Larry regained 
 his post, and found, to his joy, that the time for the relief 
 of guard had not come. Dodging around in shadow, he 
 reached his quarters, and awakened Molly as roughly as 
 he had imagined she was rousing him when the Tory 
 pinioned him to the tree. 
 
 " Bloody murther ! " spluttered Molly. 
 
 " Hist, or I'll throttle ye. It's me Larry. If ye don't 
 want to see me shot in the mornin', git me a musket in a 
 wink." 
 
 " Faix, an' I'll shoot ye meself, if ye don't be quiet. 
 Ye've been drinkin'." 
 
 " Now, Molly, me darlint, I'll tell ye all in the 
 mornin' ; but if ye don't stale out an' git me a musket,
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 123 
 
 I'm the same as a dead man. They won't mind yees if 
 ye is seen, but if they cotch me, it's all up. Don't ye 
 see? I'm off me post. I've been robbed and murthered, 
 an' to-morry I'll be shot. Yees can stale to the armory 
 an' git me one in a jiffy. Go quick, or I'll haunt ye all 
 yer days." 
 
 This dire threat roused Molly to action, and she now 
 began to realize, from Larry's desperate earnestness, that 
 the emergency was pressing. Her husband threw a gray 
 blanket around her, and with bare feet and noiseless 
 tread, she slipped to a forge near by, where arms were 
 repaired, and soon returned, saying, 
 
 "There, now, look to yerself, for I don't want to be 
 bothered wid ye after ye' re dead." A moment later 
 Larry was back to his post, where he stood, straight as a 
 ramrod, often rubbing his eyes, to make sure it was not 
 all ? dream. But his torn clothes, aching wrists, and 
 bruised limbs proved the reality of his strange experience, 
 and he was only too glad that the loose discipline of 
 the incipient fort had enabled him to gain his beat with- 
 out detection. When, a little later, the officer of the 
 guard came around with his squad, Larry challenged him 
 with great promptness, and went rejoicing to his quarters 
 with an encomium on his vigilance. But his tale was so 
 strange that Molly would not believe it, and her only 
 comment was, 
 
 " I thought ye'd be mare-ridden afther the supper ye 
 ate. Ye'd better find that firelock in the mornin'." 
 
 But when, in the morning, she saw his wrists and 
 bruises, and the gaps in his clothes which she must 
 mend, she consoled him by saying, 
 
 " Och, ye spalpeen ! it was the divil himself as had 
 ye ; better mend yer ways." 
 
 Larry shook his head, but resolved that he would put 
 chestnut burrs in his shoes before he slept on his post 
 again.
 
 124 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Smith and his followers soon reached the vicinity of 
 the lonely log-cabin back of West Point, where Vera 
 was keeping her patient watch. As they struck up the 
 glen leading to the dwelling, Cole sidled up to his leader, 
 and said, 
 
 " Claud, you're not goin' to Brown's? " 
 
 " Yes, 1 am. Why not ? " 
 
 "Well," continued the superstitious robber, "they 
 say everything is not right there, and that the old black 
 witch as lives with them can do with a feller just what 
 she pleases. I'm not afraid of flesh and blood, but our 
 weapons ain't o' much account agin the devil." 
 
 "I'm not afraid of man or devil," said Smith surlily. 
 " They say there's a lot of hard money hid in that cabin, 
 and I'm not goin' home empty-handed, after such a ride 
 as we've had to-night." 
 
 Cole's words, however, oppressed the mind of the 
 leader, for superstition is rarely divorced from ignorance 
 and crime. He also saw that Cole's fear was shared by 
 the rest of the gang ; so he caused them to halt, and 
 passed around the flask of whiskey again. Under this 
 stimulus they advanced, and were glad to hear sounds 
 that were earthly, as the great dogs bounded fiercely 
 towards them. Two shots in quick succession dispatched 
 them, and after their dying whine ceased, all was still 
 it seemed to them strangely and unnaturally still. They 
 supposed the owner of the cabin would appear, but there 
 was not a sound. 
 
 Smith took another pull at the flask, and then ap- 
 proached the door, but the same oppressive silence con- 
 tinued ; a dread and restraint that he could not under- 
 stand chilled his heart, and the fire that flickered on the 
 hearth filled the cabin, as seen through the windows, 
 with fitful and fantastic shadows. 
 
 "Come away, Claud," muttered his companions; 
 " this is no place for us."
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 125 
 
 But the hardihood of the man prevailed. Taking an- 
 other fiery draught, he cocked his pistol, and went 
 straight to the door and knocked. 
 
 There was no response. 
 
 He lifted the latch, and it yielded to him. Stepping 
 within, he stood transfixed. Gleaming out upon him 
 from where she crouched by the fireplace was the weird, 
 unearthly visage of old Gula, whose fixed gaze of terror 
 was to him a Gorgon stare. More awful to the guilty 
 soul was the white, dead face turned towards him from 
 the bed. Vera knelt by her mother with clasped hands 
 and eyes turned heavenward, and her beauty, pallor, and 
 attitude gave her a spiritual rather than an earthly aspect. 
 But not a sound broke the silence that had now become 
 awful to the man of blood, and it seemed to him that 
 he could not break the spell himself. A jet of flame 
 leaped up suddenly from the hearth, and the strange 
 inmates of the cabin seemed to dilate as if in supernat- 
 ural light. A panic seized upon the robber. He turned 
 upon his heel, and, without a word, sprang upon his 
 horse and galloped away with his trembling companions ; 
 nor did they draw rein till far up among the mountains. 
 Speaking of it afterwards, Smith said it seemed to him 
 as if a great hand took him by the shoulder and thrust 
 him out. 
 
 At the first fierce clamor of the dogs, Vera felt a sudden 
 shock of terror, which the firing increased ; but her train- 
 ing and her own instincts led her to lift her heart at once 
 to God. Then came the impulse to trust him only, and 
 stepping to the door, she unbarred it, and then knelt by her 
 mother's side, in which attitude she remained until the 
 clatter of the flying bandits died away. When she arose, 
 she said, 
 
 " ' Fear not,' Gula, ' for they that be with us are more 
 than they that be with them.' If God should open our 
 eyes as he did the eyes of the young servant of Elisha,
 
 126 NEAR TO NATURE 1 S HEART 
 
 we, too, would see that ' the mountain is full of horses 
 and chariots of fire round about' us." 
 
 " Your God seems mighty po'ful," said the negress, 
 with awe in tone and manner, " but Gula's too ole to be 
 changin' Gods at her time o' life. De captain ob de 
 floatin' misery dat brought me from my home, and de 
 mas'r dat used to whip my ole dead body, sot great store 
 by your God, and was allus axin' him to damn folks, 
 whatever dat was ; and I'se afeard if I should pray to 
 him he'd take me to whare old mas'r is, and I doesn't 
 want to see him no mo'. I wants to go back to my ole 
 home." 
 
 Vera sighed deeply, for Gula's harsh experience, 
 which she could not fail to associate with the Divine 
 name that she heard so often, raised perplexing questions. 
 But after a little the young girl said thoughtfully, 
 
 " I do not think your old master will be where mother 
 is. God does not mix winter and summer together. No 
 more will he join the cruel and brutal with the loving and 
 gentle. Suppose my God should take you to where 
 mother is?" 
 
 Old Gula shook her head, saying, " I'd like po'ful well 
 to see old missus, an' p'raps dey'd let me visit her. But 
 I doesn't want to take no risks ob meetin' ole mas'r agin, 
 and I does want to see my ole home. Oh ! dat I might 
 go dis minute." 
 
 With such quaint, unearthly talk the Christian maiden, 
 who was scarcely more than a child, and the pagan slave 
 beguiled the heavy hours. In their beliefs, as in their ap- 
 pearance, there was seemingly wide diversity ; but in the 
 only kinship that is abiding that of love and in God's 
 eyes they were not so far apart as many who bow to- 
 gether at his altar. The fathomless chasm of evil did 
 not divide them, and perhaps at last old Gula would find 
 her tropical home so blended with Vera's paradise as to 
 be content.
 
 THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS 127 
 
 NOTE TO PRECEDING CHAPTER. Claudius Smith is not a 
 fictitious character, but was once the terror of the region adja- 
 cent to the Highlands of the Hudson. The robbery of the 
 farmer actually took place as described, and is only antedated 
 little more than a year. When Smith was hung at Goshen, 
 N. Y., January 22d, 1779, this farmer asked Smith where valu- 
 able papers he had stolen were. 
 
 " Meet me in the next world and I will tell you," was the 
 grim reply. 
 
 His tall and splendid form, arrayed in rich broadcloth with 
 silver buttons, combined with his fearless and almost manly 
 bearing, made him an imposing figure on the scaffold ; and 
 even in the hour of death he inspired something like dread and 
 respect in the vast throng that witnessed his exit. His deep 
 depravity, or, perhaps, more correctly speaking, his lack of a 
 moral nature, was shown at the last moment by a characteristic 
 act. Just before he was hung he " kicked off his shoes," with 
 the brutal remark, 
 
 " Mother often said I would die like a trooper's horse with 
 wiy shoes on ; but I will make her a liar."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 
 
 THE winter had passed rather drearily and unsatisfac- 
 torily to Saville. The garrison at Constitution Island was 
 small, and the works on the fortifications advanced 
 slowly. Although his education as an engineer had been 
 superficial, he was satisfied that Colonel Romans' 
 draughts and lines of defense were very defective, and 
 that time and money were spent to little purpose. More- 
 over, his visits to the western shore, and bis excursions 
 after game, had shown him that the island was over- 
 looked and commanded by more advantageous points. 
 But his frank statements to this effect had not won him 
 favor with his superior officers, who were ignorant and 
 incompetent, and had more than humanity's average 
 dislike for criticism. Moreover, Saville was so often 
 faulty in the details of his profession as to be frequently 
 open to censure himself, and his prospects of promotion 
 were not very flattering. He would have much preferred 
 active service in the presence of the enemy ; but such 
 was the dearth of engineers that he was kept at labors 
 much too peaceful for his fiery spirit. 
 
 He had, besides, another cause for dissatisfaction and 
 uneasiness, which also increased his unpopularity in cer- 
 tain quarters. It was impossible for one of his frank and 
 outspoken nature to nurse his unbelief in silence. He 
 even felt it a privilege and a duty to advocate the new 
 ideas acquired abroad, and soon had quite a following of 
 young and unstable men, to whom he often discoursed 
 in his glowing style on what he termed " the absurd and 
 antiquated beliefs and systems of the past, originated by
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 129 
 
 shrewd old schemers who constructed and maintained 
 them for their own advantage. They had been imposed 
 upon men in times of general ignorance, "^he said ; " but 
 the age had come when men would use their reason, and 
 break away from the tyranny of custom and the trammels 
 of superstition. Man should be true to himself, and obey 
 the laws which he found existing in his own nature, 
 instead of trembling before an imaginary God seated on 
 a throne which no one had ever seen. The idea of men 
 in the eighteenth .century bowing down to an ancient 
 Hebrew divinity ! Why not also before Isis, Jupiter, 
 and Odin ? ' ' But the practical results of his bold, brilliant 
 theorizing perplexed and troubled him. So far as his 
 sophistries found acceptance, and he succeeded in re- 
 moving from his listeners the idea of a personal God to 
 whom they were accountable, they became reckless, 
 vicious, and generally demoralized. It was said, and 
 with seeming good reason, that Saville had a very bad 
 influence over his associates. It was not, however, the 
 man himself, but his pernicious opinions, that did the 
 mischief.. Those whose minds he poisoned were coarser- 
 grained than he, and had not his resources of culture, nor 
 his repugnance to the gross vices of the camp. It was in 
 vain that he remonstrated with them. His skeptical 
 words had broken down the barriers of a wholesome 
 fear, which, with many, serves for a time in the place of 
 principle ; and the dark tides of evil flowed in unre- 
 strained. Thus he unwittingly made them uncongenial 
 companions for himself; and, as spring advanced, and 
 his life grew lonely and isolated as he recalled his wife's 
 unnatural course towards him ; as he remembered that 
 his mother was grieving over his action as a great mis- 
 fortune ; as he saw those who had in a measure accepted 
 his iconoclastic and skeptical views sinking far below the 
 level of true manhood, his spirit at times grew bitter and 
 resentful, and he would say,
 
 130 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Everything I touch blackens, and even to my mother 
 I am only a source of sorrow and anxiety. What is the 
 evil fatality of my life ? " 
 
 But his nature was too sanguine and healthful for any 
 continued morbid brooding, and he would soon throw off 
 the burden of unhappy thoughts, and hope for better 
 things. 
 
 Vera's quest of the surgeon had renewed his interest in 
 one whose character seemed so unique that he felt quite 
 a strong desire to explore further ; for he had a French- 
 man's love of companionship, providing it was tolerably 
 congenial. 
 
 The difficulty of making the acquaintance of the family 
 on the opposite side of the river now acted only as an in- 
 centive. Perhaps the man was a political refugee, and 
 whatever was the cause of his seclusion he and his cer- 
 tainly did not belong to the class of vulgar criminals. 
 Possibly, if he crossed the river 1 with his flute, and, 
 within hearing of the cabin, played the air which he and 
 Vera had come to associate with each other, the air to 
 which he had first heard her sing the exquisite words, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows," 
 
 he might lure the young girl to an interview. But, recall- 
 ing his experience with the fierce dogs, and their equally 
 dangerous master, he also took his arms. 
 
 Remembering that the cabin was at the base of a rocky 
 height, he concluded that, by scaling this, he might over- 
 look the habitation unobserved. The lovely spring day 
 was declining when he reached the summit of the hill, 
 where now are the ruins of Fort Putnam, and found that 
 he could there, among the sheltering evergreens, securely 
 carry forward his reconnoissance. With his glass he was 
 able to subject everything to the closest scrutiny ; but 
 there was no one in sight, and even the great dogs were 
 not visible. At first, he hoped that the man had gone
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 131 
 
 away and taken them with him, and he was about to tune 
 his flute to the musical signal which he was in hopes the 
 daughter would answer, when his attention was caught 
 by an ominous heap of newly turned earth under a wide- 
 spreading elm not very distant from the house. Its 
 meaning was soon shown, for the door of the cottage 
 opened, and there issued forth the strangest funeral pro- 
 cession that he had ever seen. It consisted only of 
 three : the husband, who carried upon his shoulder the 
 coffin containing the light and wasted form of his wife ; 
 Vera, and old Gula. Vera carried a large cross of 
 flowers, composed of the white blossoms of the dog-wood 
 and blood -root, while the negress followed with two 
 wreaths of evergreens. Slowly, and with bowed heads, 
 they carried the wife and mother from one lowly home to 
 the last and most lowly of all. Then Gula helped her 
 master to lower the coffin into the grave, while Vera 
 stood sobbing by. Nor would she permit any one to put 
 the floral cross and wreaths of laurel upon the coffin of 
 her mother save herself. Then all three stood a few mo- 
 ments in silence at the side of the open grave, as they 
 might upon the shores of an ocean across which one very 
 dear had passed beyond their reach. The man, with 
 folded arms and bowed head, stood as motionless as a 
 statue, while Vera, after a few moments, opened a book, 
 which Saville afterwards learned was the Bible, and with 
 a voice choked with sobs and interrupted by bitter weep- 
 ing, tried to read those sublime and inspired words which 
 form part of the burial service in all Christian lands, com- 
 mencing, 
 
 " So also is the resurrection of the dead." 
 Saville had become so intensely interested in the scene 
 that he had stolen with noiseless tread through the 
 sheltering cedars sufficiently near to catch the broken 
 utterances ; and although he had heard bishops and elo- 
 quent men read those words, never before had he been
 
 132 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 so impressed with them. Tears of sympathy started to 
 his own eyes, and he thought, 
 
 " Poor child, that beautiful fiction is a comfort to her 
 now. It's a pity to disturb some of these superstitions, 
 since they soften many of the inevitable ills of our lot to 
 those who can believe." 
 
 After closing the Bible, Vera tried to chant the Twenty- 
 third Psalm, which her mother had asked for just before 
 her death ; but after a few broken, plaintive strains, her 
 grief overpowered her. The thought of that dear form 
 being covered with the cold, black earth was too terrible 
 to be borne, nor would she remain as a witness, and so 
 she fled to her own little retreat in the side of the hill 
 back of the cabin. Old Gula soon tottered after, moan- 
 ing and wringing her hands in her honest grief. 
 
 At last the man started out of his stony paralysis, and 
 seizing the spade, worked with superhuman energy till 
 the grave was filled and mounded. Then going to the 
 house, he took his rifle and started up the glen. He was 
 soon lost to view, and the place became as silent and 
 apparently as deserted as when Saville first saw it. 
 
 He wondered what had become of the dogs. Ventur- 
 ing down into the valley, a little distance below he found 
 their dead bodies. Here was another mystery. He 
 waited for a time, hoping that Vera would come to the 
 grave, for she seemed so alone in her sorrow that he 
 longed to assure her even of a stranger's sympathy. He 
 had been deeply touched by the scene he had witnessed, 
 and his curiosity had developed into the most kindly in- 
 terest. He felt that he could not go away until he had 
 told her that if he could ever be of help to her she must 
 come to him again. At first, he thought he would go 
 directly to the door and ask to see her ; but, acting 
 upon another impulse, he sat down by the grave, and 
 commenced playing a beautiful dirge that he had learned 
 abroad.
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 133 
 
 He was soon rewarded by seeing the door open, and 
 the maiden appear, looking wonderingly up, as if she 
 thought the music came from the air. But, on recog- 
 nizing him, she was much startled. Still she did not turn 
 away, nor did Saville cease his music, but only sought 
 to give it a more plaintive and tender character. After a 
 moment's debate with herself, Vera approached with hes- 
 itating steps, like a timid fawn. Then Saville arose, and 
 taking off his hat, awaited her coming. 
 
 " Will you forgive a stranger for intruding on your 
 sorrow, when his only motive is sympathy?" he asked 
 gently. 
 
 Vera essayed to speak, but found no words. 
 
 " I hope you are not sorry I came. I would not force 
 my company upon you now." 
 
 " No oh, no. I am not sorry. I think God sent you. 
 I was so lonely, it seemed as if my heart was breaking. 
 Pardon me, I have such a pain here (pressing her hand 
 upon her side) that I can hardly speak." 
 
 " I feel very deeply for you," said Saville soothingly ; 
 and he took her hand and gave her a seat on a rock be- 
 side the grave. " Is there anything I can do to comfort 
 you ? Though a stranger, you surely can trust me in this 
 sacred place. I do not think there is a wretch in the 
 world who could harbor an injurious thought against you 
 by your mother's grave." 
 
 " I am sure you could not," said Vera gratefully ; 
 " and you are less a stranger to me than any one else in 
 all the world." 
 
 "Can it be true that you have no friends no ac- 
 quaintances beyond the inmates of the cottage there? " 
 
 " It is true : while mother lived she was everything to 
 me, and when I saw her placed in the ground, the world 
 turned black. If she could only have taken me with 
 her! " 
 
 " But that would leave the world ' black ' for some one
 
 134 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 else," said Saville gently. " That might be more than 
 your father could bear." 
 
 "I know it's selfish and wrong for one to feel so; 
 especially when mother is, at last, well and happy ; 
 though just how she can be when I am so unhappy is 
 hard to understand." 
 
 " It is, indeed, poor child." 
 
 " It will seem right by and by," Vera continued, more 
 calmly and patiently. " ' What I do thou knowest not 
 now, but thou shalt know hereafter.' Already I see he 
 will not make the burden heavier than I can bear, for he- 
 sent you here when it seemed I could not endure my 
 lonely feelings any longer." 
 
 Saville was deeply stirred, for he was by nature very 
 sympathetic and emotional. But he must have been un- 
 naturally callous, could he have looked unmoved upon 
 Vera as she turned to him in her terrible isolation and 
 sorrow. Little other claim had she upon him save that 
 of kindred humanity ; and yet it seemed to her that he 
 was the only one that could be sent out of the strange 
 unfamiliar world, whose words and presence would not 
 be a burden. 
 
 To Saville, led as he was ever prone to be, by his 
 generosity and imagination, it appeared that this orphan, 
 in her loneliness and bereavement, had the most sacred 
 claims upon him. Because she was so friendless and 
 defenseless, his chivalric spirit acknowledged her right 
 to seek help from him. 
 
 When men are devoid of faith in a personal God who 
 is intelligently shaping the destiny of his creatures, and 
 controlling events, they are prone to believe in such 
 vague abstractions as fate, destiny, and fortune. That 
 he should have met Vera as he had in the first instance, 
 and then have received her at the island, when she came 
 in the vain hope of finding help for her mother ; that the 
 young girl should take his proffered sympathy as if fam-
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 135 
 
 ishing for human fellowship, and even in her strong 
 superstition feel that her God had sent him, all together 
 combined to kindle his quick fancy, and impressed him 
 with the feeling that in this case humanity asserted one 
 of the strongest claims that would ever rest upon him. 
 At the same time, he was not conscious of the degree in 
 which Vera's beauty, youth, and uniqueness of character 
 emphasized this claim. 
 
 With all his faults, he had no small vanity to mislead 
 him, and was sufficiently pure and noble to understand 
 Vera's innocent welcome and frank expression of relief 
 that he had come. He regarded her feeling as an intense 
 desire to escape from the awful solitude of sorrow. 
 Sympathy from one's own kind is one of the deepest and 
 most instinctive wants of the heart ; and there are times 
 when it must be had or the consequences are disastrous. 
 No nature that is human is self-sufficient in every emer- 
 gency of life ; for even the pure and perfect human 
 nature of our Lord, though allied with Divinity, pleaded 
 with the drowsy disciples, "Watch with me." This re- 
 quest was not a mere form, nor a test of their loyalty, but 
 the inevitable appeal for support which ever comes from 
 suffering. The larger and more perfect the nature, the 
 more deeply is this want 'felt. But, while human kind- 
 ness and consideration can do much to assuage this eager 
 hunger of the heart, it cannot satisfy. The experience of 
 Gethsemane is well-nigh universal, and there come to all, 
 hours of darkness when earthly friendship is as unavail- 
 able as that of the men who slept through their Master's 
 grief when he was but a " stone's cast " away. 
 
 How true this was in Vera's experience will be seen 
 hereafter ; but now she saw that the stranger, towards 
 whom her thoughts had so often turned, was strangely 
 moved in her behalf, and it greatly comforted her. She 
 felt almost sure that God had sent him, and that he 
 would become such a friend as her mother desired her to
 
 136 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 gain, one that would enable her to make further ac- 
 quaintance with her fellow creatures, and escape from 
 her dangerous isolation. The thought of anything like 
 love, which might end in an alliance with this young 
 man had never entered her mind. She did not know 
 what love was, save that love which, in its tranquil 
 phases had swayed her since childhood. 
 
 As has been said, Saville was large-minded enough to 
 understand that she welcomed him as a captive might ; 
 and that he, in some degree, satisfied a natural craving 
 for sympathy and companionship. He also saw that she 
 was as guileless and ignorant of the world, as she was 
 friendless and in need of guardianship ; and every gener- 
 ous trait in his nature responded to her unconscious ap- 
 peal. He took her hand, and said, 
 
 " You are, indeed, very much alone in the world. I 
 never knew any one quite so friendless, who was as good 
 as you are." 
 
 " You are almost the only one I have ever spoken to, 
 save mother, father, and old Gula," replied Vera, look- 
 ing into his face as frankly and gratefully as a little 
 child. 
 
 "Would you like to speak to me often? Would you 
 like to have me as a friend to whom you could tell your 
 troubles, and from whom you could ask help and advice 
 without any fear ? I am willing to be a brother to you as 
 nearly as I can." 
 
 Vera's lovely face was fairly illumined with gratitude ; 
 but, without removing her frank and childlike gaze, 
 before which a bad and designing man would have 
 shrunk abashed, she said, earnestly, 
 
 " And can you offer so much to one who has so little 
 claim upon you ? " 
 
 "Who could have a stronger claim? Your need, your 
 loneliness and sorrow, your youth, beauty, and ignorance 
 of the world and its dangers, would awaken a chivalrous
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 137 
 
 spirit in the basest of men ; and such, believe me, I am 
 not, with all my faults. Let me, then, be a friend and 
 brother, till you can find better and more helpful 
 friends." 
 
 "And do you think that I could use you only as a 
 stepping-stone on which to cross a rough place ? ' ' said 
 Vera, a little reproachfully. " Ingratitude is a * marble- 
 hearted fiend.' No friend can ever take the place of 
 one who has been kind to me at this time. But, humble 
 and friendless as I am, there are conditions of which I 
 must speak first. I am, indeed, alone. There is no one 
 to guide or counsel me, and I must follow mother's 
 teachings and words, as far as I can remember them. 
 She told me that if I ever made friends, the first thing I 
 must try to be sure of was their truthfulness ; for she said 
 no good qualities could take the place of truth, and that, 
 if this were lacking, all else would fail. I feel sure that 
 you are true and honorable. My heart tells me that you 
 are. You would not deceive me anywhere, much less 
 here," with a little, eloquent gesture towards the spot 
 where her mother was sleeping. ' ' Will you promise me 
 that your friendship will ever tend to help me live and 
 feel as that dear mother would wish ? I believe God will 
 permit her to be near me, and I wish her to see no 
 change, no forgetfulness of her, or any of her words. I 
 would rather live alone all my life in these mountains, 
 and never see any one, than grieve her. My only re- 
 quest is, that you will help me to remain true to her 
 teachings, and to live in a way that I know will be pleas- 
 ing to her." 
 
 Saville hesitated a moment, for Vera was asking more 
 than she could understand. According to his opinions 
 the best service he could render this young girl was to 
 enlighten her mind, and break the chains of superstition. 
 And yet his theory in this case failed signally, for that 
 superstition was now her only comfort the rock that
 
 138 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 sustained her above the dark waves of sorrow. He might 
 better stab the girl looking up wistfully at him, than hint 
 that her mother was not living and that there was no such 
 place as heaven. Then the thought flashed into his 
 mind ; could his philosophy make her more true, innocent, 
 and lovely in character, than had those mother's teach- 
 ings, to which she was so pathetically seeking to be loyal ? 
 His experience as its teacher had not been encouraging ; 
 and had he not better leave the spells of early years un- 
 broken, in this instance ? The moment's reflection con- 
 vinced him that any other course would be most cruel, 
 and perhaps disastrous ; and therefore he said solemnly, 
 
 " I promise what you ask ; and when I see what your 
 mother's teaching and example have made you, I feel as- 
 sured that I am acting right." 
 
 Thus again Saville gave a pledge which would in the 
 future confront him, and rise like a wall across his path. 
 
 But Vera heaved a great sigh of relief, and said, " I 
 am content. I now have done just as mother would 
 wish," and she looked as fondly at the grave as if it were 
 an intelligent face. 
 
 For a little while Saville watched her wonderingly in 
 silence, and then asked abruptly, 
 
 " You have never told me your name." 
 
 " Vera Vera Brown." 
 
 " Vera ! it's a most appropriate name." 
 
 " It was appropriate to mother, and it was given to me 
 by father, because he said she had been so true to him. 
 Oh ! how I wish you had come sooner," she added, with 
 a sudden rush of tears. 
 
 " Why do you wish I had come sooner ? " 
 
 " Mother wished to see you." 
 
 " Indeed ! did she know anything about me? " 
 
 " She knew all that I did. I never hid a thought from 
 her, and never shall, for I think God will let her come 
 back to me and be my guardian spirit. Can you think I
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 139 
 
 did not tell her of your great kindness when I went for 
 the surgeon? She wanted to see you and thank you," 
 and Vera's tears fell fast. 
 
 " Why did you not come for me ? " 
 
 " I did venture once to the shore, but there was a feel- 
 ing which I cannot explain that made it impossible for me 
 to ask you to come, though I so much wished you would," 
 said Vera, unconsciously revealing the maidenly reserve, 
 which, though not understood, controlled her. " I was 
 in hopes you might come again of your own accord." 
 
 " I ought to have done so ; and yet I feared I might 
 be an intruder." 
 
 " You have no reason to blame yourself, after the treat- 
 ment you received from father and myself. I had no cause 
 to expect you ; I only hoped." 
 
 " I am still to blame," said Saville ; "for while your 
 voice forbade me to come, I thought I saw in your eyes 
 the need of sympathy and help." 
 
 " You saw what was true, indeed." 
 
 " Besides, you spoke your father's will, and not your 
 own wish." 
 
 An expression of pain flitted across the girl's face. For 
 a moment she sat still in deep embarrassment, trying to 
 think how she should explain her father's action, past and 
 prospective ; but she knew so little herself, and the whole 
 subject was so mysterious and sad, that she was at a loss 
 to find words. 
 
 Her truth, however, and her simplicity served her better 
 than skill or concealment ; for at last she turned a little 
 abruptly to Saville, and with eyes washed clear by many 
 tears said, 
 
 " My father met with a misfortune in England. What 
 it was I do not know ; neither he nor mother ever told me. 
 But he had to leave his home ; so he brought mother here, 
 and here I was born, and here we have lived ever since : 
 now you know all that I do. Mother thought that father's
 
 140 NEAE TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 troubles and his long seclusion from the world had a bad 
 influence on his mind, and once told me that he had 
 greatly changed from his former self. But, like Cordelia, 
 1 1 love him according to my bond,' and with her could 
 cry, 
 
 " O my father ! Restoration, hang 
 
 Thy medicine on my lips ; and let my kiss 
 Repair those violent harms.' 
 
 But from you I can ask only forbearance ; the same 
 generous courtesy that you showed when you said to me, 
 ' Charity thinketh no evil." ' 
 
 This statement, so simple, guileless, and yet enriched 
 by an apt allusion to one whose character she seemed to 
 possess, greatly pleased Saville. Whatever had been the 
 act that clouded the father's life, not even the shadow of 
 its knowledge rested upon the mind of the child. 
 
 "Your thoughts are as crystal as yonder spring," he 
 said ; "and yet you are enshrouded in mystery. How 
 came you so conversant with the two great books of the 
 world ? " 
 
 " There is no mystery about that ; they are the only 
 books we have. I learned to read in them, and they 
 have been my companions ever since. What I should 
 have done without them, often, I scarcely know." 
 
 " Which of the two do you like the better? " 
 
 "Oh! the Bible, of course. ^But a year ago I found 
 more pleasure in the plays, and I never could get weary 
 of them ; but when mother began to fail, and my heart 
 to sink with dread, the plays would not answer. I wanted 
 something like the kind voice of a living being speaking 
 to me, and so I have read the Bible altogether of late." 
 
 " And does the Bible seem like a living voice speaking 
 to you ? " 
 
 " Why, surely ; the Bible is God's Word. Sometimes
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 141 
 
 I hear mother's favorite text so plainly ' Let not your 
 heart be troubled" that I look around, half expecting 
 to see some one. ' ' 
 
 Saville sighed, as he thought, " What a pity her belief 
 is not true ! " but he said, changing the subject, 
 
 " Will you let me ask about another mystery? How 
 does it happen that your two great dogs lie dead 
 yonder ? " 
 
 " There is a mystery concerning those two humble 
 friends, which perhaps you can help us solve. When I 
 found them dead this morning, I felt very badly. It 
 seemed as if death still hovered around us ; and yet God 
 preserved us so wonderfully from greater harm, that we 
 have only reason to be grateful." Then she told him of 
 the night alarm, and the intrusion of the robber within 
 the cabin. " But after he entered," continued Vera, 
 " he did not speak, and scarcely moved until he turned 
 and abruptly left the room ; and then, judging from the 
 sound of their horses' feet, they went as if flying for their 
 lives. I unbarred and unbolted the door, so that we 
 might be solely in God's hands ; and he protected us as 
 he did the prophet, when cast into the lion's den." 
 
 "This is very strange," mused Saville frowningly. 
 
 " Do you think they were soldiers? Their coming has 
 troubled father terribly, ' ' 
 
 "You say they came up the valley from the south, and 
 continued northward." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I scarcely think they were any of our men. It is 
 more probable that they belong to a class of dangerous 
 wretches that are becoming very troublesome. They 
 pretend to be Tories or Royalists, but usually plunder 
 either party as they get a chance." 
 
 " Oh ! thank God, who kept us from the evil." 
 
 " I do indeed shudder to think of your situation last 
 night," said Saville, growing pale at the thought of the
 
 142 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 young girl's peril. " But, to quote from one of your fa- 
 vorite books, 'Conscience makes cowards of us all.' 
 These guilty rascals are very superstitious, and no doubt 
 your mother's dead face was more protection than an 
 armed man. But it troubles me greatly to think of you 
 as so isolated and unshielded." 
 
 " I shall continue to trust in God," said Vera calmly. 
 
 " That is right ; keep up your faith and courage,'' re- 
 plied Saville heartily ; adding mentally, " Poor child ! 
 never was delusion more harmless and useful than in 
 your case." 
 
 The twilight was now deepening fast ; still it had not 
 grown so dark but that Vera's father could be plainly 
 seen advancing towards them. When he saw Saville, he 
 stopped abruptly, and took his rifle down from his shoulders 
 with the instinctive action of one who suddenly thinks 
 himself in the presence of danger. But Vera rose 
 promptly, and taking her companion's hand, led him 
 forward, saying, 
 
 " Father, this is Mr. Saville, who was very kind to me 
 when I went for the surgeon." 
 
 The man's recognition was so cold and distant as to be 
 forbidding, whereupon Vera continued, in a tone whose 
 firmness and decision excited Saville's surprise, and 
 proved that she had unusual force of character, 
 
 " You remember mother said that if he came again you 
 must treat him with kindness and courtesy ; and from 
 henceforth mother's will must be your law and mine." 
 
 This reference to his dead wife disarmed the man at 
 once. The known wishes of a loved one who has died 
 are often far more potent than were strong entreaties 
 when urged face to face ; and the husband's mind was 
 not so warped but that he was suffering from the re- 
 morseful impression that he had not been as considerate 
 of his wife as both duty and his own affection required, 
 and he was in a mood to make amends. It was only his
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 143 
 
 strongly rooted habit of shunning and repelling strangers 
 that now stood between him and this the first visitor who 
 had broken in upon his solitude for so many long years. 
 But Vera was gladdened by seeing him master this, 
 though evidently by a great effort, and give his hand to 
 Saville in something like a welcome. 
 
 " The wishes of the dead are indeed sacred," he said ; 
 " and I hope that neither myself nor my daughter will 
 ever have cause to regret our acquaintance." 
 
 " I pledge you the word of a gentleman, you shall not," 
 replied Saville heartily ; " and to the extent of my power 
 as an officer I will extend you protection while I am in 
 this locality." 
 
 " I hope you will not go away," said Vera in a low 
 tone ; but there was more entreaty in her wistful look 
 than in her words. 
 
 " The chief element in a soldier's life is uncertainty. 
 I must obey orders, and there is prospect of a very 
 active campaign. But wherever I am, I shall not forget 
 you, nor cease to use what influence I possess in your 
 behalf." 
 
 Mr. Brown now went so far as to ask Saville into the 
 cabin, where Gula had prepared as good a supper as her 
 slender materials permitted. Saville' s high breeding and 
 familiarity with the world enabled him to talk with ease 
 and grace, while his tact and genuine sympathy for the 
 afflicted household made his words like oil that calmed 
 the troubled waters in the souls of each of his listeners ; 
 for, beyond a few eager questions on the part of Mr. 
 Brown in regard to the progress of the war, both father 
 and daughter were well content to listen rather than 
 speak, when their hearts were so full of sorrow, and their 
 lips sealed by so much mystery. Gleams of hope and 
 almost exultation came into the eyes of the fear-haunted 
 man, as Saville told him of the forced and hasty evacu- 
 ation of Boston, on the part of the British troops, of
 
 144 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 which event vague rumors only had reached the moun- 
 tain cabin. 
 
 " But, after all," he asked, " can the American Colo- 
 nies make any prolonged resistance to the enormous 
 power of England ? " 
 
 " Yes," cried Saville enthusiastically ; " we are on the 
 eve of complete and final independence, and on this new 
 continent will be built up a system of life and government 
 which will revolutionize the world." 
 
 The haggard face of his host lighted up as he caught 
 something of the young man's spirit ; but soon the 
 shadow fell across it again, and he shook his head, 
 saying, 
 
 " England's power is almost without limit, and English 
 blood is slow to heat and slow to cool. Rest assured it 
 will be a long fight." 
 
 "Yes, and a hard one," added Saville thoughtfully ; 
 " and I am inclined to think that the severest part of the 
 struggle will be for the possession of this river. For that 
 reason I may be of service to you, as this region becomes 
 crowded with troops." 
 
 While Saville and her father were dwelling on the mil- 
 itary and political aspects of the' situation, Vera's eyes 
 and thoughts often wandered out into the darkness that 
 concealed the little mound which was still ever present 
 to her mind, and as the last words were uttered, she 
 sighed, 
 
 " Perhaps mother has escaped from ills too great for 
 her to bear." 
 
 " It shall be my effort that you escape from as many 
 as possible also, though not by flight into the unknown," 
 said Saville, generously hoping to do more than circum- 
 stances would probably permit, to show his friendship. 
 " And now, sir," he continued, giving his hand to his 
 host, as he rose to depart, " you cannot fail to trust me 
 after to-day ; for I have broken bread with you, and
 
 THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD 145 
 
 were I a wild Arab, I could never entertain an injurious 
 thought against you or yours." 
 
 This cordiality towards his host was somewhat the re- 
 sult of policy ; for he saw that if he would be of service 
 to the daughter, he must disarm the suspicions of the 
 father. Moreover, he had come to the conclusion that 
 the man's offense had been'of a political nature, for in 
 his words and bearing there was no suggestion of vulgar 
 crime. 
 
 To Vera's hand he gave a strong pressure, as he said, 
 " If anything I can say or do will cheer you, I will soon 
 come again." 
 
 " You have cheered and comforted me more than I 
 could have believed possible," said the maiden grate- 
 fully ; and she added, with the frankness of a child, " I 
 hope you will some soon and often."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 BEACON FIRES 
 
 SAVILLE was not slow in keeping his promise, and be- 
 came a frequent guest at the little cabin among the moun- 
 tains. His visits, which at first were made largely from 
 sympathy, soon became sources of so much pleasure, 
 that he was ready to avail himself of any pretext which 
 gave him for a few hours the society of one who was more 
 fascinating than if schooled in social arts. And yet such 
 was her youth and simplicity, and so undisguised was her 
 wonder as he described scenes and life in New York and 
 Europe, that she seemed to him only an intelligent child, 
 whom it was a delight to instruct. Congenial compan- 
 ionship was a necessity of the young man's nature ; and 
 in Vera he found so much delicacy and refinement, com- 
 bined with such utter absence of conventionality, and 
 entire ignorance of the form and etiquette of the times, 
 that she appeared to confirm his Utopian dreams of a 
 liberty so large that the impulses of nature would become 
 the only laws. But nature, to Saville and Vera, had 
 very different meanings. To the one it was an existing 
 order of things that he could not account for, but in 
 which man was supreme, and a law unto himself. To 
 the other it was the creation and dwelling-place of a 
 divine, all-powerful Being, who was, at the same time, 
 her Father and friend. In the beauty and purity of 
 Vera's character Saville saw the effects of this belief, but 
 he erred greatly in supposing all to be the result of 
 earthly causes. The development of the soul, under the 
 influence of a Divine, ever-present Spirit, was a truth 
 concerning which he had little knowledge and no faith.
 
 BEACON FIRES 147 
 
 Of his own great trouble and disappointment he never 
 spoke to any one. His wife's conduct was more than a 
 sorrow, and had become rather a bitter shame and dis- 
 grace, to which his proud spirit could not endure the 
 slightest allusion. Not even to his mother had he men- 
 tioned her name since the evening she crossed his thresh- 
 old for the last time. It was his wish to forget her 
 existence ; for his blood tingled as he remembered how 
 easily she had duped him, and how blindly and stupidly 
 he had wrecked his happiness. While, therefore, he 
 spoke frankly to Vera of his mother, and of his life 
 abroad and in New York, he maintained the habit of 
 silence, in regard to his wife, which was already fastened 
 upon him. 
 
 Vera had disarmed at once the bitter and misanthropic 
 thoughts, which a man with his experience is prone to 
 cherish towards the entire sex. No mountain stream 
 could be more transparent than this child of nature, who 
 had learned none of art's disguises. When, from in- 
 stinct, she manifested maidenly reserve, the cause was 
 as apparent as the effect. Her perfect guilelessness 
 deepened the impression, that Saville had formed from 
 the first, that she was but a child ; and his warm and 
 growing affection was that of a brother for a younger 
 sister, who accepts wonderingly and trustingly his 
 superiority in all things. And yet there was withal a 
 certain womanly dignity which often puzzled Saville, 
 and made it impossible for him to indulge in the innocent 
 caresses which are natural between brother and sister. 
 
 As for the young girl, she no more thought of analyz- 
 ing her feeling towards her new-found friend than would 
 the mind of a famished man dwell upon the chemical 
 constituents of the food that was giving him a new lease 
 of life. She did indeed love Saville, and she knew it ; 
 but her strong and deepening regard caused no more 
 unrest than had the tender yet tranquil affections which
 
 148 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 had hitherto governed her. She loved him like a sister, 
 and yet with more intensity than that relation usually 
 awakens. She loved him from a deep and abiding sense 
 of gratitude. He had been a friend in the sorest ex- 
 tremity of her life, and had come as a deliverer when 
 her heart was breaking in her terrible anguish and lone- 
 liness. He . had rescued her from the agony which 
 pierced like a mortal thrust, as she realized that her 
 mother was buried from her sight ; and he had gently 
 and tenderly sought to comfort and divert her thoughts 
 ever since. She loved him for the same reason that 
 many others of her sex would : because he was lovable, 
 and possessed the traits that usually win esteem. He 
 was brave ; he was manly in his appearance and bear- 
 ing ; frank and affable in his manner ; and more than 
 all, possessed tact, and the power of adapting himself 
 to the moods and characters of his associates. He 
 could be most fascinating when he chose to exert himself ; 
 and both inclination and every generous impulse led him 
 to do all in his power to cheer the orphan, who looked to 
 him as the sole friend she possessed. But perhaps the 
 tenderest element in her affection was the result of her 
 mother's knowledge of him, and her belief that he 
 would prove the deliverer who would open a way of 
 escape from an isolation which she saw, more and more 
 clearly, would be fraught with danger and unhappiness. 
 He had shown kindness to her mother, and his gift of 
 the brandy had made the pain and weakness of her 
 last days more easily borne. Under the circumstances, 
 and with her nature, how could she do otherwise than 
 love this stranger knight, who had done so much to help 
 and relieve from sore distress ? 
 
 And yet there was a depth in her heart in which the 
 name of Saville had never sounded. If he had told her 
 that he had a true and loving wife in New York, her 
 heart would have bounded with joy ; for in that wife she
 
 BEACON FIRES 149 
 
 would hope to find another friend, of her own sex. She 
 could love her at once for his sake. If, in brotherly 
 confidence, he had told her of another maiden that he 
 loved, no sister would have sympathized more unselfishly 
 and heartily. Saville was right ; Vera was still a child. 
 
 With no disposition to monopolize her as a discovery 
 of his own, Saville was perfectly ready to introduce 
 other officers, whose characters warranted the privilege, 
 at the mountain cabin. But it was found that its master 
 was so morbidly averse, as yet, to any extension of 
 acquaintance, that at Vera's request, 'he waited until 
 circumstances should break down the barriers. Her 
 father's intense interest in the progress of the war grew 
 more and more apparent, and they believed that if he 
 could be induced to take an open part in the struggle, 
 his mental disorder would pass away, Although, at 
 times, he seemed almost ready to yield to their wishes, 
 his old habit of shrinking caution and demoralizing fear 
 would suddenly resume its sway and disappoint them. 
 
 That this was true was most unfortunate ; for, as the 
 season advanced, the whole country became pervaded 
 with rumors of Tory plots and uprisings. The arrival of 
 British forces was daily expected at New York, and it 
 was said that the loyalists in the city and along the 
 shores of the Hudson were in league to rise, on the 
 advent of large bodies of supporting English troops. It 
 was a time of general distrust. Near neighbors regarded 
 each other with suspicion, and often with good cause. 
 Spies were everywhere plying their trade of- drawing 
 from the unwary, secrets that might prove ruinous. It 
 was a bad time for people who could not or did not 
 fully account for themselves ; therefore, the man who, 
 among the few that were aware of his existence, went 
 by the name of " Skulkin' Brown," could not fail to 
 become an object of suspicion. There were increasing 
 rumors, which had no other foundation than the excited
 
 150 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 imaginations of people who feared danger on every side, 
 and only the fact that nothing definite was alleged 
 against him, prevented a self-appointed delegation from 
 waiting on him with notice to decamp to parts unknown. 
 
 But, in the garrison at Fort Montgomery, rumor began 
 to take more tangible and ominous form ; for Molly, 
 sharing in all her mother's prejudices against the neigh- 
 bors who had been so secluded and unsocial, began to 
 give out many dark hints of what she had surmised 
 rather than seen ; and these intimations constantly 
 gained in evil suggestion as they became the staple 
 gossip around the camp-fire. 
 
 The artillery company to which her husband belonged 
 had been stationed for a time at Fort Montgomery, but 
 had recently been recalled to fort Constitution ; and 
 Larry was glad to get back, for after his experience as 
 sentinel, he regarded the east side of the river as the 
 safer one. He and his wife naturally gravitated towards 
 that class among the soldiery who were as ignorant and 
 superstitious as themselves ; and loquacious, rash-speak- 
 ing Molly was not long in convincing her associates that 
 old Gula was a "hay then," and in league with the 
 Evil One, and that Vera was her disciple. 
 
 These rumors soon took such shape as to become the 
 topic of conversation among the officers, and thus Saville 
 heard of them. Alarmed for the safety of Vera, he 
 promptly sought their origin, and was not long in tracing 
 them to the daughter of the old crone who had disgusted 
 him with her envenomed but baseless innuendo on the 
 afternoon when he and Larry first saw the nymph of the 
 potato field. At first, he sought to reason with Molly, 
 and awaken her sympathies for the motherless girl. But, 
 on the mention of Vera, the coarse-fibered woman only 
 tossed her head, with something like a leer on her bold, 
 handsome face ; and Saville, with indignation, saw that 
 she gave him credit for very different motives from those
 
 BEACON FIRES 151 
 
 of commiseration and friendly regard for the maiden he 
 was seeking to protect. Therefore he said, with a sud- 
 den anger and sternness, before which even the reckless 
 termagant quailed, 
 
 " Beware how you or your husband whisper another 
 lie against those who are under my protection. If you 
 even hint anything you cannot prove, L will have you 
 drummed out of camp." 
 
 This, to Molly, was a dire threat, which for a time had 
 the desired effect ; for, in her estimation, she could suffer 
 no greater misfortune than to be exiled from the camp, 
 where she had already become quite a potentate, with 
 numerous satellites, the unfortunate Larry being the 
 most subservient of all. But her spite rankled and 
 strengthened, nevertheless. Saville was no favorite of 
 hers ; for her husband had reported his significant offer 
 of his old breeches, as well as his shoes, at the time she 
 captured his quondam man-of-all-work. 
 
 Saville was able, in part, to allay the suspicions of his 
 brother officers, by his strenuous assertions that the 
 Whig cause had nothing to fear from the inmates of the 
 mountain cabin ; but, when asked to give some account 
 of them, he could say but little, and so an evil-boding 
 prejudice remained. 
 
 But the rapid events of a stirring campaign soon ban- 
 ished all thought of possible dangers ; and in the ap- 
 proach of legions of British troops, the exile suspected 
 of Tory proclivities was forgotten. 
 
 As the month of June passed, the nearer approached 
 the time when all felt that the English men-of-war and 
 transports must appear upon the coast. Not a day 
 dawned but the tidings of their arrival at New York was 
 expected by Colonel James Clinton, who then com- 
 manded the forts in the Highlands ; and the feverish ex- 
 citement of expectation hourly increased among both 
 officers and men.
 
 152 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 One lovely evening, about the last of June, Saville, 
 after his labors upon the fortifications were over, pulled 
 his boat across the river to a little cove near the cabin. 
 He had suffered much, during the past year, and was 
 finding in the society of Vera an increasing power to ob- 
 literate the painful impressions of the past. He felt, at 
 times, like one consumed with feverish thirst, and that 
 her conversation, at once so childlike and intelligent, so 
 natural and yet tinged with the supernatural, was like a 
 cool mountain rill, sweet and sparkling, as it issued into 
 the light from its mysterious source in the heart of the 
 hills. He often wondered at her ability to enchain his 
 thoughts, to awaken questionings in regard to matters 
 which he had considered settled, and unconsciously to 
 arouse misgivings concerning his doubt and unbelief. 
 
 Of one thing, however, he was certain : her influence 
 was making him a better and truer man, and bringing a 
 strange peace and hopefulness into his soul, that hitherto 
 had been full of unrest, and was at times embittered by 
 impotent resentment at his destiny and again weighed 
 down by deep despondency. 
 
 He was soon on the crest of the rocky height above the 
 cabin, playing upon his flute the air which had become 
 the summons to trysts that, thus far, had not been tainted 
 by the thought of evil. A clear voice from the glen be- 
 low echoed back the words, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows," 
 
 and, a moment later, Vera gave him her hand in greet- 
 ing. 
 
 After a little while their conversation flagged. The 
 subtle sympathy between them had grown so deep, that 
 they did not need a constant interchange of words to en- 
 joy each other's society ; and, on this occasion, the ex- 
 quisite beauty and peace of the landscape, as they scanned
 
 BEACON FIRES 153 
 
 it from their lofty eyrie, so impressed both that they were 
 content to gaze in silence. Darkening and lengthening 
 shadows from the western mountains stretched far across 
 the river, whose glassy surface had gradually passed 
 from the sheen of silver to a colder, steely gleam, as it 
 washed its bold shores at their feet ; but the heads of 
 "Sugar Loaf" mountain, and other lofty heights, were 
 still crowned with light and robed in royal purple. 
 Coming night would soon uncrown them, even as death 
 brings darkness and obscurity to those who, but a brief 
 time before, shone preeminent in power and station. 
 
 At last Saville said, 
 
 " Why is it, Vera, that while here with you, the real 
 world, which is full of turmoil and trouble, recedes, and 
 I seem near another world which I would gladly enter ; 
 for even on its borders I find a strange peace and quiet 
 joy. The people I am thrown with in the garrison are 
 coarse, and their best idea of life is commonplace and 
 material. Our food is plain and even gross, and yet it 
 seems wholly to occupy the thoughts of many. How you 
 live I cannot tell, unless the fairies feed you. Every day 
 has its harassing rumors, and we know that the enemy 
 will strike us soon ; and the sooner the better, for the 
 great question of Liberty can be decided now only by 
 hard blows. But you cannot know what a relief it is to 
 escape from the dust, heat, and din of labor on the forti- 
 fications, and the oversight of men who seem little better 
 than beasts of burden, to a scene like this, and to have 
 you hover near me, my dainty Ariel. Are you sure you 
 are not a spirit of the air, an emanation of this romantic 
 region and hour ? When the cold, dark days come, will 
 not you and your rustic bower vanish ? If I come next 
 November, and give our musical signal, will not the sigh- 
 ing of the chilly wind be my only answer ? Are you really 
 flesh and blood? " 
 
 " I might answer with Shylock," replied Vera, play-
 
 154 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 fully, " ' Have I not eyes? Have I not hands, organs, 
 dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? ' ' 
 
 " Still, you differ vastly from ordinary mortals. How 
 is it that when with you, such a sense of peace, rest, and 
 deep content steals into my heart ? " 
 
 " Another has said, ' My peace I give unto you, not as 
 the world giveth give I unto you.' It is that which you 
 feel, I trust." 
 
 "Who said that?" 
 
 " The Prince of Peace the God who loves us both. 
 Life is bringing to me, as well as to yourself, many sad 
 and stern realities. I live as you do, but am fed much as 
 the ravens are, not knowing where to-morrow's supply is 
 to come from ; only sure that it will come. You know 
 well, Mr. Saville, that there is now nothing sportive and 
 fairy-like in my life, and yet deep in my heart abides per- 
 fect peace." 
 
 Its reflection was on her face, as he gazed upon it long 
 and intently. 
 
 " May it never be disturbed," he said fervently. " I 
 enjoy, while here, but the pale reflection of what you 
 possess. But it's all a mystery, like yourself. What's 
 that ? ' ' 
 
 Far to the southward a faint light illumined the dusk 
 of approaching night. While they looked, another and 
 nearer flame sprang into the sky, and soon the highest 
 mountain-tops all along the river were ablaze. 
 
 "What do they mean?" asked Vera, in an awed 
 whisper. 
 
 " They are beacon fires," said Saville excitedly ; " the 
 enemy is at last at hand. Good-bye, my little wildflower ; 
 I must be at my post instantly. May the hot breath of 
 war never wither your bloom." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Vera sadly ; " but remember, I shall 
 be here in November, just as certainly as in June." 
 
 "While I live I will seek for you," he called back
 
 BEACON FIRES 155 
 
 as he sprang down the rocks and vanished in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Vera watched the ominous glare of the alarm-fires for 
 a long time, and then sighed, as she descended to her 
 home, 
 
 "Alas! war means death to many, and, perhaps, to 
 him, my only friend. But not if prayer can shield him." 
 
 She found her father watching the glare, also, in 
 moody silence. Taking his arm, she stood quietly by 
 him. How much those beacon fires might presage to 
 both! 
 
 " They have come at last," he said, with a deep 
 breath. 
 
 " Yes, father, no doubt the English ships are down 
 the river, and now is the time for you to do as mother 
 said join Mr. Saville, and take an open part in the 
 struggle for liberty. It will be so much better and 
 safer." 
 
 He only shook his head, and she felt his arm tremble 
 beneath her hand. 
 
 " Do you think," he asked hesitatingly, " we could find 
 a safer place than this ? one further away ? " 
 
 "No, father; none half so safe as this. We cannot 
 leave this place, where mother died," she answered, so 
 decidedly that he yielded to her stronger will, and per- 
 mitted himself to be led quietly within the cabin ; but, 
 in accordance with his old habit, he sat, a sleepless 
 watcher, through the night, in his dark corner, his eyes 
 moving restlessly at the slightest sound without. Vera 
 tried to watch with him, but her head soon dropped upon 
 the chair. 
 
 Gala, shading the light with her hand, looked at her 
 calm face a moment, and then went muttering to hei 
 loft, " She doesn't hear no voices yet."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 LIBERTY PROCLAIMED AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 
 
 SEVERAL evenings passed before Saville appeared 
 again, and then he went directly to the cabin, for he had 
 tidings for both father and daughter. 
 
 " I wish you joy, Mr. Brown," he cried, as they went 
 out to meet him. " You are no longer under British law. 
 This is a free country." And in rapid sentences he told 
 them of the formal declaration of independence on the 
 part of Congress, and of its joyous and hearty ratification 
 by the people, as far as they had been heard from. 
 
 His words greatly excited both his listeners, and a 
 sudden gleam of exultation appeared upon the man's 
 haggard face. Saville saw his vantage, and added 
 eagerly, 
 
 " I have been selected to read this solemn declaration 
 to-morrow, at evening parade, before all the troops ; and 
 I have come to ask you and Vera to be present. I will 
 put you under the charge of our surgeon, whom Vera 
 knows, and will guarantee your safety. Indeed, your 
 safety largely depends upon your coming ; for if you are 
 known to be present and approving upon such an 
 occasion, it will disarm suspicion, and all will recognize 
 that you are on our side." 
 
 "We will come," said Vera decisively; for she felt 
 that it might be the turning-point in their lives. 
 
 " Oh, no, my child ; I cannot," cried the father trem- 
 blingly. 
 
 " Yes, father ; you can and will," said Vera calmly, 
 " I shall go, and you will not permit me to go alone."
 
 LIBERTY AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 157 
 
 Urged by his strong desire to verify the tidings he had 
 heard with his own ears, and Vera's gentle coercion, he 
 yielded. It was arranged that they should come the 
 following day to a point, near the fort, where they would 
 find Saville, who promised to give them a position which, 
 while not conspicuous, would enable them to hear those 
 pregnant words which had created a new and independ- 
 ent nation. 
 
 As may well be imagined, Vera's excitement was 
 scarcely less than that of her father, though more con- 
 trolled. She was, at last, to catch a glimpse of the world 
 and its inhabitants, concerning which she had thought 
 and dreamed so much. She was to be present on an 
 occasion of pomp and military display, and the one she 
 loved and honored as the most excellent man existing, 
 was to be the central figure. To her, he embodied the 
 Declaration which he was to read, and was a synonym 
 for liberty. In her fancy, she compared him to the 
 youthful David of Bible history, and the loftiest Shake- 
 spearian heroes ; and her heart overflowed in gratitude 
 to God that he had raised up such a friend and deliverer 
 for her and her father. Through his kind offices, she 
 already, in hope, saw her father restored to sound reason 
 and useful station, and both gaining a respected and 
 recognized place in society. To-morrow would be the 
 auspicious day which would inaugurate the happy 
 change. 
 
 " Mother was a true prophetess," she said to herself a 
 hundred times. " He is the true friend whom God has 
 raised up to rescue us." 
 
 Temptation was indeed coming to Vera as an angel of 
 light, but as yet no threatening cloud appeared above the 
 bright horizon. As the thundergusts lurked behind her 
 native mountains, to break at last as from a clear sky, so 
 might the truth come to her. But now, with the un- 
 quenched confidence of a child, she exulted over the vista
 
 158 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 of hope and promise opening before her, and with an 
 affection and admiration which was essentially that of a 
 sister for a strong and gallant brother, she permitted 
 Saville to become to her the centre of all earthly ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 She was almost as sleepless that night as her father, 
 and the next day, an hour before the appointed time for 
 starting, was dressed in all the simple finery she possessed. 
 And simple indeed it was ; for neither from her mother 
 nor her foster parent, nature, had she acquired any 
 artificial or gaudy tastes. 
 
 Moccasins incased her feet. Her dark-blue gown was 
 made after the fashion in vogue when her mother was a 
 maiden in her English home, and was fastened at her 
 throat by a quaint and ancient brooch. But her chief 
 ornament was the wealth of golden hair that flowed, un- 
 confined, far down her shoulders. Upon her head, as 
 jauntily as when Saville first saw it, sat the plumage of 
 the snowy heron. 
 
 Saville wondered at her beauty, as she appeared, glow- 
 ing with exercise and excitement, at the rendezvous. Her 
 father also had seemingly nerved himself up to the emer- 
 gency, and maintained the stately bearing of a gentleman 
 of a former generation ; while Vera, to a very great 
 degree, had removed from his person and dress the 
 habitual appearance of disorder. 
 
 Saville led them at once to his quarters, and placed 
 before them such refreshments as could be obtained in a 
 mountain garrison. According to agreement, the bluff 
 but kindly surgeon soon appeared, and did his best to 
 entertain the visitors. Saville would have introduced a 
 few other officers, but Mr. Brown had stipulated that 
 he should make the acquaintance of no other person than 
 the surgeon. To his disordered fancy, danger menaced 
 from every one who obtained knowledge of him. Saville 
 and Vera readily acquiesced, feeling that his habit of
 
 LIBERTY AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 159 
 
 reserve and morbid fear could only be broken grad- 
 ually. 
 
 But Vera was more than content, and would have been 
 in a state of childlike wonder and delight, had she been 
 left solely to the enjoyment of the new and strange scenes 
 witnessed now for the first time. But with Saville, and 
 the surgeon who was kind to her mother, at her side, to 
 explain and protect, she felt that her cup was full to 
 overflowing. 
 
 Saville noted with pleasure her simple grace and dignity 
 of manner. She was \\\?, protegee , and he had felt some 
 anxiety as to her appearance and bearing, and also lest 
 she should be painfully embarrassed, or so odd in dress 
 and manner as to attract unfavorable notice. But her 
 bearing was that of a well-bred but diffident child. Her 
 modest deference to the surgeon's words both charmed 
 and disarmed him of the prejudice which her father's life 
 and reputation had created ; and her keen and intelligent 
 interest in all she saw, and the innocent wonder that often 
 found expression upon her mobile features, amply repaid 
 Saville for his effort to secure her presence. There was, 
 withal, a trace of quaint Shakespearian stateliness in her 
 words and manner, which, to one of his tastes, was far 
 more pleasing than the artificial graces of the prevailing 
 mode. 
 
 As the hour approached for evening parade and the 
 ceremonies attendant upon so important an occasion, 
 Saville conducted them to a commanding yet sheltered 
 position beneath some overshadowing trees, from which 
 they could see and hear all, and still not be full in the 
 public eye. As Vera noticed this, and saw how relieved 
 her father was that he could shrink partially out of sight, 
 she said, 
 
 " Do you read one's thoughts, that your courtesy is so 
 kind? " 
 
 " I should be dull indeed," he replied, " if I could not
 
 160 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 read your thoughts, and most unkind not to please one 
 so easily pleased. Good-bye, now, for a time. I must 
 go and prepare for the part that I am to take. " 
 
 " I am proud that it is the chief part," she said exult- 
 antly. 
 
 Saville's enthusiasm over the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence had scarcely known bounds, and so attracted 
 the attention of his brother officers, that Col. James 
 Clinton, the commanding officer, said laughingly, 
 
 " You shall read it at evening parade, for, judging 
 from the feeling you show, you can do the document 
 more justice than any of us." 
 
 "I shall esteem it the greatest honor of my life, if I 
 may," responded Saville eagerly; "for I see in this in- 
 strument the inauguration of a totally new condition of 
 society. I think its writer was inspired, and that it con- 
 tains more than he realized. He wrought better than he 
 knew. Take the words, ' all men are created equal, and 
 are endowed with certain inherent and inalienable rights ; 
 that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of 
 happiness.' Push these pregnant sentences to their 
 logical conclusion, and they level all arbitrary distinc- 
 tions, and break all chains, spiritual and temporal. They 
 will make all men sovereigns, instead of vassals and 
 slaves of tyranny, existing on earth or believed to exist 
 somewhere else." 
 
 " Hold on, Saville," cried Clinton ; " you haven't 
 quoted correctly. The document reads, ' endowed by 
 their Creator with certain inherent and inalienable 
 rights.' A Creator that can endow, can also impose 
 restrictions." 
 
 "I admit," Saville had replied, "that in the letter of 
 its phraseology, the instrument accords with the waning 
 superstitions of the times ; but, as I said, the writer 
 wrought better than he knew, and placed there the germs 
 of a golden age, wherein man will be supreme, reason
 
 LIBERTY AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 161 
 
 holding the sceptre. Suppose we break the bonds of 
 King George, how can we possess liberty and pursue 
 happiness, if we are trammeled on every side by what 
 some ancient bigots imagined was the will of an obscure 
 Hebrew Divinity ? If we must be governed by the 
 myths of remote antiquity, in the name of reason, let us 
 go to Greece ; for there, at least, we shall find some 
 breadth and beauty." 
 
 " If I saw in this document what you foreshadow, I'd 
 burn it instead of having it read," said Clinton, with an 
 oath. " I see in it only independence of King George, 
 and allegiance to the God of my fathers." 
 
 "The acorn grows slowly," Saville answered; "but 
 when it grows, the shell decays and drops away." 
 
 "Very well," said Clinton; "you shall read it, and 
 every man can interpret it for himself." 
 
 And so it had been arranged. Apart from Saville's 
 enthusiasm, the selection would prove good in other 
 respects, for he had a fine presence, and a strong, so- 
 norous voice. 
 
 As the sun sank behind the western highlands, the tap 
 of the drum summoned the garrison to their respective 
 positions, and filled all minds with eager expectancy. 
 Vera heard the confused and hurrying tramp of feet, and 
 rapid commands from officers which, though unintelligi- 
 ble to her, soon crystallized the human atoms into com- 
 pact masses. In every part of the fort and island that 
 was visible, bodies of men appeared with bayonets 
 gleaming above their heads. Then, with a precision 
 and order which only military discipline can produce, 
 each company was put in motion by a single word, as if 
 all were swayed by one will. The rhythmical tread of 
 many feet echoed and reechoed on every side, and soon 
 the open, level space before her began to fill with angular 
 masses of men. At first, they seemed to her untaught 
 eyes like human blocks placed here and there by chance ;
 
 162 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 but, as company and battalion came marching forward 
 to the music of fife and drum till they seemed to form 
 an innumerable host, she saw the angular human masses 
 take, as it were by magic, the outline of three sides of a 
 hollow square. The martial sounds caused every nerve 
 to tingle, and looking at her father, she saw, with a thrill 
 of hope, that he was losing his shrinking manner, and 
 that his eyes were kindling with a grand excitement akin 
 to her own. 
 
 In very brief time the lines were dressed, and the men 
 standing like serried ranks of statues. A word of com- 
 mand rang out, which was followed by a subdued crash, 
 as every firelock came simultaneously to the ground, and 
 the ranks became statuesque in another attitude. She 
 also saw that in the meantime every cannon had been 
 manned along the extensive line of breastworks. A little 
 in the rear of the nearest stood a person whose strange 
 costume did not prevent Vera from recognizing as the 
 young Irish girl whom she had occasionally met in her 
 mountain excursions. It was no other than the redoubt- 
 able Molly O'Flarharty, dressed in a blue petticoat, the 
 scarlet coat of an artilleryman, and a cocked hat worn 
 rakishly on one side. She also saw, from Molly's steady 
 gaze, that she knew both herself and her father; but, 
 while the woman's bold stare gave her for a moment an 
 uncomfortable impression, she soon forgot her existence 
 in the interesting scenes in which she was a participant. 
 
 When all were in position, and silence had taken the 
 place of the preceding din and tramp of feet, Colonel 
 Clinton, with his staff officers, issued from the shadow of 
 some large tents, and grouped themselves on the fourth 
 and open side of the square, the commander being a 
 little in advance of the others. To Vera, as they stood 
 there in as brilliant uniforms as the times and their 
 meagre purses permitted, they seemed heroes ot the first 
 magnitude.
 
 LIBERTY AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 163 
 
 But when Saville's tall form appeared, and he ad- 
 vanced and saluted Colonel Clinton with the erectness 
 and steadiness of a trained soldier, combined with the 
 ease and grace of one who had seen court life abroad, 
 tears of exultant pride suffused her eyes, and she mur- 
 mured, " He towers above them all." 
 
 " See what a grace is seated on this brow ; 
 Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 And give the world assurance of a man." 
 
 A deep hush fell upon the garrison, broken only by 
 the rustle of the parchment as it was unrolled. Even the 
 most stolid of the soldiery could be seen craning their 
 necks that they might hear more distinctly the words 
 that were so fraught with destiny to them and their chil- 
 dren. But there was no need of such effort ; for Saville's 
 powerful voice, like a trumpet, sent every syllable even 
 to the artillerymen standing at the distant guns. 
 
 When he came to the words, " We hold these truths 
 to be self-evident: that all men are created equal," he 
 gave to them such emphasis and meaning, that they 
 thrilled all present, and touched the deep chord of human 
 brotherhood in every heart. From the common soldiery, 
 who felt their humble station, but believed that this truth 
 made them peers of all mankind, there went up an irre- 
 pressible shout, whose echoes were long in dying away. 
 Saville smiled, as he thought, "Did I not say that the 
 germ of perfect liberty and equality is in these words ? 
 ay, and the instinct of the masses will discover it, in spite 
 of their rulers. Even the mere announcement causes 
 these poor fellows to break the iron bands of military 
 restraint." 
 
 More than once the reader was interrupted by out
 
 164 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 bursts of applause, or by groans and hisses given with 
 emphasis by his recent subjects for King George, who, 
 in this memorable document, was to hear the unvarnished 
 truth in a form that would make his ears tingle. 
 
 It was indeed a remarkable occasion and scene. In 
 the words themselves, in the feelings of those who then 
 for the first time heard them, and especially in view of 
 the results, the element of sublimity was preeminent. It 
 was befitting that the surroundings should be sublime ; 
 that there should rise on every side solemn mountains, 
 some in shadow, some crowned with light and glory, 
 suggestive of the checkered fortunes of those who must 
 fight long years for the liberty they were now claiming. 
 But when a strong current of popular feeling and opinion 
 sets steadily in one direction, it will break through all 
 barriers, and overcome all obstacles, even as the broad 
 river at their feet had cleft its way through miles of 
 granite hills. 
 
 As the last words fell from the reader's lips " And for 
 the support of this declaration we mutually pledge to 
 each other our lives, our foi'tunes, and our sacred honor," 
 a frenzy of enthusiasm seized upon all. The lines were 
 partially broken, for the citizen soldiery were too recently 
 from their democratic homes to be held in check, had 
 restraint been attempted. The three-cornered continental 
 hats were whirled high in air, and the prolonged and 
 deafening shouts were but partially drowned by the can- 
 non that, from every embrasure, thundered repeated 
 salvos. The guns of Forts Clinton and Montgomery 
 were soon answering like mighty echoes. 
 
 Though the reader had acquitted himself admirably, 
 he was content to be forgotten in the wild excitement 
 over what he had read, and escaped almost unnoticed to 
 Vera's side. As he saw the deep intensity of feeling ex- 
 pressed in her dark blue eyes and earnest face, the 
 thought occurred to him, " She is not a child ; she is
 
 LIBERTY AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 165 
 
 capable of becoming, if she is not already, a heroic 
 woman." 
 
 The father, also, was so changed that he scarcely 
 knew him. He looked, not only like one who could 
 fight for liberty, but lead others in the conflict. Not 
 from him, however, but from Vera, came the request 
 that they might now depart. 
 
 " I am overpowered," she said ; " perhaps if I had had 
 former glimpses of the strange and unknown world, I 
 would not feel so. But I am now overwhelmed, as I 
 imagine one of the old prophets must have been just after 
 he had seen a vision." 
 
 "The excitement has been too much for you," said 
 Saville gently. 
 
 " Yes, for the moment ; but I have seen that which I 
 can think over and dream about for months. I am very 
 grateful to you for this wonderful experience ; but let us 
 go now, and when you come again I shall have many 
 questions to ask. Mother was right you are the friend 
 that she had a presentiment you would become. Oh, 
 that she were with us to-day ! 
 
 " Your mother seems ever present to your mind," said 
 Saville, in a low tone, as they walked to the boat. 
 
 " Dear mother ! " sighed Vera, in a tone that trembled 
 with tenderness ; " perhaps she is nearer to me than you, 
 upon whose arm I lean." 
 
 It caused Saville a sudden and sharp pang to remem- 
 ber, as he believed, that her mother had vanished into 
 nothingness, and had no longer any existence. 
 
 On parting at the landing, Saville took Vera's hand in 
 both his, and said, 
 
 " I have learned to respect you very much to-day, my 
 little friend. I think you are ceasing to be a child, and 
 are becoming a woman." 
 
 " I would rather be a child as long as I can," said 
 Vera humbly, "for I have so much to learn."
 
 166 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Her father wrung the young man's hand, and said, 
 
 " I shall be with you in this struggle actively, if not 
 openly." 
 
 "Openly, my friend, openly, and all will be well," 
 cried Saville, as they pushed from the shore. 
 
 If he had taken that advice, it might have saved him 
 and his daughter years of suffering.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 
 
 EARLY in the season indeed, as soon as it became 
 probable that his native city, New York, would be the 
 next point of attack Saville had commenced to chafe at 
 the orders that kept him so far from the prospective 
 scene of action, and made him little more than an over- 
 seer of the soldier laborers, working upon fortifications. 
 When, at last, the beacon fires and subsequent intelli- 
 gence announced that the enemy were in the harbor, and 
 the city was liable to assault at any moment, he could 
 scarcely restrain his impatience, and at once made appli- 
 cation to be transferred to the main army. He was now 
 daily hoping to receive the orders he desired. In the 
 uncertainty, he had decided to say nothing to Vera, 
 since, if the request were denied, she would be saved 
 from the pain of fearing his departure ; and, should it be 
 granted, she would be preserved from days of anxious 
 anticipation. 
 
 But in the meantime events occurred which intensified 
 his desire to visit the city, and he began to feel that the 
 duty he owed his mother was conflicting most painfully 
 with that of a soldier. If he could only remove her to a 
 place of safety, he would even be content to return to the 
 mountain fort where there was no immediate prospect of 
 active service. This anxiety kept him on the alert for 
 every rumor from the city, and in that feverish and por- 
 tentous time there were rumors innumerable. 
 
 But on the I3th of July, while directing a working part 
 in the construction of a bastion, he noticed two sloops 
 coming up the river at an unusual speed. The wind was
 
 168 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 blowing very strongly from the southeast, and yet they 
 carried so much sail as to involve danger, and at times 
 would careen over to the water's edge. Saville was 
 something of a sailor, and he knew that none of the easy- 
 going skippers of the river craft would carry all the can- 
 vas they could raise, in such a gale, unless there was 
 urgent reason. 
 
 Scanning them through his glass, he was soon con- 
 vinced that there was reason, and that events of great 
 importance had occurred below. He was confirmed in 
 this surmise when the vessels, instead of standing on past 
 the fort, approached the shore, and came up before the 
 wind. Even while casting anchor two boats shoved off, 
 and a few moments later the captains of the sloops were 
 clambering up the rocky bank and asking for an audi- 
 ence with Colonel Clinton. Saville led them at once to 
 the commandant's tent, and the bluff skippers, almost in 
 a breath, said : 
 
 " Colonel Clinton, look well to your guns. The 
 Britishers attacked the city yesterday afternoon, and 
 some of their largest ships were a-standin' straight up the 
 river when night closed in. If they keep on they'll be 
 here afore long." 
 
 Then followed several hurried questions and answers. 
 Clinton was a prompt man and a brave soldier, and 
 though his garrison and works were ill able to cope with 
 English ships of the line, he had no other thought save 
 that of resistance to the last. 
 
 "Make all sail," he said to the captains, "for New 
 Windsor, where you will find my brother, the general. 
 Tell him what you have told me. Ask him to order out 
 the militia at once, and reinforce me at the quickest pos- 
 sible moment." 
 
 The captains needed no urging, and scrambled aboard 
 their vessels, which were soon lying upon their sides 
 again, in imminent danger, as every inch of canvas
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 169 
 
 swelled with the freshening gale. But, even in advance 
 of their swift progress, and in accordance with a precon- 
 certed signal, Colonel Clinton sent the echoes of a heavy 
 gun booming up the river, warning his brother, the war- 
 rior-governor, that the guardians of the Highlands must 
 bestir themselves at once. 
 
 " I am sorry, Saville," he said to the anxious-visaged 
 young officer ; " but there is no use in your thinking of 
 getting away now. The garrison is ridiculously weak as 
 it is. Out with every man who can handle a pick or 
 spade. We mast fight with these while the red-coats 
 give us a chance." And, having put everybody in mo- 
 tion at Fort Constitution, he hastened down to Forts 
 Montgomery and Clinton, to push forward the work 
 there also, and arrange for signals, should the enemy's 
 ships appear. 
 
 Saville, as a good soldier often must do, ignored all 
 personal interests and affections, and, to his utmost, sec- 
 onded the endeavors of his commander. In order to 
 animate the men, he even laid hold of the tools himself, 
 in emergencies that required unusual effort ; and the 
 ramparts seemed visibly to grow under the eager labors 
 of officers and men. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, General George Clinton's barge, 
 filled with men, was descried coming down the river, and 
 the belligerent governor was soon concerting measures of 
 defense with his brother, who, in the meantime, had re- 
 turned. Having informed Colonel Clinton of the im- 
 portant steps he had taken, and of the various regiments 
 that would speedily be on the march to reinforce the 
 posts, he said, 
 
 " I shall make my headquarters at Fort Montgomery, 
 as that is nearest the enemy. I want to take down with 
 me one or two engineer officers, to help push forward the 
 lines." 
 
 " Yonder is a man who is not afraid of work," said the
 
 170 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 colonel ; and Saville was instructed to accompany the 
 governor at once, and told that his baggage would be 
 sent after him. 
 
 The day passed, and brought no enemy ; but the 
 feverish excitement and expectancy were not permitted 
 to die out ; for, as soon as darkness closed, the hilltops 
 far to the south began to blaze, and the Dunderberg, 
 Bear Mountain, Sugar Loaf, Cro'nest, and Butter Hill 
 speedily assumed their crowns of flame. 
 
 From the rocky height above the cabin, Vera and her 
 father watched the ominous glare, for a long time, with 
 deep anxiety. However little she might know of its 
 cause, one thing was certain it portended danger to her 
 only friend. 
 
 On her was imposed already the most painful experi- 
 ence of war woman's helpless waiting and watching for 
 those they love. 
 
 Not many hours later, swift riders brought tidings to 
 the fort that the admiral, Lord Howe, had come to co- 
 operate with General Howe, his brother, and that the 
 active campaign would no doubt commence at once. 
 
 On the following day came a letter from Washington, 
 urging General Clinton to do what had already been ac- 
 complished, for the energetic governor had stirred up the 
 whole country. In the evening the notes of the drum 
 and fife were heard along the river road, and three hun- 
 dred of the hardy Ulster County militia marched into the 
 fort. 
 
 During the night, Vera saw many lights on the moun- 
 tainside, to the west ; they were the camp-fires of five 
 hundred men, who arrived in the fort early the next 
 morning, and, after a brief respite, for rest and refresh- 
 ment, all were at work upon the fortifications, every man 
 acting, in the grand excitement of the moment* as if all 
 depended on himself. 
 
 For two or three days Saville' s labors were incessant,
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 171 
 
 and he had scarcely time to obtain necessary rest. But, 
 as matters quieted down somewhat, and the English ships 
 remained quietly at anchor in Haverstraw Bay, he found 
 an opportunity to slip across the river, on a visit to the 
 mountain cabin. Vera was overjoyed to see him again ; 
 for, from her eyries, even her unpracticed eyes had de- 
 scried preparations for immediate conflict : while her 
 father was tremblingly eager to obtain the latest tidings. 
 
 " I am out with my rifle," he said, " on the southern 
 hills, as long as I can see ; and you have one vigilant 
 scout in your service, if he is unknown." 
 
 " Let me report your services to the general," said 
 Saville ; " it will be so much better for you both, if your 
 position is known." 
 
 " Not yet, not just yet," said the man nervously. " I 
 am not equal to it yet : you must give me time." 
 
 And so the fatal delay to take a recognized part in the 
 war continued. 
 
 Saville's visit was necessarily brief, for he could not 
 long be absent from his post. In parting, he said, 
 
 " Good-bye, once more, my little sister ; 1 will see you 
 again soon if I can, but in these times we do not know 
 what an hour will bring forth. If we should not meet in 
 a long while, you must not grieve too much." 
 
 " I should not sorrow," said Vera tearfully, " as others 
 who have no hope ; for I believe in another world, and a 
 better life than this, where we shall not be disturbed by 
 these rude alarms ; but grieve I would and how deeply, 
 you can never know. Am I so rich in friends that I need 
 not grieve? " 
 
 " How will it be when you come to have many ? " he 
 asked, half playfully. 
 
 Looking full into his eyes, without the faintest blush 
 tinging her pale cheeks, she said earnestly, 
 
 " If that time ever comes, you will still be first." 
 
 They accompanied him to his boat, for every moment
 
 172 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 with him was precious. As he pushed away the father 
 said, 
 
 " I shall be watching on the Dunderberg to-morrow." 
 
 The presence of English ships so high up in the waters 
 of the Hudson, created intense excitement along its 
 shores, among both Whigs and Tories ; nor was the gen- 
 eral ferment diminished by the fact that the enemy's 
 boats were out daily, taking soundings far up towards the 
 Highlands. Everything indicated that they were pre- 
 paring to take possession of the river. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day following Saville's visit, 
 signals were seen along the mountainsides, which indi- 
 cated that the enemy were approaching. The drums 
 beat to arms, and all were ordered to their posts. The 
 guns were manned, and the matches ready for lighting. 
 
 Before very long, one of the tenders of the British ships 
 was seen beating up against a stiff northern breeze, which 
 would enable her to retire rapidly in case of danger. 
 But the occupants of the fort supposed that the men-of- 
 war were following, and prepared for the worst. Larry, 
 whose company had been again ordered down to Fort 
 Montgomery, was stationed near a long thirty-two 
 pounder which had the best range of the river, and was 
 not a little nervous, now that his amorous enlistment had 
 brought him face to face with something more than gar- 
 rison duty ; but his wife, Molly, aflame with excitement, 
 hovered near him, voluble now with gibes and taunts, and 
 again with words of cheer. The element of fear seemed 
 totally lacking in her composition, and in this respect her 
 influence was good over the raw recruits, who dreaded 
 to "show the white feather," as it was termed, where a 
 woman was undaunted. Thus she became a privileged 
 character, and was tolerated, as useful camp-followers 
 often are. Many an awkward fellow, though badly 
 frightened, would rather march to a cannon's mouth 
 than receive a scornful glance from Molly's black eyes ;
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 173 
 
 and if she gave a man an opprobrious nickname, it stuck 
 to him like a burr. Colonel Clinton would often laugh, 
 as he said, 
 
 " Molly makes soldiers out of the militia faster than 
 the drill officers." 
 
 But Larry had become proof against all her sarcasms. 
 He had philosophically accepted his matrimonial fate, 
 and only shrugged his shoulders at her keenest thrusts. 
 
 But that English vessel which was beating slowly up 
 against the wind, and the others that he believed to be 
 following, might give him something harder to digest 
 than words, and he heartily wished himself back in the 
 " Ould Counthry," even though there was " not a praty 
 in the bin." But he had nerve enough to go through 
 with his duties, and that was all that was required of 
 him. 
 
 At last it was thought that the vessel was in range, and 
 the governor himself, as well as the officer in command 
 of the artillery, ran his eye along the gun. 
 
 " Fire ! " he cried. 
 
 Every eye was strained, and happy were they who had 
 glasses. A shout of exultation went up, as the ball was 
 seen to plow into the tender's quarter, and applause was 
 again and again repeated as she quickly went about and 
 scudded down the river before the wind. The echoes 
 had scarcely died away, before Larry breathed freer in 
 the hope that the attack would not be made, and that he 
 should " live to fight another day." 
 
 Saville asked and obtained permission to follow the 
 tender in his sailboat, and observe her movements, and 
 was soon skimming along before the breeze at a rate that 
 would make it necessary to drop his sail, unless he wished 
 to enjoy the hospitality of a British prison-ship. As it 
 was, he approached so near that a brass howitzer on the 
 tender was brought to bear upon him, and the ball passed 
 over his head, striking the water a little to the leeward.
 
 174 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 He concluded to run his boat into a sheltering cove, until 
 the tender sailed out of range ; but in doing so, had nar- 
 row escapes from two more shots. He did not know that 
 the self-appointed scout was watching all from the sides 
 of the Dunderberg, and that Vera would grow pale as she 
 heard of his peril. 
 
 When the tender had receded sufficiently, he reefed his 
 sail and followed more cautiously, contenting himself with 
 the use of his glass. He had not proceeded far, be- 
 fore the English vessel suddenly rounded to, and cast 
 anchor. A boat was lowered, and Saville first thought 
 that they intended giving him a chase, in the hope that 
 he might be captured, since he would have to beat up 
 against the breeze. But, confident of the sailing abilities 
 of his little craft, he determined to let them come within 
 range of his rifle before going about. 
 
 But the boat, on the contrary, was pulled steadily 
 towards shore ; and soon a farmhouse, at the base of the 
 mountain, was in flames, while the cries of its occupants 
 came to him faintly against the gale. 
 
 "Do they call that war?" muttered Saville indig- 
 nantly. " I must have a shot at those base marauders." 
 And he ran his boat in shore, behind a projecting rock, 
 and unshipped the mast, so that nothing could be seen. 
 Then, seizing his rifle, he sprang up the mountainside, 
 and made the best speed he could, over the rocks, through 
 the copse-wood, towards the burning dwelling. 
 
 The work of destruction was complete, and the incen- 
 diaries had already embarked before he came within 
 range. He feared they would be out of reach before he 
 could get a shot. But the boat had proceeded from the 
 shore but a little distance, when a sharp report rang out 
 from the sides of the Dunderberg, and the stroke oars- 
 man fell over backward. This caused some confusion 
 and delay, and Saville gained on the boat rapidly. But, 
 after a moment or two, the oars struck the water more
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 175 
 
 vigorously than ever, and Saville was about to fire, and 
 do the best he could, when a second well-aimed shot dis- 
 abled the oarsman who had been substituted, and again 
 delayed progress somewhat. 
 
 He now sprang down the rocks towards the water, and 
 whipping out the glass that was slung over his shoulder, 
 endeavored to distinguish, if possible, the form of the 
 officer in command, feeling that he, more than any of 
 the rest, deserved punishment. Though this man, with 
 the cowardice in keeping with his deed of rapine, sought 
 to hide himself among the crew, Saville' s glass revealed 
 his insignia of rank. Leaning his rifle over a rock, he 
 took deliberate aim, and fired ; then, taking up his glass, 
 he had the satisfaction of seeing the craven spring up, 
 and fall overboard, while his cry of pain came distinctly 
 across the water. He was immediately pulled on board, 
 but whether dead or alive, Saville could not tell, and in 
 a moment or two more the boat passed out of range. The 
 few random shots that had been fired by the marines pat- 
 tered harmlessly against the rocks ; for the two fatal 
 marksmen were well concealed. 
 
 Saville now remembered that Mr. Brown had said 
 that he would be watching on the Dunderberg that day, 
 and he at once surmised that it was he who had fired the 
 first two shots. In the hope of seeing him and taking 
 him back in his boat, he sent his powerful voice far up 
 the mountain, . 
 
 " A friend Saville." 
 
 " I believe you are, Mr. Saville," said a quiet voice at 
 his side ; and to his surprise, on looking around, he saw 
 the object of his thoughts standing before him. 
 
 " How, in the name of the impossible, did you get here 
 without my seeing you ? " 
 
 " I told you that I could be something of a scout, and 
 wished to prove it." 
 
 "You can be invaluable if you will," said Saville,
 
 176 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 shaking his hand heartily. " Those were splendid shots 
 you made." 
 
 " Yours was a better one, and at a longer distance. 
 I am glad you hit that miscreant in command. I 
 would have sighted him, but I saw you coming, and 
 wished to delay the boat till you got within range. But it 
 would have been an infernal shame to have let that fel- 
 low escape, for he treated the inmates of the farmhouse 
 brutally. Good God ! the thought of such a wretch com- 
 ing to my cabin in my absence ! " 
 
 " Mr. Brown, you owe it to your lovely daughter to 
 place her in some position of safety in these troublous 
 times." 
 
 "I believe you are right," muttered the father, with 
 contracting brows. 
 
 " Let us find an asylum for her and old Gula at once, 
 and then do you openly join the army. I will look after 
 your interests." 
 
 " I believe I will," said the exile hesitatingly ; and he 
 suffered Saville to lead him to his boat. 
 
 If they had been near the fort all might have been 
 well, and the man enrolled in the Continental service. 
 But, as he sat quietly in the boat, while it tacked slowly 
 up the river against the wind, his blood had time to cool. 
 Reaction from the fatigue and excitement of the day set 
 in. One of the old waves of fear and despondency be- 
 gan to surge over his unstable mind, and Saville heard 
 him mutter, 
 
 " My God ! I have shot two English soldiers. If ever 
 apprehended, my fate is made doubly certain." 
 
 At last he said piteously, " Put me ashore anywhere ; 
 I can go no further." 
 
 Saville reminded him of his promise, and pleaded with 
 him to keep it for Vera's sake, but soon saw that it was 
 in vain. 
 
 " Put me ashore," was the only response, and uttered
 
 ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 177 
 
 in tones that were almost savage. Then he added, half 
 apologetically, " I am not myself now, and all I can do 
 is to cower and hide. I will see you again soon." 
 
 Saville reluctantly acquiesced. 
 
 " Say not a word about me till you have my consent," 
 said his trembling companion ; and he dashed into the 
 thickest copse-wood, as if his only thought were conceal- 
 ment. 
 
 Alas for Vera !
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 SAVILLE'S NIGHT RECONNOISSANCE 
 
 SAVILLE proposed, on the following day, to visit the 
 cabin, in the hope of finding its owner in a better mood. 
 He was more and more convinced of the wrong of leaving 
 Vera so exposed, and with no better protector than one 
 who, at times, was ready to fly from his own shadow. 
 He saw that her father's mind was more shattered than 
 he had supposed, that he could not be depended on even 
 from hour to hour, and was fast coming to the conclusion 
 to act independently of his will, if possible. 
 
 But early in the day came the startling tidings that 
 the British men-of-war the Phcenix, carrying forty 
 guns, and the Rose, twenty, were standing steadily up 
 the river. 
 
 Again there was preparation for immediate conflict, but 
 the vessels came to anchor within six miles of the fort, 
 and there remained quietly. 
 
 With the enemy, however, in such close proximity, no 
 one could leave his post that night or the next day. 
 
 Governor Clinton was greatly alarmed, and with good 
 reason. The river was deep, and, with a fair wind, the 
 ships could speedily pass his guns, unless disabled ; and, 
 once above the Highlands, a rich and defenseless country 
 was open to ravage. He feared that they might take 
 advantage of some dark night, and slip by him in the 
 deep shadows of the mountains. 
 
 To prevent this, the shores were lined with guards, and 
 the river patroled by boats. Huge piles of brushwood, 
 and other inflammable materials, were placed at various 
 points along the shore opposite the fort, and these were
 
 SA VILLE'S NIGHT SECONNOISSANCE 179 
 
 to be kindled after nightfall, the moment it was discovered 
 that the ships were under weigh. Thus the fort would 
 remain in darkness, while the men-of-war must pass dis- 
 tinctly through the transient glare, and so become ex- 
 cellent targets. 
 
 The cannoniers slept by their guns, while Molly's 
 scarlet coat flamed along the ramparts by day, and she 
 flitted hither and thither almost as restlessly at night. 
 Every morning found her as morose and vixenish as one. 
 of the wildcats of her native mountains, because the 
 signal fires had not blazed, and that all had remained 
 quiet on the Hudson. 
 
 There soon came a day on which there was a steady 
 downfall of rain, and it was feared that the brush-heaps 
 and combustibles would become so dampened that they 
 would not kindle. The night promised to be excessively 
 dark, and Saville learned that the general was growing 
 anxious. 
 
 He again volunteered to go in his boat on aTeconnois- 
 sance, and his offer was gladly accepted. 
 
 " If we fire three shots in instant succession, you may 
 know that the ships are under weigh up the river, but if 
 we fire at intervals, give no heed, for it may be necessary 
 in self-defense, or we may have a skirmish." 
 
 " Don't do anything rash," said the governor. " You 
 are such a fire-eater, that I scarcely expect to see 
 you again." 
 
 Saville chose two active young fellows, who had been 
 boatmen, to accompany him, and with muffled oars 
 they pulled vigorously at first, till they began to approach 
 the hostile vessels. Then they permitted themselves to 
 drift slowly with the tide, which was in their favor. The 
 darkness had become perfectly intense, and there was 
 not a sound save the heavy patter of rain on the water. 
 They drifted for a period that seemed interminable to 
 their excited minds, and then Saville whispered,
 
 180 NEAR TO NATURE'S HE AST 
 
 " I fear we shall pass without seeing them. The fact 
 that they have no lights out is very suspicious." 
 
 Scarcely had he spoken when the gentle breeze from 
 the south caused a slight creaking of cordage so near 
 that it seemed just over their heads. He at once crept 
 cautiously to the bow of his boat, and put out his hands, 
 so that it might not strike with even the slightest con- 
 cussion. 
 
 It was not long before a faint black outline loomed up 
 over him, and a moment later his hands touched the 
 sides of a ship. Feeling stealthily along, he found that 
 he was near the bow, and, by standing up, was able to 
 hold his boat for a time in motionless silence. He could 
 hear the confused sound of voices, and the step of the 
 officer of the watch, but nothing definite. 
 
 At last, footsteps and voices approached the bow of the 
 ship under which he stood. Some one said distinctly, 
 
 " It's cursed dark." 
 
 " Yes ; but that would be in our favor, if we only get 
 a little more wind from the present quarter, and could 
 feel our way up through these black hills. It's just the 
 time to catch the rebels napping." 
 
 Saville concluded that he would now put a word in 
 their counsels. 
 
 " Have my pistol ready," he whispered to the nearest 
 of his companions. 
 
 Then, by a powerful effort, he pushed his boat well 
 away from the ship, and shouted, 
 
 " But the rebels are not napping, and, as proof, take 
 that," and he fired his pistol where he supposed the 
 group to be. 
 
 There was a sharp cry of pain, followed by great con- 
 fusion for a moment, and in the meantime Saville' s 
 companions pulled rapidly away. 
 
 " Here, a lantern, quick ! Hold it over the side," 
 shouted a hoarse voice.
 
 SA YULE'S NIGHT RECONNOISSANCE 181 
 
 This was all that Saville desired, and taking up his rifle 
 he fired instantly, and man and lantern splashed over- 
 board. 
 
 "Lights, lights! man the guns! every man to his 
 post!" roared the same gruff voice. "This comes of 
 playing bo-peep in the dark. The cursed rebels might 
 put a keg of powder under our quarter, and blow us up." 
 
 "Would to the gods I had thought of that before," 
 cried Saville; "but I thank you for the suggestion all 
 the same." 
 
 " Stop his mouth with grape shot," thundered the 
 officer. " Isn't there a musket or a pop-gun aboard, 
 that no one can fire a shot? " 
 
 " Pull sharp to the left," said Saville to his oarsmen. 
 
 The confusion and uproar on the ship were so great 
 that a moment or two elapsed before the officer's order 
 could be obeyed, and then a bow-gun belched forth 
 the iron hail, and a scattering fire from muskets com- 
 menced ; but the balls only cut harmlessly into the 
 water in the region where the bold patrols had been. 
 
 When once under the rayless shadow of the western 
 mountain, Saville felt safe from pursuit. In the mean- 
 time numerous lights appeared on the other ships, and 
 indicated their positions. 
 
 " I am going to ask you," said Saville to his compan- 
 ions, " to do something that, after all, is not so dangerous 
 as it seems. The ships there are lighted up, while com- 
 plete darkness covers us. One of you can scull, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Yes ; both." 
 
 " Who is the best shot? " 
 
 " I used to bring a squirrel out of the tallest trees," 
 said one of the rnen. 
 
 " Well, by sculling we can move noiselessly around 
 among the ships, now on one side, now on the other, 
 and make them think there are a dozen boats here
 
 182 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 instead of one. I wish two shots fired in rapid succession 
 occasionally, to increase the impression of numbers. 
 In this way we can keep them in an uproar and state of 
 alarm all night, while we, by moving rapidly from point 
 to point, will run but little risk of being hit." 
 
 His companions had the nerve to enter upon the scheme 
 at first with zest ; and one of them, seizing an oar, soon 
 propelled the boat within range of the ship with which 
 they had first come in contact. Dropping well astern, 
 they approached slowly and cautiously her nearest 
 quarter. Soon the outline of a human form gave Saville 
 a fair mark, and his rifle again rang out with startling 
 distinctness in the silent night. 
 
 The man with the oar then sculled rapidly towards the 
 eastern shore, passing directly aft of the vessel. Again 
 there was the trampling of feet, and a hurried giving of 
 orders, and many shots were fired in the direction from 
 whence had been seen the flash of Saville's rifle. But, 
 in the momentary delay, the lively little craft had passed 
 so far to the eastward as to be out of range. 
 
 " Now," said Saville, "let us give them two shots on 
 the other quarter. The moment we fire, scull down the 
 river. Come around well abreast, so that it will seem as 
 if our shots were fired from another boat." 
 
 In a few moments, the firing from the ship ceased, as 
 it seemed to produce no effect ; but there was evidently 
 great excitement on board. 
 
 They had scarcely reached the position which Saville 
 desired, when several men were sent aloft with lanterns, 
 in the hope that their rays might penetrate the darkness 
 more effectually. 
 
 "Steady and careful now," said Saville. "Let us 
 each pick off one of those fellows in the rigging. Fire 
 just after me." 
 
 Thus to the bewildered and harassed marines two 
 flashes came from a new and unexpected point.
 
 SA VILLE'S NIGHT BECONNOISSANCE 183 
 
 Saville's man dropped plump on the deck, the other 
 let his lantern fall, and, after an ineffectual effort to 
 climb down, fell also. 
 
 But the enemy were now better prepared, and bullets 
 fell thickly around the unseen assailants. 
 
 Fortunately they escaped, and soon reached a point 
 to the south where their position was unsuspected. 
 
 " They are getting too sharp for us here," said Saville ; 
 " suppose we next have a skirmish with that big fellow 
 yonder." 
 
 His companions agreed, but rather reluctantly ; for 
 this measure of attacking an English fleet was more than 
 they bargained for on leaving the fort. 
 
 "I will give you a crack across her bow," said the 
 man at the oar; "but would rather not go any lower 
 down." 
 
 It was arranged that two shots should be fired again. 
 Drifting with the tide, they slowly approached the second 
 and larger ship, which was the Phoenix, and watched for 
 their opportunity. In the meanwhile, comparative silence 
 was again restored, though it was evident that all hands 
 on both the ships of the line and their tenders were kept 
 in sleepless vigilance at their posts by their ubiquitous 
 assailants, who numbered but three. 
 
 At last, dusky forms appeared, and the two rifles again 
 awoke the sleeping echoes, but with what effect could not 
 be seen. 
 
 The commander of the Phoenix, however, warned by 
 the experience of the other ship, had stationed marines all 
 along the sides of his vessels, and the return volley was 
 so prompt and accurate that Saville's fellow marksman 
 was slightly wounded. Happily the man at the oar es- 
 caped, and they again passed out of range, by going 
 towards the western shore, and the English officers soon 
 checked the useless firing at random. 
 
 But Saville had effected his object. There would be
 
 184 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 no sleep on the British vessels that night, nor any hope of 
 catching the " rebels napping." So he hoisted sail, and 
 quietly stood up the river, leaving the sorely puzzled and 
 not a little frightened British crews standing at their guns 
 and alarm-posts, so that any attempt at boarding, on the 
 part of the indefinite number of rebels imagined in the 
 surrounding darkness, might be repelled. 
 
 Saville and his companions received high praise for 
 their conduct, and were soon sleeping peacefully, while 
 the harassed enemy remained on the alert until daybreak. 
 
 NOTE. The incidents of the preceding chapters are largely 
 founded on fact. The tidings of the irruption of the British 
 ships into the waters of the Hudson were brought as described. 
 A tender of these ships ventured within range of Fort Mont- 
 gomery, and received a shot in her quarter. On retiring down 
 the river, her boat was sent ashore, a farmhouse burned, and the 
 boat, on returning, was fired upon. The Phoenix and Rose 
 approached within six miles of the fort, and, whenever oppor- 
 tunity offered the English vessels were annoyed by marksmen 
 in boats or from the shore.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DARK DAYS 
 
 OK the following day the commanders of the British 
 vessels satisfied themselves that fuller preparations for 
 resistance had been made than they supposed ; and, not 
 relishing the experience of the preceding night, nor con- 
 sidering it safe to remain in a position where the deep 
 shadows of the mountains might afford concealment until 
 an attacking force was close upon them, they ordered 
 their ships down the river to the old anchorage. 
 
 Fear of immediate attack having passed, Saville's 
 thoughts recurred to Vera and her father, and he pro- 
 posed visiting them that evening, hoping that he might 
 find Mr. Brown in a condition to carry out the measures 
 on which his own and Vera's welfare depended. But 
 during the afternoon he was hastily summoned to head- 
 quarters. 
 
 " I can now give you a quasi leave of absence," said 
 General Clinton; "and you have earned it. Go and 
 look after your mother's safety. But first deliver these 
 dispatches to his Excellency, General Washington. 
 They are important, and must reach him at the earliest 
 possible moment. Your escort will be ready within an 
 hour on the further shore. I have mentioned your name 
 with praise in my dispatches, and though I shall feel 
 your loss, you will probably be assigned to duty in the 
 main army. When things are somewhat settled, your 
 heavy baggage will be sent after you. And now, sir, 
 hasten. Give these papers into his Excellency's own 
 hands, or into those of his private secretary." 
 
 Saville was greatly pleased at this turn of affairs, and,
 
 186 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART J 
 
 in the excitement and bustle attendant upon his hurried 
 departure, forgot for a time the inmates of the cabin. 
 When he did remember them, it was with a pang of 
 genuine pain and regret, that he could not see Vera 
 before his departure. As this was impossible, he penned 
 a few hasty lines, explaining his sudden movements, and 
 urging that she should find a safer retreat, and th^t her 
 father should enlist openly in the war. This was sent to 
 the surgeon at Fort Constitution, with the request that he 
 would deliver it. Unfortunately, the missive was never 
 received. 
 
 Having arrived in New York, and delivered his dis- 
 patches as directed, Saville received permission to pro- 
 vide for his mother's safety. 
 
 The old lady, however, would not leave her city home, 
 asserting, 
 
 " I have naught to do with this unnatural broil, and 
 shall demand protection from both parties." 
 
 But, after all, her chief motive was the desire to be 
 near her beloved son, who, she hoped, might be assigned 
 to duty upon the works that were going up at various 
 points on the island. In this expectation she was ready 
 to endure the terrors attendant upon the city's bombard- 
 ment. 
 
 Saville therefore gave up his leave of absence, and at 
 once reported for duty again. In consideration of his 
 natural desire to see more of his mother after so long an 
 absence, he was given charge of the construction of some 
 redoubts not far from his own house, and at a point 
 where his wife could plainly scan his movements with a 
 glass. Often and darkly she scowled upon him. 
 
 But the disastrous battle of Long Island soon occurred, 
 and was speedily followed by the retreat of the American 
 forces from the city and island. Saville, in his sphere, 
 and to the extent of his ability, seconded Washington's 
 masterly use of the pick and shovel in the disheartening
 
 DARK DAYS 187 
 
 campaign that followed. He now sought thoroughly to 
 learn his profession, and became an efficient officer. 
 Washington learned to know something of his value, 
 finding that he had promptness and energy, which en- 
 abled him to accomplish much even with few men ; and 
 at times, defenses reared in a night were worth regi- 
 ments. 
 
 On the 4th and 5th of November, the British forces 
 began to retire from before Washington's strong position 
 in the interior of Westchester County, taking the roads 
 leading southward and towards the river. As soon as it 
 became evident that the enemy would cross into the Jer- 
 seys and menace Philadelphia, Saville was sent thither to 
 aid in strengthening the defenses of that city. Thus his 
 hope of seeing Vera at the close of the fall campaign was 
 disappointed. He wrote to her again, as he had several 
 times before, in care of the surgeon at Fort Constitution. 
 But that officer had been assigned to duty elsewhere, and 
 the letters never reached their destination. Saville com- 
 forted himself with the hope that Vera was informed of 
 his movements and continued remembrance. 
 
 As day after day passed, and nothing was seen or 
 heard of her friend, a great dread began to chill Vera's 
 heart. Her father had come back from his watch on the 
 Dunderberg in a wretched condition of mind. With 
 scarcely a word, he had cowered all the long night in his 
 dark corner. But, as the result of rest and quiet, the 
 incubus lifted from his mind somewhat in the morning, 
 and Vera heard of Saville' s peril in following the tender 
 down the river, and of his firing into the marauder's 
 boat. Of his own share in the transaction her father was 
 characteristically silent, even to his daughter. 
 
 On the dark and stormy night of Saville's reconnois- 
 sance, the southern breeze had borne faintly through the 
 damp air the reports of the guns. To her, every such 
 sou ad now meant danger to him.
 
 188 NEAR TO NATURE'S HE AST 
 
 The days passed, and still he did not come. Her 
 father told her that the ships had moved down the river. 
 As far as she could judge, the garrison opposite had no 
 apprehension of immediate attack. She urged her father 
 to go down to Fort Montgomery and make direct in- 
 quiries ; but vainly. Saville's prolonged and unexplained 
 absence had awakened his morbid suspicions and fears, 
 and his mind was so shattered that he was not capable of 
 the effort. 
 
 A look of wistful, anxious expectancy became the ha- 
 bitual expression of Vera's face. The slightest sound 
 startled her. In her daily tasks, her face was ever to- 
 wards the window. The breaking of a twig, the bark of 
 a squirrel, brought her to the door. She often ventured 
 down to the shore, and strained her eyes in the vain 
 effort to recognize him on the island opposite. Constant 
 prayer for his welfare and speedy return was in her heart. 
 
 At the twilight hour, when he had been accustomed to 
 appear, she would climb to the rocky height behind the 
 cabin, and wait and watch, as they who are wrecked on 
 a barren island scan the horizon for a ship. As dusk 
 deepened into night, her despondency would become 
 more leaden and oppressive. Then she would drag her 
 heavy steps back to the cabin, and sigh and sob herself 
 to sleep. 
 
 Not even Gula's entreaties could induce her to eat 
 much, and she grew wan and spirit-like indeed. The 
 old woman began to shake her head ominously, and 
 mutter, 
 
 " I'se afeard she's beginnin' to hear voices. 'Twill be 
 orful lonely if she goes home afore ole Gula." 
 
 One evening after she had been vainly watching, she 
 tried to sing the musical signal which he had so often 
 answered by voice and flute, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." ,
 
 DARK DA YS 189 
 
 She sang one line with a pathos that would have 
 touched the stoniest nature, and then held her throbbing 
 heart to listen. The weird notes of a whippoorwill from 
 the lonely valley were the only answer. 
 
 She threw herself upon the ground, like a child, in an 
 agony of grief, and wept until utterly exhausted. When 
 she looked up, the lurid glare of the beacon fires was 
 again upon the mountain-tops, but he had not come. 
 
 " O God ! " she sighed wearily. " I am a weak child. 
 I had but one friend one brother. Where is thy 
 mercy ? " 
 
 41 O mother ! are you happy in heaven, when I am so 
 lonely ? ' ' 
 
 Poor Vera was in the deepest mystery of earthly disci- 
 pline. Her God, her mother, and her friend, all seemed 
 to have deserted her that night, and she could scarcely 
 drag her weary feet to the home where no gentle sym- 
 pathy awaited. 
 
 Her father was away upon the hills with his rifle most 
 of the time, and was wholly absorbed by his interest in 
 the progress of the war, at which he could only guess, as 
 he would speak to no one. Vera had hoped that he 
 might again meet Saville, and whenever he returned, she 
 eagerly questioned him. 
 
 Old Gula, in her strange superstition, sorrowed mostly 
 for herself, as she saw Vera growing pale and weak like 
 the parent who had died. 
 
 44 Young missy is a gwine home to her mudder, and I'll 
 be left all alone. Why can't de voices call me too ? " 
 
 On the evening after her almost despairing grief, Vera 
 said to herself, " I can endure this suspense no longer. 
 He is either sick, wounded, or dead ; for he could not 
 have left without a word of farewell. I will go to the 
 fort and find out. He may have needed my help, while 
 I have been weakly mourning for him." 
 
 Nerved by this thought she waited not a moment, lest
 
 190 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 her maidenly timidity should obtain the mastery. For 
 his sake impelled by the thought that he might possibly 
 be in need of her care she could venture to face the 
 stare of strangers. 
 
 It did not take long to row her light skiff to the oppo- 
 site shore, and bitter tears filled her eyes as she thought 
 of the two former occasions on which she had crossed at 
 that place. 
 
 Near the spot where she had landed when in quest of 
 the surgeon, she saw a small group of men, and, from 
 their uniforms, surmised that they were officers. It oc- 
 curred to her that she might question them, and be saved 
 the ordeal of meeting others. She concluded to ask for 
 the surgeon, since, if Saville were sick, wounded, or 
 her heart sickened at the thought he would know all the 
 facts. 
 
 Unfortunately, the officers whom she was about to ad- 
 dress were wild, reckless fellows, who had made their 
 norinal condition worse by liquor. 
 
 " There's a rare bird," cried one, as Vera approached. 
 
 " I would see Mr. Jasper, the surgeon," she said 
 modestly, with downcast eyes ; " and crave the favor of 
 being shown where I may find him." 
 
 "The surgeon, pretty miss! you have no need of a 
 surgeon. It is a gay young gallant like myself you are 
 looking for." 
 
 " You do me great wrong, sir," she replied coldly ; 
 " and if there is a man of honor present, he will grant 
 my request." 
 
 "We have no surgeon," continued the first speaker 
 recklessly. " A soldier's only business is to die, and to 
 have a jovial time while he can. So come, my pretty 
 one, exchange your frowns for smiles." 
 
 " As you are men," cried Vera desperately, trembling 
 like a leaf, "have respect for a defenseless girl, and tell 
 me where I may find Surgeon Jasper."
 
 DARK DAYS 191 
 
 The instincts of a gentleman still lingered in one of the 
 party, and, in response to this appeal, he said soberly, 
 
 " He is right, miss ; there is no surgeon at the present 
 moment in the garrison, Dr. Jasper having been ordered 
 away." 
 
 "Then then may I see Mr. Saville ? " faltered 
 Vera. 
 
 " Saville, Saville," laughed the first speaker coarsely. 
 " She had him in mind all the time." 
 
 In pity for her distress, the second speaker again came 
 to her relief, and said, 
 
 " Lieutenant Saville is not here, and I have heard that 
 he was ordered hastily to New York." 
 
 " Come, my lass o' the hills," struck in the tipsy 
 youth. " The crows have eaten Saville before this. I'll 
 be to you a far better lover." 
 
 " For shame, Dick, let her alone. Saville will call you 
 to bloody account, if he hears of this nonsense." 
 
 " Things have come to a fine pass," blustered the fel- 
 low, "if I've got to ask Saville's permission to speak to a 
 mountain wench. By Jove ! I'll kiss her, if I fight a 
 dozen Savilles," and he started forward to give the 
 insult. 
 
 Vera, with her old instantaneous quickness, which had 
 once surprised Saville, eluded him, sprang into her skiff, 
 and was out in the stream in a moment, while her in- 
 sulter, unsteady from liquor, missed his footing, and fell 
 into the water. His companions roared with laughter at 
 his plight, and ere he could scramble out, sputtering and 
 profane, Vera was half-way across the river. 
 
 Every nerve in the poor girl's body was tingling with 
 indignation and fear, when she reached the shore. She 
 scarcely had strength to climb over the hills to the cabin, 
 and then fainted across its threshold. 
 
 Old Gula was in sore dismay, but had sense enough to 
 carry her to the cool spring, and bathe her face. At last
 
 192 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 she slowly revived, but was seriously ill for several 
 days. 
 
 Still, the bitterness of her mental trouble had been re- 
 lieved, for Saville's absence was accounted for. He had 
 been ordered hurriedly away. In her strong trust, she 
 believed that there had been no opportunity for a fare- 
 well visit, and there was no necessity for thinking that 
 he was either sick, wounded, or dead. Although he was 
 exposed to the innumerable risks of a brave man in an 
 active campaign, her confidence increased that God 
 would spare him in answer to her prayers. 
 
 With reviving hope and faith, her strength and vigor 
 returned ; for, in her case, the spiritual and physical or- 
 ganizations were so closely allied that one could not suf- 
 fer without keen sympathy from the other. But in both 
 she was naturally healthful, having been nurtured in the 
 atmosphere of truth, and the bracing air of the mountains. 
 
 Her father, upon her illness, seemed at last somewhat 
 conscious of his daughter's need, and, in his poor way, 
 sought to meet it. He waited upon her with unwonted 
 tenderness, and brought the delicacies of wood and 
 stream ; but he had lost the power to speak soothing and 
 appreciative words. His own disordered mind was tossed 
 on such a sea of troubles, that he had no calming 
 thoughts for another. 
 
 Thus, in her sad isolation, Vera was compelled to look 
 heavenward, and, in her long hours of weakness, the un- 
 seen world of faith grew very near and real. She felt 
 sure that her mother was watching at her side, and in the 
 night, at times, fancied she saw the dear, familiar form. 
 The impression was often so strong, that she would reach 
 out her arms with expressions of endearment, or speak 
 her thoughts with the freedom of olden time, when sure 
 of loving sympathy. 
 
 Her mother's favorite text, " Let not your heart be 
 troubled," acquired daily richer and fuller meaning, and
 
 DARK DA YS 193 
 
 the ability to trustfully cast all her burdens on her 
 Saviour increased. 
 
 So, although the strain and nervous excitement of the 
 past year had been very great, she slowly but surely 
 rallied back into her old, vigorous health. She would 
 need it all in her coming desperate struggle for bare 
 existence. 
 
 By the time she had fully recovered, the autumn 
 winds were prophesying of winter, and, with a fore- 
 thought learned in the hard school of experience, she 
 realized the necessity of making all possible provision. 
 She knew how little her father was to be depended on, 
 and he might grow worse. Therefore, as she grew strong, 
 she became busily engaged with her old playmates, the 
 squirrels, in hoarding everything that could be preserved 
 for coming use. 
 
 As her father could not be induced to join the Conti- 
 nental service openly, she persuaded him, as far as she 
 could, to resume his old hunting and trapping pur- 
 suits. 
 
 It might be a long time before she would see Saville 
 again, or before her hope of finding friends and a recog- 
 nized place in society would be realized. So, nothing 
 remained but the patient performance of present duties. 
 
 And yet the dangers resulting from her position, and 
 her father's vain effort to hide from all observation, were 
 increasing. Nothing so attracts attention as unusual 
 efforts to shun it, and nothing so piques curiosity as mys- 
 tery and concealment. 
 
 Relieved from Saville' s immediate presence, it was not 
 long before Molly's tongue began to wag again, in dark 
 hints as to the uncanny character of the inmates of the 
 cabin. While such gossip had no weight with the 
 officers, it had with certain of the ignorant soldiery, and 
 gradually Vera and Gula were acquiring the titles of the 
 " white and black witches of the Highlands." If Molly
 
 194 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 had urged on some of the baser sort, over whom she had 
 obtained almost all the power of a gypsy queen, Vera's 
 homely duties might have found tragic interruption ; but 
 a wholesome fear of Saville's vengeance restrained her. 
 And yet Vera, unconsciously, was living over a mine 
 which might be fired at any time. 
 
 To the officers, also, Brown, from his seclusion, and 
 the fact that no one could account for him, was an ob- 
 ject of suspicion, and they would be inclined to deal 
 summarily with him should any one bring a definite 
 accusation. 
 
 But though wrong-doing in the past, and most unwise 
 action now, must cause their legitimate evil results, God 
 would not permit his child to suffer beyond her ability to 
 endure. 
 
 During the month of October, the beacon fires had 
 often flamed, and yet while Vera and her father saw that 
 there was unusual stir and preparation in the garrisons, 
 and extraordinary efforts to obstruct the navigation of 
 the river, no attack was made, and they remained in 
 almost total ignorance of the progress of the war. 
 
 At last the exile could endure his anxiety no longer, 
 and he determined to find out the condition of affairs ; 
 but, with his old characteristic caution, went across the 
 mountains to an interior village, for the ostensible pur- 
 pose of barter. He had in his mind the inoffensive- 
 appearing old man whom he had once before ventured to 
 question, and felt that if circumstances favored, he could 
 do so again without risk. 
 
 He found the aged gardener at work as before, and as 
 talkative as ever. But the dismal tale that he told of the 
 American defeat on Long Island, of the evacuation of 
 New York, of continued retreats, and, worse than all, 
 of the second irruption of the British ships into the Hud- 
 son, caused Mr. Brown's cheeks, already pale, to grow 
 more ashen.
 
 DARK DAYS 195 
 
 How is it you don't know 'bout these things? " asked 
 the old man with sudden curiosity. 
 
 " I live back in the mountains," was the hasty reply ; 
 and the fear-stricken man waited for no further ques- 
 tions, but started for the hills, with the one desire to find 
 in them some impenetrable recess for concealment. 
 
 At first, he was bent upon leaving the cabin at once ; 
 but Vera, with gentle firmness, refused to listen to any of 
 his wild plans. She saw clearly that the time had come 
 when her judgment and will must be supreme. But he 
 ventured less and less abroad, and the impression ap- 
 peared to grow upon him that his dusky corner was the 
 safest place. Here he would often remain all day, and 
 sometimes through the night also, apparently dreading to 
 move. 
 
 As one of the results of her father's condition, the task 
 of providing food devolved chiefly on Vera ; and the bleak- 
 ness of November and the biting cold of winter often 
 chilled her weary frame, as she wandered over the hills 
 in quest of game. But the chill at heart, the cold, dreary 
 despondency which often crept over her while engaged 
 in these unwomanly and unseasonable labors, was harder 
 to bear, She could not now anticipate the welcome of a 
 gentle and sympathetic mother on her return. Even 
 when cold and exhausted, she almost dreaded going 
 back to the cabin where her father crouched and cow- 
 ered, haunted by fears that were becoming contagious, 
 and where weird old Gula muttered and mumbled un- 
 ceasingly of her unearthly voices. The poor girl herself 
 was growing morbid in her misfortunes and unnatural 
 surroundings. 
 
 The hard struggle for mere existence began to blunt 
 her finer sensibilities, and she was often too weary for 
 even prayer or thought. Like many others, under the 
 increasing stress of earthly care, she permitted herself to 
 lose gradually her hold upon the divine strength and
 
 196 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 patience, which her mother had ever enjoyed through 
 her confiding and unquestioning faith. Not that she 
 entertained doubts of God's ability and willingness to 
 help, or cherished resentful thoughts at her lot ; but, in 
 the pressure of daily duties, prayer was neglected. She 
 was drifting unconsciously from the quiet waters, where 
 faith had kept her spirit moored in peace, out upon the 
 restless sea of mere human endeavor and dependence. 
 Like many another, she could still pray " Lead me not 
 into temptation, and deliver me from evil;" but for 
 " daily bread " she turned practically to her traps in the 
 thickets, to her fowling-piece, and to the diminishing 
 stores that her own hands had gathered. Unfortunately, 
 the question of daily bread was the absorbing one, and, 
 as we have seen, it did not bring her near the Divine 
 source of spiritual largeness and growth. Thus her life 
 began to grow hard, material, and devoid of those influ- 
 ences which had made her appear to Saville more akin 
 to the supernatural world in which she believed, than the 
 tangible one which was all to him. 
 
 The poor child was learning to employ bodily fatigue 
 as many use narcotic drugs, and sought to escape from 
 her desperate loneliness in the oblivion of sleep, when- 
 ever her tasks permitted. In dreams, at least, she oc- 
 casionally saw her mother's loved face bending over her, 
 with the old expression of tenderness ; more frequently 
 Saville' s flute gave the musical signal from the rocky 
 height above her grotto, and she, in spirit, hastened to 
 the tryst ; but ever to awake and find it only a dream. 
 Although she would sob herself to sleep again, she would 
 still hope for the return of the vision, that she might once 
 more see his face and hear his voice. 
 
 Vera began to realize, in some degree, that she was 
 growing narrow, and dwindling towards a mere animal 
 existence ; and she shed bitter tears over the truth. She 
 sometimes tried to overcome the tendency, and would
 
 DARK DAYS 197 
 
 take down the Bible, or the Plays, after the labors of the 
 day ; but her head would soon droop upon the page, and 
 the pine knots sink into ashes, as had her hopes. 
 
 Her father was dreading lest he should become known, 
 and compelled to carry his secret into the presence of 
 questioning curiosity. With almost terror at the thought, 
 Vera began to ask herself, 
 
 " Am I always to live this life? Am I to be left here 
 till I become little better than the beasts and birds of 
 prey that hide in these mountains? Indeed, I envy them ; 
 for they, at least, have companions of their own kind." 
 
 She was able to feel her isolation more keenly since 
 she had been given a glimpse of the world, and, in her 
 intimacy with Saville, had learned to know the sweets of 
 congenial society and friendship. 
 
 Though so very young, she was becoming one of 
 earth's weariest pilgrims, and at times she almost felt, 
 when benumbed with cold, like lying down in some wild 
 mountain-gorge, and letting the snow drift over her as 
 she sank to sleep. If she had believed, with Saville, 
 that it would have been a dreamless, eternal sleep, she 
 would undoubtedly have yielded to the temptation. 
 
 Thus the winter dragged heavily on, till the sun turned 
 from its decline southward, and began to fill the moun- 
 tains with brighter and more genial rays. But she, who 
 had always welcomed this change, scarcely heeded it. 
 Perhaps the sharp suffering and seemingly untoward 
 events soon to come, would be better than the slow, in- 
 creasing pressure of the sordid cares and loneliness of her 
 lot. Immediate and pressing dangers might break up the 
 apathy of practical unbelief, wherein God becomes a 
 being who must be prayed to and served, but ceases to 
 be a helpful, sympathetic friend. Anything that would 
 drive her to him as a refuge would be a blessing ; any- 
 thing that broke the leaden monotony of her life, a health- 
 ful change.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "THE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS '' 
 
 IN the latter part of February, the stores in their little 
 cabin ran so low that it was necessary they should be 
 replenished by a visit to some country store. But her 
 father, from long inaction and brooding, was in his worst 
 mood, and it was in vain that Vera besought him to go on 
 the errand. At last, in her desperation, she decided one 
 morning to go herself. On ascending the hill behind the 
 cabin, she saw that the river was covered with smooth 
 ice. She went down to the point of land which enabled 
 her to look up the river, and through the cold, clear air, 
 the villages of New Windsor and Newburgh seemed not 
 far away. Returning, she took a little of their hoarded 
 money, and, without a word to her father, started on 
 what was, to her, like the voyage of Columbus, a journey 
 into the unknown. Her only weapon of defense was a 
 light, strong staff, pointed with iron, which would enable 
 her to try the ice, and also assist in walking. She kept 
 close to the western shore, so that, like a timid hare, she 
 might fly to cover, if she deemed it necessary. Though 
 she found the way longer than she supposed, and the 
 effort to walk on the smooth ice against the wind very 
 fatiguing, she reached in safety the shores of New 
 Windsor, where she saw a building whose appearance 
 led her to hope that she might there obtain what she 
 wished. To her joy the surmise proved correct, and she 
 was saved further weary steps. She asked and obtained 
 permission to sit down and rest awhile. Many and 
 curious were the glances cast upon her by the loungers 
 that always infest such places, especially in winter. 
 
 Some tried to engage her in conversation, but there
 
 " THE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS 11 199 
 
 was something in their tones and manner that, though 
 she did not understand, she disliked, and, with an innate 
 dignity and reserve, which is a true woman's sure pro- 
 tection unless men are equal to brute violence, she 
 silenced them. She would have gladly hastened away, 
 had she not felt that rest and the warmth of the place 
 were essential for a time before starting on the homeward 
 journey with her laden basket. 
 
 Among the men present, when she entered, was a 
 knot of rough-looking soldiers, who had impressed her 
 most disagreeably. They had stared at her a few mo- 
 ments, winked at each other, and then to her relief, de- 
 parted. 
 
 As soon as she felt equal to the effort, she started home- 
 ward ; but the sun was already declining ; the sky also 
 was becoming overcast, and the rising wind betokened 
 a storm. By the time she reached Butter Hill, the snow- 
 flakes began to fly, and not a solitary form was seen on 
 the dreary expanse of ice, where, in the morning, travelers 
 had appeared in the distance. 
 
 Still, this did not trouble her, for she did not dread a 
 storm as much as she feared meeting rude fellows coming 
 or going from the garrisons below. Her only concern 
 was lest the snow might make her progress dangerous, 
 by covering the occasional air-holes that almost always 
 occur in the ice among the Highlands. 
 
 But, imagine her dismay, when, on passing around the 
 point of a mountain, she came upon a group of soldiers, 
 apparently lying in wait. With sickening fear, she 
 recognized in them the ill-favored fellows she had seen 
 in the store at New Windsor. 
 
 She hesitated, and was about to turn back ; but they, 
 with devilish cunning, seemed to give her no heed. 
 
 " I have naught to do with them, nor they with me," 
 she thought ; " and no doubt they will let me pass with- 
 out a word."
 
 200 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Indeed, they moved out towards the middle of the 
 river, as if intending to pursue their way without regard 
 to her. This gave Vera renewed hope, and the chance 
 to keep near the shore as she desired. 
 
 When she reached a point where the mountain shelved 
 perpendicularly down to the water, rendering its ascent 
 impossible, they turned sharply on her, one shouting 
 brutally, 
 
 " So ho ! ye're the white witch o' the mountains, are 
 ye ? But the divil himself can't help ye now, 'less ye fly 
 up the rocks." 
 
 Vera gave the precipice a despairing glance : even she 
 could not scale it. There was no chance for aught save 
 flight ; and, for a few moments, she made desperate 
 efforts to escape, once or twice barely eluding a grimy, 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 Notwithstanding her wonderfully quick movements, 
 and the abrupt turns which she was able to make on the 
 smooth ice by the aid of her staff, they were gradually 
 hemming her in towards the bluff. A few yards to the 
 south, and near the land, she saw a small air-hole with 
 open water, and at once formed the desperate purpose to 
 lead her pursuers so near it that they would fall in ; or 
 else, if failing in that, to find, herself, a refuge in death 
 beneath the ice. She ran to its perilous edge, and then, 
 by means of her staff, turned short towards the shore. 
 Her nearest pursuer was so intent on grasping his victim, 
 that he did not see the danger in time and fell in. 
 
 This created a diversion in favor of Vera, and two of 
 her pursuers stopped to help their comrades, but the re- 
 maining three were adjured, with oaths and curses, to 
 " head her off up agin the mountain." 
 
 " May the divil fly away with me if I don't believe she 
 is a witch," cried one of the ruffians. 
 
 Vera had now reached a place where there was a break 
 in the precipice facing the river, the rock making a sharp
 
 "THE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS 1 ' 201 
 
 angle, and receding from the water a few feet ; and then 
 it made another angle and trended away towards the 
 southwest, leaving an increasingly wide margin between 
 the precipitous bluff and the river. Despairing of escape 
 on the ice, Vera had the hope that by springing ashore 
 she could make her way along this margin, and so up 
 among the hills. 
 
 But the tide was out, and huge cakes of ice were piled 
 among the rocks where she attempted to reach the land ; 
 slipping on one of these, she fell, and was delayed, seem- 
 ingly, a fatal moment. Two of the men sprang ashore 
 south of her, thus cutting off escape along the base of the 
 cliffs, while one stood on the ice behind her. 
 
 " We've got her now ! " they cried, with horrid joy ; 
 " she's just druv into a corner o' the rocks, and must go 
 through 'em to get away." 
 
 " Two on ye keep her there, then, and t'other come 
 and help us git Barney out. I'm afeerd he'll droon. 
 The cussed ice breaks wid us, and he's gittin' could and 
 numb-loike." 
 
 Vera gave a swift glance and a sobbing prayer to 
 Heaven, and then turned towards the granite rocks that 
 beetled above her head, to see if there \vas the faintest 
 possibility of escape. With a thrill of hope, she saw 
 crevices in the inner angle of the rock, and from one of 
 these, far above her head, a bush was growing. Here 
 was her only chance. Availing herself of the moment's 
 respite given by her pursuers in their solicitude for their 
 half-drowned companion, she planted her long staff among 
 the loose stones, and, by its aid, steadied herself up the 
 almost perpendicular rock, till she reached the bush. It 
 bore her weight, and seemed like a helping hand. Fear 
 lent her wings, and, by the aid of the shrubbery, she 
 reached a point not quite so steep, where the angle in the 
 precipice turned off towards the river somewhat, and she 
 was able to climb with more security and hope.
 
 202 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 All this had transpired in a moment of time, while the 
 eyes of the ruffians had been turned towards the one of 
 their number struggling in the water. Having pulled 
 him, more dead than alive, out upon the ice, they made 
 a rush for their victim, when, to their unbounded amaze- 
 ment, they saw her, far above their heads, ascending 
 what seemed, from their point of view, the perpendicular 
 face of the rock. For a moment they could only stare 
 in their wonder. Then one of the men whipped out a 
 pistol. 
 
 "Don't fire !" cried another, "for if the divil hain't 
 carry in' her up, she'll fall ; an' if he is, the ball'll come 
 back and kill yerself." 
 
 Fortunately this sage advice was taken, and, a second 
 later, Vera had followed the angle in the rocks to the sum- 
 mit of the precipice, and was at least fifty feet above their 
 heads. From this point the ascent was easier and safer, 
 although still very difficult and dangerous. As every mo- 
 ment she mounted higher, scaling places that appeared 
 impassable, a superstitious dread crept over them, and 
 they slunk off with muttered curses to the opposite shore 
 of the river, leaving the basket where Vera had dropped 
 it. The angels that had charge over her, lest she should 
 dash her foot against a stone, were, to their besotted 
 minds, evil spirits, though certainly less malignant than 
 themselves. 
 
 As she saw them depart, she sat down on a shelf of rock, 
 panting and exhausted. Night was near, the sky over- 
 cast, and the snow whirling through the air. The great 
 mountain of "Cro'nest" rose between her and the 
 cabin, while, from the wide rugged valley that she must 
 cross, came the roar of the wind in the forest. She 
 thought not of these dangers, however, in her unbounded 
 gratitude for what seemed an almost miraculous escape. 
 There on the bleak mountainside she knelt, and poured 
 out her heart to God. In answer, there came to her a
 
 " TEE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" 203 
 
 feeling of safety, a sense of being guarded, which she 
 never had before. With a distinctness which made them 
 seem as if spoken, the inspired words came into her mind, 
 " Fear not thou, for I am with thee : Be not dismayed ; 
 for I am thy God : I will strengthen thee ; yea, I will 
 help thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of 
 my righteousness." 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, stretching out her arms towards 
 heaven. "Oh, that God would take me home to mother 
 now ! Why must I descend into this dark and stormy 
 valley ? " 
 
 Again the voice whispered in the depths of her soul, 
 " The Lord is thy keeper : The Lord shall preserve thee 
 from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul." "Let not 
 your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." 
 
 With a feeling of resignation and trust, to which she 
 had long been a stranger, she set out on her journey of 
 several miles through a rugged and unbroken wilderness. 
 Her intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled her to 
 go towards her home, even in the gathering darkness, 
 with as much directness as the almost impassable region 
 permitted ; but it was night before she descended the hills 
 that sloped towards the cabin. She began to think that 
 her strength would fail, and that after all she might 
 perish ; but, in her weariness and loneliness, the thought 
 brought peace instead of fear. Mechanically she tottered 
 on, scarcely conscious from exhaustion, until she reached 
 the valley where stood her home. Summoning all her 
 failing energies she tried to gain its door, but in vain. 
 The utmost limit of endurance had been reached, but, as 
 her last effort, before sinking on the ground in uncon- 
 sciousness she cried, 
 
 " Father! Gula! "
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 " THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS " 
 
 VERA'S absence had not caused much anxiety to the 
 inmates of the cabin. They were both so wrapped up in 
 their own strange fancies that they could think of little 
 else, and it was not unusual for her to return from hunt- 
 ing expeditions after nightfall. They were so preoccu- 
 pied that neither of them noticed that the light fowling- 
 piece was in its accustomed place. 
 
 Throughout the entire day, Gula imagined she had been 
 hearing voices, and even the winter's cold did not pre- 
 vent her from leaving the door of her little kitchen open, 
 that they might be more distinct. While busy in prepar- 
 ing as good a supper for Vera as a very meagre larder 
 permitted, she would often go to the door, and listen in- 
 tently, not for the footsteps of the young girl, but for the 
 strange echoes that, in her disordered mind, came from 
 her tropical home. 
 
 And she was thus listening, when Vera's cry reached 
 her. In great excitement she said, 
 
 " Dare, dare, dat a voice sure. P'raps I'se gwine 
 home to-night. I'se a-coming," and she hobbled down 
 the glen as fast as her age permitted, till her feet struck 
 against the poor girl's unconscious body. Stooping down, 
 she felt of the unexpected obstacle, and then, in a shrill 
 scream, called, 
 
 " Mas'r Brown, come quick ! Missy Vera 'pears like 
 she's dead." 
 
 The father hastened to the spot, and between them they 
 bore her into the cabin. 
 
 " Is she dead ? " asked the man in a husky whisper.
 
 "THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" 205 
 
 " Dunno ; allers been afeard she'd git home afore me. 
 De strong stuff in dis bottle did her mudder good ; I'll 
 put a little in her mouf," and Gula moistened Vera's lips 
 with the remnant of the brandy, and was comforted by 
 seeing the spasmodic effort to swallow. 
 
 " She was a' most home," soliloquized Gula ; "and it's 
 orful cruel in me to bring her back ; but I couldn't let 
 her go afore me." 
 
 " O God ! if there is a God ! save my child ! " cried 
 the father in agony. " What have I become, to leave 
 her so exposed ? ' ' and he bent over her in remorseful , 
 terror. 
 
 Slowly Vera revived to consciousness, and was at last 
 able to give them a smile of recognition. 
 
 "Where have you been? What has happened?" 
 asked her father eagerly. 
 
 She shuddered, shook her head, and said faintly, " Not 
 now. I can't tell you now." 
 
 At Gula's urgent request, she took a little food and. 
 some more of the brandy, and then sank into a deep 
 sleep, which lasted until the sun was shining into the 
 casement. On awaking, she found her father watching 
 her with the most intense anxiety. In the hope of arous- 
 ing him from his morbid condition, she told him the truth, 
 and the last remnants of the man and parent flashed up 
 in his soul. 
 
 His face became ashen in its hue, and again he ex- 
 claimed in agony, " Great God ! what have I become ? " 
 
 Then he seized his rifle, and started for the scene of 
 Vera's peril, with the half-crazed hope of finding her 
 assailants still there. After a time he returned with Vera's 
 basket, and commenced restlessly pacing the cabin floor, 
 muttering deep curses on the caitiffs who were beyond 
 the reach of his vengeance. 
 
 ' Father," said Vera piteously, " won't you take care 
 Qf as ? won't you be your old self, as I remember you
 
 206 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 when a little child ? It may be long before I am able to 
 go out again, and I ought not to go at all." 
 
 "I will, my child, I will," he replied. "Would to 
 God I had never been born 1 " 
 
 " O father ! be a brave man. Do as Mr. Saville wished, 
 and all will yet be well." 
 
 " I will, my child ; I will remove you and Gula to a 
 place of safety, and then join the army." 
 
 " Act now, father, act at once." 
 
 " I will soon." 
 
 For a few days he made desperate efforts to throw off 
 the incubus that was crushing body and mind, and sup- 
 plied the household with abundance of game. 
 
 After a few days of perfect rest, Vera's healthful frame 
 quite recovered from its terrible strain ; but there re- 
 mained in her eyes a troubled, frightened expression. 
 Her mind was constantly dwelling on the strange epithet 
 that the ruffians had applied to her. Why did they call 
 her the " white witch of the Highlands " ? and what did 
 they mean by this term ? A vague sense of danger op- 
 pressed her, and a fear lest their seclusion was causing 
 people to imagine evil concerning them. 
 
 This surmise was not long in being verified, for spring 
 had scarcely opened, before an officer with a squad of 
 men marched to their door one morning. 
 
 " I wish to see a man named Brown," was the prompt 
 request. 
 
 Nerving himself for an ordeal that was terrible, her 
 father came to the door, and said haughtily, 
 
 " I am he." 
 
 " I am directed, sir, to inform you that you are sus- 
 pected of disloyalty to the American cause, and of being 
 in the employ of the enemy. As there are no definite 
 charges against you, and as Mr. Saville once spoke in your 
 favor, you are not to be arrested on this occasion. But 
 your presence is no longer desired in the vicinity of the
 
 "THE SLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" 207 
 
 forts, and it is requested that you leave this region before 
 the campaign opens. If after two weeks you are here 
 and can give no satisfactory account of yourself, you will 
 be arrested and put in confinement." 
 
 The terrified man could scarcely retain sufficient com- 
 posure to bow in silent acquiescence ; but, as the officer 
 was turning away, Vera exclaimed, 
 
 " Indeed, sir, we are loyal. You do my father in- 
 justice." 
 
 " Let him be prompt in proving it then," was the stern 
 response; then came the word of command, "Right 
 about face ; march," and they were gone. 
 
 Vera thought that she recognized among the soldiers 
 the malignant face of the wretch who had narrowly 
 escaped drowning in his reckless pursuit of her upon the 
 ice. She was right. At first, the ruffians had kept 
 quiet, fearing lest Vera should report their conduct, and 
 they be severely dealt with. But the man in question 
 vowed vengeance, and was so besotted in his egotism 
 and depravity as to feel that he had good cause to punish 
 one who, in escaping his brutality, had involved him in 
 great peril. 
 
 He was one of Captain Molly's satellites, and she had 
 soon beguiled from him the story, but embellished and 
 changed somewhat to suit their interests. The worst of 
 villains do not like to portray themselves in their true 
 colors. 
 
 " She is a witch, indade," concluded the irate ruffian ; 
 " for nary a one that the divil didn't help could have 
 walked right up straight rocks. But, by the holy poker, 
 I'll pay her off for that drooning she guv me." 
 
 The story of Vera's scaling the precipice spread rapidly 
 among the ignorant and superstitious members of the 
 garrison, over whom Molly ruled, and became positive 
 proof that the innocent maiden, as well as old Gula, was 
 in close league with the Evil One.
 
 208 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Let us go over and roast them out some day," 
 was a proposal often made, and once or twice in danger 
 of being carried out ; for the discipline of the fort was 
 not severe, and the men were often permitted to be 
 absent. 
 
 But Molly was shrewd enough to counsel prudence. 
 Larry had cautioned her that Saville was the "very divil 
 himself ' ' when angry ; and she remembered his threat. 
 Though she had not seen or heard anything of him for a 
 Ipng time, he might return. Besides, Molly, although 
 capable of any amount of wicked gossip, had too much 
 humanity to face its consequences. She liked to scatter 
 firebrands and arrows recklessly, but did not enjoy seeing 
 the wounds and suffering ; and there was woman enough 
 in her nature to shrink from the deeds of cruelty and 
 violence which she foresaw would occur, did the vindictive 
 Barney lead a band of kindred spirits against the cabin. 
 So she tried to satisfy his revenge by inducing him to 
 throw out hints that " Brown was a Tory, a-watchin' the 
 garrisons." This story the officers took up promptly, and 
 Barney was asked for definite proof. But Molly had told 
 him not to say anything with certainty, but to abound in 
 suspicions ; so the authorities concluded that, as there had 
 been considerable doubt about the man, they would com- 
 pel him either to join the service, or to remove from a 
 region where, if he were so inclined, he could be very 
 useful to the enemy. Thus, the evil consequences, which 
 even the dead wife had foreseen, occurred, and worse 
 dangers threatened. 
 
 As the officer departed with his squad, Vera turned to 
 her father with the purpose of entreating him to follow at 
 once, and enlist in the army. But, after one glance, all 
 hope died. It almost appeared as if he were shrinking 
 and shriveling away. He tottered back to his dusky 
 corner, as seemingly scarce able to walk. In a trembling 
 whisper, he said,
 
 " THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" 20U 
 
 " Vera, we must fly at once." 
 
 " Fly where ? " she answered desperately. " Are w 
 birds, that we can take wing in a moment- and live< 
 without shelter? O God! is thy mercy clean gone fof, 
 ever ? " 
 
 "There isn't any God," said her father with sudder* 
 and vindictive passion ; " there is only a devil. Witness 
 my wife's grave yonder ; witness your unmerited suffer- 
 ing ; and, chief of all, witness myself. I dare not live I 
 dare not die. I have but one vile impulse, and that is to 
 hide ; and hide I will, where no human eye shall see me 
 again. I know of a wild gorge in these mountains that I 
 believe untrodden by any foot save mine. Before your 
 mother died, I built a hut there for a refuge, if the worst 
 came to the worst. Last fall I repaired it, and made 
 it stronger. No one knows of its existence, for this is 
 the first that I have spoken of it. Come, we will go at 
 once." 
 
 Vera sank into a chair, and sobbed as if her heart 
 would break. As he saw her grief, he relented some- 
 what, and said, 
 
 " Well, we will not go till to-morrow. They gave us a 
 little time." 
 
 " If we are to go, let us go at once," said Vera de- 
 spairingly. " But is there no way out of this darkness, no 
 escape from this terrible isolation which is destroying us 
 all? I fear I shall go mad myself." 
 
 " No,' 1 said her father, with the gloom of the most 
 hopeless fatalism in his tone and manner; " there is no 
 escape, and there is darkness all the way on forevermore. 
 You are in the grip of the same awful destiny as myself. 
 I am mad, and the worst of it is, I know that I am. I 
 can see my mad self, and can see my former and nobler 
 self when I was sane, and all day and all night I sit and 
 compare the two. I expect you will become like me, for 
 I have been a curse to myself and all bound to me. But
 
 210 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEAET 
 
 I will go where I can never see another soul, and the 
 curse will die out with us." 
 
 " But, father, have you no pity for me ? " 
 
 " Pity ! I pity you from the bottom of my heart. 
 Don't I know that we are both in hell? I shall pity you 
 forever, but what good will that do ? " 
 
 "Oh, hush!" said Vera, shuddering. "Say no 
 more." 
 
 Until late that night, she prayed and questioned God 
 as to her duty. Would it not be better to go to the com- 
 mander of the garrison, and, throwing herself on his 
 mercy, declare that her father was no longer responsible 
 for his actions? And yet each time she had sought to 
 make her way alone out into the world, she had been met 
 by experiences that caused her womanly nature to shrink 
 with inexpressible fear. 
 
 " Is there only one true, kind man in the world ? " she 
 groaned in bitterness. 
 
 At last, she concluded that her father, in his present 
 mood, would not remain near the dwellings of others ; 
 and that, if she tried to compel him to do so, he would 
 wander off by himself, and perish in the forest. She also 
 saw the difficulty of accounting for his condition of mind, 
 for, as he said, he was both sane and insane. It would 
 become evident to all that his gloom, fear, and remorse 
 had their dark source in guilt of some kind. He would 
 not explain ; she could not ; and thus mystery and her 
 twin sister, suspicion, would ever follow them with point- 
 ing fingers, till even she might be glad to hide in the 
 depths of the mountains. 
 
 She recalled her mother's words in regard to her 
 father : ' ' You will have to be his guardian and protector 
 more truly than he yours. Be very tender and patient 
 with him for my sake." 
 
 " I will go with him to his mountain-gorge," concluded 
 she, " although it is the same as being buried alive. Mr.
 
 " THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" 211 
 
 Saville will never find me there, and I have now, in sad 
 truth, lost my only friend." 
 
 Again a comforting and reassuring voice spoke in the 
 depths of her soul, " Commit thy way unto the Lord; 
 trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass." 
 
 There sprang up a sudden hopefulness within her 
 heart, that God, in his own time and way, would break 
 down the barriers that rose between them and their own 
 kind, and that he would guide Saville to their hidden re- 
 treat. An impression, which soon became a conviction, 
 that it would be best and safest to leave all to him, 
 brought rest to her mind, and she slept until her father 
 summoned her in the morning. 
 
 After an early meal, they made up two packages, con- 
 taining tools, bedding, some food, and cooking utensils, 
 and taking their guns, started for the secluded hut, 
 which, after all, was not so distant as it was inaccessible, 
 and apart from all the mountain roads and paths. It 
 was their plan to spend two or three days in repairing 
 and putting it in the best condition possible, before re- 
 moving thither old Gula and the household furniture. 
 
 But, in their absence, the elements of evil were at 
 work, and poor, pagan Gula had another experience 
 with Christians, upon whose profane lips was continually 
 the name of the God whom she had learned to associate 
 with deeds of fiendish cruelty. 
 
 The ruffian, Barney, had accompanied the officer, and 
 heard the order which would soon make the little cabin 
 tenantless. But this did not satisfy his malignant spirit ; 
 and so, one afternoon, when heated with liquor, he pro- 
 posed to a few kindred villains that they should go and 
 hurry the departure of the witches. By reason of their 
 superstitious fears, the others were rather reluctant ; but 
 he stimulated them up to the reckless point by fiery po- 
 tations from a stolen bottie of rum. They doubted Cap- 
 tain Molly's acquiescence in their action, and so did* not
 
 212 NEAE TO NATURE'S HEAET 
 
 inform her ; but, on one pretext or another, obtained a 
 brief leave of absence from their officers. 
 
 It was quite late in the afternoon when they reached 
 the vicinity of the cabin. They approached warily, for 
 Brown had the reputation of being savage and danger- 
 ous. At last they made a rush for the two doors, having 
 already had experience of Vera's quickness in flight. 
 But, to their surprise, not a soul was to be seen. They 
 looked cautiously in every place where one could be con- 
 cealed in the main room and kitchen, with their weapons 
 ready, but there was no trace of their victims. Then 
 Barney and two others of the most reckless of the gang 
 went up the covered way to Vera's little room ; and 
 beastly satyrs of Grecian myth, in the grotto of a nymph, 
 could not have appeared more hideous and devilish than 
 these caitiffs in that refuge of maidenly purity and beauty. 
 Again, in after days, with a gratitude beyond words, 
 Vera thanked God that she was absent. Her filial loyalty 
 to her father had brought unspeakable reward. 
 
 The ruffians were now convinced that the occupants of 
 the cabin had fled, and with sacrilegious hands they des- 
 troyed, pillaged, and defaced, till their attention was 
 diverted by a loud shout from one of their number who 
 had ascended the ladder to peer into the little loft. 
 Here he caught a glimpse of Gula, cowering in the re- 
 motest corner, and was now, in brutal glee, dragging her 
 down to his companions, who with oaths and impreca- 
 tions gathered around. 
 
 The aged negress, speechless and paralyzed with terror, 
 was as limp and unresisting in their hands as if dead ; 
 turning, as the only evidence of life, her wild, horror- 
 dilated eyes from one to another of her persecutors, who 
 were to her so many torturing fiends. 
 
 " Where is the other she-divil ? where is the white 
 witch o' the Highlands? " demanded Barney. " Speak, 
 or we'll make ye swallow coals o' fire."
 
 "THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS 11 213 
 
 But Gula's unearthly stare was his only answer. 
 
 "Tie her to the tree there, or the divil may carry her 
 off in spite o' us ; " and they hustled the poor creature 
 out, and did his bidding, Gula making no resistance, 
 and uttering not a sound. 
 
 " Now take what ye want, and thin set fire to that 
 divil's nest o' witches," continued Barney, who, by com- 
 mon consent, was leader in the outrage. 
 
 Gula's eyes dilated with increasing terror, as she saw 
 the cabin speedily wrapped in flames. Then the demons 
 gathered round her, and Barney commenced, 
 
 " Now, ye ould black hag o' Satan, tell me where the 
 white witch is a-hidin', or I'll roast the flesh off yer 
 bones." 
 
 But Gula only turned upon him her horror-stricken 
 stare. 
 
 He seized a firebrand, and held it scorchingly near her 
 hand. She writhed, but would not speak. 
 
 " Here, boys, git some dhry sticks, and put 'em around 
 her feet. Ye'll see how blue she'll burn." 
 
 " Hold on, Barney," said the others ; " don't let us go 
 too far. Her looks'll haunt us all our days now." 
 
 With loud curses on their cowardice, the drunken 
 wretch began to carry out his fiendish cruelty him- 
 self. 
 
 Gula at last seemed to realize that she might be near 
 to death, which to her meant return to kindred and rude 
 regality in her far-away home, and she suddenly broke 
 the silence, thus far maintained, by a weird, shrill cry of 
 ecstasy, 
 
 " De voices, de voices! I'se hear you plain. I'se 
 a-comin' now, sure." 
 
 The ruffians started back aghast. 
 
 " What voices ? " demanded Barney. 
 
 A piercing shriek from the hill west of them was the 
 answer. Then the report of a rifle rang out, and Barney
 
 214 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 fell dead at his victim's feet, with a bullet through his 
 cruel heart. 
 
 His companions turned in precipitate flight, but an- 
 other yelled with pain as the contents of Vera's gun 
 reached them. 
 
 Marking the course of their flight with blood, they 
 reached their boat half dead from fright and bruises, and, 
 crossing to the garrison, told a terrible story of Tory out- 
 rage. A strong party was sent over immediately to arrest 
 Brown and the " Tory horde " that was declared to be 
 with him ; but nothing was found save the smoking 
 embers of the cabin, and the dead body of the ruffian 
 Barney, which was brought over to the island and 
 buried. 
 
 From what he saw, however, the officer in charge of 
 the expedition suspected that there might be two sides to 
 the story, as Barney and his companions were known to 
 belong to that human scum which always exists in every 
 army. Beyond some effort made to discover whether 
 Brown still frequented his old haunts, nothing further was 
 done, and the affair was soon forgotten in the excitement 
 of the opening campaign.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 
 
 OUR story now passes over an interval of several 
 months. The autumn winds of early September were 
 again prophesying of winter among the Highlands ; but 
 only in plaintive suggestion, for summer yet lingered in 
 their mild breath. 
 
 As the sun was sinking low in the west, on a certain 
 afternoon, a form, that could scarcely be recognized as 
 that of Vera, were it not for the old wealth of golden 
 hair but uncovered now by the jaunty plumage of the 
 snowy heron might have been seen stealing through the 
 defiles of the hills towards the river. A painful timidity 
 characterized her movements, and she seemed to fear her 
 own shadow. There were traces of suffering and almost 
 famine on her sunburned face, and in her deep blue eyes 
 an expression akin to that of some helpless animal that 
 had been hunted almost to the death. Her dress was in 
 tatters, and would not much longer conceal her thin form. 
 Instead of shoes, rudely constructed sandals of buckskin 
 protected her feet. Her frame appeared shrunken and 
 somewhat feeble, and yet, as if impelled by a powerful 
 motive, she made her way rapidly, although furtively, 
 along a path which no one save herself could follow. 
 
 As she reached the vicinity of her old home, her ap- 
 proach became more cautious and stealthy. She flitted, 
 like some timid creature of the forest, from cover to 
 cover, till she could look out unperceived on the little 
 glen made dear by so many memories. 
 
 The first object that her eyes dwelt on was the grave of 
 her mother, and she seemed to dread lest, among the sad 
 changes occurring, it might also have disappeared. But
 
 216 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the mound was untrampled, and the flowers she had 
 planted near were still growing. As the glen seemed as 
 lonely as her own life, she ventured from the thicket to 
 the shade of the elm, where rose the grassy mound. A 
 visit to this grave had become the poor child's best 
 earthly solace, and the nearest approach to comforting 
 companionship within her reach. There was no one in 
 her dreary home to whom she could speak of the sorrows 
 that were crushing out hope and life ; but here she could 
 imagine, at least, that her mother listened to her as in the 
 past. 
 
 Becoming satisfied that she was alone in the sacred 
 place, her furtive, apprehensive manner passed away, 
 and she gave herself wholly to the tender memories 
 naturally inspired. Leaning her head on the grave, as 
 she had upon her mother's bosom when a child, she 
 spoke of past scenes in tones that would have touched 
 the most callous. Her sentences were fragmentary, mere 
 indices of passing thoughts. From them it would seem 
 that her hope of meeting Saville again had almost per- 
 ished, but that her recollection of his kindness was of 
 such a character as to be in harmony with the sacred 
 memories of her mother. 
 
 At last, with a weary sigh, she saw, from the deepening 
 shadows in the glen, that night must be near. She 
 clasped the cold earth of the mound in close embrace. 
 She was indeed orphaned and alone, when the pressure 
 of her heart against a grass-grown grave could give more 
 comfort than aught else. 
 
 When about to rise, she heard footsteps, and she 
 hastily stole into the thicket from which she had first 
 issued, and which would cover her flight back to the 
 hills. But, though almost fainting with alarm such had 
 become her weakness of mind and body a faint hope 
 stayed her fleet steps till she could obtain one glimpse of 
 the intruder.
 
 A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 217 
 
 There was something in the distant outline of the tall 
 form that was strangely familiar. But, as the stranger's 
 rapid advance revealed his face, she sank upon the 
 ground overwhelmed with her feelings. It was, indeed, 
 the friend and brother whom she had mourned as lost, 
 and he was apparently as unchanged as on the day she 
 last saw him. Was his presence actual, or was it merely 
 a vision of her overwrought and morbid mind ? She 
 scarcely dared to move or breathe, and feared lest the 
 wild throbbing of her heart would break the illusion. 
 
 And yet he was so real, he could not be a phantom ; 
 his step was not ghost like, but struck the ground firmly. 
 
 Now she saw the expression of his face the per- 
 plexity the alarm, the trouble, and distress depicted 
 there as the desolation of the glen became apparent. 
 He went to the stone step that had led to the threshold of 
 the cabin, and peered into the charred ruins, as if he 
 dreaded discovering there traces of its inmates. He next 
 ascended hurriedly to the place where Vera's grotto-like 
 apartment had been, but the scrutiny of the ashes gave 
 no confirmation of the fear that apparently had risen in 
 his mind. 
 
 He took off his hat, and passed his hand across his 
 brow and eyes, as if all were to him a vision which he 
 would gladly dispel. He looked up and down the glen 
 till his eye rested on the elm under which was the grave, 
 and he approached it rapidly, as if hoping to find there 
 something that would lead to the discovery of those he 
 sought. 
 
 " She must be living," he said aloud, "for here are the 
 proofs of her care and taste. Indeed, from the marks 
 upon the grass, I should think that some one had been 
 here to-day." 
 
 Again he looked up and down the glen, in the hope of 
 seeing something or some one that could explain the mys- 
 tery. The poor girl, who was but a few feet away.
 
 218 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 seemed under a strange paralysis. She tried to speak, 
 but, as if dreaming in very truth, though her lips moved, 
 there was no sound. 
 
 But, as Saville sat down upon a rock, and, taking out 
 his flute, commenced playing the same dirge which once 
 before had summoned her to him and kept her heart 
 from breaking, the stony spell that bound her was 
 broken. Tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 " ' I know a bank,' " she faltered ; then, springing from 
 her concealment, she knelt at his feet, as one might do 
 who sought deliverance from some pressing danger. 
 
 " Vera ! " he exclaimed, raising her up. " My friend, 
 my little sister ! what has happened ? What has changed 
 you so ? " 
 
 But, for some moments, her tears and sobs were his 
 only answer. He gently seated her on a rock beside 
 him, and held her hand, while stroking her head in 
 gentle caresses, accompanied by equally tender and 
 soothing words. 
 
 " My poor little sister, it is plain that much has hap- 
 pened, and that you have suffered deeply, since I saw 
 you last." 
 
 " But thank. God, thank God ! you are not dead you 
 have not forgotten me," she was able at last to say 
 brokenly. 
 
 " You may indeed take all the comfort you can out of 
 these facts," he replied cheeringly. " I never had a bet- 
 ter prospect of living, and there was never less danger of 
 my forgetting you. So cease your trembling, little one, 
 and dry your tears. I am again stationed at Fort Mont- 
 gomery, and can see you often, as in old times. Now 
 tell me what has happened no, first tell me where you 
 live, for it is almost night, and we can talk on our way 
 thither." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Vera, " in the joy of seeing you, I 
 have forgotten all else. The wretched little hut, which I
 
 A DIROE ENDING JOYOUSLY 319 
 
 cannot call home, is miles away. You can't go with me 
 there. The path is too rough and tangled for aught save 
 a mere creature of the forest, as I have become." 
 
 Then, for the first time conscious of her tattered and 
 forlorn dress, and her bare and brier-torn ankles, she 
 turned away with a burning blush, and said, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 " I am glad night is near, that its darkness may cover 
 me. I wonder at your kindness, for I looked into a mir- 
 roring pool on my way hither, and saw my poor, miser- 
 able self as you now see me. What must I seem to you, 
 who have seen the best of the world ? " 
 
 " Vera," said Saville gravely, "did not your mother, 
 when living, hope that I might become your friend ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Vera, with fast-falling tears. 
 
 " That hope has been fulfilled ; but, were I only a 
 casual stranger, what else could I feel for you, in this 
 place, and by this grave, but the deepest sympathy ? 
 You may trust me then without fear or embarrassment, 
 because of your ragged dress and bruised feet, which are 
 to me the touching proofs of your misfortunes. There 
 are no stronger claims than those of humanity, and un- 
 consciously you assert these in a way to make them most 
 sacred. I feel that you are committed to my charge, 
 and that nature and all-controlling destiny constitute me 
 your brother and guardian. So, rest assured, you shall 
 lean upon my arm all the way to your mountain hiding- 
 place, which, I fear, is little better than the nests of the 
 birds, which are open to the sky." 
 
 " But the way is longer than you think." 
 
 "Will it seem shorter to you without me? All the 
 more reason for my going. Come, little sister ; I have a 
 will of my own," and he drew her hand within his arm. 
 
 " I can take the more open paths, now that you are 
 with me," she said, with sudden gladness in her tone. 
 
 " Yes, any you like. I will take care of you."
 
 220 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 With a sigh of intense relief, she exclaimed, " Oh } 
 what a comfort it is not to be oppressed with fear every 
 moment. Constant dread was becoming a habit of my 
 mind, as it is with father. There are such cruel and ter- 
 rible men in the world ; and we are so helpless, and are 
 the objects of so much suspicion, that concealment and 
 flight have become our only safety ; " and, with the sim- 
 plicity of a child, she told him of her own and Gula's ex- 
 perience, and the burning of the cabin. 
 
 " When we saw the smoke," she said, " we thought it 
 had caught fire by accident, and we ran, in the hope of 
 saving something. But Gula's cry, and the horrible 
 men's rough voices, soon led us to fear the worst. I was 
 afraid, at first, that father would leave old Gula to her 
 fate, for often he is so strangely timid. But, for a few 
 moments, he seemed like an enraged lion. He shot the 
 leading villain, and then, snatching my gun, fired again. 
 Only their rapid -flight kept him from attacking them 
 single-handed. He seemed to think they were the same 
 ruffians that tried to catch me ; and, from what old Gula 
 said afterwards, I am sure they were. Ever since, I 
 have lived in a state of terror lest they should spring out 
 upon me." 
 
 Her tragic story was often interrupted by Saville's ex- 
 clamations of pity and anger ; and when she described 
 her peril upon the ice, and in climbing the precipice, she 
 felt his arm tremble beneath her hand. 
 
 "You shall be amply revenged," he said in a deep 
 tone, as she concluded. 
 
 "Oh, no," she cried pleadingly; "any effort to 
 avenge me would only add to my pain and fear. Please 
 make these dreadful men understand that father is loyal, 
 and that Gula and I are not witches. How came they 
 ever to imagine such a thing about two such inoffensive 
 creatures? " 
 
 "That's the cursed quality of superstition," he mut-
 
 A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 221 
 
 tered. "The less reason and cause, the more monstrous 
 and bigoted the belief." 
 
 " You can never know all I have suffered of late," she 
 said, finding much comfort in his strongly manifested 
 sympathy. " We often do not have enough to eat, and 
 I was beginning to hope I should die before winter came. 
 Father is more gloomy and taciturn than ever, and I 
 often find him looking at me with a strange pity and al- 
 most horror in his eyes, as if he were murdering me and 
 could not help it. His looks haunt me. Old Gula, too, 
 is growing more strange, and mumbles unceasingly of 
 her unearthly voices. Still I could endure all this, were 
 it not for my constant and unspeakable fear lest those 
 wicked men find our hiding-place, or spring out at me 
 when I am away alone among the mountains. When I 
 heard your step this evening, I came near flying, without 
 looking back (God saved me from that at least). I even 
 wake out of my sleep, and imagine I hear them coming 
 with their dreadful oaths. Are you sure you can keep 
 them away ? " 
 
 " Yes, Vera, sure. Poor child ! I did not dream it 
 possible that misfortune and wrong could so single you 
 out." 
 
 "What you say," she continued, in an awed, fright- 
 ened tone, "leads me to speak of the worst trouble of all. 
 Mother's Bible was burned in the cabin, as was nearly 
 everything else. I have tried to remember its teachings, 
 but of late they seemed slipping from my mind. Indeed, 
 I appeared sometimes to be forgetting everything. I felt 
 as if I were dwindling to nothing in body and mind, and 
 a great fear has at times chilled my heart lest death 
 should be just becoming nothing. When we first came 
 to our hiding-place, I felt that it was very doubtful 
 whether I should ever see you or any one else again, and 
 I gave up almost all hope of happiness in this life. But, 
 while the world was so dark, the door of heaven seemed
 
 222 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 wide open, and mother standing in its light, waiting for 
 me. For a long time this beautiful vision was ever be- 
 fore me, and I felt like a traveler who is going towards 
 his home-light. But at last the open door, with its 
 streaming rays, began to recede, and mother's form to 
 grow dim ; and now they have gone so far away that 
 they seem like that faint star just above yonder moun- 
 tain. What does it mean ? Has God forgotten me ? Is 
 he in truth taking mother far away into heaven, and am 
 I becoming so much like the poor, timid little crea- 
 tures of the woods, that I shall at last die like them, and 
 become nothing? I wish you could explain it all to 
 me." 
 
 " I can, my poor little friend, very readily. When 
 one has been long under the influence of trouble and 
 solitude, and especially when there has been a lack of 
 nutritious food, the mind becomes morbid, and full of 
 unnatural fancies, just as the night is full of strange, 
 monstrous shadows, which all disappear when the sun 
 rises. The sun has risen for you, and all these strange 
 shadows upon your mind will soon pass away." 
 
 " But are you sure that God never forgets any of his 
 children, though they are weak and insignificant ? It is 
 this fear that troubles me most." 
 
 "Well, Vera, to tell you a truth, which you would 
 have suspected long ago, if you had not been so inno- 
 cent, I do not know much about God. I think you had 
 better try to overcome all these morbid fancies, of which 
 you have spoken, in a new and hopeful interest in your 
 present life. I promise that I shall never forget you, and 
 will try to make it certain that you shall never be so ex- 
 posed to misfortune again." 
 
 At first, Vera gave him a troubled, startled look, and 
 was silent for some moments. Then he felt her hand 
 tightening in its grasp upon his arm, as if the thought 
 were in her mind, " If God is failing me, I must cling
 
 A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 223 
 
 the closer to this friend, who is so near and sympa- 
 thetic." 
 
 To divert her mind, he told her of his experiences 
 during his long absence, and how he had written to her, 
 and had hoped that she knew about his life elsewhere, 
 while he remained ignorant of hers. He explained how 
 very uncertain letters were to arrive, even along the 
 regular lines of travel. And yet his heart reproached 
 him that he had, in some degree, forgotten her in his 
 manifold duties and excitements, and that he had not 
 made greater effort to learn of her welfare, and provide 
 for her safety. 
 
 They at last reached a point where they must leave 
 the comparatively open path for one that was narrow, 
 precipitous, and often, to his eye, entirely blocked by 
 rocks and tangled undergrowth. But she picked out a 
 way for him, where, in the darkness, none appeared. 
 Towards the last, however, her movements became slow 
 and feeble. 
 
 " Let us rest awhile," he said ; " you are becoming too 
 wearied to stand, almost." 
 
 " I am sorry to say, it is more than weariness, Mr. 
 Saville. I have scarcely tasted food to-day ; and the 
 worst of it is, I fear that we shall have little, if anything, 
 to offer you in the way of supper. I cannot tell you how 
 it troubles me." 
 
 "And are you forgetting your own pangs of hunger 
 and consequent weakness, in the fear that you may not 
 have a supper for one who dined heartily a few hours 
 ago? " he asked, taking her hand. 
 
 " But I am accustomed to being hungry, and you are 
 not." 
 
 " My poor little friend, I can scarcely realize it all. If 
 you could spread a banquet before me, my heart would 
 be too full to permit me to think of eating to-night." 
 And the thought passed through his mind, " Can this
 
 224 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 maiden and my bigoted, selfish wife belong to the same 
 world and race ? ' ' 
 
 He was naturally generous and sympathetic, and his 
 heart overflowed with pity and tenderness for the lonely 
 girl, whose thoughts had constantly followed him, while 
 he had partially forgotten her. 
 
 He now insisted on her pointing out the way ; and 
 going before, he lifted her down the rocks and steep 
 places. 
 
 "It is so strange to be petted and taken care of," she 
 said, with a low laugh, " that it must be all a dream." 
 
 "Thanks for that laugh," he cried ; "it is the first I 
 have heard from you, but I shall be much mistaken if it 
 is the last. If I can carry out my will, this is your last 
 dark, miserable day." 
 
 " This day is no longer dark and miserable," she said 
 promptly. 
 
 . " How is that? " he asked. " It is night, and you are 
 both hungry and weary." 
 
 " But comforted and happy," she added. "The only 
 ache that I cannot endure is the heart-ache, and your 
 coming has cured that." 
 
 Having at last descended into the wild, secluded val- 
 ley, they were not long in reaching what Vera had called 
 with truth " a wretched little hut."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 
 
 WHEN Vera told Saville that they were near the little 
 cabin, he asked why no light appeared. t 
 
 " We live literally in darkness much of the time," 
 she replied ; "for father will not permit a light, lest its 
 rays reveal our hiding-place ; and I have been so timid, 
 also, that I was well content to submit. Please wait 
 here, and I will prepare father for the meeting." 
 
 "Is it possible," he thought, scanning the place by 
 the light of the rising moon, "that this poor little hovel 
 has been her only shelter for long months ? Even our 
 soldiers' huts are better than this." 
 
 Vera noiselessly raised the latch, saying, at the same 
 time, in a quiet tone, "It is I, father." 
 
 " I am very glad you have returned, for I was begin- 
 ning to surmise horrible things. What has kept you? " 
 
 "I met an old friend." 
 
 " Met an old friend ! Who ? " 
 
 " Your friend as truly as mine. Can you not think 
 who he is ? " 
 
 " Has Mr. Saville returned, and is he indeed friendly ? " 
 he asked eagerly. 
 
 "He is more friendly than ever ; he shall speak for 
 himself. Mr. Saville ! ' ' 
 
 " O Vera ! you have not brought him to this, our only 
 refuge?" cried her father in great agitation. "I fear 
 evil will come of it." 
 
 " No, Mr. Brown," said Saville, cordially taking his 
 hand ; " good and only good shall come of it. I am
 
 228 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 here as a friend to you both. Besides, I bring you 
 cheering tidings, sir. We are making good our Declara- 
 tion of Independence, which you heard over a year ago, 
 and have now excellent prospects of final victory." 
 
 The fear-haunted man drew a long breath, and then 
 said, "The deed has now been done, and, since you are 
 here, we will treat you with the best courtesy we can ; 
 but I had hoped no living soul would ever discover this 
 retreat." 
 
 " God has in mercy willed it otherwise, father." 
 
 " God forsooth ! " he responded bitterly. " If I could 
 hide forever from him, I might hope for a little respite." 
 
 "We have not a chair to offer you,"' he continued, 
 turning to Saville. " Will you accept of this rude 
 bench ? " 
 
 " I shall be most content in faring as you do," an- 
 swered Saville, in the frank, cordial manner which 
 always gives confidence. " And now, I pray you, sir, 
 sit down with me, while I tell you of the progress of the 
 war. Ve-ra has related enough of your experience to 
 fill me with the deepest sympathy for your misfortunes. 
 At the same time, I clearly foresee brighter days in store 
 for you both." 
 
 Before the exile was aware, Saville held him com- 
 pletely absorbed by his graphic descriptions of the 
 battles that had occurred during his long absence. Vera, 
 in the meantime, disappeared, and nothing was seen of 
 old Gula. 
 
 At last the door of the hut was opened from without, 
 and Vera called, " Come, Mr. Saville, to my banquet." 
 
 " Banquet ! " he said, laughing. " If you and Gula 
 have prepared a banquet to-night, I shall be ready, also, 
 to believe you are witches, or good fairies, rather." 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed. "Everything 
 has turned out better than I expected. Father, come 
 with us."
 
 OULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 227 
 
 To her surprise and joy, he who had seemed hope- 
 fessly beyond even the desire of seeing or speaking to a 
 fellow creature again, rose hesitatingly, and followed 
 them. 
 
 Taking Saville's hand, with the freedom of a child, 
 she led him to a grassy plot behind the cabin, where, in 
 the moonlight, stood a rude table. 
 
 "I much feared," she said, "that we should have 
 nothing to offer you to-night. As I told you once before, 
 we are fed as the ravens are. I do not know whether 
 they ever go supperless to bed, but we do sometimes. 
 To-night, however, in honor of your coming, two young 
 partridges considerately put their heads into my snares, 
 and there they are awaiting you." 
 
 " Have you been out in the forest after them since 
 your return ?" asked Saville, still retaining her hand. 
 
 "Yes, but it wasn't very far." 
 
 " And have you not had anything to eat yet? " 
 
 " I eat before my guest? " 
 
 " Yes, or your guest will be most pained and unhappy. 
 See, your hand trembles from weakness ; your pulse is 
 rapid, yet feeble, \vhile mine is strong and even from 
 generous living. Can you think that I, who dined 
 heartily but a few hours since, would take the smallest 
 part of those dainty morsels which you need to keep soul 
 and body together? Do you and your father sit 
 down upon this mossy rock, while I carve the birds, 
 and help you," and he almost compelled them to do 
 his bidding. Then lifting the light table, he placed it 
 before them so that they could not well rise. 
 
 "Now you are my prisoners," he continued; "and 
 only on the condition of your making a good supper, 
 shall I permit you to escape." 
 
 " Hungry as I am, I cannot eat, unless you share the 
 birds with us," persisted Vera, leaving the choice bits 
 before her untasted.
 
 228 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "Was there ever such a queer little sister? If any 
 pain were to be borne, you would want it all, I warrant 
 you. Well, I'll take awing." 
 
 " No, that may portend your sudden absence again." 
 
 " Where is Gula? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " I'se here," said the old negress, stepping from the 
 deep shadow of a rock. 
 
 " And right glad I am that you are still here," said 
 Saville, cordially. " I have heard how badly you were 
 treated, but I am going to take care of you all now." 
 
 " Mas'r Brown fired little too quick, or I'd been home 
 now. I would like to git home afore de cold wintef 
 come. Tink I will, for de voices is callin' po'ful strong 
 lately." 
 
 " But our voices will call on you more strongly to stay 
 with us ; besides, I am going to bring a lively young 
 colored boy to help you, when I come again. Vera," 
 he said in a low tone, turning to the young girl, " be so 
 kind as to let me give my portion to this poor old crea- 
 ture. When I come again, I will, in truth, be your sub- 
 missive guest." 
 
 "Well," said Vera laughing," I do not know much 
 about the world ; but I imagine that men always have 
 their own way in it." 
 
 " You have indeed forgotten your Shakespeare if you 
 think that. But I am much interested in your gypsy 
 life. Where were these birds cooked so nicely?" 
 
 "We has a stone fireplace in de side ob de hill," 
 said Gula, with a courtesy. 
 
 " Father has arranged it so that the smoke is carried 
 off among the rocks, and in such a way that it cannot 
 be seen by any one on the hills around us," added 
 Vera ; " and the cabin, you perceive, is quite hidden by 
 evergreens." 
 
 It was, indeed, even from them, who were but a 
 few feet away.
 
 GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 229 
 
 " All this may answer in summer, but not in winter," 
 said the young man decidedly. 
 
 " I doubt whether we could have survived the 
 winter," Vera replied in a low tone. 
 
 " How quietly you speak those darkly suggestive 
 words ! " 
 
 " It was my best hope, till you came." 
 
 " Thank fortune, my coming was not delayed." 
 
 " I thank God," added Vera reverently. 
 
 " Don't mention that name," said her father irritably. 
 " I have always heard it oftenest when my troubles 
 thickened." Then to Saville, " You spoke of bringing 
 your colored servant. I fear it will not be safe, sir." 
 
 " I will give you my personal pledge that it is ; and 
 when you come to know the boy, you will fear no harm 
 from him. So I trust you will leave all to me, for I can 
 provide for your safety more surely than you can 
 yourself. 
 
 Mr. Brown acquiesced so far as to be silent. 
 
 Saville had seen much of the world, but the picture 
 made by that wild mountain-gorge and the little group 
 before hinV left an ineffaceable impression upon his 
 memory. Rugged, rocky steeps rose on either side, one 
 shimmering in the moonlight, and the other lying in the 
 deepest shadow. Glades and vistas opened here and 
 there, with strange effect, among the giant trees of the 
 valley. The closely ranked cedars and hemlocks con- 
 cealed every vestige of the little log hut, and the inmates, 
 as they then appeared, were so unlike ordinary people, 
 that he felt that they and the whole scene were more like 
 a creation of the fancy than a part of the real world. 
 But to him, who was weary of the platitudes and hollow- 
 ness of conventional life, the picture had an unspeakable 
 attraction. 
 
 Old Gula stood a little back from her master and mis- 
 tress, leaning her tall, gaunt form, that was feeble from
 
 230 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 age and lack of food, against one of the granite boulders 
 that were scattered thickly at the base of the mountain. 
 Her wrinkled features formed as elfish and unearthly a 
 visage as could well be imagined. 
 
 The unbroken rays of the moon, as they shone full on 
 Vera's father, only made more evident what a wreck he 
 had become. His face was haggard, his hair unkempt, 
 and his grizzled beard had grown to enormous propor- 
 tions. At times, when Saville was speaking to him, he 
 had almost the bearing of a finished gentleman ; a little 
 later, he wore the look of a frightened animal, furtively 
 devouring its food. 
 
 Although Saville, with almost the appreciation of an 
 artist, marked the other features and accessories of the 
 picture, his eyes constantly reverted to Vera with increas- 
 ing interest. Having finished the repast, which, after 
 all, was very meagre, she leaned her head upon her 
 hand, and listened with such a wistful, intent expression 
 in her face, that it was difficult for him to dwell merely 
 on the details of a past campaign. He wished to com- 
 fort and reassure her. 
 
 He now had opportunity to note the changes that had 
 taken place in her appearance, and saw, with boding 
 anxiety, how frail and thin she was. Her sun-browned 
 face was very pale in the moonlight, and more suggestive 
 of spirit than of flesh and blood. To his kindled fancy, 
 her wealth of unconfined hair grew into a halo, and the 
 pure, beautiful face beneath resembled portraits of saints 
 that he had seen in picture galleries abroad, and he 
 thought, 
 
 " If the world would only worship such saints lovely, 
 unselfish, and living women there would be more hope 
 for humanity." 
 
 But the night was passing, and he rose to depart. 
 
 "You will not think of returning before the break of 
 day? " remonstrated Vera.
 
 231 
 
 " Yes ; I have lingered too long already ; I must be at 
 my post in the morning, and I have much to do during 
 the day. I shall return to-morrow evening about the 
 same hour I came to-night. And now, sir, I shall ask 
 your kindness to guide me back to the open path." 
 
 " I can lead you by a much nearer way to Fort Mont- 
 gomery," said Mr. Brown, rising promptly ; "and to- 
 night I feel like taking the walk." 
 
 " I will not say good-bye," said Vera, in parting, " lest 
 it be followed by another long and dreary absence." 
 
 Her father guided their guest for several miles, and 
 left him only when, the path became so plain as to be 
 easily followed. Saville was greatly pleased that his 
 visit had so aroused the unhappy man, and, during their 
 walk, continued to do his best to kindle in his mind a 
 healthful interest in the outer world. He even obtained 
 from him a promise that he would come with Vera, at 
 sunset the following evening, to the place where they 
 parted. 
 
 During the remainder of his walk to the fort, Saville's 
 mind was very active in trying to solve the problems pre- 
 sented by the peculiar character and situation of the 
 family. It was clearly his first duty to supply them with 
 food and clothing. He also resolved, at the earliest op- 
 portunity, to assure the military authorities of Mr. Brown's 
 loyalty to the American cause, and thus preserve the 
 family from further molestation, because suspected of be- 
 ing Tories. He also determined that if Larry and his 
 wife, Molly, had aught to do with the outrages that had 
 been committed against the family, he would make them 
 suffer to the extent of his ability. Vera, fearing that it 
 might lead to a bloody quarrel, had not told him of the 
 insult received at Fort Constitution, when she crossed 
 thither to learn what had become of him. 
 
 Early the following morning, he sought an interview 
 with James Clinton, who now commanded the forts, and
 
 232 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 who, several months previous, had been promoted to the 
 rank of General. Saville, also, on the ground of merit, 
 had recently been commissioned captain in the engineer 
 department. 
 
 It was impossible for the young man to be a cool advo- 
 cate, or to be satisfied with half-way measures, and he 
 soon quite enlisted General Clinton's sympathies in be- 
 half of his proteges. His request for a brief leave of ab- 
 sence was readily granted, and full protection for the 
 family promised. 
 
 His next step was to secure a boat in which to visit 
 Peekskill, that he might obtain the articles of apparel and 
 comfort which both Vera and her father greatly needed ; 
 and therefore he summoned the colored servant whom 
 he had lately taken into his employ, and who thus far 
 had proved a bundle of contradictions, a human riddle, 
 that his master had been unable to solve. 
 
 He was a genuine African in features and manner, and 
 of that uncertain age which made it doubtful whether he 
 was man or boy. He had presented himself at Saville' s 
 tent on the morning after his arrival, asking for service. 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " Saville asked. 
 
 " From nowhar in "ticklar," was the indefinite re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Mas'r kin call me what he likes." 
 
 " Haven't you any name ?" 
 
 " I'se had a sight o' names ; jes' as liv hab annoder. 
 I'll answer quicker'n lightnin' to any name you gub me, 
 if you'seony take me." 
 
 " Well, who are you, anyway ? " 
 
 " I doesn't jes' know." 
 
 " What are you doing in this region? " 
 
 " I'se a-lookin' for somebody." 
 
 " And somebody is looking for you, I imagine. You 
 have run away. Where is your master ? "
 
 GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 233 
 
 " Dar he is, I'se a-hopin'," said this most indefinite of 
 human atoms, at the same time ducking his head towards 
 Saville. " Jes' guv me a chance, and you'se '11 see I 
 knows a heap more 'bout some oder tings dan I does 
 'bout myself." 
 
 "Very well," said Saville carelessly. "I will keep 
 you till you are claimed, or till I find you will not answer 
 any purpose." 
 
 At this, the boy had ducked again, and pulled a little 
 horn of wool that he had seemingly coaxed over his fore- 
 head for polite or politic uses. 
 
 " Now, if mas'r '11 jes' guv me a handle, I'se '11 begin 
 to be use'l right straight." 
 
 " ' A handle ! ' ' 
 
 " Yeh, sumpen to call and send me by." 
 
 " Oh ! a name. Any one of your old ones will an- 
 swer. '' 
 
 " If mas'r please, I'd rudder he guv me a new un." 
 
 " Bless me ! I don't know what to call you, unless I 
 .take the mathematician's terms for an unknown quantity, 
 and name you X Y Z." 
 
 " Dat'll suit kerzackly," was the delighted response. 
 "'Ekswyze.' I neber had as big a name as dat 
 .afore." 
 
 " But I shall call you X for short," said Saville, laugh- 
 ing. " Now let me see what you can do." 
 
 The boy, even in a few hours, proved his ability to 
 serve well, if he so chose, and now was on hand, ready 
 to do his master's bidding with alacrity. 
 
 " Find me a small sailboat, that can be rowed if the 
 wind is contrary, and be ready to go with me to Peeks- 
 kill in half an hour." 
 
 Within less time, the boy reported that all was ready, 
 and a favorable breeze soon enabled them to reach the 
 store of Daniel Birdsall. From his meagre stock, Saville 
 made the best selection he could, half smiling, half frown-
 
 234 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 ing over the coarse material and stout shoes he was com- 
 pelled to buy for Vera's wear. 
 
 " They will at least keep her warm," he thought, "and 
 I have no fears but that, by some form of woman's magic, 
 she will conjure this dark stuff into a tasteful dress. Per- 
 haps I may do better another time in the stores up the 
 river. ' ' 
 
 He also purchased an abundance of ammunition, and 
 such provisions as the place furnished. Making all into 
 two stout bundles, he returned, landing considerably 
 above the fort, as he did not wish to be followed by 
 curkms eyes. 
 
 " Now, X, take the boat back, and return as soon as 
 possible. If any inquire where I am, say that I am shoot- 
 ing among the hills." 
 
 X speedily rejoined his master, at whose bidding he 
 took up the heavier bundle, and followed without a jot of 
 interest, apparently, as to their destination. 
 
 " I am glad that you have sense enough to hold your 
 tongue," said Saville. " For a time, you may be able to 
 serve me best by serving others. I have friends back in 
 the mountains, with whom I may leave you ; and if there 
 is anything about them that seems strange, think what 
 you please, but never speak of what you see and hear to 
 any one. If you do, I have the means of making you 
 wish you had bitten your tongue off first." 
 
 "Mas'r Saville'll find out by and by dat I'se po'ful 
 good at knowin' nuffin dat's nobody's business." 
 
 " Yes," laughed Saville ; " you have given me a proof 
 of that already. I think you may be just the boy I 
 want. 1 " 
 
 The sun appeared like a great beacon-fire on the sum- 
 mit of a western mountain, as they reached the place 
 where Mr. Brown had promised to meet them with Vera ; 
 but there was not a trace of their presence. * "> 
 
 " They have not arrived yet," thought Saville, " but it
 
 GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 235 
 
 is time they were near. I will give our old signal, and 
 Vera may answer ; " and he played the familiar air. 
 
 Almost immediately a powerful yet bird-like voice an- 
 swered, from a neighboring thicket, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." 
 
 "Gosh! what's dat?" said X, starting up in great 
 alarm. 
 
 " That is your future mistress, X ; don't run away till 
 you see her." 
 
 As Vera stepped forth with her father, her strange ap- 
 pearance and remarkable beauty so impressed poor X 
 that he muttered, 
 
 " I knowed any critter wid a voice like dat mus' be a 
 speret from one place or t'oder. Tink she ain't from 
 t'oder, dough ; for dat ar singin' was hebbenly, sure 'nuff. 
 But I doesn't like de looks ob de ole man." 
 
 X soon gained his stolid composure, however, and was 
 able to pull his little woolly horn with his wonted noncha- 
 lance, when introduced with his big bundle. 
 
 Saville greeted his friends with the utmost cordiality, 
 and sought by his manner to banish their timidity. Hope 
 and happiness had already wrought a marvelous change 
 in Vera, and Saville, as of old, found himself wondering 
 at her beauty. 
 
 "What have you here?" she asked, with childlike 
 curiosity and vivacity. 
 
 " Well, in the first place, this is X Y Z. If you can 
 find out any more about him, you will accomplish more 
 than I have done. As for these bundles, we will open 
 them at the cabin. If you will spread a banquet for me 
 again to-night, you will find that I shall need no urging 
 to partake of it." 
 
 " I have nothing better than a few more birds," said 
 Vera ruefully.
 
 236 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "What could be better, my quaint Ariel? Come, 
 moonlight will not satisfy me to-night." 
 
 The moon was just rising when they reached the cabin. 
 X sat down with his bundle where he was bidden, and, 
 wearied with the fatigue of the day, was inclined to go 
 immediately to sleep, when a name, uttered by Saville, 
 aroused him thoroughly. 
 
 "Gula," Saville had called, "come and see what I 
 have brought you." 
 
 ' Gula ! " repeated X. " What Gula is dis ? " and he 
 strained his eyes towards the dark recess among the rocks 
 where glowed a few live coals. After a moment, he 
 could endure his suspense no longer, and said, 
 
 " Mas'r Saville, shall I bring de tings dar ? " 
 
 " What voice is dat ? " cried Gula in her shrillest and 
 most excited tones. And she rushed to the spot where 
 X was standing in trembling expectancy. 
 
 "Who is you? What is your name?" she asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " De name Mas'r Saville guv me is Ekswyze," said X 
 mechanically. 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " cried Gula, more shrill and excited 
 than ever. "What name did you'se mudder gib you 
 when you'se was a little chile ? " 
 
 " Tascar." 
 
 With a wild cry Gula threw her arms around the boy, 
 exclaiming, " I'se your mudder ! I'se called you Tascar 
 when you was a baby, arter one I lubbed in de warm 
 sunland. Oh ! my po', ole, dead heart jes' seem as if it 
 had riz right up out ob de grave." 
 
 All gathered round Gula, overflowing with sympathy 
 and congratulations, and the moon, rising above the 
 eastern Highlands, enabled the mother to seethe features 
 of her long-lost son. Every moment or two she would 
 cry out,
 
 GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 237 
 
 " Yeh, yeh, it is my little Tascar, sure 'nuff." 
 
 "I knowed I'd find you, mudder," said the boy 
 delightedly. " Dey couldn't keep me long down dar 
 when dey sole me 'way from you. I came back to whar 
 you used to be, and foun' you had run up dis way (lame 
 Tom tole me). De world is po'ful big place, but I 
 knowed I'd find you if I only looked long 'nuff." 
 
 " You are now no longer an unknown quantity, so we 
 will call you Tascar after this," said Saville, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "And now, Gula," added Vera, "you have at last 
 heard a real voice, and I hope it will satisfy you, so that 
 you will not listen any more for those strange, unearthly 
 voices that you thought were calling you away from us. 
 I suppose Tascar is hungry, like the rest of us ; so 
 you may take him into your rocky kitchen, and let him 
 help you get our supper. Mr. Saville has generously 
 brought us a great many things. 
 
 " See, Mr. Saville," she continued, taking his arm, 
 and leading him a little apart ; " see what a difference 
 your coming has made to us all. Old Gula has found 
 her son ; and father has changed so much for the better, 
 I scarcely know him." 
 
 " And you ? " he asked gently. 
 
 " Ah! Mr. Saville, you have never known what it 
 was to have but one friend, one hope, in the world. 
 When I first heard your steps, I was lying on mother's 
 grave, and praying that I might speedily sleep beside 
 her. Surely God sent you to us." 
 
 "Think so, little one, if it does you any good." 
 
 " But do you not think so? " 
 
 " All I know is that I have come, and very glad I am 
 that it was not too late." 
 
 " I wish you could explain to me about God, and 
 make him seem near to me again."
 
 238 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " I cannot, Vera ; let us change the subject," Saville 
 replied, a little abruptly. 
 
 She sighed, but soon gave herself up to thorough en- 
 joyment of the happiest hour that had ever yet come 
 into her brief and shadowed life.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 
 
 NOT very long after their bountiful supper, Saville 
 said, 
 
 " I had but little sleep last night, and have taken 
 many steps to-day ; so, with your permission, I will seek 
 a resting-place." 
 
 " I am sorry that we have scarcely anything better 
 than the cabin floor to offer you," said Vera ruefully. 
 
 "You forget that I am a soldier, and that at this time 
 of the year I ask no better bed than the greensward." 
 
 The cabin, like the larger one near West Point, had 
 been constructed with a small loft. Into this Vera crept, 
 but for a long time was too happy for sleep. 
 
 Saville took the blanket that Tascar had brought at his 
 bidding, and, throwing himself under a wide-spreading 
 hemlock, slept as only the strong and weary can sleep. 
 Gula and her son dozed and crooned in their rocky 
 recess, till the dawn aroused them to preparations for 
 breakfast. Even the poor, remorseful exile rested with 
 an unwonted sense of security. 
 
 The next morning, Saville tried to induce Mr. Brown 
 to permit him to find them a better home nearer the fort, 
 but found that any proposition of the kind would not 
 be entertained. 
 
 "I have a feeling that I am safe here, and nowhere 
 else," he said. " If you think best, Vera and Gula can 
 go, but I shall remain." 
 
 " I shall not leave you, father," said Vera, quietly. 
 
 "Well," said Saville, cheerily but firmly, "then we
 
 240 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 must make you all as comfortable here as we can. A 
 new cabin, as large as the old one that was burned, must 
 be built." 
 
 "But that will attract attention," remonstrated Mr. 
 Brown. 
 
 " Suppose it does. I have satisfied General Clinton 
 that you are loyal to our cause, and he has promised you 
 and your family full protection." 
 
 " Does General Clinton know anything of me and my 
 whereabouts?" cried the man, starting up in great 
 alarm. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and if he had only known before what I 
 told him yesterday, you would not have been molested 
 in your old ^home. Can you not see, Mr. Brown, that 
 nothing so draws attention and suspicion as your effort 
 to hide from every one ? At the time I was so hastily 
 ordered away from this region, I yielded to your judg- 
 ment, and did not say much concerning you, not having 
 your permission. But now, for Vera's sake, as well 
 as your own, I can allow no doubt to exist as to the 
 fact of your being heartily on our side. In respect to 
 anything else, no one seeks to know aught. I can prom- 
 ise you all perfect safety, if you will do just what I 
 ask." 
 
 The exile's brow contracted darkly, but he would not 
 meet Saville's eye. 
 
 " Mr. Brown," said Saville, in a low, meaning tone. 
 
 The man now gave him a startled, apprehensive look. 
 
 " I can promise you perfect safety, if you do just what 
 I ask," Saville continued, in the same low, significant 
 voice. 
 
 " I will, I will," was the eager reply. 
 
 " There's my hand in pledge." 
 
 Mr. Brown seized it like a drowning man, and from 
 that hour became Saville' slave. 
 
 Vera watched this strange interview with a beating
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 241 
 
 heart, and, at its close, felt as never before, even that 
 her destiny also was controlled by the young stranger, 
 whom Providence had sent, as she believed, to rescue 
 both herself and her father from the hopeless and 
 helpless condition into which they had drifted. 
 
 With characteristic energy and promptness, Saville set 
 about the tasks made necessary by the decision to 
 remain in the secluded glen. He decided that the little 
 hut already built should be preserved for Gula and her 
 son ; and the plan of a much larger cabin, for the use 
 of Vera and her father, was marked out adjoining it. 
 
 " I also mean to have a little nook myself," he said. 
 
 " It will all be yours," Vera added promptly. 
 
 He looked at her so earnestly that the blood came into 
 her face, though why, she did not know. After a mo- 
 ment, he said, half to her, and half in soliloquy, 
 
 " I cannot tell why it is, but this place already seems 
 to me more like a home than any I have yet known." 
 
 "I do not understand how you can feel so," said 
 Vera, looking frankly into his face. " It will, in truth, 
 be home to me ; because containing, when you are here, 
 all whom I love." 
 
 Again he gave her an earnest look, as he said, 
 
 " Nature is a rare teacher, my little friend ; and she 
 has taught you a truth which we sometimes forget, to our 
 sorrow. Only the places which contain those whom we 
 love can be homes." 
 
 " And it is your love for us," exclaimed Vera, openly 
 and joyously, as if she had solved the mystery, " that 
 makes this forbidding place seem homelike." 
 
 " That is not bad logic," he replied, laughing ; 
 " though your pronoun is rather too general." 
 
 "How strange it is," said Vera, musingly, "that we 
 should have met as we did, and that you should have 
 become my brother in very truth ! Do such things often 
 happen in the world ? "
 
 242 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " I am afraid not," he replied, shaking his head. 
 
 "Then I have been specially favored, when I have 
 been almost repining at my lot." 
 
 " I certainly have been very fortunate in finding such 
 a sweet, wild flower in this wilderness of a world. But 
 come ; this is not preparing for the cold storms of winter, 
 which, unfortunately, are near. You must ply the needle, 
 and bring home the game, while your father and Tascar 
 do the heavy work. Ye gods ! how I would like to stay 
 here and help you ! I have brought plenty of powder 
 and shot for your gun." 
 
 "But will it be safe to have the report of fire-arms 
 heard here ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; the old policy of hiding and concealment 
 is past ; and as soon as I can, I shall find you a home 
 where you can have good, kind neighbors. Bring your 
 gun, and let me see if you can hit that gray squirrel in 
 yonder tall tree." 
 
 She complied, with the joyousness of a child, and was 
 soon within range with her light fowling-piece. 
 
 " Now, quick! before he moves," cried Saville. 
 
 Her merry laugh rang out, as she threw pebbles at the 
 little creature, till, thoroughly alarmed, it ran to the top- 
 most boughs. Then, as it was in the act of springing to 
 another tree, she fired, and it fell dead at her feet. 
 
 " I take off my hat to you," cried Saville. " You 
 excel Diana herself." 
 
 The morning passed all too quickly, and, after an early 
 dinner, Saville returned to the fort, taking Tascar, that 
 he might send back by him tools and other needed ar- 
 ticles. 
 
 During the week following, Saville pleaded, with 
 justice, that he had scarcely had a respite from duty since 
 joining the service, and obtained leave to absent himself 
 for several days. He started ostensibly upon a hunting 
 excursion in the mountains, but took the shortest path to
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 243 
 
 the secluded valley, which was beginning to have for him 
 peculiar attractions. 
 
 The days passed like enchantment. Under the new 
 and happier conditions of her life, Vera appeared to 
 grow hourly in beauty and fascination. The recuperative 
 power of nature was in her mind and body. She was like 
 a sunny bank, that a few warm spring days change from 
 wintry bareness to fragrant bloom. 
 
 Her feeling for Saville was the frank, undisguised affec- 
 tion of a sister ; or, perhaps more truly, the strong, 
 innocent love of a child, that gives its heart wholly for 
 the time to those who win it. 
 
 The woman in Vera was still unawakened, though, at 
 times, there was an intensity in Saville' s gaze that quick- 
 ened her pulse a little, and mantled her cheek with a 
 richer hue than even restored vigor was giving it again. 
 
 As for Saville, he was self-deceived. We have already 
 seen that he had a faculty for illusion, and this was espe- 
 cially true in the line of his favorite theories. As he had 
 once imagined his transient passion for a most unworthy 
 object to be the precursor of lasting and conjugal affec- 
 tion, so now he regarded the pure flame of love, which 
 Avas kindling in his heart for Vera, as a lofty kind of friend- 
 ship, resulting from the peculiar accord of their two 
 natures. He felt that he was in all respects ennobled 
 and made better by heri society. Unconsciously she 
 stimulated every good quality he possessed into greater 
 vigor. She was so pure and innocent herself that his 
 passion slept in her presence, while his higher faculties 
 of mind and heart were awakened into aspirations that 
 were as thrillingly delightful as they were foreign to all 
 his former experience. 
 
 Moreover, his conscience commended the part he was 
 acting towards her. The circumstances of their acquaint- 
 ance had been such, that every generous, sympathetic 
 trait he possessed was enlisted in her behalf. He re-
 
 244 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 garded himself as a disciple of nature and an apostle of 
 humanity. In his view, nature had been her teacher, 
 and had formed her character ; and the result confirmed 
 his theory that all should be guided by nature's teachings. 
 In their warm and growing friendship, were not they both 
 following the strong and natural impulses of their 
 hearts ? 
 
 As one devoted to the interests of humanity, he would 
 consider himself most false, did he leave this innocent 
 maiden to the perils of her peculiar isolated condition, 
 and he honestly desired to obtain for her a safe and rec- 
 ognized position in society, as soon as possible, 
 
 But the spell of her beauty grew daily upon him ; the 
 touch of her hand was acquiring subtle power to thrill 
 every nerve and fibre of his body ; the tones of her voice 
 kept repeating themselves for long hours in his heart ; 
 and before his visit was over, even the man of theories and 
 illusions was perplexed at certain peculiarities in his 
 platonic friendship. 
 
 But the woman in Vera still slumbered, and she re- 
 turned his affection with the same frank innocence as at 
 first. 
 
 After his visit to the romantic glen, life at the fort was 
 to Saville very " weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." 
 Not even the fact that the enemy might soon make a 
 demonstration up the river, could greatly divert his 
 thoughts at first, and only as the tidings from the armies, 
 under both Washington and Gates grew full of exciting 
 interest, and the prospect that the British forces in New 
 York would seek to force their way through the High- 
 lands became quite certain, did his old military ardor 
 rekindle. As all seemed quiet on Saturday evening, the 
 4th of October, he obtained permission to be absent from 
 the fort during the Sabbath. The moment the duties of 
 the day were over, he was on his way to the secluded 
 valley, which now shut in his thoughts from the outer
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 245 
 
 world almost as completely as it immured the exiles who 
 had found a refuge there. 
 
 His coming was a glad surprise to Vera, and there 
 were evidences of deeper feeling in her welcome than she 
 had ever yet manifested. 
 
 " You are not going away again from this region ? " 
 she asked eagerly. 
 
 " No't soon, that I am aware. Why ? ' 
 
 " I have had such a dreary foreboding of evil of some 
 
 kind, and last night I dreamed " and she suddenly 
 
 covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Why, Vera, this is unlike you : are you well ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but it was such a terrible dream ! " 
 
 " Tell me it, and I will explain it away." 
 
 " I dreamed that there had been a battle, and that you 
 were left wounded and dying on the ground, and I could 
 not find you," she said, in a low, shuddering tone, with 
 tears starting afresh. " Is there prospect of a battle? " 
 
 " No special prospect no more than there has been 
 for several days past ; but a soldier cannot look for any- 
 thing else." 
 
 " I wish I did not feel so," said Vera. 
 
 " Come, cheer up, my little friend. Dreams go by con- 
 traries. Never shed tears over troubles that may not 
 come ; " and he exerted himself to his utmost to banish 
 her gloomy fears. 
 
 The new log cabin, at which he also had labored 
 during his visit, was now nearly complete, and he kindled 
 a genial fire in its ample chimney -place. 
 
 He took a genuine interest in all that had been done in 
 his absence, and praised the results of each one's labor. 
 But Vera noted with pleasure that he lingered longest 
 over her handiwork. Never before had he been so kind 
 or so thoughtful of her. His mere tones and glances 
 were like caresses. But all this only made her heart 
 more full, for she could not cast off the miserable presenti-
 
 HI 
 
 tnent with which she had risen that morning. For his 
 sake, however, she disguised her feelings. 
 
 After dinner, the following day, they took a long walk 
 together, and she accompanied him well on his way back 
 to the fort. 
 
 As they were parting, she said, as she clung to his 
 hand, 
 
 " Promise me one thing if there is a battle that you 
 will not needlessly or recklessly expose yourself. What 
 would become of us if you were if you were oh ! my 
 heart almost breaks even at the thought ! If you have 
 any pity or love for me, grant what I ask." 
 
 " ' If I have any love for you,' Vera? I hardly dare 
 trust my heart to answer. Well, well, little sister, I will 
 be as prudent as a soldier can be with honor. I must 
 say good-bye at once, or I may be tempted not to go at 
 all," and for the first time he stooped down and kissed 
 her forehead. 
 
 She watched his receding figure as long as it was 
 visible, and then returned to the cabin, with an increas- 
 ing weight upon her heart. 
 
 By the time he reached the vicinity of the fort, the 
 camp-fires were lighted, and around these the men were 
 gathered, cooking the evening meal. To divert his 
 thoughts, he wandered aimlessly here and there, watch- 
 ing the strange effects of light and shadow among the 
 rocks and evergreens, and the picturesqueness of the 
 bearded men as they passed to and fro between the 
 fires. Even the coarse rations of the soldiery gave 
 forth a savory odor in the open air. From all sides 
 came the cheerful hum of voices, and from many 
 groups, the sound of laughter, or the notes of a rollicking 
 song. 
 
 " This scene has more the air of a gypsy encampment 
 than the stern aspect of war," he thought. " I wish 
 Vera could see it, for it would quite allay her fears.
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 247 
 
 What does that singing mean yonder?" and he made 
 his way to a large fire, around which numbers were 
 increasing continually. 
 
 "Oh! it's a religious meeting. There is Parson 
 Gano ! How dearly Vera would love to hear his pious 
 jargon, and would swallow it all, poor child, as un- 
 doubted truth ! Still, I am glad to note that she speaks 
 less and less of these things, and think she has a native 
 strength of mind which will enable her to outgrow her 
 superstitious trammels. Well, Gano, is a good, brave 
 fellow, if he is teaching solemn nonsense ; and out of 
 curiosity I'll stay, and hear what he has to say." And 
 he sat down under the shadow of a tree, and watched 
 the scene, as one might look an some heathenish incan- 
 tation. 
 
 The throng around the fire grew large, for the preacher 
 was a popular speaker. Officers mingled with the men, 
 as they would do in the plain meeting-houses in their 
 distant village homes ; and Saville could not help noting 
 that the serious faces lighted up by the glare of the 
 central fire, were, in the main, manly, self-respecting and 
 intelligent. 
 
 " How is it," he asked himself, " that sane and even 
 very clever people can keep up with so much pains this 
 old-fashioned mummery of religion ? Cut bono ? What 
 is the good of it all ? Here we are living in a world of 
 inexorable law and destiny, and yet multitudes are 
 praying to an old Hebrew divinity, that never had any 
 existence, as if they expected practical help! Could 
 anything be more absurd? The idea of my getting 
 down on my knees, and praying to one of Homer's 
 demi-gods ! What is it in men that makes them so 
 credulous? " 
 
 Here he suspended his soliloquy to listen to the hymn 
 which the chaplain gave out before his sermon. The 
 voices that sang it were untrained and rough, and the
 
 248 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 harmony not very smooth, and yet the critical listener 
 admitted to himself that there was a certain element in 
 the music which made it differ from a mere performance. 
 
 " Human action, however absurd and unreasonable, 
 is always impressive when earnest," he philosophized ; 
 " but, after all, what is the secret spring in man which 
 leads to this folly ? ' ' 
 
 Though not aware of it at first, he was answered by the 
 text, which was now announced : 
 
 "Jesus saith unto her, I am the resurrection and the 
 life ; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet 
 shall he live ; 
 
 " And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall 
 never die. Believest thou this ? " 
 
 " No," was Saville's decided mental response. " That 
 Jesus said this ' unto her,' is most appropriate, for it was 
 an assertion fit to be addressed only to a credulous 
 woman." 
 
 "The Being who uttered these remarkable words," 
 began the chaplain, simply standing up before the fire, 
 and talking in a familiar and fatherly way to his audi- 
 ence, "had the power to make them good ; and, there- 
 fore, we may take to our hearts all the hope and encour- 
 agement they contain." 
 
 " That is where we differ," thought Saville, rising and 
 shrugging his shoulders. " Why had the man, Jesus, 
 such power, more than other enthusiasts of the past ? 
 That is the way with all these teachers of religion. 
 They first assume what is contrary to reason, and, as a 
 matter of course, their conclusions are absurd, and often 
 monstrous. There is no use of my wasting more time 
 here." But, as he was moving away, the preacher's 
 words again caught his attention. 
 
 "To-night," said Chaplain Gano, "the scenes, even 
 within and around these military forts, are peaceful, 
 rather than warlike. The sky is cloudless, and there are
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 249 
 
 the stars looking down as steadily as the eyes of God. 
 Only the insects' chirp is heard in the dark valleys and 
 on the steeps around us. The Sabbath stillness is broken 
 by no ruder sounds than the profane mirth and songs 
 which sometimes disturb our worship. To the ear of 
 heaven, though, ribald words and laughter make harsher 
 discoid than the wildest din of battle, where freemen 
 are warring for their rights. Still, there is nothing ap- 
 parent to man, in the scenes about us to-night, to 
 awaken the emotion of fear, even in the breasts of the 
 fearful. 
 
 " But, what shall be on the morrow? Such is our un- 
 certain tenure of earthly life, we could not ask this 
 question in our peaceful homes without misgivings. But 
 how much it means to the soldiery ! Only by killing 
 many of us, do our enemies hope to put their feet again 
 upon our necks. Many of us must be slain before our 
 righteous cause can triumph. A few years, perhaps but a 
 few days do not think I am talking wildly when I say, 
 but a few hours may elapse before these warm, living 
 bodies of ours become like the clods beneath our 
 feet." 
 
 A foreboding recollection of Vera's dream came into 
 Saville's mind. 
 
 " Young man," continued the chaplain more earnestly, 
 leveling his long finger at a careless young fellow, who 
 was whispering to a comrade on the opposite side of the 
 fire, " I have no doubt that you are a brave soldier. 
 Alas ! you seem so bold that you are willing to defy 
 God as well as man. When the foe attacks these forts, 
 you will try to do your duty. But do you not realize 
 that this very duty may cause your vigorous young body 
 to be racked with dying pains? If I could tell you that 
 to-morrow evening you would be lying dead somewhere 
 in the cold starlight, what ought you to do now ? What 
 ought you and you and you to do?" he asked
 
 250 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 solemnly, sweeping his finger around the entire circle. 
 "What ought we all to do? 
 
 " Ought ? How great the privilege, rather, of creatures 
 like ourselves weak and ready to perish at all times, 
 now hourly exposed to peril how great is the privilege 
 of heeding the Divine Saviour as he cries, ' I am the 
 resurrection and the life.' If we trust and fear the One 
 who spake these words, we have naught else to fear. 
 The bullet that pierces us may be but God's swift mes- 
 senger to summon us home. Suppose our mangled 
 bodies do strew these rugged hillsides and rocky forts ! 
 The cruel foe cannot so trample them out of shape, nor 
 time so destroy them, nor the winds so scatter and 
 dissipate them, but that he, who declared, ' I am the 
 resurrection,' can raise them up, no longer dead and 
 defaced, but fashioned like unto his glorious body ; and 
 so shall we be ever with the Lord. Then why live an- 
 other hour, why go into desperate battle, without this 
 precious Friend ? 
 
 " Comrades in peril ! I have not sought to work upon 
 your fears to-night, but rather to lead you to accept a 
 faith which makes even cowards brave, and strong men 
 lions for the right. We have reason to think that we 
 shall soon meet the enemy ; but there is no foe on 
 earth, or in hell beneath, that can strike a fatal blow at 
 the honest Christ-believer and follower." 
 
 To Saville's surprise, the preacher had kept him a 
 listener until the close of his exhortation. Then with a 
 shrug, he strode away into the darkness saying, " Here, 
 I suppose, is the secret of it all. Men know they must 
 die ; these poor fellows are aware that they may be 
 knocked on the head within a few days. They all want 
 to live after they are dead (as if the very idea were not 
 absurd), and they give a ready hearing to anybody who 
 holds out the hope that they may. Well, I wouldn't 
 mind an eternal Elysium myself, if I could have the
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 251 
 
 fashioning of it. One thing is certain Vera would share 
 it with me." 
 
 As he was threading his way among the camp-fires, 
 towards his quarters, he heard his own name mentioned, 
 and naturally paused to learn in what connection it was 
 used. The voice came from beyond a clump of cedars 
 to his right, and, looking through it, he saw, just below a 
 ledge of rock, a circle of visages, differing widely in 
 character from those gathered round the chaplain's fire. 
 The physiognomy of Larry, his old servant, was the type 
 of the majority on which the flames were flickering, al- 
 though the expression of many was still more unpromis- 
 ing. But the bold, handsome face of his wife, " Captain 
 Molly," would have received the first attention, even if 
 she had not been speaking. 
 
 "Is it where yer ould masther, Saville, does be goin* 
 out in the woods that ye' re askin', Larry ? " 
 
 " Yees." 
 
 "Well, I'm a-thinkin', should ye follow his trail, ye'd 
 foind the White Witch o' the Highlands." 
 
 "It's a long day since she's been seen or heard 
 on." 
 
 " He's found her, I warrant ye ; an' moighty glad I am 
 we had nothin' to do wid the diviltry when Barney was 
 shot. He questioned me close, an' if I'd been a-lyin', ; 
 I fear he'd a-eotched me. Wherever this gal o' his'n is, 
 folks as don't want their heads broke ud better let her 
 alone." 
 
 " But what would his wife say to his galivantin' off in 
 the mountings ? ' ' asked Larry. 
 
 " Why should he care ? " said Molly carelessly. ' If 
 what ye tell me is thrue, he's got a divil for a wife, and 
 may well look for a betther one." 
 
 " 'Cordin' to that," snickered Larry, "it's me that 
 shud go galivantin' off in the mountings too." 
 
 A loud laugh followed this sally.
 
 252 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Thry it once," cried Molly, " an' ye'll foind that the 
 divil will be arther ye in a way ye'll not forgit." 
 
 " Now Molly, me darlint, ye knows I was only a-givin' 
 ye a poke in the ribs in sport, so ye needn't guv me any 
 in good earnest. My ould masther can have the White 
 Witch o' the Highlands, and the Black Witch, too, for all 
 o' me." 
 
 Saville stayed to hear no more of their low talk, but 
 hastened on, his cheeks tingling that his name had been 
 coupled with that of the maiden under such circum- 
 stances. 
 
 He sat down in his tent in no enviable mood, and, for 
 the first time, permitted his mind to dwell on the conse- 
 quences of his growing intimacy with Vera. After all, 
 would his brother officers, would the world, take a more 
 charitable view than that which he had just heard ex- 
 pressed ? He might assert that his love for Vera was 
 friendship, brotherly affection ; but he plainly foresaw 
 society's shrug of incredulity. From the depths of his 
 heart, also, a question was beginning to arise, 
 
 " Is your love for Vera fraternal or platonic only ? " 
 And he found that he could not give a prompt and positive 
 answer. Then the pledge he had made on the memor- 
 able Sabbath evening, when he sacrificed all ties to his 
 patriotism, rose up before him like a spectre. 
 
 " I shall be loyal to the name of wife, though the reality 
 I never had." 
 
 " Curses on the priest-ridden, law marred world ! " he 
 muttered, " wherein every natural impulse is thwarted. 
 If I continue to act the part of a brother towards Vera, 
 society will point its finger towards us both in scoffing un- 
 belief, and imagine the worst. If, because she is so truly 
 lovable, I come to love her more warmly, and seek for 
 some honorable solution of the problem, society will 
 heartlessly tell me that there is none, in this prudish land, 
 save open shame. I shall be informed that the combina-
 
 CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 253 
 
 tion of woman, devil, and bigot, in New York, is ray wife ; 
 that the mummery in the church made us one, when we 
 have nothing in common except our hate ; and that it is 
 foul sin for me to think of another. Where is men's 
 reason ? Why, even the instinct of this coarse, untutored 
 Irish woman hit upon a better philosophy. And yet so it 
 is, and so it will be until the broad and rational principles 
 which are revolutionizing France are accepted and acted 
 upon here. Oh ! that we had a Voltaire and a Rousseau 
 to break the chains of the past, and teach that the im- 
 pulses of the heart are right! But now, all my pure and 
 ennobling affection for Vera, and her snow-white love for 
 me, will be jumbled in the same category as the infidelity 
 of this woman, Molly, to her husband." 
 
 Further bitter musings were interrupted by the ap- 
 pearance of an orderly, with the message that his pres- 
 ence was required at once at headquarters.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 
 
 Ox reaching the tent of General James Clinton, Saville 
 found all the leading officers of the garrison already 
 assembled, and was informed that the enemy were ad- 
 vancing up the river, and had already landed large forces 
 at Tarry town and Verplanck's point. He also found that 
 Governor Clinton had just arrived, with a considerable 
 reinforcement of militia. After giving such directions as 
 were deemed necessary, Governor Clinton said, 
 
 "The enemy will probably strike Putnam at Peekskill 
 first, but we shall have our own share of fighting, no 
 doubt, and may have to do the most of it. It is well 
 known to you, gentlemen, that the garrisons are not as 
 strong as we could wish. We must double our strength 
 by doubling our courage and efforts. I shall expect every 
 man to do his whole duty. I request that the engineer 
 officers do all in their power to strengthen the unfinished 
 portions of the works." 
 
 Throughout the remainder of the night, the din of labor 
 resounded, and only towards the break of day was Saville 
 able to get a little sleep. 
 
 On awakening, he immediately repaired to the gov- 
 ernor's tent for instructions, and had scarcely reached the 
 place, when Major Logan, who had been sent with one hun- 
 dred men on a scouting expedition beyond the Dunderberg, 
 returned, with the startling information that about forty 
 boats, crowded with British troops, had landed near Stony 
 Point. 
 
 Saville, having no special command, was willing to do 
 anything which promised active and exciting service ; he
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 255 
 
 therefore volunteered to go on a reconnoissance. Gov- 
 ernor Clinton, who had learned his value in such employ- 
 ment on a previous occasion, at once accepted his offer, 
 and gave him, as a support, a lieutenant and thirty men. 
 
 Saville and his party proceeded rapidly along the moun- 
 tain-road leading from Fort Clinton to Haverstraw, and, 
 when between three and four miles out, suddenly met the 
 vanguard of the English forces, upon the rapid and 
 stealthy march which had, as its object, the surprise of 
 the forts. 
 
 The small American detachment was peremptorily 
 summoned to surrender. 
 
 " Give 'em a volley as our answer," said Saville ; and 
 the wooded defile was at once filled with the preliminary 
 echoes of the mighty uproar soon to rage among the 
 Highlands. 
 
 Under the cover of their fire, the scouting party re- 
 treated rapidly to a new point of observation, fortunately 
 none being wounded by the return fire of the enemy. 
 
 After some further skirmishing, in which the numbers 
 and purposes of the attacking force became more ap- 
 parent Saville retreated rapidly, without the loss of a 
 man, and reported. In the meantime, patrols had 
 brought word that the enemy were also advancing 
 around Bear Mountain, to the rear of Fort Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 " Putnam has been outwitted," said Governor Clinton, 
 "and we've got to take all the blows. Well, I believe 
 in giving even the devil his due ; and, in my opinion, Sir 
 Henry Clinton has executed a magnificent piece of 
 strategy. He really does honor to the name, and I am 
 quite inclined to claim relationship. We must see to it, 
 James, that we prove that the American branch of the 
 family has not degenerated," and the brother smiled 
 grimly and significantly. 
 
 Before many hours passed, Sir Henry himself would
 
 256 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 have been among the first to admit the sturdiness of the 
 colonial stock. 
 
 " It is now past noon," said General James Clinton, 
 "and yet we hear nothing from Putnam. It's very 
 strange ! " 
 
 "I will send a messenger at once to him," said his 
 brother, and a man by the name of Waterbury was dis- 
 patched. 
 
 " I hope that fellow can be depended upon, for I did 
 not like his looks overmuch," said James Clinton. " The 
 firing is growing sharp out on the Bear Mountain road, 
 and we must have reinforcements soon, if they are to be 
 of any service. There ! the firing has commenced at the 
 abatis, where the road passes Sinnipink Pond. I will 
 return to Fort Clinton at once, and do my utmost to carry 
 out the measures we have concerted." 
 
 "God be with you, brother ! Hit hard and often, and 
 remember, we won't lower the flag while we have a foot 
 of ground to fight on ! How many men did you say 
 were at the abatis by the pond ? " 
 
 " Over a hundred." 
 
 " Let them hold the point obstinately. Time is worth 
 everything to us now. Troops from Putnam must be 
 here soon. Farewell." 
 
 "Saville," continued the governor, " as you have no 
 command, you can serve me best by acting as an aide. 
 Colonels Bruyn and M'Claghrey are out on the Orange 
 Furnace road with sixty men. Tell Colonel Livingston to 
 detach thirty more to their support. Take that horse 
 yonder, ride out, learn what you can, and repoi't as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 Saville urged the poor beast at a tremendous pace up 
 the rocky way ; but, by the time he reached the point of 
 conflict, the advance skirmishers of the small American 
 force had been driven in, and Colonel Campbell, with the 
 assaulting column, was pressing on as rapidly as the nar-
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 257 
 
 row road, leading through a wild, rugged pass, permitted. 
 The enemy paused a moment, as a brass field-piece sent 
 a ball plowing into their ranks, and then, with the courage 
 and steadiness of trained soldiers, filed off, on either side 
 of the road, into the partial shelter of the wooded hill- 
 sides, and pressed on as before, in the face of a brisk fire 
 of small-arms. Their advance was so rapid, and the road 
 so rough and impracticable, that it was found impossible 
 to extricate the field-piece, and it was therefore spiked 
 and abandoned. 
 
 With these tidings, Saville returned to the fort. But, 
 while present at the affray over the field-piece, his atten- 
 tion had been caught by the occasional report of a single 
 rifle from a shaggy hillside, along which he knew the 
 enemy must be advancing, and he correctly surmised 
 that it was the exile, striking at the power he so greatly 
 dreaded. Vera's dream and presentiment flashed into 
 his mind, and he muttered, 
 
 " Poor child ! this firing no doubt causes her to imagine 
 that all her forebodings of evil will come true. I hope I 
 shall live to laugh her out of such fancies for the future." 
 
 On his way back to the fort, he had observed that Colo- 
 nel Lamb had posted himself in a commanding position, 
 with a twelve-pounder ; and the veteran had grimly re- 
 marked that they would hear from him soon. 
 
 " Return, and request Colonel Lamb to hold the enemy 
 in check as long as possible. Then cross to Fort Clinton, 
 and bring me word how things are going there. Good 
 God! Why doesn't Putnam send me help?" said 
 Governor Clinton, who was chafing like a lion in the toils. 
 
 Saville made the fire fly along the flinty road, and soon 
 regained the crest of the hill upon which Colonel Lamb 
 had posted himself with his formidable twelve-pounder. 
 The advance party, under Colonel Bruyn, were marching 
 around to the rear of the gun, within supporting distance. 
 As soon as the head of the English column showed itself,
 
 258 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Lamb opened with the precision of aim for which he was 
 famous, and his quick firing, with the havoc which it 
 made, once again, and more decidedly, checked the 
 hostile advance. 
 
 The sharp-shooters under Colonel Bruyn were seeking 
 stations among the trees and rocks, from which to gall 
 the enemy with small-arms, and aid in maintaining the 
 position, when, unfortunately, the cannon with which 
 Colonel Lamb was doing so much execution burst. The 
 British troops, with a loud huzza, rushed forward, and the 
 Americans retreated, fighting, to the fort. 
 
 When Saville reached Fort Clinton, the abatis at Lake 
 Sinnipink had been carried, and such of its defenders as 
 had not been killed and disabled were retreating rapidly, 
 with the enemy close upon them. 
 
 Coolly walking the parapet of the fort, with the bullets 
 already whistling round him, was the tall form of Chap- 
 lain Gano ; and his intrepid bearing had an excellent in- 
 fluence on the militia, most of whom were now, for the 
 first time, to face the dreaded Hessians, who were, to 
 many of the simple rustics of that day, monsters rather 
 than men. Fearful stories concerning them were rife, 
 the mildest of which being that, as they were unac- 
 quainted with the English tongue, they neither under- 
 stood nor heeded offers of surrender or cries for mercy ; 
 but bayoneted indiscriminately all who fell into their 
 hands. 
 
 The survivors of the conflict at the abatis brought 
 word that these terrible Hessians were advancing in vast 
 numbers, at which poor Larry so quaked that he could 
 scarcely serve his gun, and not a few others wished 
 themselves safe in their humble homes. But " Captain 
 Molly " rallied the spirits and courage of those near her, 
 by springing on the rampart, and calling, in her shrillest 
 tones, 
 
 " Come on, Hessians or Red-coats ; we'll trate ye all
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 259 
 
 the same, and' 11 put more bullets an' balls intil yees than 
 ye' 11 loike for supper." 
 
 " Och ! Molly, me darlint, get down," cried Larry. 
 " What wud we all do an' ye shud sthop a Hessian 
 bullit?" 
 
 But Molly recklessly kept her exposed position, gesticu- 
 lating and firing volleys of epithets towards the advanc- 
 ing foe, until ordered down by one of the officers. She 
 then descended, amid the loud huzzas and laughter of 
 scores of poor fellows whose voices would soon be hushed. 
 
 Having received such message as General James 
 Clinton desired to send to his brother, Saville galloped 
 back to Fort Montgomery, and barely escaped being in- 
 tercepted by the environing forces. 
 
 It was now four o'clock, and both the forts were fairly 
 invested. The two brave men who commanded them 
 were still hoping for aid from Putnam, and determined to 
 make as obstinate a resistance as their inadequate forces 
 permitted. 
 
 The enemy gave but brief respite, and, after a rapid 
 disposition of the assaulting columns, pushed forward to 
 the attack. By the aid of his glass, Saville could see his 
 old acquaintance, Colonel Beverly Robinson, leading 
 forward many neighbors and fellow townsmen whom he 
 knew. 
 
 It was evident that the enemy did not calculate upon a 
 very stubborn resistance, and hoped to carry the works by 
 a simultaneous attack. Therefore they advanced con- 
 fidently, and in imposing military array, expecting to awe 
 and intimidate the rustic soldiery opposed to them. But 
 the terrific and well-directed fire, both of cannon and 
 small-arms, that circled around the ramparts of both the 
 forts, soon taught them their error, and showed that the 
 keys of the Highlands could be won only by a bloody 
 battle. 
 
 Again and again they advanced to the charge, but only
 
 260 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 to be repulsed and driven back, strewing the broken and 
 rocky region with their dead and wounded. 
 
 An hour passed an hour of bloody, obstinate fight- 
 ing, on both sides in which many souls, hot with wrath, 
 mad with excitement, passed away from the scene of 
 conflict. 
 
 But, to the scanty garrison, the loss of men was a far 
 more serious matter than to the full battalions of the 
 enemy. The lines of Fort Montgomery were extensive, 
 and but partially finished ; and Governor Clinton was 
 able to repulse all attacks thus far only by good general- 
 ship and the indomitable spirit of his men. 
 
 The British officers, however, had by this time gauged 
 quite correctly the forces opposed to them, and were satis- 
 fied that they could eventually carry the works by the 
 mere weight of numbers. In order to save himself further 
 loss, Sir Henry Clinton ordered a brief cessation of hos- 
 tilities, and sent in a flag of truce, with the dire threat that, 
 unless both the garrisons surrendered within five minutes, 
 he would put all to the sword. 
 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Livingston was ordered to receive 
 the flag, and instructed to inform Sir Henry Clinton that 
 the Americans would defend the forts to the very last ex- 
 tremity. 
 
 " This putting everybody to the sword is a game that 
 two can play at," remarked the governor grimly. He 
 still had hopes that a reinforcement from Peekskill might 
 arrive at any moment, and felt sure that if he could main- 
 tain the position until the following day, he would cer- 
 tainly receive relief. 
 
 Having defiantly refused to capitulate, nothing now re- 
 mained for the garrisons but the most desperate resistance. 
 As the men in Fort Clinton saw the flag retire from the 
 open space where the parley had been held, they set their 
 teeth, and many faces grew white and stern with the de- 
 termination to sell life dearly.
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 261 
 
 The October day was drawing to a close. The sky was 
 overcast with clouds, as if heaven, offended at the rude 
 clamor of earthly passion, were frowning upon the scene. 
 
 As the flag disappeared within the hostile ranks, there 
 was, for a few moments, an awful lull and suspense. The 
 echoes of the preceding strife had died away, and there 
 was now an ominous and oppressive silence, broken only 
 by the groans of the wounded and dying. Then, from the 
 environing foe, came a hoarse and increasing murmur of 
 rage. Commands and orders were given rapidly, and the 
 storm of war broke forth more vehemently than before. 
 
 The British ships, under Admiral Hotham, had now 
 come up within range, and commenced bombarding the 
 forts and the American vessels that were anchored above 
 the chain and chevaux-de-frise, which had been stretched 
 across the river for the purpose of obstructing navigation. 
 The conflict was thus raging upon the water as well as on 
 the shore, the heavy guns of each party adding greatly to 
 the fearful uproar resounding among the mountains. 
 
 The sun was setting behind obscuring clouds, and, in 
 the early and deepening gloom, the flashes from the fire- 
 locks and cannon grew more lurid and distinct, increas- 
 ing the terrors of the scene. The garrison of Fort Mont- 
 gomery, thinned by the strife which had already occurred, 
 and compelled to defend works far too extensive and im- 
 perfect, considering its scanty number, was fighting 
 heroically, and had thus far repulsed the most determined 
 assaults. But the governor's forces were inadequate, and 
 the enemy were gaining and holding positions, in the 
 broken region in the rear of the fort, that were menac- 
 ingly near the American lines. 
 
 At one of these threatened points, Saville, who was 
 sweeping the field with his glass, saw a heavy massing of 
 British grenadiers, and he directed thegovernor's attention 
 thither. Lord Rawdon was preparing for his memorable 
 charge, which, with the supporting attacks all along the
 
 262 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 line, decided the fate of the day. As a chivalric volunteer, 
 at his side was his friend, the Count Gabrouski, a Polish 
 aide-de-camp of Sir Henry Clinton. 
 
 The governor, for a moment, scanned, with a heavy 
 frown, this thunderbolt, whose shock he must soon sustain, 
 and then made such disposition to receive it as was pos- 
 sible in the brief time allowed him. 
 
 " If we do not repulse this attack, and the worst comes 
 to the worst," he said to Saville, " cross to Fort Clinton, 
 by the foot-path, and tell my brother not to surrender, 
 but cut his way out among the hills. The darkness will 
 favor this." 
 
 Slowly and steadily at first, but with increasing speed, 
 the assaulting column advanced through the gloom, be- 
 coming every second more distinct and terrible. Can- 
 non and musket balls made gaps, but the ranks closed 
 up, leaving no more trace than the smooth surface of a 
 smitten lake. The foremost fell. The point of this 
 human entering wedge appeared to crumble, as it reached 
 the fort. The tall Polish count seemed at one moment a 
 Homeric demi-god, as he was about to spring across the 
 fosse upon the rampart. A second later, he was a weak, 
 dying man, with only strength to gasp, to the grenadier 
 who bent over him, 
 
 "Take this sword to Lord Rawdon, and tell him the 
 owner died like a soldier." 
 
 The American resistance was as vain as it was heroic. 
 The assaulting column, like a black river, flowed steadily 
 on, and by its enormous weight alone pressed everything 
 back. 
 
 "To my brother, quick, with my message," cried the 
 governor to Saville ; and by the time Saville extricated 
 himself from the fort, a hand-to-hand melee had com- 
 menced. 
 
 In his swift transit across the deep ravine, Vera's dream 
 again occurred to him, with an ominous significance and
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 263 
 
 his face grew white and rigid, with the determination un- 
 waveringly to meet the worst. But as, in this moment of 
 solitude and respite from the mad excitement of battle, he 
 realized his danger, and therefore hers, in her isolation, 
 his heart sickened. 
 
 When he entered Fort Clinton, the situation was as 
 desperate as it had been at Fort Montgomery at the mo- 
 ment of his departure.. All was confusion. In the in- 
 creasing darkness, he could not discover General Clinton. 
 At several points, the enemy seemed pouring over the 
 ramparts. Shouts, yells, curses, groans, the clangor of 
 weapons, and crash of musketry deafened and bewildered 
 him. He also noted, as proof that the enemy were tak- 
 ing the fort, that all firing of cannon had ceased on the 
 part of the Americans. Suddenly he heard, above the 
 uproar, a shrill voice, which he knew to be "Captain 
 Molly's," crying, 
 
 "Back, ye spalpeen! Fire the gun." 
 
 " Here, at least," he thought, " must be enough of our 
 troops to form a rally ing-point," and drawing his sword, 
 he rushed towards the place from whence came the voice. 
 Fugitives rushed against him ; a second later he saw 
 Larry break from the grasp of his wife, throw down his 
 lighted match, and fly. 
 
 " Divil a sthep will I rin, till that gun's fired," cried 
 Molly, seizing the match ; and, in the faces of the enemy, 
 who were climbing the rampart, she touched off the last 
 cannon that was discharged in Fort Clinton. 
 
 All this passed in a very few seconds. With a wild 
 Irish whoop of exultation, Molly turned to escape, when 
 a Hessian lieutenant laid his iron grasp upon her, and 
 raised his heavy sabre to strike . 
 
 " Wretch ! would you kill a woman?" cried Saville, 
 and he ran the man through the body. 
 
 "The Holy Vargin bless ye ! Misther Saville," ejacu- 
 lated Molly, springing away like a deer, the moment the
 
 264 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 grasp on her arm relaxed. But, looking back as she ran, 
 she saw Saville fall, from a savage bayonet thrust in his 
 breast. Then, the human wave that was surging into 
 the fort swept over him. Under the cover of darkness, 
 she leaped the parapet on the opposite side, scrambled 
 down the steep bank into the ravine of Poplopen Creek, 
 and escaped with many other fugitives, among whom was 
 General James Clinton, wounded, but indomitable in his 
 purpose not to fall into the enemy's hands. 
 
 Governor Clinton was also among the last to leave 
 Fort Montgomery. On reaching the shore of the river, 
 he saw a boat pushing away, and hailed it. The officer 
 in charge knew his voice, and caused the boat to return. 
 But it was found to be already loaded to the gunwale, 
 and the governor would not endanger the safety of its 
 occupants by entering it. The loyal officer generously 
 offered to give up his place, but the governor, equally 
 generous, would not listen to this. The enemy were 
 pressing closely, and it was agreed to try the experiment 
 of adding the weight of one more, and, to the joy of all, 
 the boat was still above the water's edge. The perilous 
 transit was made in safety, and on the further shore 
 were found five hundred men, whom the bewildered 
 Putnam had at last sent, but too late to be of any service. 
 
 The man Waterbury, whom the governor had dis- 
 patched to Peekskill, had treacherously delayed his 
 departure, and, on the following day, deserted to the 
 enemy. 
 
 On the capture of the forts, the American vessels 
 above the chevaux-de-frise slipped their cables, and 
 tried to escape up the river ; but the wind was adverse, 
 and their crews, to avoid capture, set them on fire, 
 and abandoned them. Then followed scenes that were 
 weird and awful in the extreme, forming an appropriate 
 close to the bloody drama of the day. By reason of 
 the clouds, night had come on suddenly, and was very
 
 THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 265 
 
 dark. When the torches were applied to the ships, 
 every sail was set, the cannon were loaded, and there 
 was an abundance of ammunition in the magazines. 
 In a few moments, they became 'pyramids of fire, as 
 the flames, fanned by the gale, leaped from deck to 
 mast-head. The rugged, precipitous shores were lighted 
 up as with the glare of noon, and the neighboring 
 mountains seemed like a group of giants standing around 
 their mighty camp-fires. 
 
 As the flames reached the heavy guns, they were dis- 
 charged, not as in battle, but irregularly, fitfully, as if 
 some capricious demon were directing all in accordance 
 with its mad impulses. 
 
 The region where the vessels were drifting has ever 
 been famous for its echoes, and, from the first, the 
 clamor of the strife had been repeated and augmented, 
 until it might have seemed that the combatants were 
 innumerable. But when the fire reached the magazines 
 of the ships, volcanic explosions followed, at which 
 even the granite hills appeared to tremble, and it seemed 
 as if the deep reverberations never would cease. Old 
 Gula, cowering in her rocky niche, muttered, 
 
 " Dat's de mos' awful voice I'se eber heard. I'se 
 afeared on't." 
 
 The burning wrecks were at last quenched beneath 
 the water. After all, the passions of men cannot long 
 disturb nature's deep repose, and soon silence and night 
 held undisputed sway on the river, and among the 
 mountains.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE WIFE'S QUEST AMONG THE DEAD 
 
 FOR a long time, lights had glanced hither and 
 thither on the battle-field and within the forts, and, to 
 one eager watcher in the distance, their movements had 
 seemed as erratic and meaningless as the glimmer of 
 fireflies in June. The surgeons, with their assistants, 
 were gathering up the wounded, and conveying them to 
 points where they could receive such attention as .the 
 hour and place permitted. 
 
 At last, Fort Clinton was deserted by all except an 
 occasional sentinel, and those who still lay within its 
 walls were very quiet. 
 
 At an early hour in the evening, its parapet was 
 crossed by two British officers, one of whom carried a 
 lantern, and seemed bent on an eager quest. 
 
 "I say, Vennam," asked his companion, "why are 
 you so anxious to find this Saville ? " 
 
 " For the sake of his wife." 
 
 " Nonsense ! His wife will shed no tears if you find 
 him with a bullet through his head. If all is true that I 
 have heard, she hates him like sin." 
 
 "Far more than sin, man ami," and the lantern that 
 he held down that he might peer into a dead man's face, 
 revealed the traces of recklessness and dissipation in his 
 own. " Indeed, I scarcely think she hates sin at all. 
 You are right, however, in one respect. No tears will be 
 shed, if I can find him in the condition of this carrion 
 here, unless they are tears of joy. Still, for her sake, I 
 am looking for her husband ; and, I may add, for my
 
 THE WIFE'S QUEST AMONG THE DEAD 267 
 
 own. Knowing how glad she would be to find him 
 here, snoozing quietly in the eternal sleep of which he 
 prates, I, as her proxy, am looking for him, as I prom- 
 ised. He is not among the wounded or prisoners, as 
 far as I can learn ; if I cannot find him among the dead, 
 he must have escaped, and we shall have reason to 
 curse our luck." 
 
 " Well, if you find him here, and food for the crows, 
 what then ? " 
 
 " Then I invite you to my wedding." 
 
 " Wedding, indeedjl I doubt that ! You are not one 
 to trammel yourself with a wife." 
 
 " I confess I have had prejudices against the holy state of 
 matrimony, but any other relation with my present 
 lovely charmer would involve half a dozen duels, and 
 with good shots. I wouldn't have a ghost of a chance 
 in running the gauntlet, and so I must emulate the ex- 
 ample of the good King David, and get her husband 
 out of the way. I snatched a musket and fired at him 
 twice to-day, but for once the devil did not help his own." 
 
 " By St. George ! Vennam, I should think the devil 
 would be afraid of you." 
 
 " Ha! ha! ha!" was the reckless response. "Julie 
 Saville Ashburton is not, and she is the most magnificent 
 creature I've ever seen, and I've been something of a 
 connoisseur in several lands. Besides, she's an heiress, 
 which, to a man of my tastes, is no small consideration." 
 
 " By St. George! Vennam, this turning up of dead 
 men's faces is grim business. I'm getting sick of it." 
 
 " Well, well ! you are not playing for the stake that I 
 am, so I don't wonder. Perhaps I may find him in the 
 morning. Hold ! who is that lying behind yonder big 
 Hessian? That's an officer's uniform. O ye Plutonian 
 gods ! here he is ! dead, too, as the immortal Caesar. 
 That bayonet-thrust would have killed an ox. Here's 
 to thee, Julie, and our wedding-bells ; " and, drawing a
 
 268 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 flask of wine from his pocket, he drank deeply, and then 
 passed it to his companion. 
 
 " And will the bells be rung soon? " 
 
 " Ay, that much we shall make her proud relations 
 yield. Up to a certain point, she always has her own 
 way. A soldier's life is too uncertain to wait upon the 
 slow forms of decorous custom. Besides, in this case, 
 there will be no ' funeral baked meats ' to grow cold. 
 There, I'll take his sword, if I can withdraw it from this 
 beastly Hessian, and that will be proof positive that I 
 saw him dead. Farewell, now, most accommodating of 
 husbands ! your sleep may be as ' eternal ' as you 
 like ; " and the human ghoul, who had been feasting 
 his eyes on the dead, disappeared, in the darkness, 
 towards Fort Montgomery.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 
 
 THE Sunday evening following the departure of Saville 
 had been to Vera one of peculiar sadness and depres- 
 sion. " If I only had my dear old Bible," she thought, 
 "and could turn to some of God's promises, perhaps 
 they would comfort and reassure ''me ; but, in a way 
 that I cannot understand, they have grown vague, and 
 he seems far off." 
 
 Still, she again and again tried to lift her heart to 
 heaven in prayer ; but the image of Saville would enter, 
 and absorb every thought, and the presentiment of some 
 evil or danger weighed down her spirits with increasing 
 despondency. 
 
 The night passed mainly in sleepless imaginings of 
 what might happen ; but, with the light of Monday- 
 morning, she tried to throw off the incubus, and busy 
 herself with the tasks which she knew were pleasing 
 to him. 
 
 She noted that her father appeared restless, and that 
 he at last took his rifle, and disappeared among the hills. 
 
 About the middle of the forenoon she thought she 
 heard, faint and far away, the report of fire-arms, but 
 tried to ascribe the impression to her over-wrought and 
 anxious state. But when the skirmishing commenced 
 on the Orange Furnace road, and there was no longer 
 room for doubt, her heart sank, with such an over- 
 whelming foreboding of evil, that she almost fainted. 
 
 But her native vigor and her strong affection for 
 Saville soon banished all weakness. If her presentiment 
 had any foundation, it might be that even her hand
 
 270 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 could reach and minister to him. While Vera had 
 inherited her mother's gentleness, she also had her 
 readiness to suffer anything for the sake of one she loved. 
 
 Summoning Tascar, she bade him prepare at once to 
 accompany her towards Fort Montgomery. 
 
 " Take a small ax, some food, and materials for kind- 
 ling a fire," she said. 
 
 At the same time she herself took some bandages, a 
 flask of brandy that Saville had brought, and (what 
 seemed a strange act in so gentle a- maiden) she also 
 concealed, in the folds of her dress, a keen-bladed hunt- 
 ing-knife. 
 
 " God grant I may have no use for this ! " she sighed ; 
 "but I have been taught what some men are." 
 
 By the time that the first report of the field-piece was 
 echoing through the mountains, they were on their way. 
 
 With a boldness which greatly taxed poor Tascar 's 
 courage, she approached so near the fort, that two or 
 three half-spent cannon balls splintered the rocks a little 
 below her hidden outlook. Her eyes dilated with horror, 
 as she watched the bloody conflict that was taking place 
 almost at her feet. Her keen eyesight enabled her to see 
 men falling within the fort, as the strong north wind swept 
 aside the smoke. At times she could scarcely resist the 
 wild impulse to rush through the ranks of the intervening 
 enemy, and assure herself that Saville was not among 
 those who lay motionless within the ramparts, or who 
 were being carried to a more sheltered position. Soon all 
 became dusky and obscure in the early descending night. 
 The lurid flashes grew more distinct, and these indicated 
 that the besiegers were drawing continually nearer the 
 besieged. As the lines of fire drew nearer and nearer, 
 she pressed her hands upon her throbbing heart. Then 
 there? came a great shout. With lips parted, and eyes 
 wild with terror, she sprang to the edge of the cliff. A 
 dark mass was entering the fort. The flashes became
 
 VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 271 
 
 intermingled, irregular ; they receded towards the river 
 and the northeast side of the fort, and at last ceased. 
 
 She sat down, and covered her face with her hands, as 
 she moaned shudderingly, 
 
 " He is lying yonder, bleeding or dying. I feel it I 
 know it ! O Tascar ! ' what shall we do ? ' ' 
 
 But the poor boy could give no advice in this emer- 
 gency. 
 
 Voices approached, and soon a stream of fugitives es- 
 caping to the mountains began to pass near where they 
 had posted themselves., 
 
 " Quick, Tascar ! " said Vera. " Let us go to the edge 
 of the path. You ask for Mr. Saville, and say you are 
 his servant. I will hide within hearing." 
 
 This plan was at once carried out. 
 
 " O God ! grant that he may be among these who have 
 survived," she sighed. 
 
 In response to Tascar's eager questions, several replied 
 that they had seen Saville during the fight, but did not 
 know where he was now. 
 
 The last weary and wounded straggler seemingly had 
 passed, and Vera's hope was dying, when another step 
 was heard, and a woman's voice was heard complaining. 
 
 " I hope poor Larry's aloive. I've tried so long to foind 
 him, I've got ahint all the rest." 
 
 " O Captain Molly ! " began Tascar. 
 
 ' ' Och ! ye spalpeen ; how ye stharted me. Me nerves 
 is all shuck up ! " 
 
 " But, hab you seen Mas'r Saville ? " 
 
 "Is ye the little nig he had a few days, and thin sent 
 off in the mountings?" 
 
 " Yeh ; and I wants to find him po'ful bad." 
 
 " I'm sorry to tell ye, I'm afeard ye won't. God rest 
 his sowl ! " 
 
 With a wild cry, Vera sprang out, and grasped the 
 woman's arm.
 
 272 NEAR TO NATURES HEART 
 
 " Speak ; what do you mean? " she demanded. 
 
 " Holy Vargin ! " gasped Molly. " I thought yees was 
 a cat o' the mountings. Be ye the one they call the white 
 witch ? " 
 
 " No ; I'm a poor, orphaned girl ; and Mr. Saville was 
 my brother my only friend. Tell me, have you seen 
 him ? ' ' 
 
 " Now, bless the poor young crather's heart, what kin 
 I tell her?" groaned Molly, turning away and beginning 
 to sob. 
 
 " You have told me all," said Vera, feeling as if turn- 
 ing into stone. " He is dead." 
 
 " I'm afeard he is, unless the saints has kept him aloive 
 for the good turn he did for sich a poor wicked divil as I 
 be. He saved me life he kilt the big Hessian as was 
 killin' me ochone, ochone ! " and Molly, in the exuber- 
 ance of her feeling, sat down, and rocking herself back 
 and forth, uttered a wild Irish wail of sorrow. 
 
 Vera's face grew almost as rigid as the granite on which 
 she stood. After a few moments she said, 
 
 " You say he saved your life ? " 
 
 " He did, ochone ! he did, God rest his sowl ! " 
 
 " If any one had saved my life," continued Vera, in a 
 tone that was almost taunting, " I would not sit down and 
 weakly whine about him." 
 
 " Now what do ye mane by that ? " cried Molly, start- 
 ing up, and dashing away her tears. 
 
 " I mean that if he saved your life, you ought to be 
 willing to try to save his. You are a strong woman, and 
 have lived among soldiers ; but I will see if you are as 
 brave as a timid young girl. Will you go with me, and 
 bring him away, dead or alive ? " 
 
 " Faix an' I will," cried Molly sturdily. " I loikes this 
 betther'n cryin' about him. Besides, I know jist where 
 to look for him. It was behint Larry's gun he fell, and 
 I could go there wid me eyes blinded. What's more, no
 
 VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 273 
 
 gal, nor man nayther, dares do what Molly O'Flarharty 
 darsent." 
 
 But Captain Molly's heroic fire was suddenly quenched 
 for a few moments ; for Vera threw herself upon her 
 neck, with sobs that caused the young girl's slight frame 
 to quiver almost convulsively. 
 
 " Ye poor little tender-hearted crather," said Molly, 
 crying in sympathy ; " yees jist as human as I be ; and I, 
 like a pig-headed fool, was a-thinkin' ye was a witch ! 
 Yees isn't able to go on any sich dare-divil irrend as 
 snatchin' a body out o' the jaws of that orful baste they 
 call the British lion." 
 
 " Wait a moment," said Vera, growing calm. " I shall 
 be the better for these tears. I am, indeed, but a weak 
 child ; but for Mr. Saville I could die a thousand deaths. 
 Come." 
 
 "Well," said Molly, with a shrug, " it's only honest in 
 me to risk one life for him, afther what he did for me. 
 So I'm wid ye." 
 
 " You habbeen kind to my ole mudder," said Tascar, 
 " and I'll go wid you, too. Mas'r Saville is po'ful heavy, 
 and'll take a sight ob liftin'." 
 
 " We must wait a bit," said Molly, " till them Britishers 
 git the wounded gathered in. That's what they are doin' 
 now where them lights is movin' "round." 
 
 " But they will carry him off to die somewhere else," 
 cried Vera, in great distress. 
 
 " No, child ; if they carry him off, the docthers'll take 
 care of him. So, if we doesn't find him by the gun, ye 
 kin comfort yer heart wid the thought that he's doin' well 
 somewhere. If we shud go down there now, before they 
 all git aslape, they wud treat us moighty oncivil." 
 
 " You are right," said Vera. " But it is desperately 
 hard to wait." 
 
 " We hain't ready to go yit," continued Molly. "We 
 must thry to rig up sumthin' to carry him on, or else I'll
 
 274 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 have to stale a stretcher down there, and that may be 
 risky." 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Vera, catching the 
 thought quick as light. " WithTascar's help, I can soon 
 make one. Tascar, cut two long straight poles." 
 
 While the boy was obeying, Vera drew her hunting- 
 knife, and feeling around among the copse-wood, selected 
 tough and very slender young saplings. Having secured 
 a sufficient number, she twisted them back and forth 
 across the poles, and secured them in their places with 
 some fibrous bark, which she was not long in discovering. 
 Never did her thorough wood-craft serve a better purpose 
 than in this emergency. 
 
 "Ye're a moighty handy little thing," said Molly. 
 " When did ye learn all these things ? " 
 
 " My heart would teach my hands to do anything that 
 is needful to-night. Can we not go now ? " 
 
 " Not jist yet. Sit down and rest yerself." 
 
 " As if I could rest ! Oh ! do let us go. It will be a 
 comfort to get a few inches nearer. What a wild night it 
 promises to be ! ' The bleak winds do sorely ruffle.' " 
 
 " All the better for us ! There'll not be so many 
 abroad. They're gittin' quiet, an' I think we may stale 
 up a bit towards the place now. We've got to take quite 
 a woide turn, anyhow, to git around the creek, for they'll 
 have guards at the bridges. I know a place down here 
 on the right, where we kin git over." 
 
 The strangely assorted group now started on their 
 most perilous adventure, Molly leading, because familiar 
 with the region, and Tascar bringing up the rear with the 
 rude but strong stretcher which Vera had improvised. 
 Molly's early years had made her perfectly familiar with 
 the wild mountain region through which they must find a 
 path, and she threaded her way quite as readily as Vera 
 would have done in her own haunts. 
 
 " I've fished up and down this creek often enough to
 
 VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 275 
 
 know every inch of it," said Molly, who was now as 
 eager to serve Vera as she had once been to get her into 
 trouble, for being so " stuck up an' oncivil loike ; " 
 and she was not long in leading her little party to a 
 place where the shallow stream could be easily crossed. 
 Then they ascended the further bank by a slanting path 
 that led towards Fort Clinton. 
 
 "We must git well up on the hill," said Molly, "for 
 they won't be a-lookin' for anybody on the mounting 
 sides, and thin we kin crape intil the fort right by Larry's 
 gun. Ochone, Larry, me darlint! I've been kind o' 
 rough on ye sometoimes, an' if we both git through this 
 wild night's work, I'll thry to be more aisy on ye. I 
 tell you what 'tis, Miss Brown, when ye' re ' 'twixt the 
 divil an' the dape say,' as I've heerd some o' the sailor 
 sogers spake, ye think on ivery oncivil thing ye iver 
 said or did. May all the saints be wid us ! Faix, an' 
 they ought to be ! " she concluded, with sudden em- 
 phasis. "Ain't we a -thryin' to do as good a job as 
 they iver did ? " 
 
 By this time Molly had reached the end of her the- 
 ology, and exhausted her sentiment ; but her practical 
 energies and shrewdness seemed inexhaustible. With 
 firm yet stealthy tread, she led them down into the 
 neighborhood of the fort, and her familiarity with mili- 
 tary life enabled her to suspect just where guards and 
 sentinels would be placed. 
 
 " Their fires show that they're down towards the river, 
 loike," she whispered ; " an' that's good for us, too. If 
 they git afther us, we must cut roight back on the patli 
 we come, as no one could foller it who didn't know it. 
 Now step loight, an' keep yer mouths shut, for we're 
 gittin' ticklish near." 
 
 Fortunately, the early part of the night was so dark 
 that they must have stumbled immediately upon some 
 one to be observed. As they approached quite neai
 
 276 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the fort, they heard a sentinel walking his beat. As 
 his steps receded they slipped by, and sprang down into 
 the ditch under the parapet, and then crouched a few 
 moments, scarcely daring to breathe. 
 
 " Give me yer knife," whispered Molly. "I've stuck 
 many a pig in my day, an' I'll stick a Hessian yes, 
 two or three on 'em afore they'll git sich a holt on me 
 as that big feller had as is lyin' dead over there." 
 
 Vera shuddered, but complied. 
 
 "Now," continued Molly, slowly rising, "let me git 
 my bearin's, so we kin climb in jist beside Larry's gun." 
 
 The dark outline of the mountain soon satisfied her 
 how to proceed, and she said, " Come around this way 
 a bit." 
 
 Stumbling, with thrills of horror, over the dead that 
 lay in the fosse, Vera followed. Suddenly Molly whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Hist, down ! " 
 
 Footsteps approached, but died away again. 
 
 " Now wait a bit where ye are. I think this is the 
 gun, and kin tell soon as I fale of it. Ah ! ye ould 
 bulldog, this is ye, thrue anuff. I made ye bite 'em the 
 last toime, didn't I, ye good ould baste? " 
 
 Vera was at her side instantly, whispering, " Was it 
 here he fell? Oh! quick, quick! I cannot endure 
 this suspense a moment longer." 
 
 " Not too fast, or we may spoil iverythin' yit. I'll 
 cloimb up this side o' the gun, and ye on that side. 
 Let the bhoy bide down here till we call him. Aisy 
 loike, now," she cautioned, as Vera, with a bound, was 
 up beside the cannon. " Let us look over and listen."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE WOMAN IN VERA AWAKES 
 
 IN falling, Saville was not so stunned but that he had 
 sufficient presence of mind to make the huge Hessian 
 he had killed a sort of rampart against the thronging 
 enemy, and the man who had bayoneted him was carried 
 forward with the impetuous advance of the victors. 
 He was well content to be somewhat trampled, instead 
 of receiving another thrust which would pin him to the 
 earth. 
 
 Almost his first thought was, "Vera's dream comes 
 true. I am desperately wounded, perhaps dying ; and 
 she, poor child, in sad truth, can never find me here." 
 
 As the rush of battle swept away elsewhere, so that he 
 could venture to move, he tried, by feeling, to learn the 
 nature of his wound, and found, with a thrill of hope, 
 that a thick memorandum-book in his breast-pocket had 
 caused the bayonet to glance from his vitals into his 
 shoulder, inflicting what seemed only a flesh wound. 
 
 He soon became aware, however, that it was a deep 
 one, and that he was losing blood rapidly. His main 
 hope now was, that he might not become unconscious 
 before the surgeons gathered up the wounded ; and yet 
 he now dared show no sign of life, or assume any posi- 
 tion that would attract notice ; for the brutal Hessian 
 soldiery were raging around the fort, often striking down 
 the wounded who begged for mercy ; so he turned over 
 upon his face, and thus passed for one of the dead. 
 When it became evident to the British officers that all 
 resistance was over, they called off the "dogs of war," 
 and soon none were left near Saville except those as
 
 278 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 helpless as himself. He now ventured to turn over 
 again, and then tried to sit up, but found himself too 
 weak. 
 
 Not far away, he heard a wounded man repeating to 
 himself the text the chaplain had chosen the previous 
 evening : 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life ; he that believeth 
 in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 
 
 "And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall 
 never die." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " thought Saville ; " believing that, he 
 can die easily, and, after ceasing to be, can have no 
 disappointment over his illusion. And yet, situated as 
 we are, one might well wish that it were all true. Oh ! 
 that a surgeon would come." 
 
 The surgeon was coming, but his blood and strength 
 were ebbing fast. In the fierce excitement of the day, 
 he had eaten scarcely anything ; and this abstinence, 
 together with his previous night of toil and the loss of 
 blood, made a fearful drain upon his vital powers. 
 When, a little later, the light of a lantern was carelessly 
 flashed upon his pallid face, the man who held it mut- 
 tered, " He's done for," and passed on to those giving 
 signs of life. 
 
 The deep swoon lasted while his wife's lover feasted his 
 murderous eyes upon him. 
 
 Had Vera's prayers received no answer? Why had 
 he seemed like the dead, when a man stood over him 
 who would have stamped out the faintest apparent spark 
 of life ? Why does he revive again, now that Vera is 
 stealing towards the fort ? 
 
 Slowly he became conscious of what had happened, of 
 his desperate situation. He felt that the deep sighs that 
 heaved his breast caused the slight remnant of his blood 
 to ooze more rapidly. He was now sure that he would 
 die.
 
 THE WOMAN IN VEBA AWAKES 279 
 
 " Poor mother ! " he groaned. " Dear, kind mother ! 
 you will have a dreary old age." 
 
 A light step was gliding swiftly towards him. 
 
 "O Vera ! " he murmured ; "my more than sister, 
 my heart's true mate ! How can I enter on my long, 
 dreamless sleep, and leave you waking and suffering ? ' ' 
 
 She knelt beside him, sobbing. 
 
 " Theron, I have found you ! Thank God ! " 
 
 " Is this real ? " he said, in a husky voice. 
 
 " It is feel my warm hand; it's strong as a man's 
 to rescue you ! There are others here to help. Courage ! 
 O God ! spare him, spare him, or let me die also ! " 
 
 " Hist, aisy now," warned Molly. " Kape all yees 
 perty sayin's till we're out o' this divil's nest o' Hessians. 
 Give him some brandy, while I call the bhoy wid the 
 sthretcher." 
 
 As Vera put the flask to his lips, she whispered, 
 
 "You will live; you will not die, and break my 
 heart ? " 
 
 " If mind has any power over matter, I wz'//live," he 
 said doggedly, " and more for your sake than my own. 
 From henceforth my life is yours, my peerless Vera. 
 How, in the name of wonder, have you reached me ? " 
 
 " Don't speak now. Save every atom of strength. 
 Lay the stretcher here, Tascar. Lift him gently now with 
 me." And, as if endowed with tenfold her usual power, 
 she put her arms under his shoulders, and lifted him on 
 the green boughs that she had twined for the purpose. 
 
 "You are an angel of mercy," said Saville. 
 
 "Hush! Now, Molly! " 
 
 "Git out o' the way, ye bloody spalpeen! " snarled 
 Molly, giving the poor Hessian whom Saville had slain a 
 contemptuous push with her foot. " I'm glad ye got yer 
 desarts." 
 
 With some difficulty they made their way over the 
 parapet and fosse with their burden, and then started
 
 280 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 rapidly for the hills. When a little beyond the sentinel, 
 Tascar stepped on a dry stick, which cracked sharply. 
 
 " Who goes there ? " challenged the sentinel instantly. 
 
 " Whist ! let the stretcher down a minute. If he comes 
 to see, I'll fix him ; " and she went back a few feet, and 
 crouched like a panther at the side of the path. 
 
 As there were no further sounds, the man evidently 
 thought that it was some animal in the woods, and con- 
 tinued walking his beat. 
 
 With throbbing hearts and stealthy tread, they again 
 pressed on, Molly following, with the hunting-knife, as a 
 sort of rear-guard ; and they soon breathed freer, with a 
 growing sense of security. 
 
 " Let me spell ye now," said Molly to Vera. " I've 
 got a stronger back, if not a stouther heart, than yees." 
 
 They were not very long in reaching the place where 
 the ax, provisions, and material for kindling a fire had 
 been left. Vera took up these, and for an hour they 
 toiled on, with frequent rests. Saville often essayed to 
 speak, but Vera enjoined silence, and, when he grew 
 faint, she put the flask to his lips. 
 
 At last they found a secluded place, quite out of the 
 course that any of the fugitives would take, and hidden 
 from the enemy in the forts by intervening hills. A brook 
 ran near, and Saville' s thirst was growing very painful. 
 Vera thought they might venture to rest here, and kindle 
 a fire. They were all desperately weary, and in need of 
 food. Saville, also, was growing so weak that he might 
 again become unconscious. Vera asked Molly to help 
 Tascar gather dry wood, saying that she would wait on 
 Mr. Saville, for she esteemed this so great a privilege that 
 she was unwilling to share it. 
 
 " Never was there such music, excepting your voice, 
 Vera, as the babble of that brook," said Saville feebly. 
 " I have heard of the thirst of the wounded, but did not 
 know what it was before."
 
 THE WOMAN IN VERA A WAKES 281 
 
 Taking a cup from the bundle she had carried Vera 
 soon placed a cool draught to his lips. He held her hand, 
 as he drarrk eagerly. 
 
 " Oil ! that gives me life," he said. " Did you mutter 
 any potent words over this cup? " 
 
 " My every breath is a prayer for you," she said. 
 
 "It seems to me that you are answering your own 
 prayers, my sweet divinity. I shall worship you while I 
 have breath to pray or praise." 
 
 " Your mind is wandering, Mr. Saville." 
 
 " Never from you." 
 
 " Hush ! you must not talk." 
 
 " Like all other devotees, I find it easier to worship than 
 to obey." 
 
 " Please don't speak in this manner, Mr. Saville. I 
 am so grateful to God for having spared you that your 
 words pain me." 
 
 " And I am so grateful to you that I can scarcely find 
 words that mean enough. May I live to show you how I 
 feel ! Do not call me Mr. Saville any more." 
 
 " Do you not think I had better try to dress your wound 
 by the light of the fire, Theron? " 
 
 " Yes, do ; your very touch is healing." 
 
 She took out her bandages, and bade Tascar heap light 
 wood on the fire. Then, laying her sharp hunting-knife 
 within reach, she set about her delicate and difficult task. 
 But her beautiful face, as she bent over him, revealed only 
 the deepest solicitude for him, and not a particle of embar- 
 rassing self-consciousness. She first took from his pocket 
 the torn and deeply indented little memorandum-book. 
 
 " Theron," she exclaimed, " this saved your life ! " 
 
 "I think it did. It was fortunate that it was in that 
 pocket instead of the other." 
 
 " Fortunate ! Oh ! why do you use such meaningless 
 words ? It was so much more than fortunate ! Will you 
 give the book to me ? "
 
 282 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She pressed her lips upon it, and hid it in her bosom. 
 
 Then Molly and Tascar were surprised to hear Saville's 
 audible laugh, but tears were in Vera's eyes. 
 
 " Alack! " she sighed, dashing them away ; " I am a 
 foolish child, and not equal to this work. I must cut your 
 coat, Theron." 
 
 " Yes," said he ; " pass your knife up my sleeve ; cut 
 all away around my throat. It will not do for me to move 
 much. I can direct you somewhat, for I know a little of 
 surgery. On entering the service I foresaw wounds, but 
 no such blissful experience as this." 
 
 " Only speak in directing me," said Vera, deftly doing 
 his bidding. "Oh! what an awful gash! " and for a 
 moment she covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " I tell you I am going to live, Vera. I feel it in every 
 nerve and fibre of my body. How does the cut run ? " 
 
 "Across the upper part of your breast, into your 
 shoulder. ' ' 
 
 " You see it is a flesh wound merely. Remove only the 
 clots of blood that prevent you from pressing the sides of 
 the cut together. Now bandage as tightly as you can 
 around my shoulder. There, that is right. How in- 
 finitely different your touch is from that of a half-drunk 
 British surgeon ! Suppose that in your place, my dainty 
 Ariel, my ministering spirit, a broad-faced Hessian butcher 
 were bending over me, bungling away with fingers as hard 
 as his heart! That will do. Now cover all up well, so 
 there may be no danger of my taking cold, and then rest 
 yourself. ' ' 
 
 " I will rest when you are out of danger. You must 
 take some food now." 
 
 " Not much. We must run no risk of inflammation." 
 
 Again she brought water from the brook, and dipping 
 the hard, dry bread into it, fed him as she would a child. 
 She saw that his head did not rest comfortably, and so
 
 THE WOMAN IN VERA AWAKES 283 
 
 she lifted it gently into her lap. But, as she did so, there 
 came a wanner glow into her face than the ruddy fire- 
 light warranted. 
 
 " I will waken you," she said, " when it is time to re- 
 sume our journey home." 
 
 " Home ! How sweet that word sounds, as you speak 
 it!" 
 
 " Hush! hush! " 
 
 " Well, then, good-night, Vera. This is not the dream- 
 less sleep that I was dreading in Fort Clinton." And 
 almost instantly he sank into quiet slumber. 
 
 Molly and Tascar, as soon as they found that they 
 could do nothing more to serve Vera, had thrown them- 
 selves down by the fire, and were soon in deep oblivion. 
 But the young girl, with eyes as clear and steady as the 
 stars which now shone brightly, watched through the 
 silent hours. 
 
 She had never had less inclination to sleep. There was 
 a strange, delicious tumult in her heart. She thought it 
 was gladness and gratitude for Saville's escape. She 
 thought it was hope for the future. She would under- 
 stand, by and by, that it was far more. A hand was on 
 the door of the inner chamber of her heart. Its silence 
 was broken by a voice whose echoes would never cease. 
 During the agony, the fear, the awful suspense, of that 
 eventful day, Vera had ceased to be a child, and had 
 become a woman strong to act and to suffer. And now 
 that the man, on whom she had leaned as might a younger 
 sister, and whom she regarded as a superior being, far 
 beyond and above her, had become utterly helpless 
 dependent on her for existence woman-like, she began 
 to love him as only a woman could love, and with the 
 same spirit of self-sacrifice and self-forgetfulness which 
 had been the characteristic of her mother. 
 
 Innocent love is happiness ; it brings its own reward ; 
 and the more unselfish it is, the more profoundly it satisfies.
 
 284 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 The world began to grow more beautiful to Vera, even 
 on that chill autumn night, and the sounds of nature to 
 make sweet chords with the new and mysterious impulses 
 of her heart. The brook sang to her as of old, when she 
 was a child ; but now with richer, deeper meanings ; the 
 chirp of the crickets seemed cheery and companionable ; 
 the light of the stars grew kindly and sympathetic. A 
 stag, attracted by the fire, came and stood in the outer 
 circle of light, and gazed at her a moment with his large, 
 wistful, questioning eyes. With something of her old 
 mirthfulness, she shook her finger at him, as if he were 
 an unruly child, that might disturb the sleeper over whom 
 she was watching, and the timid creature bounded 
 away. 
 
 The hours passed swiftly, with strange, happy thoughts 
 and fancies flashing up in her mind, as little understood 
 as the mysterious aurora that was illuminating the north- 
 ern sky. 
 
 The young girl was consciously puzzled by the fact 
 that she was beginning to look forward to Saville's 
 awakening with something like shyness and embarrass- 
 ment ; her heart fluttered at the very thought. Hereto- 
 fore, she had lifted her eyes and face to his with no more 
 self-consciousness than that of a flower opening to the 
 morning sun. And yet, that which she half dreaded she 
 anticipated with a new and vague delight. 
 
 Her finger often sought his pulse, and her confidence in - 
 creased, as she found that it was quiet and even, though 
 feeble. 
 
 As dawn began to tinge the eastern horizon, he seemed 
 to grow uneasy. His brow contracted heavily, and, 
 bending down, she heard him mutter, 
 
 " Stand aside ; your power to curse my life has gone." 
 
 Then, after a little, his face became calm and quiet for 
 a while. But soon another painful dream disturbed him, 
 and from broken words and sentences it was evident that
 
 THE WOMAN IN VEBA A WAKES 285 
 
 he was living over the terrible scenes in Fort Clinton. 
 Suddenly he said, quite plainly, 
 
 " Vera, my heart's true mate, how can I leave " 
 
 and he started up, and looked wildly around for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Theron," said Vera gently, " it's only a dream ; and 
 dreams, you told me, ' go by contraries.' ' 
 
 He looked at her earnestly a moment, and then asked, 
 " What has happened? " 
 
 " I dreamed that you would be wounded, and alas! it 
 came true. I also dreamed that I could not find you ; but, 
 thank God ! the contrary was true." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; it all comes back to me now. You found 
 me dying in the fort." 
 
 " But you promised to live," said Vera, with a sudden 
 chill of fear. 
 
 " Did I ? My head is confused. Will you please give 
 me a little water ? ' ' 
 
 Trembling with apprehension, she hastened to the 
 stream, and returned with the cool and refreshing water. 
 This awakening was so different from what she ex- 
 pected. 
 
 After taking the water he seemed better, and his eyes 
 sought hers wistfully and questioningly. 
 
 " I am very weak," he said ; " you must be patient 
 with me." 
 
 " O Theron ! live ! live ! that is all I ask ! " 
 
 " I feel that I shall, Vera ; but it may be long before I 
 am well. You were holding my head when I awoke." 
 
 "Let me support it again," she said blushing, and she 
 lifted his head into her lap. 
 
 " I want to see your face." 
 
 " No, no," she answered hastily ; " look at the beauti- 
 ful dawn yonder." 
 
 " Your face is to me more beautiful and more full of 
 hope than the morning. Are you sure that you are well ?
 
 286 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 I have had such painful dreams. Please let me see you 
 and reassure myself." 
 
 She moved so as to comply with his wish, and as he 
 fixed his eyes eagerly upon her face, it drooped, and a 
 warmer light stole into it than glowed in the eastern sky. 
 
 " I do see the dawn in your face," he said, " and it 
 grows more lovely every moment. Have you been 
 watching over me all the long night? " 
 
 "It has not seemed long," she faltered. 
 
 ' Vera ! ' ' 
 
 She raised her eyes timidly to his, but they soon fell 
 again before his ardent gaze. 
 
 " Vera, your face contains the true elixir of life, I shall 
 get well, never fear ! " 
 
 " O Theron ! I am so glad so very happy. But if you 
 cannot sleep any more, had we not better try to get 
 home ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, in a voice of deep content ; " take 
 me home." 
 
 She was glad to escape. Arousing Tascar and Molly, 
 they were soon on their way to the secluded mountain 
 gorge, in which was the rude cabin, which, to Saville, 
 promised to be a haven of rest such as he had never 
 known before.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 VERA'S ONLY CRIME 
 
 AFTER a toilsome, difficult journey, during which 
 Saville's wound became very painful, they reached the 
 cabin. Old Gula met them with a scared expression on 
 her wrinkled face, but was overjoyed at finding Tascar 
 and Vera safe. 
 
 " I'se had an orful time," she said. "Strange, loud 
 voices, speakin' among de hills, an' I didn't know what 
 dey mean. Den Mas'r Brown come home wild and 
 drefful, a-cryin' dat all was lost. Den he sat a long time 
 like a stun. All on a sudden he ask, ' Whare's Vera?' 
 I telled him dat you took Tascar, and went away yester- 
 day mornin'. And he began to go on orfully agin, and 
 took de big gun and went arteryou." 
 
 " Well," said Vera, with a sigh, " if he does not come 
 soon, I will try to find him. Mr. Saville has been badly 
 wounded, and we must all do our best for him. You get 
 us some breakfast. Tascar, make a fire on the hearth in 
 the cabin, and then help your mother. Molly, will you 
 help me carry Mr. Saville in? " 
 
 They laid him down on the cabin floor, and Vera 
 brought a pillow, saying, as she placed it under his head, 
 " You are at home, Theron," and was well rewarded by 
 his contented smile. 
 
 One end of the cabin had been partitioned off into two 
 apartments. In one of these a couch was prepared for 
 Saville ; but, as they were about to carry him thither, Mr. 
 Brown entered in strong excitement, exclaiming, 
 
 " Great God ! Vera. What does this mean ? "
 
 288 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Hush, father ! " 
 
 " Are you bent on my destruction ? Why have you 
 brought this strange woman here ? ' ' 
 
 " I'm not so moighty strange," snapped Molly. 
 
 " Mr. Brown," said Saville, in his old, significant tone. 
 
 The exile turned tremblingly to him. 
 
 "You are safe, as I told you, just as long as you do 
 exactly as I direct. Sit down there and rest, and all will 
 be well." 
 
 The man obeyed, but was evidently dissatisfied, and 
 under great perturbation. 
 
 Before the day was over, both Vera and Saville were 
 satisfied that the services of a surgeon would be required. 
 Molly was anxious to depart, that she might find her 
 husband, Larry. Vera therefore decided, without con- 
 sulting her father, to send Tascar with her across the 
 mountains to New Windsor. Molly thought that all who 
 had escaped from the forts would probably be in that 
 region, and said that she knew the way well, after she got 
 down near to the river ; so it was arranged that they 
 should go early the next morning. 
 
 Saville slept a great deal of the time, and seemed 
 strengthened by the nourishing broth which Gula made 
 for him. His deep content, and the anticipation of 
 Vera's society and care, did more than anything else to 
 forward recovery. 
 
 The next morning, Molly and Tascar departed. Vera 
 accompanied them, and directed the boy to blaze the 
 trees until the path became plain. Molly did not tell 
 Vera that she had learned from her husband a great 
 deal about Saville's previous life, nor did she hint that 
 he had a wife living in New York. The redoubtable 
 "captain's" ideas concerning morals were rather con- 
 fused, at best ; but, in this case, she acted in accordance 
 with such light as she had, and her reasoning was simple, 
 if not correct. Saville had saved her life ; and, whether
 
 VERA'S ONLY CRIME 289 
 
 he was right or wrong, she was in honor bound not to- 
 put a straw in his way ; and, from what Larry had told 
 her about Saville's wife, she felt that no one had a truer 
 right than he to find a better one. 
 
 Towards the close of the following day Tascar re- 
 turned, and, to Vera's great joy, was accompanied by 
 her old acquaintance, Surgeon Jasper. He pronounced 
 Saville's wound severe, but not dangerous, if he had 
 good care and nursing ; " and that, I know, he will get," 
 he added, with a glance that brought the rich color into 
 Vera's face, which, for some reason that she could not 
 understand, was now so ready to come and go. 
 
 " I am here, prepared to stay a few days," said the 
 kind surgeon ; " and when I leave, good living and 
 sleep will be all that are needed, I think." 
 
 "How can I repay you?" exclaimed Vera, taking 
 his hand. 
 
 "No occasion for thanks," was the brusque reply. 
 " This is my business, and we can't afford to lose such 
 good soldiers as Saville." 
 
 Her father chafed greatly, at first, when he found that 
 another stranger had learned of his hiding-place, but 
 the man was so genial and frank, and the fact that he 
 had been at the bedside of Vera's mother partially rec- 
 onciled the exile to his presence. The surgeon, also, 
 raised his hopes that the American cause was not hope- 
 lessly lost, as he had believed on the capture of the forts. 
 
 Under skilled treatment, Saville's wound healed rap- 
 idly, and he was soon able to sit up before the fire on 
 the ample hearth of the cabin. The genial surgeon 
 was the life of the party during the long autumn even- 
 ings, and to Vera these hours were ever remembered as 
 among the happiest of her life. 
 
 Whenever it was possible, she found Saville's eyes 
 following her with an expression that warmed her very 
 soul ; but she, in her innocence, imagined that his rapid
 
 290 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 recovery was the cause of the springs of joy welling up 
 in her heart. 
 
 But, as Saville grew stronger, he often fell into gloomy 
 fits of musing, which perplexed and distressed her. She 
 also noted a troubled expression on the surgeon's face, 
 as some little act on the part of Saville suggested that 
 his feelings were warmer than gratitude or friendship 
 inspired. 
 
 Jasper knew that Saville had a wife, and, moreover, 
 that she was a wife only in name. He felt that Vera 
 was too fine a girl to be trifled with ; but as she was 
 situated, the man to whom she had unconsciously given 
 her heart might do more to make than mar her happi- 
 ness. At any rate, the surgeon, who was a man of the 
 world, concluded that it was not his business to interfere, 
 and so at last took his departure in his wonted jovial 
 manner. 
 
 " I suppose you won't thank me, Saville," he said, 
 "for taking you away from this fairies' bower; but I 
 shall report to the governor that you will be fit for duty 
 in a month." 
 
 " I shall not forget that I am a soldier," said the 
 young man, flushing ; " and you may see me in less 
 time." 
 
 After the surgeon's departure, Saville's moody fits did 
 not cease, but rather increased. While he was exceed- 
 ingly kind and gentle, Vera saw that he was passing 
 under some kind of restraint ; his eyes did not seek hers 
 with the old, frank, ardent expression ; and, at times, 
 she observed him regarding her furtively, and with such 
 a sad, wistful look, that she began to shed tears in 
 secret, though, with womanly instinct, she tried to 
 appear cheerful, and blind to all changes in him. 
 
 But when his growing distress of mind began to retard 
 his recovery, she felt that she could endure it no longer. 
 One day, when he scarcely tasted some delicate birds
 
 VERA'S ONLY CHIME 291 
 
 which she had shot for him, she burst into tears, and 
 said, 
 
 " Theron, what is the matter? I can shut my eyes to 
 the truth no longer. Something is preying upon yo:ir 
 mind. You have a deeper wound than that which Sur- 
 geon Jasper healed. For the last few days, you have 
 failed, rather than gained, in health." 
 
 He grew very pale, and did not immediately answer. 
 
 " I do not ask to know the cause of your trouble," 
 she continued ; " for you would tell me if you thought 
 best ; but I cannot endure to see you suffer. If there 
 is anything that a poor, friendless young girl like myself 
 can do, I pray you, speak plainly. Believe me, I would 
 think any self-sacrifice that would serve you a privilege." 
 
 " Any sacrifice, Vera ? " 
 
 " Any, any that you can ask," she replied eagerly. 
 
 But, looking into her pure, innocent face, and remem- 
 bering how totally ignorant she was of the world's harsh 
 judgment, his own manhood rose up to defend her. 
 
 He took both of her hands in his, and said, very 
 gently, " I believe you, my dearest sister ; you are un- 
 selfishness itself. But no cruel self-sacrifice on your part 
 would help me. Some day I will tell you what is 
 troubling me. I cannot now. The miserable and mis- 
 governed world, of which you know so little, often 
 brings to those who must be out in it many hard prob- 
 lems to solve. Rest assured, if I need your help, I will 
 ask it, and would rather have it than that of any other 
 living being. Now take your gun, and get me some 
 more birds, and at supper I will try to do better." 
 
 She saw that he wished to be alone, and so, sorely per- 
 plexed and heavy-hearted, she complied. 
 
 After she was gone, Saville grappled with the strongest 
 temptation which life had yet brought him. In the eye 
 of the law, he had a wife, and could not marry Vera, 
 and yet he loved her with the whole intensity of his nature.
 
 292 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 From the hour, also, when she blushed under his 
 searching glance in the early dawn, at the time of their 
 bivouac in the mountains, he had thought she was 
 learning to give him a warmer affection than that of a 
 sister. In his weakness and inability to think connect- 
 edly, this hope had filled him with a sort of delirium of 
 happiness ; but he had soon commenced asking himself 
 how this mutual regard must end. 
 
 With his French education, and as an honest adher- 
 ent to the creed that the impulses of nature should be 
 man's only law, he required no priestly sanction to his 
 love ; but could have said to Vera, in all sincerity, " My 
 heart claims you ; my reason approves the choice. I 
 cannot help my past folly, but know that I am act- 
 ing wisely now. I will ever be your true lover. I 
 will be such a husband as love can make me, and 
 such as mere form and law cannot." 
 
 While all this was true, he also clearly saw that Vera 
 in remembrance of her mother's teaching and example, 
 and with her faith in the Bible, and in the Being whose 
 will she believed that book revealed, would not look 
 upon any such relation in the light in which it appeared 
 to him. Although the young girl had proved her 
 readiness to sacrifice her life for him, there had always 
 been something in her words and manner which led 
 him to doubt greatly whether he could induce her to 
 violate her conscience, even though that which he 
 asked seemed perfectly right to him. 
 
 In justice to Saville, it should be said, that though he 
 regarded her faith as an utter delusion, he would 
 not wish her to do anything which she thought wrong 
 and, although he could honestly declare his love, he 
 felt that it would be a base thing to ask her to reward it, 
 since she could not do so without great moral wrong to 
 herself. 
 
 There were, besides, other very important considera-
 
 VERA'S ONLY CRIME 293 
 
 tions. He had always promised Vera, and had sincerely 
 proposed to secure for her, a recognized and respected 
 place in society. If she listened to his suit, this would be 
 impossible. 
 
 She was defenseless, friendless, more than orphaned. 
 She trusted him implicitly, and, as a man of honor, he 
 found that he could come to but one conclusion. He must 
 be true to her interests, at any and every cost to himself. 
 
 " Am I equal to this? " he groaned, and he strode up 
 and down the little cabin in such agony , that great beaded 
 drops came out upon his forehead. 
 
 At last he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, 
 while his mind went rapidly over the past. In imagi- 
 nation, he saw the timid maiden venturing down into the 
 dark fort, where on every side a fate worse than death 
 threatened, that she might rescue him. 
 
 " I am a base wretch to hesitate," he cried ; " but would 
 that I had died there, rather than have lived to suffer 
 this ! She shall not surpass me in self-sacrifice, however. 
 I will place her as high in society as a brother's love can 
 raise her, and then, if the burden grows too heavy, I can 
 soon enter on the dreamless sleep from which she recalled 
 me. O hating and hateful wife ! even your malignity 
 would be satisfied if you could see me now." 
 
 Vera returned empty-handed. " My hand trembled so 
 that I could not shoot," she said. " I am very sorry." 
 
 " Never mind, little sister ; I am better now, and do 
 not need anything," he said soothingly, for he saw that 
 her heart was full. 
 
 " Better ! " she cried, with tears starting to her eyes. 
 " You are but the ghost of your old self. I never saw 
 you so pale, and you look years older than when I left 
 you an hour ago." 
 
 "You are tired and depressed, Vera. Come and sit 
 down by me on your low bench, and see if I cannot cheer 
 you."
 
 294 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 She gave him a wistful, questioning look, which he 
 found it hard to meet. 
 
 Making a strong effort at self-control, she complied with 
 his wish, and for a few moments neither spoke. Again 
 and again she would look at him, with the same childlike, 
 questioning manner. 
 
 " What is it, little sister ? " he at last asked. 
 
 For some reason, this term, which had once seemed so 
 sweet and endearing, but which of late he had seldom em- 
 ployed, now chilled her heart with fear. His face, though 
 very kind, had a strong, resolved expression. She felt 
 as if a viewless but impassable barrier were growing up 
 between them. While at her side, and holding her hand, 
 he still seemed far off and receding. He called her his 
 " dear little sister," and yet she would rather that he 
 should say simply, Vera, in the tone in which he had 
 spoken her name, when, after her night's watch, she had 
 raised her downcast eyes to his. She neither understood 
 herself nor him, but her heart craved for more than mere 
 brotherly affection ; and now that he sought to manifest 
 only this, he rudely jarred the deepest and most sensitive 
 chord of her being. When he again asked, in a gentle, 
 soothing tone, as he might speak to a child, " Tell me 
 what troubles you, sister Vera. Speak as frankly as if I 
 were indeed your brother," she bowed her head upon 
 his knee, and sobbed as if her heart would break. 
 
 " I don't know what is the matter," she faltered. " It 
 seems as if you were miles away from me, and that some- 
 thing dreadful is going to happen." 
 
 A spasm of pain crossed his face, for he interpreted her 
 feelings far better than she could herself ; and he learned, 
 as never before, how penetrating a loving woman's intui- 
 tions often are. 
 
 Suddenly she asked, " Are you going to leave me, 
 Theron?" 
 
 He had about decided to tell her the whole truth, and
 
 VESA'S ONLY CRIME 295 
 
 show the necessity of his course, when her father entered 
 the cabin. Before doing so, he had marked his daughter's 
 attitude and distress, also Saville's caresses as he stroked 
 her bowed head. He said nothing, however, but sat 
 down in his accustomed place, with the deepest gloom 
 lowering upon his haggard face. 
 
 Vera was about to move hastily away, but Saville re- 
 tained her at his side, saying, 
 
 " No, Vera ; no one has a better right here than you." 
 
 For a little time they all remained silent. Vera made 
 desperate efforts to gain the mastery of her feelings, 
 though with but partial success ; for she felt that some 
 blow was impending, which she could not avoid, and yet 
 from which she shrank in sickening dread. 
 
 At last Saville began, in a quiet, steady voice, 
 
 "Mr. Brown, I have so far recovered from my wound 
 that I ought soon to report for duty again. I feel that it 
 would be very wrong to leave you here in this remote 
 and lonely place. I tremble as I think of what might 
 happen in case of sickness or accident. Moreover, the 
 country is filled with lawless, reckless men, as you have 
 learned, to your sorrow." 
 
 The exile sprang up, and commenced pacing the room 
 in great excitement, but Saville continued firmly, 
 
 " You owe it to Vera to place her in a more secure po- 
 sition. This wild mountain gorge is no place for her. 
 She is fitted to shine among the highest and best, and I 
 think I can say, without boasting, that I have the in- 
 fluence to place her there. All that " 
 
 A harsh, bitter laugh interrupted him, and her father 
 said, 
 
 " Mr. Saville, you are unequaled at sarcasm." 
 
 The young man rose and faced the speaker, and Vera, 
 also, stood tremblingly at his side. " I mean every word 
 I say. I can " he began earnestly. 
 
 " Mr. Saville," again interrupted the exile, " your
 
 296 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 words are worse than useless. It is time you learned the 
 truth. For the sake of the past, in memory of what my 
 daughter braved in your behalf, you will at least leave us 
 unmolested, after you learn who and what we are. 
 Blinded as I am by remorse and fear, I have still marked 
 your growing affection for Vera; and though I am but 
 a wreck a miserable fragment of a man I have still 
 some sense of honor and justice left. You are a gentle- 
 man, sir. I knew that from the first ; and it is not right 
 that you should associate with such as we are any 
 longer." 
 
 " You are talking wildly, sir. You are not yourself," 
 Saville answered soothingly. 
 
 " I am speaking terrible truth," continued the unhappy 
 man. " Whatever else has failed in me, memory has not, 
 and it is my hourly and relentless scourge. But enough 
 of this. It is sufficient to say that we are outcasts. A 
 curse is resting on us, which must die with us. This is 
 no place for you, and you will bear me witness, that I 
 never sought to draw you within the deadly shade of my 
 destiny. I have but one favor to ask that you leave 
 us to perish as remote from human knowledge as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " I cannot do this," cried Saville, quite off his guard. 
 " Why are you outcasts? What crime has this innocent 
 maiden committed, that I should heartlessly leave her to 
 so horrible a fate ? ' ' 
 
 " What crime has she committed ? The same as that 
 of her poor, fond mother, the crime of belonging to me, 
 and of being a part of me. Would you ally yourself 
 would you even associate with the daughter of one of 
 the worst criminals on the face of the earth ? " 
 
 With a faint cry, Vera fell to the floor, as if struck down 
 by a resistless blow. Saville instantly lifted her up, saying, 
 
 " Don't grieve so, darling. He charges you with no 
 fault, only misfortune."
 
 VESA'S ONLY CRIME 297 
 
 Her father looked at him in great surprise for a monjent, 
 and then said, 
 
 " Well, since you differ so greatly from the rest of the 
 world, you may take her away, where her relation to me 
 may never be known. If she could escape from under 
 the curse which crushed her mother, I would esteem it a 
 boundless favor. For me there is no hope." 
 
 "Will you go with me, Vera ? " asked Saville gently, 
 pressing her closer to his heart. 
 
 " Go, Vera, go, since he is willing to take you," said 
 her father earnestly. " The thought that you were safe 
 and happy would render the miserable remnant of ray life 
 more endurable." 
 
 Vera's sobs ceased speedily, and she became very 
 quiet. After a moment or two, she raised her head from 
 Saville's shoulder, and said distinctly, 
 
 " No, I will not leave you. You are my father, and 
 my dying mother commended you to my care." 
 
 " O God ! " exclaimed her father, " that I should have 
 brought down the curse on two such hearts ! My pun- 
 ishment is greater than I can bear." 
 
 " Theron," continued Vera, drawing away from him, 
 and trying to steady herself in her weakness and strong 
 emotion, " the blow has fallen ; I have felt it coming all 
 day. We must indeed part ; there is no help for it, for 
 my duty is here. You must leave us to our fate ; for, as 
 father says, you cannot continue to associate with such 
 as we are." 
 
 " Leave you ! " he cried, drawing her closely to his 
 side, and looking down into her pale face with an honest, 
 manly flush of indignation on his. " May every plague 
 in nature fall on my dishonored head if I do ! You are 
 rightly called 'Vera,' for a truer heart than yours never 
 beat ; and I am not such a fool as to lose it. I shall 
 not ask her to leave you, sir," he said, addressing her 
 father. " But I charge you, by the memory of your
 
 298 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 dead wife, and as you value your safety, to place no 
 obstacle in my way, as I seek to make her happy in this, 
 her mountain home." 
 
 " Theron," said Vera, in a low, thrilling tone, that he 
 never forgot, " I did not know that there was so noble a 
 man in all the world." 
 
 "Give me no credit," he replied. "To very few 
 does there come such a chance for happiness as I have 
 found in you. Come with me out under the starlight, 
 for I have much to say to you." 
 
 Before leaving the cabin, however, he turned to her 
 father, who sat with his face buried in his hands, and 
 said, 
 
 " I know not, and will never seek to know, what you 
 have done, and I believe that your remorse is greater 
 than your crime ; but, as the father of this dear and 
 innocent maiden, I shall always treat you with respect. 
 You have acted honorably to-night, and I honor you for 
 it. I take my present course deliberately, and with rny 
 eyes fully open." 
 
 " I fear that you will have cause for regret ; and yet, 
 for Vera's sake, I hope it may be for the best." 
 
 "I will never leave you, father," said his daughter, 
 tenderly putting her arms around his neck, and kissing 
 him. 
 
 Tears came into the poor man's eyes, and he said 
 huskily, 
 
 " I am not worthy of this. Go, go ; it pains me ! " 
 
 Saville, in the impulse of his strong love and excite- 
 ment, had decided to tell Vera just how he was situated, 
 believing that, in view of the circumstances, she would 
 accept of his lifelong devotion, though unsanctioned by 
 any formal rites ; but her first glad and natural utter- 
 ance, as they stepped out into the quiet night, checked 
 the words upon his lips. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she cried ; " thank God ! How good
 
 VEJRA'S ONLY CRIME 299 
 
 my Heavenly Father has been to me ! Oh ! that I 
 could tell mother how happy I am ! " 
 
 Saville was silent. It was his turn to experience a pro- 
 phetic chill of dread. What had that old Hebrew 
 divinity, at whom he had scoffed so many years, to do 
 with his happiness or hers ? But now he rose up before 
 him like a grim, remorseless idol, to which the maiden 
 at his side, so gentle and loving, and yet so strong, 
 might sacrifice both herself and him. 
 
 Prudence whispered, "You had better not tell her 
 to-night, you have too much at stake ; wait." And so, 
 instead of telling her the sad story of his past blindness 
 and folly, with their consequences, he led her thoughts 
 away from every painful theme, resolving that they both 
 should have one happy hour, whatever might be on the 
 morrow. And yet, remembering the only relation he 
 could offer, he did not dare speak frankly of his love, 
 and could only comfort her with the general assurance 
 that he would never leave her to the desolation which 
 her father's language had so awfully described. He 
 spoke of their old, happy trysts, and promised that 
 they should be continued as often as his duties permitted. 
 Thus, while he did not openly and formally declare his 
 love, it so pervaded his tone and manner as to abun- 
 dantly satisfy Vera, whose quick intuitions scarcely needed 
 words.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 
 
 THAT night Saville slept but little. He had thought 
 that he had settled, in the afternoon, the question of his 
 future relation to Vera ; but the strange, unexpected 
 events of the evening, after her father's return, had 
 given the problem, in his view, an entirely new aspect. 
 The future he had proposed for the maiden the chance 
 for a happy life under its ordinary and normal condi- 
 tions in society seemed utterly blotted out and rendered 
 impossible, and through no fault or weakness of his. 
 
 Saville was full of generous and noble impulses, and 
 Vera's fidelity to her father excited his boundless admi- 
 ration and respect, and greatly increased his affection 
 for her. In contrasting the faithful girl with his selfish 
 and malicious wife, he could scarcely believe that they 
 both belonged to the same race. 
 
 But, as he saw that Vera's beauty of character equaled 
 that of her form and features, the more unspeakable 
 became his reluctance to attempt any such self-sacrifice 
 as he had resolved upon in the afternoon. Nor did it 
 now seem necessary, or even right, that he should. 
 Every avenue into the world was closed against her, 
 and she looked to him alone for happiness. 
 
 The fact of her love was most apparent ; and she, no 
 more than himself, could be satisfied with the fiction of 
 fraternal affection. 
 
 But one thing now stood in the way of their happiness, 
 and that was what he regarded as her superstitious faith. 
 Holding her present belief, what he must propose would 
 seem wrong, and only by teaching her his own philos*
 
 VEBA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 301 
 
 ophy could he make it appear otherwise. But even if 
 this were possible, he had promised, at her mother's 
 grave, on the day of burial, that he would never do 
 aught to shake the child's confidence in that mother's 
 teachings, or lead from the course which the parent 
 would approve. Did not that pledge prove as insupera- 
 ble a bar as his wretched marriage ? And he cursed his 
 destiny as the most cruel that had ever fallen to the 
 lot of man. 
 
 But as, in the long, wakeful hours, he sought some 
 solution of the problem, this thought occurred : When 
 he made that promise, he had foreseen no such emer- 
 gency as this. Should he be more loyal to his own 
 hasty pledge than to her whose welfare now wholly de- 
 pended upon him ? In breaking the promise, he would 
 only be more true to her. He believed that her mother 
 was only a memory. She was dead ; she had ceased to 
 exist. He was a strong, living friend. 
 
 As long as the religious delusion whiqh. the mother had 
 taught her child had been a comfort and a support, 
 it was right and kind not to disturb it. But should he 
 permit this delusion this old, antiquated superstition, 
 from which the advanced thinkers of the world were fast 
 freeing themselves to stand in the way of actual and 
 priceless advantages? Both Vera and himself would 
 soon cease to exist, and the opportunity for enjoyment 
 would pass away forever. Why, then, let an imaginary 
 spectre in the path, that a bold approach and scrutiny 
 would dissipate, prevent a lifetime of happiness ? Was 
 he not even under sacred obligations to take the tram- 
 mels from her mind, when they would cause such 
 remediless loss ? 
 
 The honest theorist believed that duty coincided with 
 inclination, and starting with this premise, there was no 
 other conclusion possible. 
 
 But the question which troubled him most was, Could he
 
 302 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 do this ? He had been shown how much the word duty 
 meant to Vera. Her faith was simple and absolute, and 
 having been taught by her mother, was most dear and 
 sacred. He foresaw that the task would be exceedingly 
 difficult, and yet there seemed no other course. 
 
 He resolved to attempt it as the only way out of his 
 cruel dilemma ; and it was a habit of his mind, when he 
 had reasoned a thing out to his satisfaction, to rest firmly 
 in the conclusion. It was not in his nature to be ever 
 looking back with doubts and misgivings. He had no 
 fears but that he could make a home in that secluded 
 mountain region, after the war was over, which would 
 contain more of the elements of happiness than he could 
 find elsewhere. And if she were willing, he was per- 
 fectly ready to proclaim to the world that the impulses 
 of nature are the only true and binding laws, and to sup- 
 port his creed by his open example. He knew that his 
 proud, conservative mother would never approve of his 
 course, but this was too near and personal a question to 
 be decided by her prejudices. He therefore decided to 
 conceal the fact of his marriage from the maiden, as 
 much for her sake as his own. For, if she learned of it 
 prematurely, before receiving the enlightenment of mind 
 which he hoped to bring by his teaching, she, in her 
 strong superstition, might destroy, not only his happi- 
 ness, but her own. 
 
 Having settled upon his course, he fell into a refreshing 
 slumber, which lasted till late in the following morning, 
 when he was awakened by the report of Vera's gun. 
 On going out. she met him joyously, exclaiming, 
 
 " My aim is truer to-day. See what a royal dinner 
 you are to have ! " 
 
 " I will come to your banquet, Queen Esther." 
 
 "You might do worse. And I'm glad you have no 
 hateful Haman to bring with you." Then she added 
 musingly, " How often I have read that story. Do you
 
 VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 303 
 
 know that I think some of those old Bible tales are very 
 strange ? ' ' 
 
 "Little wonder," he replied, with an expressive shrug. 
 
 " But I believe them," she said stoutly. 
 
 " I do not doubt it," he replied laughing ; " even to 
 the acceptance of that marvelous, long-eared beast which 
 was wiser than the prophet, and spoke his master's 
 vernacular. There, forgive me ! I did not mean to pain 
 your dear, credulous heart. You must remember, in 
 charity to me, how these stories sound to a man. I hope 
 you feel as well and happy as I do this morning. But 
 I need not ask, when I see the tints of these October 
 leaves in your cheeks." 
 
 " Here is one that is brown, and here another, yellow 
 and green," replied Vera, in like playful spirit, per- 
 mitting the cloud to pass from her brow. 
 
 " And here is one as beautiful as that dawn which I 
 saw reflected in your face after the night you so patiently 
 watched over me. Was that rich color only the reflec- 
 tion of the sky, Vera ? " 
 
 " You had just waked up, and could not see anything 
 plainly. But a busy housekeeper must not stand idling 
 here. Come and see what Gula has for breakfast." 
 
 The day passed like a happy dream to them both. 
 With a shy, maidenly reserve, Vera checked any open 
 expression or manifestation of the love she was content to 
 see in his face and catch in his tones, while the garish 
 light of day lasted. But when they again walked out in 
 the starlight, Saville would be put off no longer, and he 
 asked, 
 
 " Vera, do you know why it was impossible for me to 
 leave you ? " 
 
 " You said, yesterday afternoon, that I was your dear 
 sister," she faltered. 
 
 " That is an endearing term ; but did it satisfy you ? " 
 
 She was silent, and he felt her hand tremble on his arm.
 
 304 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "I do not think it did. Your wistful eyes, uncon- 
 sciously to yourself, pleaded for something more some 
 dearer term. Am I not right ? " 
 
 " Do you remember what you were saying when I 
 found you in Fort Clinton? " she asked in a low tone. 
 
 "Tell me what I said." 
 
 " I would rather that you remembered." 
 
 " I was thinking of you, Vera. I supposed they 
 would be my last waking thoughts, and I said, ' My more 
 than sister, my heart's true mate.' Were not those my 
 words? " 
 
 " Yes ; and they have made sweet echoes in my ears 
 ever since, though I did not till last night understand all 
 they meant." 
 
 " Have they not made echoes in your heart also ? 
 Have you not found your own true mate ? " 
 
 " ' Thou knowest,' Theron, ' the mask of night is on my 
 face ; else would a maiden blush' tell you all. I cannot 
 add, with Juliet, 
 
 If thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
 
 I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay ; 
 
 for you know well, already, that I am wholly yours. In- 
 deed, if my heart had been as cold towards you yester- 
 day as it was tender, I could not fail of being won by 
 your generous O Theron ! your course towards me, who 
 am so poor, friendless, and shadowed with evil and 
 shame, overwhelms me with gratitude." 
 
 "Any other course would bring me lifelong wretched- 
 ness. Now what cause have you for gratitude ?" 
 
 " More cause, since what you give is not an alms; for 
 though I should perish without your love, I could not 
 take it as a charity. But are you sure you will never 
 regret your action ? My heart misgives me when I think 
 of it ; the world can offer you so much ! You might
 
 VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 305 
 
 easily win one who is dowered with wealth, rank, and 
 beauty, instead of poor me, who am heiress only of a 
 curse." 
 
 Saville thought, with a mental oath of execration, how 
 he had won such a one as she described ; but, with the 
 purpose of banishing all such misgivings on her part, he 
 said, 
 
 " If I were an ambitious boy who had never seen the 
 world, there might, possibly, be some ground for your 
 fears ; but from my youth I have been out in the world, 
 and know much about it ; and never, in my happiest 
 moments there, did I experience half the content I found 
 in your companionship, even when I was first learning to 
 know your worth, as we talked together on the height 
 back of your old home, near West Point. Now that I 
 have come to love you, now that I justly honor you 
 above all other women, can you imagine I could ever 
 think of another ? It is because I have seen the world, 
 and know what it contains, and how little it can do for 
 me, that I prize you far beyond it all ; and it is because 
 you are so innocent and unworldly that you do not know 
 your own value. If I had met you in society, I should 
 have had scores of rivals." 
 
 " Now I fear you are flattering me," she said laughing ; 
 " but you would have had no cause for fear. I shall 
 come to believe in my value only as I can make you 
 happy." 
 
 " Then I fear you will grow vain, indeed, for you will 
 find that your power is unbounded in this respect." 
 
 "O Theron ! if I could induce you to accept of my 
 faith, what you say would eventually be true. I cannot 
 help telling you now, at the commencement of our new and 
 happy life, that I can never rest never be satisfied till 
 mother's favorite words from the Bible, 'Let not your 
 heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid,' mean to you 
 what they did to her and do to me. For some reason,
 
 306 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 God had seemed afar off, and I was losing my faith in 
 his goodness and mercy ; but, from the time he enabled 
 me to find you in the fort, I have felt differently, and now 
 I cannot thank and love him enough." 
 
 Saville was dismayed. This was reversing matters, 
 and the one he proposed to win over to atheism was fully- 
 bent on leading him to become a Christian. 
 
 After a moment she added, " I miss my Bible so 
 much. Won't you get me another, Theron? " 
 
 " I cannot," he said, a little abruptly ; and then con- 
 tinued, very gently, " We must agree to dismiss this 
 subject, Vera, darling. The Bible is not to me what it 
 is to you, and it never can be. Great as my faults are, I 
 try to be honest ; and with you I cannot help being 
 sincere. If you regarded the Bible as a result of human 
 genius, like the plays of Shakespeare, I would get you 
 one. But I cannot aid you in making its unnatural 
 teaching and stories the law of your conscience." 
 
 " O Theron ! " exclaimed Vera, bursting into tears, 
 and hiding her face upon his shoulder. 
 
 "I knew what I said' would pain you, darling, but I 
 could not help it. Would you have me act the part of a 
 hypocrite ? I am just as sincere as you are. You have 
 told me your views and faith, and I tell you mine. 
 As you believe in the Bible, I believe in man and 
 nature ; and I see in you her most perfect work." 
 
 " But God is the author of both man and nature," 
 said Vera eagerly. 
 
 " I see no proof of it, and much to the contrary," an- 
 swered Saville decidedly. " Moreover, the great and 
 wise of the world, who do their own thinking, hold the 
 same views that I do. As the subject has come up be- 
 tween us, I could not help being honest with you, as I 
 ever shall be ; but do not let us dwell on it any 
 longer now." 
 
 Vera sighed deeply, but said only, " I cannot under-
 
 VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 307 
 
 stand how any one can be so good and noble as you are 
 and not believe in the Bible. 1 never even dreamed 
 that it could be otherwise than true, and to doubt it 
 seems impossible. And yet I know you are as sincere 
 as I am." 
 
 " And thus you prove that you are no bigot, darling ; 
 for, as a general thing, the devotees of all the various 
 religions of the world are prone to regard those who 
 cannot think just as they do as wilful, wicked wretches, 
 who ought to be knocked promptly on the head. If 
 you can't convert me, I am sure you will not put me to 
 torture, will you, dear?" 
 
 " If I did, I should torture myself most. But, Theron, 
 this is too sad a subject for me to jest about. I shall 
 never cease to hope that you will some day think as I do. 
 God can incline your heart towards him as easily as he 
 bends the tops of yonder trees." 
 
 " Now, Vera, darling, that is the wind which is 
 bending the tree -tops. Let us drop this subject for 
 the present. We have both been honest with each 
 other, and we could not be otherwise. There is so 
 much on which we lovingly and heartily agree, why 
 dwell on the one thing wherein we differ?" And he 
 strove, with all a lover's zeal, to banish her sad thoughts. 
 She loved him too well to permit him to see that he 
 failed. Indeed he did not fail. The cup of happiness 
 which he placed to her lips filled her with a strange 
 delight, even while she remained conscious that it con- 
 tained one bitter dreg. 
 
 The following days passed all too quickly for them 
 both. It was part of Saville's scheme to enchain her 
 affections, so that she could not take any other course, 
 when the test came, than that which he proposed ; and 
 it would seem that he was succeeding beyond his hopes. 
 Her capability of loving was large, and she had but few 
 other ties and interests to draw her thoughts from him.
 
 308 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 His mind was cultivated, versatile, ever full of bright, 
 fresh thoughts ; and thus his society was to her like 
 a sweet, exhilarating wine. But that which weighed 
 more with her than all else was the ever-present memory 
 of his devoted loyalty to her, when she knew that the 
 great majority of the world would have shrunk away. 
 She looked forward to their parting with inexpressible 
 dread, and the remembrance of the constant dangers to 
 which as a soldier he must be exposed, gave to her 
 affection a tenderness, which only those who hold 
 their heart-idols in uncertain tenure can understand. 
 
 During the latter part of his stay, Saville wasted no 
 hours in love-idyls ; but was busy, in every possible 
 way, in providing for her security and comfort during 
 the coming winter. He sent Tascar repeatedly across 
 the mountains for such things as were needed, and also 
 employed him in constructing a secure though hidden 
 bridle-path down into the glen. He induced Mr. Brown 
 to aid him in building substantial shelter for a horse, 
 two or three cows, and some poultry. On the margin of 
 a neighboring pond there was still forage which might 
 be cut, which, with the grain that he intended to 
 send, would be sufficient provision until spring again 
 brought its abundant supply. 
 
 Vera amused Saville one day by her spirit of independ- 
 ence. 
 
 "We cannot receive all this," she said, "without 
 making some return." 
 
 "Give me a kiss, and I am amply repaid," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " I am in earnest," she continued. " Is there not 
 some way in which I can earn money ? " 
 
 "Yes, you have only to do as I ask, and you shall 
 receive the greater part of my pay." 
 
 " But something tells me that this is not right, 
 Theron ; at least, not yet."
 
 VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 309 
 
 He knew that she meant not until they were married. 
 But, feeling that he could never have a better right than 
 now, he tried to satisfy her by saying, 
 
 " Since I am yours, body and soul, can I not share 
 that with you which I value only as it can minister to 
 your comfort ? This is the beginning of our future 
 home, and you are doing more to make it homelike than 
 I can." 
 
 " Oh, dear! " she cried, half pouting, half laughing ; 
 " do men always have their own way ? " 
 
 " No, my fairy queen. I will one day be your slave." 
 
 " Why not add that you will take the part of Caliban, 
 and that I will call ' What, ho ! slave ! Caliban ! make 
 our fire ; fetch in our wood.' Oh ! but you will be ' a 
 brave monster,' Theron ! " 
 
 " Now I think of it, I will be Prospero, and you ' my 
 quaint Ariel.' But I will never give thee thy freedom." 
 
 " Indeed ! this is reversing the order; and yet I think 
 you are nearer right now. I am ' to answer thy best 
 pleasure,' and do ' thy strong bidding.' Your pet name 
 of Ariel always makes me laugh, however, for you 
 forget that the spirit says, ' To thy strong bidding task 
 Ariel, and all his quality.' Tascar must be your Ariel, 
 and I will be " 
 
 " My heart's true mate. Come, there is Gula sum- 
 moning us to supper ; " and with a glance that gave the 
 confiding girl more assurance than could any words, he 
 led her within the cabin that he already called " home," 
 and to which their united labors were fast giving a 
 homelike and inviting character. 
 
 The parting which soon came was a sore trial to Vera, 
 though, woman-like, she sought to hide from her lover 
 how deeply she was pained. She comforted herself 
 with his assurance, however, that in all probability he 
 would not be far away, and that he could often visit her.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A HASTY MARRIAGE 
 
 ON reaching the headquarters of the force defending the 
 Highlands, Saville received a warm welcome from his 
 old associates and acquaintances. And yet he could not 
 help noting something in their manner which both puzzled 
 and annoyed him. He, at first, suspected that Surgeon 
 Jasper had gossiped concerning his fair hostess and 
 nurse ; and, therefore, drew him aside, with the intention 
 of teaching him and others a severe lesson, in case his 
 surmise proved correct. In matters personal to himself 
 Saville was one to resent promptly, even to the extent of 
 a bloody quarrel, anything which he regarded as an un- 
 warrantable interference or liberty. 
 
 "Jasper," he said, " I cannot believe that you could 
 have so far forgotten the confidential relations which you, 
 as my medical adviser, sustained to me, as to babble of 
 anything you saw or surmised when attending me in the 
 mountains ; and yet what does the peculiar manner of my 
 old acquaintances mean ? Why do they turn and look 
 after me, and say something that is not designed for my 
 ears ? ' ' 
 
 " You are right, Saville. I am not capable of break- 
 ing professional silence, even if I had no friendly regard 
 for you. Come to my quarters." 
 
 On reaching them, the surgeon fastened the door, and 
 took out a New York paper. 
 
 " Read that," he said. 
 
 " Mother ? " asked Saville, turning pale. 
 
 "No, no! Read ! " 
 
 With a frown black as night, Saville read :
 
 A HASTY MARRIAGE 311 
 
 " Married, on the I2th of October, Captain Henry Vennam, 
 of H. R. M. Service, to Mrs. Julia Ashburton Saville, widow 
 of the late Captain Saville, who was killed during the storming 
 of the forts in the Highlands on the Hudson. It is well known 
 that Mrs. Saville had no sympathy with her husband, in his 
 unnatural rebellion against his king, and that her loyal hostility 
 to his disloyalty long ago led to a formal separation. This fact 
 fully accounts for the seeming haste with which she has honored 
 with her hand the brave and accomplished officer who this day 
 leads her to the altar." 
 
 With a deep imprecation, Saville crushed the paper in 
 his hand, and then sat motionless, with contracting 
 brows, like one trying to think his way out of some un- 
 expected emergency. 
 
 " From one of our spies who has since come in," said 
 the surgeon. " we have learned the additional fact, that 
 this fellow, Vennam, found you himself in the fort, and 
 brought away your sword as proof of your death. It is 
 well he did not use it to let out what little life you had 
 left." 
 
 " I have no doubt that he would, and with her full ap- 
 proval, if he had supposed I was alive," said Saville ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " That's a harsh accusation to bring against your wife." 
 
 " Curse her ! " cried Saville, starting up in great agita- 
 tion. " That is the most infernal part of this whole 
 shameful business ! She is still my wife. If I were only 
 rid of her forever, I could forgive the insult of her in- 
 decent haste in seeking the altar with another man. But 
 the law still binds me to her, as fiendish cruelty once 
 chained criminals to a putrefying corpse." 
 
 " It's only too true, Saville, Her marriage with that 
 officer was only an empty form. Will she remain with 
 him, do you think ? She must have heard that you are 
 alive by this time." 
 
 ""I don't know," said Saville desperately. " She is none
 
 312 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 too good, If she would only break her neck before she 
 breaks my heart ! " 
 
 " Well, Saville, pardon me for saying it ; but I think 
 you will find both comfort and revenge in yonder moun- 
 tains." 
 
 "Jasper," said Saville gravely, " you are my friend ; 
 but touch lightly on that subject. If I were free to marry 
 that innocent maiden, who, you know well, is unrivaled 
 in all that can win respect and love, I would esteem it 
 more than the best gift of the world. She saved my life 
 when that vile thing the law calls my wife was waiting 
 with murderous eagerness to hear of my death." 
 
 " I admit that you cannot legally marry your wild 
 flower ; but you know what men do every day, and with- 
 out a tithe of your excuse. She is evidently the daughter 
 of a criminal, and can never hope for any better future 
 than you can offer." 
 
 " The honest love and devoted, lifelong loyalty which 
 I would offer I believe to be right and honorable. Do 
 you suppose that I could ask that true, pure girl, to whom 
 I owe so much, to do anything that I regarded as base, 
 or even wrong? That she is friendless and defenseless ; 
 that her father, who should be her natural protector, has 
 only darkened her life by some evil deed, all make it 
 more imperative that I, as a man of honor, should be 
 faithful to her interests. I do most sincerely believe that 
 I have a right to offer her my love ; but, with her faith 
 and training, I fear that I can never make it appear so to 
 her, when she comes to know of that woman in New 
 York." 
 
 " Well," said the surgeon, with a shrug, " I am 
 neither Christian nor philosopher. I take the world as I 
 find it, and try to have as comfortable a time as I can 
 every day, hoping that the good luck which I have al- 
 ways had here will follow me into the next life, if there is 
 any."
 
 A HASTY MARRIAGE 313 
 
 "Well added," replied Saville bitterly; '"if there is 
 any ! ' If men used their reason, and believed what they 
 saw, they would know there is not. This life would be 
 abundantly sufficient, and in the main happy, did not 
 superstition and the monstrous laws it has spawned curse 
 and thwart us on every side. But, farewell, my friend ; 
 I have much to think of, and I will inflict my ill-starred 
 affairs on you no longer. Let all that has passed be- 
 tween us be buried where no gossip-monger can ever 
 rake it up." 
 
 After carefully considering the act of his wife in all its 
 aspects, Saville concluded that it would be to his ad- 
 vantage. The haste of her marriage, which she had ill- 
 tended as an indignity to his memory, would react against 
 herself, and involve more shame to her than to him. 
 His hate was gratified at the thought of her intense morti- 
 fication and disappointment when learning that he was 
 still living. She must either separate instantly from the 
 man for whom she had a passion of love she was not 
 capable or else be disgraced for life. At best, even her 
 own party would be far more inclined towards censure 
 than to entertain charity or sympathy. 
 
 He also felt utterly absolved from what he regarded 
 as his rash promise to be loyal to the mere name of 
 wife. 
 
 But the consideration which weighed most with him 
 was the belief that Vera, in view of her act, could be 
 made to feel that in reality he had no wife, that she had 
 forfeited every claim, and so might be more surely led to 
 accept of Saville as her lover, since he could not be her 
 husband. 
 
 The fact that a certain amount of the odium of his 
 wife's course would cling to him in the world's estima- 
 tion, and that he would always be known as the husband 
 of the woman who was in such haste to marry another 
 that she could not wait till assured of his burial, made a
 
 314 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 secluded mountain home, with Vera, seem all the more, 
 truly a refuge. 
 
 Thus, every hope for the future came to rest, more 
 completely than before, on the success of his scheme of 
 teaching Vera that man was a law unto himself, and that 
 there was no external power that had a right to set in 
 judgment on his actions. 
 
 A day or two thereafter, a paper came through the 
 lines, from New York, containing the following item : 
 
 " TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. Captain Saville, whom 
 all supposed killed at Fort Clinton, is alive. It is said that he 
 was taken from the fort, late at night, by some people whom he 
 had befriended, and carried back in the mountains ; and that, 
 though very severely wounded, he is rapidly recovering. 
 These facts are so well authenticated that his wife has left Cap- 
 tain Vennam's quarters, and returned to her relatives. It is 
 said that they are deeply incensed against the unfortunate officer 
 who rather deserves sympathy, since he has become, in a cer- 
 tain sense, a widower. There seems to have been strange 
 blundering in the case somewhere. Perhaps the eyes of the 
 gallant captain were still blinded with the smoke of battle, 
 when he supposed that he saw Saville dead. There may be 
 new developments in the comedy, or tragedy, whichever it may 
 prove, before many days." 
 
 Saville smiled grimly as he read it, and then tossed it 
 contemptuously aside.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SEEMING SUCCESS 
 
 LATER in the day, Saville received a document which 
 he read with keen delight. It was a leave of absence 
 from his commanding officer, in which he was compli- 
 mented on his behavior in the recent battle, and congratu- 
 lated upon his remarkable escape. " The campaign is 
 over," the writer went on to say, " and it is not yet fully 
 decided just where, in the Highlands, the future works 
 will be erected. Surgeon Jasper also informs me that, 
 in your zeal for the service, you have reported for duty 
 rather sooner than the condition of your wound warrants. 
 You are therefore requested to leave your address at these 
 headquarters, and are permitted to be absent until noti- 
 fied." 
 
 "Jasper, this is your work," said Saville, entering the 
 surgeon's quarters. 
 
 " Well, suppose it is ; what have you got to say about 
 it?" replied Jasper, lifting his broad, good-natured face 
 to the speaker. 
 
 " I say this, from the bottom of my heart, mon ami, 
 may you never have to take any of your own medicine ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " cried the surgeon. " I was never wished 
 better luck than that. But hold on, you are not through 
 with me yet. I jogged the general's elbow only that I 
 might get a chance to jockey you on a horse. I've a 
 beast that's a little too skittish for one of my weight and 
 temperament, and it occurred to me that if I gave you a 
 chance to make a quick journey, you would buy him." 
 
 " Name your price ; charge what you please ; I'm 
 wholly at your mercy," laughed Saville. 
 
 " That is the condition in which I always like to get a
 
 316 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 patient, for I can then bleed him to my own satisfaction 
 But if you were not my friend, Saville, I would charge 
 you twice as much as I am going to ask." 
 
 The bargain was soon made, nor did Saville regret it, 
 when, on the following short November day, the fleet 
 animal carried him safely to the mountain gorge that he 
 hoped would henceforth be the Mecca of all his pilgrim- 
 ages. 
 
 He did not go clattering down the bridle path ; but, 
 tying his horse some distance away, stole up to the cabin 
 unperceived, and looked in at the window. How vividly, 
 in after years, he remembered the picture he then saw ! 
 Vera sat alone, on one side of the ample hearth ; her 
 work had fallen on the floor at her side, and her hands 
 were crossed upon her lap. She was looking intently 
 into the fire, as if she saw more there than the rising and 
 falling flames, which now illumined her face until its 
 beauty seemed scarcely earthly, and again left it in 
 shadow that suggested almost equal loveliness. 
 
 Her revery soon ended with a happy smile ; she picked 
 up her work, and seemed chiding her idle hands ; then, 
 in obedience to another impulse, she dropped it again, 
 and her rich, powerful voice gave the old refrain, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." 
 
 She had scarcely sung the line before Saville was ac- 
 companying her on his flute. She stopped abruptly, and 
 sprang up, with hope and fear both depicted on her face. 
 Was the echo real, or a ghostly omen of evil ? She 
 darted to the door, and Saville took her into his arms. 
 
 How fondly she ever dwelt on the halcyon days that 
 followed ! They hunted and rambled together among the 
 hills that love made beautiful, even in bleak Novem- 
 ber ; and when the storms of early winter roared in the 
 wooded heights above the cabin, the roar of the crack- 
 ling flames up the wide chimney was louder, and the sound
 
 SEEMING SUCCESS 317 
 
 of their merry voices often louder still. Their mirthful- 
 ness, at times, relaxed even the gloomy face of the poor 
 exile, and he appeared to enjoy a pale reflection of their 
 happiness. 
 
 Saville also sought to make the most of the opportunity 
 which this visit gave, by commencing to give Vera a cul- 
 ture which would make her more companionable in future 
 years. He gave her lessons in drawing and music, and 
 found her a most apt scholar in these branches. He also 
 taught her how to express herself correctly in writing, 
 and in the evening she usually read aloud to him for an 
 hour or more. 
 
 He succeeded in obtaining quite a library for her. 
 Learning that among the effects of a wealthy Tory, whose 
 property had been confiscated, there was a large number 
 of books, he went to see them, and found that he could 
 buy them all for a small sum. He did not wish them all, 
 but only such as would serve his purpose, and give Vera 
 general culture and knowledge, without strengthening 
 her faith. To his joy, he found that the library was quite 
 rich, for that day, in history, travels, biography, and even 
 philosophy. It also contained some of the Latin classics, 
 a translation of Homer, and the "Plays of William 
 Shakespeare," which he knew to be so dear to Vera's 
 heart. He and Tascar, who accompanied him, were 
 quite well laden on their return ; and Vera, at first, was 
 wild with delight over these treasures. She looked hastily 
 and eagerly through the collection, and then sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 " What does that mean? " asked Saville. 
 
 " There is no Bible here," she replied in a low tone. 
 
 " No, Vera," he said gravely, and almost sternly ; for 
 he was beginning to regard this book with bitter hostility, 
 as the possible cause, in his view, of wretchedness to them 
 both. 
 
 Tears came into the sensitive girl's eyes ; but he kissed
 
 318 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 them away, and sought, with his usual success, to divert 
 her thoughts from the subject he most dreaded. He be- 
 lieved that he could educate her mind above and beyond 
 her superstition, and thus enable her gradually and nat- 
 urally to outgrow it, as he supposed that he had. In this 
 effort, he made history and books of travel his chief allies, 
 thinking that they were best suited to the simplicity and 
 childlike character of her mind. He skilfully, yet un- 
 obtrusively, caused her to see that other peoples and 
 races were as devoted to their multifarious religions as she 
 was to hers. He placed before her, though in no argu- 
 mentative way that would awaken opposition, the absurd, 
 cruel, and monstrous acts of those who had professed to 
 be Christians. He supplemented what he read with 
 graphic descriptions. The old Greeks and Romans were 
 made to live again, and she was shown that their mythol- 
 ogy, which lasted for centuries, was now in truth only a 
 myth, and that, as the people grew wiser, they lost faith 
 in their gods. 
 
 Vera was not slow in drawing the inference, and clouds 
 of doubt began to darken her mind ; but it seemed so 
 dreadful to question her mother's faith, that she fought 
 against her unbelief earnestly, though secretly ; for she 
 knew that she could obtain no help from Saville. These 
 doubts, however, became a low, jarring discord in the 
 sweet harmony of her life. 
 
 But his personal influence had a still stronger effect 
 than his suggestion of abstract thought, and of facts ad- 
 verse to her faith. He one day obtained quite a clear 
 glimpse of the silent workings of her mind ; for, coming 
 in unexpectedly, he found her in tears. To his gentle 
 bfit eager questioning, she sobbed, 
 
 " O Theron ! you are pushing God, and all relating to 
 him, out of my heart and thoughts, and I am beginning 
 to worship only you. My conscience tells me that it is 
 not right, and that evil will come of it."
 
 SEEMING SUCCESS 319 
 
 " Well, Vera, darling," he said, " this is scarcely more 
 than fair, since you fill every nook and corner of my heart, 
 and I have long worshiped you only." 
 
 She shook her head with a new rush of tears ; but he 
 comforted her with many reassuring words, and she loved 
 him too well to be willing to cloud his face with her trouble. 
 Her conscious effort to resist his personal influence grew 
 less and less, and he seemingly took sole possession of 
 her heart. 
 
 As she was situated, she was scarcely to be blamed, 
 for he had proved such a true and helpful friend ; he had 
 made such an infinite difference in her life, and was so 
 genuinely human, so sympathetic in all respects, save 
 the one on which they differed, that her own humanity 
 found in him everything it craved. Even in his skepti- 
 cism, she was compelled to respect him for his evident 
 sincerity. 
 
 Still, she did not lose her faith in God, nor did she 
 often neglect the form of devotion ; but she permitted 
 Saville's image to crowd him almost wholly from her 
 heart and thoughts. 
 
 Saville occasionally sent Tascar with a note of inquiry to 
 burgeon Jasper, and thus kept himself posted in regard 
 to public affairs. During the latter part of January, he 
 was ordered to report to Lieutenant-Colonel Radiere, and 
 found, to his great satisfaction, that his services would be 
 required at West Point, from which place he could ride 
 " home " in comparatively brief time. The winter and 
 spring passed rapidly away. His hopes continually grew 
 stronger, that his effort to teach Vera to eventually feel 
 and think as he did, would be crowned with success, and 
 he was even more sure that he had made himself so 
 necessary to her very existence that she could never give 
 him up, even though her conscience at first might be ar- 
 rayed against him.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 
 
 EARLY in the summer, Saville received instructions to 
 go to the main army under General Washington, and 
 thence to Philadelphia (which had recently been evacu- 
 ated by the British troops), upon business connected with 
 the Engineer Department. 
 
 On his way he stopped at the cabin, to inform Vera of 
 his journey, but assured her of his speedy return. She 
 grew pale at the thought of the possible perils which he 
 might encounter, but he promised more caution than it 
 was in his nature to practice, and also said, with a signif- 
 icant glance, that awakened a curiosity which he would 
 not then satisfy, that he would bring her something from 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 He reached General Washington's headquarters on the 
 eve of the memorable battle of Monmouth. Though 
 jaded and worn by his ride, he readily accepted Lafay- 
 ette's invitation to act as his aid, his services being 
 especially valuable at this time, from his familiarity with 
 both French and English. 
 
 The command of the extreme advance, upon which 
 would devolve the important task of first attacking the 
 enemy preliminary to a general engagement, would prop- 
 erly fall to General Lee, who was second to Washington 
 in rank. But Lafayette, ever coveting the post of dan- 
 ger, eagerly sought to be intrusted with this duty. As 
 General Lee had been from the first strenuously opposed 
 to the battle, and, indeed, to any interference with the 
 British line of march through New Jersey, Washington
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 321 
 
 was more than ready to comply, if that officer would 
 waive his right to lead in person. This General Lee did 
 unhesitatingly, saying to the Marquis, that he was only 
 too glad to be relieved from all responsibility in carrying 
 out measures which were destined to fail. 
 
 Lafayette, therefore, early on the morning of the 2/th 
 of June, advanced with a large force towards the enemy. 
 The British troops were commanded by Sir Henry 
 Clinton, who, perceiving that a battle must be fought, 
 made his dispositions accordingly, moving his baggage 
 forward on his line of march, but retaining the flower of 
 his army in the rear to repel the approaching Americans. 
 In the meantime, General Lee changed his mind, and re- 
 quested Washington to give him the leadership of the ad- 
 vance which he had just relinquished. Indeed, as a mat- 
 ter of military etiquette, he almost claimed it as his right. 
 Although Lee had been bitterly opposed to Washington's 
 plan of battle, the latter still believed the crotchety gen- 
 eral would do his duty as an officer, but did not know 
 how to satisfy his punctilious claims without wounding 
 Lafayette. Learning, however, that the British forces 
 immediately before the Marquis were being rapidly in- 
 creased, he dispatched two additional brigades to the 
 front, under command of Lee, who, as senior officer on 
 the field, would, as a matter of course, outrank all others. 
 But Washington's friendship for Lafayette also led him to 
 write him a note of explanation. 
 
 That sultry Saturday night was one of deep anxiety to 
 both parties. The British general was encumbered with 
 an enormous amount of baggage. Washington was 
 about to assail the disciplined troops, whom Lee said it 
 was madness to attack in their present force and strong 
 position. 
 
 None who were burdened with responsibility slept, and 
 even Saville, though very weary, was kept awake by the 
 thought, that in a very few hours he might enter on the
 
 322 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 dreamless sleep which his love now made him dread un- 
 speakably ; and that, should desperate wounds leave him 
 helpless on the field, Vera was too far away to seek him 
 again. 
 
 At midnight there was a stir and the heavy tread of 
 men. Washington, who has been characterized as over- 
 cautious, was so resolutely bent on fighting Clinton, that 
 he had sent orders for a large detachment to move up 
 close to the enemy's lines, and to hold the British general 
 in check, should he attempt to decamp in the darkness. 
 
 At daylight, expresses galloped to Lee and to Wash- 
 ington with the tidings that the enemy were moving. 
 The chief put the main army into motion instantly, and 
 gave orders that the men should throw aside blankets and 
 every impending weight. Lee remained inert until posi- 
 tive orders spurred him into action. He then advanced, 
 it is true, but languidly, very cautiously, without defi- 
 nite purpose, and without concert with his supporting 
 generals. 
 
 By his direction, General Wayne gained a position 
 where he was certain he could deal the enemy a tremen- 
 dous blow ; but was checked in the very act of striking, 
 that Lee himself might carry out a brilliant piece of 
 strategy, which ended, however, in a feeble and purpose- 
 less demonstration. 
 
 Lafayette saw an opportunity to gain the rear of a 
 body of the enemy marching against them, and spurred 
 to Lee, that he might obtain permission to make the at- 
 tempt. 
 
 "Sir," was the reply, "you do not know British sol- 
 diers ; we cannot stand against them ; we shall certainly 
 be driven back at first, and we must be cautious." 
 
 " It may be so, General," Lafayette replied ; " but 
 British soldiers have been beaten, and they may be again ; 
 at any rate, I am disposed to make the trial." 
 
 Lee then gave Lafayette permission to carry out his
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL ' 323 
 
 plan in part. A little later, one of Washington's aids ar- 
 rived upon the field in quest of information, and the Mar- 
 quis sent back emphatic word to his chief that his pres- 
 ence was needed. 
 
 Before the halfway measure which Lee proposed could 
 be carried out, the permission was recalled, and the gal- 
 lant Frenchman was ordered to fall back, though why 
 he could not tell. He chafed like a chained lion, and 
 now felt that the man whom he must obey was either a 
 traitor or a coward. 
 
 Saville was deeply chagrined ; for Lee, from his out- 
 spoken skepticism and innovating tendencies, was one of 
 his heroes. 
 
 This hesitation, this marching and countermarching, 
 and cautious feeling around, gave Sir Henry Clinton just 
 the time he needed. His immense train of baggage was 
 well out of the way, guarded by a strong force under 
 General Knyphausen, so he now decidedly took the ini- 
 tiative, by hurling the bulk of his army, under Lord 
 Cornwallis, against the dilatory Americans, who had 
 been wasting their time and strength in purposeless skir- 
 mishing. 
 
 The whole advance guard of the army under Lee was 
 soon falling back, some with orders and some without, 
 and it was not long before the retrograde movement 
 developed into a disgraceful retreat. As the enemy 
 pressed faster and nearer, panic seized upon the Conti- 
 nental forces, and all the awful consequences followed in- 
 evitably. The day was intensely hot, and the unclouded 
 sun smote many a poor fellow to the earth in surer death 
 than the thickly-flying bullets. The already wearied 
 men sank ankle-deep into the yielding sand, and those 
 who, through feebleness, wounds, or fatigue, fell in the 
 way, were trampled by the strong in their reckless flight. 
 
 And yet Washington knew nothing of all this. There 
 had been no indications of heavy fighting in his front.
 
 324 . NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 To all the wretched blunders of that morning Lee added 
 the most unpardonable, when he failed to inform his chief 
 that he was falling back ; for he thereby endangered the 
 entire army. 
 
 The first intimation that Washington received of what 
 had occurred was the appearance of breathless, terror- 
 stricken fugitives. \Vith rare presence of mind, he or- 
 dered them under arrest, lest they should communicate 
 their tidings to the main body of the army, which was ad- 
 vancing to Lee's support ; for there is no contagion so 
 mysterious and awfully rapid in its transmission as that 
 of a panic. 
 
 Still hoping that the report was unfounded, he sprang 
 upon his horse, and spurred towards the front ; but the 
 increasing stream of fugitives, and then the heads of the 
 retreating columns, soon convinced him that the disaster 
 which he believed impossible had taken place. He asked 
 several officers in the retreating column what it all meant. 
 No one knew. One smiled significantly, another was 
 angry, while a third declared, with an oath, that "they 
 were flying from a shadow." 
 
 Washington was ever slow to suspect others of evil, but 
 the thought now flashed into his mind that Lee was 
 making good his predictions of defeat, by his own cow- 
 ardly or treacherous action. He stopped to ask no 
 more questions, but, ordering the commander of the first 
 division to form his men on the first rising ground, he, 
 with his staff, swept across the causeway, past the disor- 
 derly fugitives, his anger kindling as he rode. The 
 frown upon his brow grew black as night, and by the 
 time he reached Lee, who was leading the retreat of the 
 second division, his appearance was terrible. Saville, 
 who rode near, with Lafayette, was deeply awed, and, 
 were not the proof before him, could not have believed 
 that a human face could become so powerful in its indig- 
 nation.
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 325 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this, sir?" Washington 
 demanded, in a tone that was stern even to fierceness. 
 
 "Sir sir," stammered Lee, at first overwhelmed by 
 Washington's manner. 
 
 "I desire to know the meaning of this disorder and 
 confusion," was again demanded, and with still greater 
 vehemence. 
 
 " You know that the attack was contrary to my advice 
 and opinion " Lee began. 
 
 " You should not have undertaken the command, un- 
 less you intended to carry it through." 
 
 Lee's irascible spirit was now stung to rage, and he 
 made an angry reply, which drew from Washington still 
 sharper expressions. For a moment, the incensed gen- 
 erals confronted each other, like two thunder-clouds that 
 are flashing their lightnings back and forth, as if within 
 the dark folds of each there was a vindictive will. 
 
 Lee sought to give a hurried explanation, which ended 
 with the assertion that the ground was unfavorable, and 
 that he was not disposed to beard the whole British army 
 with troops in such a situation. 
 
 " I have certain information," rejoined Washington, 
 41 that it was merely a strong covering party." 
 
 "That may be ; but it was stronger than mine, and I 
 did not think proper to run such a risk." 
 
 " I am very sorry," was the reply " that you undertook 
 the command, unless you meant to fight the enemy." 
 
 " I did not think it prudent to bring on a general en- 
 gagement." 
 
 " Whatever your opinion may have been," answered 
 Washington disdainfully, " I expected my orders would 
 have been obeyed." 
 
 All this had passed with inconceivable rapidity, and, 
 as it were, in flashes, and yet too much time had been 
 wasted, for the enemy were but a few minutes' march 
 away from them. Casting Lee aside, as he might a
 
 326 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 broken reed, Washington ordered that the head of the 
 second division, instead of continuing its retreat, should 
 form instantly in line of battle. Then, wheeling his horse, 
 he dashed to the rear of the American column, and 
 towards the advancing enemy, who were now close upon 
 the confused and disordered remnant of Lee's troops. 
 
 Until Washington appeared, the poor fellows were in 
 sore straits. Their retreat had been checked ; they were 
 standing helplessly in the road, artillery and infantry 
 huddled together. No one knew what to do, or how the 
 miserable blundering of the day would end. Only one 
 thing was definite and certain the solid columns of their 
 pursuers were now almost upon them. They were on the 
 eve of a headlong and disastrous flight, when Washing- 
 ton, with his staff, galloped up, and his presence and in- 
 spiring mien sent an electric thrill of hope and courage to 
 every fainting heart. The great mastermind, aroused to 
 its highest degree of power, seemed to lay a resistless 
 grasp upon the whole chaotic mass. It appeared but a 
 moment before Colonel Oswald's guns were posted on a 
 neighboring eminence, were unlimbered, and were pour- 
 ing well-directed shots into the advancing foe. Two other 
 batteries galloped off to the left, and taking position in 
 the covert of woods, were soon adding their tremendous 
 echoes to the deepening uproar of battle. In the mean- 
 time, and under a perfect storm of bullets and cannon 
 balls, the intrepid chief formed the regiments of Colonels 
 Stewart and Ramsay in line, and enabled them to reply 
 to the destructive volleys they were receiving. He seemed 
 to bear the same charmed life that had excited the super- 
 stitious wonder of the savages on Braddock's disastrous 
 field in the old French and Indian war. Within a space 
 ef time so brief as to appear incredible, he had rallied into 
 battle array fugitives that, a few moments before, were 
 bent only on flight, and the impetuous advance of the 
 enemy was checked.
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 327 
 
 Having made all the arrangements within his power, 
 this born commander of men did a still greater thing : he 
 controlled himself. Riding back to Lee, in calmer mood, 
 he asked, 
 
 "Will you retain the command on this height or not? 
 If you will, I will return to the main body, and have it 
 formed on the next height." 
 
 " It is equal to me where I command," replied Lee. 
 
 " I expect you will take proper means for checking the 
 enemy," said Washington. 
 
 " Your orders shall be obeyed ; and I shall not be the 
 first to leave the ground." 
 
 Availing himself of the respite which his own masterly 
 action had secured, Washington spurred back to the main 
 army, which, under his rapid orders, soon bristled along 
 the next height. 
 
 But he had left something of his own iron will among 
 those who were now sustaining the enemy's attack. His 
 clarion voice, which had resounded above the din, was 
 still echoing in their hearts, and the grand excitement 
 which had animated his face made a hero of every soldier 
 in the little force which the enemy's bullets were fast 
 thiivning. 
 
 They maintained their position gallantly for some little 
 time, and when, at last, the left wing gave way, pushed 
 back by the weight of numbers, and emerged on the 
 further side of the woods towards Washington, both of 
 the contending parties seemed intermingled in a hand-to- 
 hand melee. 
 
 The enemy next attacked Varnum's brigade, posted 
 near the causeway, across which the Americans must 
 retreat, and here the conflict raged severely for some 
 time. 
 
 As Saville was carrying an order ocross the field to a 
 battery that was doing effective service, he was hailed by 
 a familiar voice, and turning, saw his old acquaintance,
 
 328 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Captain Molly, coming towards him with a bucket of 
 water. 
 
 "The Holy Vargin bless ye, Misther Saville ! " she 
 cried. " I fale safe, now I know that ye're around." 
 
 " Ah, Molly, my brave girl ! is that you? " he replied. 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Faix, sur, while Larry is givin' the Red-coats fire, 
 I'm givin' him wather." 
 
 " Can you spare me a drop ? for I'm half perished with 
 thirst in this infernal heat and dust." 
 
 "Take all ye want, and welcome. What are a few 
 dhraps of wather, when ye spilt yer blood for me ? " 
 
 " Molly, you are a jewel ! What did you do for me ? 
 Larry may well be proud of you." 
 
 " Och ! poor man ! I'm better to him now " 
 
 A cannon ball was whizzing towards them ; a second 
 later, Larry was a bleeding corpse beside his gun. 
 
 Molly saw him fall as she turned. With a wild shriek 
 she dropped her pail, rushed to his side, and throwing 
 herself upon his mangled form, gave utterance to loud 
 cries of grief. 
 
 The officer in charge of the battery was about to 
 withdraw the gun, as he now had no one competent to 
 work it ; but Molly, obeying another impulse, sprang up, 
 and dashing her tears right and left, cried, 
 
 " No, yer honor ! I'll take Larry's place, and it'll do 
 me sore heart good to send some o' thim Red-coats, as 
 killed him, to the divil ; " and she seized the rammer, 
 and proved instantly that she had nerve and skill for the 
 task. With her dark, piercing eyes ablaze with anger, 
 and her disheveled hair flying about her inflamed face, 
 she seemed a fury rather than a woman. When Saville 
 left, the rapid discharges of the gun told how eagerly 
 she was seeking to avenge the death of her husband. 
 
 The British cavalry, and a heavy body of infantry at 
 last charged simultaneously, and broke the American
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 329 
 
 ranks. Lee ordered instant retreat, and, with Colonel 
 Ogden's regiment, covered the passage of his men across 
 the causeway. 
 
 Molly would not leave her husband's body, but lifting 
 it on the gun, she tied it there, and then, by running, 
 kept near to the retiring battery, the troops greeting her 
 with acclamations as she passed. 
 
 The British forces promptly followed the hard-pressed 
 Continentals over the causeway, anticipating a complete 
 victory, and the battle speedily became general. But 
 Washington was now upon his own ground, and sup- 
 ported by generals in whom he could trust implicitly. 
 The enemy made successive attacks on his front, left 
 and right, but were repelled. A tremendous cannonade 
 was kept up on both sides, and seldom had the peace of 
 the Sabbath been so rudely disturbed as on that sultry 
 summer day. 
 
 General Wayne, whose headlong valor had justly 
 earned him the sobriquet of " Mad Anthony," occupied 
 an advanced position in an orchard, from which he 
 maintained a brisk and galling fire on the British centre. 
 He repeatedly repulsed the Royal Grenadiers, who 
 sought to dislodge him. It soon began to appear that 
 the success of the enemy's attack depended on driving 
 him from his position. 
 
 Saville was directed by Lafayette to ride over to 
 Wayne with a cheering message, to watch the struggle, 
 and report to him its progress. 
 
 When Saville reached Wayne's advanced post, Colo- 
 nel Moncton, who commanded the Royal Grenadiers, 
 was deploying them in the open field, as for a quiet 
 evening parade. It was evident that he was preparing 
 for the stern and silent use of the bayonet, on which the 
 British troops justly prided themselves. 
 
 When his men were in line, he made them a brief, 
 stirring address, in which he appealed to every motive
 
 330 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 which could inspire an English soldier with unflinching 
 courage. His voice was distinctly heard by those 
 awaiting the assault, and at times even his words were 
 intelligible. He next placed himself at their head, and 
 led them in solid column against the Americans. They 
 presented a truly magnificent sight in the warm, mellow 
 light of the declining day. With the same firmness and 
 steadiness that they would pass in review on some gala 
 occasion, the poor fellows advanced towards the point 
 where very many would meet wounds and death. So 
 even and perfect was their step, as they marched shoulder 
 to shoulder, that a cannon ball from an American bat- 
 tery enfiladed a whole platoon, knocking the muskets 
 out of each man's hand ; but, with scarce a change in 
 muscle, the obscure heroes strode on with their com- 
 rades, although unarmed. Moncton walked at their 
 head, erect, stately, resolute, and his bearing was em- 
 ulated by every officer in the column. Their silent prog- 
 ress was more impressive than if every step was ac- 
 companied by shouts and volleys. Their march was 
 the very sublimity of courage, the perfect flower of 
 discipline, and it seemed as if it must be resistless. 
 
 They are now within a few rods of their equally silent, 
 waiting foe ; and yet there is no hesitation, no change in 
 the time of their strong, steady tramp. They are now 
 so near that the opposing ranks can look into each 
 other's begrimed and heat-swollen faces. The same 
 stern resolve characterizes the countenances of each 
 dark array. To distant spectators the two clouds of war 
 seem almost together ; the lightning flashes must come 
 soon. 
 
 The American firelocks are leveled, not evenly, cover- 
 ing the whole advancing column, but concentrating on 
 every officer visible. They are but a few yards away. 
 Suddenly Moncton steps to the right, waves his sword 
 aloft, and shouts,
 
 A MASTER MIND AND WILL 331 
 
 "Charge !" 
 
 Wayne's signal is equally prompt. A volley from the 
 whole length of his line rings out ; then, lowering their 
 empty pieces, his men rushed forward to meet the com- 
 ing shock with answering bayonet thrust. 
 
 Moncton fell, and also almost every other British officer ; 
 but his heroic column, stunned but for a moment, 
 pressed on, and there was at once a desperate hand-to- 
 hand conflict over the prostrate commander, one party 
 seeking to retain, and the other to obtain his body. At 
 last the Continentals secured the lifeless form of the 
 gallant colonel, and carried it to the rear. 
 
 If the English courage was steady and unflinching, 
 that of the Americans was reckless and enthusiastic. 
 Gradually they pushed back the struggling and almost 
 unofficered grenadiers, until, convinced that their assault 
 had failed, they gave way. This practically decided 
 the fate of the day. The sun was setting, and the 
 British forces soon retired to the height whereon Wash- 
 ington had rallied Lee's disordered troops in the morn- 
 ing. Throughout the long twilight, something of the 
 Sabbath's stillness settled down on a region that had, 
 throughout the day, resounded with the horrid din of war. 
 The battle-field, and the whole line of Lee's disastrous 
 retreat, presented one strange feature. There were 
 wounded and mangled bodies in abundance, but every- 
 where were found men dead or helpless, without a 
 scratch upon their persons. The torrid sun had smote 
 both parties as with the wrath of heaven. 
 
 Washington and his suite lay down under a broad oak, 
 with the dead all around them, intending to renew the 
 conflict with the light of the following morning ; but, 
 while the Americans, from the fatigues of the day, 
 were sunk in oblivion almost as deep as that of those 
 whom the morning reveille could not awaken, Clinton 
 stole away with his baffled army, leaving his severely
 
 332 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 wounded to the mercy of his foes. When, at daybreak, 
 the advance was sounded, the Americans found only 
 the deserted campaign ground. 
 
 It was a drawn battle ; but, if Lafayette had com- 
 manded the advance instead of Lee, and had Morgan, 
 with his brave riflemen who, but three miles distant, 
 chafed all day without orders attacked the enemy's 
 rear, history might have given a different record.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE REVELATION 
 
 SAVILLE was naturally brave, but no man ever had a 
 greater sense of gladness than he at having passed un- 
 scathed through the manifold perils of the day. Though 
 wearied to the point of exhaustion, at the close of the 
 battle, he sought Molly, as soon as his duties permitted, 
 and tried to comfort the poor creature. He found her 
 crooning and wailing by turns, at the side of her hus- 
 band's body. 
 
 "Ah ! Misther Saville," she said, " it's now I think on 
 ivery oncivil word iver I spake to him. If I could only 
 have him aloive once more, I'd be swater than honey all 
 the toime. Faix, sur, Larry was a kind, dacent man, 
 an' I'll niver git his loikes agin." 
 
 The story of Molly's action on the death of her hus- 
 band had spread like wildfire through the army, and on 
 the following morning General Greene presented her, all 
 begrimed with powder and blood, to Washington, who, 
 with words of praise and sympathy, conferred on her the 
 commission of sergeant, while he afterwards caused her 
 name to be placed upon the list of half-pay officers for 
 life. 
 
 Saville saw that Larry had a soldier's burial, and then 
 gave Molly the means of defraying her expenses back to 
 her home in the Highlands, to which she soon returned. 
 Immediately after her arrival thither, she went out to see 
 Vera, to whom she related, with all the vividness of her 
 demonstrative style, the events of the battle, enlarging 
 Upon her own loss, the dangers to which Saville had 
 been exposed, and his kindness to her.
 
 334 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Her tidings, while in part reassuring, threw Vera into 
 an agony of anxiety for the safety of her lover. Now, 
 in his absence, she realized, as never before, how neces- 
 sary he was to her very existence ; and again, with her 
 old importunity, she besought Heaven in his behalf, 
 though not with her old and simple faith ; and she 
 watched for his return with almost sleepless vigilance. 
 
 In the meantime, Saville, finding that there was no 
 further prospect of fighting, proceeded on his journey to 
 Philadelphia, and, after attending to his official business, 
 purchased a beautiful ring for Vera. Returning, he 
 taxed his poor horse heavily, in his impatience to see 
 again the one who grew dearer every day. The dangers 
 he had passed through, and the uncertainty of life in 
 that stormy period, made him feel that he could delay 
 the consummation of his love no longer, and he half 
 resolved to put his hopes to the test on his return. By 
 rapid riding, he gained sufficient time to enable him to 
 spend a day or two at the cabin, and still report as early 
 as he was expected. 
 
 When he met Vera, he found that the knowledge of 
 what he had passed through had preceded him. Never 
 before had her reception been so marked by a clinging 
 tenderness, and he thought exultantly, " She cannot give 
 me up." But she soon clouded his face and hopes by 
 saying, 
 
 "O Theron ! God does answer prayer. It seems to 
 me that I have entreated him in your behalf even in my 
 troubled dreams, as well as in every waking moment, 
 and he has spared you to me." 
 
 " Is her faith still so unshaken in a mere name ? " he 
 sadly asked himself. " Will it ever be otherwise ? " 
 
 After an early supper, he led her out to one of their 
 favorite haunts upon the hillside, and gave her the ring 
 he had brought. He was pleased to see her unbounded 
 delight and gratitude, and he said,
 
 THE REVELATION 335 
 
 When you no longer wish my love, you may return 
 this ring to me." 
 
 " You will never receive it again," she answered, with 
 tears in her eyes ; " for if I were dying, Theron, I could 
 not give it back on that condition." 
 
 It proved a little too large, but she obviated this defect 
 by drawing off the ring given by her mother, and then, 
 putting Saville's gift in its place, she kept it there by the 
 plain gold band which she had worn so long. 
 
 "That is the way it should be," she said; "for I 
 have felt from the first that I had mother's approval of 
 my love." Then she added musingly, " How well I re- 
 member her words when she gave me this ring ! " 
 
 " What were they, Vera? " 
 
 She blushed deeply, for she had spoken half uncon- 
 sciously, not realizing the nature of the explanation that 
 must follow. 
 
 " Tell me her words," Saville again gently asked. 
 
 " They remind me that I have, in part, disobeyed 
 them, Theron ; but I trusted you so completely, and all 
 has happened so strangely and differently from what any 
 one could have anticipated, that I could not do other- 
 wise." 
 
 His curiosity and hope were now both aroused. Was 
 the way opening for explanations that, in any event, 
 must soon come ? So he said, 
 
 " I know you have acted right, darling. Were your 
 mother living, she could have found no fault ; but what 
 did she say when she gave the ring ? " 
 
 " I cannot hide anything from you, Theron," she said, 
 turning away her face. "You must remember the 
 circumstances. e Mother was leaving me alone and friend- 
 less. She feared I would be peculiarly unshielded. I 
 would have been but for you. Think of what I passed 
 through in your long year of absence ! think of the con- 
 dition in which you found me ! O Theron ! how much
 
 336 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 I owe to you. Well, mother evidently feared I might 
 meet with some one not so honorable as you are, and 
 she made me promise that I would not permit caresses, 
 even from one I loved, until he should wed me before 
 God's minister with this ring. I readily gave the promise, 
 for I did not then know what love was. But I could not 
 keep it. When you raised me from the floor, the night 
 father spoke those dreadful words, I knew I could trust 
 you. I turned to you as instinctively as that climbing 
 vine to yonder oak. I could not help it, and I knew 
 that all would be as mother wished in your own good 
 time." 
 
 As she spoke he grew very pale, and, at her last 
 words, buried his face in his hands with a deep groan. 
 It seemed, for the moment, as if the dead mother stood 
 between him and her child. 
 
 ' Theron ! ' ' she said in great alarm. 
 
 He did' not answer. 
 
 "Theron, are you ill?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, sick at heart ; my evil destiny will conquer 
 yet." 
 
 "O Theron! " she pleaded, laying her hand on his 
 shoulder; "tell me your trouble. You need dread no 
 evil that I can avert." 
 
 " If that were only true," he answered, looking at her 
 with a face so full of trouble that her tears started in 
 sympathy. 
 
 " How can it be otherwise than true ? " she asked, be- 
 ginning to dread, she knew not what. " Can you think 
 me so ungrateful that I will not make any sacrifice for 
 you ? " 
 
 "You will never be ungrateful, Vera, and you have 
 had, thus far, no more cause for gratitude than I have ; 
 but I fear you cannot mark, I do not say will not I 
 fear you cannot give up your superstition your faith in 
 what I am sure is all delusion for my sake ; and yet
 
 TEE REVELATION 337 
 
 you must, or else the chance for a happiness greater 
 than I thought possible passes away from both." 
 
 " Theron, your words are as dark as night. What can 
 you mean? Why are you so pale ? " cried Vera in great 
 distress. 
 
 " I may as well tell you now," he said, after a mo-' 
 ment, " what I have been on the point of telling you be- 
 fore ; but I hesitated, as much for your sake as my own. 
 I could no more endure the thought of your losing this 
 happy future than of losing it myself; and I hoped that 
 in time, and under greater enlightenment of mind, you 
 would outgrow the imaginary obstacles in the way. I 
 too have broken the letter of a promise that I made you at 
 your mother's grave. I said, in effect, that I would not 
 try to lead you to forget or depart from her teachings ; 
 nor would I, save in one respect, for her influence and 
 that of nature have made you the sweetest, purest 
 woman that ever breathed. But I could not be loyal to 
 you and to your happiness and still keep that hasty 
 pledge, for since that day our mutual love has grown till 
 it absorbs us both, and in the wretched past an event oc- 
 curred which would render the consummation of our love 
 impossible, did I leave your baseless faith undisturbed. 
 While it comforted you after your mother's death, I kept 
 the promise. When, ere we were aware, we both began 
 to love each other in such a way that the terms brother 
 and sister no longer meant the truth ; when your father's 
 words taught me that this wilderness must continue to be 
 your home, and that the position in society, which I that 
 day had resolved you should have, became impossible, 
 then I commenced trying to teach you what I firmly be- 
 lieve myself. I could sacrifice my own happiness ; I had 
 decided to do so, and your quick intuition read my de- 
 cision in my face. And yet how glad I was that I saw, 
 as I believed, a way in which we both could be happy 
 by becoming one for life ! I then tried to undermine
 
 338 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 your delusion ; I sought to do it gently, that your old be- 
 liefs might pass away as clouds from the sky." 
 
 Just then, in ominous contradiction of his words, the 
 setting sun entered a dark cloud, and the gloom fell on 
 the faces of both. 
 
 " Vera, before I saw you I thought I had spoiled my 
 life ; not by a crime, but by an act of folly. It is for you 
 to decide whether my life is to be blighted by its conse- 
 quences ; for your sake not my own ; my pure, strong 
 love needs no priestly sanction for your sake, it cuts me 
 to the heart to say it. I cannot, in truth, take you before 
 a minister and wed you, with that ring. While my heart 
 is free to love you, in the eye of our barbarous laws I am 
 a married man." 
 
 She started violently and became deathly pale, but she 
 only moaned, 
 
 " O Theron, Theron ! I should have known this be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Hear me, hear the whole wretched story, before you 
 condemn me! " he cried passionately. " I could have 
 brought a minister hither, and it^might have been years 
 before you learned the truth, if ever ; but no deceit shall 
 ever sully my relations to you. When we were first ac- 
 quainted, I did not tell you of my wife, because I never 
 spoke of her to any one, not even to my mother. I was 
 seeking to forget her hateful existence. When your 
 father's words and your decision to remain with him pre- 
 vented me from carrying out my self-sacrificing plan, then 
 the thought came : Teach her the truth, show her how 
 valueless are the forms and ceremonies which are based 
 on falsehood." 
 
 " But they are right and true to me," said Vera sobbing. 
 
 " They cannot continue to be so, darling, after you 
 have calmly considered the proof to the contrary ; and 
 when you come to know how cruelly I am placed, how 
 utterly I am absolved from every bond save that which is
 
 THE REVELATION 339 
 
 purely legal, you will have pity ; you will see that I have 
 a right to seek your love." And he told her the whole 
 story of his marriage, softening no part that was to his own 
 disadvantage ; he spoke with intense bitterness of his 
 wife's recent and shameful marriage at the very time 
 when he owed his life to Vera's tireless care ; " and this 
 marriage," he said, " was solemnized with all the forms 
 that are called sacred. 
 
 " And now, Vera," he concluded, " how could I have 
 acted otherwise ? I believe that this life is all. It is all,"*- 
 he said earnestly ; ' ' everything in nature proves it. We 
 have before us but this brief life. Alas ! in my calling, 
 how uncertain it is ! Since our short day must pass 
 swiftly at best, shall we waste our waking moments over 
 delusions ? Shall we let what men imagined in the igno- 
 rant past stand in the way of real and practical happiness ? 
 Only obstacles created by the untaught minds of the 
 superstitious are standing in our way. Shall these unsub- 
 stantial spectres frighten us from a lifetime of deep con- 
 tent? In a little while we shall cease to be, and the 
 chance for happiness is gone." 
 
 But Vera drew another inference than that which he in- 
 tended, and in a tone that pierced his heart she cried, 
 
 " Then where is mother ? " 
 
 He was silent, for her distress was so great that it 
 seemed a cruel thing to say that all that remained of one 
 so dear was corrupting in a distant grave. He never 
 realized before how harsh and abrupt an end his creed 
 gave to human life. He tried to comfort himself with the 
 thought that her intense grief would gradually pass away, 
 and that realizing that she had in sad truth lost her 
 mother, she would cling all the more closely to him as her 
 only certain possession. 
 
 He endeavored to soothe her, but for a long time his 
 efforts seemed utterly vain. At last she grew calm 
 enough to falter,
 
 340 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " I am in the dark, Theron. It seems as if the moun- 
 tain had opened at my feet. I dare not move lest I fall 
 into the gulf. I don't know what's right, I don't know 
 what's true ; my mind is confused, and my heartaches as 
 if it would break. O mother ! are you indeed lost to me 
 forever? If you should die, Theron, would I never see 
 you again? This is terrible, terrible. Please take me 
 home. I cannot think. Perhaps to-morrow some light 
 will come. I am in thick darkness now." 
 
 He could only comply with her request, and hope that 
 time and thought would become his allies. She told her 
 father that she was not well, and shut herself up in her 
 own little room ; but for hours her mind was so stunned 
 and bewildered that it could not act coherently.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 GROPING HER WAY 
 
 THE night to Saville was one of sleepless anxiety. He 
 felt that he was at the crisis of his life. Indeed, if Vera 
 gave him back his ring, saying that, under the circum- 
 stances, she could not accept of his love, what would life 
 be but a painful burden ? The result of the council 
 which he knew her to be holding with her own heart, and 
 the mysterious faith which he had found so hard to over- 
 come, might blast the hope upon which he built all his 
 future. When she appeared, the following morning he 
 scarcely dared lift his eyes to her pale face, lest he should 
 there see the impress of a determination which he might 
 not be able to overcome. But, instead of a strong re- 
 solve, he saw only irresolution and trouble, her mobile 
 features revealing the deep disquietude and uncertainty 
 of her mind. He also saw, from her greeting and wistful 
 eyes, how tenaciously her heart clung to him. His man- 
 ner was gentleness and sympathy itself, and while she 
 evidently longed to receive it in her old, frank manner, as 
 her right, she hesitated, as if it were forbidden and fraught 
 with danger. Her restraint did not dishearten him, and 
 he thought exultantly, 
 
 " She is mine. Her love will not permit her to give me 
 up ; her old beliefs are shaken. Time, gentleness, and 
 the truth shall be my strong allies, and to them she will 
 surely yield." 
 
 Her father was too preoccupied to notice that anything 
 was amiss, and soon after the morning meal was over, 
 'departed on one of his lonely tramps into the forest. 
 
 Saville led Vera again to their old, secluded haunt on
 
 342 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the hillside, hoping that ere the day closed he might 
 satisfy her mind sufficiently to secure an acquiescence in 
 his plans, which, if at first hesitating and full of fear, 
 would soon become hearty and decided. 
 
 "I learn by your face and manner, dearest," he said, 
 " that you will not send me away a despairing and reck- 
 less man." 
 
 She shivered at these words, for they opened a new 
 vista of difficulty and danger. 
 
 She sat down on a mossy rock and put her hands to 
 her head, saying, in pathetic, childlike simplicity, 
 
 " I can't seem to think any more. I can only feel and 
 suffer. My head is still all confused, and my heart is like 
 lead." 
 
 - " Let me think for you, Vera," he said, taking one of 
 her cold, passive hands. " Let me assure you, also, that 
 I do not consider my cause so desperate and my views so 
 unsound that I must take advantage of your weakness, 
 and urge you to a hasty decision. I wish to carry your 
 reason and all pure, womanly feelings with me at every 
 step." 
 
 " O Theron ! would to God I knew what is right, what 
 is true ! And you say there is no God. I am bewildered 
 and lost." 
 
 " The impulses of nature are right, Vera. The unerr- 
 ing instincts of our own hearts are true, if in each case our 
 reason approves." 
 
 "The impulses of nature are right," she repeated 
 slowly after him. 
 
 "Yes," he replied eagerly; "and you, as nature's 
 nearest and most perfect child, will soon see that I am 
 correct. What we feel what we think within our 
 own breasts that we know. What we see and experi- 
 ence in nature without we also know ; but what else are 
 we sure of? I am not asking you to peril your happiness 
 on what some old, bigoted Jews wrote a millennium or
 
 GROPING HER WAY 343 
 
 two ago ; but to build it surely on what your own eyes, 
 your own heart and reason, assure you of to-day. I am 
 here at your side ; I am loyal to you to my heart's core. 
 To the utmost extent of my ability you can depend upon 
 me ; while I live " 
 
 " Ah ! Theron, there is the terrible part of your belief 
 ' While you live.' Do you not see that you are stand- 
 ing on a little point, with a black, rayless gulf all around 
 you ? What if you should fall ? What if you should die ? 
 Where could I find you ? " 
 
 " Dismiss these morbid fancies, dearest. There is no 
 need of supposing that I shall fall or die. I have the 
 presentiment of a long and happy life with you, if I can 
 only dissipate the clouds of superstition from your mind, 
 and, after life is over, we shall sleep and not be conscious 
 of our loss. But now, long before that deep oblivion 
 comes, to see a bliss beyond that of your fancied heaven, 
 almost within our grasp, and yet to be denied this is 
 more than human fortitude can endure. Let me teach 
 you the truth from your own experience, and pardon the 
 seeming egotism of my argument, for it is all for your 
 sake as truly as my own. The evening you buried your 
 mother you said I saved your heart from breaking. The 
 voice of living sympathy brought relief. Your mother 
 did not help you, simply because she could not. She 
 was sleeping, and even the voice of her child could not 
 awaken her. If you will calmly think of it, she has been 
 lost to you from the moment she breathed her last, and 
 all that she has been to you since has been due to your 
 vivid memory and strong imagination. At no time can 
 you prove her presence or show that she gave you any 
 practical help." 
 
 "O Theron! I never felt so orphaned before," 
 she sobbed. 
 
 " I know my words hurt you cruelly, darling, but they 
 are necessary to your final health and happiness. When
 
 344 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 even your light touch bound up my wound, it caused me 
 agony for the moment ; but I am here to-day because of 
 that suffering. Go back with me to the time when I 
 found you near your old desolated home. You were em- 
 bracing the unresponsive mound beneath which your 
 mother was sleeping, and the cold, unanswering silence 
 was breaking your heart. You had become timidity 
 itself, feeling justly that you had no protector. As soon 
 as I appeared, you had a strong arm to lean upon. Has 
 not your life improved since that day? Has it not grown 
 fuller, more complete and satisfying ? " 
 
 "I should have been dead but for your coming, 
 Theron." ' 
 
 "That which is worse than death might have hap- 
 pened," he said shudderingly. " Think of the perils to 
 which you were exposed before I came. I have been to 
 the point of Butter Hill, where you escaped a fate too 
 frightful to be imagined. As I pictured your climbing 
 that awful precipice, I trembled and grew faint. Who 
 helped you then ? " 
 
 " It seemed as if God helped me." 
 
 " But was there in fact any practical help save that 
 which these little hands and feet gave, bruised and 
 bleeding as they must have been ? Kindly nature held 
 out a shrub here and there, and the granite rock, more 
 merciful than your imagined deity, gave you a few crev- 
 ices on which to step for a perilous moment. Your own 
 weary feet carried you on that lonely, desperate journey 
 home, and when your natural and human strength gave 
 out, you fell. No one helped you, and, were it not for 
 the accident of old Gula stumbling against your uncon- 
 scious form, you would have perished within a few yards 
 of your own door. And if, a little later, the ruffians had 
 found you in the cabin, who would have saved you ? 
 Who has saved thousands, equally helpless, from every 
 outrage that incarnate fiends could perpetrate ? Poor,
 
 GROPING HER WAY 345 
 
 inoffensive Gula was rescued by a human hand. My 
 life was saved by these dear hands. Tell me when and 
 where any real and practical blessing came to our lives 
 that was not brought by human hands, and prompted by 
 human love." 
 
 She turned and clung to him almost in terror, as she 
 said, 
 
 " Theron, is this arm, which death may at any 
 moment paralyze, my only defense ? " 
 
 " What have been the facts, darling ? Who has helped 
 you ? Who rescued me when I should have soon died 
 from my wound, as that thing which the law calls my 
 wife devoutly wished ? " 
 
 "There seems reason in what you say," she said; 
 " and yet it is so contrary to all that I ever hoped or be- 
 lieved that I cannot grasp it," and her brow contracted 
 for a few moments in deep thought. 
 
 He did not interrupt her, wishing to give his words 
 time to make their impression. 
 
 At last she said slowly, " I must try to feel my way out 
 of this darkness, and come to some clear sense of what 
 your words mean and involve. I shall have to trust you, 
 Tlieron. You can easily deceive such an ignorant child 
 as I am, but I know you will not. I have always lived 
 in these mountains, and mother and the Bible have been 
 my only teachers." 
 
 " You forget nature, Vera. I cannot help feeling that 
 she has taught you more than all. It is her influence 
 that makes you so docile and receptive. Your mind 
 opens to the truth, like the flower buds to the rain and 
 dew, whenever they fall." 
 
 "Alas! the resemblance is too true. You might put 
 within the petals of the silly flowers that which would 
 poison them, and they would know no better at first." 
 
 " And can you think I would try to poison your mind, 
 Vera?"
 
 346 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Not willingly and knowingly, Theron ; and yet I 
 tremble at the thoughts you suggest, and fear they in- 
 volve more to me than you realize. Besides, if you are 
 right, so many must be mistaken ; at least I think so. I 
 am so ignorant, and my life has been so remote from the 
 world, that I distrust myself on every side. You say 
 that the great and wise believe as you do ? " 
 
 Here Saville launched out with enthusiasm and sin- 
 cerity. " The learned men of France," he said, " are the 
 great thinkers of the world. They are rapidly emanci- 
 pating their own nation, and their ideas are finding an 
 increasing number of adherents in this country and Eng- 
 land, especially among the educated classes. Only 
 those who will not or cannot think for themselves hold to 
 the old superstitions ; and in a generation or two more, 
 all our barbarous laws will have to be remodeled in ac- 
 cordance with truth and reason. Men will evolve their 
 laws from their own nature and needs, and hence they 
 will cease to be mere arbitrary and irrational restraints. 
 By following the impulses and teachings of nature, we may 
 hasten forward that golden age. It was one of my 
 dearest hopes that I might, in this new land, contribute 
 much towards reorganizing society, and breaking the 
 chains under which so many are groaning. Perhaps I 
 have been made to feel how galling and unnatural they 
 are that I might be fitted for the task." 
 
 " Who has arranged it so that you might be fitted for 
 this task ? " asked Vera innocently. 
 
 ""Well, destiny, nature, or perhaps I should more cor- 
 rectly say, it is a happy chance," answered Saville, 
 somewhat confused. 
 
 " It's all so strange and vague to me," said Vera de- 
 spondently. "These questions are too deep for me. I 
 cannot follow you. There seems nothing sure existing 
 but yourself, and in a few hours you will be gone, and 
 then comes the awful uncertainty whether you will ever
 
 GROPING HER WAT 347 
 
 return." After a few moments she added, with an 
 averted face and burning- blush, "As things are now, 
 Theron, we cannot be truly married." 
 
 " Yes, Vera, it will be my only true marriage. Was 
 that a true marriage which joined me temporarily to a 
 woman whom I loathe and hate, though solemnized by 
 every priestly and superstitious form ? Nature joins our 
 hands, hearts, and lives, and makes us one in reality." 
 
 " Would it be true marriage to your mother? " asked 
 Vera, in a low tone. 
 
 "My mother holds to the old views," said Saville 
 hesitatingly. "While we love each other dearly, we 
 differ radically on many points. She does not approve 
 of this war for liberty." 
 
 " It would not seem a true marriage to my mother, if 
 she were living, Theron," continued Vera in the same 
 low, troubled voice. 
 
 " Probably not, Vera. With her prejudices and be- 
 liefs, the mere formal rite, which is impossible, would be 
 essential. But your mother is dead, and I am here." 
 
 " The Bible would be against it, Theron." 
 
 " I suppose it would be. But, as the Bible is a mere 
 expression of human opinion, we have a better right to 
 our opinions in this more enlightened age." 
 
 " Would many people, in our own age, regard it as 
 true marriage? " 
 
 " Not yet, I fear," he said sadly ; " but they will in 
 time. But what is the world to us ? I am more than 
 willing to share your seclusion among these beautiful 
 mountains. As long as we know that we are doing 
 right, what need we care what the world thinks ?" 
 
 " If there is no God to whom we are responsible," she 
 said in sudden recklessness, " and if in a few days we 
 shall cease to be, why need we care what is right? It 
 seems to me the words right and wrong have no mean- 
 ing. The only question is, What do we want to do?
 
 148 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 We must hastily snatch at whatever is within our reach, 
 And make the most of it while we can." 
 
 " Now, Vera, darling, those words are not like your 
 old se8?'~be replied, with a slight accent of reproach. 
 " You have only to follow the instincts of your pure, 
 womanly nature to do what is right and shun what is 
 wrong." 
 
 " But your words are sweeping away all on which I 
 based my motives and rules of action," she continued, 
 in the same desperate tone. "The Heavenly Father 
 that I tried to please, as a dutiful child, is but a mere 
 name. The mother, whose gentle teaching echoed his 
 will, has ceased to exist. I am to live a few uncertain 
 days, and then also become nothing. In accordance 
 with all I have been taught to believe true, I have 
 no right to sit here listening to your love. Neither your 
 mother nor mine would believe it right, and, strange 
 to say, I have a guilty fear in my own heart while doing 
 so. I don't understand it. And yet, if you are not 
 mistaken in what you have told me, why need I care ? 
 You are here. I am sure of to-day. That is all." 
 
 He was appalled at the reckless and unnatural ex- 
 pression of her face. Instead of the pure, gentle light 
 which usually beamed from her deep blue eyes, it almost 
 seemed as if a lurid flame were burning back of them. 
 He asked himself, in wonder, Is this Vera ? But he only 
 said, gently and soothingly, 
 
 " The truth involves such great and radical changes in 
 your belief that you are confused, darling. You will 
 see everything calmly in its proper light by and by ; 
 and, that you may, I will give you an abundance of 
 time." 
 
 " 'Time ! ' " she repeated, with a bitter laugh ; 
 " that is the only thing in which we need to practice 
 economy. In a few hours you will mount your horse
 
 GROPING HER WAY 349 
 
 and vanish like my other delusions. What is sure, save 
 this fleeting moment ? ' ' 
 
 Then, in strong revulsion of feeling, she commenced 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 "There is something wrong in all this, Theron," she 
 sobbed. " I am frightened. I tremble at myself, and 
 am sore perplexed. It seems as if I were falling down 
 some black chasm, and even your hand could not 
 reach me. The impulses of nature, as you call them, 
 and conscience are all at war. I don't understand my- 
 self at all. I only know that something is wrong, and 
 that there must be a dreadful mistake somewhere. 
 Have pity on me and take me home." 
 
 The man of theories was almost as greatly perplexed 
 as herself, but he took comfort in the thought that she 
 was unstrung by her strong emotions ; that her trust in 
 her old beliefs had given away so suddenly that she was 
 too bewildered to see the solid ground where he stood. 
 With soothing, gentle words he led her to the cabin. 
 
 " I will go now," he said ; " but shall return in a day 
 or two, and then you will be able to see everything 
 clearer, and you will be your old happy self." 
 
 "Theron, do not go," she said, with such sudden and 
 passionate earnestness that he was surprised. Then she 
 added, almost instantly, in a tone of the deepest sad- 
 ness, "Yes, you must go, you must go. Good-bye," 
 and she hastened to the seclusion of her own room. 
 
 He went away feeling that all was still in doubt.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 STRONG TEMPTATION 
 
 SEVERAL days passed before Saville's duties permitted 
 him to be absent again. To him they were desperately 
 long, but to Vera they were interminable, And yet she 
 almost dreaded to see him, for she could not solve the 
 questions of right and duty. Her heart sided with him 
 and his arguments with pleadings so strong that it 
 seemed they would not be denied. The doubts he had 
 raised in her mind grew stronger as she dwelt upon them. 
 
 " If this life is all," she sighed again and again, " how 
 unspeakably dreadful to lose this one chance of happi- 
 ness ! But, even if I yield, will I be happy ? " she asked 
 herself in prophetic dread. " I have such a strange, 
 guilty fear in giving up all my old belief, and doing what 
 mother forbade. If I could only become his wife, as 
 mother said, I should be the happiest, proudest woman 
 that ever lived. But now, although he is so true, I dare 
 not trust him. I dare not trust myself. I feel that it is a 
 leap into the dark. Oh ! that I knew what was right ; 
 oh ! that I knew what was true ! 
 
 " And yet I cannot give him up. It would now be a 
 millionfold worse than death. Can there be anything 
 more dreadful in all the future even if the Bible is true ? 
 How much easier it would be to give him every drop of 
 my heart's blood than to give him back this ring ! How 
 strange it feels upon my finger! It burns like a circlet 
 of fire. It can't be right. Oh ! is it very wrong ? " 
 
 Thus, by turns, doubt, passion, fear, and love surged 
 over her mind till she thought she would lose her reason. 
 
 Her old playmates, the flowers, began to look at her
 
 STRONG TEMPTATION 351 
 
 reproachfully, the notes of the birds to grow strangely 
 plaintive, and the breathings of the winds among the 
 trees were long-drawn sighs, responsive to her own. 
 
 "It is just as mother said it would be," she moaped ; 
 " nature frowns upon me. It must be wrong. But if I 
 am mistaken, if she were mistaken, if this is only a sick 
 fancy of my disquieted mind oh ! that I knew what was 
 true and right." 
 
 One lovely afternoon, weary and torn by conflicting 
 emotions, she went out to the old haunt on the hillside. 
 In her distress she threw herself upon the ground, and 
 buried her burning face in the cool grass. How long, in 
 her deep preoccupation, she lay there, she did not know, 
 but at last a kind voice said, 
 
 " Vera." 
 
 " O Theron ! have you come once more ? " 
 
 "Yes, darling ; I could not come before." 
 
 Then she became silent, and seemed under the most 
 painful restraint. She was so unlike her former self that 
 he sighed deeply. 
 
 She burst into tears as she said, " That is the way it is 
 all ending ; sighs, sighs, only sighs." 
 
 " Must it all end in sighs? " he asked very sadly. 
 
 " I fear that it will anyway. Theron, I get no light. I 
 cannot give you up, and yet my heart forebodes evil till 
 I tremble with dread." 
 
 "You are not well, Vera. Your hands are feverish, 
 and your pulse rapid and uneven." 
 
 " It but faintly echoes the unrest of my heart. I have 
 thought and thought till my head swam in a dizzy whirl. 
 My love has been your ever-present and eloquent advo- 
 cate. At times, I have been on the point of recklessly 
 shutting my eyes, and of letting you lead me whither you 
 would." 
 
 " My only wish, darling, is to lead you to deep content 
 and lasting peace."
 
 352 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " How mockingly impossible that happy condition 
 seems 1 O Theron ! I don't understand myself at all. It 
 seems but the other day, and I was a simple child ; now 
 I am I know not what. My own feelings remind me of 
 Shakespeare's tragedies, which I never half understood 
 before. Even in my dreams I am walking on the crum- 
 bling edge of an abyss. Even if I yield, something jells 
 me that I shall lose you. It can't be right, Theron, it 
 can't be right, though your words and your unspeakable 
 kindness to me make it seem so. I dare not think of your 
 mother, much less of my own. Did my poor, dying 
 mother have a prophetic insight into the future when she 
 charged me, ' Be true to your God and your faith ; be 
 true to my poor teachings and your own pure, womanly 
 nature. Let the Bible guide you in all things, and then 
 you will always have peace in your heart, and find 
 sympathy in nature without. But rest assured, however 
 wise and greatly to your advantage anything may seem, 
 if your Bible is against it, do not hesitate ; turn away, for 
 it will not end well. Keep thy heart with all diligence. 
 When it troubles you, and your old playmates, the in- 
 nocent flowers, look at you reproachfully, something will 
 be wrong ' ? Theron, they do look at me reproachfully, 
 and my heart is full of strange disquietude and fear. 
 Mother said, ' Keep true, and our separation will be 
 brief.' .My feelings of late seem to rob me of the right of 
 even remembering her. Half- forgotten sentences from her 
 burned Bible come into my mind like lightning flashes. 
 One of these is ever ringing in my ears. I don't remem- 
 ber its connection, but the words are dreadful, and they 
 too often express my condition. They are, ' A fearful 
 looking for of judgment.' Then again I almost see the 
 Saviour looking at me so reproachfully just as he must 
 have looked on Peter when he denied his Lord. And 
 Shakespeare, too, which you say is one of the greatest 
 books of the world, seems to echo the Bible. The writer
 
 STRONG TEMPTATION 353 
 
 must have understood the human heart, for he describes 
 mine. He gives the experience of those who did wrong, 
 and he portrays myself. But when I think of you and 
 your devoted loyalty to me when any one else would 
 have cast me off, 1 have not the heart to deny you any- 
 thing. As for myself, I would rather die a thousand 
 deaths than be separated from you. If I were only sure 
 what was right that is the only ground on which I can 
 end this cruel conflict." 
 
 "And that is the only ground on which I wish you 
 to end it," he said gently and soothingly, taking her 
 hand. 
 
 But he was surprised at the intensity and far-reaching 
 character of her thoughts and emotions. Were it not for 
 the external shadows which had fallen so darkly on her 
 life, she had seemed to him almost an emanation of the 
 sunshine, a being akin to her companions the flowers, 
 and with no capabilities for the dark, passionate thoughts 
 which were surging up in her mind. Was nature failing 
 him who had been her disciple and votary ? Her im- 
 pulses in this, her child, were far from being satisfactory. 
 In his strong delusion he then could not understand that 
 it was Vera's very nearness to nature's heart that caused 
 the deep unrest and dread as he sought to lead her into 
 violation of the subtle laws which the Divine Author had 
 caused to permeate all his work. 
 
 The eating of the forbidden fruit appeared a simple, 
 harmless act in the mellow light of Eden ; but it broke the 
 safe, harmonious control of God's will, and there has 
 been jarring, deadly discord, ever since. 
 
 But, assured in his own theories, he reasoned with 
 Vera long and earnestly. He showed her how the 
 mastery of a strong superstition is slow to yield to the 
 light of truth. He explained how hard and gradual was 
 the death of ancient faiths, which now have no credence 
 whatever. He tried to make it clear that the transition
 
 354 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 from the habitual thought and belief of years must be 
 stormy and full of misgivings. 
 
 She listened intently, honestly seeking light ; but when 
 he was through, she shook her head sadly, saying, 
 
 "What you say seems true. I cannot answer you, I 
 cannot refute your argument ; like a weak woman, I can 
 only feel. You men think with your heads, Theron ; but 
 I imagine that women think with their hearts." 
 
 " Well, Vera, both your head and heart will be satisfied 
 in time. I feel sure that when I come again the clouds 
 and mists will have disappeared. And it may be quite a 
 long time before you see me, for this is a sort of farewell 
 visit. The French fleet has arrived upon our coast, and 
 officers are needed who are thoroughly conversant with 
 both the French and English languages. I have been 
 assigned to duty on General Sullivan's staff, and start for 
 the East to-morrow." 
 
 Vera became very pale, and murmured, " Is God, 
 seeing my weakness, sending you away, and into new 
 and greater dangers? This is the worst of it all, for, 
 however I decide, you must suffer." 
 
 " No, Vera, only as you send me away shall I suffer, 
 and you only have the power to blight my life. Without 
 your love it would be an unendurable burden." 
 
 " You will never cease to have my love ; but, Theron, 
 I have the dreadful presentiment that if I do wrong, I 
 shall bring evil upon you, and that would be worse than 
 anything that could happen to me." 
 
 " Well, darling, only time can cure you of these strange, 
 wild fancies. I will fortify my heart with hope that when 
 I come again, you will give me your old joyous and 
 confident welcome." 
 
 "Must you go?" she asked passionately, a reckless 
 light coming into her eyes. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She swayed for a moment like a reed shaken by the
 
 STEONG TEMPTATION 355 
 
 wind. She seemed about to throw herself into his arms, 
 but turned away instead, and cowering to the earth, mur- 
 mured, 
 
 " May God have pity on us both." 
 
 He lifted her up with a manner that was at once gentle^ 
 strong, and protecting, and, placing her hand on his arm, 
 led her home. 
 
 " Good-bye, Vera," he said, pressing her hand only to 
 his lips, in a way that was full of respect as well as of 
 tenderness ; " your healthful mind will soon recover, and 
 be clear and strong when I come again. '' 
 
 She did not trust herself to speak, but he never forgot 
 the expression of her face.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 A STRANGER'S COUNSEL 
 
 FOR several days thereafter Vera's distress was so 
 great that even the self-absorbed inmates of the cabin 
 noticed it ; but she satisfied them fully by saying that 
 Mr. Saville had been ordered away, and it might be a 
 long time before he returned. 
 
 But her spiritual conflict went on with increasing bitter- 
 ness, until she grew almost desperate, and feeling that 
 she must decide the question one way or the other, the 
 thought occurred to her that perhaps at her mother's 
 grave duty and truth might become clearer. Something 
 might there make it known whether she was restrained, 
 as Saville said, by the strong though shattered powers of 
 an old superstition, or by the voices of truth and nature 
 within her heart. So, one beautiful afternoon about the 
 middle of July, she started, as some remorseful pilgrim 
 might seek a shrine famous for its sacred powers. 
 
 But when she drew near the familiar place, unwonted 
 sounds filled her with apprehension, and soon from a 
 sheltered height she saw that the rocky hill back of the 
 site of the old cabin was thronged with soldiers, under 
 whose labors were rising the walls of a work afterwards 
 known as Fort Putnam. She could not descend into the 
 valley without taking the risk of being seen by many 
 eyes, and meeting those from whom she shrank with 
 fearful memories. She hastily retraced her steps, weep- 
 ing as she went, and feeling more than ever before that 
 Saville's words were true that she had indeed lost her 
 mother, and that not even her grave would be left. 
 
 " Theron is right ; there is no hope, no protection for 
 me but in him," she had almost concluded, when the
 
 A STRANGER'S COUNSEL 357 
 
 sound of a horse's feet caused her to spring from the 
 patii and conceal herself in a thicket. 
 
 A tall, grave-looking officer soon appeared riding 
 leisurely towards her. His face was so open and kindly 
 in its expression, that Vera felt that she would have had 
 no cause to fear him, even if he had discovered her. 
 
 A few steps beyond where she was hiding, a little 
 stream fell into a rocky basin, sparkled a moment in the 
 sunlight, and then stole on into the deep shade of the 
 forest. 
 
 The stranger seemed pleased with the spot, for he 
 reined up his horse, and, removing his hat, wiped his 
 brow, and then looked around as if to assure himself 
 that he was alone. Having dismounted, he drew a small 
 silver cup from his pocket and drank from the rill. He 
 then suffered his eager horse to dip his nose deeply into 
 the water of the little pool. 
 
 " Ha ! Lion, that tastes good to us both, doesn't it ? " 
 he said, stroking the mane of the beautiful animal. 
 Then he slipped off the bridle, and permitted the horse 
 to crop the grass that grew green and rank in the cool, 
 moist spot. 
 
 Laying his hat on a rock near, the stranger sat down 
 and took a small book from his pocket, which he quietly 
 read for some little time, often moving his lips, and 
 shaking his head with a slow, gentle emphasis, as if the 
 words before him were full of deep, grave import. 
 
 Vera's tears dried upon her face as she watched him 
 with increasing interest. "I wonder what he is read- 
 ing," she thought. " It must be a good book, for it 
 gives such a sweet, noble expression to his face. I 
 could trust that man. Oh ! that I dared ask counsel of 
 him. Perhaps God has given me the chance. Be still, 
 poor, foolish heart," she whispered, putting her hand to 
 her side in her old, characteristic way. " Why am I so 
 timid ? ' '
 
 358 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 But when, to her great surprise, the stranger laid the 
 book down, and, kneeling beside it, commenced praying 
 audibly to God, her hesitation vanished. Crossing the 
 'intervening space with silent tread, she knelt near, and 
 her tears fell fast as his voice grew earnest and im- 
 portunate. The burden upon his heart appeared to be 
 his country's weal ; and in his earnest desire that all the 
 blessings of liberty and good government might be se- 
 cured, he quite forgot himself. As she listened to his 
 strong pleadings, her own wavering faith began to revive, 
 and she felt that a great living Presence was near to 
 them both. 
 
 When the stranger rose, and saw the kneeling form of 
 Vera, his surprise was very great, and he was almost 
 resentful, at first, that his privacy had been intruded 
 upon ; but a second's scrutiny of the bowed head' and 
 tearful face quite disarmed him. 
 
 "What do you wish, my child?" he asked, a little 
 coldly, however. 
 
 "Pardon me," faltered Vera, rising, and putting her 
 hand to her side. "I will you please forgive a poor 
 child that would fain learn to pray also ? " 
 
 " Surely 1 will," said the stranger kindly, becoming at 
 once interested in one who appealed, by her modesty 
 and unconscious grace, to both his taste and sympathy. 
 "Do not be so frightened, and tell me how you came 
 here." 
 
 " I heard your horse's steps, and I was afraid and hid 
 myself. But I was in sore trouble, sir ; and when I saw 
 you kneel in prayer, I thought you might be willing to 
 counsel one of the ' little ones ' of whom the Bible 
 speaks." 
 
 " I shall be glad to advise you if I can ; but why not 
 take counsel of 'the Bible itself? That is the best and 
 surest guide." 
 
 " I have not any, sir ; it was burned," she said, her
 
 A STRANGER'S COUNSEL 359 
 
 tears falling fast. Then she added eagerly, "Is the 
 Bible a sure guide ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my child. How came you to doubt it? " 
 
 " I have been told that a great many people are losing 
 faith in it." 
 
 " I have not lost faith in it," said the stranger, with 
 quiet emphasis. And he took up the little volume 
 reverently, adding, "This book commends itself to my 
 judgment and conscience more and more every day." 
 
 "Is that a Bible?" asked Vera eagerly, and he 
 marked her wistful gaze. "Oh!" she 'added, again 
 putting her hand to her side, "how long it is since I have 
 seen one ! " 
 
 " This is all very strange," said the stranger musingly. 
 " Who are you, my child, and how came you to doubt 
 the Bible?" 
 
 " My name is Vera Brown, sir. We are poor people, 
 and live back among these mountains. My mother, who 
 is dead, taught me to believe the Bible ; but it was 
 burned in our old home by some bad men. I have not 
 been able to get one since, and I am forgetting its teach- 
 ings. And yet I have great reason now to remember 
 them. I don't know what is right and true, but I must 
 decide. When I saw you kneeling, I thought perhaps 
 God had given me a chance to ask." 
 
 " Perhaps he did, my child. ' God is faithful ; he will 
 not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able.' ' 
 
 "Oh ! I have been so tempted," said Vera, bursting 
 into tears; "and it seemed as if God had left me to 
 struggle alone. I was told the Bible was not true." 
 
 "Who told you this? " asked the stranger, a flush of 
 indignation rising to his face. 
 
 In painful embarrassment she faltered, " Father does 
 not believe as mother did." 
 
 " Then remain true to your mother's teaching," was 
 the decided response; "and rest assured that anything
 
 360 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 which the Bible condemns will end only in wretched- 
 ness." 
 
 "That is what mother told me." 
 
 "Are you willing to be guided by the Bible ? " asked 
 the stranger very gravely. 
 
 " I will try to be," faltered Vera, " as far as I can re- 
 member it." 
 
 " I will take away all excuse for failure. You shall 
 have mine ; " and he placed the little book in her hands. 
 
 " May God bless you, sir, for this gift. I did not ex- 
 pect so much. Never did one need it more." 
 
 " Repay me by doing just as it bids you," said the 
 stranger, with kindly interest kindling in his eyes. 
 
 "God help me to do so ! " she replied in a low tone, 
 but growing almost faint as she thought of all that obedi- 
 ence involved. I have one question more," she began, 
 but stopped in deep embarrassment. 
 
 " Well, my child, do not be afraid ; you may trust 
 me." 
 
 " I was sure of that when I first saw you, sir." 
 
 " You were ? Well, that pleases me more than all the 
 fine things I ever had said to me. But you are not 
 making good your trust, and seem afraid to speak your 
 mind." 
 
 " 1 have been told," continued Vera, "that the wise 
 and great are the ones who doubt the Bible people who 
 are able to think for themselves and that those who be- 
 lieve it do not or cannot think for themselves." 
 
 "That is always the arrogant way of these skeptics," 
 he replied indignantly. " Those who do not at once ac- 
 cept their ever-shifting vagaries, are set down as fools or 
 bigots." Then, looking at the timid maiden standing be- 
 fore him in almost trembling expectancy, his face relaxed, 
 and he added smilingly, " I will try to satisfy your mind 
 on this point also, and will be a trifle more cor.fidentir.l 
 than I imagine you have been with me. /think for my-
 
 A STB ANGER'S COUNSEL 361 
 
 self, and have to think for a great many others ; and 
 though I may be neither ' wise ' nor ' great,' I am Gen- 
 eral Washington." 
 
 Vera stepped back and bowed reverently. 
 
 " No, my child, no need of that," said Washington ; 
 " bow only to the Being to whom we have both knelt, and 
 on whom we are both alike dependent. Trust and obey 
 him, and all will be well. And now, good-bye. If we 
 ever meet again, I shall ask you if you have been true to 
 the Book in which your mother taught you to believe." 
 
 A sudden change came over the shrinking maiden, 
 and, springing forward with the freedom and impetuosity 
 of a child, she took his hand, saying, 
 
 "The God of the orphan bless your Excellency. You 
 will lead our armies to victory. I know it. God will an- 
 swer, through you, your own prayer." 
 
 As Washington looked down into the beautiful, eager 
 face turned to him, his eyes moistened, and he said, after 
 a moment, 
 
 "Thank you, my child. Your words and manner 
 strengthen me. You have helped me as I hope I have 
 aided you. You have your burden to bear here in these 
 lonely mountains, as truly as I have mine out in the 
 troubled world. For aught I know yours may be the 
 heavier. But God will sustain us both if we ask him. 
 Good-bye," and he rode away towards West Point. 
 
 Vera afterwards learned that his visit there was a tran- 
 sient one of inspection. In accordance with a habit to 
 which, perhaps, the profoundest philosophy will ascribe 
 the final success of the American arms, he had sought re- 
 tirement in the forest that he might entreat the Almighty 
 in behalf of the cause to which he was devoted.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 VERA sat down on the rock which he had occupied, 
 and, turning to the chapters that her mother's teachings 
 had made most familiar, she read until the deepening 
 twilight blurred the page. As she rose she exclaimed, 
 
 "It is true ; it proves itself. It meets my need as the 
 
 light does my eye. My conscience echoes every word. 
 
 O Theron, Theron ! we must indeed part ! ' ' and she 
 
 bowed her head upon the little book, and wept until she 
 
 was almost too exhausted to reach her home. 
 
 For several days following she did little else save read 
 the Bible, and think long and deeply over its teachings. 
 Every day deepened the conviction that its words were 
 those of One who had the right to say to his earthly 
 children, My will is your only true, safe law of action. 
 The Bible's teachings and principles so commended 
 themselves to her conscience and unperverted nature that 
 she felt that she must doubt her own existence doubt 
 everything or else take her old faith back into her heart 
 with more than her old childlike trust ; with the strong 
 and assured confidence, rather, of one who has tested a 
 friend in a desperate emergency, and found him stanch 
 and steadfast. 
 
 Thus the question of right and duty was brought 
 clearly to an issue ; the question which she tried to put 
 off in its full and final settlement until she had wholly 
 satisfied her mind that her lover's views were fallacious. 
 
 She now felt perfectly sure that he was wrong ; and yet 
 it was agony to come to the irrevocable decision which 
 would doom herself to the old, lonely, and unprotected
 
 THE PARTING 363 
 
 state, and, what was still worse, to darken his life with 
 grief" and perhaps despair. What might he not do in his 
 reckless unbelief? In her intense affection she was al- 
 most ready to cast herself away, deliberately and con- 
 sciously. Were it not for that one word, duty, which 
 meant so much to her, she might have been tempted to 
 do so. If she were sure that she alone would suffer all 
 the evil consequences, her grateful love, her strong desire 
 to make him happy at any cost to herself, might almost 
 lead to the boundless self-sacrifice. 
 
 " But it would not be right," she murmured ; " and as 
 sure as there is a God, I can never make him happy by 
 doing wrong." 
 
 She went out to their trysting-place on the hillside, 
 where she had been so sorely tempted, resolving that she 
 would settle the question there once and forever. 
 
 Laying Washington's Bible on a rock beside her, she 
 leaned her head upon it, and sighed, 
 
 " It's earth or heaven; it's God or Theron ; it's a snatch 
 at something forbidden, or a long, dark journey to my 
 rest ; for, in giving him up, I banish the possibility of the 
 faintest ray of happiness in this world. O God ! help me, 
 like a kind, strong Father ; direct and sustain thy help- 
 less child. If I must decide against Theron, let no harm 
 come to him." 
 
 Was it an audible voice that answered ? The sugges- 
 tion of inspired words that had helped her once before 
 was so strong and vivid that they seemed as if spoken. 
 
 " Commit thy way unto the Lord ; trust also in him ; 
 and he shall bring it to pass." 
 
 As if directly addressed, she replied, with passionate 
 earnestness, 
 
 " I will obey thee ; I will trust thee ; there is no other 
 right or safe course for either Theron or myself." 
 
 In the solemn hush that followed, she felt as if a kind 
 hand rested on her head in blessing. The guilty fear and
 
 364 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 disquietude fled from her heart like ill-omened shadows, 
 and in their place came a deeper peace, a stronger sense 
 of security than she had ever known before. Her 
 mother's face, which had so long appeared averted in re- 
 proachful sorrow, was now beaming upon her in approv- 
 ing love. 
 
 " O God! I thank thee," she cried, lifting her tearful 
 face to heaven. " I will never doubt thee again. 
 Mother, dear mother, you are not lost to me. I am as 
 sure you live as that I live." 
 
 If Saville had then come, her strong feeling and re- 
 vived faith would have made the ordeal of parting less 
 hard to endure ; but week after week passed and still she 
 did not hear from him. At last Tascar brought a letter, 
 given him by Surgeon Jasper at West Point. It assured 
 her of his continued safety, and every word breathed of 
 the love and hope which she must disappoint. If it had 
 contained the tidings of his death, she could have 
 scarcely wept over it more often and bitterly. But she 
 did not waver in her decision ; and in the depths of her 
 heart, far beneath all the tumultuous waves of her sor- 
 row, the consciousness of peace and security remained. 
 She was also gaining an assurance that God, in some 
 way, would make her loyalty to duty result in winning her 
 lover from his skepticism. 
 
 She did not dare to let her mind dwell on their meet- 
 ing, his disappointment, and the inevitable parting that 
 must follow ; but her constant prayer was that she might 
 be firm, and that he might not become reckless and des- 
 perate. 
 
 At last one September afternoon Saville came, and, as 
 was his custom, stole into the glen that he might surprise 
 her. From the hillside in his descent he saw her seated 
 on a ledge that projected from a rock lying near the cabin 
 door. He silently approached and looked over the 
 boulder. His eyes at first dwelt only on the maiden with
 
 THE PARTING 365 
 
 an expression of the deepest affection ; then they fell on 
 the page she was reading, and he saw that the book was 
 the Bible. 
 
 He became very pale, and gave the little volume al- 
 most a scowl of hate. Instead of announcing his pres- 
 ence in some playful manner, as he had intended, he 
 went directly around the rock into her presence, with the 
 aspect of one who, feeling that he must face a dreadful 
 crisis, will do it at once ; but she, in the strong, sudden 
 impulse of her heart, sprang into his arms, as if it had 
 been her right. 
 
 " I thank you, my true, loyal Vera ; I was dreading 
 a different reception," he said, as if an infinite burden 
 were lifted from his mind. 
 
 But her fast-falling tears, and the manner in which she 
 extricated herself from his embrace, disappointed the hope 
 which her impulsive reception had raised, and he almost 
 despaired, as she said, 
 
 " Come with me, Theron ; let our farewell be where 
 no eye can see us save that of our pitying God." 
 
 " Do not say ' our,' " he replied harshly. 
 
 " Yes, Theron, our God, though you may not believe 
 him now. I have found light that is unmistakable." 
 
 " Where have you found it? " 
 
 " In this Bible." 
 
 " Curses " 
 
 She put her hand to his lips. 
 
 "O Vera! this is worse than the bitterness of death. 
 Why did you not let me die in Fort Clinton? " 
 
 " Theron, don't break my heart." 
 
 " Is it nothing that you are breaking mine ? " 
 
 "God pity us both," she sobbed, burying her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 They had now reached the spot on the hillside which 
 had been their favorite trysting-place and the scene of 
 strong temptation, conflict, and victory. He seated her
 
 366 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 on a rock ; but, instead of being his old gentle self, he 
 seemed to have become a man of stone. For some little 
 time her emotion was so great that she could not speak ; 
 he would not. At last, she asked, brokenly, 
 
 " Theron, do you doubt my love ? " 
 
 " You listen to old bigots rather than to me." 
 
 " Is General Washington a bigot? " 
 
 He was silent a moment, then said, " He has not 
 thought on these things. He simply accepts what he is 
 too indifferent to question." 
 
 " But he told me that he thought very deeply on these 
 subjects." 
 
 "He told you! Vera, you are talking wildly. Can 
 it be that you have brooded so long over these wretched 
 superstitions that your mind is becoming unsettled ?" 
 
 "No, Theron; my mind never was so clear before. 
 Only my heart is faint and pierced with sorrow because 
 we must part. Look at the fly-leaf of this Bible." 
 
 He read, in the clear, unmistakable hand that he well 
 knew, the name " George Washington." 
 
 " He gave it to me himself," continued Vera. 
 
 " Am I dreaming ? " muttered Saville, in alow troubled 
 tone. 
 
 "Theron," said Vera, laying her hand appealingly on 
 his shoulder, " have pity ! be patient with me, and I will 
 tell you all. You can never know what this effort is 
 costing me. Going after you to Fort Clinton was nothing 
 in comparison. You caused my faith to waver by your 
 strong argument that all the practical help I ever had 
 was human help human only. I have had human help 
 again ; but I have come to see that God helps us and 
 speaks to us through creatures like ourselves. Even you 
 will be inclined to admit that the fact that I have received 
 personal counsel from General Washington is so strange 
 as to be more than chance, and yet it is true." And she 
 told him how it happened.
 
 THE PARTING 367 
 
 " In asking his counsel I do not seek to know whether 
 you mentioned my name," said Saville gloomily ; "for 
 I have not sought to tempt you to evil." 
 
 " Believe me, Theron, I never gave him nor shall I 
 ever give any one a hint or clue of that which is between 
 ourselves and our God. The truth of the Bible was the 
 only question on which I needed light. That settles all 
 the others. Theron, it is true ! I know it, as I know I 
 exist ! I am not wise enough to answer your arguments ; 
 but I have come to that point in which I am not so sure 
 of anything as that the Bible is true." 
 
 He buried his face in his hands, and fairly groaned in 
 the agony of his disappointment. 
 
 "Theron," said Vera, with a burning blush, "you 
 could not love such a woman as you have described your 
 your wife to be." 
 
 "Why stab me with that word?" he cried passion- 
 ately. 
 
 "Suppose I should become like her." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " You do not understand a woman's heart. You have 
 learned to love me as a simple, childlike girl, innocent if 
 ignorant, gentle and loving, if not strong and wise. 
 Could you love me if I became a reckless, passionate 
 woman ? Pardon me that I speak so plainly, and, in this 
 agony of parting, pass beyond maidenly reserve and del- 
 icacy. But, since we must part, I wish you to see the 
 necessity. Theron, you are too good a man to love what 
 I would become if I should turn my back on my faith, 
 my mother's dying words, and my God. You know that 
 I have been brought face to face with awful peril, and 
 yet never have I so trembled at anything as I have at the 
 dark abyss that seemed opening in my own soul. At 
 one time, Theron, I was almost ready to lose my soul for 
 your sake," she continued in a low tone ; "and were I 
 sure now that I only would suffer, that my remediless
 
 368 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 loss would be your happiness, I should scarcely dare trust 
 myself. But God in mercy has removed this temptation, 
 and I have been shown that wrong on my part would 
 eventually mean wretchedness on yours. There, Theron, 
 I have shown you all my heart, and I appeal to your own 
 noble manhood to protect me." 
 
 " My manhood is gone. I am utterly crushed and 
 broken. Since to you it is a crime to keep my ring, give 
 it to me and let me go. I can endure the torment of my 
 loss no longer." 
 
 " O Theron, Theron ! " Vera sobbed. 
 
 " If there is no help for it, give me the ring, and let me 
 go before I become mad." 
 
 Slowly and reluctantly she drew off the two rings, as 
 if the effort were almost beyond her power. He snatched 
 his from her, and ground it into the earth under his 
 heel. 
 
 She saw with terror that he was taking counsel of 
 despair. Acting on an impulse to save him from himself, 
 she again drew off her mother's ring, and seizing his 
 hand, she pressed it, with difficulty, on his little finger. 
 
 "Theron," she said pleadingly, " if it is wrong, I can- 
 not help it ; but I love you with my whole heart. Wear 
 this priceless relic my dead mother's wedding-ring as 
 token of my pledge that, since I cannot marry you, I will 
 never marry any one else. Let its faint gleam ever re- 
 mind you that if you raise this hand against yourself, you 
 strike me a more fatal blow." 
 
 In answer to this appeal, his dry, darkly suggestive eyes 
 for the first time moistened, and grew somewhat gentle 
 in their expression. 
 
 "Vera," he said, pressing the ring to his lips, "you 
 are stronger and braver than I ; you have more than hu- 
 man fortitude. Though I scarcely know whether to thank 
 you or not, I believe your words and gift have again 
 Saved my life. Your promise, of which this ring is the
 
 THE PARTING 369 
 
 token, holds out a glimmer of hope, and without hope 
 who can live? I can trust myself here no longer." 
 
 He took her in his arms one brief moment, then dashed 
 away. A little later the sound of his horse's feet echoed 
 from the opposite hillside, but died quickly in the distance. 
 
 It was well for both that he did not see her weakness, 
 her grief that was almost as despairing as his own, which 
 followed his departure. 
 
 At last she crept home in the dusk, repeating over and 
 over again, as her only comfort, 
 
 " Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord 
 pitieth them that fear him."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 SEEKING DEATH 
 
 A YEAR had almost passed since the parting described 
 in the previous chapter a year of patient fidelity to duty 
 on the part of Vera, a year that was clouded by the 
 deepest melancholy and almost despair in the case of 
 Saville. For a long time he had cherished faint hopes 
 that her fortitude might fail ; that his arguments, from 
 being more fully dwelt upon, would have their weight ; 
 and, chief of all, that her loneliness and love might over- 
 come her resolution. While recognizing the truth that 
 she was acting conscientiously and heroically, he still 
 believed that the only obstacle in the way of their hap- 
 piness was the tenacious hold of her old superstitions 
 upon her mind. The fact that their mutual suffering 
 seemed so unnecessary made him chafe all the more, 
 and his mind and body were giving evidences of the bit- 
 terness of the long-continued ordeal. Perpetual gloom 
 lowered upon his brow ; at times, fits of abstraction almost 
 unfitted him for his duties, and again he would be reck- 
 less and inclined to dissipation. 
 
 To his old acquaintances, his wife's conduct accounted 
 for his manner and actions ; but Surgeon Jasper knew 
 of the deeper wound, and was often tempted to inform 
 Vera of the disastrous results of Saville' s disappoint- 
 ment. Indeed, he would have done so had not the 
 young man charged him, almost harshly, "not to 
 meddle." 
 
 At first Saville had found some solace in sending Vera 
 by the hand of Tascar, such things as he thought might 
 add to her comfort ; but she soon, in a brief letter, gently
 
 SEEKING DEATH 371 
 
 but firmly declined to receive his gifts, and entreated 
 him to remember that they must accept their whole 
 duty, and school their hearts into submission. 
 
 But there was this radical difference between them : 
 while her suffering was the keener, because of the sensi- 
 tiveness and delicacy of her nature, she was finding in- 
 creasing strength and calmness from the Divine help 
 that is ever given in answer to prayer. 
 
 He was unaided in his struggle, and, if he still be- 
 lieved that man was a law unto himself, he was learning 
 by bitter experience that he is not sufficient in himself 
 for life's emergencies. He had at last reached that 
 desperate condition in which, though still restrained by 
 Vera's words and the ring she had given him from any 
 directly suicidal act, he was only too ready to throw 
 away his life by reckless exposure in the first battle that 
 occurred. 
 
 Vera learned of his growing despair and consequent 
 dangerous moods in a rather peculiar way. In introduc- 
 ing Tascar to the secluded cabin, Saville had virtually 
 provided for the household, for the boy proved the most 
 ubiquitous, industrious personality that ever taxed earth, 
 air, and water for the means of livelihood. He soon be- 
 came as accurate a shot as Vera herself, and she had no 
 more occasion to range the hills with her gun save as a 
 pastime. His knowledge of the instincts and habits of 
 game made escape from his cunningly prepared traps 
 and snares very improbable. His good luck as a fisher- 
 man became almost unvarying, because he knew just 
 when and where to go. He enlarged the garden which 
 he had made the preceding year, and kept it green and 
 flourishing by turning through it a brook that had its un- 
 failing source deep in the mountains. He scoured the 
 hills and valleys for wild fruits in their season, and these, 
 with the surplus of game, found a ready sale at the gar 
 risen of West Point.
 
 372 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Vera had thoroughly adopted Saville's plan of perfect 
 openness, and would permit nothing that looked like 
 guilty fear or desire for concealment. Thus, through 
 her management and Tascar's able seconding, the little 
 cabin was becoming a recognized base of supplies for 
 several officers' messes ; and Saville had always been 
 ready to buy everything that his quondam servant 
 brought, whether he wanted it or not. 
 
 In answer to her father's questions concerning Saville's 
 long-continued absence, Vera had said briefly, 
 
 " Circumstances are such that Mr. Saville cannot 
 marry me, and since he cannot, it is best for us both that 
 his visits should cease. Ask me no further. Let it sat- 
 isfy you that he has acted towards me like an honorable 
 man, as he is, and that he is still a true friend on whom 
 I can call should I need him." 
 
 The exile turned gloomily away, satisfied that Saville 
 at last realized the folly of allying himself to the daugh- 
 ter of one whom he knew to be a criminal ; but from 
 that time his remorseful pity and tenderness for Vera in- 
 creased. 
 
 Tascar's success as a huckster finally led to his ac- 
 quaintance with a redoubtable negro by the name of 
 Ponipey, for whom the boy soon conceived a strong 
 friendship, and a boundless admiration. Pompey was 
 ostensibly following a like calling ; but, in supplying the 
 British garrison at Stony Point, he brought away shin- 
 ing coin for his fruits and vegetables, instead of the de- 
 preciated Continental money which was paid chiefly at 
 West Point. This fact alone gave the elder sable trader 
 a marked preeminence. 
 
 But one day Pompey took Tascar into the depth of 
 the forest, and, with great mystery and solemnity in- 
 formed him, 
 
 " You'se a peart likely boy, and I'se 'bout to put you
 
 ttAin 373 
 
 up a peg higher. I'se a-gwine to let you inter a deep 
 'spiracy." 
 
 " Where is dis deep hole, an* how deep'll I hab ter go 
 in?" asked Tascar, in some trepidation from Pompey's 
 words and manner. 
 
 " What a chile you is ! " said Pompey loftily. " 'Tain't 
 a hole ; it's a 'spiracy agin de Red-coats. Does you 
 tink I goes down to de Britishers at Stony P'int to hawk 
 berries? My mas'r, Capting Lamb, doesn't need 
 to sell berries ; I takes a heap mo' inter de fort dan I 
 carries in my basket." 
 
 "What does you take ?" asked Tascar, agape with 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I takes dese two eyes. I takes dese two ears." 
 
 " Well, you doesn't sell 'em? " 
 
 " What a chile you is ! I comes back wid my basket 
 empty, but my head is chuck full, an' I tells mas'r all I 
 sees an' hears, an' he tells a 'Merican ossifer, an* soon 
 Gin'ral Washington hisself knows all / does." And at 
 this point Pompey assumed an air of such mysterious 
 importance that Tascar was deeply awed. 
 
 " P'raps we It take dat ar British fort. We're 
 a'thinkin' ob it," continued Pompey, half in soliloquy. 
 " It 'pends werry largely on me. Now it isn't 'comin' 
 dat a man in my 'sponsible 'sition should be out berryin' 
 all de time. I'se got to tink" (with a suggestive tap on 
 his forehead); "an* while I'se a-prowidin' sumfin' dat 
 you doesn't know nuffin' 'bout, an' what is called 
 strogedy, you can pick de berries an' bring 'em to me, an* 
 I'll gib you de shiners for 'em. Your part ob de 'spiracy is 
 to pick de berries an' keep your mouf shut, an' den some 
 dark night you'll hear more'n you eber did in de day- 
 time." 
 
 Though Tascar' s share in the dark conspiracy against 
 the British garrison was rather humble, he was more
 
 374 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 than satisfied, and was so elated with his "secret and his 
 importance that old Gula asked, 
 
 " What's de matter, chile ? 'Pears like you'se 
 a-bustin' wid sumfin'." 
 
 But Tascar, by a mighty effort, was able to keep his 
 " mouf shut." 
 
 Vera also asked, " How is it you get coin of late for 
 the fruit ? ' ' 
 
 " I gits it honest, Missy Vera," was all that the sable 
 sphinx would vouchsafe. , 
 
 But one July midnight he roused them all by his wild 
 and excited cries. 
 
 " Dar ! dar ! " he shouted, " Pompey's goin' fur de 
 Red-coats. I'se in de 'spiracy, an' mus' go to look arter 
 it," and he started southward, in spite of his mother's 
 expostulations. 
 
 The heavy jar of a brief cannonade, and the faint re- 
 ports of musketry, satisfied Vera and her father that a 
 battle was in progress. To the maiden these sounds 
 suggested danger to the one ever present in her thoughts, 
 and, in the solemn night, they were peculiarly ominous 
 and depressing. 
 
 She soon learned how profoundly she had reason to 
 dread such evidences of battle, for one evening, a few 
 days after the capture of Stony Point, Tascar induced his 
 great luminary, Pompey, to come and beam on the in- 
 mates of the cabin for an hour, aad to relate the events 
 of the assault, as far as he saw and imagined them. 
 Tascar was peculiarly eager to bring about the recitation 
 of this epic, not only that he might, as one of the " 'spira- 
 tors," reflect a few rays of Pompey's glory ; but also that 
 his master might learn of an important American success, 
 and that Vera might hear how strangely Saville had 
 acted. He introduced his friend as the hero of the oc- 
 casion, declaring excitedly, 
 
 " Does you believe, Mas'r Brown, Pompey tuk out
 
 SEEKING DEATH 375 
 
 folks right into de fort, an* cotched 'bout a million Red- 
 coats? " 
 
 "Well," began Pompey, with a patronizing glance at 
 Tascar, " I don't s'pose dere was quite so many as dat, 
 an' den you mus' know, Mas'r Brown, dat I had 'sider- 
 able help. From what dis yer peart boy hab told me, 
 you'se 'ucl like to know how 'twas done." 
 
 "We would indeed," said Vera, welcoming anything 
 that beguiled her sad thoughts for an hour. Tascar had 
 not told her that Pompey had aught to relate of Saville, 
 for he was magnanimous enough to detract in no respect 
 from the force and freshness of his friend's narration. He 
 had hinted to Pompey that Mas'r Brown would be greatly 
 pleased to hear any tidings of Saville ; but, with a little 
 diplomacy of his own, said nothing of Vera's interest. 
 He had not been a member of a " 'spiracy " for nothing, 
 and could keep other secrets than those of Pompey to 
 himself. 
 
 " Well, you see, Mas'r an' Missy Brown," Pompey 
 continued, assuming a histrionic air and attitude, " it all 
 begin in a 'spiracy, an' I was de big 'spirator. Dis yer 
 chile was in de 'spiracy too " (and he laid a patronizing 
 hand on Tascar's head), " an' his part was to pick de 
 berries an' keep his mouf shut. He's a peart boy, an' 
 a good 'spirator." 
 
 Tascar, in the exuberance of his delight at such high 
 praise, stood on his head a moment, and then righted 
 himself again in the attitude of an intensely eager 
 listener. 
 
 Pompey complacently waited till the boy was through 
 with his demonstration, as an orator or actor might yield 
 a moment to an outburst of applause, and then pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 " De 'spiracy rested on two tings : De British ossifers 
 like strawberries, an' my mas'r an' Gin'ral Washington 
 liked ter know what de Red-coats was up ter. I " (with
 
 376 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 an air of conscious power) " was able to guv bof parties 
 what dey wanted. I tuck de berries inter de fort, an' I 
 brought back eberyting I seed an' heerd, an' often my 
 head was fuller when I come out dan my basket when I 
 went in. Well, ter git in an' out I had ter hab what dey 
 call a countysign a sort ob sayin' or word dat is like a 
 key dat unlocks de do'. It's a mighty quar ting, de 
 countysign is ; it jes' makes 'em big grannydeers like 
 suckin' lambs, when, if you habn't any countysign, dey'd 
 spit you on de p'int ob dare bayonets. 
 
 "Well, I'se had allers carried de berries to de Red- 
 coats in de daytime ; but arter a while de 'spiracy got 
 deeper, and mas'r tole me dat Gin'ral Washington 
 wanted ter see if he couldn't tuck de fort some dark 
 night. So I put on a long face de nex' time I went, and 
 said, 
 
 " 'Can't git here no mo' in daylight. Hoein' corn 
 time's come ; mas'r can't spare me ; ' and dey said, ' Mus' 
 hab our berries. You come ebenin's, and we'll let you 
 in and out ; for you'se an innercent darky, and wouldn't 
 do no more harm dan a mule.' I said, Yes, rnas'rs, I'se 
 jes' as innercent as a mule.' An' I tole de truf ; for you 
 know, Mas'r Brown, you neber can tell when a mule is 
 a-gwine to kick up. 
 
 "Well, I tuck de berries in at night, an' all went 
 smooth as ile a few days, an' de countysign let me in an* 
 out in de dark jes' as well as in de light. On de four- 
 teenth ob de month my mas'r said, ' Pompey, you'se got 
 a long head. We don't want a dorg nowhar near Stony 
 P'int, kase dey might bark de wrong time, you know. 
 Can you fix 'em so dey won't bark to-morrow night? ' 
 an' den he wink one eye jes' dis way. 
 
 " Den I knew de 'spiracy was a-ejfltin' deeper yit, an' 
 takin' in de dorgs. Wheneber dey wanted some strogedy 
 dey allers come to me, an' dey knowed dat de only way 
 dey could eber git aroun' dem ar dorgs was by strogedy.
 
 SEEKING DEATH 377 
 
 I link po'ful strong a few minutes, an' den I said, ' Mas'r 
 Lamb, jes' leave dem dorgs to me. If any ob 'em barks 
 to-morrow night, den dorgs hab ghosts jes* as much as 
 oder folks.' Dat night I tuck down de berries in one 
 basket an' sumfin' for, de dorgs in anoder. Whar I 
 knowed people lived dat thought mo' ob dare dorgs dan 
 ob de country I jes' drapped a chunk ob seasoned meat, 
 an' watched till I seed it tucked away whar it would be 
 werry quietin'. To de true blue Whigs I says, ' Gin'ral 
 Washington doesn't want no dorgs barkin' ter-morrow 
 night.' Den I winked jes' as mas'r did an' dat was 
 enuff. 
 
 " I'se been 'tickler in 'latin' dese parts, kase here's 
 whar de strogedy comes in, an' it all 'pended on strogedy. 
 Anybody kin fight an' git knocked on de head, but in dis 
 case eberybody, even Gin'ral Washington, had to wait 
 till I'd done up de strogedy. 
 
 "Well, de fifteenth come, an' it was a big day an' a 
 bigger night. You heerd de guns, but dare had ter be a 
 po'ful lot ob strogedy afore dey was fired, an' all de great 
 gin'rals an' kunnels an' captings foun' dat dey couldn't 
 git on widout Pompey. Gin'ral Wayne, de one dey call 
 Mad Anterny,' was at de head ob it all, an' he 'rived 
 sumfin' less dan two mile below de P'int arter dark, an' he 
 had quite a lot ob Continentals wicl him, not so wery many, 
 dough, for he was "pendin" on my strogedy more'n hard 
 fightin'. 
 
 " Gin'ral Wayne stopped his men out ob sight, an' 
 was jes' a-startin' wid a lot ob his big ossifers to take a 
 squint at de Britishers an' de kaseway leadin' to de fort, 
 when we heerd a hos comin' as if de debbil was arter 
 him, an' some un dashed up like mad. ' Why, Saville,' 
 said Gin'ral Wayne, ' how in de name ob wonder did you 
 git here ? ' 'I jes' heerd what was on foot, an' I stole 
 away to jine de 'spedition as a wolunteer.' ' Kunnel De 
 Fleury says you're mo' reckless dan I is,' said de gin'ral.
 
 378 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 an' it won't do ter hab too many hot heads in dis tick- 
 lish bizness ; so I'll put you in charge ob de kunnel, and 
 you mustkeepbackand'bey orders.' ' I promise, gin'ral, 
 to keep back,' said de one dey call Saville, ' till you say 
 de fust man dat gits to de centre ob de fort is de best 
 man,' an' den dey let him go." 
 
 Vera had been listening with a half smile upon her 
 face, for she could not help being amused by the negro's 
 droll manner and boundless egotism ; but, at the mention 
 of Saville's name, she became deathly pale and very 
 faint ; by great effort, however, she controlled herself 
 sufficiently not to interrupt the narrative. 
 
 " Now, youmus' know, Mas'r Brown, dat de Britishers 
 was a little careless, lease dey said de 'sition ob de fort 
 was so po'ful strong dat de rebs couldn't tuck it ; an' no 
 mo' dey couldn't, widout strogedy, an' dat was de reason 
 dey wanted me all de time. De fort is on a great, high, 
 rocky hill, an' de water ob de ribber comes all arou-n' in 
 front ob it, an' to'rds de land dere's wide, nasty mash, 
 whar de mud is deeper nor de water, an' you'd go down 
 inter it kerchunk ! right ober yer head. Stony P'int is a 
 kind ob island, an' de only way to git dare is by a long, 
 narrow kaseway, whar my ole missus, wid a broomstick, 
 could keep back a reg'ment. We could only git across 
 dat ar place by strogedy, an' so dey all was a-'pendin' 
 on me. 
 
 " Well, Gin'ral Wayne an' Kunnel De Fleury, an' him 
 dey call Capting Saville, look all aroun' as near as dey 
 could an' not be seen, an' all was still. De dorgs was 
 wery quiet, an' dey seed dat I had fixed eberyting jes' 
 right. 
 
 " About de middle ob de night all de sogers started, 
 an' I goes on ahead wid de gin'ral an' all de big men, 
 kase I had de countysign, an' was to keep on doin' de 
 'portant part of the strogedy. 1 had to hab de help now 
 ob two oder 'spirators ; so dey had two big men fixed up
 
 SEEKING DEATH 379 
 
 like ole farmers, an' dey was to go along w me. When 
 de sogers got near de fort, de gin'ral sto^. d dem agin, 
 an' he sent me an' de ole farmers on ahead, while he an* 
 some ossifers follered slow like. Capting Saville wanted 
 to go wid me, but de gin'ral called him back. 
 
 "Well, I had my basket ob berries jes' de same as 
 eber Tascar here pick 'em fer me an' de ole farmers 
 was each a-carryin' a sheep ; an' so we trudged along up 
 to de fust sentinel, as innercent as mules, sure 'nuff. De 
 man knowed me, an' had let me by often afore. So I 
 steps up to him to guv de countysign, which was ' De fort 
 is our own,' an' de ole farmers follered close on my heels. 
 While I was a-whisperin' de countysign an' a-talkin', dey 
 was to carry out de rest ob de strogedy. 
 
 " ' De fort's our own,' says I to de Britisher. ' Cor- 
 rect, hand hit'll stay hour hown,' says de Red-coat. 
 'You doesn't tink I'm a-gwine to take it away in my 
 basket, ter-night, does yer ? ' What hab you hin de bas- 
 ket? ' says he. ' Help yerself,' says I, an* while he was 
 a-fumblin' about de basket, de two old farmers jump on 
 him an' tuck away his muskit an' stopped his mouf so 
 tight he couldn't git no berries in 'nor no sound out. 
 Down by de kaseway dere was anoder sent'nel, but we 
 come de strogedy on him, de same way. 
 
 " But de tide was so high dat even de kaseway was 
 kivered wid water, an' strogedy couldn't help dat, an* so 
 dey all had ter wait till de tide lowered. But Capting 
 Saville wouldn't wait,- and was a-gwine to feel his way 
 ober through de water when de gin'ral call him back 
 agin. Po'ful brave man, dat Capting Saville, but no good 
 at strogedy. 
 
 " At last we all got ober, sabe a big lot ob men dat was 
 to stay on dis side for a resarve, dey said. De gin'ral 
 tole me dat I needn't go no furder ; but I telled him dat 
 I'd done my part, an' 'bout de same as guv him de fort, 
 and now I'se was a-gwine along wid him and see how he
 
 380 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 did his part. He larfed and says, ' Pompey, p'raps you 
 is de biggest ^-n'ral ob de two.' 
 
 "Well, he d'wides de sogers into two big parties, and 
 he tucks one and Kunnel De Fleury de oder, and he sent 
 ahead ob each party an ossifer wid twenty men, who was 
 to cut away what dey call de 'batis, or a strong, scragly 
 fence ob tree-tops, all sharpened and stuck in front ob de 
 fort. Dare was two thick rows ob dese, an' I pitied tiem 
 po' fellers who had ter go ter wood-choppin', while de 
 Red-coats was a cuttin' dem up. Dey called dese twenty 
 men ahead ob each party de ' 'lorn hope.' Who should 
 jine one ob dese 'lorn hopes but Capting Saville. ' Come 
 back,' says Kunnel De Fleury ; ' Come back,' says 
 Gin' ral Wayne ; ' you'se no bizness dar.' 'I'll 'bey de 
 lieutenant in command, and will disconsort no un,' says 
 Saville, an' away he goes up de steep hill wid de 'lorn 
 hope. 
 
 "I wanted ter see it out; but I wasn't 'sessed, like 
 Capting Saville, ter get knocked on de head ; so I crep 
 around one side, away from bof de parties, kase I knowed 
 de Red-coats wouldn't fire whar no one in 'tickler was 
 comin' agin 'em, an' I could see by de flashes how 
 tings was goin'. Gittin' 'round in a safe place, while 
 oders was bein' cracked on de head, was de difference 
 between havin' strogedy an' not havin' strogedy." 
 
 "But Captain Saville," cried Vera, seizing his arm; 
 " what became of him ? " 
 
 The sharp interruption, and Vera's bloodless, agonized 
 face, checked Pompey's historic flow of thought, and 
 suggested a new and quite distinct idea to him. 
 
 "Law sakes, missy," he began, " I didn't know you 
 cared in 'tickler 'bout him. Tascar, you orter " 
 
 " Speak, man ! " she said, with an importunity that was 
 almost fierce. " Was Captain Saville wounded ? was he 
 O God ! I cannot utter that word ! " 
 
 " Missy Vera, Capting Saville' s safe at West Point. I
 
 SEEKING DEATH 381 
 
 seed him yesterday. He wasn't hurt, dough it 'pears like 
 as if he tried to be," said Tascar hastily. 
 
 "Ah! thank God! another awful danger is past. 
 Please hasten your story, for I cannot bear to hear of 
 these awful scenes." 
 
 " I'se near through, missy, for what happened arter 
 whar I lef off all seemed to be in a minute. Our folks 
 went up de hill as still like as if dey was ghosts. On a 
 sudden dey come on de Red-coats, an' dey fired on our 
 men, but no flashes came from our side. I was tole dat 
 dare wasn't a loaded musket 'mong de 'Mericans, an' I 
 links it was so ; for dey jes' put dere bay 'nets in front an* 
 run for'ud like mad. In a minute de 'lorn hope nex'me 
 was cuttin' away de 'batis, or big, ugly fence. De place 
 dat was so still as if dey was all sleepin' became full of 
 drefful sounds. De drums beat de long roll, de ossifers 
 was a-shoutin' ' To arms ! to arms ! ' de cannons began 
 to beller, and dey filled dem wid grape-shot, an' all de 
 Britishers was a-firin' dare muskets fas' as dey could load. 
 It 'peared to me dat ebery un ob our folks would be 
 killed twice ober. A minute later I seed Capting Saville, 
 by de light ob a big flash, jump on an' ober de 'batis, 
 a-cuttin' an' a-slashin' wid his sword. Away went a 
 crowd ob our sogers arter him. In less time dan I kin 
 tell you our two parties come togedder, kerslap, right 
 in de middle ob de fort. Dey hauled down de flag ; dey 
 
 stuck ebery un dat was oncivil Well, Mas'r Brown, 
 
 ter make a long story short, dey jes' picked up, on de 
 p'ints ob dare bay 'nets, de fort dat I had already got for 
 'em by my strogedy. But, Missy Vera, if Capting 
 Saville is a friend ob yourn, you orter look arter him, 
 kase he can't do what he did dat ar night twice, strogedy 
 or no strogedy." 
 
 Vera fled to her room. 
 
 Her father looked after her with an expression of deep 
 commiseration, and having dismissed Pompey with a few
 
 382 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 words of thanks, turned on his heel, and strode away into 
 the forest, muttering, 
 
 "The curse resting on me will crush her also, and 
 seems to be falling on Saville. His pride will not permit 
 him to marry the daughter of such a wretch as I am, and 
 yet his thwarted love makes life a burden that he would 
 gladly be rid of. Oh ! the malign power of one evil 
 deed ! Who can tell when and where its deadly influence 
 will cease ? I have destroyed myself ; I am destroying 
 Vera and Saville ; my crime dug poor Esther's early 
 grave. How many others shall I blight before the curse 
 dies out ? Would to God I had never been born ! " 
 
 NOTE. A shrewd negro slave, by the name of Pompey, ob- 
 tained the countersign, and guided the American forces to the 
 causeway leading to Stony Point, in the manner described in 
 the foregoing chapter. He belonged to Captain Lamb, a 
 staunch Whig who resided in the neighborhood.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 SEEKING LIFE 
 
 ON reaching the seclusion of her own little closet, 
 Vera did not give way to helpless grief. She recognized 
 the necessity of prompt action. Saville must again feel 
 her strong yet gentle grasp, or he might be lost to her 
 and to himself. Another battle would soon occur, and 
 another opportunity for the carrying out of his dreadful 
 purpose. He must be shown at once that such reckless 
 exposure was a virtual violation of his promise of which 
 her mother's ring was the token. She resolved to write 
 to him and appeal to all the noble, generous traits which 
 she knew he possessed, and to chide him for the unmanly 
 weakness which he was now displaying. She even de- 
 termined to risk the loss of her dearest treasure, Wash- 
 ington s Bible, in the hope that he would read it, and be 
 led by its teachings to doubt the skepticism which had so 
 little power to sustain and comfort. Thus, she was a 
 sleepless watcher through the night, often writing ear- 
 nestly and rapidly, and again thinking long and deeply 
 between the sentences of the following letter : 
 
 " Theron, my more than brother, have I lost my influ- 
 ence over you ? The fear that I have adds greatly to a 
 burden that is already too heavy. Your influence over 
 me loses none of its power. It would be hard for me to 
 say when the thought of you is absent from my mind. 
 The greatest sacrifice you could ask would be a joy did 
 not conscience forbid. Theron, I am trying very hard to 
 do right. There are many days in which I can only 
 cling desperately to God's hand ; but he has sustained
 
 384 NEAR TO NATURES HEART 
 
 me in a manner so wonderful that my confidence in him, 
 not myself, is continually increasing. He is very gentle 
 and patient with me also, for he knows I am a ' bruised 
 reed.' 
 
 " But, Theron, you are making my burden heavier than 
 I can bear, even with God's compassionate help. You 
 know well that in my shadowed life I have become ac. 
 quainted with suffering, and yet never before have I en- 
 dured such agony as pierced my heart to-day. You are 
 the cause. Theron, in every unordered, uncalled-for, 
 reckless step you took, in the attack on Stony Point, you 
 trod upon my heart. When you are called upon to face 
 danger by just authority, do your duty, and your whole 
 duty, as I am asking God to help me do mine, in the 
 face of a temptation that assails me relentlessly and al- 
 most continuously. I say this much, though well aware 
 that if you receive wounds, I shall be more sorely 
 wounded, and that if you are killed, it will be \vorse than 
 death to me. But, did duty compel you to take part in 
 that desperate midnight assault ? Was it love of country 
 that thrust you forward beyond the bravest who were 
 acting under orders ? When I pained and disappointed 
 you, I did so under a compulsion the strongest and most 
 sacred that the human soul can recognize. Was your 
 motive in seeking death, that awful night, noble and 
 sacred ? Theron, it was the first cowardly act I ever 
 knew you to commit, and it was an act so cruel as to be 
 utterly unlike you. It was an unmanly effort to escape 
 from a burden which I, in case you had accomplished 
 your purpose, would have had to bear alone, and which 
 was made infinitely greater by your act. Granting that 
 your belief is true, and that death is dreamless sleep, 
 can you long for a rest which means unspeakable agony 
 for me ? I do not say it boastingly, but from the depths 
 of my heart, I could welcome pain, loss, disaster, any- 
 thing save sin, which would bring you rest. You should
 
 SEEKING LIFE 385 
 
 be stronger and braver than I. Why are you not? 
 Theron, there must be something wrong in your philos- 
 ophy when a man naturally as noble and good as you 
 are sinks, fails, and is overborne ; and if your philosophy 
 cannot sustain one peculiarly strong and favored like 
 yourself, of what use would it be to average humanity ? 
 How utterly it would fail the weak and tempted ! But 
 my faith in God sustains even me in as sore a stress, I 
 think, as ever a woman was called to endure. It sus- 
 tained my dear mother, and you know how sad her lot 
 was in so many respects. If your creed cannot make a 
 strong, noble man like yourself brave and patient, it is 
 so poor that I am sure it is unfounded. 
 
 "Theron, I know you honestly think you are right, 
 but are you sure you have full reason to think so. 
 Pardon me if I, in love and sympathy, touch for a mo- 
 ment on your past experience. You once believed that 
 the woman who is your wife was worthy of your affec- 
 tion. You assumed that she was, and acted honestly 
 and naturally in view of your belief. If you had studied 
 her character carefully and patiently, you would have 
 found that you were mistaken. Forgive me for saying 
 it, Theron ; but I cannot help thinking that any view, 
 creed, or philosophy which can permit you to make a 
 cowardly flight from life's burden, from the duties you 
 owe to your mother and country, is equally unworthy of 
 respect. We are now, as it were, meeting the same 
 cruel misfortune side by side. Will you run away and 
 leave me to suffer it all alone ? 
 
 "I have a favor to ask. Your response will show 
 whether I have still any influence over you, and whether 
 you will do a comparatively little thing for one who will 
 do for you everything in her power save that which is 
 wrong. I listened patiently to all your arguments, and 
 I tried very hard to believe them. Oh! how I wished 
 that I could think as you did ; but I had known and seen
 
 386 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the power of God's living truth, and it was impossible. 
 Will you in fairness honestly consider the grounds of my 
 faith ? As a proof of my all-absorbing interest in you, I 
 send the dearest thing I have, Washington's Bible, with 
 the one request that you read it through, patiently and 
 thoughtfully, and that you dwell especially on the New 
 Testament. I suppose that there are wise men who 
 could argue with you and tell you something about the 
 Bible, how it was written, and why people think it is 
 God's Word ; but I do not ask you to seek them. I only 
 ask that you sit down by yourself, and, putting aside all 
 prejudice, that you read this Bible with the candor and 
 sincerity which have always been among your noblest 
 traits. I feel sure the book will make its own impression, 
 and contain all the arguments that are needed. I leave 
 the issue with God, to whom I pray in your behalf more 
 often than in my own. I hope my pencilings here and 
 there will not mar the pages for you. 
 
 " Theron, is my mother's ring still on your finger? It 
 means now all that it did when I placed it there. But 
 you made a promise then as truly as I did. Do not 
 keep its letter but break its spirit. Farewell. 
 
 " VERA." 
 
 Early the next morning she summoned Tascar, and 
 giving him the letter and package containing the book, 
 said, with a decision which he could not fail to under- 
 stand, 
 
 " Find Mr. Saville, and give him these as soon as pos- 
 sible. Mark my words, Tascar, find him. Go to him 
 wherever he is, and give this letter and book into his own 
 hands ; remember, his own hands. There is money. 
 If need be, travel days and weeks till you find him. I 
 must take no risks in this matter. Wait for his answer." 
 
 Having done her part. Vera was able, more calmly 
 and trustingly, to leave the result in God's hands.
 
 SEEKING LIFE 387 
 
 Tascar reached West Point at about noon, and found 
 Saville in his quarters. His gloomy face lighted up as 
 he saw the boy. 
 
 " Missy Vera tole me to give you dese, an' wait for an 
 answer. 
 
 Saville eagerly took the missive and package, and shut- 
 ting himself up in a small room back of the main one, 
 opened the letter with a hand that now trembled as it 
 never had in the shock of battle. He soon reappeared 
 with a note in his hand, and said to Tascar, who had 
 zealously complied with the request that he should eat 
 the untasted dinner on the table, 
 
 " Take this to your mistress, and come to me again in 
 a week, for I shall have something to send to her." 
 
 "Did you find him?" asked Vera, surprised at his 
 speedy return. 
 
 "Yes, Missy Vera, an' here is what he guv me." 
 
 Vera hastened to her room, tore open the note, and, 
 with tears of joy, read as follows : 
 
 " My loyal Vera, I have read your letter; and am 
 overwhelmed with shame and self-contempt. How 
 strong you are ! How weak I have been ! If I am not 
 a man after this, let even my memory perish. I now 
 promise you to keep the spirit of my pledge. If any- 
 thing happens to me, it will be in the performance of 
 what you even would esteem duty. And, Vera, I will 
 even read the book which has broken my heart and 
 blighted my life, in separating you from me. 1 cannot 
 now trust myself to say anything more. You are as 
 much above and beyond me as your fancied heaven is 
 above the earth. 
 
 " Yours, to command henceforth, 
 
 " SAVILLE." 
 
 The long, dark night was passing, and Vera saw in 
 these few words the faint dawning of hope.
 
 388 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Did her pencilings mar the pages of the little Bible? 
 Saville, on his return to his quarters that evening, turned 
 at first only to such pages, and to the words indicated, 
 which were thus made to seem as if spoken directly to 
 him by the maiden. 
 
 One text struck him with peculiar force, in the circum- 
 stances. It was heavily marked, and Vera had written 
 under it, " May not this be true ? " It was, " There is a 
 way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end 
 thereof are the ways of death." 
 
 "Is it possible that I am mistaken?" he asked him- 
 self for the first time. "At any rate, I shall be more 
 bigoted than the bigots themselves if I do not accede to 
 Vera's request, and give her side a careful, unprejudiced 
 hearing." 
 
 Saville was too honest a man to bestow on Washing- 
 ton's Bible a careless, hasty perusal ; and he was too 
 large-natured and fair to read it with his mind steeled 
 against its truth by dislike, contempt, or the pride of pre- 
 conceived opinion. It was his sincere intention to be re- 
 ceptive, judicial, and let the book speak for itself, accord- 
 ing to its capability. 
 
 Some things in Vera's letter strongly tended to pro- 
 mote a condition of mind favorable to the reception of 
 the truth. Her reference to the blindness which he had 
 shown, at first, to the character of his wife, made him 
 wince, but the effect was wholesome. He certainly had 
 been mistaken then in a matter of vital importance, and 
 how disastrous had been the consequences ! 
 
 " If Vera is right, and this book is true ; if I am mis- 
 taken again," he thought, "the evil will be without 
 remedy. If death is not a dreamless sleep, but rather an 
 eternal, waking consciousness of all that one has lost ; 
 if there is the faintest possibility of this, I had better con- 
 sider it at once." 
 
 He moreover felt that he had justified Vera's contempt
 
 SEEKING LIFE 389 
 
 for his philosophy. What had it done for him, save to 
 prompt to unmanly, cowardly action? Her faith, in 
 contrast, had sustained her in patient, heroic endurance. 
 He was humbled, and truth is ever ready to be the guest 
 of humility. 
 
 It does not come within the scope of this story to follow 
 closely his mental changes during the days and weeks 
 that followed. It is sufficient to say that the grasp of the 
 Divine mind upon his grew continually more masterful 
 and firm. The Bible, as Vera said, did prove itself, as it. 
 ever does to the candid reader ; as it ever does to those, 
 who are not absorbed in their own little 'isms, or be- 
 fogged by their own pet theories^ or intrenched in, 
 opinions already formed. Few of the Bible's opponents 
 have ever followed the example of Saville, for he per- 
 mitted the book to do all it could with him. 
 
 "My reason," he often resolved, "shall be like a 
 judge upon the bench, and neither pride, prejudice, my 
 wishes, nor an unfair hearing, shall bribe or dispose it 
 to a, false decision." 
 
 As he read and carefully re-read the. book, and at last 
 was able to grasp, to some extent, its scope and mean- 
 ing ; as he discovered its wonderful unity in the seeming 
 diversity ; as he saw that the verbal husk in the early 
 parts of the Old Testament had a kernel of rich, spiritual 
 meaning, and that the New Testament clearly taught a 
 philosophy too lofty for a merely human origin, he 
 gradually became convinced that there was a Gad, and 
 that the Bible was his guiding word' to. his, earthly 
 children. The "Man of Sorrows" fascinated, him 
 with irresistible power, and he followed him. in all his 
 patient journeying through Palestine,, wondering, fear- 
 ing, hoping, but unhealed. 
 
 With the conviction of the Bible's truth, a distress, o 
 mind, such as he had never known before;, began to 
 develop itself. How must the all-powerful and. holy
 
 390 NEA B TO NA TURPS HE A R T 
 
 God regard him, who had so arrogantly, and with so 
 little proof and reason, assumed that his Word was a 
 myth, and himself a fiction of the superstitious ? And 
 when he thought how he had tempted Vera, and 
 caused her to waver in her faith, he was ready to de- 
 spair. 
 
 " What have I learned from the Bible? " he exclaimed 
 one day, in agony, " save that I am justly and irretriev- 
 ably lost. I now know what poor, tempted Vera meant 
 when she trembled at the words, ' A certain fearful 
 looking for of judgment.' " 
 
 As early as possible, after receiving the Bible Vera 
 had sent him, Saville had procured another, which he 
 sent out to her by Tascar, as he had promised. While 
 Vera welcomed this gift as a proof that he was relenting 
 in his bitter hostility to the book, she was left in igno- 
 rance of the radical changes taking place in his mind. 
 Saville did not wish to commit himself until fully con- 
 vinced. But when, after intellectual conviction, he com- 
 menced" drawing practical inferences from its truth, and 
 saw the fate which threatened him ; when his awakened 
 and instructed conscience revealed to him that the pen- 
 alty of sin is not arbitrary and externally imposed, but 
 inevitable and natural, in the one sinning, fronp the very 
 law and principle of creation ; the man was overwhelmed 
 with rational fear. The dark question, which all the 
 penances of the Romish Church, and the cruelties of 
 superstition, have vainly tried to answer, rose for his per- 
 sonal solution, How shall I be rid of my sin ? 
 
 Only the flippant and shallow-minded make light of 
 this question, and they but for a brief time. The student 
 of history and humanity knows that it has been the bur- 
 den of the heart among all races and in every age ; and 
 that to-day men are inflicting upon themselves incon- 
 ceivable suffering in the vain hope of answering it. 
 
 Saville had learned from the Bible only part of the
 
 SEEKING LIFE 291 
 
 truth. He saw what evil was and what it involved ; but 
 he had not yet discovered the remedy, which is usually 
 overlooked at first from its very simplicity. 
 
 His despairing self-condemnation became so great that 
 he determined to write to Vera, and see if she could not 
 give him some clue of hope. So, one day several 
 weeks after the time he had commenced reading the 
 Bible, at her request, he wrote the following brief letter, 
 knowing that he would soon have an opportunity of 
 sending it out to the cabin by Tascar, who was often 
 clown to the garrison. 
 
 " My faithful Vera, I fear the gift of the Bible, which 
 cost you so much to send, but which I tried to make 
 good by sending another, has been but of little service to 
 me. Will you be full of joy when I tell you that I be- 
 lieve it to be the true Word of the all-powerful God ? 
 Can you be, when you remember the doom which this 
 Bible pronounces on me who so long scoffed at it, and 
 (what is far worse to me) who tempted you ? I am no 
 longer in the darkness of unbelief, but stand in the 
 searching, consuming light of God's truth, trembling at 
 the thought that I have lost myself that I have lost you 
 forever. Is there no remedy ? In my despair I turn 
 to you, the one I have wronged most. 
 
 " SAVILLE." 
 
 " Mas'r Saville looked sick," said Tascar, as he gave 
 the letter to Vera, one evening. 
 
 In a few moments Vera came to the cabin door again 
 and summoned Tascar. The boy thought the expression 
 of her face indicated that something unusual would 'be 
 required, and he was prepared for the request. 
 
 "Taacar, will you go to West Point for me again to- 
 night ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Missy Vera, if it's anyt'ing "tickler."
 
 398 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "Give that letter to Mr. Saville, and you won't be 
 sorry for the trouble it costs you. I will reward you." 
 
 Late in the evening, Saville received a missive which 
 contained only these words : 
 
 "Thereon, I wish to see you. Come to the place 
 where we parted on the hillside, the first evening your 
 duties will permit. VERA." 
 
 Me briefly wrote in reply, "' I will come to-morrow 
 evening. How faithful you are ! " 
 
 He put a broad piece of gold in the wearied mes- 
 senger's hand, and said, 
 
 " Keep that yourself, Tascar." 
 
 It was with feelings difficult to be described that Saville 
 looked down into the wild, secluded glen once more. 
 Over a year had passed since he had seen it, or its in- 
 mates. The mellow autumn sunlight shimmered through 
 the trees and upon the rocks, softening the rugged wild- 
 ness of the scene. But in its dreariest wintry garb it 
 would be the one attractive spot of earth to him. 
 
 y " Will Vera be much changed? " he had asked him- 
 self again and again. Ages seemed :to have :passed 
 since *><e had seen her. 
 
 He could not surprise her now. She was waiting for 
 him, with her hand upon her side, as was her custom 
 when deep feeling caused her heart to nutter too 
 strongly. To one watching them from a little distance 
 their meeting would have appeared very quiet and un- 
 demonstrative ; but to each other, trembling hands and 
 moistened eyes revealed the depths of feeling in re- 
 serve. 
 
 " You are pale and thin, Theron," said Vera, her tears 
 gathering visibly. 
 
 "These are the least of my troubles," he replied, half 
 smiling. " I dreaded lest you had become shadowy and
 
 SEEKING LIFE 393 
 
 spirit-like under the discipline of sorrow. Since I have 
 come to believe there is a heaven, I have been constantly 
 wondering why you are not taken there at once. But I 
 am inclined to think that you have become womanly 
 during this long year, rather than angelic." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," she answered, trying 
 to smile also ; "for the reason that I am a woman, if for 
 no other. I have no desire to be anything else at 
 present." 
 
 " Vera," he could not forbear saying, " I did not know 
 that faith and sorrow could make a human face so beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 She could not have been a woman did not a smile of 
 pleasure illumine her face now. Almost instantly it: was 
 followed by an expression of deep pain, and she turned 
 away for a moment. 
 
 He understood her; she could not drink at the ever- 
 full fountain of his love and admiration, though the waters 
 were so. sweet. 
 
 But when she turned to him again, there was no prudish 
 restraint in her manner. She took his hand as a sister 
 might do, and said, 
 
 " Theron, I want to help you. You as yet only bejieve 
 the. poorest and most meagre part of God's truth." 
 
 He looked at her with some surprise, and said, 
 
 " Why, Vera, I now believe the Bible as it reads sub- 
 stantially. I admit that there is much that I do uot. un- 
 derstand, and cannot reconcile. It grows clearer, how- 
 ever, as I study it. The difficulty in understanding- h all 
 is an argument in its favor., It's a revelation of an in- 
 finite mind ; mine is. finite^ If I could grasp the whole 
 book* I should say at once, ' It is the work of human in- 
 tellects like my own.' " 
 
 " The simple parts are those which you do not believe. 
 You do not understand the parts that mother taught. me 
 when I was a little child."
 
 394 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Then teach me as if I were a child." 
 
 " How strange that you should say that ! It's a good 
 omen. Read those words." And she pointed out the 
 following text in the Bible he had given her : 
 
 "Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive 
 the Kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter 
 therein." 
 
 " We must come to the point, Theron, of believing 
 what our Heavenly Father says, with the trust of a little 
 child." 
 
 " But what does the Bible say of those who offend, or 
 cause one of God's little ones to offend ? How sorely I 
 tempted you, Vera," and he covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 " But you have no wish to make me offend now ? " 
 
 " No. Whatever becomes of me, I shall thank God 
 that he preserved you." 
 
 "Can you not see what a difference this fact makes ? 
 Besides, you did not deliberately and consciously tempt 
 me to evil." 
 
 " But that made the temptation tenfold harder for you 
 to resist." 
 
 " You were not to blame for that. But why dwell on 
 the unhappy past? I said truly that you, as yet, believe 
 and understand but the poorest part of the Bible. If the 
 Bible is true, is not God true ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Must he not keep his word ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then listen: 'Let the wicked forsake his way and 
 the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto 
 the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him ; and to our 
 God, for he will abundantly pardon.' You are willing to 
 forsake your unbelief, and all the evil that grew naturally 
 out of it." 
 
 " How sweetly those words sound as you read them,"
 
 SEEKING LIFE 395 
 
 said Saville musingly ; " but can God, consistently with 
 justice and his threatenings against evil, forgive my years 
 of blasphemy, and my " 
 
 " O Theron ! surely he will and can. Did he not teach 
 his disciples to forgive each other seventy times seven ? 
 Will he do less?" 
 
 He looked at her very earnestly, and she saw from the 
 expression of his face that the light was coming. 
 
 " Vera, my good angel, lead me on a little further," 
 he said. " Even if I were forgiven, it seems to rfte the 
 memory of what I have been and what I have done will 
 oppress me with gloom forever." 
 
 " Read those words, Theron." 
 
 He took her Bible and read, "The next day John sth 
 Jesus coming unto him and saith, Behold the Lamb of 
 God which taketh away the sin of the world." 
 
 "The Bible also says," she added, " 'The blood of 
 Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.' " 
 
 " Where is that?" 
 
 She showed him. 
 
 "Theron," she said tearfully, " can you remember the 
 scenes of Calvary and doubt God's love ? That is the 
 part of the Bible you don't understand and believe. You 
 never can understand God, or this, his book, until you 
 make these words the key to all, 'God is love.' I shall 
 test you now whether you believe the Bible or not," and 
 she repeated earnestly these words : 
 
 " If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to for- 
 give us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteous- 
 ness." 
 
 "There is no escape here, Theron. It's either God is 
 true, or he is not true, and will not keep his word. You 
 have acknowledged your sin with grief and sorrow, and 
 you have no wish to continue in it. With this clear 
 promise before you, what must be your inevitable con- 
 clusion ? Ah, Theron ! I read your answer in your face.
 
 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "You take 'God at his word. You believe. Can any hap- 
 piness of heaven surpass this moment? " 
 
 " O God ! " he said, in a low, deep tone, " I thank thee 
 for mercy which is as boundless as thyself ! " 
 
 " Did I not tell you once, Theron, that Shakespeare 
 echoed the Bible ? He writes thus of mercy, you re- 
 member : 
 
 'f-f - < It is twice bless'd; 
 
 It fel'e^seth him that gives and him that takes : 
 "Tis mightiest in the mightiest.' 
 
 that God finds more joy in showing you 
 you in receiving it." 
 
 Imost believe it," he said ; "for the Being I 
 readed inexpressibly an hour ago now seems the source 
 and fountain of tenderness. O Vera!" he added, with 
 an expression which warmed her heart, and cheered her 
 through the long, lonely years that followed, " I am glad 
 to owe heaven to you. This is better than saving me 
 from death in Fort Clinton. I can wait patiently now." 
 
 An hour flew by and another like brief moments. The 
 full moon filled the wild gorge with beautiful lights and 
 shadows ; but they were too deeply absorbed to heed the 
 witchery of nature. 
 
 At last Saville reluctantly rose to go. " No ; I will not 
 go to the cabin," he said. " After these words to you I 
 wish to speak to no other human being to-day." 
 
 He then commenced looking for something on the 
 ground, and said, 
 
 " Where was it that I, in my wicked passion, trod that 
 ring into the earth? " 
 
 "Here, Theron," said Vera promptly. "I have 
 watched the place ever since as if it were a little grave." 
 
 He soon recovered it, and taking her hand, said hesi- 
 tatingly,
 
 SEEKING LIFE 397 
 
 " Vera, can you not wear this ring as a token of my 
 boundless gratitude to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Theron." 
 
 " It is tarnished and warped like myself." 
 
 "But it's made of gold, Theron, gold that has been 
 tried in the fire." 
 
 "This is a very different parting from our last," he 
 said, after a moment ; " and we now have the earnest in 
 our hearts that the time will come when these sad fare- 
 wells shall cease. Good-bye. Good-bye once more., nay 
 true, loyal Vera. I will watch till I see you enter the 
 cabin door." 
 
 "Theron, you have never made me so happy before. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 He watched her as she passed through the alternate 
 light and shadow that fell upon the path. He saw the 
 flutter of her handkerchief as she waved him a farewell 
 at the cabin door, but still he did not go. The dawn was 
 tinging the sky before he could bring himselfto leave 'the 
 place where heaven had opened to himm the Stony -des- 
 ert of his despair.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 
 
 ON the day following his visit to the mountain valley, 
 Saville received orders which occasioned one of those 
 sudden changes that are characteristic of military life ; for 
 he was directed to report as soon as possible at Charles- 
 ton, South Carolina. He wrote quite a long letter to 
 Vera. in which he recognized the kind Providence which 
 had brought about his new and happy belief and feelings 
 before this wide separation took place. 
 
 " I must go this very day," he wrote, " for my orders 
 are urgent. Your promptness gave me our interview last 
 evening, and the peace, hope, and faith which grew out 
 of it. I now feel that my feet are on the rock, Vera, and 
 no distance, time, or disaster can finally separate me from 
 you. Ho\rmuch I owe to you ! " 
 
 The winter of 1779-80 was one of unprecedented 
 severity. Even the great bay of New York was frozen 
 over, aad the British ships were ice-bound at their an- 
 chorage. If Washington's army had been strong and 
 thoroughly equipped, he could have attacked the men-of- 
 war as if they were inland fortresses. New York city 
 was no longer on an island, and the heaviest artillery 
 coald approach it on every side. General Knyphausen, 
 in command, was greatly alarmed, apprehending that 
 Washington would attempt a coup de main, and he made 
 extraordinary efforts to secure himself against a sudden 
 attack from the Continentals. But Washington's troops 
 were half-naked, shivering, and starving among the snow- 
 clad hills of Morristown. For weeks at a time the whole 
 army was on half allowance, and this at a period when the 
 intense cold made generous diet most necessary.
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 399 
 
 " For a fortnight past," Washington wrote on the 8th 
 of January, " the troops, both officers and men, have been 
 almost perishing with want. Yet," adds he, feelingly, 
 " they have borne their sufferings with a patience that 
 merits the approbation, and ought to excite the sympa- 
 thies, of their countrymen." 
 
 In addition to all other horrors, the loathsome disease 
 of smallpox became epidemic, and often there was not 
 even a blanket with which to cover a sick and dying 
 man. Thus the Continental army could scarcely keep 
 soul and body together, much less strike vigorous blows 
 at their ice-bound enemies, who were at least comfortably 
 housed and well fed. 
 
 In this dark hour Washington entreated Heaven con- 
 tinually in behalf of his country. 1 He was often seen 
 bowing in prayer in some retired place of the forest, and 
 it is rational to believe that we witness the answer to his 
 petitions in his sublime and more than human fortitude. 
 
 Had such a winter occurred at the time when Vera was 
 chiefly dependent upon her own exertions, it might have 
 been fatal to her and all the inmates of the cabin. It 
 certainly would have been so, in the condition in which 
 Saville found them in the autumn following the burning 
 of their first home. But his forethought and liberality, 
 and the labors of Tascar, had provided against such an 
 emergency, and though she and her father suffered some- 
 what from the cold during this interminable winter, they 
 had food in abundance. 
 
 It passed away at last, and spring brought another long 
 campaign, during which she heard from Saville but very 
 seldom. 
 
 1 A soldier in the regiment of which the writer was chaplain 
 during the late war, stated that his grandfather had seen Wash- 
 ington at prayer, in the woods near his quarters at Morristowj 
 more than once.
 
 400 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Another winter and summer passed, and there were 
 long, anxious intervals, with no tidings from the South. 
 Letters were rare and uncertain luxuries in those days. 
 
 At last the thrill of joy which went through the land at 
 the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown was felt, 
 even in the secluded mountain cabin. Tascar, half wild 
 with excitement,, btrought the news from West Point. 
 Vera was profoundly thankful, as the event promised to 
 hasten the day of peace ; while her father was more elated 
 than he had ever been before with the hope that he 
 would soon be, without doubt, beyond British law.. As 
 the war continued, and the colonies had maintained the 
 struggle from year to year, his hope had gradually 
 strengthened), that even the enormous power of England 
 might at last be wearied into yielding the liberty which, 
 her colonies claimed. Under the influence of this hope 
 he girew souaewihat less moody and depressed, and at 
 times- he- even tried, im a grim, poor way, to be more com- 
 panionable to Vera, whom he pitied profoundly in, her 
 loneliness. 
 
 In the whiter of 1781-2 a letter, that had been long on 
 tfce way, came from Saville, stating that he had been 
 wounded in the siege o Yorktown, but that he was now 
 out of daaager and recovering-. It breathed the same quiet, 
 hopeful spirit which had pervaded all his letters during 
 this, long absence. His faith was strengthening with time 
 and! trial 
 
 Vera immediately wrote fully and feelingly in reply, 
 and Surgeon Jasper, who was still at West Point, and a 
 friend that could be depended upon, promised to make 
 great efforts to secure her letter a safe transit. Its re- 
 ceipt did much to hasten Saville's recovery ; but such was 
 the feeble and exhausted condition of his system, that his 
 surgeont insisted upon his remaining in the Sooth during 
 the water. 
 
 The spring of the auspicious year of 1782 again clothed
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED <GEAT CHANGES 401 
 
 the Highlands with beauty, and rumors of peace were 
 gladdening the hearts of the people. 
 
 One day Tascar came up from West Point in an un- 
 usual state of excitement. 
 
 " I'se a-tinkin', Missy Vera," he said, " dat peace 
 mus' hab come ober de water, for dey's gitting ready for 
 wonderful doin's at de P'int. Nebber see -de tike afore. 
 Dey's buiidin' a kind ob arbor wid trunks >ob trees, and 
 de branches all twisted togedder, and it's astoig whyte 
 hull army could git under it. An' dey tells me -datdere's 
 a gwine to be a big dinner, aw' a dance, 'an a 'few tie 
 joyful,' an' no end to wonderful tings. I seed'Capting 
 Molly, too, an' she said we mus' all come down an' see, 
 kase eberybody would be dar. Gin'ral Washington ad 
 big ladies and eberybody else." 
 
 Vera saw that her father was as 'greatly interested as 
 herself. 
 
 " Do you think that it does mean peace, Vera? " <he 
 asked. 
 
 " We will go and see." < 
 
 " Oh, no ; I cannot " 
 
 " Father, I am going, and you wooikl not 'let ine go 
 alone." 
 
 So, on the morning of the 3ist of 'May, the strange lit- 
 tle group, consisting of the tall and grizzled exile, 'Carry- 
 ing his long rifle ; his beautiful daughter, wilh her golden 
 hair falling in wavy fulness far .over her shoulders, and 
 the delighted Tascar, who capered along the path like a 
 frolicsome spaniel, often exposing their basket of lunch to 
 imminent danger from his odd freaks, started for the 
 plain of West Point, where the celebration was to fee 
 held. 
 
 They reached the vicinity of their old cabin -din-ing <tfae 
 forenoon, and Vera said, 
 
 " Father, we will rest and eat our lunch by the spring 
 near mother's grave."
 
 402 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Oh, no, Vera, not there," he answered, with a re- 
 morseful face. 
 
 " Yes, father, there. Mother is not lost to us. She is 
 only absent now ; but I am sure she would like us to re- 
 member her, and to be near her resting-place." 
 
 He yielded. He was forming the habit of yielding to 
 her more and more, for, since her will had governed, he 
 recognized the fact that he had enjoyed both security and 
 the comforts of life. 
 
 Vera left her lunch untasted for some time, as she gazed 
 wistfully around the familiar place, now so changed in 
 consequence of the fort having been built. With a deep 
 sense of gratitude she saw that the grave had not been 
 molested or trampled. 
 
 " I would rather spend the day here, recalling the 
 past," she said, as they were preparing to leave, " than in 
 witnessing the grand festival. But come, the longer I re- 
 main, the harder it will be to go." 
 
 " O Esther, my wife ! would to God you had seen these 
 better days," sighed her father. " Would to God you 
 had seen the time when we could begin to feel safe." 
 
 " She does see it, father. I feel sure she is rejoicing in 
 everything that brings us hope and joy." 
 
 He shook his head, but followed silently. 
 
 Vera was young, and still had the keen interest of 
 youth in all that was new, strange, and beautiful ; and 
 her eyes kindled and her face flushed with delight as the 
 wide plain of West Point, lined with barracks, tents, and 
 officers' quarters, all decorated with flags and gay 
 streamers, opened before her. Across this plain, groups 
 of people, and battalions of soldiers with their weapons 
 glittering in the bright, early summer sunlight, were mov- 
 ing in what seemed from her distant place of observation 
 to be bewildering confusion. 
 
 The magnificent colonnade, or arbor, which was built 
 on a slight rise of ground in the rear of Fort Clinton,
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 403 
 
 seemed to her a structure more wonderful and beautiful 
 than even the imagination could create. 
 
 It was indeed one of the most remarkable edifices of 
 the kind ever erected, and had required the supervising 
 skill of an eminent French engineer by the name of Major 
 Villefranche, and the labors of a thousand men for over 
 ten days. It was two hundred and twenty feet long and 
 eighty feet wide, and was composed of the simple 
 materials which the trees in the vicinity afforded. A 
 grand colonnade of one hundred and eighteen pillars, 
 which were simply the trunks of tall, stately trees, ran 
 down the centre, and supported the lofty roof, that was 
 formed by curiously interwoven boughs and leafy 
 branches ; the fragrant evergreens, in which the region 
 abounds, being the chief components. Rafters sloped 
 beneath this leafy canopy from the ridge to two lighter 
 rows of supporting pillars on either side, and from these 
 were suspended wreaths of evergreens and flowers. The 
 ends and sides, up to a lofty height, were left open, so 
 that the guests could pass in and out unimpeded, and also 
 from every part command a view of the plain and sur- 
 rounding scenery. This openness of formation also 
 caused the immense structure to give the impression of 
 light, airy grace. 
 
 As Vera approached, and saw that groups of people 
 were passing unhindered under and through the beauti- 
 ful bower, she induced her father to go thither also. He 
 seemingly had come to the conclusion that he would 
 humor Vera to her heart's content on this occasion, 
 though it cost him a greater effort than even she realized 
 to face the curious stare he saw on every side. At first 
 she was so absorbed and delighted with the new and 
 wonderful scenes, that she did not notice how many eyes 
 were following her. Wherever they went, faces were 
 turned towards them, on which were the blended expres- 
 sions of surprise, admiration, and curiosity. But Vera
 
 404 NRAJB TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 was. sa utterly free from vanity and self-consciousness 
 that she did not notice this till the fact was forced upon 
 her. With her lovely features aglow with pleasure and 
 intelligent interest, she strolled through the arbor at the 
 side of her father, calling his attention to the festoons of 
 flowers, the garlands encircling the rustic pillars, the em- 
 blenuuica.1 devices, fleurs-de-lis, and other decorations 
 significant of the American alliance with France. 
 
 As she was examining the fanciful manner in which 
 the ceatrai pillars were surrounded by muskets and 
 bayonets, bound together, by the intermingled colors of 
 each natioaatlity, she suddenly became conscious of a 
 dark,, bloated face directly before her, and the rude, leer- 
 iag stare of two evil eyes. She sprang back as if she 
 had seen a viper coiled among the devices about the pil- 
 lar,, for she recognized in the stranger the tipsy officer 
 who had insulted her by trying to snatch a kiss at the 
 time she went to Constitution Island in search of tidings 
 from. Saville. 
 
 " Hal my pretty one, I see you; remember me," he 
 said brassily. " I hope you are now prepared to make 
 aaaends for your coyeess, then. If so, I will forego the 
 grudge I might naturally hold against you." 
 
 Vera gave him no other answer than a look of aversion 
 aod contempt., which her expressive features made very 
 unmistakable,, and; hastening to her father, she induced 
 him to follow the people who were streaming across the 
 plain, to the northern side, as. if something of interest were 
 taking; place there. 
 
 They had not gone very far before the fellow, captivated 
 091 Vera' s beauty, determined to make another attempt to 
 b*ea I k dow-n her reserve. She started violently as she 
 found him walking coolly at her sidfc 
 
 " Upoo> a gala, occasion like this," he said, " a fair lady 
 needs gallant. I am an officer and a gentleman, and I 
 can make the day pass more pleasantly."
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVEDGREAT CHANGES 406- 
 
 " You are not a gentleman, sir, or you would not thrust 
 yourself upon those to whom your society is evidently un- 
 welcome. 
 
 " Nay, my lovely charmer ; your frowns and coyness 
 only stimulate my desire to win your favor." 
 
 Almost before the words were spoken a blow laid him 
 prostrate on the plain, and the enraged father stood over 
 him and said, with significant emphasis, 
 
 " As you value your life, do not approach my daughter 
 again to-day." 
 
 The scene was drawing a curious crowd, and Vera, taking 
 her father's arm, hastened to escape, leaving her insulter 
 to explain his plight as he please. The scene explained 
 itself, however, and the prostrate officer picked himself 
 up and skulked off amid jeers and shouts of laughter. 
 
 But among those who had witnessed the incident was 
 no other than the redoubtable Captain Molly herself, who, 
 with quite a following of " swatehearts," was about as 
 jolly a widow as one could imagine. She hastened after 
 Vera, and soon overtook her, crying volubly, 
 
 "The top o' the mornin' to ye, Misthress Vera, and 
 the same to yerself, sur. It did me heart good, sur, to see 
 how ye gave that capting a lesson in manners. That clip 
 at the side o' his head is the fust wound he's got in the 
 war, for they say he's moighty discrate wid men, though 
 bould as a lion or some wusser baste wid women. Faix, 
 and I'm honest glad to see ye agin, an' a-lookin' as,perty 
 as a wild rose, too. I don't wonder the fellers is all 
 a-starin' 1 at ye." 
 
 Vera's greeting was cordial though quiet. For some 
 reason she felt safer since Molly was within call ; but she 
 shrank sensitively from the attention she drew/, for the 
 " captain," in her blue petticoat, cocked hat, and the scar- 
 let coat of an artilleryman, was the cynosure of all eyes, 
 being followed by a crowd of gaping country people 
 wherever she went.
 
 406 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " This festival is not in hontfr of peace after all," said 
 Vera. 
 
 " Did ye think that it was ? Well, yez live so far be- 
 hoind the mountings that ye're a little behoind the times. 
 Pace is comin' soon, but they call this a fate, and it's to 
 the honor of the Dolphin of France." 
 
 " The Dolphin of France ?" said Vera, turning to her 
 father with a look of inquiry. 
 
 " Yis, it's in honor of the birth of the Dolphin of 
 France. That's what ivery one's a-sayin'. It's not me- 
 self that knows what kind of a crayther it is that's been 
 bourn, but I'm a-hopin' its mother'll have a lot more, if 
 we are to have as big a day as this ivery toime ! " 
 
 " She means that the fete is in honor of the birth of the 
 Dauphin of France, the child who is heir to the P'rench 
 throne," said Vera's father, his grim face relaxing at 
 Molly's words and manner. 
 
 " Now ye've got it straight, Misther Brown. It's 
 nothin' but a baby we're niakin' sich a fuss about. But 
 niver ye moind, since we're goin' to have the fuss and 
 frolic. An' now I must go back to me swatehearts. But 
 belave me, Misthress Vera, none on 'em comes up to the 
 fust un. I've thried many a one since poor Larry got 
 his head shot off, but I shall niver git his loikes agin," and 
 with that she scampered off, to Vera's great relief. And 
 yet the maiden had cause to bless the meeting ever after- 
 wards. 
 
 Escaping from the staring, laughing crowd which 
 Molly's appearance and words drew around them, they 
 soon reached the northern edge of the plain facing the 
 river, from which point they witnessed a beautiful spec- 
 tacle. Approaching the shore were parallel lines of 
 barges decorated with flags and streamers, and the water 
 around them was flashing and sparkling under the 
 strokes of multitudinous oars. These boats contained 
 General and Lady Washington and his suite, Governor
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 407 
 
 Clinton and his wife, eminent generals with their staffs, 
 and a large number of prominent citizens and ladies of 
 rank and fashion, A band of music led the way, and 
 accompanied the distinguished guests up the hill to 
 Major-General McDougall's quarters, while the artillery 
 thundered out its salvo of welcome. 
 
 Vera watched everything with the wonder and delight 
 of a child, and it was a relief to her, and especially to 
 her father, that the pageant absorbed all attention, and 
 that they, for a time, were utterly unnoticed. It gave 
 them a chance to recover from the nervousness and dis- 
 quietude which their encounter with the rude officer and 
 the irrepressible Molly had occasioned. As Washington 
 approached, Vera recognized him with a strong thrill of 
 pride and gratitude. 
 
 "He has the same quiet, noble face," she thought ; 
 " he is too great to be elated by all this pomp and 
 show." 
 
 After his Excellency, his wife, and suite had disap- 
 peared, Vera was annoyed at finding so many glances 
 turning towards her again. Unlike, perhaps, the ma- 
 jority of her fair sisters who have since visited West 
 Point she did not realize that her own lovely face was the 
 chief cause. In fact, both father and daughter appeared 
 as if they might have stepped out of some old story or 
 book of fairy tales ; and Tascar, as he followed them, 
 would have answered very well as a hobgoblin page. 
 Many young officers lingered near, and cast wistful 
 glances at the maiden, but their manner was respectful 
 and unobtrusive. 
 
 Vera now suggested that they should find some quiet 
 nook near to the great colonnade, whence they could see 
 all without attracting notice themselves ; and her father 
 was only too glad to accede, for this exposure was taxing 
 his resolution to give Vera a day of pleasure, at every 
 cost to himself, almost beyond his power of endurance.
 
 408 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 Soon after their arrival, Vera had directed Tascar to 
 find Surgeon Jasper ; but he returned, saying that the 
 doctor had been summoned home, on important matters, 
 a few days previous ; so they had no other resource than 
 to do the best they could themselves. 
 
 They at last found a spot a little off at one side, from 
 which, under a clump of trees, they had a good view of 
 the plain, the colonnade or arbor, and surrounding 
 heights. Plain country people and utter strangers, who, 
 like themselves, were bent on seeing the pageant, and 
 had no other thought, sat down around them, hiding 
 them, in part, from view, and shutting away the curious 
 and obtrusive. It was not long before they felt a sense 
 of security and retirement in this sheltered place, which 
 was decidedly reassuring, and even the poor exile be- 
 came interested in the brave scenes before him, 
 especially as they gave evidence that the Americans 
 were gaining rather than losing the power to cope with 
 their most formidable enemy. 
 
 At two o'clock in the afternoon, it seemed to them that 
 an innumerable host appeared. The hills on the eastern 
 side of the river were covered with troops, while from 
 every side of the plain, and on the circling heights 
 around, bayonets began to gleam, led forward by that 
 music which chiefly has the power to set the .nerves ting- 
 ling with excitement. The earth beneath them trembled 
 under the heavy, rumbling wheels of the artillery. 
 Within an hour the plain and hills adjacent, on both 
 sides of the river, were covered with serried ranks of 
 men, their burnished weapons lighting up the scene with 
 flashing brilliancy, by their vivid reflection of the genial 
 sunlight. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, three cannons were 
 fired as a signal. All the troops around the immense 
 circle advanced simultaneously in grand and glittering 
 array ; and, after a brief display, in full view of the
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 409 
 
 arbor, the men \\ere permitted to stack their arms, and 
 throw themselves upon the ground, or stroll about near 
 the line of their position. 
 
 All the officers, except one field officer to each brigade, 
 and one battalion officer to each regiment, repaired to 
 the colonnade, where, they had been informed, " General 
 Washington expected the pleasure of their company at 
 dinner." P>om every part of the plain, and in barges 
 on the river, the gallant veterans of seven years of war 
 were gathering to the banquet a most unwonted experi- 
 ence to them. 
 
 But, while Vera was enjoying every moment beneath 
 the shelter of her tree, and in the shadow of the honest, 
 home-spun people, who were wondering, with breathless 
 interest, at the rapidly shifting scenes, she was the 
 object of plots and counterplots. The officer whose in- 
 solence had been punished, in part, went away with 
 oaths of vengeance. As far as he could learn, Vera was 
 friendless, and her father under a cloud of some kind, so 
 that there would be no one' to resent any indignity he 
 might offer them. He knew well where to find men of 
 the basest sort like himself, and, as liquor flowed like 
 water that day, the evil-disposed were ready for any 
 reckless deed. He resolved that if Vera stayed until 
 the dusk of the evening, he would carry her off to his 
 quarters up the river. He laid his plans cunningly, 
 rapidly, and secretly, taking into his plot only a sufficient 
 number to carry it out. It was briefly this : After night 
 obscured everything, he and his party would suddenly 
 crowd up and around his victim, separate her from her 
 father, tie a handkerchief over her mouth, so that she 
 could make no outcry, and spirit her off to the shore, 
 where a boat would be in waiting. But it so happened 
 that a bad fellow of this officer's company was one of 
 Captain Molly's satellites ; for she still was not over- 
 choice in her company. She saw this man summoned
 
 410 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 away for a few moments by his captain, and the 
 whispered conference that followed ; and the quick- 
 witted camp-follower surmised that a plot against Vera 
 was on foot. 
 
 " What did that spalpeen say to ye ? " she asked the 
 man on his return to her side. 
 
 " He was a-tellin' me what a handsome woman ye is." 
 
 " If ye don't tell me what he said, ye may take yerself 
 off." 
 
 "Now, Molly, me darlint, why should ye care what 
 he said ? " 
 
 "I don't care; I've only took a notion to see how 
 good a friend ye' re to me." 
 
 " Well, ye won't tell, thin, nor do anythin' to sthop 
 the fun that's up ? " 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " Well, the capting, who is moighty swate on the 
 women, is a-gwine to carry off a perty little gall to-night, 
 and I'm to help him," he whispered in her ear. 
 
 "Is that all ? " she said carelessly. 
 
 " I tould ye it was somethin' ye wouldn't care nothin" 
 about." t 
 
 Molly made no further reference to the subject, but 
 not long after she casually, and with no apparent motive, 
 took a position where she could keep Vera and her 
 father constantly under her eye, and she continued to. 
 maintain such a position. 
 
 As the sun declined towards the western highlands, 
 General and Lady Washington, his suite, and the most 
 distinguished guests moved from General McDougall's 
 quarters, through lines of saluting soldiers, to the arbor, 
 where was spread as elegant a dinner as the times and 
 circumstances permitted. Five hundred guests, ladies 
 and gentlemen, sat down to the dinner, and the thou- 
 sands who looked on, kept by the guards at a respectful 
 distance, regarded these favored ones as among the im-
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 411 
 
 mortals. Vera saw Washington at the head of the table, 
 and she wondered how one so exalted in station could 
 have been so simple and kind in his manner towards her. 
 She found herself watching him, and thinking about his 
 interview with her, during the time he was presiding 
 over the banquet. 
 
 But there was another, seated towards the further end 
 of the table, who would have absorbed her thoughts com- 
 pletely had she known of his presence. Pale, thin from 
 much suffering, and with the sleeve of his left arm hang- 
 ing empty at his side, Saville sat quietly among the guests, 
 equally in ignorance that the one never far from his 
 thoughts was but a few rods away. He had heard of the 
 proposed fete in honor of the Dauphin, had hastened his 
 journey, and arrived just in time to sit down with his 
 brother officers beneath the rustic arbor. The insignia 
 upon his uniform showed that he had been promoted to 
 the rank of colonel ; but the expression of his face re- 
 vealed that he had achieved a character which is above 
 all earthly rank and distinction. 
 
 He had not written to Vera of the serious nature of his 
 wound, and of the irreparable loss it had occasioned, 
 knowing that it would pain her to no purpose. She would 
 grieve over it continually ; but, when she came to see 
 him, he could, in a measure, make light of it. 
 
 Saville found himself seated next to an officer possess- 
 ing the same rank as himself, and of a very noble mien, 
 and distinguished bearing. There was a peculiar gravity 
 in his manner and expression, and he seemed to have no 
 disposition to become convivial, as was the case with the 
 majority. This made him all the more a congenial com- 
 panion to Saville, and they both speedily became inter- 
 ested in each other. Saville thought he had never met a 
 man of more wide and varied information, or one better 
 able to express himself with elegance and force. He also 
 noted that he was treated with deference by those who
 
 412 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 knew him. The stranger soon introduced himself as 
 Colonel Wellingly, adding, with fine courtesy, " I have 
 long known you, Colonel Saville, by reputation as an ac- 
 complished engineer officer, and I have heard of your 
 gallantry at Yorktown." 
 
 "I feel highly honored," Saville replied, "that rny 
 name has ever had favorable mention to you ; but I con- 
 fess that I am thoroughly tired of war, and would be glad 
 to devote what there is left of me to the arts of peace." 
 
 " Well," said Colonel Wellingly musingly, " I suppose 
 the war is practically over, and I am glad, on account of 
 the evils and suiferiiig it ever occasions. But I am at a 
 loss to know to what I shall devote myself, unless it be to 
 the erection .of a hunting-lodge among these "magnificent 
 -mountains. ,1 have never seen a better .place in which to 
 while away the .useless remnant of a life." 
 
 From the first Saville had detected a low undertone of 
 sorrow and disappointment in the man's words ,and .ac- 
 cent. Colonel Wellingly evidently knew that he had 
 suffered deeply in the past, for he said, as the cloth was 
 being removed, preparatory to the drinking of toasts, 
 
 "We have both seen trouble in our day, Colonel 
 Saville ,; but I envy you the hopeful spirit you possess, 
 and the purpose still to. accomplish something in life. I 
 am growing listless and tired." 
 
 Thirteen toasts, appropriate to the occasion, were an- 
 nounced successively, and. each one was followed by the 
 discharge of artillery and joyous music, and, by not a 
 few, with long, deep potations, which juade their march 
 to their quarters anything but steady. 
 
 After the thirteenth toast was drank, the guests rose 
 from the tables, which were rapidly cleared away in prep- 
 aration for the dancing of the evening, and the reg- 
 imental officers Joined their respective commands. 
 
 As the .twilight deepened, the feu-de-joie which had 
 been ordered commenced with the thunder of thirteen
 
 A MY&TEEY SOLVEDGREAT CHANGES 413 
 
 cannon, followed by volleys of musketry along the whole 
 line of the army on the surrounding hills. Three times 
 the circling lines of fire flashed out, and the hills and 
 mountains were kept resounding with the mighty echoes, 
 until they gave way to another and more awe-inspiring 
 sound the thrice-repeated shout of acclamation and 
 benediction for the Dauphin, by the united voices of the 
 entire army, on every side. The poor boy was destined 
 to soon hear, and from his own people, volleyed curses, 
 instead of benedictions, and a pitiless cry for his blood, 
 instead of loyal acclamations. 
 
 As the last vehement shout died away, the night was 
 illuminated by a brilliant display of fireworks from Fort 
 Webb. The discharge of three cannon concluded the 
 ceremonies of the day, and was the signal for the troops 
 to march to their cantonments. 
 
 In the meantime the arbor or colonnade had been 
 brilliantly lighted up, and the dancing was about to 
 commence. Vera had been almost overwhelmed with 
 awe at the deep reverberations of the artillery and the 
 impressive closing scenes. She now persuaded her father 
 to let her see Washington open the ball, and then she 
 would return home fully content. And when his Ex- 
 cellency, with dignity and grace, having Mrs. General 
 Knox for partner, carried down a dance of twenty couples 
 in the stately minuet, she felt as if the grandest visions 
 which her old friend Will Shakespeare had ever raised in 
 her mind, had been more than fulfilled. 
 
 But all was growing confused and somewhat disorderly 
 where they stood, and her father had said more than 
 once, 
 
 " Come, Vera, it is getting late, and we have far to 
 
 g-" 
 
 Vera turned away with a deep sigh ; she had ever felt 
 a longing for social pleasures and the companionship of 
 people of culture. The beautiful and brilliant scene be-
 
 414 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 fore her showed how attractive such occasions were in 
 reality, and she had looked on with the natural desires of 
 a young and healthful mind. She had once hoped 
 to participate in such social reunions at the side of Saville, 
 and even the thought had been ecstasy. But now she 
 felt that the deep shade, which fell so early across their 
 humble mountain cabin, was the type of the sombre 
 shadow that would ever rest upon her life. 
 
 " Come, Vera," said her father still more urgently to 
 the girl, who was lingering, for she saw in the gay 
 throng beneath the arbor a face that reminded her of 
 Saville. 
 
 They found their steps impeded ; the confusion around 
 them increased ; suddenly her father was struck down by 
 a blow from some one behind him, and before Vera 
 could cry out, a handkerchief was passed around her 
 mouth, two men seized her hands on either side and 
 thrust them within their arms, and she was being forced 
 away in the darkness, she knew not whither ; but she 
 could not help associating the dark, bloated-faced officer 
 who had twice before insulted her, with the outrage. 
 
 The assault had been cunningly conceived and skil- 
 fully carried out, for the villainous accomplices were mak- 
 ing loud demonstrations around the prostrate father, thus 
 drawing the attention and the crowd thither, while the 
 daughter was being hurried off unperceived. 
 
 Never, perhaps, had Vera been in greater peril before. 
 She was so overcome by terror and a sense of suffoca- 
 tion that she was almost fainting, when the handkerchief 
 was snatched from her mouth, and she wrenched vio- 
 lently from the grasp of her captors. 
 
 "Ye spalpeens!" cried Captain Molly, with a wild 
 Irish howl, and she drew her nails across the eyes of one 
 of the men. No wildcat of the neighboring mountains 
 could have given a deeper or more vindictive scratch, 
 and he was glad to stumble off in the darkness away
 
 A MYSTER Y SOL VEDGREA T CHANGES 415 
 
 from the crowd which Molly's shrill voice was rapidly 
 gathering. 
 
 But it was towards the principal villain that the re- 
 doubtable "captain" directed her chief attention, and 
 she laid upon him a clutch from which he vainly sought 
 to escape. 
 
 " I'll tache ye a lesson," she yelled. " Ye shall have 
 some wounds afore the war is over, I warrant ye, an' 
 they won't be in yer back 'nuther, but on yer big bloated 
 face, where yer grandchildren kin see the scars ; " and 
 she clawed him like a tigress, and until his cries made a 
 duet with her own shrill voice. 
 
 On being released, Vera had looked around a moment 
 in hesitating terror. She could not see her father, and 
 she knew not where he was. All around were dark, 
 strange faces, and hurrying forms of men and women, 
 and the air was filled with confused cries, above which 
 arose Molly's loud vituperation, for with every blow and 
 scratch she fired a volley of epithets. But a few rods 
 away, the bewildered girl saw the lighted arbor, with 
 Washington full in view. If she could reach him she 
 knew that she would be safe. She darted through the 
 intervening throng, past the startled and astonished 
 guests, and knelt at his feet. 
 
 "Officer of the guard," cried Washington sternly, 
 " what means such ruffianly disorder without that women 
 must fly to us for protection ? Arrest all concerned in it. 
 What do you wish, madam ? Do not be afraid," he said 
 to Vera. 
 
 " Your Excellency," cried Saville, stepping eagerly 
 forward, " I will answer for that maiden with my life." 
 
 At the sound of his voice Vera sprang to his side and 
 clung, panting, to his arm. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Saville, I think that she is capable of 
 answering for herself. If I mistake not, I have met this 
 young girl before."
 
 416 NEAE TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency," faltered Vera, with her hand 
 upon her side ; " and you were kind to me and therefore 
 I fled to you for protection now." 
 
 "And you shall have full protection, my child; so, 
 calm your fears. Indeed, Mr. Saville looks as if he 
 might defend you against the world." 
 
 By this time the attention of all was directed to Colonel 
 Wellingly. With a face as pallid as that of Vera's, he 
 came forward and asked, in a husky voice, 
 
 " Will you please tell me your name ? " 
 
 "Vera Vera Brown." 
 
 " Is that your only name ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The colonel looked at her a moment, shook his head 
 despondently, and muttered, as he stepped back, 
 
 " It's very, very strange. I never saw such a re- 
 semblance ; and the same old habit, too, of putting her 
 hand to her side." 
 
 " O Theron ! you have lost an arm. You did not tell 
 me," said Vera, bursting into tears. 
 
 " That is a small loss compared with all I have gained. 
 I did not wish to pain " 
 
 " My daughter, where is my daughter? " cried a loud, 
 agonized voice from without, and wrenching himself 
 away from the guards who had arrested him as one of 
 the disturbers of the peace, the exile rushed into the 
 lighted arbor. All fell back before his tall form, and 
 wild, threatening aspect, for the expression of his face 
 was a terrible blending of anguish and rage. 
 
 "She is here, Mr. Brown," said Saville promptly. 
 "You are both among friends;" and he led Vera to 
 him and placed her hand in his. 
 
 "Come," said her father eagerly; "let us go. Let 
 us escape while we can." 
 
 Again Colonel Wellingly stepped forward and con- 
 fronted the exile.
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 417 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked excitedly. 
 
 The moment Mr. Brown's eyes fell on the questioner, 
 he staggered back as if he had received a heavy blow. 
 
 "Are you Arthur Wellingly ?" he asked, in a strange, 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 " I am," was the agitated answer. 
 
 " You did not die, then ? ' ' 
 
 " No, Guy ; and I have been searching for you all 
 these years. O my brother!" and he clasped the 
 trembling exile to his heart. 
 
 "O Esther, Esther! my poor, dead wife! why could 
 you not have seen this day ?" Guy Wellingly groaned, 
 with remorseful memories. 
 
 "She is dead, then?" his brother said, in a low, 
 shuddering tone. 
 
 " Yes, dead." 
 
 At this moment, Vera, to whom the strange scene 
 began to grow intelligible, stepped forward and said 
 earnestly, 
 
 " No, father no, uncle not dead, but in heaven." 
 
 "This is a remarkable scene," said Washington, with 
 moistened eyes. "Colonel Wellingly, .1 congratulate 
 you on the success of your long search, of which I have 
 often heard with sympathy. I already esteem myself as 
 among the friends of your niece, and think you will 
 have just cause to be proud of her ; and I shall hope to 
 make the acquaintance of your brother. I now suggest 
 that you take your relatives to your quarters, for you 
 must have much to speak of in which strangers have no 
 part. ' ' 
 
 " I thank your Excellency," was the grateful reply. 
 " I have been so overwhelmed by this unexpected meet- 
 ing that I am not myself." 
 
 " Your emotions are most natural, sir, and are to your 
 credit." 
 
 " Vera," said Saville, coming to her side and taking
 
 418 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 her hand, " I am overjoyed at your good fortune. I 
 thank God from the depths of my heart. My little wild 
 flower has become a' great lady." 
 
 He felt her fingers seeking her mother's ring, and she 
 answered in a low tone, " No outward changes can 
 change that of which this ring is the token. You shall 
 ever be first. Good-night." 
 
 But before they could move away, a shrill voice just 
 without the arbor cried, 
 
 " Ye didn't arrist him at all ; I arristed him meself, 
 and I'm a goin' to take him afore his Ixcellency. Git 
 out o' the way, ye spalpeens, or I'll tear yer eyes out ; " 
 and she broke from the guards, dragging her bleeding, 
 half-murdered captive with her, and did not stop till she 
 stood before Washington. 
 
 " This is the spalpeen, your Ixcellency, as was carryin' 
 of the perty Misthress Vera. I heerd the hull plot, and 
 I cotched him in the very dade." 
 
 "What does all this mean?" demanded Washington 
 sternly, and yet with difficulty maintaining his gravity, 
 for the wretched officer looked like a torn quarry in the 
 claws of some strange bird of prey. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, all we can tell your Excellency is that 
 we found him on the ground, and this woman on top of 
 him pounding him within an inch of his life." 
 
 At this there was a general and irrepressible burst of 
 laughter, in which even Washington joined for a mo- 
 ment. But, instantly recovering his gravity, he asked, 
 
 " Miss Wellingly, does this woman state the truth 
 about this man ? " 
 
 " She does, your Excellency ; but I think that he has 
 been sufficiently punished and humiliated already." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you upon this occasion," said 
 Washington, his face becoming almost terrible in his 
 indignation. Then addressing Captain Molly, he asked,
 
 A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES 419 
 
 " You are the woman who took her husband's place 
 at his gun in the battle of Monmouth ? " 
 
 "I be, your Ixcellency; an' it was moighty swate in 
 ye to give me the pay and rank of sergeant." 
 
 Washington's face twitched a moment, but he man- 
 aged to say, with his former sternness, 
 
 " You are a far better soldier than the craven whom I 
 am glad to see in your clutches. Will you oblige me by 
 taking from his uniform all insignia of rank?" 
 
 " Faix, yer Ixcellency, I will. Barrin' the presence of 
 the foine leddies, I'd take ivery stetch off him as I'd sk^n 
 an eel." 
 
 A roar of laughter followed this speech, and her 
 miserable victim looked as if he would indeed be glad to 
 have the mountains fall and cover him from the universal 
 scorn. 
 
 "Now," continued Washington to an officer, "take 
 him to the guard-house, and to-morrow I wish him 
 drummed out of camp with the Rogue's March ; " and 
 the culprit was led away. 
 
 " Come, my dear niece, my heart is too full to endure 
 this publicity any longer," said Colonel Wellingly. 
 
 "In one moment," Vera replied; and crossing to 
 Captain Molly, she took her hand in both of hers, 
 saying, 
 
 " I thank you from the depths of my heart. If you 
 ever need a friend, come to me." 
 
 " Have ye become a great leddy ?" 
 
 " I should not be a lady at all did I fail to remember, 
 with grateful affection, all who were kind to me in my 
 need. Good-bye for the present, my brave, true friend. 
 I owe you more than words can express." 
 
 " An' ye pay me in the coin I loikes best. Faix, ther's 
 nothin' that goes furder wid man nor baste than a koind 
 word. Though I'm a bit rough and reckless loike, I'd
 
 420 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 ruther have ye spake to me as ye does than a hatful of 
 crowns." 
 
 "The money shall not be lacking, either," said Colonel 
 Wellingly, offering her his purse. 
 
 " Not a penny will I iver take for anythin' I've done 
 for Misthress Vera," and she darted away. 
 
 With a low courtesy to General and Lady Washington, 
 and a swift glance to Saville, Vera permitted herself to 
 be led away with her father ; and the wondering guests 
 were boundless in their admiration, and almost equally 
 so in queries that could not as yet be answered. 
 
 Tascar, who had been watching all in a state of excite- 
 ment that made him almost as explosive as one of the 
 cartridges of the feu-de-joie, was sent to inform old Gula 
 that her master and mistress would not return that night ; 
 and the tale he told his mother, and acted out in panto- 
 mime that night, was more marvelous than any of her 
 weird imaginings. 
 
 A few hours later the beautiful colonnade or arbor was 
 darkened, and echoed only to a lonely sentinel's tread.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 EXPLANATIONS 
 
 EVEN the rude temporary quarters which Colonel Wel- 
 lingly occupied, at West Point, gave evidence that he was 
 a man of wealth and culture ; for, as far as possible, he 
 had surrounded himself with objects that ministered to 
 refined and luxurious tastes. He had been the more in- 
 clined to carry out his bent, from the fact that his duties 
 would, in all probability, keep him at his present location 
 for a long time. 
 
 In the fulness of his heart it seemed as if he could not 
 do enough for his brother and niece ; and, for one nat- 
 urally stately and reserved, his manner was affectionate 
 in the extreme. He embraced Vera again and again, and 
 his eyes rested on her with an expression of wistful ten- 
 derness, which proved that she was the embodiment of a 
 very dear memory. 
 
 When he heard that they had not partaken of any re- 
 freshment since their frugal lunch early in the day, he 
 brought out a bottle of rich old madeira, and ordered his 
 servant to prepare as sumptuous a supper as could be 
 provided promptly. 
 
 " I cannot realize it all," said Vera again and again ; 
 and her father ejaculated, more than once, 
 
 "Thank God ! your blood, Arthur, is not on my soul. 
 It is now possible that I may again become a man." 
 After a few moments he asked hesitatingly, 
 
 " Shall we tell Vera? She does not know." 
 
 "Yes, Guy; it's right she should know. I will tell 
 her, for I feel that I am as much, if not more, to blame 
 than you."
 
 422 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " No, Arthur ; no. There is no excuse for the mur- 
 derous blow I struck you, and the remorse and fear, that 
 have followed me through all these years, have nearly 
 destroyed my reason. I sank lower than the beasts ; for 
 they, at least, provide for their own. I wonder that you 
 can forgive me. I can never forgive myself." 
 
 " I do forgive, and in the same breath ask forgiveness. 
 Henceforth we must be to each other all that she who is 
 dead would have wished. I shall seek to make repara- 
 tion to you and Vera to the extent of my ability, and you 
 shall share in all I possess. It is best that Vera should 
 know everything, for with those who are as closely united 
 as we shall be, there should be no mysteries. Vera, the 
 highest praise I can give you is, that you closely resemble 
 your mother when she was of your age. Never did a 
 maiden live who had greater power to win and keep af- 
 fection than Esther Ainsley. She was of humble station, 
 being the daughter of a curate, who had a small charge 
 near to our estate ; but she was dowered with a beauty 
 of person and character which I have never seen equaled. 
 Our mother died when Guy and myself were children, 
 and our father died before I was through with my studies, 
 so that I as eldest son, became heir to a large property, 
 at a time when I needed restraint, guidance, and counsel, 
 more than wealth and independence. The lessons of 
 self-control and patience, which should have been taught 
 us in childhood and youth, were left to the schooling of 
 bitter experience ; and bitter, in truth, it has been to us 
 both. I valued my untrammeled position chiefly because 
 there was no one to prevent me from marrying the 
 daughter of this obscure and penniless curate. Only her 
 own will, which was as strong as she was gentle, did pre- 
 vent the marriage, for I sought in every possible way to 
 shake her resolution. There was not a trace of gratified 
 vanity in her refusal, but only the keenest distress. At 
 last she told me that she loved some one else, and I think
 
 EXPLANATIONS 423 
 
 she was about to inform me who it was, but my darkly 
 vindictive face prevented her. Egotistic and passionate 
 fool that 1 was, I felt that no one had a right to thwart 
 me, and I determined to discover the one, whom 1 at once 
 regarded as a personal enemy. To be brief, I was not 
 long in learning that it was Guy, my younger and only 
 brother ; but, in the infatuation of my passion, this fact 
 made no difference, and, as the eldest, I would brook no 
 rivalry. 1 confronted him one evening, as he was return- 
 ing from a tryst with Esther, and arrogantly informed 
 him that he could not cross my path in this matter. I 
 first made him a large offer, if he would quit the coun- 
 try and leave the field clear for me. But he said, and 
 with good reason, that he would not relinquish Esther 
 Ainsley for the wealth of England, much less for the piti- 
 ful sum I offered. One word led to another. We both 
 became enraged, and at last I sprang towards him in a 
 transport of passion, and he, equally unmanned, struck 
 me on the head with a heavy cane that he carried and 
 for weeks thereafter I was unconscious." 
 
 Guy Wellingly, who was sitting with his face buried in 
 his hands, groaned deeply. 
 
 "You see, Vera," continued her uncle, "I was even 
 more to blame than he. I had it in my heart to strike 
 just as heavy a blow. Indeed, we were both beside our- 
 selves at the time, and scarcely responsible. The trouble 
 was that neither of us had ever learned the first lesson 
 of self-restraint." 
 
 "O Arthur! I was sure I had killed you. I brought 
 water from the brook, but I could not revive you, and 
 then came the one desperate, all-absorbing desire to fly 
 and hide, which has been my curse ever since. I felt 
 that I had upon me the mark of Cain." 
 
 " We have both paid dearly for that rash quarrel, in 
 which I insist that I was to blame more truly than your- 
 self. I had a narrow escape from death. My body serv-
 
 424 NEAR TO NATURE'S HE AST 
 
 ant found me late at night, and I revived only to pass 
 into a brain fever, and then after I regained consciousness 
 came the dreary weeks of slow convalescence, in which 
 recovery was retarded by my restlessness and self-re- 
 proach. For a time I tried to forget my sorrow and dis- 
 appointment in dissipation, but I soon turned from sensual 
 excess with loathing. In every sane moment I saw 
 Esther's pure, reproachful face. I do not think that a 
 man, who has been absorbed by a lave for a pure, good 
 woman, can ever make a beast of himself, unless there is 
 something essentially gross in his nature. 
 
 "As soon as I was able, I traced you and Esther to 
 Liverpool, and all I could learn was that you had been 
 married and had sailed for America. Her father and 
 mother were quite broken-hearted at the loss of their 
 child. The only alleviation of their sorrow that I could 
 give was to secure to them a competence for life. As 
 time passed on, and I brooded over the past, quiet life in 
 England became hateful to me. I resolved that I would 
 come to this country and try to find you. As the years 
 passed, this search became a passion with me, and the 
 increasing difficulty and doubt only stimulated my pur- 
 pose. It was a good thing for me, for it absorbed my sad 
 thoughts, and kept my mind from preying on itself. I 
 would often follow a supposed clue for months, only to 
 be disappointed. I have often passed up and down this 
 river, little dreaming that the objects of my search w'ere 
 but a few hundred rods away. Oh ! that I had found 
 you in time to have seen Esther, and asked her forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 " But a few words more will explain how I happen to 
 be in the Continental service. In my wandering over 
 this country, I became greatly enamored with its beauty 
 and magnificence, while the wildness of many of its vast 
 solitudes accorded with my moods and tastes. I am 
 very fond of hunting, and I could gratify that bent here
 
 EXPLA NA TIONS 425 
 
 to my heart's desire. I have no special ties in England, 
 so I returned thither, sold my estate to advantage, and, to 
 insure myself, invested large sums in France and Hol- 
 land, as well as England, in addition to that which I 
 brought with me to this country. When the American 
 struggle for independence commenced, my heart took 
 sides with this people. They had been so kind and 
 sympathetic in every case, as they learned that I was try- 
 ing to find relatives who had migrated hither, that I 
 identified myself with their cause from the first. Besides, 
 my long residence here convinced me of its justness. 
 On seeing that the struggle was inevitable, I instructed my 
 English agent to transfer my funds to Holland, and from 
 thence I have drawn them largely hither, and the Ameri- 
 can Government is, to some extent, in my debt. During 
 the war, I sought the duty of a staff officer, as it brought 
 me in contact with many troops from all parts of the coun- 
 try, and enabled me to continue my inquiries concerning 
 any one answering to your name and description. But 
 you escaped me utterly, until our most unexpected meet- 
 ing to-night. I was getting weary and discouraged in my 
 search. I was becoming oppressed with my loneliness, 
 and life began to drag heavily ; but now that I have found 
 you, Guy, and have this dear girl, Avho is the image of 
 her mother, to provide for, I shall find abundant zest in 
 living." 
 
 As he finished his narration, Vera put her arms 
 around his neck, and said, 
 
 " I am equal to mother in only one thing. I can love 
 very deeply, and you have won my heart already. I 
 won't let you regret having found me, uncle." Then 
 going to her father's side, she added, with reassuring 
 caresses, 
 
 ' ' After this night, do not again doubt that God is good, 
 father. Though I never before knew what the deed was 
 that led to. your flight from England, I have been sure
 
 426 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 that Mr. Saville's words were true, and that your ' re- 
 morse was greater than your crime.' " 
 
 "No, Vera," replied her father, in strong emotion. 
 "If I had in fact slain this generous and forgiving 
 brother, I should never have known peace in this or any 
 other world. As it is, Arthur, I am but a miserable 
 wreck of a man, warped, by base fear and years of 
 brooding remorse, from all good and noble uses. There 
 is nothing that makes such awful havoc in the soul as a 
 constant sense of guilt. The knowledge that you are 
 living has brought me inexpressible relief, and I ask 
 nothing more, and nothing better than this fact. But 
 Vera still has life before her. I have at times meditated 
 self-destruction, in the hope that she might thus escape 
 the curse which I felt resting on me ; but something held 
 me back." 
 
 " Thank God ! " murmured Vera shuddering. 
 
 " Now she can be very happy," continued her father. 
 " Since I am not the foul criminal that, in justice to Mr. 
 Saville, I told him that I was, his pride will no longer be 
 an obstacle in the way of their marriage." 
 
 " Vera marry Colonel Saville ! " exclaimed her uncle. 
 " He is married already." 
 
 "Saville married!" ejaculated her father, in un- 
 bounded surprise and rising anger. "Then I have an 
 account to settle with him ; " and his tall form towered 
 up instinct with passion. 
 
 At the mention of Saville's name Vera's face became 
 scarlet ; then, at her father's words, her pallor was 
 equally marked. 
 
 "Vera," said her uncle, in a tone of deep distress, 
 " what trouble have we here ? " 
 
 But the maiden, strong in her conscious rectitude, 
 rallied promptly, and, in a firm, quiet tone, said, 
 
 " We have no trouble whatever, except we make it. 
 Uncle, Mr. Saville is a true, honorable man, and he has
 
 EXPLANATIONS 427 
 
 never asked me to do a thing that he thought wrong. 
 Both father and myself would have been dead years ago 
 were it not for his unspeakable kindness. Father, be 
 calm. You cannot strike Theron Saville without striking 
 me. He is my brother, my more than brother, and I 
 love him better than life." 
 
 " But, Vera," remonstrated her uncle, with a gravity 
 almost approaching to sternness ; " in your secluded life 
 you have not learned how rigid the proprieties of life are 
 in these matters. You bear the proud name of Wel- 
 lingly, and " 
 
 "Uncle," interrupted Vera, with a dignity and firm- 
 ness of which her gentle mother had never been capable, 
 " I bear a prouder name than that of Wellingly. 
 I am a Christain, and, in the light of God's truth, and 
 not the fashion of this world, I have thought tliis matter 
 out to its right issue, and I shall stand by my decision. 
 Rather than permit any one to come between me and Mr. 
 Saville, I will go back to the poverty and obscurity of 
 our mountain cabin for the rest of life. I do not speak 
 these words as a wilful, ignorant child, but as a woman 
 who has been matured and sobered by years of bitter 
 sorrow. Mr. Saville is my dearest friend nothing more ; 
 and he never can be anything more. I have known for 
 years that he is married. He told me himself, and he 
 never cherished one dishonorable thought towards me. 
 I declare to you both that there is nothing in our relation- 
 ship to which my sainted mother would object. But I 
 would rather perish by slow torture than stand aloof from 
 or treat him coldly." 
 
 "This is very extraordinary," said her uncle. 
 
 " I cannot reconcile his conduct with your words," 
 added her father, in deep agitation. 
 
 The strain of the eventful day had at last become too 
 great for Vera, and she felt herself growing faint. 
 
 " Be patient," she said wearily ; " you shall know all.
 
 428 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 As uncle said, we shall have no mysteries. But I can say 
 no more to-night. In pity, uncle, remember what I have 
 passed through to-day." 
 
 "Forgive me, my child," he said remorsefully, and 
 bringing her a glass of wine. " I will trust you, Vera," 
 he added ; "for your words and manner are those ot 
 truth and purity. My only fear is lest you should be mis- 
 led through your innocence and ignorance of the world." 
 
 Sh looked him steadily in the face a moment as only 
 the innocent could do, and then replied, 
 
 " Uncle, my honor and good name are as safe in Mr. 
 Saville's hands as in yours or father's. He is a Christian 
 gentleman, in the truest and strongest sense of the word." 
 
 " There, my dear, I am satisfied, and your father must 
 be, too, until he can have fuller explanation. Calm your- 
 self now, and let me show you to the best resting-place 
 which a soldier can provide for a guest who is as loved 
 and welcome as she was unexpected; " and, without 
 listening to her remonstrances, he gave her his own 
 room, and kissed her tenderly as he said good-night. 
 
 Vera was too exhausted to think ; but she was dimly 
 conscious that, after all, it would be difficult to make her 
 father and uncle understand the honest skepticism from 
 which Saville's course was the natural outgrowth. What 
 was so clear to her mind might seem dubious, or worse, 
 to theirs. She was not so weary, however, but that she 
 thanked God, with a boundless gratitude, that he had led 
 her safely through that season of doubt and strong temp- 
 tation. If she had yielded, she saw plainly that her proud 
 and stately uncle would have cast her away in bitter con- 
 tempt ; or, what was far worse, her father might have 
 killed her lover. 
 
 Early the next morning Saville sought an interview 
 with Colonel Wellingly, and, to secure privacy, took him 
 to Jasper's quarters, which he was occupying, in the sur- 
 geon's absence.
 
 EXPLANATIONS 429 
 
 Vera's words and manner had convinced her uncle that 
 she had not consciously erred from the path of rectitude, 
 but he was not so sure of Saville ; and it must be con- 
 fessed that he was not a little anxious, for he saw that 
 Vera was a girl of unusual force and decision, and he 
 feared that if Saville chose to take advantage of the 
 stronghold he had upon her affections, he could make 
 them trouble indeed. Although he had been very 
 favorably impressed with Seville, his knowledge of the 
 world made him slow and cautious in trusting men who 
 are under strong temptation. And yet he was pleased 
 with the fact that the young man had come to him so 
 promptly, feeling that it might give him a chance to pre- 
 vent difficulties. 
 
 " Colonel Wellingly," said Saville, afterthey were alone, 
 " I have sought the first opportunity possible that I might 
 make explanations which are your due, and which it 
 might cause your niece pain and embarrassment to give. 
 I have no fears that my good naine would suffer through 
 any words of hers ; on the contrary, she would excuse 
 conduct for which I have only bitter condemnation. I 
 owe to her my life, and much more than life, and it is a 
 privilege to save her from the least pain and annoyance. 
 Are you willing to listen to an honest statement of all that 
 has occurred between us? " 
 
 "Colonel Saville," was the reply, " I am gratified that 
 YOU have thus early sought this interview, for it tends to 
 assure me that my niece's confidence in you as a Chris- 
 tian gentleman is not misplaced. I admit that, from her 
 father's words and manner, last evening, after he learned 
 that you were a married man, I feared that I might have a 
 quarrel with you. The Wellingly blood has ever been 
 over hot upon certain kinds of provocation, and on no 
 point more sensitive than that of our women's honor." 
 
 " You may still think that you have cause to quarrel 
 with me ; but, be that as it may, I shall not gloss the truth.
 
 430 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 You cannot condemn me more bitterly than I do myself. 
 Nor shall I shrink from any punishment or course which 
 you may impose." And he gave a faithful history of his 
 acquaintance with Vera from the first. While, in justice 
 to himself, he showed how his wrong conduct was the nat- 
 ural fruit of his erratic views, he did not in the least ex- 
 tenuate it ; but, on the contrary, spoke of it with a cen- 
 sure so strong as to be almost fierce. It was evidently 
 the one thing for which he could never forgive himself. 
 Indeed, in his boundless admiration for Vera, he forgot 
 himself, and became her advocate rather than his own. 
 He argued that she had been tempted as no woman ever 
 was before tempted by one to whom she was profoundly 
 grateful, not only for much kindness, but for the fact that 
 he had stood by her after her father's statement that he 
 was a criminal. She had been tempted by one upon 
 whom she was almost utterly dependent for existence and 
 the necessities of life. And, what made resistance tenfold 
 more difficult, he had not sought to beguile her as a vil- 
 lain might have done, but he had been open and honest 
 in his error, full of plausible arguments ; and he had, for 
 long months, and with all the skill he possessed, sought 
 to undermine what he regarded as her baseless faith. 
 
 " Moreover," Saville concluded, " there was much in 
 my own unhappy relations and in the conduct of my wife 
 which excited her womanly sympathies in my behalf ; but, 
 in the face of all, she was loyal to truth and duty. I have 
 now been through a long war ; but I have seen no hero- 
 ism, no fidelity, and all-enduring fortitude equal to that 
 which she has displayed through long, weary years, and I 
 love and honor her next to God in whom she led me to 
 trust. I am through, sir, and I have told you the 
 truth." 
 
 As Saville had warmed with his narrative, and spoke 
 with graphic earnestness and power, Colonel Wellingly 
 walked the floor in deep excitement, with strong and
 
 EXPLANA TIONS 431 
 
 varying emotions contending on his face. When Saville 
 concluded, he said, 
 
 "This is a most extraordinary statement, and yet I 
 cannot doubt its truth. I have been inclined by turns to 
 embrace you in the profoundest gratitude, and to shoot 
 you on the spot. Poor child, poor child ! What a 
 strange, sad lot she and her mother have had ! Heaven 
 grant that I may shield Vera from any more of such dark 
 and terrible experiences." 
 
 " I shall ever echo that prayer, sir," Saville added ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " Colonel Saville," continued Colonel Wellingly, after 
 a few moments of deep thought, " I cannot doubt, after 
 hearing all that you have said, that Vera is correct in be- 
 lieving you are now a Christian gentleman ; but you were 
 once a very dangerous man, sincere as you evidently 
 were in your errors. As a matter of curiosity, I have read 
 some of the writings of your old masters, and, though very 
 friendly to the French people, I predict for them terrible 
 evils, as the result of this destructive and disorganizing 
 philosophy." 
 
 " I can believe you, sir. Were it not for a firm, gentle 
 hand, that stayed and rescued me, it would have brought 
 evils into two lives that would have been irreparable." 
 
 "Your own strong self-condemnation," said Colonel 
 Wellingly, " has disarmed me of censure. Your feelings 
 and motives are now evidently honorable, and it would 
 be wretched folly to drag forward the evils of the past to 
 mar the present. But, Colonel Saville, you know the 
 way of the world, and how ready it is to suspect of evil. 
 Even now I fear that rumor may couple your name with 
 that of my niece in a sense that neither of us can wish." 
 
 " I recognize and respect your wish. I will not even 
 see Miss Wellingly again, if you think such a course 
 'wise." 
 
 "No," Colonel Wellingly replied, after a little thought.
 
 432 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " I do not think such a course would be wise," for he re- 
 membered Vera's decisive words. " I think it would be 
 better for you see to her occasionally. But a gentleman of 
 your tact could easily give the impression that your rela- 
 tion to my niece was only that of frank, cordial friendship. 
 At the same time, it might be well to apply for duty else- 
 where." 
 
 " I look upon you," Saville answered, " as Miss Wel- 
 lingly's guardian, and shall be guided strictly by your 
 judgment. Believe me, sir, I should regard it as the 
 greatest misfortune that I could suffer, if any act of mine 
 should cast a shadow on her fair name. You are at 
 liberty to state to her father all that I have told you ; and 
 I sincerely -hope that his mind will now rapidly recover a 
 serene and healthful tone." 
 
 " I will satisfy him," was the reply, " as you have sat- 
 isfied me. Please do us the favor of dining with us at six 
 this evening." 
 
 When Vera awoke, late in the day, her thoughts again 
 reverted to the explanation which she supposed she must 
 make, and she dreaded the ordeal unspeakably. But 
 when she emerged from her room, her uncle took her in 
 his arms, and said, 
 
 " Vera, Mr. Saville has told me all, and I am proud of 
 you, as the best and noblest little girl that ever 
 breathed." 
 
 "That's like Mr. Saville," said Vera, coloring deeply. 
 " He has been making me out an angel, and himself al- 
 most a villain." 
 
 " Well," said Colonel Wellingly, laughing, "the more 
 he called himself a villain, the more sure I became that 
 he was an honorable man. At any rate, I have invited 
 the villain to dine with us this evening." 
 
 She rewarded him so promptly and heartily that the 
 wary colonel was filled with alarm. 
 
 "She is too demonstrative," he thought, "and will
 
 EXPLANATIONS 433 
 
 show all the world that Saville has her heart ; " so he 
 began, very gravely, " Vera, my dear, when in Mr. 
 Saville's presence, I hope you will " 
 
 She put her hand over his lips, and said smilingly, 
 " Don't fear, uncle ; a sensitive woman's nature is a bet- 
 ter guide in these matters than the soundest advice." 
 
 During the hour of dinner Colonel Wellingly was 
 abundantly satisfied that he had nothing to fear, for the 
 most evil-disposed of gossips would not have seen any- 
 thing in Saville's or Vera's manner towards each other to 
 which exception could have been taken. But, as he 
 gave her his hand, in taking leave, she touched her 
 mother's ring upon his finger so significantly that he 
 went away with his heart warmed and comforted by the 
 thought, " She will be unchangeable amid all changes." 
 
 Immediately after Captain Molly left the arbor, the 
 evening before, Saville joined her, and said, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 " Molly, my brave girl, will you do for me one more 
 good deed to-night? " 
 
 " Faix, an' I will ; a dozen on 'em, if I've toime." 
 
 " Promise me, by all that took place in Fort Clinton, 
 that you will never mention my acquaintance with Miss 
 Vera to any one. It's not the world's business, and the 
 world suspects evil where there is no evil." 
 
 " Misther Saville," was her reply, "may that big 
 Hessian that ye killed cotch me agin if I iver say a 
 word." 
 
 Tascar had often been warned, but the boy was per- 
 fectly safe, for he had a habit of dense ignorance on any 
 subject concerning which he did not choose to speak. 
 
 Only enough of Vera's romantic story got abroad to 
 lend an increased charm and interest to her beautiful 
 person. If at first there had been some disposition to 
 ask what had been her relations with Saville, their frank, 
 unaffected manners in society banished the thought of
 
 434 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 evil from all save those who, being wholly bad them- 
 selves, have no faith in anything good. 
 
 In spite of herself, Vera speedily became a belle, and, 
 instead of being a hunted, frightened animal of the 
 mountains, as she once described herself to Saville, she 
 was now established in the highest social position, and 
 soon became a special favorite with General and Lady 
 Washington. In addition to her beauty, she possessed 
 unusual solid attractions, as heiress of her uncle's large 
 wealth, and suitors began to gather from far and near, 
 as, in her favorite comedy, they had beset the door of 
 Portia, in Belmont ; and, like Portia, she often sighed, 
 " By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this 
 great world." But the casket which contained Vera's 
 image was Saville's heart, and that was closed to all the 
 world. She instructed her father and uncle to give a 
 courteous but firm refusal to all who asked of them 
 permission to pay their addresses, and those who sought 
 to lay siege without such formality were speedily taught 
 that any attentions that were not merely friendly were 
 most unwelcome. 
 
 Colonel Wellingly had been much pleased with the 
 situation of the mountain cabin, and at once commenced 
 enlarging it as a hunting-lodge. He saw that his 
 brother, from long habit, would be much happier there 
 than anywhere else, and it was a place in which he felt 
 that he could while away many months of the year when 
 his duties would permit. The incubus, in a very great 
 measure, lifted from Guy Wellingly's mind, and he was 
 no longer subject to his old fits of gloom, which bordered 
 on horror and despair ; but it was evident that he would 
 always be a grave, silent man, finding the shadows of 
 the forest more congenial than the haunts of men.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 SAVILLE, at Colonel Wellingly's request, did not apply 
 to be sent from West Point ; but, before many weeks 
 elapsed, he was summoned away for the most unexpected 
 and painful reasons. Papers came through the lines, 
 from New York, containing the following statement : 
 
 "A DOUBLE CRIME IN HIGH LIFE. Mrs. Julia 
 Saville, the wife of Colonel Saville, of the American 
 Army, has eloped with Captain Vennam, the officer 
 whom she married with such indecent haste, on receiv- 
 ing from him the report of her husband's death. Cap- 
 tain Vennam had obtained leave of absence, on the pre- 
 text of visiting some friends in Nova Scotia, whither the 
 guilty pair have sailed. This was bad enough. But, 
 on the night before their departure, an event occurred 
 which seems to give proof of a malice and vindictive 
 hate, of which it is difficult to believe a woman capable, 
 save on the theory that when she does fall, she surpasses 
 man in wickedness. In the middle of the night, flames 
 broke out in Colonel Saville's mansion, which has been 
 occupied by his mother during the war. Mrs. Saville 
 barely escaped with her life, and found refuge in a small 
 cottage on the estate, and she is now quite ill from fright 
 and exposure. But the worst part of the story is, that a 
 short time before the fire manifested itself, she was sure 
 that she heard the voice of her son's recreant wife be- 
 neath her windows, and also the unrecognized voice of 
 some man. She also asserts that the house did not take 
 fire from within, but from the front piazza, and that it
 
 436 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 swept up the main stairway. She and the servants es- 
 caped by a rear staircase and entrance. The night was 
 dark and windy, and favorable for the fiendish deed. 
 Everything was lost. The authorities should thoroughly 
 investigate," etc. 
 
 Colonel Wellingly, as he read it, unconsciously ex- 
 claimed, " Shameful ! Poor Saville ! " 
 
 In a moment Vera was at his side, and, before he 
 could prevent it, also read the paragraph. 
 
 " Uncle, I wish to see Mr. Saville." 
 
 " But, Vera, my dear, it may not be prudent to " 
 
 "O uncle! if Mr. Saville has friends, should they 
 not show themselves such now ? " 
 
 "I will go to him with all my heart. There are 
 many things which a man can do which are not proper 
 for a young lady. The very thought of that vile 
 creature, his wife, is soiling to you." 
 
 " I do not think of her, but of him in his cruel chains," 
 she replied, weeping bitterly. "Never was there a 
 more hideous bondage than his." 
 
 But her uncle was relieved of all perplexity, for his 
 servant brought him a note from Saville to Vera, con- 
 taining a copy of the paper, but in his care. 
 
 " I am so overwhelmed with shame and sorrow," 
 Saville had written, "that I cannot trust myself to see 
 you. Were it not for the faith which you taught me, I 
 could not have survived this last blow and disgrace. By 
 the time this reaches you, I shall be on my way to New 
 York, and shall make every effort to induce the British 
 authorities to permit me to visit my mother, and provide 
 for her comfort. I have not seen her now for years, and, 
 if necessary, I will throw up my commission and become 
 a citizen in order to reach her side at once." 
 
 The English commander, after a little delay for ex- 
 planations, courteously acceded to Saville's request, on
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 437 
 
 condition that he would not do anything during his resi- 
 dence prejudicial to his majesty's service. Peace was 
 now almost assured, and there was a disposition to relax 
 the rigid military rule of the city. 
 
 The son found that he had not reached his mother a 
 day too soon, for she was sinking under the effects of her 
 fright, loss, and loneliness. His presence revived her, 
 however ; but she rallied slowly, and was a feeble in- 
 valid for the remainder of the summer and autumn. He 
 hoped to move her to West Point ; but she was not 
 equal to the journey, and most reluctant to leave the 
 spot where she had spent so many years. He made the 
 gardener's cottage, which she occupied, as comfortable 
 as he could with his limited means ; for his property, 
 lying chiefly in the city, had melted away during the 
 war, and the money he had deposited in Paris was now 
 inaccessible. He denied himself everything that he 
 might make his mother comfortable, and devoted him- 
 self to her, trying to make amends for his long absence, 
 and she slowly regained health and strength under his 
 care. 
 
 And yet those long months of watching and poverty 
 taxed Saville's faith and fortitude to the utmost. The 
 open shame of his wife did not make her less his wife in 
 the legal sense. Her offense gave no cause for divorce 
 before the laws as then existing. In his intense desire to 
 escape his chains, he had the legal archives searched for 
 some precedent ; but found that for over a hundred 
 years no divorce had been granted, in the province of 
 New York, on the ground of his wife's crime. 
 
 The future grew darker and more uncertain than ever. 
 His wife had disappeared utterly from his knowledge. 
 There was a rumor that Captain Vennam had gone to 
 England. But Saville knew that it was ever the custom 
 of satiated lust to cast away its victims, and Vennam, 
 of all men, was the one to coolly abandon a woman of
 
 438 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 whom he had wearied. Therefore Saville's wife would 
 probably become a wanderer on the face of the earth, 
 and might perish in some miserable place and way, and 
 still he remain in ignorance of the event. If she filled a 
 nameless grave in a foreign land, so long as the fact 
 could not be proved, Saville would still remain bound, 
 and the chances were now that he would wear out his 
 life in this slow torture of uncertainty. He could never 
 approach the proud Colonel Wellingly and ask for his 
 niece while such a doubt hung over him, even if his own 
 jealous regard for Vera's honor would permit. 
 
 As the dreary winds of November began to blow, he 
 became deeply depressed. Captain Vennam's regiment 
 had been ordered to England, and there was not the 
 slightest chance for his return. Saville did not know to 
 what part of Nova Scotia he had taken his wife. He 
 had lost all clues. In frequent and painful reveries he 
 saw himself growing old in doubt and uncertainty, ever 
 chained to a possible, supposititious woman, who might 
 be living a vile life of crime in some of earth's slums. 
 He saw Vera's bright youth and beauty fading into dim 
 and premature age under the blight of hope deferred. 
 Then, after life had nearly passed, and the chance for 
 happiness was gone, he pictured to himself the return of 
 his wife as a hideous, shrunken hag. as loathsome in ap- 
 pearance as in character. And he shuddered at the 
 thought that he could neither refute nor escape her claim 
 " My husband ! " 
 
 A letter from Surgeon Jasper, that came in with a flag 
 of truce, greatly increased his despondency, for it con- 
 tained the incidental statement that "the young officers 
 were half wild over Miss Wellingly, and that she might 
 take her pick from the army." 
 
 One dreary day, when even the wild storm without 
 was a cheerful contrast to his thoughts and feelings, he 
 came to the deliberate conclusion that Vera's future
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 439 
 
 should not be destroyed with his own, and, knowing that 
 a flag of truce would go out the following morning, he 
 sat down and wrote, telling her just how he was situated. 
 
 He told her that he was a cripple, that the war had 
 consumed his property, and that the sum deposited in 
 Paris, even if he should be able to get it, would not be 
 more than sufficient to support his mother. These facts 
 in themselves formed a good reason why she should be 
 released from the promise of which her mother's ring was 
 the token. He then stated plainly the uncertainty he 
 would always probably be under in regard t<? the fate of 
 his wife, and he earnestly urged Vera not to lose her 
 chance of happiness. " I will wear your mother's ring 
 henceforth as your friend and brother, hoping and asking 
 for nothing more." 
 
 He inclosed this letter to the care of her uncle, and 
 intimated that she had better show him the contents. 
 
 He went out in the storm, and made it certain that the 
 letter would go the next morning, and then returned to 
 his humble home, chilled, cold, and wet. But he had 
 achieved a great self-sacrifice, and he felt better. He 
 now believed that Vera would form new ties and in- 
 terests, and eventually become happy in them. For 
 himself he must look beyond the shadows of time. 
 
 He did his best to make his mother pass a cheerful 
 evening, and succeeded. She did not dream that he 
 had given up the dearest hope of his life, and that his 
 genial manner was like sunlight playing upon a grave. 
 She had been ill and weak, and he had not burdened her 
 with his sorrow. 
 
 They were just about retiring, when a light, uncertain 
 step was heard upon the little porch. There was a low, 
 hollow cough, and then came a hesitating knock. 
 
 Saville took a candle and went to the door, and the 
 form of a woman stood in the driving sleet. The candle 
 flared in the wind, and nearly went out.
 
 440 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 "Who are you, madam, and what do you wish? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I am your wife," said the woman, in a low, desperate 
 tone. 
 
 He knew from her voice that she was ; but, in his sur- 
 prise and strong feeling, he could not immediately speak, 
 and she continued, 
 
 " I suppose you will thrust me out to die also, as I 
 have been turned from the door of my own home, and 
 by my own father, this bitter night. I deserve nothing 
 better at your hands. I said I would never cross your 
 threshold again, but I must or perish, and I dare not die. 
 
 If you will only give me shelter in some out " but 
 
 here a paroxysm of coughing interrupted her. 
 
 "I cannot turn you away in such a night," said 
 Saville, in an agitated tone. " Indeed, I pity you from 
 the depths of my heart. I will give you food and 
 shelter here for to-night, and in the morning will try to 
 find a refuge for you." 
 
 " No, Theron," said his mother, who had drawn near 
 to the door and overheard all; "if that woman comes 
 in, I will go out." 
 
 "O mother! you women have no mercy on each 
 other." 
 
 " I will not pass the night under the same roof with 
 that creature," said his mother sternly. 
 
 "As I am a Christian man, she shall have shelter 
 somewhere," he said ; and throwing a large cloak over 
 her shoulders, he took her to the cottage of a poor man 
 living near, who was under great obligations to Saville, 
 and, with much difficulty, secured a room for her there. 
 He then took her food and wine with his own hands. 
 
 " Why do you do this ? " she asked. 
 
 "Julia," he said kindly, "if I had been a Christian 
 instead of an unbeliever when we were married, you 
 might never have come to this wretched state."
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 441 
 
 " Will you forgive the past, and take me back as your 
 wife again?" she asked, her old trait of self-seeking 
 promptly showing itself. 
 
 I will and do forgive you," he said gravely, " and I 
 will do all for your comfort that I can in my poverty ; 
 but you can never be my wife again save only in name." 
 
 "Well," she muttered, "that's more than I could ex- 
 pect ; and it's a great deal better than dying in the 
 street like a dog." 
 
 The next day she was very ill and feverish, and 
 Saville summoned a physician. After a brief examina- 
 tion, he told Saville that she could live but a short time 
 under any circumstances, since she was in the last stages 
 of hasty consumption. 
 
 Her wretched history after leaving New York was 
 soon told. Vennam left her penniless in a northern city, 
 and, after a brief life of crime, she became ill from ex- 
 posure in the rigorous climate. A British officer who 
 had known her in New York secured her a steerage 
 passage thither. She arrived in the storm, but did not 
 dare to go to her father's house till after dark. He had 
 sent her from his door with curses, and then she came to 
 the one whom she had wronged most. 
 
 She was in great terror when the physician told her that 
 she could not live, and the scenes at her bedside were 
 harrowing in the extreme. Saville patiently and gently 
 tried to lead her to the Merciful One who received and 
 forgave outcasts like herself ; but her mind was too 
 clouded by terror and too enfeebled by disease to under- 
 stand anything clearly save the one dreadful truth that 
 she must die. Her delirious words were even worse than 
 her partially sane cries and moans ; but Saville, with 
 patient endurance, remained at her bedside almost con- 
 tinually, and ministered to her with his own hand to the 
 last. All that medical skill and faithful care could ac- 
 complish was done to alleviate her suffering and add to
 
 442 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 the number of her days. With earnest words and prayer 
 he sought to instil into her guilty and despairing heart 
 something like faith. But that had happened to her 
 which may happen to any who persist in the ways of evil : 
 she had passed so far down into the dark shadow of 
 moral and physical death that no light could reach her. 
 Her end was so inexpressibly sad, that, although by it 
 Saville was relieved from his cruel bondage, he yet sat 
 down by her lifeless body and wept as only a strong man 
 can weep.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING 
 
 VERA was alone with her uncle when she received 
 Saville's letter. She read it with a blending of smiles 
 and tears, and then passed it to Colonel Wellingly, say- 
 ing, 
 
 "Mr. Saville wished you to see this, and I am very 
 glad to have you do so, for it will satisfy you more fully 
 than ever what kind of a man he is." 
 
 Her uncle read the contents with great interest, and 
 then said, " This letter does Mr. Saville much credit, 
 and, I must say, I think he takes a correct and sensible 
 view of things. Your promise was a rash one, at best, 
 and it was extorted from you in a moment of dire emer- 
 gency. Moreover, what he says is true, and it is prob- 
 able he.will never hear a word from his wife again. And 
 yet Vera Wellingly cannot marry a man whose wife may 
 appear any day." 
 
 " I do not expect to marry him, uncle." 
 
 " Now that is sensible, too. You must be quite well 
 convinced by this time that you can take your pick, and 
 make a very brilliant match." 
 
 " Where is your wife, uncle ? " said Vera, with tears in 
 her eyes. " You are the kind of man who can always 
 take his pick." 
 
 He was silent, for she had touched a very tender chord 
 in him, as he had in her heart. 
 
 "It maybe that some can manage these things in a 
 sensible, thrifty way," she continued ; " but it does not
 
 444 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 seem to run in our blood to do so. Forgive me, uncle, for 
 touching a sensitive chord : but I wish you to learn to in- 
 terpret my heart by your own ; then this question will be 
 finally settled, and you can shield me from many unwel- 
 come attentions." 
 
 " Well," said her uncle, trying to give a lighter turn to 
 the conversation, "somebody's loss is mine and your 
 father's great gain." 
 
 " Yes," said Vera ; " I intend to make myself so neces- 
 sary to you both, that you will be like two dragons to- 
 wards every one with suspicious designs. I am satisfied 
 that it is money that most of them are seeking, at best ; 
 and Theron loved me and was kind when I was hungry 
 and in rags. Foolish fellow ! I suppose he was in a state 
 of high tragedy when he wrote this letter, and thought 
 that I would take him at his word. He will never make 
 such a blunder again after receiving my answer." 
 
 But one day, before she found a chance of sending her 
 reply to New York, her uncle entered his quarters in a 
 state of great excitement, and said, producing a city 
 paper, 
 
 " Vera, it is due to you that you should see this at 
 once." And he pointed out the following paragraph : 
 
 " RARE MAGNANIMITY. The Saville tragedy has at length 
 ended, and ended strangely. As might have been expected, 
 Captain Vennam soon abandoned the wretched woman who 
 eloped with him, and she returned to this city in a sick and dy- 
 ing condition. In the pitiless storm of the night of the 25th ult., 
 she was repulsed from her parents' door and, in her despair, 
 sought help from her most deeply wronged husband. Strange 
 to say, he has treated her with wonderful kindness. He could 
 not give her a refuge under the same roof with his mother ; but 
 he procured for her a comfortable room, and was untiring in his 
 attentions, doing everything in his power to alleviate her suffer-
 
 WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING 445 
 
 mgs during the few days she survived. We have these facts 
 from the citizen at whose house she died, and can vouch for their 
 correctness." 
 
 Vera dropped the paper and fled to her room, and sev- 
 eral hours elapsed before she reappeared. When she did, 
 her eyes gave evidence that many tears had mingled with 
 her joy. In curious and feminine contradiction to her 
 plainly expressed purpose, she did not write to Saville by 
 the next flag of truce. " He is now at liberty to write to 
 me another and a very different letter," 'she said to her- 
 self; " and I shall wait till he does." 
 
 But when Saville's letter came, as it did in time, it 
 breathed only a quiet and friendly spirit, such as he would 
 naturally write on the supposition that she had accepted 
 his last letter as the basis of their future relations. It was 
 not in Vera's nature to write and inform him that he was 
 all at fault, and that she was like a rose waiting to be 
 plucked. " He will have to find out all for himself," she 
 thought ; " but I fear he will be ridiculously blind, and 
 continue his high tragedy until some unforeseen circum- 
 stance opens his eyes." 
 
 Early in the spring Mrs. Saville so far regained her 
 health that her son was able to return to the army, a step 
 rendered specially necessary by his pecuniary circum- 
 stances. He called promptly on Vera after his return to 
 West Point ; but it so happened that there were several 
 strangers calling at her uncle's quarters at the time, and 
 his manner was somewhat formal and distant. She was 
 provoked at herself that she permitted her bearing to be 
 tinged by his. 
 
 After the guests were all gone, her uncle found her in 
 tears, and said, 
 
 " Foolish child ! as if you had cause to worry. You 
 are both like gunpowder, and only need a spark to set 
 you off."
 
 446 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 " You are very much mistaken, uncle. Theron is 
 worse than a spiked cannon." 
 
 The next evening, she and her father were taking a 
 walk by the river, near the extreme point of land where 
 Saville had first discovered her nearly eight years before, 
 on the *]une afternoon, now memorable to both. Foot- 
 steps caused her to glance up the bank, and then she 
 pulled her father into the concealment afforded by a clump 
 of cedars. In a few moments, Saville came out on the 
 point and threw himself down upon the grassy plot where 
 he had seen Vera reclining before he caused her hasty 
 flight. She put her finger to her lips, and made a sign 
 to her father not to move, and then she stole up towards 
 him as he had before approached her, and reached the 
 same low cedar over which he had peered wonderingly 
 and admiringly at her childish face and form. 
 
 "O stupid Theron! can't you feel that I am here?" 
 she thought. " I felt your presence even then before I 
 saw you. I am so near that I can almost touch you, and 
 yet there you lie at lazy length." 
 
 He commenced singing, in a low tone, 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." 
 
 She waited no longer, but, in her sweet voice, repeated 
 the old refrain, which had been the signal for so many of 
 their trysts. He sprang up, and catching a glimpse of her 
 laughing and blushing face back of the cedar, came in- 
 stantly to her side. 
 
 " See what a whirligig time is," she said. " I surprised 
 you on this occasion." 
 
 "But I shall not run away as you did, Vera." 
 
 "Indeed! Now it is my turn to be surprised again. I 
 had fears lest, in your desire to escape, you might plunge 
 into the water." 
 
 He looked at her very earnestly, and her eyes drooped
 
 WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING 447 
 
 under his gaze, as they had, years before, in the early 
 dawn, after she had rescued him from Fort Clinton. 
 
 " Vera," he said hesitatingly, " I am very poor." 
 
 "What has that to do with the subject?" she asked, 
 with a sudden mirthfulness in her eyes. 
 
 " I am but a cripple," he continued sadly, " and there 
 is a dark stain upon my name." 
 
 Her laughing eyes became full of tears. 
 
 " Circumstances have greatly changed. You are now 
 Vera Wellingly, and the heiress of large wealth." 
 
 " I would rather be the ragged, friendless Vera Brown 
 you found at my mother's grave, than have you talk in 
 this way, Theron." 
 
 " Would to heaven you were ! " he said with passion- 
 ate earnestness; "for then I would kneel at your feet 
 and beg you to be my wife." 
 
 She dashed her tears right and left, and taking his 
 hand, asked, 
 
 " Theron, what right have you to this ring ? You have 
 become a skeptic again, and I shall have to teach you a 
 new and stronger faith." 
 
 " And may I give this old, bent ring which you are 
 wearing its first meaning? " he said eagerly. 
 
 "It never had any other meaning to me," she said, 
 with a low laugh, and then she added, with an exquisite 
 touch of pathos, " We could not help loving each other, 
 Theron, after all that had happened ; we could only 
 help doing wrong. Do not grieve that you have lost 
 an arm, for you shall have both of mine in its place. 
 That which you call a stain upon your name has come 
 to be, in my eyes, the most flashing jewel in the 
 crown of your manhood. When that poor creature fled 
 to your door from her father's scorn and curses, you, who 
 had been most wronged, acted as the Divine Man would 
 have done. If you could be so kind to her, how sure I 
 am of patient tenderness! I will conclude my long
 
 448 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 homily with this plain exhortation : Never forget that 
 Vera Wellingly and Vera Brown are one and the same 
 person. It will save you a world of trouble." 
 
 Then she called her father, but he had stolen away 
 and left the lovers to themselves. 
 
 The long and terrible war was over. The last British 
 soldier had embarked from the city of New York, and 
 Washington, who had become the foremost general of the 
 age, was about to repair to the seat of government, that 
 he might resign his commission and become a simple 
 American citizen. But, before doing so, he attended a 
 wedding in a beautiful uptown villa which had been 
 hastily prepared for the occasion. 
 
 It was a magnificent affair for those primitive and war- 
 depleted times. Sam Fraunces and his buxom daughter 
 Phoebe presided over the cuisine and entertainment, and 
 the best military band of the army discoursed gay music. 
 Many of the leading men of the country, State, and city, 
 were present, and among them, it might almost be said, 
 was Captain Molly, for she persisted in wearing her 
 cocked hat and artilleryman's coat. Surgeon Jasper 
 found himself an honorable master of ceremonies, and 
 Tascar was charged with so many important duties that 
 he at last was satisfied that he utterly eclipsed his old 
 friend, Pompey. His mother, old Gula, in her lofty red 
 turban, looked as if she might have been in very truth 
 an African dowager queen. 
 
 Mrs. Saville was so happy that she quite renewed her 
 youth, and would have been perfectly ready to admit that 
 heaven had made a better match than she had thriftily 
 compassed, as she had once supposed. Vera's gentle 
 and affectionate manner had won her heart at once, 
 while she, at the same time, complacently remembered 
 the ducats of the bride. 
 
 The tall, bent form of the father was conspicuous, even 
 though, in accordance with his old shrinking habit, he
 
 WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING 449 
 
 ever sought the background in the brilliant scene. Peace 
 sat serenely on his brow, where gloom had lowered for so 
 many years. He believed that the curse had passed away 
 from him and his, and he was daily becoming more grate- 
 ful for recognized blessings. 
 
 But Colonel Wellingly was the genius of the occasion, 
 and, with a genial, high-bred courtesy, he moved among 
 the guests, bestowing words of welcome and graceful at- 
 tentions, with the tact of one whose thorough knowledge 
 of men enabled him to make every utterance and act 
 timely and appropriate. To e.ach one he gave the sense 
 of being recognized and cared for ; and his fine breeding 
 made him at ease in addressing Governor Clinton, or the 
 Commander-in-chief, and no less so in speaking to some 
 subaltern, or Captain Molly herself. 
 
 Soon a breezy and expectant rustle and hum of voices 
 announced that the bride and groom were descending the 
 grand stairway. 
 
 As Vera entered, leaning upon the arm of her father, 
 there was a deep murmur of admiration. 
 
 Her heart was filled with unspeakable gratitude, for 
 God's minister was before her, and in his hand God's 
 Holy Word. And when Saville spoke the words, " With 
 this ring I thee wed," and put upon her finger the plain 
 gold band with which her father had espoused her mother, 
 she thought she felt that mother's hands resting upon her 
 head in blessing. Even in that supreme moment, her 
 mind flashed back to the hour of her strong temptation, 
 when her mother's charge that she should be wedded 
 with this ring came to her help like aj} angel's hand. 
 While the clergyman was offering the concluding 
 prayer, her mind wandered a little, and harbored the 
 thought, 
 
 " If on earth God can thus richly reward patient obedi- 
 ence, what will heaven be ? " 
 
 As Washington was about to take his leave, with strong
 
 450 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 
 
 expressions of his regard and kindly interest, Saville asked 
 him if he would grant them a brief private interview. 
 
 With some surprise he consented, and was conducted 
 into a beautiful little room, to which no guests had been 
 admitted. On a stand of inlaid wood of rare value, and 
 resting on some exquisitely embroidered velvet, lay a lit- 
 tle book. 
 
 " Does your Excellency recognize this?" asked Vera, 
 pointing to it. 
 
 As Washington took it up, a quick ray of intelligence 
 lighted up his face, and he said, 
 
 " It is my old Bible, which I have carried through many 
 a battle." 
 
 "God bless your Excellency ! " said Vera, taking his 
 hand in strong emotion. " This book, which is your 
 gift, carried me through the one sore battle of my life." 
 
 "And this happy wedding to-night," added Saville, 
 in a tone of deep feeling, " at which I feel the Son of God 
 is present, as truly as he was at Cana, is due to your gift 
 of this Bible, and the Christian counsel which accompanied 
 it. I was then an unbeliever, and was tempting this dear 
 wife to a union in which she must have thrown away her 
 mother's wedding-ring. But this Bible saved us both, 
 and we bless you for it with a gratitude that shall never 
 cease." 
 
 Tears gathered quickly in Washington's eyes, and 
 taking Vera in his arms, he kissed her tenderly, saying, 
 
 " The words which you and your husband have spoken 
 form one of those memories which grow dearer to the last 
 hour of life." 
 
 One quiet summer evening, Arthur and Guy Wellingly 
 issued from the door of the rustic hunting-lodge into 
 which the mountain cabin had been developed, and, fol- 
 lowing a path, they came to a lovely and secluded spot, 
 embowered in the primeval trees of the forest. From a 
 pedestal arose a light shaft of white marble, around
 
 WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING 451 
 
 which was entwined the clinging ivy. It bore no name. 
 That was engraved on the hearts of the brothers. 
 
 Was she a weak woman who had thus enchained two 
 such men ? Is not that faith rational which affirms that 
 love so faithful must have a spiritual and eternal fruition ? 
 
 THE END
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 PKINTCDIN USA
 
 PS2727 N4 
 
 Roe, Edward Payson, 1838- 
 
 1888. 
 Near to nature-'s heart. 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 001 249 030 6 
 
 3 1210 00214 2030