Ralph lifted his white face to old
Ben and broke forth fiercely:
“You should have crushed him ground
him to powder. He has poisoned all the sweet
life in her veins. She is dying, Ben, she is dying!”
Ben threw down the ash branch and
plunged one hand into a pocket in search of his tobacco
box. With great deliberation he rolled up a quantity
of the weed and deposited it under one cheek, before
he attempted to answer either the pleading looks or
passionate language of the youth.
“Mister Ralph, it’s plain
as a marlin-spike, you ain’t used to snakes
and wimmen. In that partiklar your education’s
been shamefully neglected. Never kill a rattlesnake
arter he’s shut in his fangs and turns on his
back for mercy its sneakin’ business.
Never think a woman is dead till the sexton sends
in his bill. Snakes and feminine wimmen is hard
to kill. Now any landshark, as has his eyes out
of his heart, could see that Miss Lina’s only
took a faintin’ turn, that comes after a skeer
like hers, axactly as sleep stills a tired baby.
Just give her here now, I’ll take her down the
river, throw a cap full of water in her face, and
she’ll be bright as a new dollar long before
we get across.”
The look of relief that came to the
face of Ralph Harrington was like a flash of sunshine.
A grateful smile lighted his eyes, but instead of
resigning Lina to the stout arms held out by Ben Benson,
he gathered her close to his bosom, saying in a proud
voice,
“Why, Ben, I want no help to carry Lina.”
Then he bore her down the hill, looking
now and then upon her face so tenderly, that Ben,
who was eyeing him all the way with sidelong glances,
made a hideous face to himself, as if to capitulate
with his dignity for wanting to smile at anything
so childish.
“Sit down there,” said
Ben, pointing to the stern of his boat, “sit
down there, Mister Ralph, and kinder ease her down
to the seat; your face is hot as fire a carrying her.
Now I’ll fill my hat with water and give her
a souse that’ll bring the red to her mouth in
a jiffy.”
“No, no,” said Ralph,
arresting Ben as he stooped to fill his little glazed
hat, “don’t throw it, hold your cap here,
Ben, and I’ll sprinkle her face. How pale
it is! How like a dear lifeless angel she looks?”
Ben stooped to the water, and Ralph
trembling and flushed, bent over the pale beautiful
face on his bosom, closer, closer, till his lips drew
the blood back to hers, and her eyelids began to quiver
like shadows on a white rose.
Ben had slowly risen from the water
with the glazed hat dripping between his two great
hands; but when he saw Ralph’s position, the
good fellow ducked downward again, and made a terrible
splashing in the river, as he dipped the brimming
hat a second time, while that grotesque suppression
of a smile convulsed his hard features.
It was wonderful how long it took
Ben to fill his hat this time. One would have
thought him fishing for pearls in the depths of the
river, he was so fastidious in finding the exact current
best calculated to restore a young lady from faintness.
When he did arise, everything about the young people
was, to use his nautical expression, ship-shape and
above-board. The color was stealing back to Lina’s
face, like blushes from the first flowering of apple
blossoms, and a brightness stole from beneath her
half-closed eyelids, that had something softer and
deeper than mere life in it.
“It is not necessary, Ben; she
is better, I think,” said the young man, looking
half-timidly into the boatman’s face. “Don’t
you think she looks beauti I mean,
don’t you think she looks better, a great deal
better, Ben?”
Again, that grotesque expression seized
upon Ben’s features; and, setting down his hat,
as if it had been a washbowl, he took Lina’s
straw hat from the bottom of the boat, where it had
fallen, and began to shake out the ribbons with great
energy.
“She grows pale I’m
afraid she is losing ground again, Ben,” said
Ralph, as the color wavered to and fro on the fair
cheek beneath his gaze.
“Shall I fill the hat again?” answered
Ben, demurely.
“It kinder seems to be the filling on it that
brings her round easiest?”
“No, you’re very kind,
but I’ll sprinkle her forehead she
has been so frightened, you know, I dare say she thought
the snake had bitten had bitten one of
us, Ben! That is right, hold the hat this way.”
Ben dropped on his knees in the bottom
of the boat, crushing down a whole forest of Lina’s
wild flowers, and held up the hat reverently between
his hands.
Ralph put back the masses of brown
hair from Lina’s face, and began to bathe it
gently, almost holding his breath, as if she were a
babe he was afraid of waking.
“Isn’t she a dear, generous
creature?” he said, at last, with a burst of
admiration. “It took a fright like this,
to prove how precious she was to us all!”
Instantly, a cloud of crimson swept
over Lina’s face and bosom, and with it came
an illumination of the features, that made the young
man tremble beneath her light weight.
“Lina, dear Lina!” he whispered.
She arose from his arms, crimson again
to the temples, and sat down in silence, her eyes
downcast, her lips trembling, as if a great effort
kept her from bursting into tears.
Ralph saw this, and his face clouded.
“What have I done? Are
you angry with me, Lina?” he whispered, as Ben
pushed the boat off and gathered up his oars.
“Angry! No, I cannot tell.
What has happened to us, Ralph?”
“Don’t you remember, Lina?”
“Remember? yes now.
Oh, it was horrible!”
“I, Lina, I shall always remember it with more
pleasure than pain.”
She lifted her eyes with a timid,
questioning glance. The young man drew close
to her, and as Ben dashed his oars in the water, thus
drowning his voice to all but her, whispered
“Because it has told me in my
heart of hearts how entirely I love you, Lina.”
Her maidenly shame was aroused now.
She shrunk from his glance, blushing and in silence.
“Will you not speak to me, Lina?”
“What can I say, Ralph?”
“That you love me.”
A little coquettish smile stole over her mouth.
“We have said that to each other from the cradle
up.”
“No, never before, never with
this depth of meaning my heart is broken
up, Lina; there is nothing left of it but a flood of
tender love you are no longer my sister,
but my idol; I worship you, Lina!”
Again Lina lifted her eyes, so blue,
so flooded with gentle gratitude; but she did not
speak, for Ben was resting on his oars, while the boat
crept silently down the current.
“Why don’t you steer for home?”
asked Ralph, impatient of Ben’s eyes.
“I see that ere old respectable
gentleman on the bank, a looking this way, so I thought
we’d lie to and refit more particularly about
the upper story. If Miss Lina there’ll
just shake them ere curls back a trifle, and tie on
her bonnet; and if you, Mister Ralph, could just manage
to look t’other way and take an observation of
the scenery, perhaps we should make out to pass with
a clear bill and without over-haulin’.”
“You are right,” said
Ralph after a moment, looking anxiously, toward the
shore, where the stately figure of old Mr. Harrington
was distinctly visible; “my father is a great
stickler for proprieties. Here is your hat, Lina let
me fold this scarf about you.”
As Ralph spoke, the flush left his
face, and a look of fatigue crept over Lina.
Ben still rested on his oars. He was determined
to give the old gentleman ample opportunity to continue
his walk inland, before the young people were submitted
to his scrutiny. As they lingered floating upon
the waters, a tiny boat shot from beneath a cliff below
them, and was propelled swiftly down the river.
In it was a female rendered conspicuous by a scarlet
shawl, and in the still life around them, this boat
became an object of interest. It was only for
a moment, the young people were too deeply occupied
with their own feelings to dwell upon even this picturesque
adjunct to a scene which was now flooded gorgeously
with the sunset. Ben, however, became restless
and anxious. Without a word he seized his oars,
and pushed directly for the cove in which his boat
was usually moored.
Ralph and Lina went homewards with
a reluctance never experienced before. A sense
of concealment oppressed them. An indefinite terror
of meeting their friends, rendered their steps slow
upon the green sward. As they drew towards the
house, Ralph paused.
“Speak to me, Lina, my heart
is heavy without the sound of your voice: say
you love me, or shall I be miserable with suspense?”
The young girl listened with a saddened
and downcast look. A heaviness had fallen upon
her with the first sight of old Mr. Harrington on the
bank. True he had gone now, but his shadow seemed
to oppress her still.
“Will you not speak to me, Lina?
Will you not relieve this suspense by one little word?”
She lifted her head gently, but with modest pride.
“You know that I love you, Ralph.”
“But not as you have done.
I am not content with simple household affection.
Say that you love me, body and soul, faults and virtues,
as I love you.”
Lina drew herself up, and a smile,
sad but full of sweetness half presentiment,
half faith beamed on her face.
“Your soul may search mine to
its depths and find only itself there. I do love
you, Ralph, even as you love me!”
Her answer was almost solemn in its
dignity; for the moment that fair young girl looked
and spoke like a priestess.
Ralph Harrington reached out his hand,
taking hers in its grasp.
“Why are you so pale? Why
tremble so?” he said, moving towards the house.
“I do not know,” answered
Lina, “but it seems as if the breath of that
rattlesnake were around us yet.”
“You are sad your
nerves have been dreadfully shaken but to-morrow,
Lina, all will be bright again.”
Lina smiled faintly.
“Oh, yes, all must be bright to-morrow.”
As they passed the iron gate that
separated the lawn from the shore, Ben, who had seated
himself in the boat, arose suddenly, and pushed his
little craft into the river again. His weather-beaten
face was turned anxiously down the stream. He
seized the oars, and urging his boat into the current,
pulled stoutly, as if some important object had suddenly
seized upon him.
“Where can she be a going to?
What on earth is she after? Has the old rascal
broke out at last? Has she give way? But
I’ll overhaul her! Pull away, Ben Benson,
pull away, you old rascal! What bisness had you
with them ere youngsters, and she in trouble!
Pull away, or I’ll break every bone in your
body, Ben Benson!”
Thus muttering and reviling himself,
Ben was soon out of sight, burying himself, as it
seemed, in the dull purple of the night as it crept
over the Hudson.