CHAPTER VII
There was as yet no post-office in Chillicothe, and no regular mail. One came occasionally, brought by a man on horseback, and its arrival was always an event fraught with deep interest to most of the inhabitants.
This occurred during Kenneth's absence, for the first time in many weeks. There was a letter for him from Glen Forest, of which Dale took possession, paying the postage.
"When will your master be home?" he asked of Zeb, who was lounging before the office door.
"Dunno, sah; he didn't say, sah."
"Where did he go?"
"Dunno, sah; said he gwine on a hunt; wouldn't be home for two or three days."
"Two or three days! and he's been gone nearly a week," exclaimed Dale, stepping into his office. "Nearly a week," he went on thinking aloud, as he seated himself at his desk and laid the letter on it. "I wonder if we shouldn't turn out in a body and hunt for him; he may have met with an accident or – the treacherous savage!"
He frowned anxiously at the letter for a moment, then with sudden recollection turned from it to busy himself with his own correspondence. Several letters had come for him, and they must be read, digested, and answered. They absorbed his attention for some hours, then came the call to supper, and still Dr. Clendenin was missing.
Dale was growing very uneasy; Kenneth had become as a brother to him. "I must do something," he said to himself on his return to his office, taking up the letter again and gazing earnestly at it. "What can have become of him? Where can he have gone? If he isn't here within an hour, I shall go and consult the major.
"Ah!" he went on musingly, still gazing at the missive in his hand, "wouldn't he put spurs to his horse, if he knew this was here waiting for him, that is, if he's alive and free? How eager he always is for these letters, yet never opens one before anybody, never alludes to their contents.
"And they always seem to increase that mysterious trouble that he keeps so carefully to himself, and tries so hard to throw off, even when he and I are quite alone together."
But at that instant there was a sound of horse's hoofs in the street without, then a glad exclamation from Zeb, "Ki, massa doctah! thought the Injuns got you dis time, suah!" and, throwing down the letter, Dale rushed to the door to greet his friend.
Kenneth was in the act of dismounting, saying in a kindly tone to Zeb, as he gave him the reins, "No; here I am quite safe. Has there been any letter or message for me?"
"Yes; there was a mail to-day," Dale said, stepping forward and grasping his friend's hand with affectionate warmth. "A letter for you. Come in, I have it here. But," with a look of surprise and concern at the haggard face and drooping figure, "you are ill, my dear fellow!"
"Not at all, only somewhat weary and worn," Kenneth answered, with a faint smile that had neither mirth nor gladness in it. "But the letter, Godfrey! Is it from – "
"Glen Forest? Yes; the superscription, I noticed, is in the usual hand, post-mark the same as on the others. Here it is. Take this chair, and while you read I'll run over and tell Tiffin to see that they get a hot supper ready for you."
Putting the missive into Kenneth's eager, almost trembling, hand, he hurried away before the latter could utter a word of thanks.
For weeks Kenneth had been hungering for this letter, yet now that he held it in his hand he seemed to have need to gather up courage for its perusal. For a moment he sat with closed eyes, lips moving, though no sound came from them; then he broke the seal and read; at first eagerly, hastily, with bated breath, then, turning back to the beginning, with more care and deliberation, dwelling upon each sentence, while the shadow deepened on his brow, and again and again his broad breast heaved with a heavy sigh.
At length, at the sound of approaching footsteps, he rose and retreated to his own office, at the same time refolding the letter and putting it in his pocket.
Dale had delayed purposely on his errand, stopping to chat now with one, now with another, in the tavern, then in the street.
At his own door he was met by Major Lamar with the question, "Any news of the doctor yet?"
"Yes, he's just back; looking quite worn out, too."
"Ah! I'm sorry to hear that. I can see him, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; walk right in. I left him – why, no, he isn't here! Sit down, major, and I'll hunt him up."
But here let us go back and tell of some occurrences of the previous day in the major's family.
Early in the afternoon Tig was standing with elbows on the fence and chin in hands, lazily watching the sports of the children as they vied with each other in the agility with which they could leap over stumps and logs, when Silvy's voice came sharply to his ears, "Tiglath Pileser, you lazy niggah, what you doin' dar? Didn't I tole you to clean de knives? Now Miss Nell is ready for to go ridin' and you just go right 'long and fotch de hosses roun' soon's eber you kin git dem saddled."
"Am I to go 'long, mother?" queried Tig, turning with alacrity to obey; for the horses were the pride of his heart, a ride with Miss Nell his greatest delight, especially when he was her sole companion and protector; and to-day he thought he should be, as he knew of no other escort.
His mother's reply confirmed his hopes. "Course you is; you always gets dat honor when dar ain't no gentleman 'bout."
Tig made haste to the stable, saddled and bridled Fairy and a pony belonging to the major with unaccustomed speed, and led them round to the front door, where Miss Nell was waiting in riding hat and habit.
"You were very quick this time, Tig," she said with an approving smile.
"Ki! Miss Nell," he answered, grinning from ear to ear, "no wondah; I'se in a big hurry, les' some dem gentlemen mout be comin' 'long 'fo' we gets off."
"What gentlemen, Tig?" she asked, laughing, as she stepped upon the horse-block and sprang lightly into the saddle.
"Oh, de doctah, or Mistah Dale, or some dem other gentlemen. 'Tain't often dis chile gets a chance to take care ob you, Miss Nell."
"Do you think you can take care of her, Tig?" asked Mrs. Lamar, coming to the door with a basket in her hand.
"Guess I kin, mistis, I ain't 'fraid no Injuns, nor b'ars, nor painters!" cried the boy, straightening himself with an air of injured dignity.
"Don't boast, Tig, till your courage has been put to the test," answered his mistress. "Here, take this basket and see if you can get it full of ripe mulberries for tea. Nell, I really don't feel quite sure that I ought to let you go without a better protector."
"Nonsense, Clare! I've done it before," returned the young girl, her color rising. "And the responsibility is not yours, I'm old enough to decide such matters for myself." And with that she touched Fairy lightly with the whip and cantered off, Tig following close in her rear. It was a lovely summer afternoon, the heat of the sun tempered by a cool, refreshing breeze. Fairy had scarcely been out of the stable for a day or two and was full of spirit, and Nell reveled in the delight of dashing away at almost headlong speed through the forest and over the prairies.
So enjoyable did she find the swift movement, with the sense of wild freedom it gave her, the beauty of the landscape, the sweet scent of the woods and wild flowers, that she went much farther than she had at first intended, or, indeed, was aware of.
Then coming back she stopped with Tig under a cluster of mulberry trees on the edge of a prairie, to fill the basket with fruit.
Not caring to stain her pretty fingers, she left the boy to fulfil the task alone, while she wandered to and fro, gathering flowers.
The sun was getting low as they remounted.
"We must hurry, Tig," Nell said, glancing uneasily toward the west. "I did not think we had been here so long."
They sped across the prairie and entered the wood that lay between it and the town. Here it was already dusk, and Nell urged Fairy on, her heart beating fast, while she glanced hither and thither, seeming to see an Indian, a bear, wolf, or panther behind every tree.
Suddenly she caught sight of a pair of fiery eyes glaring upon her from an overhanging branch, and the next instant, with a low, fierce growl, something leaped upon the back of her horse, a huge paw was laid on her shoulder, a hot breath fanned her cheek, while a wild shriek from Tig rang in her ears, and Fairy reared and snorted with fear.
Oh, the mortal terror that seized upon Nell, almost freezing the blood in her veins! Closing her eyes she leant forward and threw her arms about the neck of her pony, clinging to it in frantic terror for what seemed an age of suffering, but was in reality scarcely a moment.
A bullet, sped by an unerring hand, struck the panther in the eye, and it fell to the ground dead.
A horseman, hurrying from the direction of the town, put spurs to his steed at sound of the report of the gun, and almost before its echoes had died away, Nell was in her brother's arms.
He soothed and caressed her, she lying on his breast, sobbing and speechless with fright.
"Ugh! big fellow!" grunted a voice near at hand, and Nell, looking up, saw a tall Indian standing over the prostrate wild cat, the outline of whose form could be dimly discovered in the fading light.
"Wawillaway," said the major, holding out his hand to the chief, "you have saved my sister's life, and I can never fully return the obligation! Come with us to Chillicothe. My house shall be your home whenever you choose to make it so."
Wawillaway grasped the offered hand in one of his own, while with the other he held the bridle of Fairy, who was shying at the dead panther, and trembling and snorting with fear.
"Indian good gun," he said. "Indian go to white man's wigwam. Come, white squaw very much 'fraid."
"Yes, Nell, we had better go; for it grows darker every moment. Can you sit your horse now?"
"Yes," she whispered, "I must. But oh, Percy, keep close to me!"
"As close as I can. I will lead your horse," he answered, as he placed her in the saddle. "But where is Tig? I thought he was with you."
Tig had fled in overpowering terror, at the instant of the discharge of Wawillaway's gun, and on reaching home they found him there, telling an incoherent story of attacking Indians and wild cats, that filled the household with alarm.
Great was their relief at the sight of the major and his sister, though Nell was in a state of nervous prostration and excitement that made it necessary to put her at once to bed and watch by her during the night.
The next day she was but little better, and on her account her brother had been anxiously looking for Dr. Clendenin's return, and had now come in search of him.
Kenneth was not long in making his appearance. His manner was calm and quiet as usual, and shaking hands with the major, who expressed hearty satisfaction at seeing him again, he asked if the family were all well.
"All but Nell," was the reply, "and I don't know that there's much amiss with her. But I should like you to see her. She had a terrible fright yesterday, and doesn't seem to get over it."
Kenneth's look was anxious and inquiring.
"I supposed you had heard – " the major began, but Dale interrupted, "No, no, he hasn't had time to hear anything yet, or even to eat; and here comes Zeb with his supper. I told him to bring it over to your office, doctor."
"Thank you," said Kenneth, "but it can wait. I will go with you at once, major."
But the major would not hear of it.
"There is no hurry," he insisted. "Besides you ought to hear the story of her fright before seeing her, and may as well do so while breaking your fast."
Kenneth yielded, for he had not tasted food since early morning, and felt in sore need of it.
"What can we do for her?" asked the major in conclusion.
"Divert her mind from the subject as much as possible," returned the doctor. "Dosing is not what she needs."
"My opinion exactly," responded the major, "but I must crave your assistance in applying your prescription."
"Certainly, my dear sir, I will do my best."
It was a fair summer evening, the sun just touching the treetops, as Kenneth left his office in company with the major.
People were gathered about the doors of their dwellings or places of business, the day's work done for most of the men, though the busy housewives still plied the needle, sewing or knitting; thus exemplifying the truth of the old adage, "Man's work is from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done."
Children played hide and seek among the trees, their glad voices ringing out upon the quiet air in merry shouts and silvery laughter; but many of them, on catching sight of Kenneth, left their sport to run and take him by the hand, welcoming him with eager delight, and asking him where he had been so long.
Older people, too, crowded about him with a like greeting and the same question.
He parried it as best he might, not feeling disposed to be communicative on the subject, returned the handshakings and kindly greetings, and asked after the health of each family represented.
"You have won all hearts here, Dr. Clendenin," the major remarked, when at length they had parted with the last of the friendly interrogators and were drawing near his own door.
"Oh, I believe it is so!" Kenneth answered, with a glad lighting up of his grave, almost sad face, "and I sometimes wonder how it has come about."
"Love begets love, and so it is with disinterested kindness also," the major answered.
Mrs. Lamar, coming to meet them, caught the last words. "Quite true," she assented, holding out a hand to Kenneth, "and I know of no one else in whose case we see such an exemplification of that fact as in Dr. Clendenin's. Doctor, running away so suddenly and mysteriously, you left many an anxious heart behind you."
She gave him a look of keen curiosity as she spoke. But he would not take the hint.
"My friends are very kind and I would not willingly cause them a moment's uneasiness," was all he said. It was gently spoken, but tone and manner did not invite a further display of inquisitiveness.
Nell, seated in the doorway in a listless attitude, rose suddenly on perceiving her brother's approach and who was with him, and, overcome by an unaccountable fit of shyness, hastily retreated into the house, her heart beating fast, the hot blood dyeing her cheek.
Then, much vexed with herself, she turned at the sound of Kenneth's voice saying "Good evening," and gave him her hand with a murmured "How do you do, doctor?"
He made her sit down, and drew up a chair for himself close to her side.
"Don't be afraid of me because I come in my professional capacity," he said in a playful tone, again taking her hand and laying a finger on her pulse.
"You needn't," she said with a little pout, and seeming half inclined to jerk the hand away. "I'm not sick. I wonder what nonsense Percy's been telling you."
They were alone; the major and his wife had wandered on up the street; the children were sporting outside with their mates.
"None at all," he answered with his grave smile, "only that your nerves have had a shock from which they do not find it easy to recover."
"I'm not sick, and I won't be called nervous! I just wish people would let me alone!" she cried angrily, bursting into tears in spite of herself. "Oh dear! oh dear!" she sobbed, "I don't know what has come over me! I never was so ill-tempered or so babyish before!"
"Don't be vexed with me for saying it is because you are not well," he answered soothingly. "Let the tears have their way and they will relieve you greatly."
She cried quite heartily for a moment, then wiping away her tears, said with half averted face, and in a tone of suppressed horror, shuddering as she spoke, "Oh, I cannot forget it! – those fiery eyes gleaming out at me in the darkness, the heavy paw on my shoulder, the hot breath on my cheek! I seem to see and feel them all the time, sleeping or waking. What shall I do?"
"Try to forget it," he said gently; "turn your thoughts as much as possible to other things, and the effect of your fright will gradually wear away."
"I cannot forget it," she answered sadly. "I shall always be afraid to go into the woods now, and my walks and rides were the greatest pleasures I had."
"Ah, well," he said, "the wild animals will soon be driven from our immediate neighborhood; and in the meantime you must go well protected. My dear Miss Nell," he added in lower, sweeter tones, "you know there is One whose protecting care is over us at all times and in all places. Try to trust in Him with a simple, childlike confidence; such faith will do more to give you calmness and peace than anything else can."
A moment's pause; then turning the conversation upon other themes, he exerted himself for her entertainment till the major and his wife came in, when he shortly took his leave; for there were other patients requiring his attention.
CHAPTER VIII
"How did you find Miss Lamar, doctor? Anything much the matter?" asked Dale, sauntering into his friend's office that evening, shortly after the return of the latter from his round of visits among his patients.
Kenneth sat at his table, spatula in hand, making pills, a slight cloud of care on his brow.
His reply was not a direct answer to the question.
"Sit down, Godfrey," he said. "I've been thinking of calling in your aid in the management of this case."
"Mine?" laughed Dale.
"Yes, as consulting physician."
"You are certainly jesting, yet you look as grave as a judge on the bench."
"I wish," Kenneth said, pausing for an instant in his work and looking earnestly at Dale, "that there was more young society here, more to amuse and interest a young girl like Miss Lamar. Can't you help me to think of something new?"
"Boating parties," suggested Dale.
"That will do for one thing. Now what else?"
"Get up a class in botany. I'll join it. You are quite an enthusiast in that line and know a great deal more on the subject than any one else about here."
"Thank you. I should enjoy it if others would. Anything more?"
"No, I should say I'd done my share of thinking, and you must finish up the job yourself, you who are to pocket the fee," returned Dale laughing. "Now I'm off, prescribing a night's rest for you, to be taken at once; for you are looking wretchedly worn out."
Very weary Kenneth certainly was, yet the friendly counsel was not taken. His work finished, he pushed his implements aside, and sat long with his folded arms upon the table, his head resting on them; not sleeping, for now and again a heavy sigh, or a few low breathed words of prayer came from his lips.
"Oh Lord, for them, for them, I beseech thee, in the midst of wrath remember mercy! Let them rest under the shadow of thy wing, till these calamities be overpast."
Both Dale's suggestions in the line of amusements were promptly carried out, and with excellent effect upon the patient. She was fond of plants and flowers, and Kenneth proved a capital teacher. Mrs. Lamar and several others, both married and single, joined the class and they had many a pleasant ramble over hill and valley in search of specimens.
The major provided a boat for the rowing parties and frequently made one of them himself, taking special care of his young sister.
When he was not present Kenneth took his place in this particular, but not at all in a lover-like way; his manner was fraternal, "sometimes almost paternal," Nell thought, with an emotion of anger and pique at "being treated so like a child."
"It is because I was so silly as to cry before him! He thinks me a mere baby," she said to herself now and again, in extreme vexation.
She was apt to be frank in the expression, or rather exhibition of her feelings, and Kenneth was at times not a little puzzled to understand in what he had offended. He never blamed her, however, but, attributing her displeasure to some fault or awkwardness in himself, redoubled his kindly attention, and his efforts to give pleasant and healthful occupation to her thoughts.
With this in view he would often take a book from his pocket, when he found himself alone with her, read aloud some passage that he particularly admired, and draw her into conversation about it.
Also he tried to interest her in his patients, occasionally taking her with him where he knew her visits would be welcome, and engaging her to prepare dainties to tempt the sickly appetites, and clothing for such as were poor enough to need assistance of that kind.
His only thought, so far as she was concerned, was to comfort and relieve, and it did not occur to him that there might be danger in the cure, for her as for himself.
Yet there was; for how could the girl gain such an insight into the noble generosity and unselfishness of his character, without learning to love him? It was not only his unvarying kindness towards herself, his patient forbearance even in her most petulant and unreasonable moods, but also his sympathy for, and gentleness toward, even the very poorest and most uninteresting and ungrateful of those who invoked his aid as a physician, his anxiety and untiring efforts to relieve suffering, and his unselfish joy when those efforts were successful.
Also his deep, humble, unassuming piety, and earnest desire to lead to the Great Physician, that there might be healing of soul as well as body.
Her admiration and respect grew day by day, until he seemed to her an example of all that was good and great and lovable.
Dale, too, unwittingly helped on the mischief. He had some notion of courting pretty Nell himself, so did not care to interest her too much in Kenneth; but his thoughts were often full of the latter, the strange secret that seemed to darken his life; and remembering Kenneth's expressed desire to engage Nell's thoughts upon matters that would take them from herself and the unfortunate occurrence that had shaken her nerves, and calling to mind also that she had come from the same neighborhood with Kenneth and would be likely to know the family history of the Clendenins, he deemed it no harm to broach the subject one day when alone with her, and ask if she could guess what their friend's sorrow was.
"No," she said in surprise. "I never heard of anything that could cause him such grief. They are well-to-do people, living on a lovely place of their own; they are most highly respected too. I frequently heard them spoken of, always in the highest terms, and never heard of any trouble, except that Kenneth's twin brother was drowned ten or twelve years ago. But surely he could not be grieving so over that now!"
"No, it can't be that." Dale said musingly, "it is evidently a deeper sorrow than any such bereavement could bring, or at least a grief and burden of a different sort."
"Are you not mistaken? May it not be a mere fancy on your part?" queried Nell. "Dr. Clendenin has always struck me as a very cheerful person."
"He is not one to obtrude his griefs upon others," observed Dale in reply. "He forces himself to be cheerful when in general society, and seldom allows even me, his intimate friend, to perceive that he has a burden to bear; but I have reason to believe that he sometimes passes half the night pacing his office instead of taking the rest he needs after his day's toil."
From that, he went on to speak of Kenneth's late mysterious, lonely journey, and to describe the state in which he had returned.
Nell's heart was deeply touched. "How noble he is!" was her mental exclamation. "But Mr. Dale should not have told me, it seems almost like betraying his friend's confidence. I suppose he does not look upon it in that light, but I am quite sure Dr. Clendenin would never have done so by him."
"Of course," said Dale, breaking the momentary silence, "this is between ourselves. I have never mentioned these things to any one else, and never shall."
"Nor shall I, Mr. Dale," she answered.
She did not, but from that time she watched Kenneth more closely than ever before, and that with the growing conviction that Dale was right.
It became with her an absorbingly interesting subject of thought; her heart was more and more filled with pity for Kenneth's silent suffering, and pity is akin to love.
But what could be the cause of this strange, silent anguish? Was it unrequited love? She spurned the thought. What! he of all men to sue in vain? It could not be! What woman's heart could withstand such a siege?
She did not care for him in that way – oh no, not she; but that was quite another thing, he had not sought her, and she was not one to give her heart unasked.
The town was growing, the country rapidly filling up with settlers, mostly of the better class, refined, intelligent, educated and pious people.
Also many gentlemen from the older states, principally Virginia and Kentucky, came to look at land with a view to purchasing, and these always sought out Major Lamar and were hospitably entertained by him.
Thus Nell saw a great deal of society. She enjoyed it too, was a general favorite, and formed some pleasant friendships with these guests of the family; but half unconsciously she made Dr. Clendenin her standard of manly perfection, and found all others short of it.
While, however, in some of these visitors possible lovers might have been found, many were men in middle life, old companions in arms of the major. And these were not the least welcome to Nell, for she loved to sit and listen to them and her brother as they fought their battles over again around the fire in the cool spring or autumn evenings; or on the green sward before the door in the warm summer nights.
Few of them came in winter, and at that season boating, botanizing and long rambles into the country had of course to be given up, yet that less favored time was not without its quiet pleasures.
There was much spinning, weaving, sewing and knitting going on, the ladies often carried their work to a neighbor's house and spent a sociable afternoon together, winding up with an early tea. There were also social gatherings about the fire in the evenings, enlivened by cheerful chat, the cracking of nuts, several varieties of which were found in great abundance in the woods around the village, and scraping turnip, these last being used as a substitute for apples, until time had been given for their cultivation.
Thus had the summer passed, the autumn too, and midwinter had come, finding Nell fully recovered from the effects of her fright, her fears dispelled, her nerves as steady as ever they had been.
It was the second winter since her arrival in Chillicothe, and she had become really attached to the place and its cheerful social life, so free from formality and restraint.
Calling at the major's one evening, Kenneth found her alone in the sitting-room, quietly knitting and thinking beside the fire.
The wide chimney was heaped high with hickory logs, and the dancing, flickering flames filled the whole room with a cheerful, ruddy light.
Nell's back was toward the door and she did not perceive his entrance, till he spoke close at her side, his pleasant "Good evening, I hope I do not intrude?" rousing her from her reverie.
"Oh no, doctor, you are always welcome in this house," she said, rising to give him her hand, and inviting him to be seated.
"I knocked," he said apologetically, "but no one seemed to hear, so I ventured to admit myself."
"Quite right," she answered, "though I do not understand how I happened to miss hearing your rap."
"Preoccupation," he remarked with a half absent smile, gazing thoughtfully into the fire as he spoke. "You are all quite well?"
"Quite, thank you. My brother and sister are out spending the evening; and the children are in bed."
He did not speak again for several minutes, but sat watching the flames as they leaped hither and thither, but evidently with thoughts far away; and Nell, furtively studying his countenance, read there the silent suffering Dale had spoken of.
Her woman's heart longed to speak a word of sympathy and comfort; but how should she when she knew not what his sorrow was?
"I am glad," he said at length, "to hear that you are all well. I am going away, and could not feel satisfied to do so without learning that my services were not needed here."
"Going away?" she echoed. "We had not heard of it."
"No; it is scarcely an hour since I knew it myself."
"Where? how long?" she asked impetuously, with changed countenance; then blushing to think she had betrayed so much curiosity and interest – "Excuse me, but Percy and Clare will be anxious to know; some of us may be taken sick."
"Yes; but we will hope not," he said, in the same calm, even tone he had used all along, his gaze still fixed upon the fire. "I go out into the wilderness, Miss Nell, and the time of my return is uncertain."
"Now! in this most inclement season of the year?" she exclaimed. "Isn't it running a great risk? would it not be wiser to put off your journey till spring opens?"
"I think not," he answered slowly; "life is uncertain, and what my hand finds to do must be done with my might."
"But if you lose your life?"
"It will be in the path of duty; and there are some things worth even that risk, Miss Nell."
He turned his head, and his eyes looked full into hers.
"They must be of very great importance," she answered, returning his look with one as calm and quiet as his own, though her pulses quickened at the thought that he was perhaps about to appeal to her for sympathy in his mysterious sorrow.
But he did not.
"Do you not agree in my opinion?" he asked.
"Yes; if I had been in Percy's place when the war broke out, I would have done just as he did – periled my life and all I had for my country," she said with kindling eyes.
He smiled approval, then rising, "Good-by, Miss Nell," he said, taking her hand in his, "I must away."
"What! to-night? and do you go alone?"
"I start to-night, Wawillaway is to be my guide a part of the way," he said; "after that my horse and gun will be my sole companions."
"Oh, can't you get Wawillaway to go with you all the way? I should feel – so much more hopeful for your safe return!" she exclaimed; then blushing deeply, as she saw his face light up with pleasure while he asked,