Wild Huntress — A Storm Without and Within
A STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN.
Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with very different feelings from those I had on entering it.
The words of this ill-starred maiden--attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar to her race--had filled my heart with most dire forebodings.
Her speech could not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me?
She had scarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positive foreknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceiving me?
"Slayer of red panthers?
You may go, but only to grieve."
"Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so proudly upon your breast."
These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural?
However obtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an implied forecast of the future--probable as it was painful.
The "yellow fawn," too.
The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn.
But the wolf that had "slept in its lair"?
Who was the wolf?
Who was to make her a victim?
and how?
These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidly through my mind, and without obtaining reply.
I was unable to answer them, even by conjecture.
Enough that there _was_ a wolf; and that Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!
This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing in my ears: "You will be too late--too late!"
Prompted by their implied meaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward--as fast as the nature of the ground would permit.
My mind was in dread confusion--a chaos of doubt and fear.
The half-knowledge I had obtained was more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for I suffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlined suspicion.
A wolf!
In what shape and guise?
A victim?
How, and by what means?
What the nature of the predicted danger?
The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had taken their cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle!
A
storm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun--black as the wing of the buzzard-vulture.
Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky--threatening to scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously along their tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, came pattering down upon the leaves--soon to fall thick and continuous!
I
heeded not these indications.
At that moment, what where the elements to me?
What cared I for the clouds or rain--lightning, thunder, or the riven forest?
There was a cloud on my own heart--an electric rush through my veins--of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire.
"The wolf has slept in the lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim.
You will be too late--too late!"
These were clouds to be regarded--the fires to be feared.
No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flame infernal burning in my breast?
The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free;
and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut.
The door was open--wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of the interior.
No one appeared within!
no one came forth to greet me!
Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture--several chairs and a rough table.
I had noticed them on my first visit.
They were now in the same place--just as I had seen them before.
One of my apprehensions was allayed by the sight: the family was still there.
"Strange that no one hears me!
that no one comes out to receive me!"
I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while.
"Surely I was expected?
It was the time named by Holt himself?
The day and hour!
Was I again unwelcome?
and had the squatter relapsed into his uncourteous mood?"
It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was raining at the moment--as if the very clouds were coming down--and I stood in need of shelter.
But that grievance was little thought of.
I was suffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest.
Where was Lilian?
Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected.
It was indeed a surprise.
Had I mistaken the character of this Idyllian damsel?
Was she, too, an arch creature--a coquette?
Had she bestowed the blossom only to betray me?
I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast.
I had promised myself a triumph by its presence there.
I had formed pleasant anticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating an effect in my favour.
The flower looked drenched and draggled.
Its carmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour of blood!
I could bear the suspense no longer.
I would have hailed the house; but by this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside.
After a short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin.
The interstices between the logs--where they had formerly been covered with skins--were now open.
The draping had been removed; and a closer scrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants were concerned, the house was empty!
I rode up to the door; and, leaning over from my saddle, looked in.
My conjecture was correct.
Only the chairs and table with one or two similar pieces of "plenishing," remained.
Everything else had been removed; and some worthless _debris_ strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered complete.
_They were gone_!
It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on the premises--outside or elsewhere near.
The pouring rain forbade such, a supposition.
There was nowhere else--the horse-shed excepted--where they could have sheltered!
themselves from its torrent; and they were not in the shed.
Rosinante was absent from his rude stall--saddle and bridle had alike disappeared.
I needed no further assurance.
They were gone.
With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under the shed; and then entered the deserted dwelling.
My footfall upon the plank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making a survey of the "premises"--my future home.
I might have observed with ludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly it needed repair.
But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the house or its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, I gave way to gloomy reflections.
Any one, seeing me at that moment, would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to be turned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
