I was too much occupied with thoughts within, to notice aught without or around me.

Could it have been any other than Virginia? Who else? It was true what Jake had intended to say--that no one except my sister ever rode "White Fox"--no one upon the plantation being permitted to mount this favourite miniature of a steed.

Yes--there was an exception. I had seen Viola upon him. Perhaps Jake would have added this exception, had I allowed him to finish his speech.

Might it have been Viola?

But what could be her purpose in meeting the Seminole chief? for that the person who rode the pony had held an interview with the latter, there could not be the shadow of a doubt; the tracks told that clearly enough.

What motive could have moved the quadroon to such a meeting? Surely none. Not surely, either; how could _I_ say so? I had been long absent; many strange events had transpired in my absence--many changes.

How could I tell but that Viola had grown "tired" of her sable sweetheart, and looked kindly upon the dashing chieftain? No doubt there had been many opportunities for her seeing the latter; for, after my departure for the north, several years had elapsed before the expulsion of the Powells from their plantation. And now, that I thought of it, I remembered something--a trifling circ.u.mstance that had occurred on that very day when young Powell first appeared among us: Viola had expressed admiration of the handsome youth. I remembered that this had made Black Jake very angry; that my sister, too, had been angry, and scolded Viola, as I thought at the time, for mortifying her faithful lover. Viola was a beauty, and like most beauties, a coquette. My conjecture might be right. It was pleasant to think so; but, alas, poor Jake!

Another slight circ.u.mstance tended to confirm this view. I had observed of late a change in my henchman; he was certainly not as cheerful as of yore; he appeared more reflective--serious--dull.

G.o.d grant that this might be the explanation!

There was another conjecture that offered me a hope; one that, if true, would have satisfied me still better, for I had a strong feeling of friendship for Black Jake.

The other hypothesis was simply what Gallagher had already suggested-- although White Fox was not allowed to be ridden, some of the people might have _stolen him for a ride_. It was possible, and not without probability. There might be disaffected slaves on our plantation--there were on almost every other--who were in communication with hostile Indians. The place was more than a mile from the house. Riding would be pleasanter than walking; and taking the pony from its pastures might be easily accomplished, without fear of observation. A great black negro may have been the rider after all. G.o.d grant that _this_ might be the true explanation!

The mental prayer had scarcely pa.s.sed my thoughts, when an object came under my eyes, that swept my theories to the wind, sending a fresh pang through my heart.

A locust tree grew by the side of the path, with its branches extending partially across. A strip of ribbon had caught on one of the spines, and was waving in the breeze. It was silk, and of fine texture--a bit of the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of a lady's dress torn off by the thorn.

To me it was a sad token. My fabric of hopeful fancies fell into ruin at the sight. No negro--not even Viola--could have left such evidence as that; and I shuddered as I spurred past the fluttering relic.

I was in hopes my companion would not observe it; but he did. It was too conspicuous to be pa.s.sed without notice. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw him reach out his arm, s.n.a.t.c.h the fragment from the branch, and gaze upon it with a puzzled and inquiring look.

Fearing he might ride up and question me, I spurred my horse into a rapid gallop, at the same time calling to him to follow.

Ten minutes after, we entered the lawn and pulled up in front of the house. My mother and sister had come out into the verandah to receive us; and we were greeted with words of welcome.

But I heard, or heeded them not; my gaze was riveted on Virginia--upon her dress. It was a _riding-habit_: the plumed chapeau was still upon her head!

My beautiful sister--never seemed she more beautiful than at that moment; her cheeks were crimsoned with the wind, her golden tresses hanging over them. But it joyed me not to see her so fair: in my eyes, she appeared a fallen angel.

I glanced at Gallagher as I tottered out of my saddle: I saw that he comprehended all. Nay, more--his countenance wore an expression indicative of great mental suffering, apparently as acute as my own. My friend he was--tried and true; he had observed my anguish--he now guessed the cause; and his look betokened the deep sympathy with which my misfortune inspired him.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

COLD COURTESY.

I received my mother's embrace with filial warmth; my sister's in silence--almost with coldness. My mother noticed this, and wondered.

Gallagher also shewed reserve in his greeting of Virginia; and neither did this pa.s.s un.o.bserved.

Of the four, my sister was the least embarra.s.sed; she was not embarra.s.sed at all. On the contrary, her lips moved freely, and her eyes sparkled with a cheerful expression, as if really joyed by our arrival.

"You have been on horseback, sister?" I said, in a tone that affected indifference as to the reply.

"Say, rather, pony-back. My little Foxey scarcely deserves the proud t.i.tle of horse. Yes, I have been out for an airing."

"Alone?"

"Quite alone--_solus bolus_, as the black people have it."

"Is it prudent, sister?"

"Why not? I often do it. What have I to fear? The wolves and panthers are hunted out, and White Fox is too swift either for a bear or an alligator."

"There are creatures to be encountered in the woods more dangerous than wild beasts."

I watched her countenance as I made the remark, but I saw not the slightest change.

"What creatures, George?" she asked in a drawling tone, imitating that in which I had spoken.

"Redskins--Indians," I answered abruptly.

"Nonsense, brother; there are no Indians in this neighbourhood--at least," added she with marked hesitation, "none that _we_ need fear.

Did I not write to tell you so? You are fresh from the hostile ground, where I suppose there is an Indian in every bush; but remember, Geordy, you have travelled a long way, and unless you have brought the savages with you, you will find none here. So, gentlemen, you may go to sleep to-night without fear of being awakened by the _Yo-ho-ehee_."

"Is that so certain, Miss Randolph?" inquired Gallagher, now joining in the conversation, and no longer "broguing" it. "Your brother and I have reason to believe that some, who have already raised the war-cry, are not so far off from the settlements of the Suwanee."

"_Miss_ Randolph! Ha, ha, ha! Why _Mister_ Gallagher, where did you learn that respectful appellative? It is so distant you must have fetched it a long way. _It_ used to be Virginia, and Virgine, and Virginny, and simple 'Gin--for which last I could have spitted you, _Mister_ Gallagher, and would, had you not given up calling me so.

What's the matter? It is just three months since we--that is, you and I, Mister Gallagher--met last; and scarcely two since Geordy and I parted; and now you are both here--one talking as solemnly as Solon, the other as soberly as Socrates! George, I presume, after another spell of absence, will be styling me _Miss_ Randolph--I suppose that's the fashion at the fort. Come, fellows," she added, striking the bal.u.s.trade with her whip, "your minds and your mouths, and give me the reason of this wonderful 'transmogrification,' for by my word, you shall not eat till you do!"

The relation in which Gallagher stood to my sister requires a little explanation. He was not new either to her or my mother. During their sojourn in the north, he had met them both; but the former often. As my almost constant companion, he had ample opportunity of becoming acquainted with Virginia; and he had, in reality, grown well acquainted with her. They met on the most familiar terms--even to using the diminutives of each other's names; and I could understand why my sister regarded "Miss Randolph" as a rather distant mode of address; but I understood, also, why he had thus addressed her.

There was a period when I believed my friend in love with Virginia; that was shortly after their introduction to each other. But as time wore on, I ceased to have this belief. Their behaviour was not that of lovers--at least, according to my notion. They were too _friendly_ to be in love. They used to romp together, and read comic books, and laugh, and chatter by the hour about trivial things, and call each other jack-names, and the like. In fact, it was a rare thing to hear them either talk or act soberly when in each other's company. All this was so different from my ideas of how two lovers _would_ act--so different from the way in which _I_ should have acted--that I gave up the fancy I had held, and afterwards regarded them as two beings whose characters had a certain correspondence, and whose hearts were in unison for friendship, but not for love.

One other circ.u.mstance confirmed me in this belief: I observed that my sister, during Gallagher's absence, had little relish for gaiety, which had been rather a characteristic of her girlish days; but the moment the latter would make his appearance, a sadden change would come over her, and she would enter with _abandon_ into all the idle bagatelle of the hour.

Love, thought I, does not so exhibit itself. If there was one in whom she felt a heart-interest, it was not he who was present. No--Gallagher was not the man; and the play that pa.s.sed between them was but the fond familiarity of two persons who esteemed each other, without a spark of love being mixed up in the affection.

The dark suspicion that now rested upon his mind, as upon my own, had evidently saddened him--not from any feeling of jealousy, but out of pure friendly sympathy for me--perhaps, too, for her. His bearing towards her, though within the rules of the most perfect politeness, _was_ changed--much changed; no wonder she took notice of it--no wonder she called for an explanation.

"Quick!" cried she, cutting the vine-leaves with her whip. "Is it a travesty, or are you in earnest? Unbosom yourselves both, or I keep my vow--you shall have no dinner. I shall myself go to the kitchen, and countermand it."

Despite the gloomy thoughts pa.s.sing within, her manner and the odd menace compelled Gallagher to break into laughter--though his laugh was far short of the hearty cachinnation she had been accustomed to hear from him.

I was myself forced to smile; and, seeing the necessity of smothering my emotions, I stammered forth what might pa.s.s for an explanation. It was not the time for the true one.

"Verily, sister," said I, "we are too tired for mirth, and too hungry as well. Consider how far we have ridden, and under a broiling sun!

Neither of us has tasted a morsel since leaving the fort, and our breakfast there was none of the most sumptuous--corncakes and weak coffee, with pickled pork. How I long for some of Aunt Sheba's Virginia biscuits and 'chicken fixings.' Pray, let us have our dinner, and then you shall see a change in us! We shall both be as merry as sand-boys after it."

Satisfied with this explanation, or affecting to be so--for her response was a promise to let us have our dinner--accompanied by a cheerful laugh--my sister retired to make the necessary change in her costume, while my friend and I were shown to our separate apartments.