"_I_ trust you, Cudjo!"--and she laid her hand frankly and confidingly on his shoulder. "Did I tremble, did I shrink when you carried me through the fire? I shall never forget how brave, how good you are! He trusts you too,--only he is so afraid for me! You can forgive that, Cudjo."

"She is right," said Penn, though still in doubt. "If you know a way to save her, don't lose a moment!"

"He knows; on'y let him take his time," said Pepperill, whose firm faith in the negro's good will shamed Penn for his distrust. And yet Pepperill did not love, as Penn loved, the girl whose life was in danger; and he had not seen the evidences of Cudjo's fire-worshipping fanaticism which Penn had seen.

Under the influence of Virginia's gentle and soothing words, the glitter of resentment died out of the negro's face. But his aspect was still morose.

"De fire take his time to burn out; so we's take our time too," said he.

"You try your chance wid Cudjo agin, miss?"

"Certainly! for I am sure you will take us safely through yet!" said Virginia, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation on her face, however dark may have been the shadow on her heart.

The negro was evidently well pleased. He examined carefully the line of fire in the undergrowth. And now Penn discovered, what Cudjo had known very well from the first, that there were barren ledges above, and that the fire was rapidly burning itself out along their base. An opening through which a courageous and active man might dash unscathed soon presented itself. Then Cudjo waited no longer to "take bref." He caught Virginia in his arms, and bore her through the second line of fire, as he had borne her through the first, and placed her in safety on the rocks above.

"Cudjo, my brave, my n.o.ble fellow!" said Penn, deeply affected, "I have wronged you; I confess it with shame. Forgive me!"

"Cudjo hab nuffin to forgib," replied the negro, with a laugh of pleasure "Neber mention um, ma.s.sa! All right now! Reckon we's better be gitt'n out o' dis yer smudge!"

He showed the way, and Penn and Daniel helped Virginia up the rocks as before.

They had reached a smooth and unsheltered ledge near the ravine, a little below the mouth of the cave, when a hideous and inhuman shriek rent the air.

"What dat?" cried Cudjo, stopping short; and his visage in the smoky and lurid light looked wild with superst.i.tious alarm.

The sound was repeated, louder, nearer, more hideous than before, seeming to make the very atmosphere shudder above their heads.

"Go on, Cudjo! go on!" Penn commanded.

The terrified black crouched and gibbered, but would not stir. Then straightway a sharp clatter, as of iron hoofs flying at a furious gallop, resounded along the mountain-side. By a simultaneous impulse the little party huddled together, and turned their faces towards the fire, and saw coming down towards them a horse with the speed of the wind.

"Stand close!" said Penn; and he threw himself before Virginia, to shield her, shouting and swinging his hat to frighten the animal from his course.

"Stackridge's hoss!" exclaimed Cudjo, recovering from his fright, leaping up, and flinging abroad his long arms in the air. "Wiv some poor debil onter him's back!"

It was so. The little group stood motionless, chilled with horror. The beast came thundering on, with lips of terror parted, nostrils wide and snorting, mane and tail flying in the wild air, hoofs striking fire from the rocks. A human being--a man--was lying close to his neck, and clinging fast: the face hidden by the tossing and streaming mane: a fearful ride! the mystery surrounding him, and the awful glare and smoke, enhancing the horror of it.

Approaching the group on the ledge, the animal veered, and shot past them like a thunderbolt; clearing rocks, hollows, bushes, with incredible bounds; nearing the ravine, but halting not; dashing into the thickets there, missing suddenly the ground beneath his feet, striking only the air and yielding boughs with frantic hoofs; then plunging down with a dull, reverberant crash,--horse and unknown rider rolling together over rocks and spiked limbs to the bottom of the ravine.

Then all was still again: it had pa.s.sed like a vision of fear.

x.x.x.

_REFUGE._

For a moment the little group stood dumb and motionless on the ledge, in the flare of the vast flame-curtains. They looked at each other. Penn was the first to speak.

"Which of us goes down into the ravine?"

"Wha' fur?" said Cudjo.

"To find him!" And Penn gazed anxiously towards the thickets into which the horse and horseman had gone down.

"Dat no good! Deader 'n de debil, sh.o.r.e!"

"O, may be he is not!" exclaimed Virginia, full of compa.s.sion for the unfortunate unknown. "Do go and see, Cudjo!"

"Fire'll be dar in less'n no time. Him nuffin to Cudjo. We's best be gwine." And the negro started off, doggedly, towards the cave.

Then Penn took the resolution which he would have taken at once but for Virginia. "Stay with her, Daniel! I will go!"

Virginia turned pale; she had not thought of that. But immediately she controlled her fears: she would not be selfish: if he was brave and generous enough to descend into the ravine for one he did not know, she would be equally brave and generous, and let him go. She clasped her hands together so that they should not hold him back, and forced her lips to say,--

"I will wait for you here."

"No, I be durned if ye shall! Hapgood, you stick to her: take this yer gun, and I'll slip down inter the holler, and see whuther the cuss's alive or dead, any how."

"O, Mr. Pepperill, if you will!" said Virginia, overjoyed.

Penn remonstrated,--rather feebly, it must be confessed, for the determination to part from her had cost him a struggle, and the privilege of keeping by her side till all danger was past, seemed too sweet to refuse.

"I'll take her to her father, and hurry back, and meet you."

"All right!" came the response from Dan, already far down the rocks.

"The cave is close by," said Penn. "There is Cudjo, waiting for us!"

Coming up with the black, and once more following his lead, they descended along the shelf of rocks, between the thickets and the overhanging ledge. So they came to the still dark jaws of the cavern. A grateful coolness breathed in their faces from within. But how dismal the entrance seemed to eyes lately dazzled by the blazing woods!

Virginia clung tightly to Penn's hand, as they groped their way in.

At first nothing was visible but a few smouldering embers, winking their sleepy eyes in the dark. Out of these Cudjo soon blew a little blaze, which he fed with sticks and bits of bark until it lighted up fitfully the dim interior and shadowy walls of his abode.

Penn hushed Virginia with a finger on his lips, and restrained her from throwing herself forward upon the rude bed, where the blind old man was just awaking from a sound sleep.

In that profound subterranean solitude the roar of the fiery breakers, dashing on the mountain side, was subdued to a faint murmur, less distinct than the dripping of water from roof to floor in the farther recesses of the cave. There, left alone, lulled by the dull, monotonous trickle,--thinking, if he heard the roar at all, that it was the mountain wind blowing among the pines,--Mr. Villars had slept tranquilly through all the horrors of that night.

"Is it you, Penn? Safe again!" And sitting up, he grasped the young man's hand. "What news from my dear girl?--from my two dear girls?" he added, remembering Virginia was not his only child.

"Toby did not come to the rock," said Penn, still holding Virginia back.

"O! did he not?" It seemed a heavy disappointment; but the patient old man rallied straightway, saying, with his accustomed cheerfulness, "No doubt something hindered him; no doubt he would have come if he could.

My poor, dear girl, how I wish I could have got word to her that I am safe! But I thank you all the same; it was kind in you to give yourself all that trouble."

"I believe all is for the best," said Penn, his voice trembling.