The Secret Shot; Or, The Rivals Of Misty Mount — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LOVE GROWN DESPERATE. 17 herself, “it is not a particle of difference whose it is.” “ But,’ sighed Ida’s heart, with a voice so low that she could not hear it herself, “but, it is very provoking that Colonel Cleaveland should wear the minia- ture of a beautiful lady in his breast.” The colonel himself was none the less welcome at Misty Mount; nor the less agrevable and fascinating. One sunny afternoon, at about the close of this eventfal fortnight, Ida put on her hat, and sauntered down the bank of the river alone. She had ‘wandered several fur- longs from the house before she was aware of it; but, as she found herself approaching a cool clump of maples, in which she re- membered there was a little retreat her father had made many years ago, she went on, intending to rest herself there before returning. As she entered the wood, a short distance from the road, and between the road and the river, she was surprised, almost startled, to perceive that Wandalo was walking by her side. So stealthy was the tread of the Indian, that his step was noiseless on the sward. “How you startled me, Wandalo!” she exclaimed, but smiling forgiveness upon him. “Great Heaven! what is the matter?” The chieftain had merely raised his head, without answering, and this last exclamation was caused by the woeful change that had been wrought in his dark face since she had last seen him. A hundred wrinkles seemed to have been added. Gaunt, sallow and emaciated, and hesitating in his manner, he no longer seemed the sturdy and confi- dent savage of old. “Flas Wandalo been sick?’ she asked, kindly taking his hand. He laid his hand upon his heart, and sighed deeply. “A )ittle further on and the sweet Flower will find a pleasanter shade than this,” he said, as they drew near the retreat, but not making any reply to her previous question. “Thank you; then I will go on to find it,” she replied. “ Will not the chieftain accompany his little Flower ? No? Well, good-by, then.” She touched his hand again, and passed on, as he answered her invitation with a gloomy shake of the head. The Indian looked after her with a strange earnestness and hesitation, as her lithe figure glided into the denser thicket. Once he sprung forward as if to bring her back; his lips 10 2 swelled as if with a pent-up cry. But he suppressed his intention, whatever it was, stamped angrily on the ground, and turned swiftly away in another direction. Expecting to find the cool retreat await- ing her, and wondering at the great change which had come over Wandalo, Ida con- tinued her way, but was alarmed to find the thicket grow denser at every step, al- though it could not have been far from the broad road that ran down to the village. Thinking that she must have mistaken the Indian’s directions, and considerably vexed, she at length turned to retrace her steps. But Heartstead Gleason stood im her pathway, with folded arms. “ Mr. Gleason !” “Tda |” “Tt is not right for you to startle me in this way, sir,” she said, with a pout on her lip. “Nor is it proper for you to call me by my first name, sir.” “T call you by the name which is the sweetest sound on earth, or, I believe, in heaven, Jda,” said the youth, and with a mournful earnestness that filled her breast with pity. “I saw you enter here, Ida. » I must speak with you; so I followed.” “T was not aware that you were at home,” she said. “Is there not danger in your presence in the valley ?” ~ “Not more danger than I would confront a thousand times to accomplish that which brought me hither. Am TI not sadly changed since you saw me last?” “ Greatly,” she said, gazing with profound pity into the young man’s face, with its handsome, but attenuated features, and too- lustrous eyes. she added. “Yes, I have had sickness and sorrow enough, Ida. My brother is slain, and I am quite friendless.” “What, Charlie? Charlie slain? He was a gay, happy spirit. We grow accus- tomed to death in time of war; but I could have better spared a closer intimate than my old playfellow. Ah, I-can sympathize with you deeply, as you must know!” “Yes, Ida, I heard of your gallant brother’s death with sincere sorrow. We have both had our sorrows. But it was neither grief nor sorrow for the dead that harrowed my frame and emaciated my face as you see them. It was my hopeless love for you, Ida—my unrequited but eternal passion.” “Tf you continue in this vein, sir, I shall _ “You must have been re Z mice ool KS5(€e) paneer cae CO a