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<SPAN name="chap26"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Twenty Six.</h3> <h4>The Peacemaker.</h4> <p>Without knowing why, I hailed the arrival of this stranger as opportune. Perhaps his presence, added to the entreaties of that fair young creature—still urgent in my behalf—might prevent the effusion of blood. Indeed, I had already determined that none should be spilled by <i>me</i>—let the consequences be as they might; and whatever was to be the <i>dénouement</i> of this awkward affair, I had resolved that my rifle should have nought to do in deciding it. The piece had fallen to the “order arms;” the ill-omened birds had forsaken their perch; and, now soaring in the blue sky, almost beyond the reach of human vision, their movements were no longer heeded—neither by my adversary nor myself.</p> <p>Turning away from the stranger—whom I had only regarded for a second or two—I faced again to the more interesting tableau in front of me. That, too, was rapidly undergoing a change. The squatter no longer clung to his rifle. The girl had taken it from his hands; and was hurrying with it into the door of the cabin. There was no hindrance made by my antagonist! On the contrary, he appeared to have delivered it over to her—as if the affair between us was to have a pacific termination, or, at all events, a respite.</p> <p>What surprised me more than all was the altered demeanour of my adversary. His whole manner seemed to have undergone a sudden change. Sudden it must have been, since it had taken place during a second or two, while my attention was occupied by the newly arrived horseman. What still further astonished me, was, that this transformation was evidently produced by the presence of the stranger himself! That it was not due to the young girl’s interference, I had evidence already. That had not moved him for a moment. Her earnest appeal had received a repulse—energetic and decisive, as it was rude; and of itself would certainly not have, saved me. Beyond doubt, then, was I indebted to the stranger for the truce so unexpectedly entered upon.</p> <p>The change in Holt’s demeanour was not more sudden than complete. At first, an air of astonishment had been observable; after that, an expression of inquietude—becoming each moment more marked. No longer did he exhibit the proud aspect of a man, who felt himself master of the ground; but, on the contrary, appeared cowed and quailing in the presence of the new-comer—whom he had met at the entrance, and at once invited into the enclosure. This manner was observable in the half-mechanical courtesy, with which he removed the bars, and took hold of the stranger’s horse—as also in some phrases of welcome, to which he gave utterance in my hearing.</p> <p>For myself, I was no longer regarded, any more than if I had been one of the dead-woods that stood around the clearing. The squatter passed, without even looking at me—his whole attention seemingly absorbed by the new arrival! It was natural I should regard with curiosity an individual, whose presence had produced such a wonderful effect; and my scrutinising gaze may have appeared rude enough to him. I cannot say that he elicited my admiration. On the contrary, his appearance produced an opposite effect. I beheld him with, what might be termed an instinct of repulsion: since I could assign no precise reason for the dislike with which he had inspired me on sight. He was a man of about thirty years of age; of a thin spare body, less than medium height; and features slightly marked with, the <i>bar sinister</i>. A face without beard—skin of cadaverous hue—nose sharply pointed—chin and forehead both receding—eyes small, but sparkling like those of a ferret—and long lank black hair, thinly shading his cheeks and brows—were the prominent characteristics of this man’s portrait. His dress was of a clerical cut and colour—though not of the finest fabric. The coat, trousers, and vest were of black broad-cloth—the coat and waistcoat being made with standing collars, similar in style to those worn by Wesleyan ministers—or more commonly by Catholic priests—while a white cravat not over clean and a hat with curving boat-brim, completed the saintly character of the costume.</p> <p>Judging from his personal appearance, I concluded that I saw in the individual before me the Methodist minister of Swampville. If so, it would account for the obsequiousness of his host, though not satisfactorily. There was something more than obsequiousness in Holt’s manner—something altogether different from that deferential respect, with which the gospel minister is usually received in the houses of the humbler classes. Moreover, the character of the squatter—such as I had heard it, and such as I had myself observed it to be—bore no correspondence with the attitude of reverence he had so suddenly assumed. Even under the hypothesis, that the new-comer was his clergyman, I was puzzled by his behaviour.</p> <p>He in the ecclesiastical costume appeared to be a man of few words; and of gesture he made a like limited use: having passed me, without even the courtesy of a bow. On the contrary, I was honoured with a glance of cynical regard—so palpable in its expression, as to cause an itching in my fingers, notwithstanding the saintly gown. I contented myself, however, with returning the glance, by one I intended should bear a like contemptuous expression; and, with this exchange, we separated from each other. I remained by my stand, without offering remark—either to the squatter or his guest. The only change I effected in my position, was to sit down upon the stump—where, with my rifle between my knees, I resolved to await the issue. All idea of using the weapon was gone out of my mind—at least, against Hickman Holt. He was <i>her</i> father: I would as soon have thought of turning its muzzle to my own body.</p> <p>I tarried, therefore, with no hostile intention. On the contrary, I only waited for an opportunity to propose some pacific arrangement of our difficulty; and my thoughts were now directed to this end. I had every chance of observing the movements of the two men: since, instead of entering the cabin, they had stopped in front of it—where they at once became engaged in conversation. I took it for granted that I was myself the subject; but, after a time, I began to fancy I was mistaken. Judging from the earnest manner of both—but more especially from Holt’s gestures and frequent ejaculations—something of still greater interest appeared to be the theme of their dialogue. I saw the squatter’s face suddenly brighten up—as if some new and joyous revelation had been made to him; while the features of his visitor bore the satisfied look of one, who was urging an argument with success. They were evidently talking of some topic beyond my affair, and unconnected with it; but what it could be, I was unable even to guess. Perhaps, had I listened more attentively, I might have arrived at some knowledge of it—since words were occasionally uttered aloud—but my eyes were busier than my ears; and at that moment, neither the squatter nor his guest was the subject of my thoughts.</p> <p>Beyond them was the attraction that fascinated my gaze—that thing of roseate golden hue, whose shining presence seemed to light up the dark interior of the cabin—gleaming meteor-like through the interstices of the logs—now softly moving from side to side, and now, thank Heaven! gliding towards the door! Only for a moment stood she silently on the stoop—one smiling moment, and she was gone. Her fair face was once more hidden, behind the rude <i>jalousie</i> of the logs; but the smile remained. It was mine; and lingered long within the trembling temple of my heart.</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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