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<SPAN name="chap30"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Thirty.</h3> <h4>A Storm without and within.</h4> <p>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?</p> <p>“Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve.”</p> <p>“Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear so proudly upon your breast.”</p> <p>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 <i>was</i> a wolf; and that Lilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!</p> <p>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?</p> <p>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?</p> <p>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!</p> <p>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!”</p> <p>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?”</p> <p>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?</p> <p>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!</p> <p>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 <i>débris</i> strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be considered complete. <i>They were gone</i>!</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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!</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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