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<h3>Chapter Ninety Nine.</h3> <h4>The Yellow Duenna.</h4> “Good lor, gal! wha you doin’ down da? You know Mass’ Holt an’ Mass’ Stebbins want dar coffee? Why ain’t you done fotch de water?” I faced round on hearing the voice. The tone and patois had already admonished me that the speaker was neither white nor Indian, but of that third typical race that mingles in the social life of the transatlantic world—an African. The harsh accentuation had prepared me for the appearance of a man and a negro; but, on turning, I perceived that I was mistaken—both as to the sex and colour. In the speaker I beheld a mulatto—a yellow woman of large size—gross, corpulent, and greasy. Her dress was a light-coloured muslin print—negligently open at the breast, and garnished with gaudy ribbons, from which freely protruded the mountainous masses of her bosom. On her head was a toque of checked “bandana,” folded over the black corkscrew ringlets, that scarce reached so low as her ears; while ungartered stockings upon her ankles, and slipshod shoes upon her feet, completed the tout ensemble of her costume. Notwithstanding the negligé visible in her apparel, there were signs of conceit as to personal appearance. The fashion and trimmings were not in keeping with that of her tabooed race; and in the set of the toque there was a certain air of coquetry. The features, small and regular, might have once passed for handsome; but they were now nearly eliminated by her obese condition, which produced a disproportionate rotundity of face. The eyes, moreover, had lost all loveliness, if ever they had been endowed with such an expression. Their glance, in its brightest day, could have been only animal. It was still sufficiently sensual; but sensuality of a sullen and leering character. The voice of this woman had already produced an unpleasant effect upon me; so, too, the words spoken. The sight of her, as she stood “akimbo,” her hands resting upon her enormous haunches, only strengthened the sinister impression, which was still further confirmed by my observing that it had caused a similar effect elsewhere—upon Lilian! Even over that radiant countenance I could see that a cloud had stolen, and continued to shadow it! “Say, gal! wha you doin’ dar, anyhow? You fill dat pail double-quick, or, golly, you catch it!” A threat! Lilian listens to it, and obeys! “I am coming, Aunt Lucy!” replied the girl, in a trembling voice, at the same time hastening to fill the water-can. I was in hopes that this conciliatory answer would send the mulatta back into the corral. To my chagrin, it produced a result directly the reverse; for, on hearing it, the woman came waddling down in rapid strides towards the river. She made direct for the spot where Lilian was filling the can; and by her quick, nervous gestures, and the lurid light flashing in her half-buried eyes, I could perceive that some hideous passion was stirring within her. Lilian had already perceived that she was approaching, and stood waiting for her—evidently in awe! When within a few paces of the girl, the fat fury opened speech upon her—and in a tone as vindictive as the sound of her voice was harsh and grating. “Wha for, gal, you call me Aunt Lucy? Wha for you say dat? Dam! you call me so ’gain, I jab you eyes out. Sure I live, I gouge you!” The monster, as she spoke, stretched out her hand, bending the thumb with a significant gesture. She continued in the same spiteful tone:—“I tear you’ har you so conceit’ ’bout—you’ golding har, folks call. Piff! you’ har da colour ob yella squash. I pull um out o’ you’ head in fistful, you call me Aunt Lucy ’gain.” “I did not know it would offend you,” replied the young girl, in a meek voice. “Do not the others call you by that name?” she inquired hesitatingly. “Mr Stebbins does so?” “Nebba you mind what Mass’ Stabbins he do; da’s my affair. You hab a care you no call me so. Da’s my affair, too. Jes you say Aunt Lucy ’gain, I soon spoil you’ beauty, buckra gal.” “I shall not do so again, Lucy,” timidly rejoined the young girl. “Miss Lucy, you please. Don’t you tink you still in Tennessee! You’ know better bye ’n bye. Yella woman out heer good as white—marry white man all same—all same ’mong da Mormons—yah, yah, yah!” A leer towards Lilian accompanied this laughter, rendering its hideous significance more palpably expressive. So provoked was I by the brutal behaviour of the yellow wench, I could scarcely restrain myself from rushing up, and kicking her over the bank upon which she was standing. Nothing but the stern necessity of preserving my incognito hindered me from treating her as she deserved; and, even then, it cost me an effort to keep my place. As I continued to watch them. I could see that the young girl cowered beneath the threats of this bold bawdril, who had in some way gained an ascendancy over her—perhaps appointed by Stebbins to act in the double capacity of spy and guardian? Notwithstanding the horrid imaginings to which the woman’s presence had given rise, I succeeded in smothering my wrath, and remaining silent. My good star was guiding me; and soon after I was rewarded for the act of prudence. “Say, gal!” continued the mulatta, still addressing herself to Lilian, “wha for you sittin’ down dar, gazin’ into da water? S’pose you tink you see him shadda dar? Yah, yah, yah!” “Whose shadow?” innocently inquired the girl. I trembled while listening for the reply. “O Lordy! you berry innocent gal, make ’pear! S’pose I no see you write him name in dat ere book you got? S’pose I no see you make him letter in de sand, wha we camp on Akansaw? You scratch am name ebberywha; you got um on de big box inside Mass’ Stebbins’s waggon. Ha! you better no let Mass’ Stebbins see him name dar!” I would at that instant have given my horse for a glance at either box or book. But in another moment the necessity was gone; and the revelation, though made by polluted lips, was not the less welcome to my ears. What cared I whether the oracle was profane, so long as its response echoed my most earnest desires? “S’pose nobody read but youseff?” continued the mulatta, in the same jeering tone. “S’pose nobody know what E.W. stand for? yah, yah! S’pose dat ere don’t mean Edwa’d Wa’ffeld? eh missy yella bar—dat him name?” The young girl made no reply; but the crimson disc became widely suffused over her cheek. With a secret joy I beheld its blushing extension. “Yah, yah, yah!” continued her tormentor, “you may see um shadda in da water—dat all you ebba see ob Edwa’d Wa’ffeld. Whoebbar dat ere coon may be, you nebbar set you’ eyes on him ’gain—nebba!” A dark shade quickly overcast the crimson, betokening that the words gave pain. My pleasure was in like proportion, but inversely. “You fool, missy’ golding har? you’ better gone ’long wi’ de young dragoon offica who want take you—dat am, if you must had man all to youseff. Yah, yah, yah! Nebba mind, gal! you get husban’ yet. Mass’ Stebbins he find you husban’—he got one for you a’ready—waitin’ dar in de Mormon city; you soon see! Husban’ got fifty odder wife! Yah, yah, yah!” Words appeared upon the lips of Lilian—low murmured and but half uttered. I could not make out what they were; but they appeared not to be a reply to the speeches that had been addressed to her. Rather were they the involuntary accompaniment to an expression of peculiar anguish, that at that moment revealed itself on her features. The mulatta did not seem either to expect, or care for an answer: for on giving utterance to the fiendish insinuation, she turned upon her slippered heels, and hobbled back towards the camp. I held my face averted as she was passing near where I stood. I feared that she might be attracted to stop and examine me; and I had a motive for wishing her to keep on. Her curiosity, however, did not appear to be very excitable. Such as it was, it evolved itself in a comic fashion—as I could tell by the coarse “Yah, yah, yah!” that broke from her as she passed me. I could perceive by the receding of the sound, that she had gone on without stopping. Lilian followed at a distance of about ten paces. Her body was bent to one side by the weight of the water-can; while her long golden-hair, falling in confusion over the straining arm, almost swept the sward at her feet. The toilsome attitude only displayed in greater perfection the splendid development of that feminine form—which death alone could now hinder me from calling my own. I had already planned my course of action. I only waited for an opportunity to carry it out. No longer desired I to remain unrecognised by her. The barrier that had hitherto restrained me from giving sign or word—and that would still have continued to do so—had now been removed, happily as unexpectedly. In my heart, now filled and thrilling with joy, there was no motive for further concealment; and I resolved at once to declare myself. Not openly, however; not by speech, nor yet by gesture. Either might provoke an exclamation; and draw upon us prying eyes that were observing at no great distance. As stated, I had already shaped out my course; and, for a minute or more, had been waiting for the very opportunity that now offered. During the conversation above detailed, I had not been an inactive listener. I had taken from my pocket a scrap of paper, and pencilled upon it three simple words. I knew the paper on which I was writing: it was the half-leaf of a letter well-remembered. The letter itself was not there: it was within the folds of my pocket-book; but there was writing on the fly-leaf, and on both faces of it. On one side were those cherished verses, whose sweet simple strain, still vibrating upon the chords of my heart, I cannot help repeating: <blockquote> “I think of thee, when Morning springs     From sleep, with plumage bathed in dew, And like a young bird lifts her wings     Of gladness on the welkin blue. And when at Noon the breath of love     O’er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove,     I think of thee - I think of thee! “I think of thee, when soft and wide The Evening spreads her robe of light; And, like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of night. And when the moon’s sweet crescent springs In light o’er heaven’s deep waveless sea; And stars are forth like blessed things, I think of thee - I think of thee!” </blockquote> “O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you; and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live. “Lilian Holt.” On the reverse side of the page I had penned, or rather pencilled, a response. Not then, but in an idle hour by the way: with the presentiment, that it might some time reach the hands of her for whom it was intended. In those hands I was now determined to place it—leaving the issue to the cipher itself. The answer ran thus: To Lilian. <blockquote> “As music sweet, thy gentle lay     Hath found an echo in my heart; At morn, at eve, by night, by day,     ’Tis never from my thoughts apart: I hear the strain in every breeze     That blows o’er flower, and leaf, and tree; Low murmuring, the birds and bees     All seem to sing - I think of thee! “Perhaps, of me no more a thought     Lingers within thy bosom blest: For time and absence both are fraught     With danger to the lover’s rest? O Lilian! if thy gentlest breath     Should whisper that sad truth to me, My heart would soon be cold in death—     Though dying, still ’twould think of thee!” </blockquote> “Edward Warfield, The Indian Hunter.” The words at the moment added were those appended to my own name—which I had introduced to aid in the recognition. However inappropriate might be the scheme for making myself known, I had no time to conceive any other. The interruption caused by the mulatta had hindered me from a verbal declaration, which otherwise I might have made; and there was no longer an opportunity for the periphrasis of speech. Even a word might betray me. Under this apprehension, I resolved to remain silent; and watch for the occasion when I might effect the secret conveyance of the paper. As the young girl drew near, I stepped towards her—pointing to my lips, and making sign that I wished to drink. The action did not alarm her. On the contrary, she stopped; and, smiling kindly on the thirsty savage, offered the can—raising it up before her. I took the vessel in my hands, holding the little billet conspicuous between my stained fingers. Conspicuous only to her: for from all other eyes the can concealed it—even from those of the bizarre duenna, who had faced round and was still standing near. Not a word escaped me, as I pretended to drink. I only nodded towards the paper as I raised the vessel to my lips. Ah! that weird instinct of a woman’s heart—a woman who loves! How pleasant to watch its subtle play, when we know that it is exerted in our favour! I saw not the action, nor yet the emotion that may have been depicted on that radiant face. My eyes were averted. I dared not trust them to watch the effect. I only knew that the can was taken from my hands—the paper along with it; and, like a dream, the fair water-carrier passed from before me—leaving me alone upon the spot! My eyes followed the receding form, now side by side with that of the chiding guardian. Together they entered the corral—Lilian upon the nearer side; but, as the maiden’s face disappeared behind the sombre shadow of the waggons, a glance given back through those shining tresses convinced me that my scheme had succeeded! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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