Cameron of Lochiel
spell by which he compels everybody to love him? Widow Maurice used to
have hardly a moment's peace while we were home for the holidays; yet
she was always in tears when she came to bid Jules good-by."
"The reason is not far to seek," said Blanche. "It is that all know his
kind heart. You know, moreover, by experience, Archie, that those whom
he loves best are just the ones that he teases most unremittingly. But
let us continue our enumeration of his misdemeanors on that unlucky
day! Thirdly, after killing the cow, the ugly brute ran against a
fence, broke one of the wheels, and hurled the driver fifteen feet into
the meadow beyond; but Jules, who always falls on his feet, like a cat,
was in no way the worse for this adventure. Fourthly, and lastly, after
smashing the carriage to splinters on the rocks of the Trois Saumons
River, the mare ended by breaking her own legs on the shore, over in
the parish of L'Islet."
"Yes," added Archie, "and I remember how eloquently you pleaded for the
culprit, who, in despair at having so deeply offended so good a father,
was in danger of proceeding to rash extremities against himself.
'Dear papa,' you said, 'should you not rather thank heaven for having
preserved Jules's life? What matters the loss of a cow, a horse, a
carriage? You might have seen his bleeding body brought home to you!'
'Come, let us talk no more about it,' was your father's reply. 'Go
and look for your rascal of a brother, for I doubt not you and Archie
know where he has taken refuge after his nice performances!' "I see
yet," continued Archie, "the half-penitent, half-comical air of Jules
when he knew the storm had blown over. 'What, my father,' he ended by
saying, after listening to some energetic remonstrances, 'would you
have preferred to see me dragged to my death, like another Hippolytus,
by the horse which your hands had nourished to be the murderer of your
son? Would you have chosen to see my ensanguined locks dangling on
the brambles?' To which the captain answered: 'Come, let's to supper,
since there seems to be a God for such madcaps as you.' 'Now, that's
more like the way to talk to a fellow,' was Jules's response. I never
could quite understand," continued Archie, "why your father, who is
ordinarily so unforgiving, used to forgive and forget so easily any
offense of Jules."
"Father knows," said Blanche, "that Jules loves him devotedly,
and would endure anything to spare him pain. For all his headlong
thoughtlessness, Jules could never offend my father deeply."
"Now that we have called up so many pleasant memories," said Archie,
"let us sit down on this hillock where we have so often before rested,
and let us speak of more serious matters. I have decided to settle in
Canada. I have lately sold a property which was left to me by one of
my cousins. My fortune, although but moderate in the old country, will
be counted large out here, where my happiest days have been spent, and
where I propose to live and die among my friends. What do you say,
Blanche?"
"Nothing in the world could please us more. Oh, how happy Jules will
be, how glad we will all be!"
"Yes, you will all be pleased, doubtless; but my happiness can never be
perfect, Blanche, unless you will consent to make it so by giving me
your hand. I love--"
The girl sprang to her feet as if an adder had stung her. With
trembling lips and pale with anger, she cried:
"You offend me, Captain de Lochiel! You have not considered the cruelty
of the offer you are making me! Is it now you make me such a proposal,
when the flames that you and yours have lighted in my unhappy country
are hardly yet extinguished? Is it now, while the smoke yet rises from
our ruined homes, that you offer me the hand of one of our destroyers?
There would, indeed, be a bitter irony in lighting the marriage torch
at the smoking ashes of my unhappy country! They would say, Captain
de Lochiel, that your gold had bought the hand of the poor Canadian
girl; and never will a D'Haberville endure such humiliation. O Archie!
Archie! I would never have expected it of you, you the friend of my
childhood! You know not what you are doing!" And Blanche burst into
tears.
Never had the noble Canadian girl appeared so beautiful in Archie's
eyes as now, when she rejected with proud disdain the hand of one of
her country's conquerors.
"Calm yourself, Blanche," answered Lochiel. "I admire your patriotism.
I appreciate the exalted delicacy of your sentiments, however unjust
they may be toward the friend of your childhood. Never would a Cameron
of Lochiel give offense to any lady, least of all to the sister of
Jules D'Haberville, to the daughter of his benefactor. You know,
Blanche, that I never act without due reflection. For you to reject
with scorn the hand of an Englishman so soon after the conquest would
be but natural in a D'Haberville; but as for me, Blanche, you know
that I have loved you long--you could not be ignorant of it, in spite
of my silence. The penniless young exile would have failed in every
honorable sentiment had he declared his love for the daughter of his
rich benefactor. Is it because I am rich now, is it because the chance
of war has made us victorious in the struggle, is it because fate made
of me an unwilling instrument of destruction, is it because of all this
that I must bury in my heart one of the noblest emotions of our nature,
and acknowledge myself defeated without an effort? No, Blanche, you
surely can not think it; you have spoken without reflection; you regret
the harsh words which have escaped you. Speak, Blanche, and say that
you did not mean it."
"I will be candid with you, Archie," replied Blanche. "I will be as
frank as a peasant girl who has studied neither her feelings nor her
words--as a country girl who has forgotten the conventionalities of
that society from which she has so long been banished--and I will speak
with my heart upon my lips. You had all that could captivate a girl of
fifteen years--noble birth, wit, beauty, strength, and a generous and
lofty heart. What more could be needed to charm an enthusiastic girl?
Archie, if the penniless young exile had asked my parents for my hand,
and they had granted his request, I should have been proud and happy
to obey. But, Captain de Lochiel, there is now a gulf between us which
I will never cross." And again the girl's voice was choked with sobs.
"But I implore you, my brother Archie," continued she, taking his hand,
"do not alter your intention of settling in Canada. Buy property in
our neighborhood, so that we can see you continually. And if, in the
ordinary course of nature (for you are eight years older than I), I
should have the unhappiness to lose you, be sure that you would be
mourned as bitterly by your sister Blanche as if she had been your
wife. And now it is getting late, Archie, and we must return to the
house," she added, pressing his hand affectionately between both of
hers.
"You will never be so cruel toward me and toward yourself," cried
Archie, "as to persist in this refusal! Yes, toward yourself, Blanche,
for the love of a heart like yours does not die out like a common
passion; it resists time and all vicissitudes. Jules will plead my
cause on his return, and his sister will not refuse him his first
request. Oh, tell me that I may hope!"
"Never, Archie, never," said Blanche. "The women of my family, as well
as the men, have never failed in their duty--have never shrunk from any
sacrifice, however painful. Two of my aunts, while yet very young, said
one day to my father: 'You have no more than enough, D'Haberville, to
maintain the dignity of the house. Our dowry would make a considerable
breach in your means. To-morrow we shall enter a convent, where all is
prepared to receive us.' Prayers, threats, the fury of my father--all
proved vain; they entered the convent, where they have not wearied
of good deeds to this day. As for me, Archie, I have other duties
to perform--duties very dear to me. I must sweeten life as far as
possible for my parents, must help them to forget their misfortunes,
must care for them in their old age, and must close their eyes at the
last. My brother Jules will marry; I will nurse his children, and share
alike his good and evil fortune."
Lochiel and Blanche walked toward the house in silence. The last rays
of the setting sun, mirrored in the swelling tide, lent a new charm to
the enchanting scene; but to their eyes the loveliness of nature seemed
to have suddenly faded out. The next day, toward evening, a favorable
wind arose. The vessel which had brought Lochiel weighed anchor at
once, and M. D'Haberville instructed José to convey his young friend to
Quebec.
During the journey there was no lack of conversation between the two
travelers; their subjects were inexhaustible. Toward five o'clock in
the morning, however, as they were passing Beaumont, Lochiel said to
José:
"I am as sleepy as a marmot. We sat up late yesterday, and I was so
feverish that I got no sleep for the rest of the night. Do sing me a
song to keep me awake."
He knew the hoarseness and vigor of his companion's voice, and he put
great faith in it as an anti-soporific.
"I can not refuse," answered José, who, like many others blessed
with a discordant voice, prided himself greatly on his singing. "The
more sleepy you are the more risk you run of breaking your head on
the rocks, which have never been cleared away since La Corriveau's
memorable trip; but I hardly know what to begin with. How would you
like a song on the taking of Berg-op-Zoom?"
"Berg-op-Zoom will do," said Archie, "though the English were pretty
badly treated there."
"Hem! hem!" coughed José. "Nothing like a little revenge on the enemy
that handled us so roughly in '59." And he struck up the following:
"A Te Deum for him who was born the doom (_repeat_)
Of the stout-walled city of Berg-op-Zoom (_repeat_).
By'r lady, he wants the best that's going,
Who can do up a siege in a style so knowing."
"How charmingly _naïve_!" cried Lochiel.
"Is it not, captain?" said José, very proud of his success.
"Indeed, yes, my dear José; but go on. I am in a hurry to hear the end.
Do not halt upon so good a road."
"Thank you, captain," said José, touching his cap.
"Like Alexander who lived of old (_repeat_),
His body is small, but his heart is bold (_repeat_).
God gave him all Alexander's wit,
And Cæsar's wisdom on top of it!"
"'His body is small but his heart is bold,'" repeated Archie, "is a
very happy touch! Where did you pick up this song?"
"A grenadier who was at the siege of Berg-op-Zoom sang it to my late
father. He said that it was terribly hot work there, and he carried the
marks of it. He had only one eye left, and the skin was torn off his
face from his forehead to his jaw-bone; but, as all these damages were
on the left side, he still could manage his gun properly on the right.
But let us leave him to look out for himself. He is a jolly lad who
would dance a jig on his own grave, and I need not concern myself about
him. Here's the third and last verse:
"Oh, we combed the hides of the English well (_repeat_),
A very bad lot, as I've heard tell! (_repeat_)
They'll shake, by'r lady, till they get home,
For fear of our boys and their curry-comb."
"Delightful, 'pon honor!" cried Lochiel. "These English who were a very
bad lot! These soldiers armed with the curry-comb! How exquisitely
_naïve_! Charming!"
"By our lady, though, captain," said José, "they are not always so
easy to comb, these English. Like our good horse Lubine here, they are
sometimes very bad-humored and ugly to handle if one rubs them too
hard. Witness the first battle of the Plains of Abraham!"
"It was the English, was it not, who carried the curry-comb then?"