A Daughter of Bohemia, Chapters XXIX-XXX [pp. 263-267]

1874.]
A 1)AU~ffT~R OI,1?OffE'MiA.
263
bit of fish or meat as a bait. This forked
stick is set so as to support another small
piece of wood, upon which in turn rests the
half-uplifted log. ~nll the baited stick, and
you let slip the small supporting one, which
in turn lets fall the large horizontal log. Thus
runs the sequence. It is a guillotine, with a
tree instead of a sharp knife; it is called a
`dead-fall.' Numbers of them are erected in
the woods, where martens' tracks are plentiful in the snow. Well, then, the line of
`dead-falls' being made and set, the Indian
departs, and silence reigns in the forest. But
once a week he starts forth to visit this line
of`dead-falls,' which may be ten or fifteen
miles in length.
"Every now and then he finds one of his
nillotines down, and, underneath it, lies a
small, thick-furred animal, in size something
larger than a ferret, something smaller than
a cat. It is needless to describe the color
of the animal; from childhood upward it is
familiar to us. Most persons can recall the
figure of a maiden aunt or stately visitor,
muffed, cuffed, boa'd, and pelissed, in all the
splendor of her sables. Our little friend under the dead-fall is none other tha'i ~he sable
-the marten of North America, the sable of
~iberia.
"A hundred miles away from the nearest
fort this marten has been captured. When
the snow and ice begin to show symptoms of
softening, the Indian packs his furs together,
and sets out, as we have seen, for the fort.
There are, perhaps five or six families together; the squaws and dogs are heavy-laden, and the in arch is slow and toilsome. All
the household gods have to be carried along.
The leather tent, the battered copper kettle,
the axe, the papoose strapped in the mossbag, the two puppy-dogs, yet unable to shift
for themselves, the snow-shoes for hunting,
the tattered blanket, the dry meat; it makes
a big load, all told; and squaw and dog toil
along with difficulty under it. The brave, of
course, goes before, deigning only to carry
his gun, and not always doing even that.
The wife is but as a dog to him-a curious
classification, but one for which he might
find some authority were he a little more civilized.
"Well, day by day the party moves along
till the fort is reached. Then comes the trade.
The fifty or a hundred marten-skins are handed over; the debt of the past year is canceled,
partly or wholly; and advances are taken for
the coming season.
"The wild man's first thought is for the
little one-a child's white capote, strouds or
blanketing for tiny backs, a gaudy handkerchief for some toddling papoose. After that
the shot and powder, the flints and ball, for
his own use; and lastly the poor wife gets
something for her share. She has managed
to keep a couple of deer-skins for her own
perquisite, and with these she derives a little
pin-money.
"It would be too long to follow the marten-skin through its many vicissitudes-how
it changes from hand to hand, each time in ore
than doubling its price, until at length some
stately dowager spends more guineas upon it
than its original captor realized pence for
it."
A DAUGHTER OF BOHEMIA.*
A NOVEL.
Bv CHRISTIAN REID.
CHAPTER XXIX.
"Loveand be loved! yet know love's holiest
deeps
Few sound while living! when the loved one
sleeps,
Thatlast, strange sleep, beneath the mournful
sod,
Then Memory wakes, like some remorseful god,
And all the golden past we scarce did prize,
Subtly revives, with light of tender eyes."
As Mr. Middleton took his way to Rosland, it would be difficult to describe the
tumult in which his mind was plunged. The
first impression of the shock having, in a
measure, subsided, he was able to face it
more clearly, able to understand all that it
involved, and all that must flow from it-especially with regard to Leslie. flow was it
possible to tell her that the lover from whom
she had parted a few hours before in the flush
of youth and health, was now lying deadfoully murdered? lIow would she bear such
an overwhelming blow? It was natural, perhaps, that this consideration should have
weighed with hhn even in ore than pity for
ilie unfortunate young maii who had been
hurled so abruptly out of a life which every
gift of Fortune conspired t() render one of
exceptional brightness. The mystery overhanging his fate made it doubly tragical; but
then that fate was accomplished, the worst
was over and done, while Leslie-who could
foresee what effect such a shock might have
upon her future life? This was wh~t Mr. Middleton thought, as he walked forward, his
steps unconsciously growing slower as he approached the house, his heart quaking as the
veriest coward's who ever served in military
ranks might have quaked when the order to
charge a battery was given. A battery! Mildest of civilians though he was, Mr. Middleton
would have faced ten batteries just then, in
preference to bearing the news which he carried within the walls of Rosland. As he
5;1785;701;1805]crossed the lawn, he glanced round at the
scattered mallets and croquet-hoops. "Great
Heavens! he was here last night!" he said
to himself. Here last night, and nowwhere?
When he entered the hall, the first person
whom he met, much to his surprise, was his
wife. Disturbed by the message which had
come for him, and vaguely uneasy concerning
what it might portend, Mrs. Middleton had
risen, early though it was, and weary as she
might well have been from the dissipation of
the night before. "Something is the matter!" she thought; and, since she was not
one of the women who are ready to think
this on all occasions, her instinct may have
counted for something. It is at least certain
that she did not disturb any one else with her
apprehensions and forebodings. The whole
house was wrapped in its early morning stillness as she sat in the hall, fresh and cool, and
* E~s~*~, *~*,di~t t A~ & c~~~,,, I th ys 15'i, by
P. A~~~& c~, I iS Offl~' I ta LTh~,-;~ & Ca. ~. at
pleasant to look upon as ever, trying to divert her mind with a newspaper which she
had taken up, but in reality seeing not one
of the sentences on which her eyes rested,
when her husband, with a face so pale that
it scarcely bore any resemblance to his own,
walked in upon her.
This face in itself would have been enotigh
to frighten any nervous woman into a scream,
but Mrs. Middleton, fortunately for the peace
of the household, rarely screamed. As she
glanced up, holding her gold - rimmed eye.glass still before her eyes, she uttered a faint
cry of surprised alarm, but that was all. The
eye-glass fell with a click-she rose to her
feet:
"George!" she said - " George! - for
Heaven's sake, what is the matter?"
Then George, seeing that his face had betrayed him, and, being a sufficiently sensible
man to know that bad news is only made
worse by any attempt to "break it," took her
trembling hands into his own, iind answered
plainly:
"Something so terrible, Mildred, that God
only knows how that poor child np-stairs is
to bear it. Arthur Tyndale is dead!"
"Arthur Tyndale —dead!" she repeated,
with a gasp-her eyes opening wide and startled, her face turning so white that he passed
his arm quickly around her. "George, do
you know what you are saying? How bow
can Arthur Tyndale be dead?"
"He has been murdered, I fear," said
M r. Middleton, reluctantly. "He was found
dead down in the creek-bottom by his cousin,
who sent for me. There are plain signs of
violence, and-courage, Mildred! I thought
it best to tell you the truth at once you,
who are not like oth&r women-but try to
bear up for poor Leslie's sake!"
The adjuration was necessary, for she had
buried her face on his shoulder, shuddering
and almost convulsed. Dead! - murdered!
It would have been awful enough if he had
been the most ordinary of the guests who
had been with her the evening before; but
the man who for months had been as intimate
in her house as if be had been a son of it,
the man whom Leslie was to marry - those
who have never passed through such a shock
can ill conceive the overmastering horror of
it. At the sound of Leslie's name, however,
she burst suddenly into passionate tears.
"0 my poor Leslie -0 my poor darling!"
site cried. "0 George, George, how will she
bear it!"
"It is you who must help her to bear it,"
said Mr. Middle ton, leading her into the sitting - room and closing the door. The hall
was too open and public a place for such a
scene as this-for such a story as he had to
tell.
As he told all that he knew, and all that
Max and himself had together conjectured, it
was not strange that her sense of the awful
nature of the tragedy deepened many fold.
It seemed something too appalling for grief,
according to the ordinary meaning of that
term; it was something which dwarfed all the
conventional words in which we speak, all
the conventional thoughts we think. Sometimes we are tempted to wonder if our power
of feeling is as limited as our power of exw~ai~gn~.