The Lady of the Ice: A Novel 9781442653634

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The Lady of the Ice. Part I
The Lady Of The Ice. Part II

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THE

L A D Y OF T H E ICE. A NOVEL.

BY

JAMES

DE

MILLE,

AUTHOR OF "TEE

DODGE CLUB

ABROAD"

" COED A N D CREESE,"

ETC.

NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 90,

92

k

94

GRAND 1870.

STREET.

E N T E R E D , according to act of Congress, in the year 3870, by D. APPLETON & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

L

PAGE

Consisting merely of Introductory Matter .

.

.

.

.

.

.

5

I I . My Quarters, where you will become acquainted with Old Jack Randolph, my most Intimate Friend, and one who divides with me the Honor of being the Hero of my Story

6

1TL "Macrorie—old Chap—I'm—going—to—be—married !! I " IT. V.

" It's—the—the Widow ! It's Mrs.—Finnimore !!! "

. .

. .

. .

. .

"Fact, my Boy—it is as I say.—There's another Lady in the Case, and this last is the Worst Scrape of all 1 "

9 10 12

VI.

" I implored her to run away with me, and have a Private Marriage, leaving the rest to Fate. And I solemnly assured her that, if she refused, I would blow my Brains out on her Door-steps.—There, now I What do you think of that ? " . 15 V u . Crossing the St. Lawrence.—The S torra and the Break-up.—A Wonderful Adven­ ture.—A Struggle for Life.—Who is she ?—The Ice-ridge.—Fly for your Life ! . 17 Y I K , I fly back, and send the Doctor to the Rescue.—Returti to the Spot.—Flight of the Bird.—Perplexity, Astonishment, Wonder, and Despair.—" Pas un Mot, Mon­ sieur!" . . . . . . . . . . . 27 IX. By one's own Fireside.—The Comforts of a Bachelor.—Chewing the Cud of Sweet and Bitter Fancy.—A Discovery full of Mortification and Embarrassment.—Jack Randolph again.—News from the Seat of War . . . . . .30 X. Berton's ?—Best Place in the Town.—Girls always glad to see a Fellow.—Plenty of Chat, and Lots of Fun.—No End of Larks, you know, and all that Sort of Thing XL

41

34

Macrorie, my Boy, have yoa been to Anderson's yet ? "—" No."—" Well, then, I want you to attend to that Business of the Stone, to-morrow. Don't forget the Size—Four Feet by Eighteen Inches ; and nothing but the Name and Date. The Time's come at last. There's no Place for me but the Cold Grave, where the Pen­ sive Passer-by may drop a Tear over the Mournful Fate of Jack Randolph. Amen. R. I. P." 36

X I I . My Adventures rehearsed to Jack Randolph.—" My dear Fellow, you don't say so t " —"'Pon my Life, yes."—"By Jove 1 Old Chap, how close you've been I Yoa must have no End of Secrets. And what's become of the Lady ? Who is she?" 40 XDX

"Advertising ! ! ! " 1

43

iv

CONTENTS. CHAPTER

XIV.

FA.GB

A Concert.—A Singular Character.—" God gave the Queen. '—A Fenian.—A Gen­ eral Row.—Macrorie to the Rescue t—Macrorie's Maiden Speech, and its Singular Effectiveness.—O'Halloran.—A Strange Companion.—Invited to partake of Hos­ pitality . . . .46 1

XV. The O'Halloran Ladies.—Their Appearance.—Their Ages.-—Their Dress.—Their Demeanor.—Their Culture, Polish, Education, Rank, Style, Attainments, and all about them . . . . . . . . . . 51 XVI. XVII. Xvill.

The Daily Paper ** Somethin' warrum "

53 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

56

The following Morning.—Appearance of Jack Randolph.—A New Complication.— The Three Oranges.—Desperate Efforts of the Juggler.—How to make Full, Ample, Complete, and most Satisfactory Explanations.—Miss Phillips î—the "Widow 11 —Number Three Î ! 1—Louie rapidly rising into Greater Prominence on the Men­ tal and Sentimental Horizon of Jack Randolph . . . . .53

XIX. O'Halloran's again.—A Startling Revelation.—The Lady of the Ice.—Found at last. —Confusion, Embarrassment, Reticence, and Shyness, succeeded by Wit, Fasci­ nation, Laughter, and Witching Smiles . . . . . . C5 XX.

" Our Symposium," as O'Halloran called it—High and Mighty Discourse.—General Inspection of Antiquity by a Learned Eye.—A Discourse upon the " Oioncegoizin." of the English Language.—Homeric Translations.—O'Halloran and Barns.-A New Epoch for the Brogue.—The Dinner of Achilles and the Palace of Antinous . . . . . . . . . . . C9

X X I . Jack once more.—The Woes of a Lover.—Not wisely but too many.—While Jack is telling his Little Story, the Ones whom he thus Entertains have a Separate Meeting.—The Bursting of the Storm.—The Letter of "Number Three."—The Widow and Miss Phillips.—Jack has to avail himself of the Aid of a Chaplain of Her Majesty's Forces.—Jack an Injured Man . . . . . 7 1 XXH.

I reveal my Secret.—Tremendous Effects of the Revelation.—Mutual Explanations, which are by no means satisfactory.—Jack stands up for what he calls his Rights. —Remonstrances and Reasonings, ending in a General Row.—Jack makes a Dec­ laration of War, and takes his Departure in a State of Unparalleled Huffinesa

77

xxiii

A Friend becomes an Enemy.—Meditations on the Ancient and Venerable Fable of the Dog in the Manger.—The Corruption of the Human Heart.—Consideration of the Whole Situation.—Attempts to countermine Jack, and Final Resolve .

81

XXIV.

Tremendous Excitement.—The Hour approaches, and with it the Man.—The Lady of the Ice.—A Tumultuous Meeting.—Outpouring of Tender Emotions.—Agita­ tion of the Lady.—A Sudden Interruption.—An Injured Man, an Awful, Fearful, Direful, and Utterly-crushing Revelation.—Who is the Lady of the Ice ? .80

XXV.

Recovery from the Last Great Shock—Geniality of mine Host.—Off again among Antiquities.—The Fenians.—A Startling Revelation by one of the Inner Circle. —Politics, Poetry, and Pathos.—Far-reaching Plans and Deep-seated Purpopes 85

XXVI. A few Parting Words with O'nalloran.—His Touching Parental Tenderness, High Chivalric Sentiment, and Lofty Sense of Honor.—Pistols for Two.—Pleasant and Harmonious Arrangement.—" Me Boy, ye're an Honor to yer Sex I " . .89 XXVTL Sensational !—Terrific I—Tremendous ! — I leave the House in a Strange Whirl.—A Storm.—The Driving Sleet.—I wander about—The Voices of the Storm, and of the River.—The Clangor of the Bells.—The Shadow in the Doorway.—Tbe Mys­ terious Companion.—A Terrible Walk.—Familiar Voices.—Sinking into Sense­ lessness.—The Lady of the Ice is revealed at last amid the Storm ! . . SO

CONTEXTS. CHAPTER

V PACK

XXYIH.

My Lady of the Ice.—Snow and Sleet.—Reawakening.—A Desperate Situation.— Saved a Second Time.—Snatched from a Worse Fate.—Borne in my Arms onco more.—The Open Door . . . . . . . . .

94

XXIX

Puzzling Questions which cannot be answered as yet.—A Step toward Reconcilia­ tion.—Reunion of a Broken Friendship.—Pieces all collected and joined.—Joy of Jack.—Solemn Debates over the Great Puzzle of the Period.—-Friendly Confer­ ences and Confidences.—An Important Communication . . . .

93

XXX.

A Letter I—Strange Hesitation.—Gloomy Forebodings.—Jack down deep in the Dumps.—Fresh Confessions.—Why he missed the Tryst.—Remorse and Revenge. —Jack's Yows of Vengeance.—A very Singular and Unaccountable Character.— Jack's Gloomy Menaces . . . . . . . . . 101

XXXI. A Friendly Call.—Preliminaries of the Duel neatly arranged.—A Damp Journey, and Depressed Spirits.—A Secluded Spot.—Difficulties which attend a Duel in a Canadian Spring.—A Masterly Decision.—Debates about the Niceties of the Code of Honor.—Who shall have the First Shot.—Struggle for Precedence.—A very Singular and very Obstinate Dispute.—I save O'Halloran from Death by Rheu­ matism . . . . . . . . . . . 107 XXXII. Home again.—The Growls of a Confirmed Growler. —Hospitality.— The Wellknown Room.—Vision of a Lady.—Alone with Marion.—Interchange of Thought and Sentiment.—Two Beautiful Women.—An Evening to be remembered.—The Conviviality of O'Halloran.—The Humors of O'Halloran, and his Bacchic Joy . 112 XXXm.

From April to June.—Témpora mutantur, et nos mulamur i n Wis.—Startling Change in Marion I—And why ?—Jack and his Woes.—The Vengeance of Miss Phillips.—Ladies who refuse to allow their Hearts tobe broken.—Noble Atti­ tude of the Widow.—Consolations of Louie . . . . . 119

XXXIV. Jack's Tribulations.—They rise up in the very Face of the most Astonishing Good Fortunes.—For, what is like a Legacy ?—And this comes to Jack 1—Seven Thousand Pounds Sterling per Annum ΗBut what's the Use of it all r—Jack comes to Grief !—Woe ! Sorrow I Despair! All the Widow !—Infatuation.—A Mad Proposal.—A Madman, a Lunatic, an Idiot, a March Hare, and a Hatter, all rolled into one, and that one the Lucky yet Unfortunate Jack . . . 122 XXXV.

" Louie 1 "—Platonic Friendship.—Its Results.—Advice may be given too freely, and Consolation may be sought for too eagerly.—Two Inflammable Hearts should not be allowed to come together.—the Old, Old Story.—A Breakdown, and the Results, all around.—The Condemned Criminal.—The Slow yet Sure Approach of the Hour of Execution . . . . . . . . 128

XXXVI.

A Friend's Apology for a Friend.—Jack down at the Bottom of a Deep Abyss of Woe.—His Despair.—The Hour and the Man !—Where is the Woman ?—A Sa­ cred Spot.—Old Fletcher.—The Toll of the Bell.—Meditations on each Succes­ sive Stroke.—A Wild Search.—The Pretty Servant-Maid, and her Pretty Story.— Throwing Gold about * 131

X X X V H . My Own Affairs.—A Drive, and how it came off—Varying Moods.—The Excited, the Gloomy, and the Gentlemanly.—Straying about Montmorency.—Revisiting a Memorable Scene.—Effect of said Scene.—A Mute Appeal and an Appeal in Words.—Result of the Appeals.—' Will you turn away ? "—Grand Result.—Cli­ max.—Finale.—A General Understanding all round, and a Universal Explanation of Numerous Puzzles . . . . . . . . . 139 4

vi

CONTENTS. CHAPTER

PAGB

XXXV111. Grand Conclusion.—Wedding-rings and Ball-rings.—St. Malachi's.—Old Fletcher in his Glory.—No Humbug this Time.—Messages sent everywhere.—All the Town agog.—Quebec on the Rampage.—St. Malachi's crammed.—Galleries crowded. —White Favors everywhere.—The Widow happy with the Chaplain.—The Donble Wedding.—First Couple—JACK AND LOTTIE.—Second ditto—MACRORIE AND MABION.—Colonel Berton and O'Halloran giving away the Brides.—Strange Association of the British Officer and the Fenian.—Jack and Macrorie, Louie and Marion.—Brides and Bridegrooms.—Epithalamitím.—Wedding in High Life. —Six Officiating Clergymen.—All the Élite of Quebec take part.—All the Clergy, all the Military, and Everybody who amounts to Any Thing.—The Band of the Bobtails discoursing Sweet Music, and all that Sort of Thing, you know 146

Toronto Reprint Library of Canadian Prose and Poetry Douglas Lochhead, General Editor This series is intended to provide for libraries a varied selection of titles of Canadian prose and poetry w h i c h have been long out-of-print. Each w o r k is a reprint of a reliable edition, is in a contemporary library binding, and is appropriate for public circula­ tion. The Toronto Reprint Library makes available lesser k n o w n works of popular writers and, in some cases, the only works of little known poets and prose writers. All f o r m part of Canada's literary history; all help to provide a better knowledge of our cultural and social past. The Toronto Reprint Library is pro­ duced in short-run editions made possible by special techniques, some of w h i c h have been developed for the series by the University of Toronto Press. This series should not be confused with Literature of Canada: Poetry and Prose in Reprint, also under the general editorship of Douglas Lochhead.

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS

Toronto Reprint Library of Canadian Prose and Poetry © University of Toronto Press 1973 Toronto and Buffalo Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-7517-7 No other edition located.

THE L A D Y OF THE ICE. saw a civilian. CHAPTER I . CONSISTING

MERELY

OF

INTRODUCTORY

MAT­

TER.

are not aware of i t . Tve often been anx­ ious to see one, but never could make i t out.

T H I S is a story of Quebec.

There are no young men

in Quebec; i f there are any, we officers

Quebec is a

wonderful city.

Now, of these Canadian ladies I can­

not trust myself to speak with calmness. A n allusion to them w i l l of itself be elo­

I am given to understand that the ridge

quent to every brother officer.

I will sim­

on which the city is built is Laurentian ;

ply remark that, at a time when the ten­

and the river that flows past i t is the same.

dencies of the Canadians generally are a

On this (not the river, you know) are strata

subject of interest both i n England and

of schist, shale, old red sand-stone, trap,

America, and when i t is a matter of doubt

granite, clay, and mud.

The upper stratum

whether they lean to annexation or British

is ligneous, and is found to be very con­

connection, their fair young daughters show

venient for pavements.

an unmistakable tendency not to one, but

I t must not be supposed from this intro­ duction that I am a geologist. I am not. I

am a lieutenant i n her Majesty's 129th

to both, and make two apparently incom­ patible principles really inseparable. You must understand that this is my

"SYe Bobtails are a gay and gal­

roundabout way of hinting that the un­

lant set, and I have reason to know that we

married British officer who goes to Canada

are well remembered i n every place we have

generally finds his destiny tenderly folding

been quartered.

itself around a Canadian bride.

Bobtails.

Into the vortex of Quebeccian society I

common lot.

I t is the

Some of these take their

threw myself with all the generous ardor

wives with them around the world, but

of youth, and was keenly alive to those

many more retire from the service, buy

charms which the Canadian ladies possess

farms, and practise love i n a

and use so fatally.

I t is a singular fact,

Thus the fair and loyal Canadiennes are

which I will not attempt to account,

responsible for the loss of many and many

that i n Quebeccian society one comes i n

a gallant officer to her Majesty's service.

for

cottage.

Where the male

Throughout these colonial stations there

element is I never could imagine. I never

has been, and there will be, a fearful deple-

contact with ladies only.

THE

6

L A D Y OF T H E ICE.

tion among the numbers of these brave but

tograph, having explained my

too impressible men.

and handed you my card, allow me to lead

I make this state­

ment solemnly, as a mournful

fact.

I

character,

you to

have nothing to say against i t ; and i t is not for one who has had an experience like

CHAPTER I I .

mine to hint at a remedy. Hut to my story : Every one who was i n Quebec during the winter o f 1 8 — , i f he went into society at all, must have been struck by the appear­ ance o f a young Bobtail officer, who was a joyous and a welcome guest at every house -where i t was desirable to be.

Tall, straight

as an arrow, and singularly well-propor­ tioned, the

picturesque

costume of the

129th Bobtails could add but little to the effect already produced by so martial a figure.

His face was whiskerless ; his eyes

gray; his cheek-bones a little higher than the average ; his hair auburn ; his nose not Grecian—or Roman—but still impressive: his air one of quiet dignity, mingled with youthful joyance and mirthfulness.

Try—

O reader !—to bring before you such a fig­ ure.

Well—that's me. A few words w i l l suffice to

explain:—bold, yet cautious;

QUARTERS, W H E R E Y O C W I L L QUAINTED W I T H

brave, yet

OLD JACK

MOST I N T I M A T E F R I E N D , VIDES W I T H

BECOME A C ­

RANDOLPH, M Y

A N D ONE W H O D I ­

M E T H E H O N O R OF B E I N G T H E

H E R O OF M Y S T O R Y .

I ' L L never forget the time.

I t was a day

in A p r i l . But

an A p r i l day i n Canada is a very

different thing from an A p r i l day i n Eng­ land.

I n England all Nature is robed i n

vivid green, the air is balmy; and a l l those beauties abound which usually set poets rhapsodizing, and young men sentimental­ izing, and young girls tantalizing. Now, i n Canada there Í3 nothing of the kind.

No

Canadian poet, for instance, would

ever

affirm

Such was my exterior; what was my character?

STY

that i n the spring a livelier iris

blooms upon the burnished dove; i n the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

No.

For that sort

tender ; constant, yet highly impressible ;

of thing—the thoughts of love I mean—

tenacious of affection, yet quick to kindle

winter is the time o f day in Canada.

into admiration at every new form of beau­

fact is, the Canadians haven't any spring.

The

ty ; many times smitten, yet surviving the

The months

wound ; vanquished, yet rescued by that

under that pleasant name are here partly

very impressibility of temper—such

taken up with prolonging the winter, and

the man over whose singular

was

adventures

which

Englishmen include

partly w i t h the formation of a new and

you w i l l shortly be called to smile or to

nondescript season.

weep.

ture, instead of being darkly, deeply, beau­

Here is my card :

I n that period Na­

tifully green, has rather the shade of a dingy, dirty, melancholy gray.

Snow cov­

Licut. Alexander Macrorie,

ers the ground—not by any means the

129th Bobtaüs.

rugged substitute, damp, and discolored.

glistening white robe of Winter—but a I t is snow, but snow far gone into decay

now, my friend, having introduced

and decrepitude—snow that seem3 ashamed

you to myself, having shown you my pho­

of itself for lingering so long after wearing

And

M Y QUARTERS.

1

out its welcome, and presenting itself i n so

most genial nature i n the world.

revolting a dress—snow, i n fact, which is

difficult to say whether he was a greater

I t was

like a man. sinking into irremediable ruin,

favorite with men or with w omen. I l e T

and changing its former glorious state for

was noisy, rattling, reckless, good-hearted,

that condition which is expressed by the

generous, mirthful, witty, jovial, daring,

unpleasant word "slush."

There is not

open-handed,

irrepressible,

enthusiastic,

an object, not a circumstance, i n visible

and confoundedly clever.

He was good

Nature which does not heighten the con­

at every thing, from tracking a moose or

I n England there is the luxuriant

caribou, on through all the gamut of rink-

foliage, the fragrant blossom, the gay flow­

ing, skating, ice-boating, and tobogganing,

er; in Canada, black twigs—bare, scraggy,

up to the lightest accomplishments of

trast.

and altogether wretched—thrust their re­

the drawing-room. I l e was one of those

pulsive forms forth into the bleak aír—

lucky

there, the soft rain-shower falls; here, the

horses or hearts with equal buoyancy of

dogs

who

are

able

to

break

fierce snow-squall, or maddening sleet!—

soul.

there, the field is traversed by the cheerful

which made h i m equally dear to either

plough ; here, i t is covered with iee-heaps

sex.

or thawing enow; there, the rivers run

A n d i t was this twofold capacity

A lucky dog ? Yea, verily, that is what

babbling onward under the green trees;

he was.

here, they groan and chafe under heaps

and he had the

of

Quebec.

dingy and slowly-disintegrating ice-

hummocks ; there,

one's

only

l i e was welcomed at every mess,

mirée

of every house i n

He could drink harder than any

weapon

man i n the regiment, and dance down a

against the rigor of the season is the

whole regiment of drawing-room knights,

peaceful umbrella; here, one must defend

lie could sing better than any amateur I

one's self with caps and coats of fur and

ever heard ; and was the best judge of a

india-rubber, with clumsy leggings, ponder­

meerschaurn-pipe

ous boots, steel-creepers, gauntlets of skin,

Yes, he was—and especially so, and more

I ever

saw.

Lucky ?

iron-pointed alpenstocks, and forty or fifty

than all else—on account of the joyous-

other articles which the exigencies of space

ness of his soul.

and time will not permit me to mention.

and a godlike hilarity i n his broad, open

There was a contagious

On one of the darkest and most dismal of

brow, his frank, laughing eyes, and his mo­

these April days, I was trying to k i l l time

bile lips.

i n my quarters, when Jack Randolph burst

him

i n upon my meditations.

sight of him had the same effect on the

Jack Randolph

ITe seemed to carry about with

a bracing moral atmosphere.

The

was one of Ours—an intimate friend of

dull man of ordinary life that the Hima­

mine, and of everybody else who had the

layan air has on an Indian invalid; and

pleasure of his acquaintance.

yet Jack was head-over-heels i n debt.

Jack was

Not

i n every respect a remarkable man—phys­ ically, intellectually, and morally. Present

a tradesman would trust him. Shoals of

company excepted, he was certainly by all

without number plagued him from morning

odds the finest-looking fellow i n a regi­

to night. The Quebec attorneys were sharp­

ment notoriously filled with

handsome

ening their bills, and preparing, like birds

men; and to this rare advantage he add­ ed all the accomplishments of life, and the

taking i t altogether, Jack had full before

little bills were sent him every day.

Duns

of prey, to swoop down upon him. I n fact,

T H E L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

8

him the sure and certain prospect of some

heaved a deep sigh, and then—replaced

dismal explosion.

the pipe, and began smoking once more.

On this occasion, Jack—for the time i n our acquaintance—seemed

first

to have

not a vestige of his ordinary now of spir­ its.

Under such circumstances

I did not

know what to do next, so I took up again the study of his face.

He entered without a word, took up

" H e a r d no bad news, I hope," I said

a pipe, crammed some tobacco into the

at length, making another venture between

bowl, flung himself into an easy-chair, and

the puffs of my pipe.

began—with fixed eyes and set lips—to

A shake of the head.

pour forth enormous volumes of smoke.

Silence again.

My own pipe was very well under way, and I sat opposite, watching h i m i n won­ der.

I studied hi3 face, and marked there

"Duns?" Another shake. Silence.

what I had never before seen upon it—a pre­

" Writs ? »

occupied and troubled expression.

Another shake.

Now,

Jack's features, by long indulgence i n the

Silence.

gayer emotions, had immovably moulded

" Liver ? "

themselves into an expression of joyousness and hilarity.

Unnatural was i t for the

merry twinkle to be extinguished i n his eye3 ; for the corners of the mouth, which

Another shake, together with a contemp­ tuous smile. " Then I give i t up," said I , and betook myself once more to my pipe.

usually curled upward, to settle downward ;

After a time, Jack gave a long sigh, and

for the general shape of feature, out-line

regarded me fixedly for some minutes, with

of muscle, set o f lips, to undertake to be­

a very doleful face.

come the exponents of feelings to which

lated :

they were totally unaccustomed.

On this

Then he slowly ejacu­

" Macrorie ! "

occasion, therefore, Jack's face did not ap­

" Well ? "

pear so much mournful as dismal ; and,

" It's a woman ! "

where

another

face might have elicited

"A

woman?

Well,

mat's

that?

sympathy, Jack's face had such a grew-

W h y need that make any particular dif­

someness, such an utter incongruity be­

ference to you, my boy? "

tween feature

and

expression,

that

it

seemed only droll. I bore this inexplicable conduct as long

He sighed again, more dolefully than be­ fore. " I ' m i n for i t , old chap," said he.

as I could, but at length I could stand i t

" How's that ? "

no longer.

" It's all over."

" M y dear Jack," said I , "would i t be

" What do you mean ? "

too much to ask, i n the mildest manner

" Done up, sir—dead and gone Î "

i n the world, and w i t h all possible regard

" I ' l l be hanged i f I understand you."

for your feelings, what, i n the name of the

"Ilicjacet

Old Boy, happens to be up just now ? "

" You're taking to Latin by way of mak­

Johannes Randolph."

Jack took the pipe from his mouth, ing yourself more intelligible, I suppose." sent a long cloud of smoke forward in a j " Macrorie, my boy—" straight line, then looked at me, then I " Well ? "

" MACRORIE—OLD CHAP—I'M—GOING—TO—BE—MARRIED I I I " " W i l l you be going anywhere near Ander­ son's to-day—the stone-cutter, I mean ? "

the space of half an hour.

9

He regarded

mo with a mournful smile. A t last my

" Why ? "

feelings found expression i n a long, solemn,

" I f you should, let me ask you to do a

thoughtful, anxious, troubled, and perplexed

particular favor for me. " W h y , of course.

W i l l you ? "

whistle.

What is i t ? "

I could think of only one thing.

I t was

'* Well—it's only to order a tombstone

a circumstance which Jack had confided to

for me—plain, neat—four feet by sixteen

me as his bosom-friend. Although he had

inches—with nothing on i t but my name

confided the same thing to at least a hun­

and date.

The sale of my effects w i l l bring

dred other bosom-friends, and I knew i t ,

enough to pay for i t . Don't you fellows go

yet, at the 6ame time, the knowledge of

and put up a tablet about me.

I tell you

this did not make the secret any the less a

plainty, I don't want i t , and, what's more, I

confidential one ; and I had accordingly

won't stand i t . "

guarded i t like my heart's blood, and all

" By Jove I " I cried ; " my dear fellow, one would think you were raving. Are you

that sort of thing, you know.

Nor would I

even now divulge that secret, were i t not

thinking of shuffling off the mortal coil ?

for the fact that the cause for secrecy is re­

Are you going to blow your precious brains

moved. The circumstance was this : About

out for a woman ? Is i t because some fair

a year before, we had been stationed at

one is cruel that you are thinking of your

Fredericton, in the Province of New Bruns­

latter end?

wick.

W i l l you, wasting w i t h de­

spair, die because a woman's fair ? " " No, old chap.

Jack had met there a young lady

from St. Andrews, named

I ' m going to do some­

thing worse."

usual ardor.

" Something worse than suicide ! What's

Mis3

Phillips, to

whom he had devoted himself with his During a sentimental sleigh-

ride he had confessed his love, and had

that ? A clean breast, my boy."

engaged himself to her ; and, since his ar­

" A species of moral suicide."

rival at Quebec, he had corresponded with

" W h a t ' s that?

Your style of expres­

sion to-day is a kind of secret cipher. haven't the key.

I

Please explain."

Jack resumed his pipe, and bent down

her very faithfully.

He considered himself

as destined by Fate to become the husband of Miss Phillips at some time i n the dim future, and the only marriage before him

his head ; then he rubbed his broad brow

that I could think of was this. Still I could

with his unoccupied hand ; then he raised

not understand why i t had come upon him

himself up, and looked at me for a few mo­

so suddenly, or why, i f i t did come, he

ments i n solemn silence ; then he said, i n a

should so collapse under the pressure of his

low voice, speaking each word separately

doom.

and with thrilling emphasis :

" W e l l , " said I , after I had rallied some­ what, " I didn't think i t was to come off so

CHAPTER I I I . " MACRORIE—OLD

CHAP—l'il—GOING—TO—

BE—MARRIED ! ! 1 "

soon.

Some luck ha3 turned up, I sup­

pose." " Luck ! " repeated Jack, w i t h an inde­ scribable accent.

A T that astounding piece of intelligence,

" I assure you, though I've never had

I sat dumb and stared fixedly at Jack for

the pleasure of seeing Miss Phillips, yet,

THE

10

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

from your description, I admire her quite fervently, and congratulate you from

the

bottom of my heart."

He paused, and an expressive silence fol­ lowed that " b u t . " " W e l l , how about the

" Hiss Phillips î " repeated Jack, w i t h a groan.

mistake ? "

I

asked. "Why,

I ' l l tell you.

I t was that con­

" What's the matter, old chap ? "

founded party at Doane's.

" I t isn't—her! " faltered Jack.

a favorite of mine little Louie Berton is

You know what

"What!"

—the best little thing that ever breathed,

" She'll have to wear the willow."

the prettiest, the—full o f fun, too.

"You

we're awfully thick, you know; and she

haven't broken w i t h

her—have

Well,

chaffed me all the evening about my en­

you ? " I asked. " She'll have to forgive and forget, and aH that sort of thing.

I f i t w a 3 Miss Phil­

gagement w i t h Miss Phillips.

She

had

heard all about i t , and is crazy to find out

lips, I wouldn't be so confoundedly cut up

whether it's going on yet or not. W e had

about it."

great fun—she chaffing and questioning,

" Why—what is i t ? who is i t ? and what

and I trying to fight her off.

Well ; the

dancing was going on, and I ' d been sepa­

do you mean ? " Then he looked

rated from her for some time, and was try­

Then he looked at me

ing to find her again, and I saw some one

Jack looked at me. down, and frowned.

again ; and then he said, slowly, and with a

standing i n a recess of one of the windows,

powerful effort :

w i t h a dres3 that was exactly like Louie's. Her back was turned to me, and the cur­ tains half concealed her.

CHAPTER I Y . " IT'S—THE—THE WIDOW !

i t was Louie.

IT'S MRS.—FINNÍ-

I felt sure that

So I sauntered up, and stood

for a moment or two behind her.

She was

looking out of the window ; one hand was

MORE î ! î "

on the ledge, and the other was by her side, HAD a bombshell burst—but I forbear.

half behind her.

I don't know what got

That comparison is, I believe, somewhat

into me ; but I seized her hand, and gave i t

hackneyed.

a gentle squeeze.

The reader will therefore be

good enough to appropriate the point of i t ,

" W e l l , you know, I expected that i t

and understand that the shock of this intel­

would be snatched away at once,

ligence was so overpowering, that I was

immediately an awful horror at my indis­ cretion, and would have given the world

again rendered speechless. " Y o u see," said Jack, after a long and painful silence, " i t all originated out of an infernal mistake.

N o t that I ought to be

sorry for it, though.

Mrs. Finnimore, of

course, is a deuced fine woman.

I felt

not

to have done i t .

I expected to see

Louie's flashing eyes hurling indignant fire at me, and a l l that.

But the hand didn't

move from mine at all ! "

I've been

Jack uttered this last sentence with the

round there ever so long, and seen ever so

doleful accents of a deeply-injured m a n -

much of her ; and ail that sort of thing,

such an accent as one would employ i n

you know.

Oh, yes," he added, dismally ;

" I ought to be glad, and, o f course, I ' m a deuced lucky fellow, and all that ; but—"

telling o f a shameful t r i c k practised upon his innocence. " I t lay i n mine," he continued.

" There

" IT'S—THE—THE W I D O W 1 »

11

i t was ; I had seized it ; I had i t ; I held i t ;

yes, and baggage-wagons—all

I had squeezed i t ; and—good Lord !—Ma-

me i n front, i n flank, and i n the rear.

crorie, what was I to do ? I ' l l tell you what

Fooh ! "

I d i d — I squeezed i t again.

I thought that

now i t would go ; but i t wouldn't. tried i t again.

K o go.

once again. lay

" Don't talk shop, Jack,"

Well, I

" Shop ?

Once more—and

I

thoughts I had.

cannot

tell

W i l l you be kind enough to

suggest some ordinary figure of speech that

On my soul, Macrorie, i t still

i n mine.

assaulting

will give an idea of my situation ?

you what

language is quite useless.

I t seemed like indelicacy.

Plain

A t least, I find

i t so."

I t was a bitter thing to associate indelicacy

" But, at any rate, what did she say ? "

with one like little Louie ; but—hang i t !—

" W h y , " answered Jack, i n a more disSuddenly, the ¡ mal voice than ever, " she said, ' A h , thought struck me that the hand was larger ! Jack ! '—she called me Jack !—' A h , Jack ! there was the awful fact. than Louie's.

A t that thought, a ghastly

1

I saw you looking for me. I knew you sensation came over me ; and, just at that j would come after me.' " moment, the lady herself turned her face, | "Good Heavens I " I cried; " a n d what blushing, arch, with a mischievous smile. I did you say ? " To my consternation, and to my—well, yes ! —to my horror, I saw Mrs. Finnimore i "

" Say ? Heavens and earth, man ! what j could I say? Wasn't I a gentleman? I Wasn't she a lady ?

" Good Lord ! " I exclaimed.

" A stronger expression would fail to do \ to commit herself?

Hadn't I forced her Didn't I have to as-

justice to the occasion," said Jack, help- ¡ sume the responsibility and pocket the coning himself to a glass of beer.

sequences ?

" F o r my

Say !

Oh, Macrorie ! what is

part, the t h r i l l of unspeakable horror that

the use of imagination, i f a man will not

was imparted by that shock is still strong

exercise i t ? "

within me. story.

There, my boy, you have my

" A n d so you're i n for i t ? " said I , after

I leave the rest to your imagina- j a pause. j

tion." " The rest ?

W h y , do you mean to say

that this is a l l ? "

energy of his narrative had gone out.

" A l l ! " cried Jack, with a wild laugh. " All ?

" To the depth of several miles," said Jack, relighting his pipe, which i n the

My dear boy, i t is only the faint

beginning ; but i t implies all the rest."

" And you don't think of trying to back out ? " " I don't see my way.

Then, again, you

" What did she say ?" I asked, meekly.

must know that I've been trying to see i f i t

" Say—say ? What I After—well, never

wouldn't be the wisest thing for me to make

mind.

Hang i t I Don't drive me into par-

ticulars. was.

Don't you see?

I had

W h y , there I

made an assault, broken

through the enemy's lines, thought I was

the best of my situation." " Certainly i t would, i f you cannot possibly get out of i t . " " But, you see, for a fellow like me i t

carrying every thing before me, when sud-

may be best not to get out of i t .

You

denly I found myself confronted, not by

see, after all, I like her very well.

She's

an inferior force, but by an overwhelming

an awfully fine woman—splendid

superiority of numbers—horse, foot, and

I've been round there ever so much ; we've

artillery, marines, and masked

always been deuced thick ; and she's got a

batteries—

action.

12

T H E L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

k i n d o f way w i t h her that a fellow like me

about my engagement to Miss Phillip3.

can't resist

I ' m awfully fond o f her—give my right

And, then, it's time for me

to begin to think of settling down. I ' m

hand to w i n hers, and all that sort o f thing,

getting awfully >old.

you know.

next August.

I ' l l be twenty-three

A n d then, you know, I ' m so

deuced hard up.

I've got to the end of my

W e l l , this is going to be hard

on her, of course, poor t h i n g ! especially as my last letters have been more tender

rope, and you are aware that the sheriff is

than common.

beginning to be familiar with my name.

nothing.

Yes, I t h i n k for the credit of the regiment

case ! "

I ' d better take the widow. She's got thirty thousand pounds, at least."

lady in

the

" W h a t I " I cried, more astonished than ever.

" A n d a very nice face and figure along •with i t , " said I , encouragingly. "That's

But, old chap, that's all

There's another

Jack looked at me earnestly, and said, slowly and solemnly :

a fact, or else I could never

have mistaken her for poor little Louie, and this wouldn't have happened.

CHAPTER V .

But,

i f i t had only been little Louie—well, well ;

" FACT, M Y B O Y — I T

I suppose i t must be, and perhaps it's the

ANOTHER

best thing."

LADY

I S AS

IN

I

THE

SAY.—THERE'S

CASE,

AND

THIS

L A S T I S T H E W O R S T SCRAPE O F A L L ! "

" I f i t had been Louie," said I , with new efforts at encouragement, " i t wouldn't have

" ANOTHER

been any better for you."

" Another lady ! " said Jack.

"No;

that's a fact.

never so much bothered

Y o u see, I was i n my life.

lady ? " I faltered.

" Oh ! " said I .

I

" Yes," said he.

don't mind an ordinary scrape ; but I can't

" A n engagement, too ! "

exactly see my way out o f this."

" A n engagement?

" Y o u ' l l have to break the news to Miss Phillips."

An

engagement—why, my dear fellow, an en­

" A n d that's not the worst," said Jack, w i t h a sigh that was like a groan. " Not the worst ?

I should think so

—and a double-barrelled one, too.

gagement's nothing at all compared with this.

This is something infinitely worse

W h a t can be worse

than the aflair w i t h Louie, or Miss Phillips,

" My dear boy, you have not begun to

—an infernally bad case—and I don't see

than that ? "

or even the widow.

It's a bad case—yes

see even the outside of the peculiarly com­

but that I ' l l have to throw up the widow

plicated nature of my present situation.

after a l l . "

There are other circumstances

to which

" I t must be a bad case, i f it's infinitely

all these m a y b e playfully represented as

worse than an engagement, as you say i t

a joke."

is.

" W e l l , that is certainly a strong way of putting i t . "

Is that what you're

driving at ? I t must be.

" Couldn't draw i t mild—such a situation can only be painted i n strong colors. I ' l l t e l l you i n general terms what i t is. can't go into particulars.

W h y , man, i t must be nothing less

than actual marriage.

I

Y o u know all

So you're a mar­

ried man, are you ? " " No, not j u s t that, not quite—as yet— but the very next thing to i t ? " ({

Well, Jack, I ' m sorry for you, and all

" F A C T , MY BOY."

13

that I can say is, that i t is a pity that this

party, you know, and by the time we

isn't Utah.

reached Quebec again we understood one

Being Canada, however, and a

civilized country, I can't see for the life of

another.

me how you'll ever manage to pull

through."

" I couldn't help i t — I ' l l be hanged if I could ! Y o u see, Macrorie, i t wasn't an or-

Jack sighed dolefully.

dinary case.

" To tell the t r u t h , " said he, " it's this

girl I ever saw, and I found myself awfully

She was the loveliest little I 60on saw that

last one that gives me my only trouble.

fond of her i n no time.

I ' d marry the widow, settle up some way

she was fond of me too.

with Miss Phillips, smother my shame, and

affairs were a joke to this.

pass the remainder of my life i n peaceful

marry her i n New York, but the thought

obscurity, i f i t were not for 7¿er."

of my debts frightened me out of that, and

" You mean by Iter, the lady whose name so I put i t off.

A l l my other I wanted to

I half wish now I hadn't

been so confoundedly prudent.

you don't mention." " Whose name I don't mention, nor i n -

it

is best, though.

Perhaps

Still I don't know.

" Her case is

Better be the wife of a poor devil, than

so peculiar that i t cannot be classed with

have one's heart broken by a mean devil.

the others.

Ileigho ! "

tend t o , " said Jack, gravely.

I never breathed a word about

i t to anybody, though it's been going on for six or eight months."

I I E I G I I O are the letters which are usually employed to represent a sigh.

Jack spoke with such earnestness, that I perceived the subject to be too grave a

I

use them i n accordance with the customs of the literary world.

one i n his estimation to be trifled with.

" W e l l , " resumed Jack, " after my re-

A frown came over hÎ3 face, and he once

turn I called on her, and repeated my call

more eased his mind

by sending

forth

several times.

She was all that could be

heavy clouds of smoke, as though he would

desired, but her father was different.

thus throw off the clouds of melancholy

found him rather chilly, and not at all in-

I

that had gathered deep and dark over his

clined to receive me w i t h that joyous hos-

soul.

pitality which my various merits deserved. make a clean breast of i t , old

"I'll

chap," said he, at length, with a very heavy sigh.

" I t ' s a bad business from beginning

to end."

The young lady herself seemed sad.

I

found out, at last, that the old gentleman amused himself with badgering her about me ; and finally she told me, w i t h tears,

" Y o u see," said he, after a long pause,

that her father requested me to visit that

i n which he seemed t o be collecting his

house no more.

thoughts—" i t began last year—the time I

what taken aback ; but, nevertheless, I de-

went to New York, you know. on

at the same time.

She went

She had nobody

Well, at that I was some-

termined to wait t i l l the old gentleman himself should speak.

You know my peculiar

w i t h her but a deaf old party, and got into

coolness, old chap, that which you and the

some row at the station about her luggage.

rest call my happy audacity ; and you may

I helped her out o f i t , and sat by her side

believe that it was all needed under such

all the way. acquaintance.

A t New York I kept up the I came back w i t h them,

that is to say, with her, and the deaf old

circumstances as these. house twice after that.

I went to the Each time my lit

tie girl was half laughing with joy, half cry

THE

14

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

ing w i t h fear at seeing me ; and each time

that, i t grew worse every day.

she urged me to keep away.

She said we

forget all about her, but without success.

But letter,

The fact is, I chafed under the restraint

could write to one another. writing wasn't i n my line.

I tried to

So after try­

that was on me, and perhaps i t was that

ing i n Tain to obey her, I went once more

which was the worst of a l l . I dare say

i n desperation to explain matters.

now i f I ' d only been i n some other place—

" Instead of seeing her, I found the old fellow himself.

He was simply white, hot

in Montreal, for instance—I wouldn't have had such a tough time of i t , and might

w i t h rage—not at all noisy, or declamatory,

gradually have forgotten about h e r ;

or vulgar—but cool, cutting, and altogether

the mischief of i t was, I was here—in Que­

terrific.

bec—close by her, you may say, and yet I

He alluded to my gentlemanly con­

duct i n forcing myself where I had been

was forbidden the house.

ordered off; and informed me that i f I

sulted and threatened.

but

I had been i n ­ This, of course,

came again he would be under the unpleas­

only made matters worse, and the end of

ant necessity o f using a horsewhip.

it was, I thought o f nothing else.

o f course, made me savage.

That,

I pitched into

My very

efforts to get r i d of the bother only made

bim pretty well, and gave i t to him hot and

i t a dozen times worse.

heavy, but, hang i t ! I ' m no match for fel­

into ladies* society w i t h my usual ardor,

I flung myself

lows o f that sort; he kept so cool, you

only worse; committed myself right and

know, while I was furious—and the long

left, and seemed to be a model of a gay

and the short o f i t is, that I had to retire

Lothario.

i n disorder, vowing on h i m some mysterious

under a smiling face I concealed a heart

L i t t l e did they suspect that

vengeance or other, which I have never been

of ashes—yes, old boy—ashes ! as I ' m a

able to carry out.

living sinner.

The next day I got a letter from her.

Y o u see, a l l the time, I was

maddened at that miserable old scoundrel

I t was awfully sad, blotted w i t h tears, and

who wouldn't let me visit his

all that.

me, Jack Randolph, an officer, and a gen­

She implored me to write her,

daughter—

told me she couldn't see me, spoke about

tleman, and, what is more, a Bobtail !

her father's cruelty and persecution—and

Why,

ever so many other things not necessary

a guarantee for my honorable conduct.

to mention.

Then, again, i n addition to this, I hank­

W e l l , I wrote back, and she

my very uniform should have been

answered my letter, and so we got into the

ered after her, you know, most awfully.

way o f a correspondence which we kept up

A t last I couldn't stand i t any longer, so

at a perfectly furious rate.

I wrote her a letter.

I t came hard

on me, o f course, for I ' m not much at a p e n ; my letters were short, as you may suppose, but then they were full o f point, and what matters quantity so long as you have quality, you know?

Her

day.

I t was only yester­

A n d now, old chap, what do you

think I wrote ? " 4 1

1 don't know, I ' m sure," said I , mistily;

" a declaration of love, perhaps—"

letters,

" A declaration of love ? pooh I " said

however, poor little darling, were long and

Jack ; " as i f I had ever written any thing

eloquent, and full of a kind c f mixture of

else than that.

love, hope, and despair.

nothing else.

A t first I thought

Why, a l l my letters were K o , my boy—this letter was

that I should grow reconciled to my situa­

very different.

tion i n the course of time, but, instead of

her that I was desperate—then I assured

I n the first place, I told

15

J A C K ' S PROPOSAL. her that I couldn't live this way any longer,

venient time.

and I concluded with a proposal as despe­

me to settle i t all up, from her timid little

rate as ray situation.

hints; and I must settle i t up, and not

A n d what do you

She w i l l , of course, expect

break my faith with her.

think my proposal was ? "

A n d now, Ma-

W h y , marriage, of course ;

crorie, I ask you, not merely as an officer

there is only one kind of proposal possi­

and a gentleman, but as a man, a fellow-

" Proposal ?

ble under such circumstances.

B u t still

that's not much more than an engagement, dear boy, for an engagement means only the same thing, namely, marriage.'

proposal of marriage. i t was ?

and I could see through the dense volumes

any mere

of smoke which he blew forth, his eyes

What do you think

fixed earnestly upon me, gleaming like two

Guess."

" Can't.

He stopped, leaned back i n his chair, lighted once more his extinguished pipe,

,

" Oh, but this was far stronger—it was different, I can tell you, from

Christian, and a sympathizing friend, what under Heaven am I to do ? "

stars from behind gloomy storm-clouds.

Haven't an idea."

I

" W e l l , " said Jack—

sat in silence, and thought long and

painfully over the situation.

I could come

to no conclusion, but I had to say some­ thing, and I said i t .

CHAPTER Y I . " I

IMPLORED

H E R TO R U N A W A Y

AND

HAVE

A PRIVATE

THE

REST

TO F A T E .

MARRIAGE,

" P u t i t off," said I at last, i n a general W I T H ME, LEAVING

A N D I SOLEMNLY AS­

SURED H E R T H A T , I F S U E REFUSED, I W O U L D B L O W M Y B R A I N S O U T O N H E R DOOR-STErS. —THERE,

NOW Î

W H A T EO Y O U T H I N K

OF

state of daze. " P u t what o f f ? " "What?

"Put

off the

the above words, Jack leaned

back, and surveyed me with the stern com­ placency of despair. for

After staring at me

some time, and evidently taking some

sort of grim comfort out of the speechless­ ness to which he had reduced me by his

elopement!" threatening

to blow my

brains out i n front of her door ? " " That certainly is a consideration," said I , thoughtfully ; " but can't you have—well, brain-fever—yes, that's i t , and can't you get some friend to send word to her ? " " That's all very well ; but, you see, I ' d

unparalleled narrative, he continued his con­

have to keep my room.

fessions :

she'd hear of i t .

" Last night, I made that infernal blun­

ejaculated

" What ! after proposing i t so des­

perately—after SAYING

Yes," I con­

tinued, firmly, " p u t off the elopement." Jack.

THAT ? "

W h y , the widow—no, the—

the elopement, of course.

way

of hearing

I f I went out,

She's got a wonderful about

my

movements.

der with the widow—confound her!—that

She'll find out about the widow before

is, I mean of course, bless her!

the week's over.

the same, you know. the miserable duced. her.

I t ' s all

To-day you behold

state to which I am re­

To-morrow I will get a reply from

Of course, she will consent to fly. I

know very well how i t will be.

She w i l l

hint at some feasible mode, and some con­

Oh, no ! that's not to

be done." " W e l l , then," said I , desperately, " l e t her find i t out.

The blow would then fall

a little more gently." "You

seem to me," said Jack, rather

huffily, " t o propose that I should quietly

THE

16 proceed to break her heart.

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

No!

Hang

" Afraid ? why she glories i n them.

So

i t , man, i f i t comes to that I ' l l do i t openly,

many feathers i n her cap, and all that, you

and make a clean breast of i t , without

know."

shamming or keeping her i n suspense."

" Can't you frighten her about your debts

" W e l l , then," I responded, " w h y not break off with the widow ? " " B r e a k off w i t h the

and general extravagance—hint that you're a gambler, and so on ? "

w i d o w ! " cried

Jack, w i t h the wondering accent of a man who has heard some impossible proposal. " Certainly ; why not ? "

"And

then she'd inform me, very affec­

tionately, that she intends to be my guar­ dian angel, and save me from evil for all the rest of my life."

" W i l l you be kind enough to inform me what thing short of death could ever de­ liver me out o f her hands ? " asked Jack, mildly.

" Can't you tell her all about your sol­ emn engagement to Miss Phillips ? " " My engagement to Miss Phillips ? W h y , man alive, she knows that as well as you

" Elope, as you proposed."

do."

" That's the very thing I thought of; but the trouble is, i n that case she would de­

" Knows i t ! " How ?

How did she find i t out ? "

W h y I told her myself."

vote the rest of her life to vengeance.

" The deuce you did ! "

* H e l l hath no fury like a woman wronged,'

Jack was silent.

you know.

She'd move heaven and earth,

and never end, t i l l I was drummed out of the regiment.

No, my boy.

To do that

would be to walk w i t h open eyes to dis­ grace, and shame, and infamy, with a whole community, a whole regiment, and

the

Horse-Guards at the back o f them, all banded together to crush me.

" W e l l , then," said I , after some further thought, " why not tell her every thing ? " " T e l l her e v e r y t h i n g ? " " Yes—exactly what you've been telling me.

Make a clean breast of i t . "

Jack looked at me for some time with a curious expression.

Such a fate

" M y dear boy," said he, at length, " d o

as thi3 would hardly be the proper thing to

you mean to say that you are really i n ear­

give to a wife that a fellow loves."

nest i n making that proposition ? "

" Can't you manage to make the widow disgusted w i t h you ? " "No,

I

can't,"

said Jack, peevishly.

" W h a t do you mean ? " "Why,

make i t appear as though you

only wanted to marry her for her money."

" Most solemnly in earnest," said I . " W e l l , " said Jack, " i t shows how mis­ taken I was i n leaving any thing to your imagination.

Y o u do not seem to under­

stand," he continued, dolefully, " o r you w i l l not understand that, when a fellow

hang i t , man! how could I do

has committed himself to a lady as I did,

I can't play a part, under any cir­

and squeezed her hand with such peculiar

cumstances, and that particular part would

ardor, i n his efforts to save himself and

"Oh, that ?

be so infernally mean, that i t would be im­

do what's right, he often overdoes i t . You

possible.

don't seem to suspect that I might have

I ' m such an ass that, i f she were

even t o hint at that, I ' d resent i t furious-

overdone i t w i t h the widow.

ly."

tunately, that is the very thing that I did.

" Can't you make her afraid about your numerous gallantries ? "

Now, unfor­

I did happen to overdo i t most confoundedly.

A n d so the melancholy fact remains

CROSSING T H E ST. L A W R E N C E .

17

that, i f I were to repeat to her, verbatim,

come to their agonies.

all

to my friends the Duns."

that I've been telling you, she would

find an extraordinary discrepancy between such

statements and

those abominably

To this eccentric proposal, I made no re­ ply whatever.

tender confessions i n which I indulged on that other occasion.

Nothing would ever

I allude, of course,

"Well,"

said Jack, thoughtfully, " i t

isn't a bad idea.

Not a bad idea," he re­

convince her that I was not sincere at that

peated, rising from his chair and putting

time ; and how can I go to her now and

down his pipe, which had again gone out

confess that I am a humbug and an idiot ?

owing to his persistent loquacity. " I ' l l

I don't see i t .

think

i t over," he continued, seriously.

"You

bear i n mind my little directions

Come, now, old fellow, what

do you think of that ?

Don't you call i t

rather a tough situation?

Do you think

a man can see his way out of it ? now.

Own up,

Don't you think it's about the worst

scrape you ever heard of?

Come, now, no

about the head-stone, Macrorie, four feet by

eighteen inches, old fellow, very plain,

and, mark me, only the name and date. Not

a word about the virtues of the de­

ceased, etc.

humbug." The fellow seemed actually to begin to

I can stand a great deal, but

that I will not stand.

A n d now, old chap,

feel a dismal kind of pride i n the very

I must be off; you can't do me any good, I

hopelessness of his situation, and looked

see."

at me w i t h a gloomy enjoyment of my dis­ comfiture. For my part, I said nothing, and for the best of reasons : I had nothing to say.

So

I took refuge i n shaking my head. Ci

You sec," Jack persisted, "there's no

help for i t

" A t any rate, you'll wait t i l l to-morrow," said I , carelessly. " Oh, there's no hurry," said he. course, I must wait t i l l then.

" Of

I ' l l let you

know i f any thing new turns up." And saying this, he took his departure.

Nobody can do any thing.

There's only one thing, and that you haven't suggested."

CHAPTER Y I I .

" What's that? " I asked, feebly. Jack put the tip of his forefinger to his forehead, and snapped his thumb against his third. " I haven't much brains to speak of," said

CROSSING THE ST. LAWRENCE.—THE STORM AND THE BREAK-UP.—A WONDERFUL AD­ VENTURE.—A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.—WHO IS SHE ?—THE ICE-RIDGE.—FLY FOR YOUR LIFE!

he, " but i f I did happen to blow out what little I may have, i t would be the easiest settlement of the difficulty.

I t would be

ON the following day I found myself com­ pelled to go on some routine duty cross the

cutting the knot, instead of attempting the

river to Point Levy.

impossible task o f untying i t . Nobody

most abominable o f that abominable sea­

would blame me.

The weather was the

Everybody would mourn

son.

I t was winter, and yet not Winter's

for me, and, above all, four tender female

self.

The old gentleman had lost all that

hearts would feel a pang of sorrow for

bright and hilarious nature ; all that spark­

my untimely fate.

ling and exciting stimulus which he owns

B y all four I should

be not cursed, but canonized.

Only one

class would suffer, and those would be wel2

and holds here so joyously i n January, February, and even March.

He was de-

THE

18

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

crépit, yet spiteful ; a hoary, old, tottering, This might have been owing to the insecu­ palsied villain, hurling curses at all who ventured into his evil presence.

One look

rity of the ice ; but i t might also have been owing to the

severity of the

weather.

outside showed me the full nature of all

Black enough, at any rate, the scene ap­

that was before me, and revealed the old

peared ; and I looked forth upon i t from

tyrant i n the full power of his malignancy.

my temporary shelter with the certainty

The air was raw and chilL

There blew a

fierce, blighting wind, which brought with i t showers of stinging sleet.

The wooden

pavements were overspread with a thin layer of ice, so glassy that walking could

that this river before me was a particularly hard road to travel. " Ye'll no be gangin' ower the day, sewevly ? " said a voice near me. I turned and saw a brawny figure i n a

only be attempted at extreme hazard ; the

reefing-jacket

houses were incrusted with the same cheer­

might have been a sailor, or a scowman,

ful coating ; and, of all the beastly weather

or a hibernating raftsman.

and

" sou'-wester."

He

that I had ever seen, there bad never been

" W h y ? " saidl.

any equal to this.

He said nothing, but shook his head with

However, there was no

escape from i t ; and so, wrapping myself up as well as I could, I took a stout stick with

solemn emphasis. I

looked for a few moments longer, and

a sharp iron ferrule, and plunged forth into

hesitated.

the storm.

it, bad as i t looked. After being ordered

On reaching the river, the view was any thing but satisfactory.

The wind here was

Yet there was no remedy for

forward, I did not like to turn back with an excuse about the weather.

Besides, the ice

tremendous, and the sleet blew down i n

thus far had lasted well.

Only the day be­

long, horizontal lines, every separate par­

fore, sleds had crossed.

ticle giving its separate sting, while the

son why I should not cros3 now. W h y

accumulated stings amounted to perfect

should I i n particular be doomed to a catas­

torment.

I paused for a while to get a

There was no rea­

trophe more than any other man ? And,

little shelter, and take breath before ven­

finally, was not McGoggin there ?

turing across.

not always ready with his warmest wel­

There were other reasons for pausing.

come ?

Was he

On a stormy day, did he not always

The season was well advanced, and the ice

keep hi3 water up to the boiling-point, and

was not considered particularly safe. Many

did not the very best whiskey i n Quebec

things conspired to give indications of a

diffuse about his chamber

break-up.

odor?

The ice on the surface was soft,

honey-combed, and crumbling.

Near the

shore was a channel of open water.

I moved forward.

its aromatic

The die wa3 cast.

Far­

The channel near the shore was from

ther out, where the current ran strongest,

six to twelve feet i n width, filled with float­

the ice was heaped up i n hillocks and

ing fragments.

mounds, while i n different directions ap­

safety.

Over this I scrambled i n

As I advanced, I could see that i n

peared crevices of greater or less width.

one day a great change had taken place.

Looking over that broad surface as well as

The surface-ice was soft and disintegrated,

I could through the driving storm, where

crushing readily under the feet. A l l around

not long before I had seen crowds passing

me extended wide pools of water.

and repassing, not a soul was now visible.

beneath

From

these arose occasional groaning

19

CROSSING T H E ST. L A W R E N C E . sounds—dull, heavy crunches, which seemed

gloomily over the river, crowned with the

to indicate a speedy break-up.

The prog­

citadel, where the flag of Old England was

ress of the season, with its thaws and rains,

streaming straight out at the impulse of

bad been gradually weakening the ice ; along

the blast, with a stiffness that made i t

the shore its hold had in some places at least

seem as though i t had been frozen i n the

been relaxed ; and the gale of wind that was

air rigid i n that situation.

now blowing was precisely of that descrip­

all was black and gloomy ; and the storm

Up the river

tion which most frequently sweeps away

which burst from that quarter obscured the

resistlessly the icy fetters of the river, and

view ; down the river the prospect was as

sets all the imprisoned waters free.

At

gloomy, but one thing was plainly visible

every step new signs of this approaching

—a wide, black surface, terminating the

break-up became visible.

gray of the ice, and showing that there at

From time to

time I encountered gaps i n the ice, of a

least the break-up had begun, and the river

foot or two i n width, which did not of them­

had resumed its sway.

selves amount to much, but which never­

A brief survey showed me all this, and

theless served to show plainly the state of

for a moment created a strong desire to go

things.

back.

My progress

was

excessively

difficult.

Another moment, however, showed

that to go forward was quite as wise and as

The walking was laborious on account of

safe.

the ice itself and the pools through which I

I had gone over, and the natural reluctance

had to wade.

I did not care to traverse again what

Then there were frequent

to turn back from the half-way house, joined

gaps, which sometimes could only be trav­

to the hope of better things for the rest

ersed by a long detour.

of the way, decided me to go forward.

Above all, there

was the furious sleet, which drove down the

After some examination, I found a place

river, borne on by the tempest, with a fury

on which to cross the central channel.

and unrelaxing pertinacity that I never saw

was a point where the heaps of ice seemed

equalled.

at once more easy to the foot, and more

However, I managed to toil on­

It

ward, and at length reached the centre of

secure.

the river.

efforts, I succeeded i n crossing, and, on

Here I found a new and more

serious obstacle.

A t extreme risk, and by violent

A t this point the ice had

reaching the other side, I found the ice

divided; and i n the channel thus formed

more promising. Then, hoping that the

there was a vast accumulation of ice-cakes,

chief danger had been successfully encoun­

heaped up one above the other i n a long

tered, I

ridge, which extended as far as the eye

stepped out briskly toward the opposite

could reach.

shore.

There were great gaps i n i t ,

gathered

up my energies, and

however, and to cross i t needed so much

I t was not without the greatest difficulty

caution, and so much effort, that I paused

and the utmost discomfort that I had come

for á while, and, setting my back to the

thus far.

wind, looked around to examine the situa­

frozen sleet ; my hair was a mass o f ice ;

tion.

My clothes were coated with

and my boots were

filled

with

water.

On

Wretched as a l l this was, there was no

one side was my destination, but dimly vis­

remedy for i t , so I footed i t as best I could,

W i l d enough that scene appeared.

ible through the storm; on the other rose

trying to console myself by thinking over

the dark cliff of Cape Diamond, frowning

the peaceful pleasures which were awaiting

20

THE L A D Y OF THE ICE.

me at the end of my journey i n the cham-

a piercing scream arrested me.

bers of the hospitable McGoggin.

and looked back.

I stopped

For a few moments

Suddenly, as I walked along, peering with

only had I turned away, yet in that short

half-closed eyes through the stormy sleet

interval a fearful change had taken place.

before me, I saw at some distance a dark

The long ridge of ice which had been

object approaching.

heaped

After a time, the ob-

up i n the mid-channel had i n -

ject drew nearer, and resolved itself into creased to thrice its former height, and a sleigh. I t came onward toward the cen- the crunching and grinding of the vast tre of the river, which i t reached at about

masses arose above the roaring of the

a hundred yards below the point where I storm. had crossed.

There were two occupants in

Far up the river there came a

deeper and fuller sound of the same kind,

the sleigh, one crouching low and muffled

which, brought down by the wind, burst

i n wraps ; the other the driver, who looked

with increasing terrors upon the ear.

like one of the common habitam. Know-

ridge of ice was in constant motion, being

The

ing the nature of the river there, and won- pressed and heaped up i n ever-increasing dering what might bring a sleigh out at

masses, and, as i t heaped itself up, top-

such a time, I stopped, and watched them

pling over and falling with a noise like

with a vague idea of shouting to them to

thunder.

go back.

Their progress thus far from the

for all this, and the fear which had already

opposite shore, so far at least as I could

flashed through my brain was now con-

There could be but one cause

judge, made me conclude that the ice on firmed to my sight. this side must be comparatively good, while

The ice on which I

stood was breaking up !

my own journey had proved that on the

As a l l this burst upon my sight, I saw

Quebec side i t was utterly impossible for a

the sleigh. The horse had stopped i n front

horse to go.

of the ridge of ice i n the mid-channel, and

As they reached the channel where the crumbled ice-block3 lay floating, heaped

was rearing and plunging violently.

The

driver was lashing furiously and trying t o

up as I have described, the sleigh stopped,

turn the animal, which, frenzied by terror,

and the driver looked anxiously around.

and maddened by the stinging sleet, refused

A t that very instant there came one of

to obey, and would only rear and kick.

those low, dull, grinding sounds I have al-

Suddenly the ice under the sleigh sank

ready mentioned, but very much louder than

down, and a flood of water rolled over i t , Deep, an- followed by an avalanche of ice-blocks gry thuds followed, and crunching sounds, which had tumbled from the ridge. W i t h any that I had hitherto heard.

while beneath all there arose a solemn mur-

a wild snort of terror, the horse turned,

mur like the " voice of many waters."

I

whirling round the sleigh, and with the

felt the ice heave under my feet, and sway

speed of the wind dashed back toward the

i n long, slow undulations, and one thought,

shore.

quick a3 lightning, flashed horribly into my

driver upright and trying to regain his com-

mind.

mand of the horse, and at that instant the

Instinctively I leaped forward tow-

A 3 the sleigh came near, I saw the

ard my destination, while the ice rolled and

other passenger started erect.

heaved beneath me, and the dread sounds

fell back.

grew louder at every step.

dishevelled hair, and ñiled with an anguish

Scarcely had I gone a dozen pace3 when

of fear.

The cloak

I saw a face pale, overhung with But the pallor and the fear could

CROSSING T I I E ST. L A W R E N C E .

21

not conceal the exquisite loveliness of that

out through the storm ; and the next i n ­

woman-face, which was thus so suddenly

stant down went the sleigh with its occu­

revealed i n the midst of the storm and i n

pants into the water, the driver falling out,

the presence of death ; and which now,

while the horse, though free from the sleigh,

beautiful beyond all that I had ever dreamed

was yet jerked aside by the reins, and be­

of, arose before my astonished eyes.

fore he could recover himself fell with the

It

was from her that the cry had come but a few moments before.

rest into the icy stream.

As she passed she

saw me, and another cry escaped her.

In

another moment she was far ahead.

A l l this seemed to have taken place i n an instant.

I hurried on, w i t h a l l my

thoughts on this lady who was thus doomed

A n d now I forgot all about the dangers

to so sudden and so terrible a fate. I could

around me, and the lessening chances of an

see the sleigh floating for a time, and the

interview with McGoggin. I hurried on, less

head of the horse, that was swimming.

to secure my own safety than to assist the

sprang to a place which seemed to give a

lady.

chance o f assisting them, and looked eag­

A n d thus as I rushed onward I be­

I

came aware of a new danger which arose

erly to see what had become of the lady.

darkly between me and the shore.

The sleigh drifted steadily along.

I t was

I t was

pungs,

a long, black channel, gradually opening i t ­

one of that box-shaped kind called

self up, and showing i n its gloomy surface

which are sometimes made so tight that

a dividing line between me and life.

To go

they can resist the action of water, and

back seemed now impossible—to go for­

float either i n crossing a swollen stream, or

ward was to meet these black waters.

in case of breaking through the ice.

Toward thi3 gulf the frightened horse ran

Such

boat-like sleighs are not uncommon ; and

at headlong speed.

Soon he reached the

tliis one was quite buoyant.

margin of the ice.

The water was before

nothing o f the driver.

I could see

He had probably

h i m and headed h i m oif. Terrified again at

sunk at once, or had been drawn under the

this, he swerved aside, and bounded up the

ice.

river.

had regained the ice, and had raised one

The driver pulled frantically at the

The horse, entangled i n the

shafts,

reins. The lady, who had fallen back again

foreleg to its surface, with which he was

i n her seat, was motionless.

making furious struggles to emerge from

On went the

horse, and, at every successive leap i n his

the water, while snorts of terror escaped

mad career, the sleigh swung wildly first to

him.

one side and then to the other.

A t last

ried farther up, and, as I approached, I

there occurred a curve i n the line of ice,

could see something crouched i n a heap

and reaching this the horse turned once

at the bottom of the floating sleigh.

more to avoid i t .

i t she-—or was i t only the heap o f buffalo-

I n doing so, the sleigh

was swung toward the water. broke.

The shafts

But where was the lady?

robes ?

I hur­

Was

I could not tell.

The harness was t o r n asunder.

The sleigh drifted on, and soon I came

The off-runner of the sleigh slid from the

near enough to see that the bundle had life.

ice—it tilted over ; the driver jerked at the

I

reins and made a wild leap.

not more that six yards off, and was drift­

I n vain.

His

came close to where i t floated. I t was

feet were entangled i n the fur robes which

ing steadily nearer.

dragged him back.

edge of the ice, and shouted.

A shriek, louder, wild­

er, and far more fearful than before, rang

no answer.

I walked on by the There was

A t length I saw a white hand

T H E L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

22

clutching the side of the sleigh.

A thrill

of exultant hope passed through me.

I

pung was dragged from the water upon the frozen surface.

I then made her sit i n

shouted again and again, but my voice wa3

it, and wrapped the furs around her as well

lost i n the roar of the crashing ice and the

a3 I could.

howling gale.

Yet, though my voice had

She

submitted without a word.

Her

not been heard, I was free from suspense,

white face was turned toward mine ; and

for I saw that the lady thus far was safe,

once or twice she threw upon me, from her

and I could wait a little longer for the

dark, expressive eyes, a look of speechless

chance o f affording

gratitude.

her

assistance.

I

walked on, then, i n silence, watching the

I tried to promise safety, and

encouraged her as well as I could, and she

sleigh which continued to float. We trav­

seemed to make an effort to regain her self-

elled thus a long distance—I, and the wom­

control.

an who had thus been so strangely wrecked i n so strange a bark.

Looking back, I

I n spite of my efforts at consolation, her despair affected me.

I looked all around

could no longer see any signs of the horse.

to see what the chances of escape might

A l l this time the sleigh wa3 gradually drift­

be.

ed nearer the edge of the ice on which I

that those chances were indeed small. The

As I took that survey, I perceived

walked, until at last i t came so near that

first thing that struck me was, that Cape

I reached out my stick, and, catching i t

Diamond was far behind the point where I

with the crooked handle, drew i t toward

at present stood.

me.

struck

drifted, and I had walked beside i t , our

She

progress had been down the r i v e r ; and

The

shock, as the

sleigh

against the ice, roused its occupant.

While the sleigh had

started up, stood upright, stared for a mo­

since then the ice, which itself had all this

ment at me, and then, at the scene around.

time been drifting, had borne us on without

Then she

sprang out, and, clasping her

ceasing.

W e were still drifting at the very

hands, fell upon her knees, and seemed to

moment that I looked around. We had also

mutter words of prayer.

Then she rose to

moved farther away from the shore which I

her feet, and looked around with a face of

wished to reach, and nearer to the Quebec

horror. There was such an anguish of fear

side.

i n her face, that I tried to comfort her.

there had not been more than twenty yard3

But my efforts were useless.

between the ice and the shore; but now

"Oh!

there Í3 no hope!

The river

is breaking up ! " she moaned. told me i t would.

" They

When the sleigh had first gone over,

that shore wa3 full two hundred away.

yards

A l l this time the fury of the wind,

How mad I was to t r y

and the torment of the blinding, stinging

Finding that I could do nothing to quell

ing and roaring of the ice had increased ;

to cross ! "

sleet, had not i n the least abated ; the grind­

her fears, I began to think what was best to

the long ridge had heaped itself up to a

be done.

greater height, and opposite us i t towered

First of all, I determined to se­

cure the sleigh.

I t might be the means of

saving ns, or, i f not, i t would at any rate do

up i n formidable masses. I thought at one time of intrusting my­

I t was better than the

self w i t h my companion to the sleigh, i n

wet ice for the lady. So I proceeded to pull

the hope of using i t as a boat to gain the

for a place of rest. i t on the ice.

The lady tried to help me,

and, after a desperate effort, the heavy

shore.

But I could not believe that i t

would float with both of us, and, i f i t

CROSSING T H E ST. LAWRENCE.

23

would, there were no means of moving or

that proposal—not thinking to save you,

guiding i t . Better to remain on the ice

but merely supposing that you would feel

than to attempt that.

Such a refuge would

only do as a last resort.

After giving up

this idea, I watched to see i f there was any chance of drifting back to the shore, but soon saw that there was none. ment drew us farther off.

Every mo­

Then I thought

of a score of desperate undertakings, but

better at the simple suggestion of some­ thing." " I implore you," she reiterated. —there is yet time. life by delay.

" Go

You only risk your

Don't waste your time on

me." " I

could not go i f I would," I said,

all of them were given up almost as soon

** and I swear I would not go i f I could,"

as they suggested themselves.

I cried, impetuously.

A l l this time the lady had sat i n silence —deathly pale, looking around with that same anguish of fear which I had noticed

" I hope you do not

take me for any thing else than a gentle­ man." " Oh, sir, pardon me.

Can you think

from the first, like one who awaits an in­

that ?—But you have already risked your

evitable doom.

life once by waiting to save mine—and, oh,

pitilessly ;

The storm beat about her

occasional

shudders

passed

do not risk i t by waiting again."

through her; and the dread scene around

" Madame," said T, " you must not only

affected me far less than those eyes of

not say such a thing, but you must not

agony, that pallid face, and those tremu­

even think it.

lous white lips that seemed to murmur

being a gentleman, I am here by your side

prayers.

either for life or death.

She saw, as well as I , the widen­

I am here with you, and, But come—rouse

ing sheet of water between us and the

yourself.

shore on the one side, and on the other

die with you.

the ever-increasing masses of crumbling ice.

assure you that I haven't

A t last I suddenly offered to go to Que­ bec, and bring back help for her.

So wild

Don't give up.

I ' l l save you, or

A t the same time, let me the remotest

idea of dying." She threw at me, from her

eloquent

a proposal was in the highest degree im­

eyes, a look of unutterable gratitude, and

practicable ; but I thought that i t might

said not a word.

lead her to suggest something.

As soon

as she heard i t , she evinced fresh terror. " Oh, sir ! " she moaned, " i f you have a human heart, do not leave me 1

For

I

looked at my watch.

o'clock.

The

day was passing swiftly, and at this rate evening would come on before one might be aware.

God's sake, stay a little longer,"

I t was three

There was no time to lose.

The thought of standing idle

" Leave you 1 " I cried ; " never while I any longer, while the precious hours were hare breath.

I will stay with you to the

passing, was intolerable.

Once more I

made a hasty survey, and now, pressed and

last." But this, instead of reassuring her, mere­

stimulated by the dire exigencies of the

l y had the effect of changing her feelings.

hour, I determined to make an effort tow­

She grew calmer.

ard the Quebec side.

" K o , " said she, " you must not. mad with fear.

Ko—go.

save yourself.

Go—fly—leave me ! "

11

Never ! " I repeated.

I was

You at least can " I only made

On that side, i t

seemed a3 though the ice which

drifted

from the other shore was being packed i n an unbroken mass.

I f so, a way over i t

might be found to a resolute spirit.

HILE L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

24

I hastily told my companion my plan. She listened with a faint smile.

practicable.

There was no time, however,

to be discouraged; an effort had to be

" I will do all that I can," said she, and

made, and that without delay ; so I deter­

I saw with delight that the mere prospect

mined to t r y for myself, and test one or

of doing something had aroused her.

more places.

My first act was to push the sleigh with

One place appeared less dan­

gerous than others—a place where a pile of

its occupant toward the ice-ridge i n the

uncommon size had recently fallen.

centre of the river.

blocks were of unusual size, and were raised

The lady strongly ob­

The

jected, and insisted on getting out and

up but a little above the level of the ice on

helping me.

I

which I stood. These blocks, though sway­

assured her that my strength was quite

ing slowly up and down, seemed yet to be

sufficient

This I positively forbade.

for the undertaking, but

that

strong enough for my purpose.

I sprang

hers was not ; and i f she would save her­

toward the place, and found i t practicable.

self, and me, too, she must husband all her

Then I returned to the lady. She was eager

resources and obey implicitly.

She sub­

to go.

Here we had to give up the sleigh,

mitted under protest, and, as I pushed her

since to transport that also wa3 not to be

along, she murmured the most touching

thought of.

expressions of sympathy and of gratitude. But pushing a sleigh over the smooth ice

" N o w , " said I , " is the time for you t o exert all your strength."

is no very difficult work, and the load that

" I am ready," said she.

it contained did not increase the labor i n

" Hurry, then."

my estimation. Thus we soon approached

A t that moment there burst a thunder-

that long ice-ridge which I have so fre­

shock.

quently mentioned.

en, and bore down the surface-ice.

Here I stopped, and

A huge pile farther down had fall­ The

began to seek a place which might afford

water rushed boiling and seething upward,

a chance for crossing to the ice-field on the

and spread far over.

opposite side.

ment to lose.

There was not a mo­

I t was now or never; so,

The huge ice-blocks gathered here, where

snatching her hand, I rushed forward. The

the fields on either side were forced against

water was up to my knees, and sweeping

one another, grinding and breaking up.

past and whirling back with a furious im­

Each piece was forced up, and, as the grind­

petuosity.

ing process continued, the heap rose higher.

her, and she followed bravely and quickly.

Through that flood I dragged

At times, the loftiest parts of the ridge top­

I pulled her up to the first block, then

pled over with a tremendous Crash, while

onward to another.

many other piles seemed about to do the

I had to relinquish her hand for a moment,

Leaping over a third,

same. To attempt to pass that ridge would

and then, extending mine once more, I

be to encounter the greatest peril.

caught hers, and she sprang after me. A l l

I n the

first place, it would be to invite an ava­

these blocks were firm, and our weight did

lanche ; and then, again, wherever the piles

not move their massive forms.

fell, the force of that fall broke the field-ice

piece formed the last stage i n our hazard-

below, and the water rushed up, making a

ous path.

passage through it quite a3 hazardous as

opposite side.

the former.

next instant the lady was by my side.

For a long time I examined

without seeing any place which was at all

One huge

I t overlapped the ice on the I sprang down, and the

Thank Heaven ! we were over.

25

CROSSING T H E ST. LAWRENCE. Onward then we hurried for our lives,

tered to some extent before 6he left the

seeking to get as far as possible from that

sleigh.

dangerous channel of ice-avalanches

of

and

seething waters ; and i t was not t i l l a safe

She cowered under the fierce pelt

the pitiless sleet, and

clung to me,

trembling and shivering with cold.

distance intervened, that I dared to slacken

On and on we walked.

The distance

my pace so as to allow my companion to

seemed interminable. The lady kept up

A l l this time 6he had not

well, considering her increasing exhaustion,

spoken a word, and had shown a calmness

saying nothing whatever; but her quick,

take breath.

and an energy which contrasted strongly

short breathing was audible, as she panted

w i t h her previous lethargy and terror.

with fatigue.

I saw that the ice i n this place was

I felt every shudder that ran

through her delicate frame.

A n d yet I did

rougher than i t had been on the other side.

not dare to stop and give her rest ; for,

Lumps were upheaved

aside from the imminent danger of losing

i n many places.

This was a good sign, for i t indicated a

our hope of reaching land, a delay, even to

close packing i n this direction, and less

take breath, would only expose her the

danger of open water, which was the only

more surely to the effect o f the cold.

thing now to be feared. The hope of reach­

last, I stopped for a moment, and drew off

ing the shore was now strong within me.

my overcoat.

That shore, I could perceive, must be some

tations, I forced her to put on.

distance below Quebec; but how far I could

ened, at one time, to sit down on the ice and

not tell.

die, rather than do i t .

I could see the dark outline of

At

This, i n spite of her protes­ She threat­

the land, but Quebec was now no longer

" Very well, madame," said I . " Then,

perceptible through the thick storm of

out of a punctilio, you will destroy, not

sleet.

only yourself, but me.

For a long time, my companion held out nobly, and sustained the rapid progress which I was trying to keep u p ; but, at I saw this with pain, for I was

deserve

A t this, tears started to her eyes.

She

submitted.

length, she began to show evident signs of exhaustion.

Do I

this ? "

" Oh, sir," she murmured, " what can I say ?

It's for your sake that I refuse. I fearful every moment of some new circum­ ' will submit. God bless you—who sent stance which might call for fresh exertion you to my help I God forever bless yo ! " from both of us. I would have given any , I said nothing. v

thing to have had the sleigh which we

On and on î

were forced to relinquish. I feared that

Then her steps grew feebler—then he*

her strength would fail at the trying mo­ ment.

The distance before us was yet so

great that we seemed to have traversed but little.

I insisted on her taking my arm and

leaning on me for support, and tried to cheer her by making her look back and see how far we had gone.

She tried to

smile ; but the smile was a failure.

I n her

weakness, she began to feel more sensibly the storm from which she had been shel­

weight rested on me more heavily. On and on ! She staggered, and low moans succeeded to her heavy panting.

A t last, with a cry

of despair, she fell forward. I caught her i n my arms, and held her up. "Leave m e ! " she said, i n a faint voice. " I cannot walk any farther." " No ; I will wait for a while."

THE L A D Y OF T H E ICE.

26 " Oh, leave me !

Save yourself!

Or go

" Only one more effort," I said, implor­ ingly.

ashore, and bring help ! " " N o ; I will go ashore with you, or not

" T a k e some more brandy."

"It

is o f no use.

Leave me!

Get

help ! "

at all."

" See—the shore i3 near.

She sighed, and clung to me. After a time, she revived a little, and i n ­ sisted on going onward.

This time she

I t is not more

than a few rods away." " I cannot."

She did this

I supported her i n my arms, for she was

w i t h a stolid, heavy step, and mechani­

leaning on her hand, and slowly sinking

cally, like an automaton moved by machin­

downward.

ery.

dy upon her lips, as her head lay on my

walked for some distance.

Then she stopped again.

Once more I pressed the bran­

" I am dizzy," said she, faintly.

shoulder.

I made her sit down on the ice, and put

on her marble face the wild storm beat

Down

That

savagely ; her lips were bloodless, and her

But I was afraid to

teeth were fixed convulsively. I t was only

myself between her and the wind. rest did much for her.

Her eyes were closed.

let her sit more than five minutes.

Her

by an effort that I could force the brandy

feet were saturated, and, i n spite of my

into her mouth.

overcoat, she was still shivering.

last time, the fiery liquid gave her a mo­

" Come," said I ; " i f we stay any longer,

Once more, and for the

mentary strength. She roused herself from the stupor into which she was sinking, and,

you w i l l die." She staggered up.

She clung to me, and

I dragged her on. Then, again, she stopped. I now tried a last resort, and gave her

springing to her feet with a wild, spasmodic effort, she ran w i t h outstretched hands tow­ ard the shore.

For about twenty or thirty

some brandy from my flask. I had thought

paces she ran, and, before I could overtake

of i t often, but did not wish to give this

her, she fell once more.

until other things were exhausted ; for,

I

raised her np, and again supported

though the stimulus is an immediate rem­

her.

edy for weakness, yet on the ice and i n

her side for a little while, and looked tow­

She could move no farther.

the snow the reaction is dangerous to the

ard

last degree.

but, as I looked, I saw a sight which made

The draught revived her won­

the shore.

I sat by

I t was close by us now ;

any further delay impossible.

derfully. Starting once more, with new life, she

Directly i n front, and only a few feet

was able to traverse a very great distance ;

away, was a dark chasm lying between us

and at length, to my delight, the shore be­

and that shore for which we had been

gan t o appear very near.

But now the re­

striving so earnestly.

I t was a fathom

She

wide; and there flowed the dark waters

sank down without a word ; and another

of the river, gloomily, warningly, mena­

action from the stimulant appeared.

draught, and yet another, was needed to

cingly !

infuse some false strength into her.

but

length, the shore

At

seemed close by us.

Here she gave out utterly. " I can go no farther," she moaned, a3 she fell straight down heavily and suddenly on the ice.

To me, that chasm was nothing ;

how could she cross i t ?

Besides,

there wa3 no doubt that i t was widening every moment. I started up. " TYait here for a moment," said I , hur­ riedly.

" P A S U N MOT, MONSIEUR." I left her half reclining on the ice, and ran hastily up and down the chasm.

I

once more.

21

I looked all around—the shore

was only a few yards off. A short distance

The

away was a high, cone-shaped mass of ice,

whole body o f ice was beginning to break

whose white sheen was distinct amid the

away, and drift from this shore also, as i t

gloom. I recognized i t at once.

could see that my fear3 were true.

had done from the other.

" Courage, courage ! " I cried.

I saw a place

not more than five feet wide. rushed to my companion.

Back I

I seized her,

at Montmorency. away.

and, lifting her i n my arms, without a word,

" Do you see i t ? Montmorency ! the icecone of the Falls ! " I cried, eagerly.

ping to consider, but impelled by the one

Her head sank back again.

fierce desire for safety, I leaped forward, and my feet touched the opposite side.

" L o o k ! look!

That sound,

and the awful sensation of sinking, I shall never forget.

W e are saved! we are

near houses ! " The only answer was a moan.

W i t h a horrible crash, the ice broke be­ neath me, and I went down.

Only one more effort."

She raised her head feebly.

I carried her to that place where the chan­ nel was narrowest ; and then, without stop­

down lower.

There was now no more hope o f any

had given way beneath my feet, though i t

further exertion from her.

went down under me, still prevented my

sense had deserted her.

I flung myself forward,

She sank

I grasped her so as to sustain

her, and she lay senseless i n my arms.

B u t the cake of ice which

sinking rapidly.

" We are

There is a house not far

Strength and

There was only

one thing to be done.

and held up my almost senseless burden as

I took her i n my arms, and carried her

I best could with one arm, while w i t h the

toward the shore.

other I dug my sharp-pointed stick into

that steep bank, I do not remember.

the ice and held on for a moment.

any rate, I succeeded i n reaching the top,

Then,

How I clambered up At

summoning up my strength, I passed my

and sank exhausted there, holding my bur­

left arm under my companion, and raised

den under the dark, sighing evergreens.

her out of the water upon the ice.

My feet

Rising once more, I raised her up, and

seemed sucked by the water underneath the

made my way to a house.

shelf o f ice against which I rested ; but

were kind, and full of sympathy.

the iron-pointed stick never slipped, and I

mitted the lady to their care, and fell ex­

succeeded.

Then, with a spring, I raised

myself up from the water, and clambered

The inmates I com­

hausted on a eettee i n front of the huge fireplace.

out. My companion had struggled up to her CHAPTER V n i .

knees, and grasped me feebly, as though to assist me.

Then she started to her feet

The horror of sudden death had done this, and had given her a convulsive energy of recoil from a hideous fate.

Thus

she

I

F L Y B A C K , A N D SEND T H E DOCTOR RESCUE.—RETURN

sprang forward, and ran for some distance. I hastened after her, and, seizing her arm,

MONSIEUR ! "

But at that moment her

short-lived strength failed her, and she sank

THE

TO T H E

SPOT.—FLIGHT

OF T H E B I R D . — P E R P L E X I T Y , ASTONISHMENT, WONDER,

drew i t i n mine.

TO

A

LONG

AND

D E S P A I R . — " PAS

U N MOT,

time passed, and I waited i n

great anxiety.

Meanwhile, I had changed

THE

28

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

my clothes, and sat by the fire robed i n the

me that i t was the greatest sacrifice to

picturesque costume of a French habitant,

friendship that he had ever made i n hi3

while my own saturated garments were dry­

life.

ing elsewhere.

I tried to find out i f there

I gave h i m the most explicit direc­

tions, and did not leave him t i l l I saw him

was a doctor anywhere i n the neighbor­

on

hood, but learned that

down the street.

nearer than Quebec.

there was none

horseback,

and trotting, half asleep,

Then I went to my room, completely used

The people were 6uch

dolts, that I determined to set out myself

up after such unparalleled exertions.

for

a roaring fire made, established myself on

the city, and either send a doctor or

fetch one.

After immense trouble, I suc­

my

I got

sofa immediately i n front of i t , and

ceeded i n getting a horse ; and, just be­

sought to restore my exhausted frame by

fore starting, I was encouraged by hearing

hot

that the lady had

for a while, t i l l I felt thoroughly warmed,

recovered

from

her

potations.

My intention was to rest

swoon, and was much better, though some­

and then start for Montmorency to see about

what feverish.

the lady. W i t h thi3 i n my mind, and a pipe in my mouth, and a tumbler of toddy at my

It was a wild journey. road

elbow, I reclined on my deep, soft, old-

was abominable, and was all one glare of

fashioned, and luxurious sofa; and, thus

frozen sleet, which had covered i t with a

situated, I fell off before I knew i t into an

slippery surface, except where there arose

exceedingly profound sleep.

The storm was still raging; the

disintegrated ice-hummocks and heap3 of over, i t was as dark as Egypt. ress, therefore, was slow.

When I awoke, i t was broad day.

I

More­

started up, looked at my watch, and, to

My prog­

my horror, found that i t was half-pa st twelve.

slush—the débris of giant drifts.

A boy went

I n a short time, I had flung off my habitant

w i t h me as far as the main road, and, after

clothes, dressed myself, got my own horse,

seeing me under way, he left me to my own

and galloped off as fast as possible.

devices.

The horse was very aged, and, I

fear, a little rheumatic.

Besides, I have

reason to believe that he was blind. did

not make any particular

That

difference,

I was deeply vexed at myself for sleeping so long ; but I found comfort i n the thought that the doctor had gone on before.

The

storm had gone down, and the sky was

though; for the darkness was so intense,

clear.

that eyes were as useless as they would be

roads were abominable, but not so bad as

The sun was shining brightly.

The

to the eyeless fishes of the Mammoth Cave.

they had been, and my progress was rapid.

I

So I went on at a rattling pace, not spar­

don't intend to prolong my description Suffice i t to say

ing my horse, and occupying my mind with

that the horse walked all the way, and,

thoughts o f the lady whom I had saved,

although i t was midnight when I started,

when suddenly, about three

i t was near morning when I reached my

Quebec, I saw a familiar figure advancing

quarters.

toward me.

of this midnight ride.

I hurried at once to the doctor, and, to \ his intense disgust, roused h i m and im­ plored his services.

miles from

I t was the doctor î He moved along slowly, and, as I drew

I made i t a personal ' nearer, I saw that he looked very much

matter, and put i t i n such an affecting light,

worn out, very peevish, and very discon-

that he consented to g o ; but he assured i tented.

"PAS

U N MOT, MONSIEUR."

" Well, old man," said I , " bow did you find her ? "

29

soul—no, not even for Jack Randolph.

So

be considerate, my boy."

" Find her ? " growled the doctor—" I didn't find her at all. I f this is a hoax,"

" Doctor," I cried, earnestly, " it's a case of life and death ! "

he continued, " all I can say, Macrorie, is this, that it's a devilish stupid one." " A hoax ?

A long altercation now followed ; but the end of i t was that the doctor yielded, and,

What—didn't find her ? " I

gasped.

in spite of bis fatigue, turned back, grum­ bling and growling.

" F i n d her?

Of course not.

no such a person.

There's

So we rode back together—the doctor,

Why, I could not eren

groaning and making peevish remarks ; I ,

find the house."

oblivious of all this, and careless of my

" What—do you mean ?

I — I don't un­

derstand—" I faltered.

friend's discomfort.

My mind wa3 full of

visions of the lady—the fair unknown.

" W h y , " said the doctor, who saw my

I

was exceedingly anxious and troubled at

deep distress and disappointment, " I mean

the thought that all this time she had been

simply thi3 : I've been riding about this in­

alone, without any medical assistance.

fernal country all day, been to Montmoren­

pictured her to myself as sinking rapidly

cy, called at fifty houses, and couldn't find

into fever and delirium.

anybody that knew any thing at all about

these thoughts, I hurried on, while the doc­

any lady whatever."

Stimulated by all

tor with difficulty followed.

A t this, my consternation was so great that I couldn't say one single word.

This

news almost took my breath away.

The

I

A t length, wc

arrived within half a mile of the Falls ; but I could not see any signs of the house which I wished to find, or of the road that led to

doctor looked sternly at me for some time,

it.

and then was about to move on.

the river ; but none seemed like that one

This roused me.

which I had traversed.

" W h a t ! " I cried; "you're not think­ ing of going back ? " " Back ? Of course, I am.

That's the

" For God's sake, doctor," I cried, earn­ lady is there, and her condition is a most I told you before

" Look here now, Macrorie," said he, at last—" I ' l l go no farther—no, not a step.

estly, "don't go just yet! I tell you, the

saved her.

The doctor grew every moment more vexed.

very thing I ' m going to do."

perilous one.

I looked into all the roads that led to

how I

I ' m used up.

I ' l l go into the nearest

house, and wait." Saying this, he turned abruptly, and went to a house that was close by

I left there at midnight, last

I then dismounted, went to the upper

night, i n spite of my fatigue, and travelled

bank of the Montmorency, where i t joins

all night to get you.

I promised her that

you would be there early this morning. It's now

nearly two i n the afternoon.

Good

the St. Lawrence below the Falls, and looked down. The ice was all out.

The place which

Heavens ! doctor, you won't leave a fellow

yesterday had been the scene o f my strug­

i n such a fix ? "

gle for life was now one vast sheet of dark-

" Macrorie," said the doctor, " I ' m half dead with fatigue.

I did i t for your sake,

and I wouldn't have done i t for another

blue water.

As I looked at i t , an involun­

tary shudder passed through me ; for now I saw the full peril of my situation.

T H E L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

30

Looking along the river, I saw the place

think of i t .

She had to go to Quebec as

where I must have landed, and on the top

soon as possible, and entreated us to find

of the steep bank I saw a house which

some conveyance.

seemed to be the one where I had found

at a neighbor's, threw some straw in i t and

refuge.

some skins over i t , and she went away."

Upon this, I went back, and, get­

ting the doctor, we went across the fields to this house. door.

I knocked eagerly at the

I t was opened, and i n the person of

So we found a wagon

" She went ! " I repeated, i n an imbecile way. " Oui, monsieur."

the habitant before me I recognized my host

" A n d didn't she leave any word ? "

of the evening before.

"Monsieur?"

" How is madame ? " I asked, hurriedly and anxiously. " Madame ?"

" Non, monsieur,"

" Tes, madame—the lady, you know."

" Not a word ?" I asked, mournfully and

" Madame ? She is not here."

despairingly.

" N o t here!" I cried.

The reply of the habitant

" N o n , monsieur." " N o t here? eried again.

" Didn't she leave any message for—for me?"

was a crushing

oneî

What!

Not here?"

" B u t she must be

I

here.

Didn't I bring her here last night ? "

" Pas t m moty monsieur

! "

The doctor burst into a shriek of sardonic laughter.

"Certainly, monsieur; but she's gone home."

CHAPTER I X

A t this, there burst from the doctor a peal of laughter—so loud, so long, so sav­

BY ONE'S OWN FIRESIDE.—THE COMFORTS OF A

age, and so brutal, that I forgot i n a mo­

BACHELOR.—CHEWING THE CUD OF SWEET

ment a l l that he had been doing for my

AND BITTER FANCY.—A DISCOVERY FULL OF

sake, and felt an almost irresistible incli­

MORTIFICATION AND EMBARRASSMENT.—JACK

nation to punch his head.

RANDOLPH AGAIN.—NEWS FROM THE SEAT

Only I didn't;

and, perhaps, i t was just as well. The sud­

OF "WAR.

den inclination passed, and there remained nothing but an overwhelming sense of dis­

B r six o'clock i n the evening I was back

appointment, by which I was crushed for a

i n my room again.

few minutes, while still the doctor's mock­

me so villanously all the way back that my disappointment and mortification had van*

ing laughter sounded i n my ears. " H o w was i t ? " I asked, at length— " h o w did she get off?

The doctor had chaffed

When I left, she

ished, and had given place to a feeling of resentment. treated.

was i n a fever, and wanted a doctor."

I felt that I had been i l l -

After saving a girl's life, to be

" A f t e r yon left, monsieur, she slept, and

dropped so quietly and so completely, was

awoke, toward morning, very much better.

more than flesh and blood could stand.

She dressed, and then wanted us to get a

And then there was that confounded doe-

conveyance to take her to Quebec.

tor.

We

told her that you had gone for a doctor, But this,

before I left him, I extorted from h i m a

She would not

promise to say nothing about i t , swearing

and that she had better wait. she said, was impossible.

He fairly revelled i n my situation,

and forgot all about his fatigue. However,

BY ONE'S O W N FIRESIDE.

31

i f he didn't I ' d sell out and quit the ser­

terrible plunge into the deep, dark water.

vice.

Then came the wild, half-human shriek of

This promise he gave, with the re­

mark that he would reserve the subject for

the drowning horse, and the sleigh with

his own special use.

its despairing freight drifting down toward

Once within my own room, I made my­ self comfortable i n my own quiet way,

me.

Through all this there broke forth

amid the clouds of that reverie, the vision of that pale, agonized face, w i t h its white

viz, : 1. A roaring, red-hot fire.

lips and imploring eyes—the face of her

2. Curtains close drawn.

whom I had saved.

3. Sofa pulled up beside said fire.

So I had saved her, had I ?

Yes, there

4. Table beside sofa.

was no doubt of that.

5. Hot water.

the memory of that unparalleled journey to

6. Wniskey.

Montmorency Fall, as I toiled on, dragging

7. Tobacco.

with me

8. Pipes.

companion.

9. Fragrant aromatic steam.

that frail,

Never would I lose

fainting,

despairing

I had sustained her ; I had

cheered her ; I had stimulated her ; and,

10. Sugar.

finally, at that supreme moment, when she

11. Tumblers.

fell down i n sight of the goal, I had put

12. Various other things not necessary to mention, all of which contributed to throw over my perturbed spirit a certain

forth the last vestige of my own strength in bearing her to a place of safety. And so she had left me. Left me—without a word—without

divine calm.

a

Under such circumstances, while every

hint—without the remotest sign o f any

moment brought forward some new sense

thing like recognition, not to 6peak o f grati­

of rest and tranquillity, my mind wandered

tude !

back i n a kind of lazy reverie over the events of the past two days. Once more I wandered over the crum­

Pas un mot / Should I ever see her again ? This question, which was very natural

bling ice ; once more I floundered through

under the

the deep pools of water; once more I

make an effort to recall the features of

circumstances, caused me to

halted i n front of that perilous ice-ridge,

my late companion.

w i t h my back to the driving storm and my

effort was not particularly successful.

eyes searching anxiously for a way of

white, agonized face was all that I remem­

A

The frowning cliff, with its flag

bered, and afterward a white, senseless face,

out stiff i n the tempest, the dim

belonging to a prostrate figure, which I was

progress. floating

Strange to say, my

shore opposite, the dark horizon, the low

trying to raise.

moan of the river as i t struggled against

face might look like i n repose, I found i t

its icy burden, a l l these came back again.

impossible to conjecture.

Then, through all this, I rushed forward, scrambling

over the ice-ridge, reaching

This was all. W h a t that

And now here was a ridiculous and mor­ tifying fact.

I found myself haunted by

the opposite plain to hurry forward to the

this white face and these despairing eyes,

shore.

yet for the fife of me I could not reduce

Then came the rushing sleigh, the

recoiling horse, the swift retreat, the mad

that face to a natural expression so as to

race along the brink of the icy edge, the

learn what i t might look like i n common

T H E L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

32 life.

Should I know her again i f I met her ?

I could not say.

Would she know me ?

could not answer that.

I

Should I ever be

able to find her ? How could I tell ? Baffled and utterly at a loss what to do of my thoughts, I wandered off into various First I became cynical, but, as I

was altogether too comfortable to be mo­ rose, my cynicism was of a good-natured character.

Then I made merry over my

own mishaps and misadventures.

was only w i t h a strong effort that I was able to conjecture what i t might be.

So

much had passed since I liad seen him,

toward getting the identity of the subject moods.

way, and, when he drew out the letter, i t

Then I

that our last conversation had become very dim and indistinct in my memory. " Oh," said I , at last, as I began to recall the past, " the widow.

letter—h'm—ah—the—the

Oh, yes, I understand."

Jack looked at me in surprise. " The widow ? " said he.

" Pooh, man !

what are you talking about?

Are you

reflected, i n a lofty, philosophic frame of

crazy ? Thi3 is from her—from Miss ——

mind, upon the faithlessness of woman,

that is—from the other one, you know."

and, passing from thi3 into metaphysics, I soon boozed off into a gentle, a peace­ ful, and a very consoling doze.

When I

" Oh, yes," said I , confusedly. I remember.

" True—

Oh, yes—Miss Phillips."

"Miss P h i l l i p s ! " cried Jack.

"Hang

awoke, i t was morning, and I concluded to

it, man, what's the matter with you to-day?

go t o bed.

Haven't I told you all about i t ? Didn't I

On the morrow, at no matter what o'clock,

tell you what I wouldn't breathe to another

I had just finished breakfast, when I heard

soul—that is, excepting two or three?—

a well-known footstep, and Jack Randolph

and now, when I come to you at the crisis

burst i n upon me i n his usual style.

of my fate, you forget all about i t . "

" W e l l , old chap," he cried, "where the

"Nonsense!" said I . " T h e fact is, I

mbchief have you been for the last two

went to bed very late, and am scarcely

days, and what have you been doing with

awake yet.

yourself?

Well, what does she say ? "

I heard that you got back from

Point Levi—though how the deuce you did i t I can't imagine—and that you'd gone off on horseback nobody knew where.

Go on, old boy, I ' m all r i g h t

" I ' l l be hanged i f you know what you're talking about," said Jack, pettishly.

I've

" Nonsense ! I ' m all right now; go on."

been here fifty time3 since I saw you last.

" Y o u don't know who this letter is

Tell you what, Macrorie, i t wasn't fair to me to give me the slip this way, when you knew my delicate position, and all that. can't spare you for a single day. your advice.

I

I need

Look here, old fellow, I've

got a letter." A n d saying this, Jack drew a letter from his pocket, with a grave face, and opened it.

from." " Yes, I do." " W h o is i t ? " said Jack, watching me with jealou3 scrutiny. " W h y , " said I , " it's that other one—the —hang i t ! I don't know her name, so I ' l l call her Number Three, or Number Four, whichever you like." " Y o u ' r e a cool hand, any way," said

So taken up was Jack with his own affairs, that he did not think of inquiring

Jack, sulkily.

" Is this the way you take

a matter of life and death ?"

into the reasons of my prolonged absence.

" Life and death ?" I repeated.

For my part, I listened to him i n a dreamy

" L i f e and death!" said Jack.

"Tea,

B Y ONE'S OWN FIRESIDE. life and death.

33

W h y , see here, Macrorie,

whatever you do, don't, for Heaven's sake,

I ' l l be hanged i f I don't believe that you've

get poor little Louie entangled i n your af-

forgotten every word I told you about my

fairs."

scrape.

I f that'3 the case, all I can say is,

" Oh, don't you fret," said Jack, dole-

that I ' m not the man to force my confi-

fully.

dences where they are so very unimpor-

right, so far.—But, see here, there's the

tant."

letter."

A n d Jack made a move toward the door. "Stop, Jack," said I .

" The fact is, I've

been queer for a couple of days. beastly time on the river.

I had a

Talk about life

" N o fear about her.

She's all

And saying this, he tossed over to me the letter from " Number Three," and, filling a pipe, began smoking vigorously. The letter was a singular one.

I t was

and death ! Why, man, i t was the narrow-

highly romantic, and full of devotion.

est scratch with me you ever saw.

writer, however, declined to accept of Jack's

I didn't

proposition.

go to Point Levi at a l l . "

The

She pleaded her father; she

" T h e deuce you d i d n ' t ! "

couldn't leave him. She implored Jack to

" No ; I pulled up at Montmorency."

wait, and finally subscribed herself his t i l l

" The deuce you did ! How's that ? "

death.

" Oh, never mind ; I ' l l tell you some

was "Stella," and nothing more; and this

other time.

A t any rate, i f I seem dazed

But the name which she signed

being evidently a pet name or a nom de

or confused, don't notice i t . I ' m coming pïumC; threw no light whatever upon her round. I ' l l only say this, that I've lost a real personality. " W e l l , " said Jack, after I had read i t little of my memory, and am glad I didn't lose my life. now, Jack.

But go on.

I ' m up to i t

You wrote to Number Three,

proposing to elope, and were staking your existence on her answer.

You wished me

to order a head-stone for you at Anderson's, four feet by eighteen inches, with

over about nine times, " what do you think of t h a t ? " " I t gives you some reprieve, at any rate," said I . " Reprieve ? " said Jack.

" I don't think

it's the sort of letter that a girl should write

nothing on i t but the name and date, and

to a man who told her that he was going

not a word about the "virtues, et cetera.

to blow his brains out on her doorstep.

There, you see, my memory is all right at

doesn't seem to be altogether the right sort

last.

A n d now, old boy, what does she

of thing under the circumstances."

say ?

When did you get i t ? "

" I got i t this morning," said Jack. was a long delay.

" Why, confound i t , man, isn't this the " It

She is always prompt.

Something must have happened to delay her.

I was getting quite wild, and would

have put an end to myself i f i t hadn't been for Louie.

And then, you know, the

widow's getting to be a b i t o f a bore. Look here—what do you think of my selling out, buying a farm i n Minnesota, and taking little Louie there ? " " What ! " I cried. 3

It

" Look here, Jack,

very letter that you wanted to get ? Y o u didn't really want to run away w i t h her? You said so yourself." " Oh, that's all right ; but a fellow likes to be appreciated." " So, after all, you wanted her to elope with you ? " " Well, not that, exactly.

A t the same

time, I didn't want a point-blank refusal." " You ought to be glad she showed so much sense.

It's all the better for you.

THE

34 It

L A D Y OF T H E I C E .

is an additional help to you i n your " I don't see how i t helps me," said Jack,

in a kind of growl.

" I don't see why she

They had all been

their world did not

extend

beyond i t .

There were three of them—Laura, the eld­ est, beautiful, intelligent, and accomplished,

refused to run off with a fellow." Now

of the military order.

brought up, so to speak, i n the army, and

difficulties."

such was the perversity of Jack

with a strong leaning toward Ritualism;

that he actually felt ill-natured about this

Nina, innocent, childish, and

letter, although i t was the very thing that

and Louie, the universal favorite, absurd,

he knew was best for him.

whimsical, fantastic, a desperate tease, and

He was cer­

kitten-like;

tainly relieved from one of his many difficul­

as pretty and graceful as i t is possible for

ties, but at the same time he was vexed and

any girl to be.

mortified at thi3 rejection of his proposal.

for

And he dwelt upon his disappointment until

naed, and generally overlooked them.

at length he brought himself to believe that

colonel himself was a fine specimen of the

" N u m b e r Three's" letter was something

vieux militaire.

like a personal slight, i f not an insult.

which he had left behind, and fight his bat­

A n aunt did the maternal

them, kept house, chaperoned, duenThe

He loved to talk of the life

He dropped i n again toward evening.

tles over again, and all his thoughts were in

" Macrorie," said he, " there's one place

the army. But the girls were, of course, the

where I always find sympathy. you

W h a t do

say, old fellow, to going this evening

one attraction i n his hospitable house.

The

best of i t was, they were all so accustomed to homage, that even the most desperate

to—

attentions left them heart-whole, i n maiden meditation, fancy free.

CHAPTER X . "BERTON'S?—BEST

No danger of over­

flown sentiment with them.

PLACE I N THE TOWN.—

No danger of

blighted affections or broken hearts.

No

GIRLS A L W A Y S GLAD TO SEE A FELLOW.—

nonsense there, my boy.

A l l fair, and

P L E N T Y O F CHAT, ANn LOTS OF FUN.—NO

pleasant, and open, and above-board, you

E N D O F LARK3, YOT7 KNOW, ANO ALL THAT

know.

SORT O F T H I N G . "

frankly into yours; fresh, youthful

Clear, honest eye3, that looked faces;

lithe, elastic figures ; merry laugh3 ; sweet I N order to get r i d of my vexation, mor­

smiles ; soft, kindly voices, and all that sort

tification, humiliation, and general aggrava­

of thing.

tion, I allowed Jack to persuade me to go

honest, sound, pure, and healthy hearts as

that evening to Colonel Berton's.

ever beat.

i t needed much persuasion.

Not that

On the con­

trary, i t was a favorite resort of mine. Both

I n short, three as kind, gentle,

The very atmosphere of this delightful house was soothing, and the presence of

of us were greatly addicted to dropping i n

these congenial spirits brought a balm to

upon that hospitable and fascinating house­

each o f us, which healed our wounded

hold.

The girls were among the most live­

hearts. I n five minutes Jack was far away

ly and genial good fellows that girls could

out of sight of all hi3 troubles—and in

ever be.

Old Berton had retired from the

five minutes more I had forgotten all about

army with enough fortune of his own to

my

live i n good style, and his girls had i t all

had resulted from i t .

their

own way.

They were

essentially

late adventure, and the sorrows that After a time, Jack gravitated toward

35

"BERTON'S?" Louie, leaving me with Laura, talking me-

but what do you think of her coming to

diœvalism.

live here ? "

Louie was evidently taking

Jack to task, and very energetically too. Fragments of their conversation reached my ears from time to time.

" Coming to live here ! " " Yes, coming to live here," repeated

She had heard

Louie, playfully imitating the tone of evi-

something about Mrs. Finnimore, but what

dent consternation with which Jack spoke.

i t was, and whether she believed i t or not,

"What!

could not be perceived from what she said.

" Yes, Miss Phillips."

Jack fought her oif skilfully, and, at last,

" Here ? "

she made an attack from another quarter.

" Certainly."

"Oh, Captain Randolph," said she, " what a delightful addition we're going to have to our Quebec society ! "

Miss P h i l l i p s ? "

" Not here in Quebec ? " " Yes, here i n Quebec—but I must say that you have missed your calling in life.

" A h Î " said Jack, " what is that ? "

Why do you not go to New York and make

" How very innocent !

your fortune as an actor ? You must take

Just as i f you

are not the one who is most concerned." "I?

"

part i n our private theatricals the next time we have any."

" Of course,

Tou.

Next to me."

" I assure you," said Jack, " I never was

" I don't understand." " Come, now, Captain

so astonished i n my life." Randolph, how

" How well you counterfeit ! " said Louie ;

very ridiculous to pretend to be so igno-

" never mind.

rant!"

you.

" Ignorant ? " said Jack ; " ignorant is not the word.

I am i n Egyptian darkness,

I assure you."

Allow me to congratulate

We'll overlook the little piece of act-

ing, and regard rather the delightful fact. Joined once more—ne'er to part—hand to hand—heart to heart—memories sweet—

" Egyptian darkness —Egyptian

non-

ne'er to fade—all my own—fairest maid !

sense I W i l l i t help you any i f I tell you

And then your delicious remembrances of

her name ? "

Sissiboo."

" Her name I

Whose name ?

What

'her?'"

" Sissiboo ? " gasped Jack. " Sissiboo," repeated Louie, with admir-

Louie laughed long and merrily.

able gravity.

" W e l l , " said she, at length, " for pure,

a sacred spot.

" Her birth-place, and hence She used to be called * the

perfect, utter, childlike innocence, commend

maid of Sissiboo.*

me to Captain Randolph ! A n d now, sir,"

to live in, let me warn you against Sissiboo.

she resumed, " will you answer me one

Take some other place.

question ? "

over New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.

But, i n choosing a place You've been all

" Certainly—or one hundred thousand."

Take Petitcodiac, or Washe Aemoak, or

" Well, what do you think of Miss Phil-

Shubenacadie, or Memramcook, or Reche-

lips?" " I

think she is a very delightful per-

son," said Jack, fluently—"the most delightful I have ever met with, present company excepted." " That is to be understood, of course ;

bucto, or Chiputnecticook, or the Kennebecasis Valley.

A t the same time, I have

my preferences for Piserinco, or Quaco." A t all this, Jack seemed for a time completely overwhelmed, and sat listening to Louie with a sort of imbecile smile.

Her

THE

36

L A D Y OF T H E ICE.

allusion to Miss Phillip3 evidently troubled

silent for a time.

him, and, as to her coming to Quebec, he

thought seized him.

did not know what to say.

Louie twitted

A t length a sudden

" By Jove ! " he exclaimed, " I got a let­

hln\ for some time longer, but at length he

ter to-day, which I haven't opened.

got her away into a corner, where he began

cuse me a moment, old chap."

a conversation i n a low but very earnest tone, which, however, was sufficiently audi­

Ex­

So saying, he pulled a letter from hi3 pocket, opened it, and read i t .

ble to make his remarks understood by all

He told me the contents.

in the room.

I t was from Mis3 Phillips, and she told

And what was he saying ?

her dearest Jack that her father was about

He was disclaiming all intentions with

moving to Quebec to live.

regard to Miss Phillips. And Louie was listening quietly !

CHAPTER X I .

Perhaps believing him ! ! The scamp ! ! !

11

And now I noticed that Jack's unhappy

MACR0RIE,

M Y BOY,

ANDERSON'S

HAVE

YET ? "

Y O U BEEN

" N O . " «*- "

tendency to—well, to conciliate ladies—was

THEN, I

in full swing.

B U S I N E S S OP T H E STONE TO-MORROW.

Didn't I see him, then and there, slyly try

WANT

TOU

TO

ATTEND

TO

WELL,

TO

THAT DON'T

FORGET T H E S I Z E — F O U R F E E T B Y E I G H T E E N

to take poor little Louie's hand, utterly fbr-j

INCHES J A N D N O T H I N G B U T T H E N A M E A N D

getful of the disastrous result of a former |

DATE.

attempt on what he believed to be that!

NO

same hand ? Didn't I see Louie civilly draw

W H E R E T H E P E N S I V E PASSER-BY M A Y DROP

it away, and move her chair farther oif from

A TEAR OVER T H E MOURNFUL FATE OF J ACS

his?

RANDOLPH.

Didn't I see him flush up and begin

T H E T I M E ' S COME A T L A S T .

PLACE

FOR

M E B U T T H E COLD

AMEN.

THERE'S GRAVE,

R. I . P . "

to utter apologies ? Didn't I hear Louie be­ gin to talk of operas, and thing3 in general ;

Sucn was the remarkable

manner i n

and soon after, didn't I see her rise and which Jack Randolph accosted me, as he come over to Laura, and Nina, and me, as entered my room on the following day at we were playing dummy ?

Methinks I did. about midnight. HÍ3 face was more rue­

Oh, Louie!

Is she destined ful than ever, and, what was more strik­

Oh, Jack!

to be Number Four ! or, good Heavens ! ing, his clothes and hair seemed neglected. Number Forty ?

Why, the man's mad ! This convinced me more than any thing

He engages himself to every girl he see3 ! Home again. Jack was full of Louie. " Such fun ! such life !

that he had received some new blow, and that i t had struck home.

" You seem hard hit, old man," said I . Did you ever see "Where is i t ? W h o i 3 i t ? "

any thing like her ? "

Jack groaned.

" B u t the widow, J a c k ? "

" Has Miss Phillips come ? "

" Hang the widow ! "

"No."

"Miss P h i l l i p s ? "

" I s i t the w i d o w ? "

" B o t h e r Miss Phillips ! "

" No."

"And Number Three ? "

"Number Three?"

Jack's face grew sombre, and he was

Jack shook his head.

" MACRORIE, M Y BOY, H A V E YOU B E E N TO ANDERSONS Y E T I ' ' 37 « Not duns ? "

you'll have to carry out that little plan of

" No."

yours.

" Then I give up."

take Louie with you to a farm i n Minne-

" I t ' s Louie," said Jack, with an exprès-

sota."

sion of face that was as near an approximation to what is called sheepishness as any thing I ever saw,

Sell out as soon as you can, and

" Easier said than done," said Jack, sententiously. " Done ? why, man, it's easy enough.

"Louie ?" I repeated.

You can drop the other three, and retire

tt Yes—" from the scene. That'll save Louie from " What of her ? What has she been do- coming to grief." ing ? How is i t possible ? Good Heavens î " Yes ; but i t won't make her come to you haven't—" I stopped at the fearful Minnesota." suspicion that came to me.

" W h y not? She's just the girl to go " I anywhere with a fellow." I've proposed to " But not with Jack Randolph."

" Yes, I have î " said Jack, sulkily. know what you mean. her."

" What humbug are you up to now ?

I started up from the sofa on which I was lounging—my pipe dropped to the ground—a tumbler followed.

I struck my

clinched fist on the table.

I

don't understand you." " S o I see," said Jack, dryly.

"You

take i t for granted that because I proposed, Louie accepted.

Whereas,

that

" Randolph ! " said I , " this is too much. didn't happen to be the case. I proposed, Confound i t , man ! are you mad, or are you but Louie disposed of me pretty effectua villain?

What the devil do you mean

by trifling with the affections of that little girl ?

By Heavens ! Jack Randolph, i f you

carry on this game with her, there's not a man i n the regiment that won't join to crush you."

ally." " Mittened ? " cried I . " Mittened î "

said

Jack,

solemnly.

" Hence the gravestone." " But how, i n the name of wonder, did that happen?"

" Pitch i n , " said Jack quietly, looking at me at the same time with something like approval.

" That's the right sort of thing.

"Easily

enough.

have brains.

Louie happens to

That's the shortest way to

account for her refusal of my very valuable

That's just what I've been saying to my-

devotions.

self.

and, after that, we'll decide about the head-

I've been swearing like a trooper at

myself all the way here.

I f there's any

one on earth that every fellow ought to stand up for, it's little Louie.

A n d now

But I ' l l tell you all about i t ,

stone. " You see, I went up there this evening, and the other girls were off somewhere,

you see the reason why I want you to at-

and so Louie and I were alone.

tend to that little affair of the grave-

was in the room, but she soon dozed off.

stone."

Well, we had great larks, no end of fun—

A t Jack's quiet tone, my excitement subsided.

I picked up my pipe again, and

thought i t over.

The aunt

she chaffing and twitting me about no end of things, and especially the widow ; so, do you know, I told her I had a great mind to

" T h e fact is, Jack," said I , after about

tell her how i t happened ; and excited her

ten minute? of profound smoking, " I think

curiosity by saying i t all originated i n a

38

T H E L A D Y OF T H E ICE.

mistake.

This, of course, made her wild

to know all about i t , and so I at last told

and tried to take hers, all the time saying no end of spooney things.

her the whole thing—the mistake, you

" B u t the moment I touched her hand,

know, about the hand, and all that—and

she rolled her chair back, and snatched i t

my horror.

away—

Well, hang me, i f I didn't

think she'd go into fits. I never saw her

" A n d then she threw back her head—

As soon as she

" A n d then there came such a peal of

could speak, she began to remind me of the

musical laughter, that I swear it's ringing

approaching advent of Miss Phillips, and

i n my ear3 yet.

laugh so much before.

asked me what I was going to do.

She

" What made i t worse was, not merely

didn't appear to be at all struck by the fact

what she considered the fun o f my pro­

that lay at the bottom of my disclosures ;

posal, but the additional thought that sud­

that i t was her own hand that had caused

denly flashed upon her, that I had just now

the mischief, but went on at a wild rate

so absurdly mistaken her emotion.

For,

about my approaching * sentimental see­ confound i t all ! as I reached out my hand, saw,' as she called i t , when my whole time

I said a lot of rubbish, and, among other

would have to be divided between my two

things, implored her to let me wipe her

She remarked that the old prov­

fiancées.

erb called man a pendulum between a smile

tear3.

Thi3 was altogether

too much.

Wipe her tears ! And, Heavens and earth,

and a tear, but that I was the first true

she was shaking to pieces all the time with

case of a human pendulum which she had

nothing but laughter.

ever seen.

Oh, Macrorie I

" Now the little scamp was so perfectly

Wipe her

tears !

Did you ever hear of such

an ass ?

fascinating while she was teasing me, that

" Well, you know she couldn't get over i t

I felt myself overcome w i t h a desperate

for ever so long, but laughed no end, while

fondness for her ; so, seeing that the old

I sat utterly amazed at the extent to which

aunt was sound asleep, I blurted out all

I had made an ass of myself.

my feeling3.

she got over i t at last.

I swore that she was the

However,

" * Well,' said I , 1 hope you feel better.'

only—"

4

" Oh, omit a l l that.

I know—but what

" Thanks, yes ; but don't get into a tem­ 4

per.

bosh to say to a sensible g i r l ! " " Well, you know, Louie held her hand­ kerchief to her face, while I was speaking,

W i l l you promise to answer me one

question ? ' "

4

Certainly ; most happy.

I f you think

and I—ass, dolt, and idiot that I was—felt

i t worth while to do any thing else but

convinced that she was crying.

laugh at me, I ought to feel flattered.'

Her frame

shook with convulsive shivers, that I took for repressed sobs.

I saw the little hand

" * Now, that's what I call temper, and you must be above such a thing.

After

that held the little white handkerchief to

all, I ' m only a simple little girl, and you—

her face—the same slender little hand that

that is, it was so awfully absurd.'

was the cause o f my scrape w i t h Mrs. Finnimore—and, still continuing the confession of my love, I thought I would soothe her grief.

I couldn't help i t . I wa3 fairly car­

ried away.

\ reached forward my hand,

" A n d here she seemed about to burst forth afresh.

But she didn't.

" * What I was going to ask,' she be­ gan, i n a very grave way, * what I was go­ ing to ask is this, I f i t is a fair question,

" MACRORIE, M Y BOY, H A V E YOU BEEN TO ANDERSON'S Y E T ? " 30 how many of these little entanglements do

"'Five?'

you happen to have just now ? '

" « No.'

" ' Oh, Louie ! I began, in mournful and

"'Four?'

1

reproachful tones.

" ' Why, haven't I told you all ?'

" * Oh don't, don't,' she cried, covering

" Four,' she persisted. 1

her face, ' don't begin ; I can't stand it.

"'No—'

I f you only knew how absurd you look

" ' Three, then—'

when you are sentimental.

You are al­

ways so funny, you know; and, when you

" ' I t isn't fair,' said I , ' to press a fellow this way.'

try to be solemn, i t looks so awfully ridicu­ lous! it.

" ' Three ? ' she repeated.

Now, don't—I really cannot stand

Please—ple-e-e-e-e-easc don't, like a

" I was silent.

I ' m not very quick, and

was trying, in a dazed way, to turn i t off.

good Captain Randolph.'

" ' Three ! ' she cried.

" A t this she clasped her hands and

it.

' Three ! I knew

Oh, tell me all about i t . Oh, do tell

looked at me with such a grotesque expres­

me ! Oh, do—please tell me all. Oh, do,

sion of mock entreaty, that I knocked un­

ple-e-e-e-ease tell me.'

der, and burst out laughing. " She at once settled herself comfortably in her easy-chair.

" A n d then she began, and she teased and she coaxed, and coaxed and teased, un­ t i l at last—"

" * Now that's what I call,' said she,

Jack hesitated.

placidly, ' a nice, good, sensible, old-fash­

" Well," said I .

ioned Captain Randolph, that everybody

" Well," said he.

loves, and i n whose affairs all his innumer­

" You didn't really tell her," said I .

able friends take a deep interest. And now

" Yes, but I did," said he.

let me ask my question again : now many ? '

" You didn't—you couldn't."

" ' H o w many what ? ' said I .

" I ' l l be hanged i f I didn't ! "

" ' Oh, you know very well.'

" Not about Number Three ? "

" ' How can I know, when you won't say

"Yes, Number Three," said Jack, look­

what you mean ? '

ing at mo with a fixed and slightly stony

" * How many entanglements ? '

stare.

"'Entanglements?'

Words were useless, and I sought expres­ Engagements, i f you wish me to sion for my f e e l i n g 3 i n the more emphatic be so very explicit.' whistle, which now was largely protracted. " ' Yes.

" * W h a t nonsense ! W h y you know all about i t , and the cause—' " ' A h , now, that is not frank; i t isn't friendly or honest,'

6aid

" And how did she take i t ? " I asked, at length, as soon as I found voice to

the little witch.

speak. " As usual.

Teased me, no end.

Allud­

' Come, now. Are there as many as—as—

ed to my recent proposal.

fifty?'

had intended her to be Number Four, and

Asked me i f I

" ' Nonsense ! '

declared her belief that I had thirty rather

" Twenty, then ? '

than three. Finally, the aunt waked up, and

" ' H o w absurd I '

wanted to know what we were laughing at.

"'Ten?'

Whereupon Louie said that she was laugh­

" ' O f course not.'

ing at a ridiculous story of mine, about an

1

THE LADY CE THE ICE.

40

Indian juggler who could keep three or­

rate, he was the only person to whom I

anges i n the air at the same time.

could think of telling i t .

" Captain Randolph/ said she you know 1

1

So you see—

all about Frederick the Great, of course ?' " * Of course,' I said, * and Alexander the

CHAPTER X I I .

Great also, and Julius Caesar, and Nebu­ chadnezzar, as the poet says.' " * Perhaps you remember,' said Louie, i n a grave tone, for her aunt was wide awake now, * that the peculiar excellence of the genius of that great monarch con­ sisted i n hi3 successful efforts to encounter the coalition raised against him.

Though

MY ADVENTURES REHEARSED TO JACK RAN­ DOLPH.—" MY DEAR SAY

FELLOW, YOU DON'T

SO ! " — " 'rON iTY LIFE, Y E S . " — BY l