In his new mood he might do it again. The thought made ay blood run cold. The more I dwelt upon it, the more confident I was that Jack would do this.
And what could I do?
One of two ways could be adopted:
First, I might go there on the following day, and call on Miss O"Halloran. Her father would be away.
And, secondly, I might write her a letter.
But neither of these plans seemed satisfactory. In the first place, I did not feel altogether prepared to go and call on her for such a purpose. It came on a fellow too suddenly. In the second place, a letter did not seem to be the proper style of thing. The fact is, when a fellow seeks a lady, he ought to do it face to face, if possible.
The more I thought of it, the more strongly I felt the absolute necessity of waiting for those two days which should intervene before I could go. Then I might go on a regular invitation. Then I might have an additional opportunity of finding out her sentiments toward me. In fact, I concluded to wait.
And so I waited.
The two days pa.s.sed slowly. Jack, of course, kept aloof, and I saw nothing and heard nothing of him. Where he was, or what he was doing, I could not tell. I could only conjecture. And all my conjectures led to the fixed conviction that Jack in his desperation had written to her, and proposed flight.
This conviction became intensified more and more every hour. I grew more and more impatient. My mood became one of constant and incessant fidgetiness, nervousness, and harrowing suspense.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TREMENDOUS EXCITEMENT.--THE HOUR APPROACHES, AND WITH IT THE MAN.--THE LADY OF THE ICE.--A TUMULTUOUS MEETING.--OUTPOURING OF TENDER EMOTIONS.--AGITATION OF THE LADY.--A SUDDEN INTERRUPTION.--AN INJURED MAN, AN AWFUL, FEARFUL, DIREFUL, AND UTTERLY-CRUSHING REVELATION.--WHO IS THE LADY OF THE ICE?
At last the appointed evening came, and I prepared to go to O"Halloran"s. By this time I was roused up to a pitch of excitement such as I had never before experienced. For two days and two nights I had been brooding and dreaming over this one subject, imagining all sorts of things, making all sorts of conjectures about Jack"s letter and Miss O"Halloran"s reception of it. Was it possible that she could share his madness and his desperation? That I could not tell. Women in love, and men in love also, will always act madly and desperately. But was she in love? Could that serene, laughing, merry, happy face belong to one who was capable of a sudden act of desperation--of one who would flit with Jack, and fling her father into Borrow at a moment"s warning?
How could that be? So by turns my hopes and my fears rose in the ascendant, and the end of it all was that, by the time I reached O"Halloran"s door, Jack himself, in his most frantic mood, could not have been more perfectly given up to any headlong piece of rashness, folly, and desperation, than I was.
I knocked at the door.
I was admitted, and shown into the room. O"Halloran, I was told, had just arrived, and was dressing. Would I be kind enough to wait?
I sat down.
In about two minutes I heard a light footstep.
My heart beat fast.
Some one was coming.
Who?
The light footstep and the rustling dress showed that it was a lady.
But who?
Was it the servant?
Or Marion?
Was it Nora?
My heart actually stood still as these possibilities suggested themselves, and I sat glaring at the door.
The figure entered.
My heart gave a wild bound; the blood surged to my face, and boiled in my veins. It was Nora"s self! It was--it was--my Nora!
I rose as she entered. She greeted me with her usual beaming and fascinating smile. I took her hand, and did not say a word for a few moments. The hour had come. I was struggling to speak. Here she was.
This was the opportunity for which I had longed. But what should I say?
"I"ve been longing to see you alone," I cried, at last. "Have you forgotten that day on the ice? Have you forgotten the eternal hours of that day? Do you remember how you clung to me as we crossed the ice-ridge, while the waves were surging behind us, and the great ice-heaps came crashing down? Do you remember how I raised you up as you fell lifeless, and carried your senseless form, springing over the open channel, and dashing up the cliff? And I lost you, and now I"ve found you again!"
I stopped, and looked at her earnestly, to see how she received my words.
And here let me confess that such a mode of address was not generous or chivalrous, nor was it at all in good taste. True chivalry would have scorned to remind another of an obligation conferred; but then, you see, this was a very peculiar case. In love, my boy, all the ordinary rules of life, and that sort of thing, you know, must give way to the exigencies of the hour. And this was a moment of dire exigency, in which much had to be said in the most energetic manner. Besides, I spoke what I thought, and that"s my chief excuse after all.
I stopped and looked at her; but, as I looked, I did not feel reason to be satisfied with my success so far. She retreated a step, and tried to withdraw her hand. She looked at me with a face of perplexity and despair. Seeing this, I let go her hand. She clasped both hands together, and looked at me in silence.
"What!" said I, tragically, yet sincerely--for a great, dark, bitter disappointment rose up within me--"what! Is all this nothing? Has it all been nothing to you? Alas! what else could I expect? I might have known it all. No. You never thought of me. You could not, I was less than the driver to you. If you had thought of me, you never would have run away and left me when I was wandering over the country thinking only of you, with all my heart yearning after you, and seeking only for some help to send you. And yet there was that in our journey which might at least have elicited from you some word of sympathy."
There again, my friend, I was ungenerous, unchivalrous, and all that.
Bad enough is it to remind one of favors done; but, on the heels of that, to go deliberately to work and reproach one for want of grat.i.tude, is ten times worse. By Jove! And for this, as for the other, my only excuse is the exigencies of the hour.
Meanwhile she stood with an increasing perplexity and grief in every look and gesture. She cast at me a look of utter despair. She wrung her hands; and at last, as I ended, she exclaimed:
"Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do? Oh, dear! Oh, what a dreadful, dreadful thing! Oh, dear!"
Her evident distress touched me to the heart. Evidently, she was compromised with Jack, and was embarra.s.sed by this.
"Follow your own heart," said I, mournfully. "But say--can you not give me some hope? Can you not give me one kind word?"
"Oh, dear!" she cried; "it"s dreadful. I don"t know what to do. It"s all a mistake. Oh, I _wish_ you could only know all! And me!! What in the world _can_ I do!"
"Oh, Miss O"Halloran!" said I; "I love you--I adore-you--and--oh, Miss O"Halloran!--I--"
"Miss O"Halloran!" she cried, starting back as I advanced once more, and tried to take her hand.
"_Nora_, then," said I. "Dearest, sweetest! You cannot be indifferent. Oh, Nora!" and I grasped her hand.
But at that moment I was startled by a heavy footstep at the door. I dropped Nora"s hand, which she herself s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and turned.
IT WAS O"HALLORAN!!!!!
He stood for a moment looking at us, and then he burst out into a roar of laughter.