Essential Novelists - Bret Harte. Bret Harte

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СКАЧАТЬ that he has always been your devoted friend—and I thought you were his. You brought him to us," she said a little viciously.

      "Yes—I picked him up at Sweetwater. But what do you know of his history? What has he told you?"

      "He ran away from a wicked stepfather and relations whom he hated. He came out West to live alone—among the Indians—or to seek his fortune in Oregon. He is very proud—you know, sir. He is as unlike us as you are, sir,—he is a gentleman. He is educated."

      "Yes, I believe that's what they call it here, and he doesn't know the petals of a flower from the stamens," muttered Devarges. "Well! After you run away with him does he propose to marry you?"

      For an instant a faint flush deepened the wan cheek of the girl, and she lost her guard. But the next moment she recovered it.

      "Oh, sir," said this arch hypocrite, sweetly, "how can you jest so cruelly at such a moment? The life of my dear brother and sister, the lives of the poor women in yonder hut, depend upon our going. He and I are the only ones left who have strength enough to make the trial. I can assist him, for, although strong, I require less to support my strength than he. Something tells me we shall be successful; we shall return soon with help. Oh, sir,—it is no time for trifling now; our lives—even your own is at stake!"

      "My own life," said the old man, impassively, "is already spent. Before you return, if you return at all, I shall be beyond your help."

      A spasm of pain appeared to pass over his face. He lay still for a moment as if to concentrate his strength for a further effort. But when he again spoke his voice was much lower, and he seemed to articulate with difficulty.

      "Grace," he said at last, "come nearer, girl,—I have something to tell you."

      Grace hesitated. Within the last few moments a shy, nervous dread of the man which she could not account for had taken possession of her. She looked toward her sleeping brother.

      "He will not waken," said Devarges, following the direction of her eyes. "The anodyne still holds its effect. Bring me what you took from the fire."

      Grace brought the stone—a dull bluish-grey slag. The old man took it, examined it, and then said to Grace—

      "Rub it briskly on your blanket."

      Grace did so. After a few moments it began to exhibit a faint white lustre on its polished surface.

      "It looks like silver," said Grace, doubtfully.

      "It is silver!" replied Devarges.

      Grace put it down quickly and moved slightly away.

      "Take it," said the old man,—"it is yours. A year ago I found it in a ledge of the mountain range far west of this. I know where it lies in bulk—a fortune, Grace, do you hear?—hidden in the bluish stone you put in the fire for me last night. I can tell you where and how to find it. I can give you the title to it—the right of discovery. Take it—it is yours."

      "No, no," said the girl, hurriedly, "keep it yourself. You will live to enjoy it."

      "Never, Grace! even were I to live I should not make use of it. I have in my life had more than my share of it, and it brought me no happiness. It has no value to me—the rankest weed that grows above it is worth more in my eyes. Take it. To the world it means everything—wealth and position. Take it. It will make you as proud and independent as your lover—it will make you always gracious in his eyes;—it will be a setting to your beauty,—it will be a pedestal to your virtue. Take it—it is yours."

      "But you have relatives—friends," said the girl, drawing away from the shining stone with a half superstitious awe. "There are others whose claims"——

      "None greater than yours," interrupted the old man, with the nervous haste of failing breath. "Call it a reward if you choose. Look upon it as a bribe to keep your lover to the fulfilment of his promise to preserve my manuscripts and collection. Think, if you like, that it is an act of retribution—that once in my life I might have known a young girl whose future would have been blessed by such a gift. Think—think what you like—but take it!"

      His voice had sunk to a whisper. A greyish pallor had overspread his face, and his breath came with difficulty. Grace would have called her brother, but with a motion of his hand Devarges restrained her. With a desperate effort he raised himself upon his elbow, and drawing an envelope from his pocket, put it in her hand.

      "It contains—map—description of mine and locality—yours—say you will take it—Grace, quick, say"——

      His head had again sunk to the floor. She stooped to raise it. As she did so a slight shadow darkened the opening by the door. She raised her eyes quickly and saw the face of Dumphy!

      She did not shrink this time; but, with a sudden instinct, she turned to Devarges, and said—

      "I will!"

      She raised her eyes again defiantly, but the face had disappeared.

      "Thank you," said the old man. His lips moved again, but without a sound. A strange film had begun to gather in his eyes.

      "Dr. Devarges," whispered Grace.

      He did not speak. "He is dying," thought the young girl as a new and sudden fear overcame her. She rose quickly and crossed hurriedly to her brother and shook him. A prolonged inspiration, like a moan, was the only response. For a moment she glanced wildly around the room and then ran to the door.

      "Philip!"

      There was no response. She climbed up through the tunnel-like opening. It was already quite dark, and a few feet beyond the hut nothing was distinguishable. She cast a rapid backward glance, and then, with a sudden desperation, darted forward into the darkness. At the same moment two figures raised themselves from behind the shadow of the mound and slipped down the tunnel into the hut—Mrs. Brackett and Mr. Dumphy. They might have been the meanest predatory animals—so stealthy, so eager, so timorous, so crouching, and yet so agile were their motions. They ran sometimes upright, and sometimes on all fours, hither and thither. They fell over each other in their eagerness, and struck and spat savagely at each other in the half darkness. They peered into corners, they rooted in the dying embers and among the ashes, they groped among the skins and blankets, they smelt and sniffed at every article. They paused at last apparently unsuccessful, and glared at each other.

      "They must have eaten it," said Mrs. Brackett, in a hoarse whisper.

      "It didn't look like suthin' to eat," said Dumphy.

      "You saw 'em take it from the fire?"

      "Yes!"

      "And rub it?"

      "Yes!"

      "Fool. Don't you see"——

      "What?"

      "It was a baked potato."

      Dumphy sat dumfounded.

      "Why should they rub it? It takes off the cracklin' skins," he said.

      "They've got such fine stomachs!" answered Mrs. Bracket, СКАЧАТЬ