CHAPTER XLII.

Again we started. Rask, who, during our conversation, had shown frequent signs of impatience to renew his journey, bounded joyously before us. We plunged into a virgin forest, and after half an hour’s walking we came out on a grassy opening in the wood. On one side was a waterfall dashing over rugged rocks, whilst the primeval trees of the forest surrounded it on all sides. Amongst the rocks was a cave, the grey face of which was shrouded by a mass of climbing plants. Rask ran towards it barking, but at a sign from Pierrot he became silent, and the latter taking me by the hand led me without a word to the entrance of the cave.

A woman with her back towards the light was seated on a mat: at the sound of our steps she turned——my friends——it was Marie! She wore the same white dress that she had done on the day of our marriage, and the wreath of orange blossoms was still on her head. She recognized me in a moment, and with a cry of joy threw herself into my arms. I was speechless with surprise and emotion. At her cry an old woman carrying a child in her arms hurried from an inner chamber formed in the depth of the cave, she was Marie’s nurse, and she carried my uncle’s youngest child.

Pierrot hastened to bring some water from the neighbouring spring, and threw a few drops in Marie’s face, who was overcome by emotion; she speedily recovered, and opening her eyes, exclaimed—

“Leopold, my Leopold!”

“Marie,” cried I, and my words were stifled in a kiss.

“Not before me, for pity’s sake,” cried a voice, in accents of agony.

We looked round; it came from Pierrot. The sight of our endearments appeared to inflict terrible torture on him, his bosom heaved, a cold perspiration bedewed his forehead, and every limb quivered. Suddenly he hid his face in his hands, and fled from the grotto repeating in tones of anguish—

“Not before me! not before me!”

Marie half raised herself in my arms, and following his retreating form with her eyes, exclaimed—

“Leopold, our happiness seems to trouble him; can it be that he loves me?”

The exclamation of the slave had showed that he was my rival, but Marie’s speech proved that he was my trusty friend.

“Marie,” answered I, as the wildest happiness mingled with the deepest regret filled my heart, “Marie, were you ignorant of it?”

“Until this moment I was,” answered she, a blush overspreading her beautiful features. “Does he really love me, for he never let me know it.”

I clasped her to my bosom, in all the madness of happiness.

“I have recovered both wife and friend; how happy am I, but how guilty, for I doubted him!”

“What!” cried Marie, in surprise, “had you doubts of Pierrot? oh, you have indeed been in fault. Twice has he saved my life, and perhaps more than life,” she added, casting down her eyes; “without him the alligator would have devoured me, without him the negroes: it was Pierrot who rescued me from their hands, when they were about to send me to rejoin my unhappy father.”

She broke off her speech with a flood of tears.

“And why,” asked I, “did not Pierrot send you to Cap, to your husband?”

“He tried to do so,” replied she, “but it was impossible, compelled as he was to conceal me both from the whites and the blacks, his position was a most difficult one; and then, too, he was ignorant where you were. Some said that they had seen you killed, but Pierrot assured me that this was not the case, and a something convinced me that he spoke the truth, for I felt that had you been dead, I should have died at the same time.”

“Then, Pierrot brought you here?” asked I.

“Yes, my Leopold, this solitary cave is known only to him. At the same time that he rescued me, he saved all that remained alive of our family, my little brother and my old nurse, and hid us here.”

“The place is very nice, and now that the war has destroyed our house, and ruined us, I should like to live here with you. Pierrot supplied all our wants. He used to come very often; he wore a plume of red feathers on his head. He used to console me by talking of you, and always assured me that we should meet again, but for the past three days I have not seen him, and I was beginning to be uneasy, when to-day he came back with you. He had been seeking for you, had he not?”

“Yes,” replied I.

“But if so, how can he be in love with me? Are you sure of it?”

“Quite,” answered I, “it was he who was about to stab me beneath your window, and spared me lest it should afflict you; it was he who sang the love songs at the pavilion by the river.”

“Then he is your rival,” exclaimed Marie, with naïve surprise, “and the wicked man with the wild marigolds is Pierrot; I can hardly believe that. He was so respectful and humble to me, much more so than when he was our slave. It is true that sometimes he looked at me in a strange manner, but I attributed his sadness to our misfortunes. If you could only know with what tenderness he spoke of you, my Leopold. His friendship made him speak of you as much as my love did.”

These explanations of Marie enchanted and yet grieved me. I felt how cruelly I had treated the noble-hearted Pierrot, and I felt all the force of his gentle reproach, “It is not I who am ungrateful.”

At this instant Pierrot returned. His face was dark and gloomy, and he looked like a martyr returning from the place of torture, but yet retaining an air of triumph.

He came towards me, and pointing to the dagger in my belt, said—“The hour has passed!”

“Hour, what hour?” asked I.

“The one you granted me; it was necessary for me to have so much time allowed me in which to bring you here. Then I conjured you to spare my life, now I supplicate you to take it away.”

The most tender feelings of the heart, love, gratitude, and friendship, united themselves together to torture me. Unable to say a word, but sobbing bitterly, I cast myself at the feet of the slave. He raised me up in haste.

“What are you doing?” cried he.

“I pay you the homage that is your due, but I am no longer worthy of friendship such as yours; can your friendship be pushed so far as to forgive me my ingratitude?”

For a time his expression remained stern, he appeared to be undergoing a violent mental contest. He took a step towards me; then drew back, and seemed on the point of speaking, but no words passed his lips. The struggle was a short one, he opened his arms to embrace me, saying—

“May I now call you brother?”

My only reply was to cast myself on his breast. After a short pause, he added—

“You were always kind, but misfortune had rendered you unjust.”

“I have found my brother once again,” said I. “I am unfortunate no longer, but I have been very guilty.”

“Guilty, brother, I also have been guilty, and more so than you; you are no longer unhappy, but I shall be so for ever!”