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Chapter XX: The Revenge of Matthew Heller
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chapter XX the reVenge of matthew heller the autumn landscape in the Seven Mountains is sombre rather than gay. There are few rock maples to furnish the vivid yellows and scarlets. Here and there a sassafras adds its splash of ochre, and a chestnut or a shell-bark varies the scene with its pale lemon, but the ruling tints are dull. The scrub-oak, which dominates every scene, turns late in the season to a russet brown, and then at length to a livid red and purple, as if the year had to force the tree to obey the season, and strangle it into submission. Late into the winter and even into the spring, the snags that twist themselves among the rocks cling with desperate grip to their old leaves, loath to disclose their deformity; and these yellowed and tattered rags give to the winter ridges an indescribably desolate and lifeless aspect. But the Indian summer transfigures the mountains, and drives away for a time every trace of sombreness. The haze settles down like a veil over the ridges, concealing the sharp angles and ragged gaps and scrawny trees, until the ranges lie vague and dim, like summer clouds. It was Sunday, the last day of October, and the flood-tide of the year. There was not a movement in the landscape; all was still as if the world were dead; even the voice of the Run, which so dominates the little valley, was lost in the haze. the house of the black ring { 210 } “Beautiful! beautiful!” whispered Tom Farthing, looking down at the frail figure beside him.“Isn’t it beautiful?” “Yes, too beautiful to last.” There was weakness in the voice. She was half reclining amid pillows, wan and wistful-eyed, but fairer than he had ever seen her before. He looked into her face and drove more softly. “No, no, Lona,” he pleaded,“don’t say that. Please don’t.” Then they were silent again, while the great sun shone on them and the soft haze folded them into a little world where they two were alone,—utterly and forever, it seemed, in that golden light,—they two, and alone. “Why, Tom, where are you taking me?” she asked suddenly, arousing herself and looking about her. “Oh, I’m just letting the horse go.” “But, see,—the old cabin! He’s taking us to the old cabin!” She looked up into his face as if in sudden alarm. “And why not?” “Tom,—please! Oh, you don’t know—” “But let’s not go home now, Lona,” he broke in pleadingly.“It’s too beautiful. Let’s go in; you can rest a long time before we start back. We can be all alone,—and it’s so beautiful.” “But, Tom—” “All ready.” He had alighted and was standing by the wheel.“Come.” He lifted her unresisting from the buggy, and carried her as if she were a child in to the old sofa. “One moment; I’ll get the pillows—There, you can rest now just as if you were in your own room. Can’t you?” “Yes; but, Tom—you don’t know—” “And I don’t care,” he burst out with passion in his voice.“Oh, Lona, I don’t know anything, only that I love you.” He knelt impulsively, so that he could look up into her eyes, and took both of her hands in his. “I wouldn’t say it while you were sick; I couldn’t; but you’re better now, aren’t you? and I may say it now, mayn’t I?” “Tom, I must tell you something—” “No, no, don’t,” he pleaded. “But I must,—I must,—and you’ll hate me—” “Lona!” “It’s my brother,—Leon—” “Oh, is that all? That’s nothing. I know all about that. It’s just nothing at all.” “Wait!” She sat up suddenly among the pillows and looked into his eyes almost fiercely. “It is something, and you will hate me. Listen to [54.210.224.114] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 08:59 GMT) the reVenge of matthew heller { 211 } this: I knew all winter they were in the cave; I knew all about the robberies , and the death of Karl Keichline.” “Ah!” “I always knew Leon wasn’t drowned. I’ve been away with him on the road—to the city. We’re of gipsy blood; it came from Gran’maw.” She poured out the words impetuously, as if...