<SPAN name="chap98"></SPAN>
<h3>Chapter Ninety Eight.</h3>
<h4>Beauty Embrowned.</h4>
<p>The apparition—for it had something of the character of one—restored my equanimity. Holt was with the Mormon train; and of course Lilian also. It may seem strange that this knowledge should have given me satisfaction—that a belief, but yesterday grieving me, should to-day bring gladness!</p>
<p>The apparent anomaly is easily explained. It was the consequence of a change in the situation. My confidence in the success of our scheme had now become strengthened—almost to a certainty. So deftly had we taken our measures, that we need apprehend no great difficulty in attaining the end aimed at. Among the Saints, there was not the slightest suspicion of our character—at least none had yet shown itself. We should be free to come and go, as we pleased: since the very nature of our contract required it. Camp and caravan would be alike accessible to us—at all hours, I might say—and surely opportunities would not be lacking for the accomplishment of our purpose?</p>
<p>Only one object was worth regarding: the will of Lilian herself. She might still refuse to become a runaway? She might not consent to forsake her father? In that case, our efforts would be idle indeed! Had I reason to expect such a perverse contingency? Surely not? Though my own influence might be gone, her sister would still have the power to persuade her? Her eyes once opened to the conspiracy that threatened her, surely but one thought could arise in that virtuous bosom—how to escape from it? “No—no,” was my concluding reflection, spoken in soliloquy, “there need be no fear of opposition in that quarter. True, Lilian is still a child; but her virtue is that of a virgin heart. Her sister’s story, when told to her, will arouse her to a sense of her own danger. She will be ready, as we, to adopt measures for averting it.”</p>
<p>Drawing comfort from this reflection, I was turning to attend to my horse. The gallant creature had been sadly neglected of late, and needed my care. A huge Mexican <i>silla</i>, that with its trappings half-covered its body, would have sufficiently disguised him; but I had not much fear of his being recognised. Stebbins and Holt had both seen him—once only, and then under such circumstances that it was scarcely possible they could have noticed him. Otherwise, they might have remembered him readily enough. Such a noble steed, once seen, would not easily be forgotten. I had no fear, however; and was about to remove the saddle, when an object presented itself to my eyes that interrupted my intention—causing me to remain fixed and immobile. In the open ground, scarcely twenty paces from where I stood, was a form that fell upon the eye like a beam of empyrean light in the midst of deepest darkness—a girl of golden roseate hue, with a <i>chevelure</i> of yellow hair hanging to her haunches in all its lustrous luxuriance! Scarcely twenty paces separated me from Lilian Holt: for need I say that it was Lilian herself who was standing before me?</p>
<p>Instinctively, I noted changes. The wax-like smoothness, and, to a certain extent, the whiteness of her complexion, had yielded to the fervid rays of the prairie sun; but the slight embrowning appeared rather an improvement: as the bloom upon the peach, or the russet on the nectarine, proves the superior richness of the fruit. It had toned down the red upon her cheeks, but the glow was still sufficiently vivid. I observed or fancied another change—in her stature. She appeared to have grown larger and taller—in both respects, almost equalling her sister—and resembling the latter in that full development of form, which was one of the characteristic features of her queen-like beauty. These were the only changes external. Even the simple costume—the old homespun frock of yellowish stripe—still enveloped her form; no longer hanging loosely as of yore, but presenting a more sparing fit on account of the increased dimensions of the wearer. The string of pearls, too—false pearls, poor thing!—yet encircled her throat, whose now fuller outline was more capable of displaying them. A pleasing reflection crossed my mind at the moment, that shaped itself into an interrogatory: might there have been no motive for further adornment?</p>
<p>As erst, her little feet were naked—gleaming with roseate translucence against the green background of the herbage. She was standing when I first saw her: not in a position of rest, but with one foot pressing the turf, the other slightly retired, as if she had just paused in her steps. She was not fronting me, but half-turned. She appeared to have come as near as she intended, and was about going off again in an oblique direction: like the startled antelope, that, despite its timidity, stops to gaze upon the “object that has alarmed it.” So short a time had my eyes been averted from the path by which she must have approached, I might well have fancied that she had suddenly sprung out of the earth—as Cytherea from the sea! Equally brilliant was the apparition—to me, of far more absorbing interest. Her large eyes were fixed upon me in a gaze of wondering curiosity—a curiosity which the picturesque habiliments and savage character of my toilet were well calculated to provoke. Her examination of me was soon ended; and she walked off in the direction towards which she had already turned her steps. She seemed scarcely satisfied, however: as I observed that she looked repeatedly back. What thought was prompting her to this? Women have keen perceptions—in intuition almost equalling instinct in its perceptive power. Could she have a suspicion? No, no: the thing was improbable—impossible!</p>
<p>The path she was following would conduct her to the bank of the river—about a hundred yards above where our tents had been pitched, and a like distance from the nearest of the waggons. Her object in going thither was evident. A tin water-can, hanging by its iron handle over her wrist, proclaimed her errand. On reaching the river, she did not proceed to fill the vessel; but, placing it near the water’s edge, sat down beside it. The bank, slightly elevated above the stream, offered a sort of projecting bench. Upon this she had seated herself—in such an attitude that her limbs hung over, until one foot was immersed in the water. Her long hair lay spread upon the grass behind her; and with her head drooping forward, she appeared to gaze into the crystal depths of the stream—as intently, as if mirrored there she saw the form upon which the thoughts most delighted to dwell. Up to this point, I had watched her every movement. But only by stealth and in silence: since I knew that eyes were upon me. Just then, however, most of the gazers retired from our tents—a call to supper within the corral having summoned them away. For all that, I dared not approach the girl. The act would have appeared strange; and even she might desire to shun the too <i>free</i> intrusion of my savage presence—perhaps flee from it altogether? The opportunity of speaking with her was sufficiently tempting. Such another might not soon recur? I trembled at the thought of losing it. What was to be done? I might have sent Marian. She was still inside her tent, where she had taken shelter from the bold glances of her vulgar admirers. She did not yet know that Lilian was outside. I might have given her notice of the circumstance, and deputed her to speak with her sister; but I had certain reasons for not following this course.</p>
<p>At this crisis an idea occurred to me, that promised to aid me in obtaining the interview I longed for. My Arab had not yet been given to the grass! Near where Lilian was seated, the herbage was luxuriant—more so than anywhere around. Upon it I could picket my steed, or hold him in hand, while he should browse? I lost not a minute in removing the saddle, and adjusting the halter; and scarcely another in approaching the spot where the young girl was seated. I drew near, however, with due circumspection—fearful that by a too brusque approach I might hasten her departure. I gave my horse to the grass—now and then guiding him with a pull upon the halter, which I still held in my hand. The young girl saw that I was gradually nearing her, and looked twice or three times towards me—not with any air of alarm. Rather of interest, I thought; but this may have been only a fancy. My horse appeared to share her attention—indeed, more than share it: since she fixed her eyes upon him frequently, and looked longer at him each time! Was it the noble form that was attracting her admiration? Or was there something that called up a recollection! She might remember the horse?</p>
<p>“Oh, Lilian! would that I could speak to you as myself! How my heart yearns to give and receive some token of recognition? But no—not yet. I would not declare myself, till assured that that recognition might be welcome. Not till I could learn, whether the tender tie that bound our hearts was still unloosed—whether its too slender thread was yet unbroken!”</p>
<p>I had resolved to explore the secret chambers of her heart; and this it was that rendered me desirous of anticipating any interview that might occur with her sister. Perhaps too easily might I obtain the knowledge of which I was in search? I might reach, only to <i>rue</i> it? As I drew near, my hopes of being permitted to address myself to her increased. She still kept her seat, and made no attempt to shun me. I had approached within speaking distance. Words were upon my tongue; when a harsh voice, coming from behind, interrupted, at the same instant, both my speech and my intention.</p>
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