From your loving brother,
RUTH.A deep sense of relief overpowered every other feeling in Rands breast. It was clear that Ruth had not yet discovered the truth of Mornies flight: he was on his way to Sacramento, and before he could return, Mornie could be removed. Once despatched in some other direction, with Ruth once more returned and under his brothers guidance, the separation could be made easy and final. There was evidently no marriage as yet; and now, the fear of an immediate meeting over, there should be none. For Rand had already feared this; had recalled the few infelicitous relations, legal and illegal, which were common to the adjoining camp,the flagrantly miserable life of the husband of a San Francisco anonyma who lived in style at the Ferry, the shameful carousals and more shameful quarrels of the Frenchman and Mexican woman who kept house at the Crossing, the awful spectacle of the three half-bred Indian children who played before the cabin of a fellow miner and townsman. Thank Heaven, the Eagles Nest on Table Mountain should never be pointed at from the valley as another
A heavy hand upon his arm brought him trembling to his feet. He turned, and met the half-anxious, half-contemptuous glance of the doctor.
Im sorry to disturb you, he said dryly; but its about time you or somebody else put in an appearance at that cabin. Luckily for HER, shes one woman in a thousand; has had her wits about her better than some folks I know, and has left me little to do but make her comfortable. But shes gone through too much,fought her little fight too gallantly,is altogether too much of a trump to be played off upon now. So rise up out of that, young man, pick up your scattered faculties, and fetch a womansome sensible creature of her own sexto look after her; for, without wishing to be personal, Im dd if I trust her to the likes of you.
There was no mistaking Dr. Duchesne s voice and manner; and Rand was affected by it, as most people were throughout the valley of the Stanislaus. But he turned upon him his frank and boyish face, and said simply, But I dont know any woman, or where to get one.
The doctor looked at him again. Well, Ill find you some one, he said, softening.
Thank you! said Rand.
The doctor was disappearing. With an effort Rand recalled him. One moment, doctor. He hesitated, and his cheeks were glowing. Youll please say nothing about this down therehe pointed to the valleyfor a time. And youll say to the woman you send
Dr. Duchesne, whose resolute lips were sealed upon the secrets of half Tuolumne County, interrupted him scornfully. I cannot answer for the womanyou must talk to her yourself. As for me, generally I keep my professional visits to myself; but he laid his hand on Rands armif I find out youre putting on any airs to that poor creature, if, on my next visit, her lips or her pulse tell me you havent been acting on the square to her, Ill drop a hint to drunken old Nixon where his daughter is hidden. I reckon she could stand his brutality better than yours. Good-night!
In another moment he was gone. Rand, who had held back his quick tongue, feeling himself in the power of this man, once more alone, sank on a rock, and buried his face in his hands. Recalling himself in a moment, he rose, wiped his hot eyelids, and staggered toward the cabin. It was quite still now. He paused on the topmost step, and listened: there was no sound from the ledge, or the Eagles Nest that clung to it. Half timidly he descended the winding steps, and paused before the door of the cabin. Mornie, he said, in a dry, metallic voice, whose only indication of the presence of sickness was in the lowness of its pitch,Mornie! There was no reply. Mornie, he repeated impatiently, its me,Rand. If you want anything, youre to call me. I am just outside. Still no answer came from the silent cabin. He pushed open the door gently, hesitated, and stepped over the threshold.
A change in the interior of the cabin within the last few hours showed a new presence. The guns, shovels, picks, and blankets had disappeared; the two chairs were drawn against the wall, the table placed by the bedside. The swinging-lantern was shaded towards the bed,the object of Rands attention. On that bed, his brothers bed, lay a helpless woman, pale from the long black hair that matted her damp forehead, and clung to her hollow cheeks. Her face was turned to the wall, so that the softened light fell upon her profile, which to Rand at that moment seemed even noble and strong. But the next moment his eye fell upon the shoulder and arm that lay nearest to him, and the little bundle, swathed in flannel, that it clasped to her breast. His brow grew dark as he gazed. The sleeping woman moved. Perhaps it was an instinctive consciousness of his presence; perhaps it was only the current of cold air from the opened door: but she shuddered slightly, and, still unconscious, drew the child as if away from HIM, and nearer to her breast. The shamed blood rushed to Rands face; and saying half aloud, Im not going to take your precious babe away from you, he turned in half-boyish pettishness away. Nevertheless he came back again shortly to the bedside, and gazed upon them both. She certainly did look altogether more ladylike, and less aggressive, lying there so still: sickness, that cheap refining process of some natures, was not unbecoming to her. But this bundle! A boyish curiosity, stronger than even his strong objection to the whole episode, was steadily impelling him to lift the blanket from it. I suppose shed waken if I did, said Rand; but Id like to know what right the doctor had to wrap it up in my best flannel shirt. This fresh grievance, the fruit of his curiosity, sent him away again to meditate on the ledge. After a few moments he returned again, opened the cupboard at the foot of the bed softly, took thence a piece of chalk, and scrawled in large letters upon the door of the cupboard, If you want anything, sing out: Im just outside.RAND. This done, he took a blanket and bear-skin from the corner, and walked to the door. But here he paused, looked back at the inscription (evidently not satisfied with it), returned, took up the chalk, added a line, but rubbed it out again, repeated this operation a few times until he produced the polite postscript,Hope youll be better soon. Then he retreated to the ledge, spread the bear-skin beside the door, and, rolling himself in a blanket, lit his pipe for his night-long vigil. But Rand, although a martyr, a philosopher, and a moralist, was young. In less than ten minutes the pipe dropped from his lips, and he was asleep.