"That's true,"repeated Low,in all seriousness;"it's not your fault.But do you know,I sometimes think I am peculiarly sensitive to water;I feel it miles away.At night,though I may not see it or even know where it is,I am conscious of it.It is company to me when I am alone,and I seem to hear it in my dreams.There is no music as sweet to me as its song.When you sang with me that day in church,I seemed to hear it ripple in your voice.It says to me more than the birds do,more than the rarest plants I find.It seems to live with me and for me.It is my earliest recollection;I know it will be my last,for Ishall die in its embrace.Do you think,Nellie,"he continued,stopping short and gazing earnestly in her face--"do you think that the chiefs knew this when they called me 'Sleeping Water'?"To Miss Nellie's several gifts I fear the gods had not added poetry.A slight knowledge of English verse of a select character,unfortunately,did not assist her in the interpretation of the young man's speech,nor relieve her from the momentary feeling that he was at times deficient in intellect.She preferred,however,to take a personal view of the question,and expressed her sarcastic regret that she had not known before that she had been indebted to the great flume and ditch at Excelsior for the pleasure of his acquaintance.This pert remark occasioned some explanation,which ended in the girl's accepting a kiss in lieu of more logical argument.
Nevertheless,she was still conscious of an inward irritation--always distinct from her singular and perfectly material passion--which found vent as the difficulties of their undeviating progress through the underbrush increased.At last she lost her shoe again,and stopped short."It's a pity your Indian friends did not christen you 'Wild Mustard'or 'Clover,'"she said satirically,"that you might have had some sympathies and longings for the open fields instead of these horrid jungles!Iknow we will not get back in time."
Unfortunately,Low accepted this speech literally and with his remorseless gravity."If my name annoys you,I can get it changed by the legislature,you know,and I can find out what my father's name was,and take that.My mother,who died in giving me birth,was the daughter of a chief.""Then your mother was really an Indian?"said Nellie,"and you are--"She stopped short.
"But I told you all this the day we first met,"said Low,with grave astonishment."Don't you remember our long talk coming from church?""No,"said Nellie coldly,"you didn't tell me."But she was obliged to drop her eyes before the unwavering,undeniable truthfulness of his.
"You have forgotten,"he said calmly;"but it is only right you should have your own way in disposing of a name that I have cared little for;and as you're to have a share of it--""Yes,but it's getting late,and if we are not going forward--"interrupted the girl impatiently.
"We ARE going forward,"said Low imperturbably;"but I wanted to tell you,as we were speaking on THAT subject"(Nellie looked at her watch),"I've been offered the place of botanist and naturalist in Professor Grant's survey of Mount Shasta,and if Itake it--why,when I come back,darling--well--""But you're not going just yet,"broke in Nellie,with a new expression in her face.
"No."
"Then we need not talk of it now,"she said,with animation.
Her sudden vivacity relieved him."I see what's the matter,"he said gently,looking down at her feet;"these little shoes were not made to keep step with a moccasin.We must try another way."He stooped as if to secure the erring buskin,but suddenly lifted her like a child to his shoulder."There,"he continued,placing her arm round his neck,"you are clear of the ferns and brambles now,and we can go on.Are you comfortable?"He looked up,read her answer in her burning eyes and the warm lips pressed to his forehead at the roots of his straight dark hair,and again moved onward as in a mesmeric dream.But he did not swerve from his direct course,and with a final dash through the undergrowth parted the leafy curtain before the spring.
At first the young girl was dazzled by the strong light that came from a rent in the interwoven arches of the wood.The breach had been caused by the huge bulk of one of the great giants that had half fallen,and was lying at a steep angle against one of its mightiest brethren,having borne down a lesser tree in the arc of its downward path.Two of the roots,as large as younger trees,tossed their blackened and bare limbs high in the air.The spring--the insignificant cause of this vast disruption--gurgled,flashed,and sparkled at the base;the limpid baby fingers that had laid bare the foundations of that fallen column played with the still clinging rootlets,laved the fractured and twisted limbs,and,widening,filled with sleeping water the graves from which they had been torn.
"It had been going on for years,down there,"said Low,pointing to a cavity from which the fresh water now slowly welled,"but it had been quickened by the rising of the subterranean springs and rivers which always occurs at a certain stage of the dry season.
I remember that on that very night--for it happened a little after midnight,when all sounds are more audible--I was troubled and oppressed in my sleep by what you would call a nightmare;a feeling as if I was kept down by bonds and pinions that I longed to break.And then I heard a crash in this direction,and the first streak of morning brought me the sound and scent of water.
Six months afterwards I chanced to find my way here,as I told you,and gave it your name.I did not dream that I should ever stand beside it with you,and have you christen it yourself."He unloosened the cup from his flask,and filling it at the spring handed it to her.But the young girl leant over the pool,and pouring the water idly back said,"I'd rather put my feet in it.Mayn't I?""I don't understand you,"he said wonderingly.
"My feet are SO hot and dusty.The water looks deliciously cool.
May I?"
"Certainly."