Eveline Mandeville | Page 9

presence; but it had a
contrary effect from that he intended; she seemed to apprehend
violence, and cried out:
"Help! help! They are dragging me away to marry a villain! Will no
one help me? Where is Charles? Leave me! help!" She began to scream
very loudly, and Mr. Mandeville knew not what to do. The doctor,
however, opportunely came at this moment, and administered a
soothing potion, and she became quiet.
This was the recurring succession of events in the sick chamber for the
first ten days of Eveline's illness; then there was a change; the violent
symptoms of disease were reduced, and a state of dreamy languor
succeeded, with rare intervals of excitement, and those of the mildest
type; but consciousness did not return, and the father had the
satisfaction of knowing that the secrets of the place were his own. He
had now but little fear that others would learn them, but this gleam of
comfort was overshadowed by the increased apprehensions that his
child's sickness must prove fatal. Indeed, hope had almost fled from his
bosom, but he clung with a death-grasp to the desire for her recovery, if
for nothing else, that a good understanding might exist between them.
He could not endure the thought of her leaving the world under a wrong
impression of the motives by which he had been actuated in the course
he had pursued. As his long and continued watching had worn him
down, he now left the bedside frequently to snatch a little rest, and
recuperate his exhausted powers.
And where was Hadley all this time? No fond mother ever hovered
about the cradle of her sick darling with deeper solicitude, than did he

about the residence of his beloved. He made friends of the nurse and
maid, and from them and the doctor kept himself advised of her
condition. Oh, how his heart ached to be by the bedside of the sufferer!
How, at times, his spirit rebelled at the injustice of the father! But when
he was told of his devoted attention, tireless care, and deep distress, he
forgave him in his heart and blessed him for his devoted kindness to the
invalid.
But where was Duffel? Let the sequel tell.
CHAPTER IV.
DUFFEL--THE SECRET CAVE AND CLAN.
For the first few days of her illness, Duffel came to inquire after
Eveline. Finding that she was likely to remain sick for a length of time,
if she ever recovered, he excused himself from further attentions by
pleading the necessity of a previous engagement, which would
probably require his absence for a week or possibly a fortnight. With
apparently the deepest solicitude for the recovery of Eveline and of
sympathy for Mr. Mandeville, he took his leave.
When a little way from the house, he muttered to himself:
"Well, I am free from the necessity of keeping up appearances here any
longer. Now for the cave!"
In a short time, he was threading his way through the forest, mounted
on a fine animal. A narrow path lay before him, which he followed for
some miles, and then turned into the untrodden wilderness and wound
his way through its trackless wastes. There were no signs indicating
that the foot of man or domesticated beast had ever pressed the earth in
those solitary wilds; yet Duffel seemed familiar with the place, as was
evident from his unhesitating choice of ways and careless ease. He
knew by marks, to others unseen, or, if seen, their significance
unknown, that he was moving in the right direction. Having traveled
several miles in this way, he at length came to a beaten path, at
right-angles with the course he had been going, into which he guided

his noble beast. After pursuing this latter course at a rapid rate for more
than an hour, he again turned off into the woods, and, guided by the
same mystic signs as before, shaped his course with unerring precision,
notwithstanding the forest was so dense and overgrown with
underbrush as to render it almost impervious to sight, and to an utter
stranger a bewildering labyrinth, from whose mazes he might labor in
vain to extricate himself, unless, indeed, he possessed the almost
instinctive tact of the Indian, or the thorough knowledge of the most
experienced backwoodsman.
Why Duffel was so obscurely careful in selecting his way, will
presently be seen. In the direction last taken, he traveled on until the
sun was bending to the western horizon, when he came to a thicket of
bushes and vines, so compact in growth it seemed an impossibility to
enter it, even in a crawling position, without the aid of an ax and
pruning-knife. Glancing this way and that, as if to assure himself that
no one was near, a precaution that might