The Lady of the Ice | Page 9

matters.
"Instead of seeing her, I found the old fellow himself. He was simply
white, hot with rage--not at all noisy, or declamatory, or vulgar--but
cool, cutting, and altogether terrific. He alluded to my gentlemanly
conduct in forcing myself where I had been ordered off; and informed
me that if I came again he would be under the unpleasant necessity of
using a horsewhip. That, of course, made me savage. I pitched into him
pretty well, and gave it to him hot and heavy, but, hang it! I'm no match
for fellows of that sort; he kept so cool, you know, while I was
furious--and the long and the short of it is, that I had to retire in
disorder, rowing on him some mysterious vengeance or other, which I
have never been able to carry out.
"The next day I got a letter from her. It was awfully sad, blotted with
tears, and all that. She implored me to write her, told me she couldn't
see me, spoke about her father's cruelty and persecution--and ever so
many other things not necessary to mention. Well, I wrote back, and
she answered my letter, and so we got into the way of a correspondence
which we kept up at a perfectly furious rate. It came hard on me, of
course, for I'm not much at a pen; my letters were short, as you may
suppose, but then they were full of point, and what matters quantity so
long as you have quality, you know? Her letters, however, poor little
darling, were long and eloquent, and full of a kind of mixture of love,
hope, and despair. At first I thought that I should grow reconciled to
my situation in the course of time, but, instead of that, it grew worse
every day. I tried to forget all about her, but without success. The fact is,
I chafed under the restraint that was on me, and perhaps it was that
which was the worst of all. I dare say now if I'd only been in some
other place--in Montreal, for instance--I wouldn't have had such a

tough time of it, and might gradually have forgotten about her; but the
mischief of it was, I was here--in Quebec--close by her, you may say,
and yet I was forbidden the house. I had been insulted and threatened.
This, of course, only made matters worse, and the end of it was, I
thought of nothing else. My very efforts to get rid of the bother only
made it a dozen times worse. I flung myself into ladies' society with my
usual ardor, only worse; committed myself right and left, and seemed
to be a model of a gay Lothario. Little did they suspect that under a
smiling face I concealed a heart of ashes--yes, old boy--ashes! as I'm a
living sinner. You see, all the time, I was maddened at that miserable
old scoundrel who wouldn't let me visit his daughter--me, Jack
Randolph, an officer, and a gentleman, and, what is more, a Bobtail!
Why, my very uniform should have been a guarantee for my honorable
conduct. Then, again, in addition to this, I hankered after her, you know,
most awfully. At last I couldn't stand it any longer, so I wrote her a
letter. It was only yesterday. And now, old chap, what do you think I
wrote?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," said I, mistily; "a declaration of love,
perhaps--"
"A declaration of love? pooh!" said Jack; "as if I had ever written any
thing else than that. Why, all my letters were nothing else. No, my
boy--this letter was very different. In the first place, I told her that I was
desperate--then I assured her that I couldn't live this way any longer,
and I concluded with a proposal as desperate as my situation. And what
do you think my proposal was?"
"Proposal? Why, marriage, of course; there is only one kind of proposal
possible under such circumstances. But still that's not much more than
an engagement, dear boy, for an engagement means only the same
thing, namely, marriage."
"Oh, but this was far stronger--it was different, I can tell you, from any
mere proposal of marriage. What do you think it was? Guess."
"Can't. Haven't an idea."

"Well," said Jack--
CHAPTER VI.
"I IMPLORED HER TO RUN AWAY WITH ME, AND HAVE A
PRIVATE MARRIAGE, LEAVING THE REST TO FATE. AND I
SOLEMNLY ASSURED HER THAT, IF SHE REFUSED, I WOULD
BLOW MY BRAINS OUT ON HER DOOR-STEPS.--THERE, NOW!
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?"
Saying the above words, Jack leaned back, and surveyed me with the
stern complacency of despair. After staring at me for some time, and
evidently taking some sort of grim comfort out of the speechlessness to
which he