To show all hospitable attentions, to place an arm-chair for her guest, and even, as she appeared weary, to entreat her to put aside her bonnet and mantle—seemed quite natural to Miss Bowen, just as if they had been friends of years. Anne thanked her courteously, let her do what she would—but all the while looked anxiously at Nathanael.
“You know we have much to say. Is she aware of what I told you?”
“Not yet; I could not tell her; it shocked me so. Oh, my poor uncle!”
Agatha, who was unfastening her guest's cloak, turned round.
“What, your Uncle Brian? Has anything happened? You speak almost as if he were dead.”
Anne Valery shivered.
“Dead! God forbid!” cried the young man, more deeply moved than his betrothed had ever seen him. “But we have had ill news. He went as interpreter on a Government mission, as he had often done before; he was so popular among the Indians. But from some treachery shown them, the tribe grew enraged and carried him off prisoner. Heaven only knows if they have spared his life. But I think—I feel they will. He was so just to the red men always. He is surely safe.”
“Yes, he is safe,” repeated Miss Valery, as if any alternative but that were utterly incredible and impossible.
Nathanael continued: “The tidings reached Kingcombe yesterday, and our friend here, coming to London, volunteered to bring them, and consult with me. If there is any good deed to be done, it is sure to be done by Anne Valery,” added Nathanael, stretching out his hand to hers.
She took it without speaking, being apparently much exhausted. And now that her bonnet was off, and she sitting near the lamp, Agatha discerned that Miss Valery was by no means young or beautiful. At all events, she was at that time in an unmarried woman's life when it ceases to signify whether she is handsome or not. Her hair at first seemed brown, but on looking closer, there appeared on either side the parting broad silvery lines, as if two snow-laden hands laid on the head had smoothed it down, leaving it shining still.
Agatha turned from her passing examination of Miss Valery to the subject in question, evidently so painful to her betrothed.
“You two wish to consult together? Do so. Pray stay here. I am very sorry for your trouble, Mr. Harper. Anything that I can do for you or your friend, you know”—and her voice dropped softly—“it is my duty now.”
Nathanael looked at her, as if longing to clasp her to his heart and say how happy he was; but he restrained himself and let his eyes alone declare what he felt. They were very eloquent.
While this passed between the young people, the elder lady arose from her chair; quietness seemed painful to her.
“Nathanael, every minute is precious to anxiety such as you must feel. Have you thought what had better be done, since you are the right person to do it?”
“As yet I have thought of nothing. And, alas! what can be done?”
“Sit down, and let us consider,” said she, laying her hand on his, with a force soft yet steady as that of her words.
Agatha was gliding out of the room, but her lover's quick movement and Miss Valery's look stopped her.
“Do not go, Miss Bowen; you are not so unknown to me as I am to you. I had much rather you stayed.”
So she took up her position a little distance off, and listened while the two friends consulted; pondering the while on what a rare kind of man Mr. Brian Harper must be to win such regard.
“You say the news came accidentally?” Mr. Harper observed. “It may not be true, then.”
“It is. I had it confirmed to-day.”
“How?”
“I went to the Colonial Office myself.” (“Kind Anne Valery!” murmured the young man.) “It was best to do so before I told you anything. You, knowing the whole facts, would then decide more readily.”
“You are right and wise as ever. Now, tell me exactly what you heard.”
“While a treaty was going forward for the Government purchase of Indian lands, there arose a quarrel, and two red men were upon slight grounds punished cruelly. Then the whole tribe went off in the night, carrying as prisoners two Englishmen—one by force. The other is believed to have offered himself willingly as a hostage, until the reparation of what he considered an injustice shown by his countrymen to the Indians. You may guess who he was.”
“Uncle Brian, of course,” cried Nathanael, pacing the room. “Just like him! He would do the maddest things for the sake of honour.”
Anne Valery's eyes flashed in the dark a momentary brightness, as if they were growing young again.
“But his life is surely safe: all over the Indian country they respect the very name of Brian Harper. No harm can touch him—it is quite impossible!”
“I think so too.” And Miss Valery drew a long breath. “Still, such danger is very terrible—is it not?” And she turned slightly, to include Agatha in their conversation.
“Oh, terrible!” the girl cried, deeply interested. “But could he not be sought for—rescued? Could not a party be despatched after him? If I were a man I would head one immediately.”
Miss Valery, faintly smiling, patted Agatha's hand. It was easy to see that this good heart opened itself at once to Nathanael's young betrothed.
“That is what I had in my own mind, and should have spoken of to his nephew here—a party of search which the Canadian Government, if urged, would no doubt consent to. Nathanael could propose it—plan it. He is both ingenious and wise.”
“Ah, he is; he seems to know everything!” cried Agatha warmly. “Surely, Mr. Harper, you could think of something—do something?”
“I could,” said the nephew, slowly waking from a long interval of thought. “I could do—what perhaps I ought, and will—for him who has been more than a father to me.”
“What is that?” Agatha asked, while Miss Valery regarded him silently.
“To go back to America—head a search; or, if that is refused me, search for him myself alone, and never give up until I find him—living or dead.”
“Ah, do so! that will be right, generous, noble—you could not fail.”
“There is no saying, Agatha; only, if done, it must be done without delay. I must start at once—in a week—nay a day—leaving England, home, you, everything. That is hard!”
He uttered the last words inaudibly, and his left hand was suddenly clenched, as he turned and walked once up the room and down again.
Agatha knew not what to say. Only a great love conscious of the extent of its own sacrifice, would have had boldness to urge the like sacrifice upon him.
Miss Valery's voice broke the troubled pause:
“You cannot start yet,
