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CHAPTER XIX.
KASBA’S SACRIFICE.
Meanwhile Roy Thursby dragged out a miserable existence in the
little hut on the bank of the river. Day by day his frame of mind grew
more and more despondent and morbid. Everything worth while
seemed at an end. Except that at certain times there was the sound
of his companions’ movements, and at others only a dreadful
stillness for long days together, all “Time” was alike to him; to-day
the same as yesterday and to-morrow but a repetition of to-day. He
was merely a machine, going through the daily routine of getting up
and lying down, eating and drinking, with automatic precision, and
the outgoings and incomings of the male members of his party
marked the period for each of these acts. It was one long, dreary
monotony. He had long since lost count of the days. He was
conscious that the occupations of his companions varied as the
season wore on and that, in consequence, his diet changed from
venison to fish, varied with the flesh of migratory birds, but this
interested him not at all. He had long lost all pleasure in food—just
eating and drinking to keep the machine going, that was all. A
pathetic indifference to everything possessed him. He sat for hours
without uttering a word, and when he spoke it was always in
monosyllables, and an awed, unnatural silence lay over the house
from morn till night, for, as if by tacit consent, the three Indians
carried their conversation to the outside of the house.
Thus weeks passed. Sahanderry and David hunted or fished and
did the heavier chores. Kasba dressed and smoked deerskins to
make into moccasins, made and mended the clothes of herself and
companions, cooked the meals and attended to a hundred and one
other things.
One day the girl brought Roy his dinner as usual. It was a piece
of salmon, the first they had caught. Setting the plate before him,
she retired to a seat and took up a garment which required
mending. Slowly, and with the indifference of a man without an
appetite Roy lifted the food to his mouth, turned it on his tongue,
sat a moment as if struck by a sudden thought, and then got
unsteadily to his feet, dropping the fork as he arose. He stood a
moment like one suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, then: “This
is salmon,” he said with a slight inflection as of interest in his voice.
At the sound of his words Kasba started forward, letting the
garment fall to the ground. Her lips were parted, her eyes sparkled.
This sudden interest might portend a break-up in Roy’s apathy, and
to the girl it was as the clear sunshine after days of dismal gloom.
“Yes, Bekothrie,” she answered as soon as emotion would permit
her to speak. “We caught the first yesterday.”
“Then this is the middle of July,” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said the girl, divining the trend of his thoughts.
Roy breathed hard and his lips moved; but he dropped slowly
back to his seat without further speech.
The girl stood with parted lips watching him expectantly, then,
finding he had nothing more to say, and that he seemed fully
occupied with his thoughts, she breathed a little disappointed sigh,
took up the dropped garment and went patiently on with her
sewing. The stitch, stitch of her needle and the song of the busy
mosquitoes were the only sounds.
From that time Roy was as one laboring under some suppressed
excitement, uneasy, as if waiting for something to happen and
dreading while desiring it. He became restless and impatient to a
large degree and as Kasba went quietly about her household affairs,
she frequently paused to blink away salt tears, called to her eyes by
the sight of his misery. The once hulking big fellow was but the
shadow of his former self. Great rings showed round his eyes, his
face was becoming more and more haggard and drawn, his
cheekbones protruded sharply. Perceiving that he was rapidly
becoming ill and divining the cause, she timidly essayed a proposal.
She would go back to Fort Future and by secretly watching discover
when Bekothrie nithee (the far-away master, in this case Mr.
McLeod), came. But Roy would not hear of this, though as the time
for Mr. McLeod’s arrival at Fort Future drew near he could scarcely
contain himself.
He fancied the scene; the dismantled Fort, the grey-haired Chief
Factor sorrowfully supporting Lena, sobbing out her heart over what
she believed to be his grave. He could hear her heart-breaking cries
as she bewailed his loss; hear the cold, tense voice of the Chief
Factor swearing to be avenged on the perpetrator of the outrage and
murder. Then Lena would be led on board and the boat would sail
away. That would be the end. His mind would dwell upon this till his
brain reeled, and he would put his hot hand up to his burning
forehead as if to press back his thoughts.
Then one day by a process akin to telepathy he became aware
that Lena was near. It was the very day Mr. McLeod’s boat was
wrecked and its occupants rescued by the Eskimos, and it happened
that they were landed near where Roy had, as he thought, so
securely hidden himself from all communication with his own kind.
At first the poor fellow believed that his mind must be wandering.
But the conviction that Lena was there, close at hand, grew stronger
every minute, and at last he could contain himself no longer. He felt
he must send to the coast to ascertain if anyone had lately landed,
or he would go mad. Unwilling to trust the garrulous Sahanderry, he
must perforce send Kasba. The girl was outside attending to the fire,
he could hear her talking to David. He called to her, and almost
instantly she was at his side, and in a few words he explained what
he wanted her to do. She smiled confidently. “Yes, Bekothrie,” she
said quietly, and without another word she made her preparation
and at once started off for the coast, which was about a mile
distant.
Arriving at her destination, she discovered the shipwrecked
voyagers. From Roy’s description she at once recognized them. The
Factor was standing apart with Lena and her cousin. Overcome with
feelings of bitter jealousy, she ventured dangerously near in order
that she might better discern the features of her fortunate rival.
The grim expression of the Factor’s countenance bore token of a
severe determination of mind. Bitter sorrow for the tragic end of his
promising, inordinately ambitious young friend mingled with the
wrath he felt toward the perpetrator of the tragedy. He gazed with
loving solicitude upon Lena, who sat in an attitude of great sorrow.
The news had been a great shock to her. The bright, sunny
expression had entirely disappeared and a pained, startled
expression had come into her face. Her lips trembled as her father’s
hand fell lightly upon her head.
“Be brave, my little girl, for my sake,” he pleaded brokenly. Then
he walked to where Acpa was sitting, surrounded by a number of
Eskimos.
Left alone with his cousin, Frank was in a dilemma; he knew not
what to say. Lena’s uncontrollable grief was extremely painful to
witness, for he loved her.
At length he leaned over and gazed into the tear-stained
features, “Lena, my darling,” he said, “do not grieve so.”
There was a strange pleading in his manly voice. “It breaks my
heart to see your distress. After all, it may be, it must be, some
mistake. We shall yet find Roy Thursby and find him alive and well.”
“It is kind of you to say so, Frank,” said the girl in a mournfully
sweet voice, “but there is no hope, can be no hope, for poor Roy.”
“But, my dear Lena,” began Frank, then glancing behind him, “I
heard something moving,” he added, partly to himself.
It was Kasba. Attracted by the sight of Lena’s grief she had
drawn quite close. Crouched down among the rocks she had heard,
and the poor girl’s despair made Kasba’s warm, affectionate heart
ache. The sorrow she herself had suffered, was still suffering, made
her tenderly solicitous for another’s misery. She stood with hands
tightly clenched, battling with her own desires. She dreaded to
speak, to tell Lena that her lover lived, for she well knew what the
result would be. Yet she longed to comfort her.
The conflict raged fiercely. The issue at stake was all heaven and
earth to her, for without Roy life would be blank indeed. Then why
should she give him up? Then she remembered Roy’s misery, that in
his heart he was pining for the companionship of his own kind, and
the inborn truth, the native generosity and candor, that always
overruled every other element in her, conquered now. Girding herself
to make a great sacrifice, she stepped into the open.
“Bekothrie nithee!” she cried in a tremulous voice.
Mr. McLeod turned sharply. Lena sprang to her feet expectant of
she knew not what.
Then, nerving herself, Kasba spoke the words which would make
her forever desolate: “Mr. Thursby is alive,” she said.
With a cry of joy Lena ran swiftly to the brave girl.
“What do you mean?” she asked with feverish eagerness, holding
the girl by the wrist. “Roy not dead?” Her voice broke.
“No, God performed a miracle for me.” The girl spoke simply, fully
believing what she said. “Mr. Thursby was dead for many hours,” she
explained, “then he came to himself. But he is—” Kasba hesitated,
fearing to speak the terrible truth.
Lena noticed the girl’s hesitation and was alarmed at once. “Go
on,” she cried, clutching the girl’s wrist hard. “Tell me, tell me
quickly! Something has happened?” Her voice expressed the utmost
anxiety.
“He is totally blind,” said Kasba sadly. She spoke in the greatest
distress.
Lena’s face grew dead-white, she stood stiff and rigid, staring at
the girl, quite dazed at the horror of the thing.
“Blind!” cried the Chief Factor who had come up. “How terribly
horrible! Poor Roy! Ah!” He was just in time to catch his daughter,
who uttered a short unnatural sound and reeled against him. But
she did not lose consciousness and in a moment her strength
returned.
“Let me go!” she cried, sobbing wildly and struggling in her
father’s arms. “Let me go to him, or I shall die!”
“You shall go, my child,” said the Chief Factor soothingly. He
glanced at Kasba, who nodded and stretched out her hand, that tiny
brown hand, which small though it was, had pulled Roy out of the
water.
“Come,” she said simply, “I will take you to him.”
Arriving at the hut Kasba stood aside to let Lena pass. “You will
find him in there,” she said. But Lena did not hear her, for she was
already through the door.
As the door opened Roy started upright in an instant, conscious
of the girl’s presence in the room. Lena’s eyes opened wide with
horror at the sight of him, she started and drew slightly back, struck
speechless by the fearful change in the splendidly vital figure.
There was a painful silence.
Roy stood with head thrust slightly forward in an attitude of
listening intently,—in that attitude of concentrated expectancy of
sounds peculiar to the totally blind; holding his breath to catch the
slightest sound. He trembled all over with excitement. “Lena!” he
cried, in a low, tense voice, though believing it impossible that she
should be there. Then he swayed unsteadily.
Lena came forward to him quickly, and with a little cry, in which
there was more of anguish than joy, her arms went about his neck.
Kasba had remained outside, but she could hear their voices and
for a moment her heart stopped beating and her lips set tightly. She
pressed one hand to her bosom, uttering a stifled wail like a
wounded animal. The sacrifice had been great. She reeled and
almost fell. Then she made a great effort, straightened herself and
went and leaned against the hut, on the other side, away from the
door, and covered her face with her hands. Then a feeling of utter
loneliness fell upon her. She felt that something had been taken from
her and given to another—something that was more to her than life.
She could still hear their voices. They were happy together; while
she was outside alone. And so it would always be now. They would
take Roy away and leave her behind, and she would see him no
more. Then she heard footfalls, and one was Sahanderry’s. He came
and stood beside her. She could hear his sharp breathing. Then, in
an impulse, she dropped her hands and gave them to him. “He is
happy now,” she said, a little bitterly. “Take me. It was my father’s
wish. I am yours.”
Here ends the story of Kasba, and the chronicler makes apology
for all that has been amiss in the telling of the events recorded,
conscious that a better man could have done it better. Whether
Kasba will ever come into another story the author himself cannot
tell, nor does he know whether she will be welcome if she comes.
Transcriber’s Note:
Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained as in the
original.
Punctuation has been corrected without note. Other errors have
been corrected as noted below:
page 72, The fellow semed too ==> The fellow seemed too
page 92, combined fellings of ==> combined feelings of
page 95, burst into fit of ==> burst into a fit of
page 139, the few sparce spruce ==> the few sparse spruce
page 145, signs of lood luck. ==> signs of good luck.
page 153, went thoughtfullly along ==> went thoughtfully along
page 196, and throughly shaken. ==> thoroughly shaken.
page 205, brushwood camp esconsed in ==> brushwood camp
ensconsed in
page 245, off his l’Assumtion belt ==> off his l’Assumption belt
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PARTRIDGE): A STORY OF HUDSON BAY ***
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