He rose in his stirrups, and sent a characteristic yell ringing down the dim aisles before him.But, alas! at the same moment, his mustang, accustomed to the firmer grip of the prairie, in lashing out, stepped upon a slimy root, and fell heavily, rolling over his clinging and still unlodged rider.For a few moments both lay still.Then **** extricated himself with an oath, rose giddily, dragged up his horse,--who, after the fashion of his race, was meekly succumbing to his reclining position,--and then became aware that the unfortunate beast was badly sprained in the shoulder, and temporarily lame.The sudden recollection that he was some miles from the road, and that the sun was sinking, concentrated his scattered faculties.The prospect of sleeping out in that summer woodland was nothing to the pioneer-bred ****; he could make his horse and himself comfortable anywhere--but he was delaying his arrival at Havre.He must regain the high road,--or some wayside inn.He glanced around him; the westering sun was a guide for his general direction; the road must follow it north or south; he would find a "clearing" somewhere.But here **** was mistaken; there seemed no interruption of, no encroachment upon this sylvan tract, as in his western woods.There was no track or trail to be found;he missed even the ordinary woodland signs that denoted the path of animals to water.For the park, from the time a Northern Duke had first alienated it from the virgin forest, had been rigidly preserved.
Suddenly, rising apparently from the ground before him, he saw the high roof-ridges and tourelles of a long, irregular, gloomy building.A few steps further showed him that it lay in a cup-like depression of the forest, and that it was still a long descent from where he had wandered to where it stood in the gathering darkness.
His mustang was moving with great difficulty; he uncoiled his lariat from the saddle-horn, and, selecting the most open space, tied one end to the trunk of a large tree,--the forty feet of horsehair rope giving the animal a sufficient degree of grazing *******.
Then he strode more quickly down the forest side towards the building, which now revealed its austere proportions, though **** could see that they were mitigated by a strange, formal flower-garden, with quaint statues and fountains.There were grim black allees of clipped trees, a curiously wrought iron gate, and twisted iron espaliers.On one side the edifice was supported by a great stone terrace, which seemed to him as broad as a Parisian boulevard.Yet everywhere it appeared sleeping in the desertion and silence of the summer twilight.The evening breeze swayed the lace curtains at the tall windows, but nothing else moved.To the unsophisticated Western man it looked like a scene on the stage.
His progress was, however, presently checked by the first sight of preservation he had met in the forest,--a thick hedge, which interfered between him and a sloping lawn beyond.It was up to his waist, yet he began to break his way through it, when suddenly he was arrested by the sound of voices.Before him, on the lawn, a man and woman, evidently servants, were slowly advancing, peering into the shadows of the wood which he had just left.He could not understand what they were saying, but he was about to speak and indicate by signs his desire to find the road when the woman, turning towards her companion, caught sight of his face and shoulders above the hedge.To his surprise and consternation, he saw the color drop out of her fresh cheeks, her round eyes fix in their sockets, and with a despairing shriek she turned and fled towards the house.The man turned at his companion's cry, gave the same horrified glance at ****'s face, uttered a hoarse "Sacre!"crossed himself violently, and fled also.
Amazed, indignant, and for the first time in his life humiliated, **** gazed speechlessly after them.The man, of course, was a sneaking coward; but the woman was rather pretty.It had not been ****'s experience to have women run from him! Should he follow them, knock the silly fellow's head against a tree, and demand an explanation? Alas, he knew not the language! They had already reached the house and disappeared in one of the offices.Well! let them go--for a mean "lowdown" pair of country bumpkins:--HE wanted no favors from them!
He turned back angrily into the forest to seek his unlucky beast.
The gurgle of water fell on his ear; hard by was a spring, where at least he could water the mustang.He stooped to examine it; there was yet light enough in the sunset sky to throw back from that little mirror the reflection of his thin, oval face, his long, curling hair, and his pointed beard and mustache.Yes! this was his face,--the face that many women in Paris had agreed was romantic and picturesque.Had those wretched greenhorns never seen a real man before? Were they idiots, or insane? A sudden recollection of the silence and seclusion of the building suggested certainly an asylum,--but where were the keepers?
It was getting darker in the wood; he made haste to recover his horse, to drag it to the spring, and there bathe its shoulder in the water mixed with whiskey taken from his flask.His saddle-bag contained enough bread and meat for his own supper; he would camp for the night where he was, and with the first light of dawn make his way back through the wood whence he came.As the light slowly faded from the wood he rolled himself in his saddle-blanket and lay down.
