PAGE 18
My Terminal Moraine
by
I now began to feel stronger and better, and, rising to my feet, I glanced here and there into the crowd, hoping to catch a sight of Agnes, But I was not very much surprised at not seeing her, because she would naturally shrink from forcing herself into the midst of this motley company; but I felt that I must go and look for her without the loss of a minute, for if she should return to her father’s house I might not be able to see her again.
On the outskirts of the crowd I met Susan, who was almost overpowered with joy at seeing me safe again. I shook her by the hand, but, without replying to her warm-hearted protestations of thankfulness and delight, I asked her if she had seen Miss Havelot.
“Miss Agnes!” she exclaimed. “Why, no sir; I expect she’s at home; and if she did come here with the rest of the neighbors I didn’t see her; for when I found out what had happened, sir, I was so weak that I sat down in the kitchen all of a lump, and have just had strength enough to come out.”
“Oh, I know she was here,” I cried; “I am sure of that, and I do hope she’s not gone home again.”
“Know she was here!” exclaimed Susan. “Why, how on earth could you know that?”
I did not reply that it was not on the earth but under it, that I became aware of the fact, but hurried toward the Havelot house, hoping to overtake Agnes if she had gone that way. But I did not see her, and suddenly a startling idea struck me, and I turned and ran home as fast as I could go. When I reached my grounds I went directly to the mouth of the shaft. There was nobody there, for the crowd was collected into a solid mass on the top of the bluff, listening to a lecture from Tom Burton, who deemed it well to promote the growth of interest and healthy opinion in regard to his wonderful discovery and my valuable possession. I hurried down the shaft, and near the end of it, just before it joined the ice tunnel, I beheld Agnes sitting upon the wooden track. She was not unconscious, for as I approached she slightly turned her head. I sprang toward her; I kneeled beside her; I took her in my arms. “Oh, Agnes, dearest Agnes,” I cried, “what is the matter? What has happened to you? Has a piece of ice fallen upon you? Have you slipped and hurt yourself?”
She turned her beautiful eyes up toward me and for a moment did not speak. Then she said: “And they got you out? And you are in your right mind?”
“Right mind!” I exclaimed. “I have never been out of my mind. What are you thinking of?”
“Oh, you must have been,” she said, “when you screamed at me in that horrible way. I was so frightened that I fell back, and I must have fainted.”
Tremulous as I was with love and anxiety, I could not help laughing. “Oh, my dear Agnes, I did not scream at you. That was a crazed Italian who fell through the hole that they dug.” Then I told her what had happened.
She heaved a gentle sigh. “I am so glad to hear that,” she said. “There was one thing that I was thinking about just before you came and which gave me a little bit of comfort; the words and yells I heard were dreadfully oniony, and somehow or other I could not connect that sort of thing with you.”
It now struck me that during this conversation I had been holding my dear girl in my arms, and she had not shown the slightest sign of resistance or disapprobation. This made my heart beat high.
“Oh, Agnes,” I said, “I truly believe you love me or you would not have been here, you would not have done for me all that you did. Why did you not answer me when I spoke to you through that wall of ice, through the hole your dear love had made in it? Why, when I was in such a terrible situation, not knowing whether I was to die or live, did you not comfort my heart with one sweet word?”