Lambert was frightened, as he now heard from the mouth of Aunt Ursul what Catherine herself had told him a few minutes before. So the bad temper had not been blown away by the first morning wind that fanned the cheeks of the hunter, as he had hoped it would be. He had carried it at least as far as Aunt Ursul's.
"Surely you have set his head right, aunt?" said Lambert.
"First set right the head of that pine," said Aunt Ursul, pointing to an immense tree which had been shattered by lightning so that its top now held by the bark, hung to the trunk. "And then, sir, you did not do right in not keeping your promise to bring the young man a wife as you have done for yourself."
"I promised nothing of the kind," replied Lambert earnestly. "It was impossible for me to believe that Conrad was serious when he called after me, as I was already trotting off down the valley: 'Bring back with you a wife for each of us!' I never thought of it again--especially not when heaven threw in my way a poor orphan, and I offered her, forsaken by the whole world, a refuge with me. You see, aunt, that I am indeed blameless."
"Sooner my life," earnestly replied Lambert.
"I would like to know," said Ursul, "whether I cannot justly say that beauty is a woman's misfortune, and I suppose you will admit it. Nor is it less so for the men who are bewitched by it. What do the poor creatures gain by it? Nothing more than the turtledoves which I found covered with blood near your house. What do you gain by it? Just as much as the two eagles who, on account of those doves, tore the flesh from each other's bodies. Alas, poor women! unhappy women!"
"Conrad will listen to reason," said Lambert, with trembling lips.
"I do not know," replied Ursul, shaking her large head. "It often happens that men-folks become reasonable, but they usually wait until it is too late. So I fear it will also be this time. Now he has gone into the woods, and heaven knows how long he will wander about there, and that at a time when we cannot spare a single man--and him least of all."
"He won't fail us when we need him," said Lambert.
"He failed us last year, and did we not need him then? But so men are, and especially you young men. You make a hunting match, or get up a race, or, at a wedding, dance the soles off your feet, and do everything as it pleases you, and the rest you let go as it pleases God. We saw it last year. How I talked, and preached, urging you to watchfulness, after I saw that General Abercrombie in Albany did not bestir himself, and naturally your hands were lying in your laps. I preached to deaf ears. Afterward when the abominable French broke in and sunk, and burned, and murdered after their wicked heart's desire--yes, now every one protected his own head as best he could. But how many houses might still stand, how many wives and children could to-day yet look at the lovely sun and praise their heavenly Father, if you from the first had stood together as it became intelligent men? And now, Lambert, there stands my horse and I do not know what more to say to you; so help yourself out of the mire and me on my horse; and, as to what concerns the lady, I will come again to-morrow, or you can bring her to me. I will not bite her. Have no care. Today I won't stay longer. God protect you, Lambert. Give my compliments to the lady. What is her name?"