Faithful Margaret: A Novel
"Well, madam, of course your will is law," said the old lawyer, grimly,
"but you can't have it obeyed immediately for all that. The year
mentioned in the will is not finished yet; and that puts obstacle number
one in the way of your scheme; and St. Udo Brand's death has not been
proved yet, and that puts obstacle number two in the way of your scheme.
You must wait four months yet, you see."
Her face fell, and she sank immediately into apathy, which neither of
the executors sought to rouse her from, and soon she bade them
good-night, and went to her room.
"Obstinate as a mule," muttered Mr. Davenport, as he and his colleague
sat nearer the fire, and sipped their mild punch. "By George, I never
was so angry at a woman before. What does she expect to end in?"
"I expect her to end in a mad house," returned the doctor, with an
uneasy look toward the door. "She has all the symptoms of incipient
insanity."
"Incipient tomfoolery!" growled the lawyer, contemptuously. "You don't
catch a strong-willed woman like that turning crazy. She always was a
mystery to me, you know."
Some weeks passed, the executors professed to be searching for the legal
proofs of Colonel Brand's death. Davenport had written to Washington
desiring particulars. In reality they were merely amusing their willful
ward by these formalities, having not the slightest doubt of the
colonel's decease; and impatiently hoping for some change of resolve in
Margaret Walsingham.
But that aimless, hopeless period of Margaret's history quickly passed
away, and it had fitted her well for the strange, pathetic, wondrous end
to which she now was fast approaching with reluctant feet.
She sat with Mrs. Gay and the baby in the doctor's cozy parlor, one
blustering evening in the end of November. The green curtains were drawn
warmly over the misty panes, the little fire flickered cheerily in the
brass-knobbed grate, and the baby crowed lustily in his languid mother's
lap, almost forcing a smile from her dejectedly drooping lips in spite
of her chronic melancholy, when the doctor's step was heard on the
passage, and a shuffling sound, as of another arrival, and the doctor
called in a strange voice for his wife.
"Harriet, will you come here?"
She slowly arose and placed the child in Margaret's eager arms, and
shaking her head forebodingly, left the room. Margaret was happily
unconscious of all save Franky's pretty face.
Presently the lady came back with uplifted eyebrows, and placed some
wine upon the side-table, and brought her own vinaigrette and put it
beside the decanter.
"The doctor has something to say to you. Miss Walsingham," said she, at
last. "I will take Franky up-stairs for awhile, and Dr. Gay says that he
is anxious that you should prepare your mind for a very unexpected turn
of your affairs."
She took the child and vanished from the room, leaving Margaret gazing
after her with a vague feeling of terror.
"What has occurred, I wonder?" thought she. "Something is wrong."
She half rose, intending to seek Dr. Gay, but he appeared at the door,
and shutting it close, approached her with a manifest tremor of
apprehension.
"My wife has told you that I have something strange to say to you,"
began the little doctor, seizing her hand and pressing it closely. "I
would like you to endeavor to form some conception of it before I
startle you with it."
She was watching him with a wondering eye. His perturbation, his
anxiety, his eagerness amazed her--she had never seen the mild little
man so violently agitated.
"I can form no conception of your meaning," said she; "be so kind as to
explain it in a word."
"My dear girl, we've made a queer mistake, that's all," faltered he,
smoothing her hand anxiously. "Now, do you think over every possibility,
and pick out the most unlikely--I don't want to startle you."
"Nothing can startle me now that St. Udo Brand is----"
She stopped abruptly and gazed fixedly in his face where yet lingered
the traces of a serious shock; and her great gray eyes grew black as
midnight while her cheeks flashed forth a splendid carmine.
"You don't intend to say that he is not dead?" cried she, sharply.
The doctor continued smoothing her hand; she snatched it away and
clasped both in an access of emotion.
"Tell me--tell me!" screamed Margaret wildly.
"St. Udo has come back, sure enough," said the doctor, putting his arm
about her and trying to soothe her. "St. Udo Brand came home to-day and
walked straight into Davenport's office."
Her great eyes drank in the assurance in his face, her parted lips
quivered into almost a wild smile of triumph, and she clung to the
little doctor, crying out:
"St. Udo is not dead--not dead! Oh, my heart, he is not dead!"
And then she sank on her chair and lifted her sparkling eyes, as it
were, to Heaven, and whispered:
"Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Oh, I can never grieve again."
"Come, that's a right pleasant way of taking it," cried the doctor,
quite charmed. "I was so afraid that you would take up the old hatred as
soon as he came back to dispute the will with you, especially as he was
thought to be so well out of the way."
"Hush," smiled Margaret, with the same glad radiance. "I can think of
nothing just now except my gratitude to Providence for giving him back
to us instead of branding me with the mark of Cain. Poor, erring, noble
St. Udo! I shall never cross his will again. He shall learn to-night how
guiltless Margaret Walsingham was of his disappointment. Now I can sign
away the Brand property, although the year is not out, and St. Udo Brand
shall have it all."
She rattled on thus like a happy child. Her stern will was melted to
tenderness, her timid nature was forgotten in joyful excitement. Had he
been the chosen of her heart she could not have welcomed him with wilder
rapture than this.
"By the lord Harry! you have a magnanimous soul," exclaimed Dr. Gay,
delighted as he watched her. "Who would have expected this happy
deliverance out of all our troubles? He can't help loving her in spite
of himself," thought the sanguine Gay; "she's so gracious and upright.
She will win his heart, I could bet ten pounds, in a week."
"Now I can hear how this wonderful miracle came to pass," said she,
composing herself presently; "how did he escape, and how was it that the
rumor of his death got abroad?"
"It seems that it was all a mistake about his being engaged in the
general engagement on the first of September. He was traveling on a
secret embassy from Washington to Virginia, and was set upon by a strong
force at midnight. His guard was composed of but twenty men, and they
were killed to a man. The colonel was left for dead on the field. In the
morning the Southern soldiers came back to strip the dead, and finding
some life in this fellow they carried him to Richmond, where his wounds
were looked to, and he recovered. He has lain in prison ever since, and
was only exchanged three weeks ago; and being disgusted with his
adventures, he has come home again to try his luck here."
Margaret could only clasp her hands again and raise her thankful eyes to
heaven, while a sweet smile quivered on her lips.
"How does he look?" whispered she, at last; "is he not very weak and
ill?"
"Y--es," hesitated Dr. Gay; "he's almost as lank as a grayhound, I must
confess, and tolerably bronzed. But he is a fine looking man for all
that, Miss Margaret, and you must let old sores drop and be kind to
him."
"I will be just to him," said she gleefully.
"Not too generous though, my dear," said Gay, anxiously. "However,
Davenport will take care of that. He has your interest very much at
heart, although he is so rough-and-tumble in his manners."
She turned away her calm, happy face. His warnings fell on deaf ears,
for, as ever, she had chosen her own path and would not depart from it.
"Now," said Gay, "perhaps we had best get through with this affair at
once; you have borne it thus far with far more fortitude than I had
expected. Will you see the colonel to-night?"
She started, and flashed a quick look in his face.
"Is he here, Dr. Gay?" breathed she, with emotion.
"He came in with me," said the doctor; "He asked for you, and is waiting
in the drawing-room."
The thin face of Margaret flushed hotly. One cannot doubt that a flicker
of memory's lamp shone out in that moment, revealing the bitter past to
her shrinking soul, but she dropped the curtain over that picture
quickly, and bade the doctor bring him in.
So Dr. Gay went out with a satisfied smile, and brought the soldier in.
She rose to greet him, tall, majestic as a daughter of the gods, with
her scarlet shawl draping her shoulders regally; and her quivering,
spirited countenance seemed to glow with a new and beautiful effulgence,
as if the glad soul illuminated each plain feature with rose lights. Her
dark-fringed eyelids hid the beaming eyes for a moment of timid
hesitancy, and she drooped before the stranger like a conquered empress;
and then she flashed a full, sweet face upon him whom she had mourned as
dead.
And the gaze grew fixed and troubled, the outstretched hand fell slowly
to her side--she stood speechless. How often had her faithful memory
held up to her the portrait of St. Udo Brand--grand, bold, fearless as
she had beheld him in that hour of his fury; when the white lights of
scorn were flashing from his straightly-leveled eyes, and the wrath of a
king sat on his regal brow.
How was it that he cringed in the doorway there and with a forced stare
met her gaze of bewilderment? Why did his lurid eyeballs shift and
shrink, and grow small and hare-like, when they had ever met hers, with
the full glare of an eagle? How had these thin lines of patient waiting,
and anxiety, and craft, escaped her intent scrutiny when last she had
lifted her outraged eyes to that face.
Was this the hero of her dreams, this evil-faced man who looked at her
so insolently?
The roses faded out of her cheeks, the rich light fled from her eyes,
her heart swelled wildly in her bosom and then turned to a heavier
weight than lead.
She averted a white, cold face from Colonel Brand and sank upon her
chair like one whose blood has oozed to the last drop through the secret
wound.
"Good heaven! she has fainted!" cried Dr. Gay.
CHAPTER XIII.
MARGARET GOES TO CASTLE BRAND.
It was about noon the next morning when, for the second time, Colonel
Brand presented himself at Dr. Gay's door, requesting the honor of an
interview with Margaret Walsingham.
"Shall you see him to-day?" asked the languid voice of Mrs. Gay, at the
lady's bedroom door, when she had delivered the colonel's message.
Margaret opened the door and looked out. Her great troubled eyes were
circled with violet shadows; she had not slept, and, if those wan cheeks
did not belie her she had wept many hours of the preceeding night.
"I must meet him, I suppose; I may as well have it over to-day. I want
to get rid of the whole business as fast as I can."
Colonel Brand rose as the tall, proud figure glided in, and with a quiet
bow passed to a distant sofa.
"We meet, I hope, more amicably than we parted," observed he, with an
intent watch on her countenance.
"On my part, yes," answered she, with a deep blush.
"I have heard how you refused to possess my fortune, feeling how you
would defraud me," said he. "I feel, of course, grateful to you for your
honorable conduct."
The measured tones fell harshly on the woman's high soul; she shrank
from the ignoble praise,
"Sir, I could not honestly take what was by right yours," she said,
looking proudly at the man, "I never meant to defraud you, or to stand
in your way. I only wish to get out of your way, now that you have