Faithful Margaret: A Novel
The chevalier paused with dramatic _empressement_ to enjoy the effect of
his announcement. But the pale woman who was sitting before him made
little sign of her emotions.
With the tears still upon her cheeks, and hands clasped in her lap, she
had gone a wild trip into fairyland, and its brilliant fantasies were
whirling round her in all manner of rainbow tints presaging hopes of
joy; and the little chevalier, glossy-bearded, pleased, and triumphant,
seemed to dance round her in the many-tinted flare, like the good geni
of the fairy tale.
Save the added wildness to these resistless gray eyes, and the sudden
aurora gleam over brow and cheek, the demonstrative Frenchman might have
doubted if she believed him.
"Admirable mademoiselle," aspired he, after a due pause; "she is brave
as the Spartan boy with his more disagreeable burden, the wolf. She will
not let the surprise show so much as the tip of his nose--ah, you
British know how to shut the teeth. _Mais Voila_, you shall say, 'Go on,
_mon ami_, and accept your thousand pounds,' or shall I say no more of
my colonel, and let the naughty convict go hang?"
"He is alive--go on," breathed Margaret to the pirouetting geni of her
fairy-tale.
"What! and loose monsieur's neck-cloth, which was to strangle him?"
"Yes yes; tell me of St. Udo Brand, that we may bring him home to his
own."
"Mademoiselle is magnificent. She forgives like an angel, and pays like
an empress. I bow before so grand a demoiselle, the effulgence of her
nature dazzles me, and _Voila!_ I, also touched with enthusiasm, emulate
her in magnificence. For the poor sum of one thousand pounds I give to
mademoiselle the hero of her heart, and happiness, and to me darkness,
after the blinding study of her perfection. Nay more, I have a turn for
necromancy--I may not read man's destiny in the stars, but woman's
future in her own _petite_ hand I have often seen, and I see this hand,
which is a lovely hand, holding out the fortune of St. Udo, my fine
colonel, to him, and being taken, fortune and all, for its own open
kindness; and I behold myself (in the future of this _petite_ hand)
placing by the revelation I am about to make, my noble heroine in the
arms of another--for only one thousand pounds.
"Behold me, then, lift the cloud which has swallowed up the life of our
gallant St. Udo Brand from the moment in which the renegade, Thoms, has
stabbed him on the battle-field and lo! with the sweep of my magician's
wand I place before you the succeeding picture, clear, truthful, and
unshadowed.
"My fallen hero finds himself next--not in Heaven, where, by gar, his
brave deeds have doubtless bought for him a seat in the
dress-circle--but in a villainous ambulance, being jolted over an
execrable wood-road in a rain-storm which kindly drenches him with
sufficient moisture to keep his wounds flowing. Having ascertained as
much, and doubtless feeling disgusted with the lack of courtesy which
the jade Fortune has displayed, he absents his spirit once more from his
body, going an experimental tour to his future quarters, and leaving
that tenement to all appearances 'to let.'
"It is barely possible that his future quarters are not inviting, for
the spirit comes back from a blind boxing for a place somewhere, and
takes up with the poor, shattered body once more, and St. Udo wakes up
to find himself a prisoner of the South, immured in Castle Thunder,
Richmond.
"Mademoiselle, I have already narrated to you the trials which I, the
foot-ball of the vixen Fortune, endured in Castle Thunder with my
_camarade_. I pass the time of his deadly illness, when the breath flits
forth like a puff, and seems gone forever--when the great wounds fever,
and my friend in blue babbles at the charge, and the rally, and shouts
of phantom soldiers, or turns to his pillow and whispers of woman's
tender hands, when there are but the rough fingers of his faithful
Ludovic. _Ma foi!_ but he is a British Napoleon! He triumphs over his
desperate wounds, and stifling captivity, and one day my Brand sits up
and knows me, whom last he had known as a foe, by the ungraceful
_contretemps_ of war.
"_Mon Dieu!_ but I was glad, and I was sorry! There he is for you--so
thin, and so patient--waiting to accept the life that God shall give.
"My heroine, you shall not weep. It is better than the death by
treachery, is it not? And _Voila!_ he shall give you an English
hand-grip yet--shall he not? And I shall be there to see and to bless,
and to be the good _sorcier_. Ah, bravo! or what you call in England,
'Here, here!' we shall all be happy presently.
"But to resume: When I know better this man whom I have yet known as the
brave soldier at the head of his company, when I see him in captivity,
in trial, in sickness, eating with me the crust, drinking with me the
muddy water, bearing cowardly usage from his jailers--all with that
grand patience, I find in him a great man, and morally I see myself upon
my knees before him to do honor and I whisper in my own ear, 'Ludovic
Calembours, tell this, the only man whom you ever loved better than
yourself the plot which was made by this wretch, Mortlake, to oust him
from his Castle Brand!'
"And I tell him the whole story, by gar! I spare not myself at all,
though he scorns me with his hand, and calls me 'blackleg,' and thanks
me nothing for my story, but after that he is kinder to me, and rouses
himself to scoop with me through our prison floor, with the broken
plate--I with the rusty key, and when we stand face to face under the
stars beyond the prison bars, his hand so thin, so bleeding, is pointed
Northward, his sunken eyes gather fire, and he says:
"'My fortune is on the Federal battle-field; such life as God sends me I
shall seek there; I am done forever with England.'
"_Mon Dieu!_ I love my brave St. Udo like a brother. Would I let my
brother drop Seven-Oak Waaste through his fingers?
"I say him neither yea nor nay, but traverse with him the dreary swamps,
and we go to Washington.
"His wounds and weakness threw him sick into an hospital. I, in my
efforts to have a knight of industry properly compensated, am driven
with howlings from the savage place, and in the pursuit of a virtuous
livelihood in New York, lose sight for a time of my St. Udo.
"Mademoiselle Walsingham, if Dame Fortune had really frowned upon my
little secret scheme, which was to punish the dastard Mortlake, and to
advance my brave _camarade_, she would not have thrown St. Udo in my way
so persistently, when with the tears and sorrow I had been forced to
part with him, as I feared for the last time, at Washington.
"But look you! In my pursuit of purchasers for my famous war-horses, I
find myself in a hospital, where a general--great man--has promised to
meet me, and I meet once more my colonel. He has been sent to New York
for better attendance than can be got in the overcrowded hospitals of
Washington, and I find him weak as a child from wound-fever, and, by
gar! I am so overjoyed that I fall upon his neck and forgot to drive my
bargain with the general.
"I say to him: '_Mon ami_, I devote myself to you. I pledge myself to
cancel the past by making up to you a little fortune. Forswear the sword
_mon frere_, and turn it into a pruning-hook as I have done; be
_camarade_ with me once more, and we shall reap a harvest of greenbacks
from these patriots, who must every one be officer, and to ride away to
battle must every one have a brave war-horse. Let _us_ mount them _mon
frere_--already I have a modest little something made up wholly from the
help I have given these patriots. What say you, my Brand?
"_Mon Dieu!_ mademoiselle, he waxes very angry with me, and complains
that I am tarnishing his honor with my villainous schemes for
self-advancement. I, who am willing to share my purse with him.
"I say: 'But, monsieur, you have not heard me out yet. You have flown at
me like your own obstinate bull-dogs, that bark! bark! bark! and will
not hear reason. I have yet to finish my plan for your welfare, I would
have said had you not interrupted me. And then, when our purses burst
with greenbacks, let us go to England and see how Seven-Oak Waaste is
getting on with Mortlake for a master, and the companion of the _grand
mere_ for a mistress. You like English fair play, my friend; and it is
not English fair play to let Mortlake have Castle Brand.'
"'Mortlake!' shouts my invalid, in a passion. 'What have I to do with
him, or with Castle Brand, or with Miss Walsingham? Let them make what
they like of it: I am not going to soil my fingers dipping into the pot
with them. I will never set my foot in England again, I tell you, and be
good enough to understand me when I say so!'
"I throw out the hand in disinterested despair at his obstinacy and ask
how he is to live.
"'A soldier may always live by his sword,' he says; 'and I don't mind
trying if the adage is true. And if ever I meet that sneaking valet of
ours, Calembours, I'll horsewhip him for the mark of attention he gave
me, and if you have any love-token to entrust me with, I'll faithfully
deliver it too.'
"A strange suspicion has been in my mind since ever my colonel told me
of the dastardly murder which Thoms attempted upon him, which is that
Thoms had been hired by my principal to do the deed after having spied
on us to see that I fulfilled my contract. This is so humbling to my
pride as a sharp-witted man whose motto is: 'The world loves to be
gulled, and I am the one to gull them.' that I breathe nothing of it,
but, _morbleu_! I promise to myself that my Monsieur Mortlake shall hear
of this.
"So, generous vengeance firing me, I bid adieu to the valiant colonel,
and return to the island of bull-dogs, full of indignation against the
cur who will have the loud snarl at me when I pull the bone out of his
teeth.
"And _ma foi!_ what do I find? The papers vaunting Mademoiselle
Walsingham's courage in unmasking the impostor--her wonderful integrity
which refuses to accept Madame Brand's bequest--her cleverness in
frustrating the attempt upon her life. Everywhere I read paragraphs
pertaining to the 'Castle Brand Plot.' I begin to feel the curiosity
grow to see this wonderful Mademoiselle Marguerite.
"I have told you of my meeting at Canterbury of the abject Mortlake.
Having seen Him as securely entrapped as his bitterest enemy could wish,
I come to you, full of my dreams for the noble Brand, burning to thank
you in his name for your bravery.
"I throw my money about like the grand seigneur. I make all haste--I
penetrate to your presence and find, not as St. Udo had believed, a
cunning adventuress, but empress of love, generosity, soul.
"I wave the hat again, and shriek _brava! bravissamo!_ for I know that
my great news will bring the joy to your great heart, and I see that
_lettle_ compensation already slipping into my pocket. Eh,
mademoiselle?"
Margaret rose and turned her face from the chevalier. As yet she could
grasp nothing but the knowledge that St. Udo Brand was alive; and oh,
the whirl of joy which danced its wild measure in her heart!
He had risen from his shallow grave to a second life of purity and
mayhap of happiness.
"So good and so patient--waiting--waiting to accept the life that God
shall give."
Ah! might _she_ not hallow to him his resurrection by bands of love?
He was alive! Sweet Heaven! to think that he was alive!
The mighty rush of feeling broke its bands at last--she sank upon a
chair, shaken by her sobs, and her heart, quaking at its own great
hunger, opened to take in its joy, and all was forgotten save her
tumultuous vision of bliss.
But monsieur, the chevalier, had no relish to witness any scene of which
he was not the hero; so, after five minutes of decorous silence, he