Faithful Margaret: A Novel
resistless and passionate conqueror, confessing the greatness of her
forgiveness for the first time.
"Faith, I see how it is that you haven't a thought for poor Alfred,"
sighed Lady Dora, looking at her with tears in her bright black eyes;
"because of the fellow's misfortunes and on account of keeping his
castle for him from another impostor who was worse than himself, you
have fallen in love with St. Udo Brand in spite of his evil reputation."
"I would give up anything--my life--to make amends to Colonel Brand for
the misfortunes I have brought upon him," said Margaret, with burning
cheeks and distressed eyes, "but I never expect, or wish him to prize my
love. I owe him much, for being the marplot of his life"--she paused,
and the tears rolled sadly down her cheeks--"but I never dreamed--not
once, that he would care for my love!"
"A better man cares for your love then," retorted Lady Dora, "and it's
not throwing yourself away you would be if you gave it. Now, Miss
Walsingham, darling, won't you take a friend's advice and wear a ducal
coronet? Won't you have me for a sister?"
"Your brother does me too much honor to propose such a thing," returned
Margaret, simply.
"Not a bit of it! I'll tell you candidly I thought so myself at first,
and that's why I was so long in making up to you, for a simpleton as I
was, and poor Alfred tearing at me every day. But I couldn't help liking
you at the last, mavourneen, and I'd be the happiest woman in the three
kingdoms to call you the Duchess of Piermont, and--there, it's out!"
Margaret gazed in considerable surprise at her enthusiastic friend.
"I had not heard that the Duke of Piermont had a sister," she faltered;
"I am altogether astonished that you should advocate such a union--of
course you are aware that I have not a drop of noble blood in my veins."
"Alfred says you have?" rejoined the lady, laughing enjoyably at her
evident astonishment; "he has told me as often as there are legs on a
centipede that you're the noblest woman he ever met in all his born
days. And you must know that Alfred is a boy of penetration; he has been
years on years traveling and doing every London season, (he's got rid of
his Irish tongue entirely--more shame to him)! and he has had plenty to
choose from. And I'm quite willing to take his taste in the matter of
the duchess of our house, dear, so you can't ever fling up to me that I
didn't welcome you body and bones, mavourneen."
"Is his grace on board then?"
"Yes. The boy has been in shockingly low spirits for some time, and I
made him shut up bonny Glenfarron House, and take me out to America for
a tour; and sure I found that we had left the old sod and its troubles,
to accompany the trouble across the water. We hadn't been a day on board
until he was thrown into lockjaw, or fits, by that little vision of a
Chevalier, or whatever they call him, jabbering about Miss Walsingham;
and since then it's a queer life I've led walking the deck, under the
stars, with him, for all the world as if he was my lover, only that his
talk's about you. I'll tell you what it is, Miss Margaret, darling! he's
bound to you, body and soul, and I'll think it a burning shame if you
turn from him to any other man that breathes."
"I thank you both for this generous proposal," murmured Margaret. "But
what I told him before, I can only repeat now--our paths lie in
different directions, and cannot be brought together. Let him keep to
his higher station, as I intend to keep to my lower one."
"A fig for all the stations in Christendom! The boy doesn't care _that_
for them," snapping her fingers. "He wouldn't look at Lady Juliana
Ducie, although she was as good as offered to him by the old marquis two
or three times. But Alfred is a boy of old-fashioned notions, and won't
look at a pretty face, though backed by lands and titles, that can't
show him something better than that. Faith! I thought the boy was
demented when he told me that the lovely Juliana Ducie, that everybody
was so pleased at, was a 'false-tongued, smooth-faced hypocrite, who
would ruin her best friend for her own advantage.' I was sure enough
he'd have to eat his own words some time, but sure, now, what will ye
say to hear that he was right?
"Didn't the minx, thinking the impostor who went to Seven-Oak was the
colonel, try to renew her engagement, and did it, too. And didn't the
old marquis come home from yachting, at Southampton, to find my lady in
receipt of a letter from the jail-bird, which he insisted on seeing, as
she was in hysterics over it? And wasn't my fine gentleman bidding his
'dear little Julie' good-by, as circumstances over which he had no
control--an unavoidable engagement--had sent him to the Canterbury jail
for a season. And if she still entertained the idea of an elopement,
would she meet him on board the convict-ship which took him back to
Tasmania? Or, failing that, had she any objections to come and see his
hanging, which was the only entertainment of a public character he could
ever hope to afford her?'
"Fancy my dainty lady's feelings at getting a letter like that! And from
the man whom she was so anxious to marry! Why, everybody's laughing at
her folly; and her father is so angry that he has carried her off to
Hautville Park for the rest of the winter, to hide her until he is less
ashamed of her.
"Now, don't you see how penetrating Alfred was, to find her shallowness
out when she was trying her best to captivate him? He's the best brother
in the world--the wisest and the kindest; and I wish you agreed with me,
my darling, and would send me to the poor, quaking fellow with the word
he longs to hear."
"He deserves the love of a good wife," answered Margaret, with tears in
her eyes. "But, dear Lady Dora, indeed I cannot marry him. Had all other
things been equal, I do not love him as well as he ought to be loved."
"That's enough, then," rejoined Lady Dora, rising wrathfully; "and if
it's for the reason that ye've stated ye find it in your heart to be so
hard, I'll not be grieving for me boy's sake, but for your own, with
what's before ye, whether ye know it or not, with a man that'll find a
way to break your heart for ye, hard as it is."
Having finished with some tearful quaverings, she rushed out of the
state-room, and the conference was at an end.
Poor Margaret, with her usual humility felt much distressed at this
unexpected episode, and cast about anxiously in her mind how she could
best soothe the wounded feelings of the young duke and his warm-hearted
sister. But she did not meet them until the next day, as they were
steaming up the Narrows within sight of New York.
While Margaret, with Davenport by her side, stood on the crowded
quarter-deck, gazing at the beautiful city which was now the shrine of
her devotion, the Duke of Piermont stood not far away among the throng
of passengers, gazing, with his yearning love plainly speaking in his
eyes, at the woman who had decreed to him his fate.
He did not attempt to come near her, nor did he yield to the wrathful
twitch of Lady Dora, who wished to keep him away from such a
stony-hearted enslaver; but, with envious looks, watched the changes
come and go on that face, which seemed to him purer and more lofty than
he had ever beheld on earth.
"_Sacre!_" rasped Calembours, touching Davenport's elbow. "There is a
man who must be, as you call it, 'smashed,' by your ward. They say he is
the young duke, _par dieu_. I hope he will not be the _fiance_ of
mademoiselle, instead of my _camarade_."
The next moment Margaret, glancing for a moment that way, saw his grace,
and started forward, with a frank look of pleasure beaming in her eyes.
"I would have regretted deeply missing this pleasure," she said, meeting
the brother and sister half way. "You have both been so kind to me--so
kind!"--with a look of deep and gentle gratitude toward his grace--"that
I can scarcely express my sense and appreciation of it."
A mortal pallor had overspread the young man's face. His hand trembled
as it touched hers, and his tongue trembled, too, when he essayed to
speak.
"I would have known Miss Walsingham among a thousand, and yet illness
and trials have robbed her even of the delicate roses she possessed.
I--I think she is more frail than, perhaps, she is apt to imagine."
"Your grace is considerably changed, too. Have you been ill?"
He turned and looked imploringly at his sister, who was wringing
Margaret's hand, and patting it in a very ardent manner.
"You don't deserve me to speak to you," said Lady Dora, in a vehement
_sotto voce_. "So I'll be looking for my opera-glass down below, while
you have a chat with the boy."
Away she tripped with all haste, leaving Margaret standing silent by the
side of her admirer.
"Will you honor me with a word or two?" faltered his grace. "Perhaps you
will not object to walking with me where there is less of a crowd."
"I pray you not to enter again upon a subject which I thought was at an
end," murmured Margaret, reluctantly pacing the long deck with him,
followed by the chevalier's jealous eyes.
"Circumstances have thrown us together again so strangely," returned the
young man, leaning in a dejected attitude across the taffrail, "that I
could not resist the hope that entered my mind of being more successful
this time. You wished me not to seek you out, and I have been firm in
obeying you, hard as it was to avoid your vicinity while all these
extraordinary trials were besetting you. Oh, Miss Walsingham, how I have
longed to take you away from the miserable position in which that will
has plunged you, and to guard you with my name and love from what you
have suffered! But I did not seek you because you had exacted from me a
promise to leave you unmolested. But, now, has not heaven thrown us
together in the most marked manner by sending us three thousand miles
across the sea in the same steamer? It seems as if we were destined for
each other, does it not? And that Providence is pointing out, for the
second time, the path we ought to pursue?"
"There is one obstacle to your grace's rather superstitious fancy,"
rejoined Margaret, "one which Providence is not likely to overlook. I do
not entertain for your grace that regard which Heaven has decreed should
be between husband and wife, and if Lady Dora has rightly reported our
interview of yesterday, you know that such a regard is out of the
question."
Piermont bowed his head on his hands and bore his disappointment in
silence.
"I am glad that I have had this opportunity," resumed Margaret, in a
gentle voice, "of thanking you again for the generous love you offer
me--a love which the noblest lady would be richly honored in receiving,
and though I must refuse it, it is with a keen appreciation of its
value. I shall always remember your grace with gratitude--ay, with
affectionate solicitude, and your whole-souled sister also."
"I wish you every happiness," muttered the young man, lifting his
haggard face and trying to smile; "and may your love be placed upon a
man worthy to receive it. But, beloved Miss Walsingham, if ever
circumstances throw you free and untrammeled upon the world, and if you
can send one thought of affection to me, give me a chance to try my fate
a third time."
He pressed her hand for a moment to his fond and foolish heart, which
was throbbing like to burst for the simple girl before him, and then he
went away.
"By gar!" ejaculated the chevalier, plucking Davenport's sleeve, "the
_tete-a-tete_ has broken its neck off short--so, in the middle. Here
comes a man all ready for a dose of prussic acid, or a duel with his
rival. Bravo, mademoiselle! You are one trump to stick to the colonel,
and to send the coronet away. And there is the _charmante_ demoiselle