Faithful Margaret Part 23

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 pa.s.sed 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 ign.o.ble 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 returned safely home. I am glad that you have come back, Colonel Brand, for I regretted your death most bitterly."

Tears came to her eyes, and through them the thin visage of the soldier seemed to narrow into a travesty of his old self, and she dashed them away, ashamed of her weakness.

"I thank you for the kindness," said the soft, wary voice. "I did not believe I had one friend in England who would mourn my death; perhaps, had I known this, I should never have left it."

She glanced incredulously at him. How could he stoop to such insincerity, who used to glory in his haughty plain speaking?

The words of kindness died upon her lips, and she turned away with a heart-sick sigh.

"I see that I can hardly get Miss Walsingham to believe that I am not the brutal scoffer who insulted her at Castle Brand, seven months ago,"

said he, with an ingratiating gentleness; "but I for one have lived to see my mistake, and perhaps you may soon see yours. I have come back in many respects a changed man."

"Changed?" faltered she, raising her wistful eyes to his. "Yes, you are.

I should not have known you."

And the shifting, contracting eyeb.a.l.l.s answered her by dropping to the carpet, while the olive face whitened to a deathly pallor, and the thin, secret lips twitched suddenly.

Changed? Oh, Heaven! yes; had she been blind to read such n.o.bility in yon ill-favored face?

Changed? By all that was generous, brave, and true, this Colonel Brand had belied her mad belief; no foolish devotee had ever bowed before a more unworthy shrine than had poor Margaret Walsingham.

"One summer in the South, under such disagreeable circ.u.mstances, would alter any man's appearance," quoth he, twisting his black mustache with his long, brown fingers, and furtively reading her disdainful face.

"What between exposure, wounds, swamp fever, famine, and imprisonment, personal beauty stands but a poor chance at the seat of war. But I hope that what I have lost in personal appearance I have gained in the qualities which a good woman admires most. I believe my heart is bettered, my dear Miss Walsingham."

Hypocrite!

She vowed that she would rather hear that insolent laugh and the brutal exclamation:

"Ye G.o.ds! what a Medusa!" than this silly sentimentality from St. Udo Brand.

It was not like him to crouch at her feet, the hero whom she had forgiven long ago for his roughness, exalting that roughness to the pedestal of just contempt for a successful adventuress.

Why could he not, out of that n.o.bility of heart which she had credited him with, see that she had forgotten the old grudge long ago, and that she was ready to do him full justice?

What did he take her for? a dissembling schemer, who had not been sincere in her rejection of the Brand estate, and whom he must fawn upon in order to win his own from her greedy clutch?

"I have nothing to do with your reformation, Colonel Brand," she said, with cold formality. "My duty is plain to me, whatever you are. I shall require no prompting to do it."

His eyes sparkled.

For the first time he looked frankly at her, and seemed at ease.

"I am relieved to hear you say so, Miss Walsingham," he said, with something of the old free air; "for I was not inclined to quarrel with you about my grandmother's disposition of the property. I should be sorry to return to the angry feelings which I at first was fool enough to indulge in against you; for I must admit that I am very much more agreeably impressed with you to-day than I was that morning in the library in Castle Brand. So, suppose we let by-gones drop, and begin on a friendly footing."

"I repeat that your changed feelings have nothing to do with my duty,"

said Margaret, coldly. "It can make no difference whether you regard me with toleration or indifference, I shall do you justice."

He stared suspiciously at her, and one or two wary wrinkles lined his forehead.

"You don't mean to say that you are going to offer me some paltry compensation instead of submitting quietly to the terms of the will?"

demanded he.

She turned a look of splendid scorn upon him.

Could he not find it in his soul to conceive of strict justice? Did he not know the meaning of generosity? How mean, then, was his heart, which ascribed such abject meanness to her?

"No; I did not think of that," said she. "You shall have every shilling of your property, Colonel Brand."

"By Jove, you amaze me!" cried he, rising to approach near her. "Then you have decided to marry me, after all, and let us both have the lands?"

His exultation shone out in his evil countenance, and sent him hastily across the room to take her hand.

But Margaret shrank back, and with a strong frown waved him away.

What had frozen the generous words on her lips?

Why did she let him rush to every conclusion but the right one?

She had come into his presence to say:

"I freely give up my claim upon your property, and place the deeds entirely in your hands, wishing no further connection with it, or with you; and so--farewell!"

But here she sat, chilled, bitter at heart, coolly asking herself: