Faithful Margaret Part 59

"'Lived to the age of one hundred and ten; And died from a fall from a cherry-tree then.'"

The chevalier returning with the chess-board, madame and he enjoyed several hours of their game, she played more games than that of backgammon, although all her faculties seemed to be concentrated in winning the chevalier's golden dollars from him, which she did with marvelous relish, and keeping her accounts, which she did with marvelous precision.

She ended her game of backgammon by transferring the last piece in the charmed chevalier's purse to her own, and she ended the game of hearts by dropping the net of bewilderment completely over poor Calembours, and then she thought of tightening the cord.

"Poor Miss Walsingham!" said madame, with a rippling laugh of wicked glee; "I shall chase away that look of stern dislike which has settled upon your face ever since you discovered that I added gambling to my other sins--I shall make you like me in spite of yourself. Come, chevalier, turn my music."

She strolled gracefully down the long drawing-room, attended by the elated chevalier, who had never been so happy in his life, and, followed by the wondering and admiring eyes of a score of both s.e.xes, took her seat at the piano.

But Margaret turned her back, and shut her heart against the bold and erring creature, whose beauty was but the fatal bewitchment of clever wickedness, whose spasms of grief were the last expiring gleams of a better nature which she sedulously quenched.

Madame played some air, fairy nonsense, that her little hands might glamour the rapt chevalier in their bird-like glancings here and there; and then, with a defiant glance over her shoulder at cold Margaret Walsingham, she stole into a theme with sentiment, with soul in every chord.

Ah, those strains of tender sadness! how they rose and fell in persistent plaint! how they mourned, and whispered of hope, mourned again in homeless accents! Then these waves of stronger pa.s.sion--how they surged from grief to fury! how they gushed from beneath the glancing hands in menacing strains and conquering thunder!

It was as if a Frederic Chopin sat before the keys, instead of that small Circe.

Then these songs, so wild, so caroling, so purely joyous--could Sappho sing more burningly of happiness and love?

Margaret forgot her chill disdain of the perverted nature, forgot her own heart-trouble, even forgot St. Udo Brand in her trance of ravishment; and unconscious that she did so, rose and stood beside the wondrous St. Cecilia.

Madame raised her mock-simple eyes--they were not disappointed--Margaret was bending over her with a fascinated face, and the chevalier was wrapped in his study of the fair musician.

"Thanks for that act of homage," said Madame Hesslein, gravely, to Margaret; then dropping her tones, and rising, "I thought I could make you like me. I came here, to this hotel, to make you like me, because I had something pleasant to tell you; and I never do a favor for any one who presumes to criticise me unfavorable. Griselda, patient soul, come to my room, and we shall talk."

She drew the astonished Margaret's hand within her arm, gave a majestic bow to the flushed chevalier, and led the unresisting girl out of the drawing-room to her own luxurious apartments.

"Now, my good lady," observed Madame Hesslein, airily. "I have conceived something like appreciation of your humdrum goodness, and since I see a good deal of intellect at the back of it, I am disposed to do you a good turn, hoping that, charity-like, it may cover a mult.i.tude of my sins."

"What is it that you have to communicate?" asked Margaret, earnestly.

"How can it be that you, a stranger have become acquainted with my concerns?"

"Pshaw! English exclusiveness again!" mocked madame. "But I do know somewhat of your affairs, gentle Griselda. For instance, I hear that you are searching for Colonel Brand, that you may make over your fortune to him. Margaret Walsingham, how can you be so foolish?"

"Madame, I only do my duty."

"Ugh! You horrify me with your crucifixion of the flesh, you devotee of Duty."

"Colonel Brand is worth sacrificing life itself for," said Margaret, with glowing eyes.

Madame watched her with sudden interest.

"Ah! I thought so," murmured she, sadly; "You care for this man--you love him."

"Madame!" deprecated timid Margaret, coldly.

"Yes, I see it. Poor creature, you should not love anything, do you know that, said madame, pityingly.

"You are right," replied Margaret, with a meek, quiet despair. "My plain face and manner will never win me love."

Madame Hesslein looked at her with a curious smile--at the spiritual face, the soulful eyes, the tall, magnificent figure--and she patted Margaret's hand with dainty tenderness.

"Your humility is very prettily done," said she, "and would really look well on myself, for I have none of it. But you mistake me; I meant that since love is eternally being met with treachery, why do you waste it, and especially upon such a poor _parti_ as a colonel? Heavens! she troubles her digestion about a colonel! Why are you not more ambitious?

If I were you, I wouldn't look below a major-general. I don't intend to give myself to any man who can't give me a lift in life. I am going to marry Vice-Admiral Oldright, who followed me to the Bermudas. I have worked hard to entrap him, and I have succeeded, I crossed the Atlantic five times for his sake, and I mean to get him; because when he is an admiral, and I am his wife, I shall take precedence of all other women in my circle."

"Ambition is not worth a true woman's pursuit," said Margaret.

"Well said, St. Griselda--such an apothegm deserves applause. Ah, well, Miss Walsingham, perhaps you are right, but you are not wise. You will stick to your colonel in spite of my advice? You will give him your fortune, and live on your wits in future? Poor creature! However I will not reproach you; for, as St. Chrysostom wrote to Pentadia, 'I know your great and lofty soul, which can sail, as with a fair wind through many tempests, and in the midst of the waves enjoy a white calm.' You will depart on your Utopian enterprise, contented with the white calm of an approving conscience in the midst of the waves of starvation. Men are such beasts, they prefer the bold and grasping Kestral like myself to rewarding the fidelity of a ring-dove like Miss Walsingham."

Margaret was gazing breathlessly in the brilliant, heartless woman's face, and her voice faltered, as she asked:

"Can you send me on that enterprise? Do you bring me news of Colonel Brand?"

And madame, with a glance of pity in the pa.s.sionate eyes, replied:

"Yes, I can. When at Key West, a month ago, I saw Colonel Brand driving out with a friend. Does that please you?"

Margaret's face was quivering with joy--with a n.o.ble triumph; she turned it from those scoffing eyes, and whispered a quiet "Thank G.o.d!"

CHAPTER XXIX.

FOUND AT LAST.

Three days afterward a steamer was entering the harbor of Key West.

Margaret Walsingham, Madame Hesslein, Mr. Davenport, and the Chevalier de Calembours stood on deck, watching the fair white city grow larger, and breathing the lambent air, which brought upon its wings the perfume of wild roses, orange-trees, and tropic herbs, although the month was yet February.

Madame Hesslein had come, she told Margaret, to meet her husband at Key West; but if that were so, she chose a singular method to prepare her mind for the gentle thrill of matrimony.

She was drawing the meshes of her secret net slowly round the unwary chevalier, even as yon secret reef enclasped the beautiful isles of summer, and lay in wait to wreck the unsuspicious ship that might carry future cheer to the prisoner.

Her witchery, her diablerie was maddening the little man; his customary caution had forsaken him, his intuitive presence of danger was unheeded--he loved the splendid siren.

The steamer anch.o.r.ed mid-stream, and waited for the usual fleet of little boats to dart out from the city and to carry the pa.s.sengers ash.o.r.e--not a sign of life appeared.

At last a signal-gun was fired in answer to their salute; and what was that tiny, fluttering beacon which mounted to a tall flagstaff in the dock-yard?

The captain gazing through his gla.s.s, grew suddenly silent; his face fell. The pa.s.sengers, curiously watching the limp, yellow rag, wondered much what it might presage.

Presently tiny boat shot out from the cedar-fringed sh.o.r.e, with one man at the oars--a painted toy which moved upon the gla.s.sy water like a tiny bird and the man climbed aboard.

He was tall, and lank, and yellow-faced; his limbs trembled as he followed the captain to the cabin, and he shunned the pa.s.sengers with half-fearful looks when they would have questioned him.

In three minutes the captain and the stranger emerged from the cabin, and the pa.s.sengers pressed forward to hear what catastrophe had befallen the city.