Margaret Capel Volume Iii Part 28

It was a dreadful storm; there were no pauses between the rapid explosions, the intolerable glare of the lightning. Even Mrs.

Fitzpatrick sat with white lips. Harriet was crying on Mr. Gage's shoulder; Everard, tired of sitting up, was snoring in an arm-chair.

Margaret looked round, wondering at the terror they all seemed to feel.

They must be _very_ happy she thought to feel such fear at the remote danger which attends such a scene.

She looked involuntarily for Mr. Haveloc, he was not in the room. Still the storm did not abate. George Gage, who had been supporting Harriet for an hour without repining, now looked at his watch.

"Twelve o'clock! I say Harriet, would you mind Everard looking after you, while I went to smoke a cigar?"

"Oh! hear him--how profane he is!" sobbed Harriet, "to talk of smoking, with that--oh, gracious! that dreadful noise going on!"

"Well, I will not if you have any dislike--"

"By Jove, I must be off now," said Captain Smithson rising.

"No! for Heaven's sake don't be imprudent, Captain Smithson," cried Lucy, looking up, "you will be killed."

"And if you are," said Harriet, drying her eyes, "it will never do; for we shall not be able to find another 'father,' by Monday."

"No, no, come with me Smithson," said Mr. Gage. "There Harriet. I am sure you don't mind it now, only look at Miss Capel."

But not an inch would Harriet let him stir. Captain Smithson longing for something to drink, made a sign to Mr. Gage, and slipped out. Margaret did not like the idea of waiting there till morning. She remembered that the conservatory commanded a very extensive view that reached to the sea; and she thought how grand that rich expanse of country would look, when summoned into life by each vivid flash of lightning.

Miss Campbell well knowing that the sickly fairness of her complexion would not stand late hours, had managed to steal off to bed. Margaret thought she should be able to follow her example--she moved gently to the door, and as no voice was raised in disapproval of her attempt, she hurried through the empty drawing-room, gained the hall, ran across, and into the large conservatory. As the house stood upon high ground, nearly twenty miles of country were visible between the windows and the sea. On one side a steep hill rose clothed with trees, so as almost to shut out the sky, and swept abruptly down to the level ground, where copse and thicket, and fertile meadows succeeded each other in many tinted chequer work, mingled with hamlets and solitary church spires. All was dark as night--a lamp hung over the door which led to the conservatory, but this did not serve to light more than a few yards of the marble pathway, which led between the orange trees. Margaret walked to the end of the path, and waited for a flash. It came, and for a single moment every tree and every roof in the wide landscape was seen bathed in light beneath the angry sky--the silver strip of sea on the horizon glancing like a mirror, beneath the black clouds. It was a grand spectacle, as the keen lightning was seen ripping up the dark ma.s.ses, or dropping like a quivering dart into the thick tree tops. And the sudden darkness, and the solemn thunder rolling fainter and more faint, seemed to complete the magnificence of the hour.

At length, the interval between the peals became longer, and Margaret who had been conscious of no fatigue while watching the storm, began to feel sleepy and exhausted. After waiting some minutes, during which, such was the stillness, she could hear her own pulse, she turned away, and saying half to herself, "It is over, now;" she moved slowly down the path.

All at once a sharp light blazed across her eyes--a peal that deafened her--a crash--a sound as of musquetry just over head--a quick shower of hail and broken gla.s.s together, rattling upon the marble pavement. She raised her arms, as if to save herself, when she was suddenly seized, and whirled out into the hall so quickly, that she lost her breath, almost her senses.

"Are you hurt?"

Margaret looked up at her questioner. The rattling noise of the breaking gla.s.s--the tremendous sound above, that seemed to rock the walls of the house, so sudden, so bewildering, frightened away her voice. She looked round in complete amaze. She was sitting on one of the hall chairs, and Mr. Haveloc supporting her, kneeling by her side.

"Are you not hurt?" he asked again.

She pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes, and gazed around, still confused.

"No," said she, "what was it?"

"The hail came suddenly," he said.

"Yes, it did--but--were you there?" she asked.

"I was."

"The storm was--very--beautiful," said she losing her voice in tears before the words were ended.

"I was not watching the storm," he replied.

Overcome by agitation and fright, her nerves thoroughly unstrung by the feelings of the few preceding days, she covered her face with her hands, and gave way to her tears. There was a silence, only broken by her heavy sobs. The thunder had ceased,--the hail was over, only the large fast drops of rain fell splashing among the stiff orange leaves.

"Margaret," he said, "tell me now. What have I done?"

"Nothing--nothing!" she faltered through her tears.

"Then it was for no fault of mine; the change was in yourself," said he suddenly. "You had seen--you had loved; and it has been your turn to suffer."

"I have suffered, Claude," said Margaret withdrawing her hands from her face.

Her voice, her aspect, so inimitably tender and mournful, struck him to the heart.

She had gained courage and composure, and went on.

"And it is a comfort to me to have seen and spoken with you once again,"

said she; "because having done you an injustice, in my thoughts, I am glad to tell you so. I am pleased to think that you acted as I should have most desired, had I known the facts which were so cruelly perverted to me. But still--I hope," she added, as she rose to go, "that as I must remain here for the present, you will not often come to the house, because the sight of you reminds me too forcibly of those old times."

How exquisitely graceful she looked; with that imploring att.i.tude--that bashful entreaty in her gesture.

"But, I don't understand--" he said, detaining her.

"No--it is a long story," said Margaret sadly.

"But why not tell it me? Have I not a right to know it? I, who love you better than anything in the world?"

Her smiles came back--her blushes.

"If you wish it," she said, "only not now. Still I must say for myself, that every one believed as I did. Even your friends here, entirely thought so till Mrs. Fitzpatrick set them right."

"But--believed what?"

"That you were engaged to Miss Fitzpatrick."

"What--engaged--and when? Good Heavens! And you, Margaret--to Miss Fitzpatrick! How could you believe such an incredible lie?"

"Don't ask me, Claude," said Margaret, feeling as if it really had been too bad in her to credit her own eyesight, as well as the a.s.surance of every one she came near.

"And this is what has parted us for two years. Miss Fitzpatrick--but it is all clear now. You are satisfied--you are mine again--say so."

"You are a tyrant, Claude."

"But say it."

"I do say it--there, some one is coming. I must go."

Margaret flew up stairs. The ladies, satisfied that the storm was over, now came out, pale with fear and watching. Harriet's keen eye espied Mr. Haveloc leaning against the door of the conservatory.

"Marius among the ruins of Carthage," said she with a laugh.

"Marius! Mrs. Gage, can you say nothing better for me than that? Will you come to-morrow and fish with us?"