CHAPTER XXVIII

I MAKE A FALSE MOVE

I can make no pretence to marshal the train of thought that swept through my brain when the priest took his way and left me to myself. Engrossed as I was with my own affairs, I could not but speculate on the curious chance that had driven him into a life of renunciation and me to one of exile at the same time and for the same cause, and that now brought us together before the woman we both loved. I use the word advisedly and without any reflection on his integrity; but it would be an insult to my intelligence could I look on his face, worn by suffering and emotion, and mark the tone of his voice, and, most confirmatory of all, the jealous care with which he avoided any mention of her name, and not acknowledge the presence there of the gentlest passion that ever refined the soul of man. He had found abundant opportunity for self-denial and sacrifice in the career he had chosen, but I doubted if he had found either peace or entire resignation. During his interview with General Murray, and especially during his familiar talk with me, I had caught a dozen reflections of his old bearing and manner, and I could not believe he had laid aside all human longings and emotions, however he might refuse to recognise them, when he doffed the outward habit of his class for the soutane and shovel hat of the Jesuit. It were childish to think so.

Thus occupied I sate heedless of the hours that went by, until chilled by the change of the day to evening. As I moved slowly towards my quarters, the only result of the hours of solitary thought that remained by me, was that Margaret was unmarried, and that she had come out to meet with me and for this alone.

That same evening I paid my respects to the Superior, la mere do la Nativite, a well-bred woman, who should have graced the world rather than a convent, and to her I proffered my request that I might be allowed to wait upon Mme. de St. Just.

"Most certainly, monsieur, if it be her desire. She is a guest to whom we owe much. If you will permit, I will send and inquire."

In a few moments the sister sent returned with word that Mme. de St. Just would see the Chevalier de Maxwell at eleven the next morning.

"Very well, monsieur, you may then meet her here in the parlour," added the Superior, pleasantly, and I bowed my thanks and withdrew.

I spent the night in great unrest, inventing imaginary difficulties when I overthrew those which really existed, picturing the expected interview in a thousand forms, framing and reframing every appeal I should make, and so wore out the night in a fever of consuming anticipation.

I was thankful I had been captured while on staff duty; for I had ever made it a practice to dress myself with the most scrupulous attention when going into action, so that death himself might not find me unprepared--and, thanks to this, I was now enabled to make a fitting appearance.

The feeling that I was outwardly prepared went far to reassure me, and when the time came for my meeting I had banished my uneasy apprehensions of the night, and recovered my habitual confidence. My sole anxiety was, lest I should fail in conveying an adequate impression of my appreciation of her sacrifice and undertaking for my sake, but when I saw her every doubting fled.

I do not know how she was dressed, beyond that it served but to heighten her queenly beauty; which, rare as I remembered it, had now grown and developed beyond all my faint conceptions. Her amber hair had deepened into the richest auburn, its colour was undisguised by powder, and its abundance undistorted by the art of the hair-dresser. Her eyes were steady, and clear, and truthful; every line of her face had rounded out the promise of her youth, and her shape and carriage were divine. She moved like a goddess.

"Margaret," I said, as I advanced towards her, forgetting all the openings I had so carefully rehearsed, "I can scarce believe I am awake. It seems incredible I should speak face to face with you here."

"It is indeed a strange meeting," she returned. The words were nothing, but they were spoken in a tone of perfect quiet and control, without any trace of the emotion that broke my voice and dissipated my self-possession.

"It is a meeting for which I have dreamed, but tried not to hope," I said, with much feeling.

"And I had lived for nothing else," she returned, with unfaltering voice and the same absence of emotion.

"Then, Margaret, it has come at last!" I cried, joyously, the temporary cloud passing as she spake.

"No, it has not!" she said, with the coldest decision, and, with that incongruity of thought which springs upon us at the most inopportune moments, I wondered if every woman for whom I cared was to change her whole nature, the moment I left her side. I remembered Lucy, and now here was Margaret, whom I had known as the embodiment of impulsive affection, fencing with a coolness that enforced my admiration. I saw she had fully prepared herself, and instantly I resolved to change my ground.

"Margaret," I said, falling back on the most unstudied tones at my command, "it was only yesterday I learned from Gaston the true reason of your presence here. We have both suffered too cruelly from the accidents of the past to risk any misunderstanding now for the want of perfect openness between us."

"That is what I desire above all things in the world," she answered.

"Then let us begin at the beginning. Why was it you never let me know of your plan?"

"I do not hold that any explanation is due on my part," she replied, still in the same tone of self-possession. "Remember I did not seek this interview, and I do not see that you have any right to question me on matters which concern only myself."

"Great heavens; Margaret! Can anything concern you and not touch me?"

"Once I believed it could not. I am older now."

"How can you speak thus coldly?" I cried, shocked at her incredible calm. "If there is anything I can do or say, for Heaven's sake, demand it. You cannot know what torture it is for me to see you like this. I have dreamed of you, longed for you, despaired of you through all these years, and I have a right to a different treatment. Is it on account of Lucy?"

"Partly," she answered, somewhat moved. "Why did you never tell me of her?"

"How could I?"

"There was nothing dishonourable about it."

"A thing does not need to be dishonourable to be ruinous. The dishonour would have been in my speaking when I was pledged to silence."

"Was it more honourable, think you, to allow a young girl to live in a world of mock affection, and to expose her to what I have gone through?"

"But did I ever by word or sign make the slightest move to engage your affections, after I discovered the truth?"

"Pardon me, if I say that question could only serve to embarrass a child. I will answer it by another. Does a man need to speak to declare his love?"

"No, by heavens, he does not, Margaret!" I cried, throwing all defence to the winds. "It speaks in every tone of his voice, in every glance of his eye, and I would be a hypocrite beneath contempt were I to pretend I did not always love you. I loved you from the moment I first saw you, a girl, before Temple Bar, and I will love you, God help me, till I die!"

"If this be the case, then, had I not a higher claim on you than any woman living? Were you not bound to protect me against my ignorance of such a barrier?"

"Absence, and I had hoped forgetfulness, would prove your best protection," I replied, with happy inspiration.

"The implication is skilful," she said, quietly, without a trace of the emotion I expected from my allusion, "but no mistake on my part can serve to lessen your want of good faith towards me. Do you think a woman would have considered any point of personal honour where the life of one dearest to her hung on her sacrifice?"

"It is quite beyond my poor powers to judge of what a woman might do." I replied, with a sudden rash indiscretion. "I find I have but little knowledge of women or the motives which sway them."

"Then there is but little to be gained by continuing this conversation," she returned, with a stately bow, and swept out of the room, leaving me to curse the folly that had betrayed me into so false a move. And with this bitter morsel for reflection I sought my solitary room.

Nothing in the world, short of actual dishonour, can cause a man of sensibility keener suffering than the knowledge that he has made a fool of himself. This I had done to the top of my bent. Why had I not apprehended the effective point of attack from the outset, and, instead of attempting any defence, thrown myself on her compassion and generosity? Why had I not...? But it were futile to reiterate the charges I brought against my own folly.

What was the support on which she relied? If her brother--then I regretted from the bottom of my heart I had missed the occasion of squaring that account of which he had spoken. If a man at all, it was he; for the woman who had so discomfited me was heart-whole I could swear; a defiant modesty rang in every note of her voice. Possibly the convent, that fallacious sanctuary for disappointment. But if I knew anything of her sex, she was the last to whom such a retreat could bring satisfaction. Heavens! It was a coil involved enough to drive a man wellnigh distracted.

Dinner, and the intercourse it entailed, did much to restore me to my ordinary bearing, and when Kit sought me in the afternoon, with a polite request from his Captain that I would wait upon him when at leisure, I had quite recovered. Nothing could have fallen out more to my liking; I was anxious to discover his cause of quarrel with me, and, if possible, to arrive at some solution of Margaret's attitude. So I followed Kit to his room at once.

Nairn I found a trifle pale, with a well-bandaged head, but his welcome was open and unconstrained, and his greeting met me at the threshold. As I advanced to return it, I caught the flutter of a dress out of the opposite door, which informed me that his sufferings were not without certain consolations.

I took the hand extended to me with the same heartiness as it was offered.

"Will you accept a broken man's apology for a whole man's insult, Chevalier? I have promised my sister that I would make you this reparation, and I am heartily glad we can return to our old footing of Louisbourg."

"Readily, Nairn. I have seen your sister this morning, and I cannot blame your action. I might have done the same myself. Let us say no more about it."

"With all my heart! Well, Chevalier, the fortune of war has reversed our personal positions from Louisbourg, but I do not see that the end is much more certain now than then."

"Much the same," I answered; "the result altogether depends on the first ships."

"And I suppose you abide by it as before?"

"I must, Nairn. We need not reopen that subject."

"I only mention it, because I am anxious about the future of your boy, Christopher. I congratulate you on finding such a son. Will you understand me, if I say I trust you have not thought of influencing him to leave our service, though I could not blame you wishing him beside you."

"Nairn, I owe you my thanks for having broached the subject. I have been too dependent on my own exertions all my life to make me a good beggar, even for my son. When in Louisbourg you expressed yourself as under some obligation towards me. Will you discharge it by using your best endeavours for his advancement? He is too good metal to waste as a common soldier."

"He is that! And if you allow him to remain, I pledge my word he shall not continue as such. It may sound presumptions in a mere captain to promise so confidently, but if we come out of this successfully, promotions will follow. He has been most favourably marked by the General, and also by our Colonel."

"Let me see; he is a son of old Lovat, is he not?"

"That he is, and in more ways than one."

"If he be like his sainted father, he will have a longer memory for his own interests than those of his friends."

"This is rank treason, Chevalier. I won't listen to another word of it," said Nairn, laughing. "But I am depending on the General, he never forgets any one, I can tell you, too," he added, eagerly, "he is a stickler for birth, and he will appreciate the fact of Christopher being your son."

"That is a rare advantage!" I said, banteringly.

"Of course it is! Would you not value a good horse the more if you knew his pedigree?" he answered, without the ghost of a smile.

"Oh, come, come, Nairn! You must not attempt flattery, it has too overwhelming an effect. But, tell me--in what manner did you meet with your sister again?" I ventured boldly, knowing there was nothing to be gained by a subtler policy with him.

"Simple enough. She was in the General Hospital when I was placed in command there, and very pleased I was to find her," he answered, as though the meeting were the most ordinary affair in the world, his tone clearly indicating that he had concluded the matter, and did not intend to reopen it.

"I should apologise for having frightened her away as I came in," I continued, feeling for another opening; but he feigned ignorance of my move, and explained in the most natural manner--"Oh, that was not my sister, but a very good friend of hers, to whom we are both indebted for many kindnesses."

"Ah, that is much. I trust she appreciates your gratitude in your allowing her to nurse you?"

"Not at all; I do not think she looks upon it in that way. I believe there are some women who love the bother of looking after you. I try to give her as little trouble as I can," he ended, with a catch in his voice.

"Nairn, you are a gentleman! Forgive my humbugging."

"I didn't know you were, or I shouldn't have been so simple as to answer you. Do you know, I've often wished I could tell when a man is in earnest. I'm no good at guessing what his intent may be unless he has a sword in his hand; and as for a woman, I can never tell at all."

"You're no worse off than the best of us, in that respect, Nairn. Some day I trust some good woman will engage you in dead earnest, and then the quicker you surrender at discretion the better. And for your sake, I hope the day will come soon."

"I don't know, I'm sure," he answered, in so woe-begone a tone that I left him, convinced his enemy had already been making serious advances, and that his defence was likely to be as feeble as his most ardent well-wisher could desire.

I discovered my ex-Jacobite sergeant to be as matter-of-fact as his captain. He would discuss military matters freely enough, but on the subject of our night's adventure I could not get him to advance a word. _Exempli gratia_ "Neil, how is the officer you assisted on the field the other night?"

"Indeed, Captain, you must go away in and ask for yourself."

"You are not uneasy as to his hurt proving dangerous?"

"Not half as dangerous as undigested catechising, sir, saving your presence, and meaning no offence."

And in the face of so diplomatic a rebuke I would abandon the subject and fall back on the safer ground of mines and countermines, carcasses and grenadoes.

I made no attempt to see Margaret, for I felt I would be foolish to risk another rebuff, which might be final, and that my best play was a waiting game. My reflections had been bitter; possibly hers would be generous.

The garrison was fully occupied, for M. de Levis had made such advances to invest the town as to call for constant watchfulness. His fire throughout had necessarily been light, as he was wretchedly supplied with artillery, but he succeeded in blowing up one of the magazines the very first night, and there were the usual number of casualties. General Murray, on his part, attempted one sortie, but as it was unsuccessful, and the officer in command captured, he thereafter held himself strictly on the defensive. No general attack was attempted on our side, and wisely too; for even the capture of the town would avail nothing, if the first reinforcements by sea were not ours.

I passed my time making further acquaintance with Kit, whose eager affection went far to relieve my melancholy, in a few visits of courtesy to various officers, and in renewing my friendship with Gaston and with Nairn.

Each day, as I visited the latter towards eleven o'clock, I was treated to the same disappearing flutter of what I did not doubt was the same petticoat, until at length I became piqued.

"Nairn," I declared, "I must either give up visiting you, or you must persuade that timid lady-in-waiting that I am not to be run away from with impunity. Either she must remain in her place to-morrow, or I cease disturbing her."

"Indeed, that is what I have been doing my best to persuade her, but she is somewhat shy until a little matter of difference between us is settled."

"What, Nairn! Is it possible you have already met the fair one strong in fight, of whom I prophesied?"

"Yes, I suppose so," he said, with a happy laugh. "I may as well tell you. She is Mademoiselle de Sarennes. The only thing that troubles me is, that she wishes to leave the matter to chance."

"I congratulate you on the lady, first of all, sir. And now, what are the chances?"

He moved uneasily. "Just a woman's fancy, I suppose; but she wishes it to depend on the arrival of the ships."

"What! Are those fateful ships to carry the decisions of Cupid as well as Mars? What part are they to play in your affairs?"

"Part enough. If a French ship arrives first, she marries me; if an English, then I marry her."

"Good heavens, Nairn! What an anxiety to have hanging over you! Have you provided against the possible appearance of a Spaniard?"

"None of your nonsense, Chevalier!" he exclaimed, hotly. "This is no jesting matter for me. Cannot you take anything seriously? I conceive it to make all the difference in the world, whether the man take the woman, or the woman the man. I hate turning things upside-down, and, if I marry at all, I must do so in a decent, orderly way, like my fathers before me."

"That is all very well, but shouldn't you allow the lady some choice, especially if you should turn out to be a prisoner, as will certainly be the case should a French ship appear first?"

"But why not let me exercise the choice? I have my feelings as well as a woman," he returned, stubbornly.

"That is conceivable, or you would never have advanced as far as your present difficulty. But I think this is a matter which can be arranged with a little diplomacy."

"Then there's little hope for it if the diplomacy rests with me, for I've no more of it about me than a brass carronade."

"Never mind. You can safely depend for that upon the lady. In the mean time, pray present her with my compliments and congratulations on so ingenious a shifting of responsibility, and remind her that I expect to pay her my respects on the morrow."

But on the morrow I did not keep my appointment. About ten o'clock that morning, as I was with General Murray, chatting over the fire in his quarters in the rue St. Louis, we were interrupted by an aide, who entered in great excitement.

"Your Excellency, a ship is in sight from the lookout!"

"Good heavens, Kirkconnel! This decides it!" exclaimed the General, rising, and generously extending to me his hand. "God bless you, whichever it be!" he added, heartily, and we parted.

In all haste I made my way to the Chateau and gained such point of vantage as was possible. I eagerly scanned every foot of the river, but there was nothing I could make out, though from the excitement of the little knot at the signalling-point above it was evident they could sight her.

In an incredibly short time every available foothold was occupied. Men, women, and children, soldiers and sailors, sick and sound, flocked to the ramparts to strain their eyes for the reported sail.

Suddenly a cheer arose from the crowd, and all hearts leaped in response. No--it was but a sailor climbing the flag-staff on the Cape to bend new cordage for the colours, and presently they were unrolled and spread out on the sharp May wind. With every moment the crowd increased; the wounded even left their beds at the news, and painfully crawled to have the sooner tidings.

At length her top-sails shone white over the bare trees of St. Joseph. Inch by inch they grew, until the vessel swam clear of the point. A frigate! A man-of-war! And, at the sight, the crowd, French and English alike, set up a shout, though as yet neither knew the message she would soon send flying from her halyards.

On she came, and, the first burst of excitement stilled, we hung on her every movement in a silence that was almost painful. At length a gasp ran through the crowd. Against her white sails a black spot could be distinctly seen running swiftly up to the masthead. No sooner did it touch it than it broke, and the white field barred by the red cross of St. George streamed forth to our waiting eyes.

A perfect scream of shouts and cheers answered the declaration. Men swore and blasphemed in their joy, some shrieked and laughed in hysterical excitement, while others broke down and wept like children at the sight of their deliverance.

Before long the frigate's sides were swathed in smoke, and her guns thundered their proud salute against the swarming cliff, while frantic groups ran through the town shouting the news, until, from the line of defences opposite the Heights, the artillery boomed forth in one long, continuous roar its message of exultation and defiance to the gallant Levis and his men, to whom it meant irretrievable failure and despair.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to meet the pale face of Gaston.

"This is the end!" he said, with tears in his eyes.