V
HOW I LOST WHAT I HAD NEVER GAINED
Though I dared not hope she would keep her promise and was sometimes sosorely beset as to tremble at her coming, Margery looked in upon meoftener, and soon there grew up between us a comradeship the like ofwhich, I think, had never been between a woman loved and a man who,loving her, was yet constrained to play the part of her true lover'sfriend.
If I played this part but stumblingly; if at times the madness of mypassion would not be denied the look or word or hand-clasp not of poorcool friendship; I have this to comfort me: that in after time, when mydear lad came to know, he forgave me freely--nay, held me altogetherblameless, as I was not.
Of what these looks and words and hand-clasps meant to Margery I had nohint. But in my hours of sanity, when I would pass these slippings inreview, I could recall no answering flash of hers to salt the woundingsof the conscience-whip. So far from it, it seemed, as this sweetcomradeship budded and blossomed on the stock of a better acquaintance,she came to hold me more as if I were some cross between a father or anelder brother, and some closer confidant of her own sex.
You are not to understand that she was always thus, nor over-often. Morefrequently that side of her which I soon came to call the mother's wasturned to me, and I was made to stand a target for her wit and raillery.But she was ever changeful as a child, and in the midst of some lightjesting mood would sober instantly and give my age its due.
In some of these, her soberer times, I felt her lean upon me as mysister might, had I had one; at others she would frankly set me in herfather's place, declaring I must tell her what to say or do in this orthat entanglement. Again, and this came oftener as our friendship grew,she would talk to me as surely woman never talked to any but a kinsman,telling me naively of her conquests, and sparing no gallant of them allsave only Richard Jennifer.
And of Dick and his devotion she spoke now and then, as well, thoughnever mockingly, as of the others. Nay, once when I pressed her on thispoint, asking her plainly if my dear lad had not good cause to hope, shewould only smile and turn her face away, and say that of all the men sheknew the hopeful ones pleased her best. So I was thus assured that if itwere a scale for love to tip, my lady's heart would fall to Richard.
Now I took this to be a hopeful sign, that she would tell me freely ofthese her little heart affairs; and seeing her so safe upon the side offriendship, held the looser rein upon my own unchartered passion. Solong as I could keep my love well masked and hidden what harm could cometo her or any if I should give it leave to live in prison? None, Ithought; and yet at times was made a very coward by the thought. Forlove, like other living things, will grow by what it feeds upon, andonce full-grown, may haply come to laugh at bonds, however strong orcunningly devised.
With such a fever in my veins it was little wonder that my wound healedslowly. As time passed by, with never a word of news from the worldwithout--if Margery knew aught of the fighting she would never lisp asyllable to me--and with Gilbert Stair still keeping churlishly beyondthe sight or sound of me, I fretted sorely and would be gone.
Yet this was but a passing mood. When Margery was with me I was notill-content to eat the bread of sufferance in her father's house, andangry pride had scanty footing. But when she was away this same pridetook sharp revenges, getting me out of bed to bully Darius into dressingme that I might foot it up and down the room while I was still unfit forany useful thing.
One morning in the summer third of June my lady came early and surprisedme at this business of pacing back and forth. Whereat she scolded me aswas her wont when I grew restive.
"What weighty thing have you to do that you should be so fierce to beabout it, Monsieur Impetuous?" she cried. "_Fi donc!_ you'd try thepatience of a saint!"
"Which you are not," I ventured. "But truly, Margery, I am growingstronger now, and the bed does irk me desperately, if you must know.Besides--"
"Well, what is there else besides? Do I not pamper you enough?"
I laughed. "I'll say whatever you would have me say--so it be not thetruth."
"I'll have you say nothing until you sit down."
She pushed the great chair of Indian wickerwork into place before thewindow-bay, and when I was at rest she drew up a low hassock and sat atmy feet.
"Now you may go on," she said.
"You have not told me what you would have me say."
"The truth," she commanded.
"'"What is truth," said jesting Pilate,'" I quoted. "Why do you supposemy Lord Bacon thought the Roman procurator jested at such a time andplace?"
"You are quibbling, Monsieur John. I want to know why you are soimpatient to be gone."
"Saw you ever a man worthy the name who could be content to bideinactive when duty calls?"
"That is not the whole truth," she said, half absently. "You think youare unwelcome here."
"'Twas you said that; not I. But I must needs know your father will berelieved when he is safely quit of me."
"'Twas you said that, not I, Monsieur John," she retorted, giving meback my own words. "Has ever word been brought you that he would speedyour parting?"
"Surely not, since I am still here. But you must know that I have neverseen his face, as yet."
"And is that strange? You must not forget that he is Gilbert Stair, andyou are Roger Ireton's son."
"I am not likely to forget it. But still a word of welcome to theunbidden guest would not have come amiss. And it was none of myseeking--this asylum in his house."
"True; but that has naught to do with any coolness of my father's."
"What is it, then?--besides the fact that I am Roger Ireton's son?"
"I think 'twas what you said to Mr. Pengarvin."
"That little smirking wretch? What has he to say or do in this?"
She looked away from me and said: "He is my father's factor and man ofaffairs."
"Ah, I have always to be craving your pardon, Margery. But I said naughtto this parchment-faced--to this Mr. Pengarvin, that might offend yourfather, or any."
"How, then, will you explain this, that you swore to drive my fatherfrom Appleby Hundred as soon as ever you had raised a following amongthe rebels?"
"'Tis easily explained: this thrice-accursed--oh, pardon me again, Ipray you; I will not name him any name at all. What I meant to say wasthat he lied. I made no threats to him; to tell the plain truth, I wastoo fiercely mad to bandy words with him."
"What made you mad, Monsieur John?"
"'Twas his threat to me--to taint me with my father's outlawry. Do yougreatly blame me, Margery?"
"No."
Thereat a silence came and sat between us, and I fell to loving her themore because of it; but when she spoke I always loved her more forspeaking.
"My father has had little peace since coming here," she said, at length."He is old and none too well; and as for king and Congress, asks nothingbut his right to hold aloof. And this they will not give him."
Remembering what Jennifer had told me of Gilbert Stair's trimming, Ismiled within.
"That is the way of all the world in war-time, _ma petite_. A partizanmay suffer once for all, but both sides hold a neutral lawful prey."
'Twas as the spark to tinder; my word the spark and in her eyes theanswering flash.
"I tell him so!" she cried. "I tell him always that the king will havehis own again. But still he halts and hesitates; and when these rebelscome and quarter on us--"
I fear she must have seen my inward smile this time, for she broke offin the midst, and I made haste to forestall her flying out at me.
"Oh, come, my dear; you should not be so fierce with him when youyourself have brought a rebel to his house to nurse alive."
She looked me fairly in the eye. "You should be the last to remind me ofmy treason, Monsieur John."
"Then you are free to call it treason, are you, Margery?" I said.
She looked away from me again. "How can it well be less than treason?"Then suddenly she turned and clasped her
hands upon my knee. "You mustnot be too hard upon me, Monsieur John. I've tried to do my duty as Isaw it, and I have asked no questions. And yet I know much more than youhave told me."
"What do you know?"
"I know your wound has been your safety. If you should leave this roomand house to-day you would never wear the buff and blue again, CaptainIreton."
"You mean they would hang me for a spy. Will you believe me, Margery, ifI say I have not yet worn the buff and blue at all?"
"_Oh_!" The little exclamation was of pure delight. "Then they were allmistaken? You are no rebel, after all?"
Was ever man so tempted since the fall of Adam? As I have writ it downfor you in measured words, I was no more than half a patriot at thistime. And love has made more traitors than its opposites of lust orgreed. In no uncertain sense I was a man without a country; and thisfair maiden on the hassock at my feet was all the world to me. I saw inbriefer time than any clock hands ever measured how much a yielding wordmight do for me; and then I thought of Richard Jennifer and was myselfagain.
"Nay, little one," I said; "there has been no mistake. For their ownpurposes my enemies have passed the word that I am here as the Baron deKalb's paid spy. That is no mistake; 'tis a lie cut out of whole cloth.I came here straight from New Berne, and back of that from London andthe Continent, and scarcely know the buff and blue by sight. But I amCarolina born, dear lady; and this King George's governor hanged myfather. So, when God gives me strength to mount and ride--"
"Now who is fierce?" she cried. And then, like lightning: "Will youraise a band of rebels and come and take your own again?"
"You know I will not," I protested, so gravely that she laughed again,though now there were tears, from what well-spring of emotion I knewnot, in her eyes.
"Oh, mercy me! Have you never one little grain of imagination, MonsieurJohn? You are too monstrous literal for our poor jesting age." Then shesobered quickly and added this: "And yet I fear that this is what myfather fears."
I did not tell her that he might have feared it once with reason, orthat now the houseless dog she petted should have life of me though mineenemy should sick him on. But I did say her father had no present causeto dread me.
"He thinks he has. And surely there is cause enough," she added.
I smiled, and, loving her the more for her fairness, must smile again.
"Nay, you have changed all that, dear lady. Truly, I did at first flyout at him and all concerned for what has made me a poor pensioner in myfather's house--or rather in the house that was my father's. But thatwas while the hurt was new. I have been a soldier of fortune too long tothink overmuch of the loss of Appleby Hundred. 'Twas my father's,certainly; but 'twas never mine."
"And yet--and yet it should be yours, John Ireton." She said it bravely,with uplifted face and eloquent eyes that one who ran might read.
"'Tis good and true of you to say so, little one; but there be two sidesto that, as well. So my father's acres come at last to you and RichardJennifer, I shall be well content, I do assure you, Margery."
She sprang up from her low seat and went to stand in the window-bay.After a time she turned and faced me once again, and the warm blood wasin cheek and neck, and there was a soft light in her eyes to make themshine like stars.
"Then you would have me marry Richard Jennifer?" she asked.
'Twas but a little word that honor bade me say, and yet it choked me andI could not say it.
"Dick would have you, Margery; and Dick is my dear friend--as I am his."
"But you?" she queried. "Were you my friend, as well, is this as youwould have it?"
My look went past her through the lead-rimmed window-panes to the greatoaks and hickories on the lawn; to these and to the white road windingin and out among them. While yet I sought for words in which to give herunreservedly to my dear lad, two horsemen trotted into view. One of themwas a king's man; the other a civilian in sober black. The redcoat rodeas English troopers do, with a firm seat, as if the man were master ofhis mount; but the smaller man in black seemed little to the mannerborn, and daylight shuttled in and out beneath him, keeping time to thejog-trot of his beast.
I thought it passing strange that with all good will to answer her,these coming horsemen seemed to hold me silent. And, indeed, I did notspeak until they came so near that I could make them out.
"I am your friend, Margery mine; as good a friend as you will let me be.And as between Richard Jennifer and another, I should be a sorry friendto Dick did I not--"
She heard the clink of horseshoes on the gravel and turned, signing tome for silence while she looked below. The window overhung the entranceon that side, and through the opened air-casement I heard somebabblement of voices, though not the words.
"I must go down," she said. "'Tis company come, and my father is away."
She passed behind my chair, and, hearing her hand upon the latch, I hadthought her gone--gone down to welcome my enemy and his riding mate, thefactor. But while I was cursing my unready tongue and repenting that Ihad not given her some small word of warning, she spoke again.
"You say 'Richard Jennifer or another.' What know you of any other,Monsieur John?"
"Nay, I know nothing save what you have told me; and from that I havebeen hoping there was no other."
"But if I say there may be?"
My heart went sick at that. True, I had thought to give her generouslyto Dick, whose right was paramount; but to another--
"Margery, come hither where I may see you." And when she stood before melike a bidden child: "Tell me, little comrade, who is that other?"
But now her mood was changed again, and from standing sweet and pensiveshe fell a-laughing.
"What impudence!" she cried. "_Ma foi_! You should borrow PereMatthieu's cassock and breviary; then, mayhap, I might confess to you.But not before."
But still I pressed her.
"Tell me, Margery."
She tossed her head and would not look at me. "Dick Jennifer is but aboy; suppose this other were a man full-grown."
"Yes?"
"And a soldier."
The sickness in my heart became a fire.
"O Margery! Don't tell me it is this fiend who came just now!"
All in a flash the jesting mood was gone, but that which took its placewas strange to me. Tears came; her bosom heaved. And then she would havepassed me but I caught her hands and held them fast.
"Margery, one moment: for your own sweet sake, if not for Dick's ormine, have naught to do with this devil's emissary of a man. If you onlyknew--if I dared tell you--"
But for once, it seemed, I had stretched my privilege beyond the limit.She whipped her hands from my hold and faced me coldly.
"Sir Francis says you are a brave gentleman, Captain Ireton, and thoughhe knows well what you would be about, he has not sent a file of men toput you in arrest. And in return you call him names behind his back. Ishall not stay to listen, sir."
With that she passed again behind my chair, and once again I heard herhand upon the latch. But I would say my say.
"Forgive me, Margery, I pray you; 'twas only what you said that made memad. 'Tis less than naught if you'll deny it."
I waited long and patiently, and thought she must have gone before heranswer came. And this is what she said:
"If I must tell you then;'tis now two weeks and more since Sir FrancisFalconnet asked me to marry him. I--I hope you do feel better, CaptainIreton."
And with these bitterest of all words to her leave-taking, she left meto endure as best I might the hell of torment they had lighted for me.
The Master of Appleby Page 7