The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh and Other Tales
Page 10
offerings on the blackenedpiles, softly laid a garland of grayish drift before it, and thensobbed itself out in the salt grass.
From time to time the faint echoes of the Culpeppers' life at Logportreached the upland, and the few neighbors who had only known them byhearsay shook their heads over the extravagance they as yet only knewby report. But it was in the dead ebb of the tide and the waningdaylight that the feathered tenants of the Marsh seemed to voice dismalprophecies of the ruin of their old master and mistress, and to givethemselves up to gloomiest lamentation and querulous foreboding.Whether the traditional "bird of the air" had entrusted his secret to afew ornithological friends, or whether from a natural disposition totake gloomy views of life, it was certain that at this hour the vocalexpression of the Marsh was hopeless and despairing. It was then thata dejected plover, addressing a mocking crew of sandpipers on afloating log, seemed to bewail the fortune that was being swallowed upby the riotous living and gambling debts of Jim. It was then that thequerulous crane rose, and testily protested against the selling of hisfavorite haunt in the sandy peninsula, which only six months of Jim'sexcesses had made imperative. It was then that a mournful curlew, who,with the preface that he had always been really expecting it,reiterated the story that Jim had been seen more than once staggeringhome with nervous hands and sodden features from a debauch with theyounger officers; it was the same desponding fowl who knew thatMaggie's eyes had more than once filled with tears at Jim's failings,and had already grown more hollow with many watchings. It was a flockof wrangling teal that screamingly discussed the small scandals,jealous heart-burnings, and curious backbitings that had attendedMaggie's advent into society. It was the high-flying brent who,knowing how the sensitive girl, made keenly conscious at every turn ofher defective training and ingenuous ignorance, had often watched theirevening flight with longing gaze, now "honked" dismally at therecollection. It was at this hour and season that the usual vaguelamentings of Dedlow Marsh seemed to find at last a preordainedexpression. And it was at such a time, when light and water were bothfading, and the blackness of the Marsh was once more reassertingitself, that a small boat was creeping along one of the tortuousinlets, at times half hiding behind the bank like a wounded bird. Asit slowly penetrated inland it seemed to be impelled by its solitaryoccupant in a hesitating uncertain way, as if to escape observationrather than as if directed to any positive bourn. Stopping beside abank of reeds at last, the figure rose stoopingly, and drew a gun frombetween its feet and the bottom of the boat. As the light fell uponits face, it could be seen that it was James Culpepper! JamesCulpepper! hardly recognizable in the swollen features, bloodshot eyes,and tremulous hands of that ruined figure! James Culpepper, onlyretaining a single trace of his former self in his look of set andpassionate purpose! And that purpose was to kill himself--to be founddead, as his father had been before him--in an open boat, adrift uponthe Marsh!
It was not the outcome of a sudden fancy. The idea had first come tohim in a taunting allusion from the drunken lips of one of his rudercompanions, for which he had stricken the offender to the earth. Ithad since haunted his waking hours of remorse and hopeless fatuity; ithad seemed to be the one relief and atonement he could make his devotedsister; and, more fatuous than all, it seemed to the miserable boy theone revenge he would take upon the faithless coquette, who for a yearhad played with his simplicity, and had helped to drive him to thedistraction of cards and drink. Only that morning Colonel Preston hadforbidden him the house; and now it seemed to him the end had come. Heraised his distorted face above the reedy bank for a last tremulous andhalf-frightened glance at the landscape he was leaving forever. Aglint in the western sky lit up the front of his deserted dwelling inthe distance, abreast of which the windings of the inlet hadunwittingly led him. As he looked he started, and involuntarilydropped into a crouching attitude. For, to his superstitious terror,the sealed windows of his old home were open, the bright panes wereglittering with the fading light, and on the outer gallery the familiarfigure of his sister stood, as of old, awaiting his return! Was hereally going mad, or had this last vision of his former youth beenpurposely vouchsafed him?
But, even as he gazed, the appearance of another figure in thelandscape beyond the house proved the reality of his vision, and assuddenly distracted him from all else. For it was the apparition of aman on horseback approaching the house from the upland; and even atthat distance he recognized its well-known outlines. It was Calvert!Calvert the traitor! Calvert, the man whom he had long suspected asbeing the secret lover and destined husband of Cicely Preston!Calvert, who had deceived him with his calm equanimity and his affectedpreference for Maggie, to conceal his deliberate understanding withCicely. What was he doing here? Was he a double traitor, and nowtrying to deceive HER--as he had him? And Maggie here! This suddenreturn--this preconcerted meeting. It was infamy!
For a moment he remained stupefied, and then, with a mechanicalinstinct, plunged his head and face in the lazy-flowing water, and thenonce again rose cool and collected. The half-mad distraction of hisprevious resolve had given way to another, more deliberate, but notless desperate determination. He knew now WHY he came there--WHY hehad brought his gun--why his boat had stopped when it did!
Lying flat in the bottom, he tore away fragments of the crumbling bankto fill his frail craft, until he had sunk it to the gunwale, and belowthe low level of the Marsh. Then, using his hands as noiselesspaddles, he propelled this rude imitation of a floating log slowly pastthe line of vision, until the tongue of bushes had hidden him fromview. With a rapid glance at the darkening flat, he then seized hisgun, and springing to the spongy bank, half crouching half crawlingthrough reeds and tussocks, he made his way to the brush. A foot andeye less experienced would have plunged its owner helpless in the blackquagmire. At one edge of the thicket he heard hoofs trampling thedried twigs. Calvert's horse was already there, tied to a skirtingalder.
He ran to the house, but, instead of attracting attention by ascendingthe creaking steps, made his way to the piles below the rear galleryand climbed to it noiselessly. It was the spot where the deserter hadascended a year ago, and, like him, he could see and hear all thatpassed distinctly. Calvert stood near the open door as if departing.Maggie stood between him and the window, her face in shadow, her handsclasped tightly behind her. A profound sadness, partly of the dyingday and waning light, and partly of some vague expiration of their ownsorrow, seemed to encompass them. Without knowing why, a strangetrembling took the place of James Culpepper's fierce determination, anda film of moisture stole across his staring eyes.
"When I tell you that I believe all this will pass, and that you willstill win your brother back to you," said Calvert's sad but clearvoice, "I will tell you why--although, perhaps, it is only a part ofthat confidence you command me to withhold. When I first saw you, Imyself had fallen into like dissolute habits; less excusable than he,for I had some experience of the world and its follies. When I metYOU, and fell under the influence of your pure, simple, and healthylife; when I saw that isolation, monotony, misunderstanding, even thesense of superiority to one's surroundings could be lived down andtriumphed over, without vulgar distractions or pitiful ambitions; whenI learned to love you--hear me out, Miss Culpepper, I beg you--yousaved ME--I, who was nothing to you, even as I honestly believe youwill still save your brother, whom you love."
"How do you know I didn't RUIN him?" she said, turning upon himbitterly. "How do you know that it wasn't to get rid of OUR monotony,OUR solitude that I drove him to this vulgar distraction, thispitiful--yes, you were right--pitiful ambition?"
"Because it isn't your real nature," he said quietly.
"My real nature," she repeated with a half savage vehemence that seemedto be goaded from her by his very gentleness, "my real nature! Whatdid HE--what do YOU know of it?--My real nature!--I'll tell you what itwas," she went on passionately. "It was to be revenged on you all foryour cruelty, your heartlessness, your wickedness to me and mine in thepas
t. It was to pay you off for your slanders of my dead father--forthe selfishness that left me and Jim alone with his dead body on theMarsh. That was what sent me to Logport--to get even with you--to--tofool and flaunt you! There, you have it now! And now that God haspunished me for it by crushing my brother--you--you expect me to letyou crush ME too."
"But," he said eagerly, advancing toward her, "you are wronging me--youare wronging yourself, cruelly."
"Stop," she said, stepping back, with her hands still locked behindher. "Stay where you are. There! That's enough!" She drew herselfup and let her hands fall at her side. "Now, let us speak of Jim," shesaid coldly.
Without seeming to hear her, he regarded her for the first time withhopeless sadness.
"Why did you let