"Everything is of consequence which brings these marks of sorrow to my Perdita's face. Who has been vexing you, child?"

"No one--no one, sir."

"Who has been grieving you, then?"

"I--it is no one's fault. I have only been a little foolish--that is all."

She averts her pallid face, and will not be questioned more, but leads him utterly from personal subjects.

She has been dear and kind before, but never precisely with the yearning, smothered pa.s.sion of this last evening; she almost seems to cling to him, as if invisible hands were driving her away, and her pathetic face grows tremulous at every word of tenderness from him.

And St. Udo has an indistinct memory of burning tears flashing somewhere while he sleeps, and of soft lips touching his in one meek kiss, and of tender words of blessing and of prayer; and then a shadow falls upon him gray and sad, for the door had shut him in, and the girl is gone.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

SWEET RECOMPENSE.

The next morning St. Udo Brand lay impatiently waiting for his dear young nurse, and scowling at the stupid negress, who was putting his room to rights, when a visitor entered, and made his way up to the sick man.

A haggard-looking old gentleman, with pale, yellow cheeks, pendulous and flaccid--eyebrows which bristled like furze on the brow of a beetling crag, and lack-l.u.s.ter eyes, which glistened like the dull waters at the foot of it.

"My service to you, sir," said he, with an old-fashioned bow; "I am Andrew Davenport, if you remember."

"I do remember Andrew Davenport, if you are he; you are so changed that I need scarcely beg pardon for not recollecting you sooner."

"Same to you, sir. Gad, sir, yellow fever is no joke, and you took it worse than me by a long chalk."

"How comes it that you have had yellow fever? When did you come here?"

"About a month ago. Came here with a face as red as a lobster, and as broad as that. Look at it now. I don't begrudge it though, when I see you looking so much better than ever I thought to see you when first I looked at you in this bed. We have much to be thankful for, Colonel Brand."

"I fail to understand. What brought you to Key West, and what have you to do with me?"

"A good deal, my young sir. I have to escort you home to your castle, for one thing."

"I am astonished that you should come all this way to waste words upon such a subject. I thought that by this time Miss Walsingham would be married, and that I could go on my way rejoicing."

"Married to that impostor, who hoped to fill your shoes? Pho! what do you take us all for? Well, after all, I needn't take any share of the glory. It was Miss Margaret herself, who found out the whole conspiracy, and set off like a brave young woman as she is, taking me for company, to find you, sir."

"Heavens! What did she want of me?"

"Gad! sir, if you really don't know, all I can say is that she's the first woman I ever saw who could hold her tongue! It was to find you out and give you the property of Seven-Oak Waaste, the lands, houses, etc., attached, that she came while the plague was literally raging, to this confounded rat-trap, where, if one gets in they can't get out."

"Is Margaret Walsingham in Key West?"

"She is."

"Then it is she who has been troubling my poor darling with this wretched story."

"In Key West, and I leave you to judge whether she makes a good sick nurse or no."

"Has she been my nurse?"

"To be sure? Nice place you've got here, sir! Everything as dainty as a lady's boudoir; and what a magnificent bunch of flowers! Think of that in March!"

"Miss Walsingham--my Perdita! The girl who risked her life for me!"

"Even so. Precious short were her visits to my bedside, for watching at yours; and between us she's had a wearing time of it, the dear, kindly girl!"

"Good Heaven--is my own darling, that Miss Walsingham?"

"Yes, and I thank Heaven to hear that from you. You love her, so it's all right."

The lawyer here dropped his jocund air, pressed the hand which had nervously clutched his, and retired to the window for a while.

A silence fell upon the pair; the rescued man was turned face downward to his pillow, with his hands clasped tightly.

Her bravery, her generosity, her devotion came up to gild her gentle worth; and he could well judge now how great had been that bravery, that generosity, that devotion.

Taking in by slow degrees, the greatness of this woman's soul, whom falsely and bitterly he had maligned; comprehending the grandeur of humility in one whose garments he in his high-handed pride felt unworthy to touch, the time had come when St. Udo Brand could pray; when he could plead that Heaven would bless him with Margaret Walsingham's love, and bestow on him her hand, as the richest gift of earth.

Presently Davenport resumed the conference by recounting all the particulars of the Castle Brand plot, and you may be sure he lost no opportunity of adding l.u.s.ter to his admired Miss Margaret's laurels, by unstinted praise, which brought tears, one by one, into the eyes of young Brand.

"And here's the formal relinquishing of every rood of Seven-Oak Waaste, drawn up and signed," said the lawyer, unfolding a parchment and spreading it out triumphantly on his knee; "and she has even made provision against your refusing to accept it. In that case, it is all to go, on the 28th of March (one year from the date of the will), toward building a Charitable Inst.i.tution for sick seamen, (I suppose from her father having been a sea-captain), and she is going as governess into Mr. Stanhope's family here. What do you think of all this, eh?" chuckled the old gentleman, with the air of being vastly amused.

"She will do it," said St. Udo, gazing with consternation at the parchment.

"But will you allow her to do it?"

A keen pang struck to the heart of St. Udo; his merciless scorn of her came back to him as expressed only the day before; her mournful words; "She will never marry you," recurred like a death-knell to his memory.

Now he understood the cause of her gentle tears--of her clinging wistfulness, of her sweet and humble timidity; he comprehended all, and covered his eyes with a remorseful moan.

"I have ruined all, and lost her!" he thought. "Where is the n.o.ble girl?"

"Gad! I thought you'd soon be asking that! It's likely she's taking a rest, poor dear; but I'll send her to you."

"No--let her have her rest; I would never be so selfish as to disturb her, while I can wait. But, Davenport, I will be candid with you, and say that I have no hope of winning her. I have insulted her too deeply."

"Did she think of your former insults when she came here at the risk of her life to find you, and to nurse you out of the fever?"

"No, bless her--all that was forgiven!"

"And will she think of your former insults when you say, 'Margaret, I won't accept one penny piece of the Brand property unless you be my wife?'"