Part 12 (1/2)
”How strange! Then the fortune will doubtless revert to the rightful heir if you are sincere in refusing it?”
”I fear not. The executors will hold it for one year: and if by that time Captain Brand and I,” with a bitter tide of crimson in her face, ”have failed to fulfil the conditions of the will--that is, to get married--and I still refuse the property, Seven Oak Waaste will probably go into chancery.”
Lady Julie gave a cry as if after the vanis.h.i.+ng estates, and covered her face with her hands, petulantly weeping.
”Then I am done with St. Udo,” she cried. ”What do I want of a man who is stripped of his position?”
”He has made a great sacrifice of wealth, and that letter says it is for love of you,” said Margaret, coming and taking her lady-love in her arms; ”and he is a n.o.bler man than I thought. Surely you will be true to him. Will you not, Lady Julie?”
”You are the essence of simplicity, Miss Walsingham. You will laugh at your own folly, when I communicate all this to my father, and when you hear his verdict. Please leave me now, like a dear girl; I am overcome by this sudden change in my prospects, and must give way to my natural feelings for a while.”
Margaret left her, as she sorrowfully believed, to the pangs of untoward love, and walked about the gay grounds of Hautville Park, weeping and praying for her sweet Lady Juliana.
Some hours later she returned, to find quite a metamorphosis in my lady's invalid room. My lady, in high spirits, was superintending, with gusto, her own toilet, as it progressed under the skillful hand of her _femme de chambre_.
”An arrival at Hautville,” she cried, turning to Margaret, ”and at such an opportune time, when I am so bored. The young duke of Piermont has come from his Irish estates to see papa, and I am going to be introduced. I have heard that his wealth is enormous. His estates in the north of Ireland and west of Scotland are as rich as any in the three kingdoms. He has a rent roll of seventy thousand pounds, independent of a complete square of brick mansions in Cork. How would you like to receive letters from your Julie, sealed with a ducal coronet?”
”I don't expect to see that day,” said Margaret, tenderly.
”Heigh ho! I am an unfortunate creature,” sighed my lady, plaintively.
”But, as I told you, my papa laughed at the idea of a further continuance of that arrangement, and he has written, and so have I, and the letter is sent. I never mentioned you in my note of dismissal.”
”Dear Lady Julie, you are deceiving yourself. You think your pride will carry you through this thing, but your heart will break in the attempt.”
”I suppose so. Well, it shall never be said that Ducie disobeyed her father. We are a gorgeous race, as you may have observed by the magnificence of this summer residence, so I will bury my pain and cheat my dear papa into believing I am resigned!”
CHAPTER VII.
A DUEL WITH A TRAITOR.
The foe had stolen a march upon the weary encampment in the plantation.
Calmly St. Udo Brand faced the coming legions, and bravely retreated in good order upon the main army, which was soon engaged in deadly conflict with Gen. Lee's forces. It is not our intention to dwell on the battles which ensued. They are a part of history now. We have to do with but a few more incidents in St. Udo Brand's career as a soldier.
One night Colonels Brand and Calembours were s.h.i.+vering over their smoky fire; it rained incessantly, the tent was soaked through, their clothing was soaked through, and their wretched provisions were, besides being scanty, almost uneatable with dust and rain.
”_Sacre!_” swore the chevalier, wiping his moist mustache with a brown, bony hand, whose only remnant of aristocracy was the magnificent solitaire which still glittered upon the little finger. ”_Sacre! mon comerade_, this must end. What for we remain under fortune's ban? Jade!
she laughs under the hood at our credulity in hoping for golden favors.
I will snap the fingers in the tyrant's face and elope with chance, by gar! I will open the eyes and seek some better position where dollars are more plentiful and blows less!”
”Silence, you rascal! What better life does a brave soldier expect? Do your duty in the field and don't growl in the camp, and when good luck comes you will deserve it,” replied St. Udo, laughing.
”_Pardieu!_ I shall be too old to see him when he comes!” grumbled the chevalier. ”Three months of glory without gold is enough for me.”
”You are a mercenary dog,” cried St. Udo; ”and I know you are an implacable devil. I have not forgotten Madam Estvan.”
”_Diable!_ nor I,” hissed Calembours. ”_Mon ami_, let us forget her. La!