Part 36 (1/2)

”And now for my night's work,” she said, glancing round the room, where a fire burned redly in the grate, and the ghostly December day faded from point to point.

She quietly made arrangements against being interrupted; rang the bell, and called to the maid through the door that she had retired for the night, and did not wish any dinner, except a cup of strong coffee, which should be brought to her by the housekeeper.

Then she carefully locked her window, and closed the ma.s.sive mahogany shutters, lit her candles, drew her writing-table before the fire, swept the hearth, and saw that she had a supply of candles, matches, and pens.

By the time these arrangements were completed, the housekeeper was knocking at the door with the edge of a lunch-tray.

”Has Colonel Brand left the house?” called Margaret.

”Yes, miss, some time ago.”

”Are you sure he's not lurking about your back, Mrs. Chetwode?”

”Holy mercy! I hope not.”

Sounds of the tray being dumped on a hall-table ensued, and the hurried tread of the old woman showed that she was looking into various empty rooms.

”What made you think such a queer thing, dearie?” whispered she, presently, through the key-hole. ”I seen him go out, plain as plain can be.”

Margaret opened the door, and held out her hands for the tray.

”What did he say to my message?”

The housekeeper gave an expressive shudder.

”Ugh! He swore like a blasphemer at me, Miss Margaret, dear.”

”Keep watch lest any of the doors be left open to-night, Mrs. Chetwode.”

”Oh, yes, miss--though I'm sure Purcell is very careful. My goody! Miss Margaret, how wild you look! Surely you can't be well?”

”Oh, yes. Do not let any one disturb me to-night again, if you please.

Good-night.”

”Sleep soundly, miss. Good-night.”

The door was locked again, and Margaret sat down to her cup of coffee and her ponderings.

She was quite calm, quite strong of purpose when she opened her desk, laid the note-book upon it, and began her task.

And what a story these notes, remarks, and hinted plots disclosed to her!

It commenced with, strange to say, a description of herself, her position at Castle Brand, what she said when summoned to receive St. Udo Brand's note on the night of Mrs. Brand's death. Then followed the words:

”I believe I could do it. My own perseverance tells me I could do it; the devil in the shape of Calembours tells me I could do it.”

Leaf after leaf of such hints were read and laid to heart, then a paragraph which made those deep gray eyes grow black with apprehension.

”All right. Am _sure_ I can do it. My chances doubled by the actors themselves. The will is in favor of M. W. St. U. scornfully washes his hands of the affair, preferring a pretty face and poverty. Stupid devil, to throw away such a birthright! Lucky dog, who is to be his successor?

Let the rogue win the race. I am so tired of the dodges, the twists, the aliases, the lurkings, that I will put on the greatest disguise of all, a gentleman swell, and try what freedom is like, and the sea-captain's daughter, and Seven-Oak Waaste. St. U. sails to-morrow for the United States, and I send company with him which will twist him into shape more than the haughty dog expects. Be kind to him, oh, captivating chevalier!