The Span o' Life Part 42

"That is all very well, but shouldn't you allow the lady some choice, especially if you should turn out to be a prisoner, as will certainly be the case should a French s.h.i.+p appear first?"

"But why not let me exercise the choice? I have my feelings as well as a woman," he returned, stubbornly.

"That is conceivable, or you would never have advanced as far as your present difficulty. But I think this is a matter which can be arranged with a little diplomacy."

"Then there's little hope for it if the diplomacy rests with me, for I've no more of it about me than a bra.s.s carronade."

"Never mind. You can safely depend for that upon the lady. In the mean time, pray present her with my compliments and congratulations on so ingenious a s.h.i.+fting of responsibility, and remind her that I expect to pay her my respects on the morrow."

But on the morrow I did not keep my appointment. About ten o'clock that morning, as I was with General Murray, chatting over the fire in his quarters in the rue St. Louis, we were interrupted by an aide, who entered in great excitement.

"Your Excellency, a s.h.i.+p is in sight from the lookout!"

"Good heavens, Kirkconnel! This decides it!" exclaimed the General, rising, and generously extending to me his hand. "G.o.d bless you, whichever it be!" he added, heartily, and we parted.

In all haste I made my way to the Chateau and gained such point of vantage as was possible. I eagerly scanned every foot of the river, but there was nothing I could make out, though from the excitement of the little knot at the signalling-point above it was evident they could sight her.

In an incredibly short time every available foothold was occupied.

Men, women, and children, soldiers and sailors, sick and sound, flocked to the ramparts to strain their eyes for the reported sail.

Suddenly a cheer arose from the crowd, and all hearts leaped in response. No--it was but a sailor climbing the flag-staff on the Cape to bend new cordage for the colours, and presently they were unrolled and spread out on the sharp May wind. With every moment the crowd increased; the wounded even left their beds at the news, and painfully crawled to have the sooner tidings.

At length her top-sails shone white over the bare trees of St.

Joseph. Inch by inch they grew, until the vessel swam clear of the point. A frigate! A man-of-war! And, at the sight, the crowd, French and English alike, set up a shout, though as yet neither knew the message she would soon send flying from her halyards.

On she came, and, the first burst of excitement stilled, we hung on her every movement in a silence that was almost painful. At length a gasp ran through the crowd. Against her white sails a black spot could be distinctly seen running swiftly up to the masthead. No sooner did it touch it than it broke, and the white field barred by the red cross of St. George streamed forth to our waiting eyes.

A perfect scream of shouts and cheers answered the declaration.

Men swore and blasphemed in their joy, some shrieked and laughed in hysterical excitement, while others broke down and wept like children at the sight of their deliverance.

Before long the frigate's sides were swathed in smoke, and her guns thundered their proud salute against the swarming cliff, while frantic groups ran through the town shouting the news, until, from the line of defences opposite the Heights, the artillery boomed forth in one long, continuous roar its message of exultation and defiance to the gallant Levis and his men, to whom it meant irretrievable failure and despair.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to meet the pale face of Gaston.

"This is the end!" he said, with tears in his eyes.

CHAPTER XXIX

I PUT MY FORTUNE TO THE TOUCH

On that 9th of May which saw the _Lowestaffe_ anchor in Quebec to practically settle the fortunes of France and England in the New World, as I walked back along the rue St. Louis arm in arm with Gaston, neither of us speaking a word, I determined that now the time had come to put my fortune to the touch; and as soon as possible I sent word to Margaret, praying I might be granted an interview, and in a state of anxiety, not far removed from panic, I awaited her answer.

She would see me at once, and I repaired to the parlour where to me she entered, pale and dignified, the n.o.bility of her soul shewing forth in every movement of her body, and its beauty in every line of her face.

"Margaret," I cried, "forgive me, if I have forced myself upon you, but I have no courage to endure longer. You have heard that all hope for the French arms is now virtually at an end, and I must know what lies before me."

"That must rest with you," she answered, in the same calm tone which had so upset me in our last meeting.

"Then, Margaret, I am here to plead my own cause," I answered, firmly, determined not to be swayed by any pa.s.sing mood, "and I plead _in forma pauperis_, for I have no one to rely on save myself, and no hope save in you."

"You must not count upon me," she returned, calmly. "I cannot acknowledge that you have any claim upon me."

"I have the claim which comes from your own affection, Margaret.

You loved me once, and in the strength of that love I stand to-day.

In the name of that love I ask you to hear me."

"That is a thing of the past. You have no right to presume upon it now."

"Is it presumption for one who has lived in such loneliness as I, to hold to the one bright day of his life? There is no past for the heart."

"I will not argue the point," she answered, coldly; "but there is a past I have shut out of mine."

"You may try to persuade yourself you have, Margaret, but it will come back when you think it most banished. I know of what I speak, for when I thought I had buried a past that was torture to me to recall, it has awakened me to nights of hopeless regrets and empty longings; it has stood beside me, unsummoned, when most alone, and has started into life at some chance word or token, when in company.

The more you try to live it down, the more you create a haunting memory to fill your hours with bitterness."

"Then I will meet it with other strength than my own. I have resolved to enter the Community."

"So I feared. What do you hope to gain by so doing?"

"I will gain work, and rest--and peace."

"No, Margaret, you will not gain peace. Listen to me. I know you better than you know yourself! You will find work, you may find rest, of a kind, but what peace will come to you even though you are shut in safe from the chance evils of life, when you think of one who has loved as faithfully, but without the same hope as yourself, wandering, a broken man, because you refused him admittance to the happiness you alone could offer."

"Do you think it fair to try me by such an appeal? You know I can never be indifferent to your fate. You know I have thought for you even above myself," she said, with a tremor in her voice she could not entirely suppress.

I saw my advantage, and seized it eagerly. "Then, Margaret, listen!

Listen while I plead for myself. What have I to look forward to, if I lose you? Behind me are the best years of my life, wasted in this wilderness because I had hoped to secure your happiness by my exile. To-day I have seen every hope of my advancement vanish; that I can take as one of the chances of war--but what have I left if I lose you now? You are the whole world to me, and all it can offer is nothing, if it does not include you. Margaret, my love! Call back the day when, if I could have spoken, love waited in your heart to answer. Give me a single hour of that past now! a moment of the old love in which to plead for your life as well as my own."

Her colour came and went as I spake; she had visibly lost that control which had so far baffled me, and when she answered, it was with the familiar name she had not uttered, save when she had been surprised into it on our first meeting.

"Oh, Hugh, do not try me. You know not what I have gone through, and now I am near to G.o.d."

"Margaret, my darling, you will be nearer G.o.d when you are beside the man to whom He would confide you. You know I love you with all my soul! How can you look for happiness apart from him whom you have loved so long, and whom you love even now!" I ended, determined to risk the utmost. "Come to me, Margaret! Come to me!

We will face life together, and together there will be no room for further doubtings, for further mistakes! I cannot shape my love into words. It is all my life, all my being, and yet it is a poor thing to offer you."

"Oh, Hugh, I know not which way to turn."

"Turn to me, Margaret! Turn to me! If ever a man needed a good woman's love, I need yours now. Everything is falling about me. I may have no right to ask, but I cannot help it. My need is greater than my strength. Am I to go forth into exile again without you-Margaret?"

"Hugh, my only love!" she cried, in a voice vibrant with tenderness; and with the words she extended to me her trembling, upturned hands.

In my eyes it seemed as though they held all the priceless treasure of her enduring love.

For a few days longer the cannon continued to grumble backward and forward between wall and trench, until the arrival of the _Vanguard_, _Diana_, and _Lawrence_ placed matters beyond a peradventure.

Thereupon M. de Levis promptly disbanded his Canadians, and during the night of the 16th, under a searching fire from the ramparts, he withdrew from his lines, and fell back upon Deschambault.