The Eagle's Shadow by James Branch Cabell (the speed reading book TXT) 📖

see a tributary stream pulse unsullied
in a muddied river, ran the thought of Peggy--of Peggy, and of her
cruelty, and of her beauty, and of the money that stood between them.

And Margaret, who could never have believed him in his senses,
listened and knew that in his delirium, the rudder of his thoughts
snapped, he could not but speak truth. As she crouched in the corner
of the room, her face buried in an arm-chair, her gold hair half
loosened, her shoulders monotonously heaving, she wept gently,
inaudibly, almost happily.

Almost happily. Billy was dying, but she knew now, past any doubting,
that he loved her. The dear, clean-minded, honest boy had come
back to her, and she could love him now without shame, and there was
only herself to be loathed.


[Illustration: "Regarded them with alert eyes."]

Then the door opened. Then, with Colonel Hugonin, came Martin Jeal--a
wisp of a man like a November leaf--and regarded them from under his
shaggy white hair with alert eyes.

"Hey, what's this?" said Dr. Jeal. "Eh, yes! Eh--yes!" he meditated,
slowly. "Most irregular. You must let us have the room, Miss Hugonin."

In the hall she waited. Hope! ah, of course, there was no hope! the
thin little whisper told her.

By and bye, though--after centuries of waiting--the three men came
into the hall.

"Miss Hugonin," said Dr. Jeal, with a strange kindness in his voice,
"I don't think we shall need you again. I am happy to tell you,
though, that the patient is doing nicely--very nicely indeed."

Margaret clutched his arm. "You--you mean----"

"I mean," said Dr. Jeal, "that there is no fracture. A slight
concussion of the brain, madam, and--so far as I can see--no signs of
inflammation. Barring accidents, I think we'll have that young man out
of bed in a week. Thanks," he added, "to Mr.--er--Jukesbury here whose
prompt action was, under Heaven, undoubtedly the means of staving off
meningitis and probably--indeed, more than probably--the means
of saving Mr. Woods's life. It was splendid, sir, splendid! No
doctor--why, God bless my soul!"

For Miss Hugonin had thrown her arms about Petheridge Jukesbury's neck
and had kissed him vigorously.

"You beautiful child!" said Miss Hugonin.

"Er--Jukesbury," said the Colonel, mysteriously, "there's a little
cognac in the cellar that--er--" The Colonel jerked his thumb across
the hallway with the air of a conspirator. "Eh?" said the Colonel.

"Why--er--yes," said Mr. Jukesbury. "Why--ah--yes, I think I might."

They went across the hall together. The Colonel's hand rested
fraternally on Petheridge Jukesbury's shoulder.



XXX

The next day there was a general exodus from Selwoode, and Margaret's
satellites dispersed upon their divers ways. Selwoode, as they
understood it, was no longer hers; and they knew Billy Woods well
enough to recognise that from Selwoode's new master there were no
desirable pickings to be had such as the philanthropic crew had
fattened on these four years past. So there came to them, one and all,
urgent telegrams or insistent letters or some equally unanswerable
demand for their presence elsewhere, such as are usually prevalent
among our guests in very dull or very troublous times.

Miss Hugonin smiled a little bitterly. She considered that the scales
had fallen from her eyes, and flattered herself that she was by way of
becoming a bit of a misanthrope; also, I believe, there was a note
concerning the hollowness of life and the worthlessness of society in
general. In a word, Margaret fell back upon the extreme cynicism and
world-weariness of twenty-three, and assured herself that she despised
everybody, whereas, as a matter of fact, she never in her life
succeeded in disliking anything except mice and piano-practice, and,
for a very little while, Billy Woods; and this for the very excellent
reason that the gods had fashioned her solely to the end that she
might love all mankind, and in return be loved by humanity in general
and adored by that portion of it which inhabits trousers.

But, "The rats always desert a sinking ship," said Miss Hugonin, with
the air of one delivering a particularly original sentiment. "They
make me awfully tired, and I don't care for them in the least. But
Petheridge Jukesbury is a dear, and I may be poor now, but I did
try to do good with the money when I had it, and anyhow, Billy is
going to get well."

And, after all, that was the one thing that really mattered, though of
course Billy would always despise her. He would be quite right, too,
the girl thought humbly.

But the conventionalities of life are more powerful than even youthful
cynicism and youthful heart-break. Prior to devoting herself to a
loveless life and the commonplaces of the stoic's tub, Miss Hugonin
was compelled by the barest decency to bid her guests Godspeed.

And Ad�le Haggage kissed her for the first time in her life. She had
been a little awed by Miss Hugonin, the famous heiress--a little
jealous of her, I dare say, on account of Hugh Van Orden--but now she
kissed her very heartily in farewell, and said, "Don't forget you are
to come to us as soon as possible," and was beyond any question
perfectly sincere in saying it.

And Hugh Van Orden almost dragged Margaret under the main stairway,
and, far from showing any marked abhorrence to her in her present
state of destitution, implored her with tears in his eyes to marry him
at once, and to bring the Colonel to live with them for the rest of
his natural existence.

For, "It's damned impertinent of me, of course," Mr. Van Orden readily
conceded, "and I suppose I ought to beg your pardon for mentioning it,
but I do love you to a perfectly unlimited extent. It's playing the
very deuce with my polo, Miss Hugonin, and as for my appetite--why,
if you won't have me," cried Hugh, in desperation, "I--I really, you
know, I don't believe I'll ever be able to eat anything!"

When Margaret refused him--for the sixth time, I think--I won't swear
that she didn't kiss him under the dark stairway. And if she did, he
was a nice boy, and he deserved it.

And as for Sarah Ellen Haggage, that unreverend old parasite brought
her a blank cheque signed with her name, and mentioned quite a goodly
sum as the extent to which Margaret might go for necessary expenses.

"For you'll need it," she said, and rubbed her nose reflectively.
"Moving is the very deuce for wasting money, because so many little
things keep cropping up. Now, remember, a quarter is quite enough to
give any man for moving a trunk. And there's no earthly sense in
your taking a cab, Margaret--the street-car will bring you within a
block of our door. These little trifles count, dear. And don't let
C�lestine pack your things, because she's abominably careless. Let
Marie do it--and don't tip her. Give her an old hat. And if I were
you, I would certainly consult a lawyer about the legality of that
idiotic will. I remember distinctly hearing that Mr. Woods was very
eccentric in his last days, and I haven't a doubt he was raving mad
when, he left all his money to a great, strapping, long-legged young
fellow, who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Getting
better, is he? Well, I suppose I'm glad to hear it, but he'd much
better have stayed in Paris--where, I remember distinctly hearing, he
led the most dissipated and immoral life, my dear--instead of coming
over here and upsetting everything." And again Mrs. Haggage rubbed her
nose--indignantly.

"He didn't!" said Margaret. "And I can't take your money,
beautiful! And I don't see how we can possibly come to stay with you."

"Don't you argue with me!" Mrs. Haggage exhorted her. "I'm not in any
temper to be argued with. I've spent the morning sewing bias
stripes in a bias skirt--something which from a moral-ruining and
resolution-overthrowing standpoint simply knocks the spots off Job.
You'll take that money, and you'll come to me as soon as you can,
and--God bless you, my dear!"

And again Margaret was kissed. Altogether, it was a very osculatory
morning for Miss Hugonin.

Mr. Jukesbury's adieus, however, were more formal; and--I am sorry to
say it--the old fellow went away wondering if the rich Mr. Woods might
not conceivably be very grateful to the man who had saved his life and
evince his gratitude in some agreeable and substantial form.

Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston, also, were somewhat unenthusiastic in
their parting. Kennaston could not feel quite at ease with Margaret,
brazen it as he might with devil-may-carish flippancy; and Kathleen
had by this an inkling as to how matters stood between Margaret and
Billy, and was somewhat puzzled thereat, and loved the former in
consequence no more than any Christian female is compelled to love the
woman who, either unconsciously or with deliberation, purloins her
ancient lover. A woman rarely forgives the man who has ceased to care
for her; and rarelier still can she pardon the woman who has dared
succeed her in his affections.

And besides, they were utterly engrossed with one another, and utterly
happy, and utterly selfish with the immemorial selfishness of lovers,
who cannot for a moment conceive that the whole world is not somehow
benefited by their happiness and does not await with breathless
interest the outcome of their bickerings with the blind bow-god, and
from this providential delusion derive a meritorious and comfortable
glow. So Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston parted from Margaret with
kindness, it is true, but not without awkwardness.

And that was the man that almost she had loved! thought Margaret, as
she gazed on the whirl of dust left by their carriage-wheels. Gone
with a few perfunctory words of sympathy!

And for my part, I think that the base Indian who threw a pearl away
worth more than all his tribe was, in comparison with Felix Kennaston,
a shrewd and long-headed man. If you had given me his chances,
Margaret ... but this, however, is highly digressive.

The Colonel, standing beside her, used language that was unrefined.
His aspirations as to the future of Mr. Kennaston and Mr. Jukesbury,
it appeared, were both lurid and unfriendly.

"But why, attractive?" queried his daughter.

"May they be qualified with such and such adjectives!" desired the
Colonel, fervently. "They tried to lend me money--wouldn't hear of
my not taking it! In case of necessity.' Bah!" said the Colonel, and
shook his fist after the retreating carriages. "May they be qualified
with such and such adjectives!"

How happily she laughed! "And you're swearing at them!" she pouted.
"Oh, my dear, my dear, how hard you are on all my little friends!"

"Of course I am," said the Colonel, stoutly. "They've deprived me of
the pleasure of despising 'em. It was worth double the money, I tell
you! I never objected to any men quite so much. And now they've gone
and behaved decently with the deliberate purpose of annoying me! Oh!"
cried the Colonel, and shook an immaculate, withered old hand toward
the spring sky, "may they be qualified with such and such adjectives!"

And that, so far as we are concerned, was the end of Margaret's
satellites.

My dear Mrs. Grundy, may one point the somewhat obvious moral? I thank
you, madam, for your long-suffering kindness. Permit me, then, to
vault toward my moral over the shoulders of a greater man.

Among the papers left by one Charles Dickens--a novelist who is
obsolete now because he "wallows naked in the pathetic" and was
frequently guilty of a very vulgar sort of humour that actually made
people laugh, which, as we now know, is not the purpose of humour--a
novelist who incessantly "caricatured Nature" and by these inartistic
and underhand methods created characters that are more real to us than
the folk we jostle in the street and (God knows!) far more vital and
worthy of attention than the folk who "cannot read Dickens"--you will
find, I say, a note of an idea which he never afterward developed,
running to this effect: "Full length portrait of his lordship,
surrounded by worshippers. Sensible men enough, agreeable men enough,
independent men enough in a certain way; but the moment they begin
to circle round my lord, and to shine with a borrowed light from
his lordship, heaven and earth, how mean and subservient! What a
competition and outbidding of each other in servility!"

And this, with "my lord" and "his lordship" erased to make way for the
word "money," is my moral. The folk who have just left Selwoode were
honest enough as honesty goes nowadays; kindly as any of us dare
be who have our own way to make among very stalwart and determined
rivals; generous as any man may venture to be in a world where
the first of every month finds the butcher and the baker and the
candlestick-maker rapping at the door with their little bills: but
they cringed to money. It was very wrong of them, my dear lady, and in
extenuation I can only plead that they could