The doom trail

by Arthur D. Howden Smith

"An exile! Phaugh! Think on the honest men can truly say that in their misfortune this day! And you—I could weep for the shame that your dead brother and the mother that bore you will be feeling as they look down upon you!"

With that she was gone, and I was left cursing—cursing de Veulle, whose treacherous tongue had planted the distorted shreds of truth in her mind; cursing Murray, who must have stood by and listened to it all, smugly amused; cursing my cousin who had put me in such a plight, after winning my inheritance; cursing the men and women at St. Germain who repaid years of sacrifice and ungrudging loyalty with such canards; cursing Juggins for having embarked me upon this ship with the girl; cursing myself for getting into such a false position; cursing the girl——

But no. Common sense came to my rescue then. There was something unaccountably fine about her attitude, something I should never have thought to uncover in Murray's daughter, however beautiful and attractive she might be. There was devotion for you, faithfulness to a lost cause, the single-minded truthfulness which only a good woman can possess.

Heir indignation was the index to her personality. By it I might know that she was really worth while, that to win her respect must be an achievement for any man.

And that brought a new thought into my mind. Could the two men she was with have her respect? Could she respect her father, Murray? Aye, perhaps; for if he labored secretly in the Jacobite interest she, with her flaming, misdirected loyalty to the Stuarts, would excuse his deceptions and crimes, if only they brought back her King to the throne.

I was familiar with the way men and women of her persuasion ignored the well-being of their country, apart from their King. They could see no difference between the two. What did it matter if France profited by the issue, so long as James replaced George?

This brought me to de Veulle. Surely she could not respect him! If she knew what I knew— But manifestly she, who had never been out of Scotland before, could know nothing of his career in Paris.

And he had a way with him, there could be no denial of that. He was a handsome devil, with the flair which appeals to all women, good and bad. Aye, he might win her regard for a time; but I was prepared to stake all that she would unmask him in the end.

The twilight faded rapidly, and I found myself with no appetite for the crowded main cabin, where de Veulle and Murray played piquet, or my stuffy berth. I strolled the deck, immersed in thought. There was so much to think about. The episode with this girl, whose name even I did not know, had brought into vivid opposition the events of the past and the uncertain future which lay before me.

I conned over what Juggins had told me, memorized anew many of the messages he had entrusted to me, speculated upon the possible turn of affairs. I planned in some vague way to win a fortune in that unknown New World ahead of me, and with the proceeds in one hand and a pardon in the other, return and reclaim Foxcroft from those abominable Hampshire cousins.