My resolution was immediate, but it was a different matter carrying it into effect. After many applications, and even entreaties, the most favourable opening I could obtain was the offer of an ensign's commission. It was almost beyond even my self-abnegation to accept such degradation. Only by the thought of Margaret, and the consoling comfort that I was making the sacrifice entirely for her sake, joined with the absolute promise of the minister that I should not long remain in such a subordinate position, could I bring myself to the point of acceptance.
Meantime the Vicomte had not in any degree taken a proper advantage of my disinterestedness; for, instead of winning back the affections of his adored one by direct and oft-repeated attack, he withdrew himself entirely from her company, and plunged into a course of the most reckless dissipation, making Paris ring with the tales of his extravagance and folly. Then suddenly, to every one's astonishment, he threw up his commission, and disappeared so effectually, that not even his intimates knew what had come to him. Those at the rue Dauphine were as ignorant as the rest of the world, and though his withdrawal was unquestionably a relief to Margaret, it was a source of deep mortification and sorrow to Lady Jane. However, neither letters nor inquiries were of any avail, and the most rigorous search only elicited the fact that no one knew what had become of the Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, beyond that he had voluntarily disappeared without any adequate motive being assigned.
At length the time came for me to embark for my miserable command.
Margaret made but little effort to conceal her grief. “It is dreadful, dreadful, this parting!” she cried. “One after another I am losing those to whom I am most attached—first my brother, then Gaston, and now you. I am, indeed, 'a stranger in a strange land,' and if aught happens to Lady Jane, think what will become of me? But I am not thinking of myself alone,” she added, quickly. “Believe me, my greatest sorrow is that you, who have sacrificed so much for your loyalty, who have met with such reverses, such pitiful ill return for all your devotion to your King, are now doomed to an exile worse than before—to the acceptance of a rank that is an insult to your condition, to banishment in a savage country far from all those you love—and you accept it all without a murmur. Now I know, for you have taught me, the definition of 'a gentleman and a man of honour.'”
With this recognition, so worthy of her generous nature, she looked at me so proudly that I would have given anything to kneel at her feet and confess it was only the fact of being “a gentleman and a man of honour” which prevented me answering the love that glowed from every feature of her sweet face and throbbed in every pulse of her ardent young body with the burning words that trembled on my sealed lips.
“Oh, Margaret, sweet Margaret! I cannot say what I would. I dare hardly think what I would. Everything is against me!”
“Not everything,” she answered, quickly—“not everything, unless I am nothing! I am with you heart and soul! No, you cannot speak, because you have no position, and perhaps no future. But I can! Oh, Hugh, Hugh! I care nothing about it being unmaidenly; I cannot mind such matters when my heart is breaking. I love you with all my soul and with all my life. I will think of you every hour you are away from me, and pray for you every hour until God brings you back. Oh, Hugh, tell me-tell me you love me!”
“No, miss! Master Hughie shall do nothing of the sort!” interrupted Lady Jane, who had come in unmarked. “Any man who wishes to do any love-making, so far as Margaret Nairn is concerned, must first do so through me.
“There, there! Peggy, my pet—my wee girlie. You may kiss him once for your poor heart's comfort; and then, my lambie, leave my boy to me; I am the only mother he has. There, dearie, go now,” she said, tenderly, when I had kissed her as one might kiss a saint; and without a word Margaret left the room with my cousin, and it and my heart were empty.
Lady Jane was generous, as was her wont: all that money could do to make my departure easy was done; and most of all, she comforted me as a mother might comfort a son—indeed, as she had said to Margaret, she was the only mother I had ever known.