Again she told me plainly that I must not cherish any hopes upon her death beyond such humble provision as she might spare. “Margaret is my daughter, Hughie; and if you are the man I take you for, you would not deprive her of whatever money may bring.”
“Cousin,” said I, “I am going away for her sake, for her peace of mind alone; and if I am content to bury myself alive for this now, think you I'll regret any other good that can come to her? I love her with my whole heart and soul, and the greatest bitterness I have to bear is that I am prevented from declaring my feelings towards her before I go. She has spoken words to me that call for all the response in a man's soul, and I go away with my mouth closed like a clown.”
“Tut, tut, Hughie! Now you are letting your vanity get the upperhand of you. You are bemoaning yourself because you have not cut a better figure in her eyes. But just one word for your cold comfort. There never was a young girl in her position yet—bless all their lovely, trusting hearts—who would not make a hero of the man she loved, had he the garb of a Merry Andrew and the manners of a Calmuck. Don't fash yourself over imaginary woes when you've real ones in sight, plain enough, my poor boy. But now leave this profitless heart-break and let us plan for the future.”
Our talk lasted late into the night, and by daybreak I was on my way to La Rochelle.
And now began the most miserable period of my life, the details of which I have no intention of inflicting on my reader. A wretched sea-voyage was a fitting introduction to my place of banishment—Louisbourg, a pretentious and costly fortification, but miserably situate and falling to decay for want of the most necessary repair. There it was, shut in on the one hand by the monotonous sea, wild and threatening with its ice, and snow, and storm in winter, sad and depressing with its mournful fog in summer—and on the other by an unbroken wilderness of rock and firs—that I ate out my heart in bitterness year after year; my only alleviation being the rare letters which I received from Margaret, but which I scarce could answer, though my reticence only brought forth a fuller expression of the unwavering affection of her generous soul.
Dear as this indulgence in a cherished affection was to me, I brought myself to renounce it, for I held I was bound to this for more than one reason. Now that I had entirely broken with my past, I recognised that perhaps I should have done so sooner. Was it not folly to suppose that a girl such as Margaret would not follow her generous fancy when propinquity was added to inclination? Alas! that such admirable decisions are only so readily consented to when the occasion for delinquency is no longer possible!
Then, too, my position towards Lady Jane was a delicate one. She had clearly indicated to me her intentions as to the disposal of her fortune. A hopeful or even a contented correspondence was impossible to one in my situation, and to enter into any truthful detail of the misery of my surroundings might well appear, even in her kindly judgment, but an implied appeal to her generosity.
For this it was that I gradually cut down my letters year by year, until I entirely ceased from all intercourse, and lived my lonely life as best I might.
For fellow-exiles, I had near an hundred discontented gentlemen, ruling over a homesick soldiery, two or three unfortunate gentlewomen, a few greedy and dishonest officials, and a handful of wretched townspeople, whose prosperity was never fostered in time of peace nor their safety considered in time of war.
At last, through the friendship of the Comte de Raimond, Governor of the Island, I obtained a tardy promotion to the rank of lieutenant in the Regiment of Artois, under M. de St. Julhien, and the appointment as King's Interpreter, on which I was heartily congratulated by my comrades, who had long pitied my undeserved ill fortune.