Faithful Margaret. Mrs. J. M. Simpson
You have too many of that sort down there already, stripping the dead and the living, too. Still, let us not scandalize the profession, the calling of the jackal is a noble one when there is genius and finesse to raise it from the metier to the art. But where the jackal points the lion pounces. You call me the jackal. Eh, bien j'accepte—it is mine to point, but it is for you, Monsieur le Lion, to take the leap."
"A truce to your riddles, and say what you've got to say—though why you can't come out with it openly, I can't conceive."
"Find, then, my little meaning," whispered the chevalier, impressively. "In two words, you shall be au courant with the affair. We have come here to push our fortune, but the jade flouts us, and ranks herself under the standard of the foe. Let us follow her thither. For you and for me there is neither North nor South, Federal nor Confederate. Soldiers of Fortune, we follow wherever glory leads the way, and victory fills the pocket. What of this last bagatelle of a victory to-day? We have escaped with our skins to-day; to-morrow we will loose them. No, mon ami, the South will win the day; so join we the Southern chivalry as becomes chevaliers d'honneur."
"Why, you precious scoundrel! I always thought you somewhat of a puppy, but to propose this to me, an Englishman and a gentleman! Draw, you treacherous hound—draw, and defend yourself!"
And the steel blade glistened like the sword of the avenging angel before the eyes of the astonished Hun.
"Sacre, mon Dieu! Has he gone mad?" was his sole reply, as with the practical skill of an accomplished maitre d'armes his ready rapier was set, and parrying the lunges of his vexed opponent.
Still, with muttered explanations, blaspheming ejaculations and apologies, intermingled with furious rallies, he sought to moderate the just wrath of St. Udo, till at last, hearing loud shouts and footsteps approaching, by a quick turn he evaded St. Udo's pass, and dashed his sword out of his hand high in the air. Ere St. Udo could stoop to recover it, the traitor dealt him a mighty blow over the head, which felled him to the ground, and the last remembrance he had was the taunting "au revoir" of the renegade as he plunged into the thicket and vanished from pursuit.
When St. Udo recovered, he found himself surrounded by eager faces, and Thoms kneeling in the attitude of anxiety beside him, staring at him with intentness.
"What's all this, colonel?" demanded an old officer.
"Ha, by Jove! the rascal has escaped, has he?" cried St. Udo, getting up stiffly by the help of Thoms' shoulder.
"Who—who? A Confederate?" was cried on all sides.
"No, indeed, not a brave foe, but our precious Colonel Calembours himself. He has deserted to Lee's army, and had the audacity to tell his scheme to me. Quick, Thoms, your arm, man! I must communicate with the general and set scouts on his track."
St. Udo hastened to the general's tent as speedily as his reeling head would permit him.
A pursuit was immediately made of the fugitive, and precautions taken to foil his intended treachery; but the pursuit was fruitless—Calembours had dodged misfortune successfully this time.
Lying face down in his tent, St. Udo Brand mused over the fleeting incidents of his late existence, and owned himself at fault.
He looked back upon the friends he had expected fidelity from—which of them had not betrayed his trust? Upon the humble worm he had crushed with scorning heel—his life-preserver—his only friend now.
The deserted man scanned his reckless life, and in its shapeless fragments began to find a plan, and wonderingly, as a child fits together the scattered sections of his little puzzle, St. Udo linked the parted sections of his existence into their possible plan—and lo! he discovered that Providence held the key!
The remorseful man rose, and found Thoms studying him with his uncanny stare.
"My kind fellow," said St. Udo, gently, "Since your master has left you on my hands, and since I can't forget the noble service you have done me, perhaps you had better enter my service and see me through the war?"
"That will I, colonel," answered Thoms, with a keen smile.
"You have been a good friend to me, and Heaven knows I have need of friends," said St. Udo, gratefully.
The glittering eyes watched him as intently as if the old man were learning a lesson.
"If there's anything I could do for you, Thoms, to mark my gratitude, I would like to hear of it," said St. Udo.
"Nothing, colonel, except to let me stay by you."
"You may get shot in battle, my man."
"So may you, colonel, and more likely."
"Well, we won't dispute about that," said St. Udo, sunnily. "But wouldn't you rather go North, out of the scrape?"
"I'll never leave you!"
St. Udo, glancing up gratefully, saw that in his eye, which chilled as with the finger of death, the warm words crowding to his lips; a thrill of mortal dread, a sure premonition of evil seized his soul, and he waited, with the words frozen, regarding the man with stony stare until he turned on his heel and shuffled out of sight.
That night, when Thoms ventured back to sate his gloating eyes again upon St. Udo Brand, he sought for him in vain—his sub-officer occupied his tent.
"Where is the colonel?" asked Thoms, turning sharply on the nearest soldier.
"Gone, two hours ago."
"Gone!"
How white the sallow face blanched. How the tones quavered.
"By Heaven, I have lost him," cried Thoms, vehemently. "Where did he go?"
"On a secret embassy somewhere."
"Without me!" groaned Thoms, with a wild flash of the wolfish eyes. "He has stolen away from me—he has found me out!"
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