The Eagle's Shadow

poet must be ignorant, for information is the thief of rhyme. And it is only in dealing with—'

Kennaston paused. Margaret had appeared in the vestibule, and behind her stood her father, looking very grave.

'We have made a most interesting discovery,' Miss Hugonin airily announced to the world at large. 'It appears that Uncle Fred left all his property to Mr. Woods here. We found the will only last night. I'm sure you'll all be interested to learn I'm a pauper now, and intend to support myself by plain sewing. Any work of this nature you may choose to favour me with, ladies and gentlemen, will receive my most earnest attention.'

She dropped a courtesy. The scene appealed to her taste for the dramatic.

Billy came toward her quickly.

'Peggy,' he demanded of her, in the semi-privacy of the vestibule, 'will you kindly elucidate the meaning of this da—this idiotic foolishness?'

'Why, this,' she explained, easily, and exhibited a folded paper. 'I found it in the grate last night.'

He inspected it with large eyes. 'That's absurd,' he said, at length. 'You know perfectly well this will isn't worth the paper it's written on.'

'My dear sir,' she informed him, coldly, 'you are vastly mistaken. You see, I've burned the other one.' She pushed by him. 'Mr. Kennaston, are you ready for our walk? We'll finish the paper some other time. Wasn't it the strangest thing in the world—?' Her dear, deep, mellow voice died away as she and Kennaston disappeared in the gardens.

Billy gasped.

But meanwhile, Colonel Hugonin had given the members of his daughter's house-party some inkling as to the present posture of affairs. They were gazing at Billy Woods rather curiously. He stood in the vestibule of Selwoode, staring after Margaret Hugonin; but they stared at him, and over his curly head, sculptured above the door-way, they saw the Eagle—the symbol of the crude, incalculable power of wealth.

Mr. Woods stood in the vestibule of his own house.

XVII

'By gad!' said Colonel Hugonin, very grimly, 'anybody would think you'd just lost a fortune instead of inheriting one! Wish you joy of it, Billy. I ain't saying, you know, we shan't miss it, my daughter and I—no, begad, for it's a nice pot of money, and we'll miss it damnably. But since somebody had to have it, I'd much rather it was you, my boy, than a set of infernal, hypocritical, philanthropic sharks, and I'm damn' glad Frederick has done the square thing by you—yes, begad!'

The old gentleman was standing beside Mr. Woods in the vestibule of Selwoode, some distance from the other members of the house-party, and was speaking in confidence. He was sincere; I don't say that the thought of facing the world at sixty-five with practically no resources save his half-pay—I think I have told you that the Colonel's diversions had drunk up his wife's fortune and his own like a glass of water—I don't say that this thought moved him to hilarity. 

Over it, indeed, he pulled a frankly grave face.

But he cared a deal for Billy; and even now there was balm—soothing, priceless balm—to be had of the reflection that this change in his prospects affected materially the prospects of those cultured, broad-minded, philanthropic persons who had aforetime set his daughter to requiring of him a perusal of Herbert Spencer.

Billy was pretty well aware how monetary matters stood with the old wastrel; and the sincerity of the man affected him far more than the most disinterested sentiments would have done. Mr. Woods accordingly shook hands, with entirely unnecessary violence.

'You're a trump, that's what you are!' he declared; 'oh, yes, you are, Colonel! You're an incorrigible, incurable old ace of trumps—the very best there is in the pack—and it's entirely useless for you to attempt to conceal it.'

'Gad——!' said the Colonel.

'And don't you worry about that will,' Mr. Woods advised. 'I—I can't explain things just now, but it's all right. You just wait—just wait till I've seen Peggy,' Billy urged, in desperation, 'and I'll explain everything.'

'By gad——!' said the Colonel. But Mr. Woods was half-way out of the vestibule.

Mr. Woods was in an unenviable state of perturbation.

He could not quite believe that Peggy had destroyed the will; the thing out-Heroded Herod, out-Margareted Margaret. But if she had, it struck him as a high-handed proceeding, entailing certain vague penalties made and provided by the law to cover just such cases—penalties of whose nature he was entirely ignorant and didn't care to think. Heavens! for all he knew, that angel might have let herself in for a jail sentence.

Billy pictured that queen among women! that paragon! with her glorious hair cropped and her pink-tipped little hands set to beating hemp—he had a shadowy notion that the lives of all female convicts were devoted to this pursuit—and groaned in horror.

'In the name of Heaven!' Mr. Woods demanded of his soul, 'what possible reason could she have had for this new insanity? And in the name of Heaven, why couldn't she have put off her tete-a-tete with Kennaston long enough to explain? And in the name of Heaven, what does she see to admire in that putty-faced, grimacing ass, any way! And in the name of Heaven, what am I to say to this poor, old man here? I can't explain that his daughter isn't in any danger of being poor, but merely of being locked up in jail! And in the name of Heaven, how long does that outrageous angel expect me to remain in this state of suspense!'

Billy groaned again and paced the vestibule. Then he retraced his steps, shook hands with Colonel Hugonin once more, and, Kennaston or no Kennaston, set out to find her.

XVIII

But when he came out upon the terrace, Sarah Ellen Haggage stopped him—stopped him with a queer blending of diffidence and resolve in her manner.

The others, by this, had disappeared in various directions, puzzled and exceedingly uncertain what to do. Indeed, to congratulate Billy in the Colonel's presence would have been tactless; and, on the other hand, to condole with the Colonel without seeming to affront the wealthy Mr. Woods was almost impossible. So they temporised and fled—all save Mrs. Haggage.

She, alone, remained to view Mr. Woods with newly opened eyes; for as he paused impatiently—the sculptured Eagle above his head—she perceived that he was a remarkably handsome and intelligent young man.

Her motherly heart opened toward this lonely, wealthy orphan.

'My dear Billy,' she cooed, with asthmatic gentleness, 'as an old, old friend of your mother's, aren't you going to let me tell you how rejoiced Adele and I are over your good fortune? It isn't polite, you naughty boy, for you to run away from your friends as soon as they've heard this wonderful news. Ah, such news it was—such a manifest intervention of Providence! My heart has been fluttering, fluttering like a little bird, Billy, ever since I heard it.'

In testimony to this fact, Mrs. Haggage clasped a stodgy hand to an exceedingly capacious bosom, and exhibited the whites of her eyes freely. Her smile, however, remained unchanged and ample.

'Er—ah—oh, yes! Very kind of you, I'm sure!' said Mr. Woods.

'I never in my life saw Adele so deeply affected by anything,' Mrs. Haggage continued, with a certain large archness. 'The sweet child was always so fond of you, you know, Billy. Ah, I remember distinctly hearing her speak of you many and many a time when you were in that dear, delightful, wicked Paris, and wonder when you would come back to your friends—not very grand and influential friends, Billy, but sincere, I trust, for all that.'

Mr. Woods said he had no doubt of it.

'So many people,' she informed him, confidentially, 'will pursue you with adulation now that you are wealthy.