The Eagle's Shadow Part 23

Billy chuckled. "That's true," said he, "but I know Uncle Fred's fist well enough without having to read it all. Candidly, Peggy, I _had_ to look at it, because I--well, I didn't quite trust you, Peggy. And now we're going to burn this interesting paper, you and I." "Wait!"

Margaret cried. "Ah, wait, just a moment, Billy!"

He glanced up at her in surprise, the paper still poised in his hand.

She sat with head drooped forward, her masculine little chin thrust out eagerly, her candid eyes transparently appraising him.

"Why are you going to burn it, Billy?"

"Why?" Mr. Woods, repeated, thoughtfully. "Well, for a variety of reasons. First is, that Uncle Fred really did leave his money to you, and burning this is the only way of making sure you get it. Why, I thought you wanted me to burn it! Last time I saw you--"

"I was in a temper," said Margaret, haughtily. "You ought to have seen that."

"Yes, I--er--noticed it," Mr. Woods admitted, with some dryness; "but it wasn't only temper. You've grown accustomed to the money. You'd miss it now--miss the pleasure it gives you, miss the power it gives you. You'd never be content to go back to the old life now. Why, Peggy, you yourself told me you thought money the greatest thing in the world! It has changed you, Peggy, this--ah, well!" said Billy, "we won't talk about that. I'm going to burn it because that's the only honourable thing to do. Ready, Peggy?"

"It may be honourable, but it's _extremely_ silly," Margaret temporised, "and for my part, I'm very, very glad G.o.d had run out of a sense of honour when He created the woman."

"Phrases don't alter matters. Ready, Peggy?"

"Ah, no, phrases don't alter matters!" she a.s.sented, with a quick lift of speech. "You're going to destroy that will, Billy Woods, simply because you think I'm a horrid, mercenary, selfish _pig_. You think I couldn't give up the money--you think I couldn't be happy without it.

Well, you have every right to think so, after the way I've behaved.

But why not tell me that is the real reason?"

Billy raised his hand in protest. "I--I think you might miss it," he conceded. "Yes, I think you would miss it."

"Listen!" said Margaret, quickly. "The money is yours now--by my act.

You say you--care for me. If I am the sort of woman you think me--I don't say I am, and I don't say I'm not--but thinking me that sort of woman, don't you think I'd--I'd marry you for the asking if you kept the money? Don't you think you're losing every chance of me by burning that will? Oh, I'm not standing on conventionalities now! Don't you think that, Billy?"

She was tempting him to the uttermost; and her heart was sick with fear lest he might yield. This was the Eagle's last battle; and recreant Love fought with the Eagle against poor Billy, who had only his honour to help him.

Margaret's face was pale as she bent toward him, her lips parted a little, her eyes glinting eerily in the firelight. The room was dark now save in the small radius of its amber glow; beyond that was darkness where panels and bra.s.ses blinked.

"Yes," said Billy, gravely--"forgive me if I'm wrong, dear, but--I do think that. But you see you don't care for me, Peggy. In the summer-house I thought for a moment--ah, well, you've shown in a hundred ways that you don't care--and I wouldn't have you come to me, not caring. So I'm going to burn the paper, dear."

Margaret bowed her head. Had she ever known happiness before?

"It is not very flattering to me," she said, "but it shows that you--care--a great deal. You care enough to--let me go. Ah--yes. You may burn it now, Billy."

And promptly he tossed it into the flames. For a moment it lay unharmed; then the edges caught and crackled and blazed, and their heads drew near together as they watched it burn.

There (thought Billy) is the end! Ah, ropes, daggers, and poisons!

there is the end! Oh, Peggy. Peggy, if you could only have loved me!

if only this accursed money hadn't spoiled you so utterly! Billy was quite properly miserable over it.

But he raised his head with a smile. "And now," said he--and not without a little, little bitterness; "if I have any right to advise you, Peggy, I--I think I'd be more careful in the future as to how I used the money. You've tried to do good with it, I know. But every good cause has its parasites. Don't trust entirely to the Haggages and Jukesburys, Peggy, and--and don't desert the good s.h.i.+p Philanthropy because there are a few barnacles on it, dear."

"You make me awfully tired," Miss Hugonin observed, as she rose to her feet. "How do you suppose I'm going to do anything for Philanthropy or any other cause when I haven't a penny in the world? You see, you've just burned the last will Uncle Fred ever made--the one that left everything to me. The one in your favour was probated or proved or whatever they call it a week ago." I think Billy was surprised.

She stood over him, sharply outlined against the darkness, clasping her hands tightly just under her chin, ludicrously suggestive of a pre-Raphaelitish saint. In the firelight her hair was an aureole; and her gown, yellow with mult.i.tudinous tiny arabesques of black velvet, echoed the glow of her hair to a shade. The dancing flames made of her a flickering little yellow wraith. And oh, the quaint tenderness of her eyes!--oh, the hint of faint, nameless perfume she diffused! thus ran the meditations of Billy's dizzied brain.

"Listen! I told you I burned the other will. I started to burn it. But I was afraid to, because I didn't know what they could do to me if I did. So I put it away in my little handkerchief-box--and if you'd had a _grain_ of sense you'd have noticed the orris on it. And you made me promise not to take any steps in the matter till you got well. I knew you would. So I had already sent that second will--sent it before I promised you--to Hunston Wyke--he's my lawyer now, you know--and I've heard from him, and he has probated it."

Billy was making various irrelevant sounds.

"And I brought that other will to you, and if you didn't choose to examine it more carefully I'm sure it wasn't my fault. I kept my word like a perfect gentleman and took no step _whatever_ in the matter.

I didn't say a word when before my eyes you stripped me of my entire worldly possessions--you know I didn't. You burned it up yourself, Billy Woods--of your own free will and accord--and now Selwoode and all that detestable money belongs to _you_, and I'm sure I'd like to know what you are going to do about it. So _there_!"

Margaret faced him defiantly. Billy was in a state of considerable perturbation.

"Why have you done this?" he asked, slowly. But a lucent something--half fear, half gladness--was wakening in Billy's eyes.

And her eyes answered him. But her tongue was far less veracious.

"Because you thought I was a _pig_! Because you couldn't make allowances for a girl who for four years has seen nothing but money and money-wors.h.i.+ppers and the power of money! Because I wanted your--your respect, Billy. And you thought I couldn't give it up! Very well!" Miss Hugonin waved her hand airily toward the hearth. "Now I hope you know better. _Don't you dare get up, Billy Woods!_"

But I think nothing short of brute force could have kept Mr. Woods from her.

"Peggy," he babbled--"ah, forgive me if I'm a presumptuous a.s.s--but was it because you knew I couldn't ask you to marry me so long as you had the money?"

She dallied with her bliss. Margaret was on the other side of the table.

"Why--why, of course it wasn't!" she panted. "What nonsense!"

"Look at me, Peggy!"

"I don't want to! You look like a fright with your head all tied up."

"Peggy ... this exercise is bad for an invalid."

"I--oh, please sit down! _Please_, Billy! It is bad for you."

"Not until you tell me----"

"But I _don't!_... Oh, you make me _awfully_ tired."

"Peggy, don't you dare stamp your foot at me!... Peggy!"

"_Please_ sit down! Now ... well, there's my hand, stupid, if you _will_ be silly. Now sit down here--so, with your head leaned back on this nice little cus.h.i.+on because it's good for your poor head--and I'll sit on this nice little footstool and be quite, quite honest. No, you must lean back--I don't care if you can't see me, I'd much rather you couldn't. Well, the truth is--no, you _must_ lean back--the truth is--I've loved you all my life, Billy Woods, and--no, not _yet_, Billy--and if you hadn't been the stupidest beautiful in the universe you'd have seen it long ago. You--you needn't--lean back--any longer, Billy ... Oh, Billy, why _didn't_ you shave?"

"She _is_ skinny, isn't she, Billy?"

"Now, Peggy, you mustn't abuse Kathleen. She's a friend of mine."

"Well, I know she's a friend of yours, but that doesn't prevent her being skinny, does it?"

"Now, Peggy--"

"Please, Billy! _Please_ say she's skinny!"

"Er--well, she's a bit thin, perhaps."