Where shall we go?
Love, shall we start or stay?
Or sail—or row?
Bluebell thought that now Mrs. Rolleston had detected her secret, there was no necessity to keep it from Cecil. They were in the habit of sitting awhile, talking over their bed-room fire at night; and, though, of late, they had scarcely been so intimate, the practice had not been discontinued. So that evening she resolved to approach the subject with Cecil. No doubt she would stand her friend, and be, as ever, generous and sympathetic.
But, at the first outset, no icicle could be brighter and colder than Miss Rolleston's manner, who kept her communication at arm's-length, as it were, and refused to see any hardship in paying a filial visit for a week or two.
"My dear Bluebell, you are really too childish. One would think it was to be an eternal separation."
"It is evident you will not miss me much," said poor Bluebell, wounded, and thankful she had not committed herself further.
"I should if Bertie were not here," answered Cecil, with heartless intention. "But I really think this is the best time for you to be away, for I am out so much with him, I see nothing of you. When he is gone, Bluebell, and you have returned, we must begin to sing and read together, as we used to do." This agreeable speech effectually quenched all revelations on Bluebell's side, who, hurt and offended, took up a candle and retired to her inner apartment.
"They are all alike," she thought; "and Bertie understood the matter better than I did. Now, I suppose, they will try and prevent me ever seeing him again. Girls in novels think it necessary to give up their lovers if the family disapprove; the book always gets very dull then; but Bertie has never yet given me the chance to act the high-minded heroine." And then she fell to wondering why he had not said something really definite, he seemed near it so often. And yet he was his own master; no stern father loomed in the background—that Bluebell would have considered a possible obstacle,—for had she not seen such malign influence destroy more than one promising love affair among her companions. Of course there was no solution to such an inscrutable mystery, though Bluebell tossed awake half the night in the effort to find one.
Next morning they all met at breakfast as usual. No allusion was made to her approaching departure. Afterwards, she attended to Freddy's nominal lessons, packed her slender wardrobe, and then remained in her own room, for the first time unwilling to go downstairs without an invitation. And yet she grudged every hour that passed and brought the separation nearer. She heard Bertie whistling about the house, so she would most likely see him before starting—probably only at luncheon, though, which was the children's dinner. A minute before the bell rang Bluebell descended, and came full on Du Meresq in an angle of the staircase. She stopped involuntarily. He was beside her with a smothered exclamation of endearment, and an eager hand seeking hers. Had she dreamt it? The face was impassive, the hand dropped, and a careless voice was saying,—
"Are you really going home this afternoon, Miss Leigh?"
At the same instant she observed Cecil's upturned eyes in the hall below them. So she had the felicity of eating a cutlet in the presence of her love, but received no aliment for her heart-hunger. Du Meresq was teazing his nieces, and did not add much to the general conversation, but the others made up for it, and, when they addressed Bluebell, did so in a particularly cheery tone, as to a nervous, fanciful girl, not to be encouraged or noticed in her blue fits. She had thought of walking home late in the afternoon, still hoping that something might bring about some last words with Du Meresq, or that he might even contrive to join her on the road; but Mrs. Rolleston, in the tone of one proposing a pleasure, said she would drive her back herself, and that the sleigh was ordered in half-an-hour.
Bluebell, goaded to mild exasperation, glanced hastily to where Bertie had been sitting, but he had left the room unperceived.
The sleigh was at the door, so also was Captain Du Meresq, smoking an after-luncheon cigar. I grieve to say my heroine displayed not a particle of self-respect as, pale and dejected, she seated herself by Mrs. Rolleston. Indeed, the blue eyes were beginning to swim, when they were dried by a flash of indignation at the parting words of Du Meresq. He merely raised his hat, without attempting to shake hands, and said, in a jesting tone,—"Au revoir, Miss Bluebell. I hope you will be a comfort to your mamma."
As the jingle of the bells died away in the distance, Cecil felt a load removed from her heart. Bluebell had become an object of uncomfortable surmises, and her absence was an inexpressible relief.
She had a fair field now, and Bertie all to herself, and did not intend to spoil the present with tormenting suspicions of the past.
"Probably he may have flattered Bluebell at odd times, and turned her head; but Bertie, though he will talk nonsense to anybody who will listen to him, cares for something more than a pretty face. He will forget her directly she is out of sight, for there really is nothing in her."
Thus severely did Cecil reflect on the friend she had been the means of bringing into the house, and had loved all the more for the kindnesses she had been able to show her. But, then, who could have foreseen that the protégéé would turn into a rival?
Her meditations were interrupted by the chief subject of them.
"What do you intend doing, Cecil, this afternoon?"
"It is very unsettling, people going away," said she, serenely. No occasion to let him see the satisfaction it gave her. "Shall we go and skate at the Rink, presently?"
"Oh, ain't you sick of that place? Let us order your cutter, and look in on the Armstrongs' toboggining party?"
"Enchanting!" said Cecil, brightening. "But, dear me! it will be nearly over."
"Not if you look sharp. 'Wings' will take us there in half-an-hour; it isn't five miles to the hill. Don't forget to leave your crinoline behind."
Du Meresq rang the bell, and Cecil re-appeared in a few minutes, innocent of her "sans reflectum," and in a clinging black velveteen suit, with a golden oriole in her cap, and a scarf of the same hue knotted about her waist.
"None so dusty," said Bertie, approvingly. "You look best in daring colours, Cecil."
Personal praise from Du Meresq, however expressed, was not unwelcome to Cecil, who was sensitively alive to her want of beauty. But she answered, carelessly,—"Just a refuge for the destitute. I can't wear pale shades, or blue or green."
"No, my bright brunette; but that Satanic mixture does not misbecome you,"—and he murmured the words in "May Janet,"—
He clothed her on with silk, and belted her with amber."
"Come and help me down with the toboggin, Bertie. It is a-top of the book-shelf,"—and they dragged down a mysterious structure of maple wood, having the appearance of a plank six feet long by two wide, and turned up at one end. It had red cord reins, and Cecil's monogram, neatly painted, on the outside.
"We must show off our smart toboggin, I suppose; though where on earth we can put it in the cutter I can't think," said Du Meresq.
"I had rather hold it on my lap than not take it. Here comes 'Wings,'"—and a high-stepping American horse, bought out of a sulky, as not sufficiently justifying his name for racing purposes, dashed up to the door with the smallest and prettiest cutter in the city. The robes were white wolf-skins, bordered with black bear. The one hanging from the back exhibited a bear's head and claws on the white ground. Both robes and bells were mounted in scarlet and white; and the masks of two owls occupied the place of rosettes on "Wings'" head-stall.
"Well," said Bertie, "we are, luckily, not in Hyde Park; and I suppose a sleigh can't be too bizarre. Is this the creation of your festive fancy, Cecil?"
"Yes; I don't disown it. I sent a coloured sketch of what I wanted to Gaines, and he found fur and everything. 'Wings' was bought in an auction last month. He went cheap, because they never could teach him the correct 'racking' action. Papa advised me to have him, as he thought he would carry me in the summer, and I have no other horse."
"I'll tell you what, Cecil; we must extend our wings if we are to be in time. Canter him across the common, there's a capital track."
"Can't he go!" said she, exultingly, as on a hard, frozen surface they sped along. "We rush through the air so silently that if it were not for the bells one might fancy oneself flying."
"Yes," said Bertie; "I have known more unpleasant sensations than being driven ten miles an hour by a fair lady—a dark one, I should say."
"Given the lady. I don't think you much care whom it may chance to be, Bertie."
Be she blonde or brunette, so she let me look at her."
"Were you thinking of those lines in 'Lucille'?"
"Them's your sentiments to a T, I should say."
"And you ought to have lived in the days when the knight had 'Une seule' embroidered on his banner. I'll never believe that his loves were so limited; doubtless each appropriated the invidious distinction to herself."
"I know one knight," said Cecil, "who would give them plenty of reason to do so."
"Fancy," continued Bertie "riding in full armour to a crossroad, and challenging every one to single combat who declined to acknowledge his particular fair to be queen of love and beauty, and that no one else should hold a candle to her! Now we should think it great impertinence in a fellow to offer his opinion about her at all."
"No," laughed Cecil, "such public proclamation would never suit these inconsistent days."
"Can you not believe yourself 'Une seule,' Cecil, even in these days?" returned he, meaningly and tenderly.
"That would depend on my knight," said she, blushing, and uncertain how to take it. "I should not care to live in a Fool's Paradise."
"If it were Paradise, why analyze the wisdom of it?" said Bertie, gazing with surprised admiration at her radiant face, that kindled as with some hidden fire.
"I could do without him," answered she, "but if he were worth caring for I wouldn't share him with any one."
"I hope Fane isn't 'Un seul,' Cecil. For a young lady with such severe ideas of constancy, you were pretty thick at the sleighing-party."
There was something in this speech that annoyed Cecil, who turned it off with a short answer. It might have been that she did not like him so composedly contemplating such a possibility.
Du Meresq said no more, perhaps because they were approaching the toboggin hill, or perhaps, like Dr. Johnson, he had nothing ready.
Cecil was sorry they were so near. She felt more interested in the conversation than in the party, and gazed wistfully down a by road that would have led them in an opposite direction.
"I wish I dare turn sharp off," thought she. "But, no! we are conventional beings. This idiotic performance is the goal and object of our expedition. I am driving, and must do nothing so indecently eccentric."
So she gave "Wings" a flick with her whip, that sent him up to his bit with his knees in his mouth, and they drew rein on the edge of the snow mountain.
Miss Tremaine's bright face was just on a level with the top, drawing up her own toboggin.
"Here's this dear little Lily," said Bertie.
"Your diminutives are curiously applied," said Cecil. "That is a very substantial petite."
"How late you are," cried Miss Tremaine, rushing up to them. 'Wings,' who couldn't bear waiting, began to rear. "Gracious, Cecil, does he feed on yeast-powder to make him 'rise' so? How do you do, Captain Du Meresq? Come along; there's some capital jumps. Here's my little brother will hang on to the horse's head till we find some one else, if you are sure 'Wings' will not soar away with him, like an eagle with a lamb."
"I'd better billet him on that farm," said Du Meresq, driving off.
"And I must go and speak to Mrs. Armstrong," said Cecil.
CHAPTER XI.
EFFECTS OF TOBOGGINING.
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
A little further on, by a blazing fire, was seated the hostess and about a dozen other people on benches and rugs; a table spread with refreshments and hot liquids attracted as many more. The grey sky and white ground threw out the figures solidly, the only patches of colour being the bright petticoats of the ladies as they flashed down or toiled up the snow mountain.
"Have a 'cock-tail,' Miss Rolleston?" said Captain Wilmot, of the Fusiliers. "I have just made a capital one; and then may I steer you down on my toboggin?"
Cecil accepted both propositions. "But do take mine, for I have never tried it yet."
"What a beauty," said Lilla, enviously. "It doesn't look over strong, though; I shouldn't wonder if it broke in two. You'll have to mind the hole at the bottom; there have been a lot in already."
For the information of the uninitiated, I may as well describe how this hilarious amusement is conducted. Having first selected the highest hill the neighbourhood affords, well covered with slippery frozen snow, two individuals who purpose forming the freight of the toboggin pose themselves, the foremost holding the reins, which, however, are more for effect than use, sitting between the feet of the hindmost traveller, who steers with his hands.
As a finger on the snow alters the course of the toboggin, and a nervous push makes it slue round, scattering the inmates, it is needless to say the tyro in front is admonished to preserve the most absolute immobility. Then the vehicle receives a shove off the top of the hill, and shoots down the smooth precipice, and the novice, with shut eyes to escape the blinding snow that flies like hailstones about him, listens to the wind whistling behind, and with bated breath—the first time at any rate—wishes it were over.
"Captain Du Meresq," cried Lilla, "come along; I am going to take you down the big jump."
"Off Niagara, if you like."
"It is a tidy drop, the first shelf, so please I'd rather steer. I never trust my neck to any one but myself."
Bertie craned over. "Let me go down first, and see what it is like; it will give you an awful shake."
"Bosh! I have been down before; sit tight," said Lilla, adjusting herself.
It was a series of snow terraces, half natural, half artificial. The ridge they started from was very steep, and jutting out a little way down, yawned over a perpendicular drop to the next ledge, which sloped off again to ever recurring but lesser falls.
Receiving the necessary impetus from above, Bertie and Lilla slithered down at a terrific pace, and shot over the jutting ridge—a good twenty feet drop. As they touched the ground, the toboggin ploughed up the snow, recovered without upsetting, and tore on, jumping down the lesser falls the same way, and continuing a considerable distance along the level at the bottom before its impetus was exhausted.
Bertie, blind, breathless, and half-choked with snow, heard a voice behind, jerking in quick grasps—
"Did you e-ver feel such a de-light-ful—sensation in your life before?"
"Never," said he with a profound air of conviction, shaking off the snow like a Newfoundland dog. "I wonder if I could have steered as well!"
"If you are going to try, you may take some young woman who is tired of her life," said Lilla.
"I'll take myself down, anyhow," said Du Meresq, rather nettled; and, having dragged her toboggin up the hill, ran off to get another; but, in passing Cecil, found a moment to say—
"Don't let that young lunatic delude you down the jump. It is unfit for any girl but such a glutton as Lilla."
"I haven't the slightest wish to try," said she, laughing. "Lilla's a witch. Just look at her now."
Miss Tremaine, standing poised on her toboggin, was in the act of gliding down the hill. A light pole held in one hand served as a rudder, the other retained the cord reins.
"It is like a fairy in a pantomime let down from above," ejaculated Du Meresq. "That is uncommonly tall toboggining!"
A slight commotion was now apparent in the valley below. A brook ran through it, frozen except is one place, where was a large hole. Mr. Tremaine and Captain Delamere, slithering down together, ran into a runaway toboggin that had upset its occupant. This knocked them out of their course, and upset them into the rotten ice of the brook.
Mr. Tremaine was precipitated head foremost into the hole, with his heels in the air, and Lilla at the same moment coming to a halt in her acrobatic descent, beheld the apparition of a pair of legs, feet upwards, and a coarse pair of knickerbocker stockings dragged over the boots.
"Who has muffed in now? Gracious goodness, I knit those stockings; it is the Governor! Pull him out—quick, quick, Captain Delamere; he'll have a fit!"
That individual, who had just scrambled out, was standing rather dazed, ruefully stanching the cuts on his face. Between them they soon dragged out Mr. Tremaine, half suffocated, and puffing and panting like a demented steam-engine, but by the time he had recovered his breath not much the worse.
The toboggining was getting fast and furious, and several casualties occurred. The toiler up the hill, too, had need of all his alertness to dodge the numerous erratic cars tearing down in every direction.
An adventurous group were tying a dozen or more toboggins together, which they called an omnibus; and Jack Vavasour, in the character of conductor, was holding up his hand, and cadging for passengers.
"Any more for the Brook or Gore Vale? Room for two still in the 'Lightning' 'bus! No more?—then we are off. Link arms, ladies and gentlemen;" and the unwieldy apparatus was started. The couplings divided half-way down. About seven reached the bottom, the remaining five were upset, and were left there. Cecil was in the latter division, and having extricated herself from the débris, slowly ascended the hill.
She was rather tired now, and slightly bored; and began wondering what had become of her escort. He had not been in the coach, nor was he among the noisy, chattering party approaching her.
"Has anyone seen Captain Du Meresq?" asked she.
"Ten minutes ago he was death on the big jump," said Jack. "He took Delamere to start him; and I think Miss Tremaine went too."
A shade passed over Cecil's face. "Would you ask him, Mr. Vavasour, to get the sleigh? It is quite time we were going."
Another quarter of an hour passed, but no signs of Jack or Bertie. Cecil kept up a desultory conversation with Mrs. Anderson; but a vague impatience and restlessness came over her. She looked in the direction of the big jump, and it seemed to her a point of attraction that gathered up the stragglers, who all converged towards it. There was quite a crowd there now. Mrs. Anderson's platitudes became maddening. Then she observed Lilla coming from the same direction, and beckoning. She sprang to meet her.
"Cecil," cried Lilla, "don't be frightened." Why do people always use this agitating formula? "But the fact is poor Bertie has had an awful cropper. Good gracious, Cecil! don't look like that! Are you going to faint! He is not so very much hurt,—stunned a bit at first."
"How was it?" said the other, breathing again, and pressing forward.
"He was going down the drop. Captain Delamere was to push him off, which he did with a vengeance. He didn't mean any harm, though he don't like a bone in poor Bertie's body. However, the toboggin snapped in two from the concussion in landing. Bertie was shot out and rolled to the bottom, which would not have mattered, only he struck his head against some snag or stone hidden by the snow. We looked down, but he didn't seem to move, and we got frightened. I had had nearly enough jumping, but I took Captain Delamere on my toboggin—didn't trust him to steer, I can tell you, my dear—and bumped down quite safe. Bertie was insensible, with a queer cut on his forehead; so I extracted the solitaire out of his shirt-collar, and Captain Delamere gave him a nip out of his pocket-pistol, and then he seemed to pull himself together and sat up. A lot of people had collected round, and Mr. Vavasour asked me to come and tell you. Oh, here he is."
"Miss Rolleston," said Jack, "Du Meresq is nearly all right again. But he has twisted his ankle, and can't walk up the hill; so they are going to pull him up on a toboggin. I'll go and get your sleigh."
"Are you sure it is nothing worse?" said Cecil, who could scarcely abandon her first impression that his neck was broken.
"Quite. There he is, to answer for himself," as Bertie and his bearers crested the hill.
She walked to meet them. Du Meresq looked in pain, but cut short all enquiries. "Wrenched my foot that's all. You want to go, don't you, Cecil?"
"Oh, yes; as soon as possible. Lilla, Mrs. Armstrong is so far off, will you make our adieux?" Sotto voce. "She is a tiresome old goose; but I left her so abruptly just now."
"Miss Rolleston," whispered Jack, who had just brought up the cutter, "I think I'll send up the doctor from the barracks. Du Meresq did get a baddish cut on the head, and, if he doesn't stay in a day or two, it might turn to erysipelas in this climate."
"Pray do. Oh, Mr. Vavasour! just tell me honestly, is not that sometimes—fatal when it gets to the head?"
Cecil's eyes, dilated with terror, betrayed her to Jack, over whose honest face came an expression of sympathy and intelligence.
"Of course; but we will take care of that. That's why I am sending up the doctor, to prevent him exposing himself out of doors just yet."
Cecil did not find the drive back so agreeable as the previous one. Du Meresq, chafing at the confinement his fast swelling foot would probably entail, and provoked at coming to grief after Lilla's taunt was in remarkably bad humour.
Cecil saw the state of the case, and drove on fast, philosophically allowing him to grumble and growl without much concerning herself; but it was almost dark before they drew up at "The Maples."
In the meantime, Colonel Rolleston, having heard from Miss Prosody that his daughter and Du Meresq had gone off to a toboggining party, chose to be highly scandalized, and poured into the placid ear of his wife a torrent of disapprobation.
In vain did Mrs. Rolleston represent that they were out sleighing and skating together most days without his objecting.
"This was quite different—this was a public party—people would say they were engaged. He never had seen the good of their being so inseparable, but of course, his opinion on the subject had never been considered," etc.,—which last remark was rather uncalled for, as few heads of families have their womankind in better order than Colonel Rolleston.
A straw will show which way the wind blows. His wife listened with some uneasiness, for she had always hoped the Colonel tacitly approved the attachment between their respective relatives, which to her appeared so evident. She could only trust this was but a pettish effusion from their prolonged absence, and determined to guard against such causes of offence for the future.
But still they did not come. It was dark—it was dinner-time—it really was too bad. At last a faint tinkle of sleigh-bells was followed by a slight commotion in the hall. The servant was assisting Bertie into the smoking-room, for he elected to lie on the sofa there, and thus avoid the worry of questions and alarms.
Colonel Rolleston was too grand and angry to evince any curiosity by coming out, and Mrs. Rolleston, after receiving a hasty explanation from Cecil, sent her back to the drawing-room, and took charge of her brother, who was having his boot cut off, and in considerable pain.
There was not much resemblance in character or sympathy between the brothers-in-law; but they had hitherto avoided clashing. Now, however, the Colonel's outraged feelings of propriety wound him up to the determination of administering a solemn rebuke to Du Meresq, and he stood on that coign of advantage, the hearthrug, waiting to deliver it.
Cecil came in for the first tide of wrath, somewhat to her surprise; but, dreading her companionship with Bertie being prohibited, exerted considerable tact to smooth her father down, and especially made light of the accident, which she perceived was an aggravation of the offence.
"Not content with making my daughter conspicuous, he hadn't even the sense to keep out of scrapes himself," etc.
Mrs. Rolleston glanced interrogatively at Cecil as they met on the stairs. I don't know what answer her countenance conveyed, but they made simultaneously the same suggestion,—"Let us get Miss Prosody to dine down." They both knew that without the addition of an unoffending third the subject would be harped on all the evening.
Mrs. Rolleston was an excellent housekeeper; and the well-served repast, aided by the judicious conversation of the ladies, exercised a most soothing influence on the Colonel, who was rapidly attaining that harmless frame of mind in which, as the saying goes, "a child might play with him."
But a sudden ring at the door-bell, followed by the announcement of the surgeon of the regiment, brought on a relapse. What man does not hate being interrupted at dinner? And the doctor's report was sufficiently vague to re-kindle Cecil's fears, and create uncomfortable misgivings in the mind of her step-mother.
Du Meresq, he said, was suffering intense pain in the head, and a small bone in the ankle was broken, which he had set; but he could not be certain there was no internal injury, etc.
Mrs. Rolleston hastened away to Bertie, and did not return; and poor Cecil, not daring to show her anxiety, remained to entertain her father, or rather to listen to his irritable remarks on this unlucky expedition for the rest of the evening.
Never was there a more fractious patient than Du Meresq as he lay listlessly on the sofa, while the bone reunited. He had speculated on many a stolen walk with Bluebell in that unfrequented wood, where they would be far less liable to interruption than at "The Maples." He thought of his cavalier parting with her,—a bracing tonic,—necessitated by the self-betrayal of her dejected air, but which he expected to have explained away in a most agreeable manner before now. It would never do to write from this house. What a shame it was sending her away—for a mistake, too, for they had got the saddle on the wrong horse. "Still," he thought, "it is a bore when girls take things au grand serieux. Lilla Tremaine is quite different, as jolly as possible, but never expects impossibilities. Now Cecil and Bluebell are never satisfied without one's swearing one cares for nobody else. At least, Cecil isn't, though I don't think I ever quite said that to her yet. It doesn't matter telling Bluebell so, and she looks so pleased, and believes every word of it. I would marry that child if I could afford it." And then visions of debt, ever pressing, harassed his mind. "Well, it could not last much longer; there would be something left out of the fire when he sold out, and he could try Australia, or the Gold Coast, or—he didn't care what."
But such subjects were not exhilarating, lying alone in the smoking-room, and at last he rang a hand-bell, and told the servant to ask Miss Rolleston to come and sit with him.
Cecil complied at once, but brought with her a colour-box and sketch-book. Drawing was her great occupation, and she was now filling in from memory a sketch of the toboggining party.
"You never come near me, Cecil, unless I send for you!" said Du Meresq, complainingly.
"Poor Bertie! are you very much bored?" said she, without looking up from her painting.
"Horribly; and my thoughts and occupations are none of the pleasantest."
"Those horrid duns again," glancing at some blue looking envelopes lying near. "But you haven't opened one of them."
"Never do, nor answer them either. They keep up a pretty close correspondence considering it is one-sided."
"Bertie," said Cecil, drawing on diligently, "Can't something be done? You never seem to look into your affairs. Perhaps they wouldn't be so bad if you did. I shall be of age in August, and," colouring slightly, "I will lend you as much as you want. You can give me an I.O.U. for the amount," continued she, rather proud of her knowledge of business.
"You dear, romantic girl" (Cecil was chilled in a moment), "how could I take your money? I shouldn't have a chance of repaying it. No, I shall last as long as I can, and then try the Colonies. It is only my rascally self, after all, to think of. Thank goodness, I don't draw any delicate, fragile life after me into privation and discomfort."
Cecil bent more closely over her drawing.
"What are you doing?" said Bertie, impatiently. "I can't see your face. Come and sit by me, Cecil. I like a 'gentle hand in mine.'"
Cecil moved as if in a dream, and sat in a low chair near his couch.
"You have always been so kind and true to me," stroking her hair caressingly.
A slight movement of the handle of the door made them involuntarily separate, and Mrs. Rolleston entered.
"Cecil, your father is looking for you. He wants you to drive with him, and call on the Learmonths."
"What an infernal bore!" said Du Meresq, energetically; "and I must lie in this confounded room, with nothing to do the whole afternoon. Can't you get out of it, Cecil?"
"No, no!" said Mrs. Rolleston, hastily meeting her daughter's eye. There was unspoken sympathy between them. Her half eager look of inquiry passed into intelligent acquiescence, and, with a regretful glance at Bertie, she left the room.
The next day and the one after the Colonel required his daughter's companionship; the third day, they all went out in the afternoon, as Du Meresq seemed better, and said he had letters to write. No sooner, however, was the house quiet and deserted, than he rang the bell, and sent for a sleigh, hobbling out with the assistance of a stick and the servant's arm. For the information of that lingering and curious functionary, he ordered the driver to go to the Club, which address, however, was altered after proceeding a short distance.
CHAPTER XII.
THE LAKE SHORE ROAD.
And all that I know,
Is that, without wherefore,
I worship thee so.
"I suppose, Bluebell, you keep all your fine spirits for company?" said Miss Opie, tauntingly; and, indeed, she had some reason to be aggrieved. Few things are more trying than living with a person in the persistent enjoyment of the blues; and the old, saddened by failing health and the memory of heavy sorrows, are apt to look upon gloom in youth as entrenching on their own prescriptive rights.
Bluebell was always now taking long, aimless walks, bringing home neither news nor gossip, and then sitting silent, absorbed in her own thoughts, or else feverishly expectant; while each evening she sank into deeper despondency after the day's disappointment.
"Spirits can't be made to order," answered she, shortly. "I have got nothing to talk about."
"I am afraid you are ill, my dear," said Mrs. Leigh; "outgrowing your strength, perhaps. You are such a great girl, Bluebell—so different to me; and you scarcely touched the baked mutton at dinner, which was a little frozen and red yesterday, but so nice to-day."
Bluebell shivered. She was not at a very critical age, but the culinary triumphs of the "general servant" made her practice a good deal of enforced abstinence since she had been accustomed to properly prepared cookery at "The Maples."
"People who do nothing all day can't expect to be hungry," said Miss Opie, sententiously. "If a man will not work neither may he eat."
"Then it is all right," retorted Bluebell, "as it seems I do neither."
"Not work!" cried Mrs. Leigh. "Why she has earned already more than I ever did in my life, and brought me ten dollars to get a dress with, only I shan't, for I shall keep it for her. I must say, Aunt Jane, you are always blaming the child; and, if her mother is satisfied, I think you may be."
Aunt Jane was silenced, but she wondered what Bluebell could do that her shortsighted mother would not be satisfied with. Meantime the object of the discussion had escaped from the room. She had no wish to spend the afternoon in the dim parlour, stuffy with stove heat and the lingering aroma of baked mutton; and a fancy had occurred to her to wander through the wood she had last traversed with the sole occupant of her ill-regulated mind.
Trove, now a well-to-do and unabashed dog, rolled and kicked on his back in puppy-like ecstacy as he watched her dress, and officiously brought her her muff, which, however, he objected to resigning. Trove was Bluebell's confidant and the repository of her woes, and perhaps as safe a one as young ladies generally choose.
Not a sign of the Rollestons had she seen since her arrival at the cottage ten days ago. Bluebell thought she could not have been more cut off from them if she had crossed the Atlantic instead of the Common. Going to the Rink would have too much the appearance of seeking Du Meresq, so she rigorously avoided that; but even in King Street, where Cecil's cutter flashed most days, she never caught sight of "Wings'" owl-decorated head.
There was a great deal of her father's disposition in Bluebell, and she chafed at the monotony of days so grey and eventless, and longed for she knew not what; so that it was life, movement, pain even, to exhaust those new springs of thought and feeling that the awakening touch of a first love had called forth, and would not now be laid.
Bluebell, like most Canadians, had had plenty of early admiration from hobbledehoys, who made honest, though ungainly, love to her; but her heart would as soon have been touched by an amorous Orson as by these youthful tyros in the art. Du Meresq had that deceptive countenance apparently created for the shipwreck of female hearts. Sometimes men called him an ugly fellow, but no woman ever thought so. There was expression enough in those luminous eyes to have set up three beauty men. They could look both demoniacal and seraphic,—tender often, but scarcely ever true; add to this a magnificent physique, a soft manner, a winning voice, and, what gave him an almost superstitious interest to women, that fey look attributed to the Stewarts. He had read and studied hard by fits and starts, for whatever possessed his mind he always pursued with ardour, and to Cecil was fond of inveighing against his useless, unsatisfying life. In spite of her infatuation, though, she judged him more truly than most people, and perceived that his fitful remorse was chiefly occasioned by pressure of money matters, and seldom lasted over pecuniary relief.
In the most secret flights of her imagination, she pictured herself in some new country with Bertie. An adventurous, reckless nature such as his, she thought, turned every gift to evil in the commonplace life where his idiosyncrasy had no play; but detached from his idle mess-room habits, and launched into a new career, when to live at all involved exertion of mind and body, would metamorphosize her hero into all she could wish.
Such was the ideal, in her conventual bringing up, of the rich and well placed Cecil; while Bluebell, to whom luxury was unknown, longed for wealth to take her into a sphere where taste was not starved by economy, nor all her horizon bounded by weekly bills. But in both cases their air castles were to be occupied with Du Meresq.
The girl and the dog sped along on their desolate walk—it was too cold to linger. Bluebell carefully followed the route she had taken with Bertie, that memory might be added by association.
"Ah, Trove," said she to the dog, who bounced up against her, "I am as much a waif and stray as you are—disowned by my grandfather, who might have made us rich, and taken up by people one day and forgotten the next; but you have drifted into harbour now, my dog, and who knows—"
A smothered growl interrupted this monologue, and then a sharp bark. Bluebell looked round to see what was exciting him; she heard a distant tinkle of bells, and listened keenly; laughing voices were apparently approaching. From an impulse that she could not have explained, Bluebell darted into an empty woodshed, dragging Trove in after her, and holding him firmly by the muzzle to stifle his growling. Through an aperture in the boards she could observe, unseen herself.
The sounds grew louder, and a score of sleighs defiled past her hiding-place. Bluebell scanned each carefully. There were the usual members of the Sleigh Club. She recognized the Tremaines, and several others of her little world. Jack in his tandem; but, faithful Lubin! no "cloud-capped" Muffin sat by his side; his companion was of the sterner sex, or, as he would have described him, "a dog." But where were the Rollestons? No representative of "The Maples" was present, not even Du Meresq. They had flashed past within a minute; but, like a fresh breeze over still water, the little incident had awakened and roused up Bluebell from her lethargy.
Her thoughts became more lively as she speculated why Bertie and Cecil were absent from the sleighing party. It was some consolation, at any rate, not to see him enjoying himself quite as much without her. The sun was setting redly as she neared the cottage, and a young moon gaining brightness. Bluebell, remembering a childish superstition, paused to wish. The passage was dark as she entered, and her mother's tones, talking with great volubility, struck her ear. "Mamma has her company voice on," thought she, which, being interpreted, meant an increase of nervousness and consequent garrulity.
She opened the door, and her heart gave a sudden leap as she became aware of, rather than saw in the dusk, the tall, broad-shouldered form of Du Meresq. Bluebell came stiffly forward, and offered a cold hand, utterly belying her heart, to Bertie, who bent over it as if sorely tempted, in spite of Mrs. Leigh's presence, to carry it to his lips. But she withdrew it abruptly, and sat down, seized with more overpowering shyness than she had ever experienced.
Miss Opie's keen, attentive eyes were taking in the situation.
"Captain Du Meresq has been kind enough to call," said Mrs. Leigh, "to say there is no immediate hurry for your return, my dear."
Bluebell raised disappointed, questioning eyes; but something in his face conveyed to her that the message was coined as an excuse for his appearance.
"I hope Cecil is well?" said she, trying to speak unconcernedly; "but I saw she was not out with the Club to-day."
"I think she is tired of it. Where did you fall in with them?" asked he.
"In the Humber," very consciously.
"Were you there?" asked Bertie, with a tender inflection in his voice, that Bluebell knew well. But she would not look up, and Miss Opie did, so he proceeded carelessly,—"I suppose they were coming from the Lake Shore Road, up the serpentine drive in the wood?"
"Oh! that is such a pretty walk in summer!" said Mrs. Leigh.
"I dare say," said Bertie, looking straight down his nose. "I went round that way once, and even in winter found it the pleasantest walk I ever took in my life."
"Ah, then," said Mrs. Leigh, knowingly, "I dare say some pretty young lady was with you."
"No such happiness," said Bertie, with an imperceptible glance at Bluebell. "The fact is, Mrs. Leigh, women detest me! I suppose it is my deep respect, making me so fearful of offending, that bores them; but I fear I am a social failure."
"In my day," said Miss Opie, ironically, "young ladies expected to be treated with respect."
"And that could not have been so long ago; yet now they are beyond a bashful man's comprehension," said Bertie, with an air of simplicity, slightly scanning Miss Opie's wakeful face. He had got on so well with the mamma, who was this old maid, who appeared so objectionably on the alert?
"Well, I am sure," said Mrs. Leigh, "some girls here are that pert and forward, I can't bear it myself; and yet the gentlemen all encourage it, and think it real smart. Lilla Tremaine, you know, Aunt Jane."
"Ah!" said Bertie, shaking his head, "a very unsteady young person."
While Du Meresq was making conversation, Bluebell sat incapable of contributing to it. She would not have believed that his presence should afford her so little pleasure; but he seemed incongruous here, and was apparently amusing himself with the simplicity of her relatives. A clatter of tea-things filled her mind with dismay. The ideas of the "help" on the subject of cleanliness were in a very rudimentary stage, and that the cloth would be in anything but its first freshness, was a moral certainty. Impossible, however, to avert the catastrophe, and the general servant, actuated by a determination to get another look at Miss Bluebell's "young man," undauntedly bore in the tray.
"Dear me, is it not rather early?" said Mrs. Leigh. "Oh, Captain Du Meresq,"—seeing him rise,—"you must stay and have a cup with us."
"Another day, if you will allow me," said Bertie, trying to disguise his extreme lameness. "I hope, having found my way here, I may be permitted to call again in this sociable manner, and have a little agreeable conversation, so preferable to gaiety, which I abhor."
"If you will take us as you find us," said the little lady, graciously, "we shall look upon it as a great favour, I am sure. Dear me, Captain Du Meresq, have you hit your foot? You seem quite lame."
"I am, rather. I had an accident. Is there not some shorter way back than the road I came?"
"Oh, yes, by Barker's Row. You know the Link House?"
"No—a," said Bertie, looking expressively at Bluebell, as a hint that she might offer to point out the road.
"Oh, surely you must; keep straight on King Street, and then you come to—"
"Wolfe Street?" suggested Du Meresq.
"Gracious, no! that would be quite out of your way! Go to—I'll tell you what, Bluebell shall show you where you turn off—it isn't ten minutes from here."
Bertie murmured a profusion of thanks, and, distrustful of Miss Opie, protested against being so troublesome. But Bluebell, scarce able to believe in such luck, sprang up with a sudden illumination of countenance, and the next minute the lovers were alone under the light of the moon.
"Bluebell," said Du Meresq, "I have got a sleigh here. I thought I might get you out of it if I pretended I was walking, and didn't know the way; but the fact is, my child, I can hardly limp a hundred yards. Come a little drive with me."
"Oh! I dare not. It is so late, and they expect me back again directly."
"Then you are going to run away the first moment we have been alone for so long!"
"Whose fault is that," said she, reproachfully.
"Not mine. I have been laid up ten days with a broken ankle. But I suppose you have been seeing Jack Vavasour every day, and forgotten all about me?"
"Bertie," said Bluebell, hesitatingly, "did they say anything to you about—"
"About Jack? Yes, they said he was spoons on you. And also, Miss Bluebell, that you were awfully in love with him."
"No, no, nonsense," said she, blushing. "I meant about yourself."
"They know nothing of that?" said he, inquiringly.
"They do, though. I don't know what you will say, Bertie, but I told Mrs. Rolleston."
"What can you mean, Bluebell? Bella told me that you cared for nobody but Jack Vavasour; and I was deuced angry, I can tell you; at first, though I thought it uncommon 'cute of you saying so."
Bluebell, utterly confounded by this extraordinary assertion, had no time to reply, for she found herself close to a covered sleigh, and the man had got down and opened the door. She drew back.
"Jump in," said Bertie, impatiently.
Bluebell shook her head.
"What do you propose?" said he, in an angry whisper. "We can't sit out in the snow, and I can't walk another yard."
She hesitated, and he gently impelled her into the vehicle, following himself, to the anguish of his injured foot, that he had struck in his haste.
"Where to, sir?" said the man, whom Bertie, in his momentary pain, had forgotten.
"Go to the Don Bridge."
"Can't, sir. I am ordered at the College by six o'clock."
"Drive to the devil, then. I mean, drive about as long as you can. I like driving."
"Hush, Bertie! how can you? What will he think?"
"How much 'old rye' he will get out of the job. Come, Bluebell; the hour is ours, don't spoil it fidgetting about trivialities. I have scarcely dared to look at you yet, my beautiful pet," trying to steal an arm round her waist. But she drew herself away, irresponsive and rigid, being uneasy and frightened at the escapade she had been led into.
"You haven't a spark of moral courage, Bluebell," said Bertie, impatiently. "You are as prim and unlike yourself as possible, just because you are wondering what that man on the box will think. Or, perhaps, you are afraid of that thin, sour old duenna at home."
"She will be inquisitive enough," said Bluebell, resignedly. "And, Bertie, I wanted to tell you, but, perhaps, you know, that they will never have me again at the 'Maples' while you are there,—Mrs. Rolleston so utterly disapproves of it."
"What is this hallucination that you have got hold of?" said Du Meresq. "What did you tell, or fancy you told, Bella?"
"We got on the subject. Your name wasn't actually mentioned; but she quite understood, and said something," said Bluebell, reddening as she felt the awkwardness of her words, "very strong against it."
Bertie looked relieved. He began to understand the mistake, which he considered a fortunate one.
"And did you promise to give me up?"
She turned her large, innocent eyes upon him. "How could I, when I care more for you than anything in the world?"
"My poor little Bluebell!" said Du Meresq, crushing her in his arms. But the sleigh stopped; the man was getting down.
"My time is up, sir."
"Well, drive to where you took us up," said Bertie. "Bluebell, tell me quick, where shall I see you again?"
"I can't risk driving," said she, hurriedly. "When will you be able to walk?"
"Can't I see you alone at home sometimes? When are your people likely to be out?"
"They don't go out for days together, except on Sunday, to church; and Aunt Jane would suspect something directly if I didn't go with them."
"Let her, meddling old idiot! I shall come then, Bluebell."
"No, no, Bertie; pray don't! Could you walk in a week?"
"What an eternity! Well, meet me in the Avenue in the Queen's Park, at three o'clock on Wednesday. Here's this brute getting down again. Only just time to kiss those dear blue eyes. Addio Leonore. How the deuce am I to get home, I wonder?"
"Bertie, you'll never be able to walk."
"Never mind me. Run back, my dearest, and throw dust in the eyes of that misguided old female, who presumes to open them on what doesn't concern her."