Those evenings in the bleak December,
Curtained warm from the snowy weather,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each other's eyes?
Bluebell sped home, and, to evade remarks, hung up her hat in the passage, as the least embarrassing way of reporting herself, then remained, perdu, in her own room, transfigured into fairy-land by her happy thoughts. Bertie was acquitted of intentional neglect. It was only the malignity of Fate that had divided them; and there was the positive anticipation of meeting again in six days. To be sure, it involved entering on a course of deceit. Aunt Jane would, probably, be shocked, as she was at everything; mamma would not think much of it; and as for Mrs. Rolleston, she need not consider her wishes, after telling Bertie such a bare-faced fib about Jack Vavasour, evidently in the hope of making mischief between them. She was very much astonished at such unscrupulous conduct in her friend, but what other conclusion could she come to?
To be sure, common-sense whispered that looks and language such as Du Meresq had permitted himself, ought to be followed by an offer of marriage; but with common-sense Bluebell had little to do at this period, and first love cares not to concern itself with the prosaic. The mystery and romance of interviews with her love, "undreamt-of by the world in its primness," appeared far more enchanting than any authorized attachment provided with a regulation gooseberry picker.
So she came down with a slightly defiant air; but meeting with nothing worse than a gravely knowing glance from Miss Opie, sat down to the piano to escape questioning.
Mrs. Leigh's thoughts were complacently occupied with the visitor. She only wanted further confirmation to place him in the light of a future son-in-law. Adversity had not given her the wisdom of the serpent, and she never dreamed of possible danger in the attentions of this unknown young man to her beautiful, but portionless, child.
However, her mind became unsettled again by the appearance of another suitor, in dog-skin gloves of a brilliant tan, and his usual air of cheerful confidence. No guile was there in Jack Vavasour, whose prostrate adoration of her daughter was so undisguised, that she mentally deposed Bertie (whose devotion was more problematical) in his favour. Still she thought, "I should never think of influencing dear Bluebell one way or the other, and we shall see which proposes first."
Jack's visit, as usual, was a lengthy one. His fair enslaver had recovered her spirits, and no longer metaphorically turned her face to the wall. She was glad of distraction, and not ungratified by his allegiance, though without the slightest idea of returning it.
Like the boys and the frogs, she did not consider that what was sport to the one was hard on the other, and probably would not have cared if it had struck her; for, whatever poets may say, there is no more thoroughly heartless age than sweet seventeen. When he sat on till the arrival of the unappetizing meal they called a meat-tea, Bluebell did not wince at her mother inviting him to join it, simply because his opinion was a matter of indifference to her, though she carelessly recommended him not to be late for mess.
Jack, however, with magnanimous disregard of that usually important period of his day, stayed his healthy young appetite with the cold joint from dinner; and he and Bluebell amused themselves frying eggs and roasting chestnuts, which further assuaged its keen demands.
Many times during the evening did Mrs. Leigh leave the room, on the principle that young people like to be alone together. But all her tactics failed to uproot Miss Opie, who clung to her book and her seat by the fire, partly from the contrary conviction that young persons should never be alone together, and partly because, save in the kitchen, there was no other fire in the house.
"What shall we do?" cried Bluebell, with the faintest of yawns, tired of consuming their culinary labours. "You don't care for music, I know. There's an old chess-board somewhere; and I can't think of anything but cat's-cradle, if you don't like that."
"I can play," said Jack, stoutly, who had not attempted it since his childhood, but only wanted an excuse to remain on. So they sat down at the spidery table, saying little; Jack quite well entertained with his hand frequently coming in contact with Bluebell's on the board. He would have liked to crush up that little member in his own, and meditated the bold coup more than once, but was always discouraged by that far away, unconscious look in her eyes.
In this squalid parlour, where she was the only soft-hued thing in the room, he thought her more beautiful than ever. Perhaps she was, for the love-light burned steadily in her Irish eyes, and he could not tell it was not for him.
Never were more lenient or careless adversaries. Twice Jack's queen was in Bluebell's grasp uncaptured, and he could at any time have checkmated her, had he been as attentive to the variations of the game as to those of her countenance. Suddenly Bluebell swept her hand over the board, crying,—"I never saw such men, they don't fight. We have been playing half-an-hour, and have hardly taken any prisoners."
"It is a slow game," said Jack, equably; "let us try cat's-cradle. Or, perhaps," he continued, meeting with no response, "I ought to be saying good-night."
Bluebell was secretly tired of him, and could not conceive on what principle her mother began pressing him to stay.
"There's the nicest bit of toasted cheese coming up for supper," said she. "I know all officers like a Welsh rabbit. My poor late husband did, though he used to say, in his funny way, he only ate it because there was nothing else fit to touch."
"I fear I must go; but I hope you'll ask me to tea again, Mrs. Leigh, it is so jolly getting away from mess sometimes," said the young diplomatist.
"That I will," said she, highly flattered, "and I shall be very much offended if you don't come. I am only sorry you can't sit a little longer now."
Jack was not quite sure he couldn't, but Bluebell, pretending not to see his hesitation, held out her hand and said "good-night," so he had nothing for it but to go. In two minutes, though, his head re-appeared. "Come and look at the Northern Lights, Miss Leigh; regular tip-top fireworks. Here's a shawl; make haste." But when she come out, only a few weak-coloured pink clouds were floating about.
"Is that all?" ejaculated Bluebell.
"Not quite," said Jack; "it was a western light I was trying to invoke, or, rather, the light of my eyes. When may I come and see you, Bluebell?"
"I came out to look at meteors," said she, laughing at his unwonted flowers of speech; "and I don't know who gave you leave to call me by my Christian name."
"It isn't your Christian," urged Jack.
"It will be my nom de guerre, then, if you say it again."
"Change it if you like," quoth he, "if you will let me change your surname too."
A startled stare of blue eyes, a smothered laugh, and Bluebell had darted into the house, clapping the door after her.
"Confound it," thought Jack, "just my luck. In another moment I should have kissed her—I think I should; but, hang it, when a girl looks you straight in the face and talks to you as if you were her grandmother, it puts one off. Well, I have kissed lots of girls without proposing and now it's vice versa, for it was as good as an offer, and all I got by it was her nipping in just when I thought I had her to myself."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TRYST.
And all that tender sort of thing,
Of sweet and meet—and heart and dart,
But not a word about a ring!
Time flew much lighter with our heroine as she counted the days to the next rendezvous with Du Meresq; anticipation is ever sweeter than reality. The cottage was no longer dull, nor existence empty, even the unrenewed and diminishing snow, dusky as a goose in a manufacturing town, was the symptoms of approaching spring and verdure. Who need think of the torrents of rain which must precede it? The little episode with Jack outside the door afforded her secret entertainment, and although she did not look upon it as a bona-fide proposal, that did not bias her intention of relating the anecdote for Bertie's delectation. It might be just as well to let him see if he couldn't speak out, others could, and if he were jealous, why so much the better.
Clouds were chasing each other in the sky, and the increased mildness of the atmosphere inspired Bluebell with the dread that rain was approaching, for a rendezvous under dripping umbrellas, if feasible, was not the most desirable pose for a romantic interview.
However, the morning rose clear and sunny, the snow was thawing, and in many places the runners of the sleighs grated on bare ground.
Bluebell was exultant. The elements evidently didn't mean to oppose her, but she was somewhat disconcerted at dinner by Miss Opie's remarks on her Sunday dress, which, being of a becoming hue, she had rashly donned.
"Are you going visiting, Bluebell, that you are so smart?"
"Oh, dear no; only for a walk."
"How foolish to draggle that mazarin blue poplinette in sloppy snow! Once let it get any snow stains on, and it will look quite shabby on bright spring days."
"It's no use having things, if one doesn't wear them," returned the girl, evasively. But when she came down ten minutes later equipped for her walk, she encountered Miss Opie again in full marching order.
"My, dear, as you are dressed so nicely, I dare say you are going 'on King,' and so am I; so we can walk together."
Consternation in Bluebell's face—it was only a quarter to three.
"I am going quite in the opposite direction," cried she, hurriedly, and, without waiting to see the effect of her words, abruptly fled.
"Just Canadian independence," muttered Miss Opie; "It makes all the girls such thoroughly bad style."
Bluebell began to feel very nervous; two or three young friends that she met on the way, she passed with a quick nod and averted face, dreading their joining her. Her eye swept the broad walk of the Avenue in an instant; no familiar figure arrested her vision, and the seats placed at regular intervals on each side were also vacant of interest.
So she was first—the Cathedral clock had struck three some minutes before, she was perplexed to know what to do with herself, and began walking slowly to the other end. Of all possible contretemps, the non-appearance of Du Meresq had never suggested itself; but after a couple of turns the unwelcome misgiving strengthened, and there would be only one at the tryst that day.
In a tumult of disappointment and indignation, conjecture after conjecture chased each other; while ever and anon her fancy was mocked by some one turning in at the gates bearing a general resemblance to Du Meresq, only to be dispelled by a nearer and more accurate view.
A simple explanation suddenly dawned; Bertie might have written to warn her of an unavoidable absence. The possibility of such a letter, which, had she had received it in the morning, would have been the bitterest disappointment, now seemed a resurrection from despair to hope, and with relaxed features and brightening eyes, Bluebell walked rapidly through the gates to the Post-office.
Letters were so rare and unlooked for at the cottage, that the postman never included it in his rounds; and the contents of the pigeon-hole appropriated to them at the office was seldom inquired for, except on mail-days, when there might be an off-chance of an English letter for Miss Opie. Even Bluebell, who for the first fortnight after her banishment from "The Maples" had been a regular applicant, had not been near it since Bertie's visit to the cottage.
"Two letters for Miss Theodora Leigh." One she scarcely looked at; the other instinct told her must be Bertie's handwriting; it had been lying two days at the Post-office.
"My dearest Bluebell," ran this note, "I can't come to the Avenue on Wednesday, being now entirely confined to the sofa with my ankle, which has gone to the bad. I am only staying on now with sick leave, and the Chief very sulky at that. When shall I again see those beloved, angel-like, soft blue eyes? Don't write to me here, for, as you may remember, the orderly fetches the letters, and my august brother-in-law sometimes deals them round.
"Your ever devotedly attached, "A. Du M."
Poor Bluebell, as she read these few and rather cavalier lines, felt for the moment as if she had never suffered till now; his hinted at departure, and apparent resignation to absence from her, was a severe shock, and, in the first hot feeling of grief, the scales fell from her eyes, and she began to see Bertie as he was, but she could not yet endure the light of reason, so resumed her voluntary blindness, and re-read the letter, and though very little of it could satisfy her expectations, she dwelt more on the few words that did. After a while, she remembered the other letter, and found, with awakening interest, it was from Mrs. Rolleston. This was written in a pleasant chit-chat style, giving an account of their every-day life since she left, and not at all avoiding Bertie's name, the tedious effect of his toboggining accident being one of the chief incidents mentioned. It wound up with saying that they expected her back as soon as she liked.
Bluebell felt rather mystified at the tone of this epistle; but was much comforted by the thought that the ban was removed, and she might go to "The Maples" and judge for herself. This was dated prior to the other letter, but Bertie appeared to have been ignorant of it.
The following day, our heroine, in a hired sleigh, was jingling back to "The Maples," and curiosity and interest all centred on one question—"Is he there still?"
As she passed through the hall, her eye glanced searchingly round on the chance of seeing some familiar property of Bertie's. There was only a pair of his moccasins; but they might so easily have been left behind as useless, now the snow was evaporating.
Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil received her very cordially, but, knowing their sentiments, that was rather an unfavourable omen, and Freddy and Lola, who had come down to see her, kept up such an incessant chatter, that there seemed no chance of obtaining the information she dreaded.
At last, in a momentary pause, she faltered out a leading remark in such a low voice that no one attended to it. A minute later, she tried again,—"I hope Captain Du Meresq is better."
"How red you have got, 'Boobell!'" said Freddy. "Look, mamma!"
"What did you say, my dear—Bertie? Oh, yes, he is very lame still; but he was obliged to go yesterday."
The sudden colour left Bluebell's cheek, and she sat for some minutes in a relaxed, drooping attitude, oblivious of all around, till becoming sensible of Cecil's gaze rivetted on her. It was a cold satirical expression, at the same time inquiring. Bluebell was very unhappy; but this roused her, and, raising her head, she looked her enemy steadily in the eyes, with a bitter smile.
She never, strange to say, suspected Cecil of being a rival, merely supposing she was carrying on the family politics; and wounded by her officiously hostile demeanour, as she considered it, resolved no trace of her sufferings should ever be witnessed by this cold friend.
And thus it happened that the topic was jealously avoided by each; though, with mutual occupation and amusements, they became friendly again, now the disturber of their amicability was removed.
Bertie and Cecil had been inseparable the last week. His premature exertion in calling at the cottage had thrown him back; and really ill, and, in enforced inaction, he could not bear her out of his sight.
So day after day Cecil passed in the smoking-room, only hurrying out for a short drive or constitutional; and half-repaid by the gloomy complaint, "How long yon have been!" when she re-entered.
Du Meresq's correspondence, too, as we have before hinted, was not calming. A half-indignant letter from a friend whose temporary accommodation had not been repaid, a bill at three months wanting renewing, a tailor threatening the extremest rigours of the law, and similar literature, familiar to a distressed man, was punctually brought by the Post-office orderly for his delectation.
"You seem interested, Cecil," said he, as, with the uncerimoniousness of a trusted confidante, she glanced through the variations of the same text. "Do you young ladies ever get up behind each other, and back each other's bills?"
"You haven't opened some, Bertie; and they are not all bills."
"You can, if it amuses you," hobbling across the room. "Why, Cecil, my foot is almost sound again. We'll drive somewhere this afternoon, anyhow."
"See what the doctor says. Look here, Bertie, here's a letter marked private, so I didn't go on."
"Where did you find that? I never saw it." As he read, his brow grew dark, and he pondered several minutes; while Cecil, devoured with curiosity, and half-apprehensive of evil, remained silent.
"Will you get me a railway-guide, Cecil? There's one in the dining-room."
She complied, most unwillingly.
"Are you really going, Bertie?"
"I must, to-night."
"Why?" she more looked than asked.
He glanced through the letter again, and tossed it to her. "You see I have no secrets from you, Cecil, though I should not care for any one else in the house to be acquainted with its contents."
It was a confidential letter from his Colonel, saying, if absolutely necessary, he would give him more sick leave; but advising him, if possible, to return at once and settle some of his most urgent liabilities, which, having repeatedly come to his ears, he could no longer avoid taking notice of, unless he took steps to get the more serious ones shortly arranged.
"What will you do, Bertie?"
"I don't know that anything but jumping into the Lachine Rapids would solve the difficulty," returned he, lightly; "and even that must be deferred till the river is open."
"How much is it?" impatiently.
"I dare say six hundred might soothe the chief's sense of propriety, and give one a little breathing-time. But I can't get that, so the smash must come a little sooner than it otherwise would."
"You tell me that, and tie my hands by refusing to let me help you. Bertie, if you could just hold on till August, when I might draw any cheques I pleased—"
"You dearest little angel!" interrupted Du Meresq, warmly; "what have I done that you should be so kind to me? But all women are alike—generous and true-hearted when a fellow is down in the world; and—"
"Then you promise? You will count on the money?" said Cecil, not much flattered at being supposed only to act up to the inevitable instincts of her sex.
"Good heavens, Cecil! no; I am not such an unprincipled brute as to rob you of a penny. Under no possible circumstances could I touch—"
"Under no possible circumstances?" leapt out before she could restrain her speech. Had the meaning escaped him, the eloquent blood which rushed over neck and brow must have betrayed it completely.
Bertie, who had been speaking without motive, was taken by surprise as the sense of her impulsive words flashed on his brain.
"My darling Cecil!"
Cecil, the colour of a carnation, and expiring with embarrassment, raised her eyes, and encountered his fixed on her with a fond, sad, but not responsive expression. If shame could kill, she had received her coup de grâce that moment. He had understood, and yet said nothing.
The most rapturous gratitude on his part would hardly have reconciled her to herself; not to be met half-way was ignominious rejection.
It had all been the work of one moment, and relief came in the next with the entrance of Colonel Rolleston. Cecil, feeling as if delivered from a spell, got out of the room, and entrenched herself in her own, where her thoughts became almost unendurable.
In horror at what she had done, her first wish was never to see Bertie again. Every particle of pleasure in his society must now be over since that one mad, unguarded sentence.
"I might have known," thought she, bitterly, "that that false, caressing manner of his never meant anything. I have seen it with a dozen girls—even Bluebell,"—here she winced; "and yet in the face of all probability I must needs believe myself more to him than any one, because it suits him to make me the receptacle of his worries. Well, he is disinterested, at any rate, since all my money has no more attractions for him than myself."
A stormy hour did poor Cecil pass with her wounded pride, when she was interrupted by Lola, the Mercury of the establishment, who came to tell her that "dinner would be an hour earlier, because Bertie was going away."
Cecil received the intelligence very shortly, and nipped in the bud her evident intention of lingering by declaring herself "busy," which that astute young person, seeing no signs of employment, interpreted as "cross."
"I must face it," thought she, as the last peal of the gong jarred on her nerves. She descended just in time to see Colonel and Mrs. Rolleston disappear into the dining-room. Du Meresq, who had waited, eagerly placed her hand under his arm, and drew her back a moment.
"Cecil, where have you been hiding all this afternoon?"
I suppose he had the key to the answer, for the changing hues of her complexion, in which pride struggled with confusion, was the only one he got.
"You utter little goose!" said Bertie, emphatically, crushing the hand under his arm as they entered the dining-room. Curious to relate, Cecil scarcely felt so ashamed as she had an hour ago. Not a chance would she give him, though, of speaking a syllable in private; and very soon after dinner he departed, taking leave of Cecil before all the rest, with no more distinguishing mark of affection than a long hand-clasp, which seemed as if it would never unlock.
"Only his odious flirting manner!" said Cecil to herself; but she did not think so, and felt a good deal less self-contempt than she had before.
Next day, when Mrs. Rolleston announced Bluebell's expected return, Cecil felt quite in charity with her, and resolved to make things pleasanter than they had been, though this relenting mood was nearly dissipated by her unconscious rival presuming to look miserable at the tidings of Du Meresq's departure.
CHAPTER XV.
AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER.
I was master of fate in that proud land;
I would not endure
That a grief without cure,
A love that could end,
Or a false hearted friend,
Should dwell for an instant in cloudland.
Nothing but rain, pouring rain, for the next few days, washing the walls of snow down the unmetaled streets, a very slough of despond to all beasts of burden. Once more the sight of green grass relieved the eye, weary of the one monotonous hue it had rested on for weeks, and still it rained as if determined not to stop till it had fulfilled its mission, and dissolved every sooty patch that in chilly spots still obstinately lingered.
At last the clouds parted, the sun came out, and Cecil, regardless of mud, and impatient of long confinement, started off for a gallop on "Wings."
On her way she met the Post-office orderly with letters, who stopped and gave her one. It isn't such a very easy thing to read your correspondence on horseback, with the wind catching the sheets, and the sun shining through the paper, mixing the writing on the other side with the one you are reading. Still less feasible is it in a crowded street; so, though Cecil at once recognised the handwriting of Du Meresq, it had to be consigned to the saddle-pocket till the traffic was threaded, and she had entered on a quiet corduroy road by the lake. Then she opened it with a flattering feeling of expectation, and was half-disappointed at its calm commencement.
Bertie, with his usual dependence on her sympathy, began by telling her that he had been able to make a temporary arrangement, which had squared things for the present. "But," he continued, "the evil day must be no longer deferred. I will try and find out every shilling I owe. It will be more than I expect, I dare say, yet my commission ought to cover it, and, altogether, I shall probably save enough out of the fire to be a small capitalist in Australia. Much as I hate it, I must cut the service, for if my debts were paid to-morrow I should have just as many in two years. Dearest Cecil, I know you do not exactly hate me; I wish I were more worthy of the affection of such a dear, true-hearted girl. Will you trust me, Cecil, and believe in me a little longer, even if I say no more at present? I don't think your father likes me; I wish now he did. Let me see your dear handwriting soon. I believe you have more head than any girl I know, and more heart, too; and no one can appreciate your sense and affection more than yours, ever devotedly,
"A. Du MERESQ."
Cecil rode thoughtfully on, as she turned the letter over in her mind, trying to penetrate Bertie's meaning.
"Why does he not speak out more plainly?" thought she. "He will never be any richer unless he marries me, so it is useless waiting for that. I will not, any how, be in too great a hurry to understand him this time. If his debts are paid, and he leaves the army soon, he must say more—or nothing." And at that chance Cecil turned rather pale, and giving Wings his head, who had been fretting some time, started off at a good refreshing galop. They were on the race course now, and, excited by the turf, he gave her quite enough to do to hold him.
"What fun station-life must be," thought she. "Always riding in a wild, strange country,—birds, animals, plants, scenery, and ideas, all different and unhackneyed. Canada is well enough, but it mimics England too much, and is fifty years behind it." Before she got home, she had composed a clear-headed and sympathetic, but not at all lover-like, letter to Bertie, who was disappointed at the tone of it; and—"as the nymph flies, the swain pursues"—he wrote a much more affectionate one back, and then Cecil suffered her thoughts to take a more decided shape, and they dwelt especially on a "lodge in some vast wilderness" of her colonial paradise,—picturesque, but not luxurious—an exquisite climate, and Bertie combining the life of a happy hunter and enterprising colonist, returning to sup on a kangaroo steak, and to wake up to another day of movement and adventure.
Cecil passed a great deal of her time in this ideal log-house, sometimes garrisoning and defending it, during Bertie's absence, against a war party of savages, for danger was by no means excluded from her scheme of felicity, except perhaps one, like St. Senaun's isle, her—
Should ne'er by Woman's feet be trod."
In such dreams and the companionship of Bluebell, who gave no further offence, now that she had learnt self-command and the necessity of keeping her feelings to herself, the spring advanced apace, and the first bluebird, alighting on the garden rails, was descried with a shriek of ecstacy by Lola.
The children, who unlike their elders, had had no gaieties, or sleighing and skating parties, to wile away the rigours of the snow king's reign, were emancipated from dulness by the approach of summer. Their lessons could be carried on in the garden; and, one day, Lola, who had shut her eyes while repeating to herself an irregular verb, saw, on opening them, a jewelled humming-bird balancing itself in the air on a level with her hat, and apparently inspecting that head-dress with wonder and curiosity, after which it flashed off and dived into a flower.
The garden was alive with fairy wonders; wild canaries came to it—pure saffron, except their black-flecked wings,—the soldier-bird, so bold and scarlet,—robins were a drug in the market, and only tolerated for their tameness and vocal powers. But none could weary of the bluebirds, whose azure took so vivid a hue in flight, from the sun shining through their wings.
Then there were excursions to the Humber woods in search of wild flowers, all new, rare, and delicate,—too much so to bear the pressure of eager hands, for they seldom survived the transit home. Often Cecil, Bluebell, Miss Prosody, and the children drove there in a waggonette, with a luncheon-basket, and spent the whole day in the golden woods, or rowing on the Humber river. Cecil's craze at this time was to paddle her own canoe; and occasionally Lilla Tremaine, who had become pretty intimate with her, joined the aquatic party.
The Colonel had rather demurred at first, thinking there was a soupçon of fastness and independence in it. Visions of possible anglers and unchaperoned river flirtations disturbed his mind; but eventually he satisfied himself, by requiring Miss Prosody to be always of the party, who followed with the children and a boatman in a flat-bottomed tub.
On one of these occasions they had been pulling about the beautiful bends of the river. Cecil, paddling her canoe, with a trolling-line out at the end of it, and Bluebell rowing a boat, while Lilla fished with a very especial spoon-bait of her own devising. Despite, however, the seductions of the gaudy red cloth and tassel of long hair from a deer's tail, not a fish impaled itself on the circle of formidable hooks prepared for its reception, and the mid-day sun began to dart fiercely on them.
"All nature speaks of luncheon and repose," cried Lilla, beginning to wind up her line, after the frequent weed had repeatedly mocked her hopes with its dull, dead pull. "Let us moor the fleet under this overhanging fir-tree, Cecil; it makes quite a bower."
"It feels like thunder, the fish don't bite, and the mosquitoes do," assented Cecil. "We must signal for the Infantry, though, who are also the Commissariat."
Bluebell tied a silk handkerchief to her oar, and waved it wildly.
"I wonder if that old nuisance enjoys herself," speculated Miss Tremaine, as Miss Prosody's prim visage appeared in the stern of the other boat. "So like you English, always carrying your propriety about in the shape of a foil."
"Don't abuse our treasure," said Cecil, demurely. "Ask papa what he thinks of Miss Prosody."
"I should get a more impartial opinion from Estelle and Fleda, who are always being kept in and bullied."
"Well, I really think the other children are enough for to-day," said Cecil. "What a fuss Freddy made to get after Bluebell into that tituppy little boat of yours."
"Yes, and you would all have been beseeching him not to till now, if I had not taken him by the scruff of the neck and dropped him into the other!"
"Well, dear," said Cecil, languidly; "we don't all possess your strength of mind and biceps. What have you got there, Lola?" as the boatman deftly shot the other boat under the overhanging branches.
"Water-lily leaves for plates! See now stiff and shining they are, and washed up so clean."
"Then, I suppose we must not use these wooden ones, my fanciful fairy?"
"Don't be so foolish, Lola!" snapped in Miss Prosody. "You'll spoil your frock; throw them away!"
"We can put them over the platters," said Cecil. "Hand out the edibles, Bluebell. What have you got?"
"Here's a pie, a cake, a tart, croquettes; no knives, about a pound of salt, and some butter in the last stage of dissolution."
"No knives!" cried Miss Prosody. "There must be!" plunging desperately into the basket.
"That is more untidy than a lily-leaf plate," remarked Lilla.
"No, positively not," said the governess. "How very remiss of Bowers, particularly as I observe he has provided forks!"
The children looked disappointed. They had been reckoning on the phenomenon of Miss Prosody, subjugated by hunger, eating pie with her fingers.
"Here be a knife!" said the boatman, wiping on his trousers the blade of his clasp-knife.
"Let as put a polish on," said Lilla, laughing at Cecil's face; and, jumping on to the bank, thrust it several times into the earth. The children, tired of their cramped position in the boat, wished to dine on shore; but it was thickly wooded, and there was no clear space; so Freddy was wedged into a fork of the tree, and Lola swung on another bough, where they chattered like two pies, handing down a basket on a string when they required fresh supplies.
Cecil lay on the bear-skin in her canoe, with her hat over her face, declaring it too hot to eat, but consuming, under protest, a croquette occasionally tossed in for her sustenance. Miss Prosody, quite genial and urbane after luncheon, was deep in consultation with the boatman as to the locality of certain ferns she proposed spudding up for her pet rockery at "The Maples," where her lighter hours were diurnally spent in washing and tending her spoils.
"I suppose this is all very sylvan and jolly," said Lilla, handing the remnants of the refection to the boatman; "yet somehow, candidly, it's slow."
"Possibly," said Cecil, "it is the absence of the other sex that makes you find it so?"
"Perhaps," said Lilla, frankly, with furtive enjoyment of Miss Prosody's stiffening face. "Well, ladies, I should like my little smoke; can I offer anybody one? You will find them very mild,"—and she drew forth a neat case of Latakia cigarettes, selected one, and, striking a match on the heel of her boot, lit it.
"Of course, if you choose to be so unlady-like, we cannot prevent you," said the governess, icily.
"Dear me!" said Lilla, innocently, "I never dreamt of your objecting; for I have heard you tell Colonel Rolleston, when he has been smoking, how fond you were of it in the open air."
"Colonel Rolleston would most decidedly disapprove of your doing it."
"He does, I believe, of most of my actions; but he is very kind to me all the same. Look at this wretch of a mosquito actually stinging through my glove. I'll just touch him up with the red ash of my cigar."
Miss Prosody knew of old that Lilla was incorrigible, and, having no hope of support from Cecil in any attempt to snub her, resolved to discountenance the proceeding by going away, and summoned the children from their tree, who were quite ready for a fresh start. The girls declared it was too hot to move. Lilla continued to puff away lazily, the zest rather gone now there was nobody to be shocked at it. Bluebell, mingling her voice with the birds, was singing the "Danube River," while Cecil, with shut eyes, lay in her canoe, and gave herself up to the dreamy music, till, aroused by its sudden cessation, she looked up, and saw a boat half checked in its speed, and Major Fane and Jack Vavasour doffing their billy-cock hats.
Cecil's return bow was freezing, and Major Fane, who had rested irresolutely a moment on his oars, shot the boat on with vigorous pulls. She felt half penitent as she saw his discomfited face, but her coldness arose from having become alive to a possible danger.
Colonel Rolleston had lately very frequently asked him to dinner, even when there was no one else, and he always fell to her share to entertain. Now Major Fane was a very good match in every way,—quite what parents and guardians would approve; so, thought Cecil,—"I can't have any mistakes about that, or it will only settle papa against Bertie."
"Did you summon those two from this vasty deep, Lilla?" cried she. "But, I forgot; I don't think either of them sail under your flag."
"My colours are too rakish and privateerish for Major Fane; and as for Jack, I am afraid he has the bad taste to prefer Bluebells to Lilies."
"If you think him worth your acceptance," said Bluebell "I will make you a present of him."
"He may be yours to keep, my dear, but not to give away. At present I am not 'on for matrimony,' and, to flirt with, I don't know any one better fun than Bertie Du Meresq."
The other girls were both too conscious to reply to this audacious remark, and after awhile they resumed fishing, Lilla's gaudy bait still unsuccessful, though Cecil had landed one or two pike. Bluebell grew tired of rowing steadily to keep her companion's line extended, and persuaded her to wind it up; then Lilla took the sculls, and they fell into conversation.
"Were you at that tobogganing party where Captain Du Meresq hurt his ankle?" asked Bluebell, diligently examining the corolla of a water-lily.
"Why?" was the counter inquiry.
"Because I never heard how it happened."
"How was that?" said Lilla, launching into narrative. At the close of it she said,—"Cecil pulled him through that time. I shouldn't have thought nursing much in her line; but she was very hard hit, you know, and I rather wondered Bertie didn't propose before he left so suddenly. Very likely he did though."
Bluebell's eyes opened in horror at this unpalatable suggestion. "What are you dreaming of, Lilla?" gasped she. "Cecil! why she looks upon him as an uncle or something."
"Oh, Bluebell, you blind little bat, it would be as well if you looked upon him 'as an uncle or something.'"
But the other sat aghast and speechless. Lily glanced at her sympathetically.
"Well, perhaps he mayn't care for Cecil. He has been talking nonsense to you, too, I see, as he has to us all three, for that matter. I feel so angry about it, I have a great mind to tell you all he said to me."
"I don't want to hear," said her companion, coldly; "nor do I at all agree with you about Cecil"
"All right," returned the other. "Only remember he can't afford to marry, whatever he may have pretended to you—not but what that subject is about the last it ever occurs to him to enter upon."
Bluebell at first utterly refused to receive this intolerable suggestion into her mind. Lilla must be inventing—in love with him herself, and trying to make mischief. Nothing should induce her to believe it. How irritating she was, too, with that knowing, quizzing expression in her face!
So when Cecil, tired of solitude, proposed coming into their boat, Bluebell eagerly took possession of the canoe, and went off on an independent paddle, ostensibly to look for Miss Prosody.
CHAPTER XVI.
DETECTED.
Of a rapturous moment. It knows no control;
It will burn in his breast thro' existence for ever,
Immutably fixed in the deeps of the soul.
"Why did you shoot on so quick, Major?" said Vavasour, in an injured tone, after the dumb scene before referred to. "We might as well have stayed and discoursed those young women."
Fane growled something about not choosing to intrude.
"I don't suppose they would have minded. That spicy little party, Lily Tremaine, was smoking. I wonder who finds her in cigars?"
"I hate Canadian girls!" said Fane. "And when they pretend to be fast they are more unbearable still."
"Oh, come," said Jack, warmly, for was not Bluebell of that maligned nationality? "they must have used you badly, Major. They are far more unaffected and natural than English girls, who always ride to orders; and as for beauty—"
"You have only got to look at Bluebell Leigh. Well, slope back to them, Jack. You shan't have the boat, because I should never get it again. But if you like to plough through that long grass to their bivouac, I daresay the mosquitoes will receive you warmly if the young ladies don't."
In the meantime, Bluebell, tempted by a shady creek, abandoned her canoe, and, flinging herself down on a bed of wild flowers, remained a prey to the consideration of this new view of Lilla's, which would account, in the most unwelcome manner, for the inconsistency of Du Meresq's conduct with his professions.
Cecil a rival! Much as she wished to disbelieve it, corroborative evidence, unheeded at the time, now recurred with such startling distinctness that she marvelled at her own previous blindness. Still, Bluebell was not cured. That he cared most for herself she continued to believe, though Cecil's fortune might have tempted him away. Plan after plan for obtaining an explanation was discarded as unfeasible; and, at last, Bluebell, in despair, hid her face in her hands, and burst into the unrestrained grief of the young.
She was disturbed by a slight rustling in the bushes, and, looking up, beheld Jack Vavasour in an attitude of confusion and consternation, apparently meditating flight.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Leigh; I was going away before you saw me. I'll go at once. My darling Bluebell, what is the matter?"
"I don't know," said she, relieved to see it was "only Jack." "I am very hot and—miserable."
Vavasour sat down, and tried in his honest and unsophisticated way to console her. "Was there any one he could pitch into for her? He would do anything she wished, etc., if she would only say what was vexing her."
Bluebell could hardly help laughing, but was so unaccustomed of late to sympathy, that she felt half tempted to take him into council, and confide her misplaced attachment and perplexities.
It was rather heartless, knowing his sentiments; but callousness to the pangs of a lightly won and unvalued heart is not uncommon in Love's annals.
However, he was too precipitate for her.
"Bluebell," he began, blushing rather, and looking, as she thought, almost handsome in his eagerness, "do you remember what I said to you the other night when we were looking at the Northern Lights?"
"I remember some absurd chaff."
"It wasn't," said Jack, with emphasis suited to the solemnity of the declaration. "I meant every word of it; and now I say, like the Beast in the fairy tale—'Beauty, will you marry me?'"
"And she always said,—'No, Beast,'" said Bluebell, laughing; "and then he went away, 'very sorrowful.'"
"Yes, but that's the difference. I shan't go away, or let you, till you say 'Yes.'"
"I couldn't, really," said she, treating it as a joke. "So we shall be starved to death, and covered up by birds, like the babes in the wood."
"No; we will live happy ever afterwards," passing an arm round her waist with an air of proprietorship. "Shall I tell Colonel Rolleston to-night?"
"Oh, this is too serious," cried Bluebell, energetically freeing herself. "If you really want an answer to such stuff, most decidedly 'No.'"
Jack, in furious mortification, for he saw she was now thoroughly in earnest, poured forth reproaches, accusing her of coquetry and purposely deceiving him, caring not if his words were just or unjust; and Bluebell's conscience was not altogether guiltless. Perhaps her own disappointment made her better understand his; for she waited patiently till the torrent of words had a little subsided, and then, laying her hand persuasively on his arm, said with gentle archness,—
"Don't be angry, Jack. What should we live on? I haven't a penny, you can't always pay your mess bill, and I am afraid an officer's wife couldn't go on the strength of the regiment, and take in washing."
"I didn't think you were so mercenary," said he, looking into her liquid eyes, that were fast quenching the angry light in his.
"I suppose I must be," said Bluebell, naively; "for I hate poverty so. You know my father married—just as you want to do—a pretty girl without a dollar to her name."
"You are pretty, my darling, and you know it," said Jack, bitterly.
"I don't know why people care for me if I am not, for I'm afraid there isn't much in me; and at the age of seventeen one may at least lay claim to la beauté du diable. Well, as I was going to say, my father married just as imprudently, and got disinherited for his pains."
"No fear of that with me," said Jack. "I am number seven, and they have all good constitutions. Destiny has decreed that I must live by my wits, without even providing me with any."
"So you see," continued she, "as we have neither money nor brains, it is no use thinking of it!"
"You are wise in your generation," said Jack, darkly. "You are pretty enough to get a rich husband any day; but whoever it is, for Heaven's sake, don't let it be Du Meresq!"
Bluebell's fair brow contracted, and her dark lashes swept her cheek, as she said, in a low, pained voice,—"No fear of that."
"I trust not," said Jack, severely, and quite unconvinced. "You are but a child, Bluebell; and, though you won't take me, I shall watch over you, and see that you do not throw yourself away; though if any good fellow wants you, I suppose I must grin and bear it."
"Thanks, my stern guardian. I hope you won't die of old age in the mean time. And now, do go, dear Jack. I must paddle after the others."
"Say good-bye first. May I, Bluebell? Only this once,"—and, without waiting for consent, he imprinted a kiss, grave as an officiating priest's to a new made bride. Touched by his love and resignation she voluntarily returned it, and, turning away, encountered the two mischievous eyes of Miss Tremaine in the stern of her boat, which had glided up unobserved.
I suppose there is no dereliction from the Eleventh Commandment, in which people would more joyfully welcome an earthquake than being taken at a similar disadvantage. No explanation or extenuating circumstances can be attempted in that deep confusion.
Lilla raised her eyes to heaven with a most edifying expression of pious horror, and shook her head disapprovingly.
"Jack," muttered Bluebell, in a tone of concentrated anguish, "I shall die of it!"
Vavasour suppressed an expletive more forcible than parliamentary, and strode down to pull the boat in.
"Oh, here you are," cried Cecil, innocent of the foregoing pantomime, for she was rowing, and had her back to them. "Mr. Vavasour, where do you spring from?" She noted, as she spoke, his strange expression and Bluebell's heightened colour with quickening curiosity and pleasure.
"I left Fane further down the river," said he; "and Miss Leigh and I sat listening to the—bull-frogs." Here Jack cast a look half-imploring, half-furious, at Lilla, who had assumed a most Quakerish expression, and hummed the air, "A frog he would a wooing go."
"Well, get in Bluebell," said Cecil, smiling; "we are going home now. Come and see us soon, Mr. Vavasour."
Jack liked Cecil very much; but he only bowed gloomily, and placing Bluebell in her canoe, disappeared, as might be inferred, to Fane; though afterwards that gentleman bitterly complained that he had, on returning home,—after waiting, to his great inconvenience, an hour or more, anathematizing Jack,—found that he had walked back to barracks totally oblivious of his companion.
Bluebell's return drive was far from a peaceful one. Lilla, it is true, abstained from remarks before the children; but there was no escaping her provokingly wicked glances, which argued ill for her future discretion.
Cecil, on the contrary, was unusually suave and considerate to Bluebell, and had rather the air of shielding her from Lilla; which would have been less incomprehensible had she known that in the interval of disembarking and entering the waggonette, Cecil had been made a participator in that malicious damsel's discovery.
At bed-time, Miss Rolleston, contrary to her wont, entered Bluebell's room, hair-brush in hand, as if disposed for a cozy confab. But that employment, so provocative of feminine disclosures, appeared futile this night, and the raven and chestnut coils were brushed to the sheen of a bird's wing ere Cecil had discovered what she had come for.
At last, under cover of lighting her candle, she said, with a disarming smile,—"You are very reserved, Bluebell. May I guess what Lubin said to you in the Humber, to-day?"
"I dare say you can," said the other, simply. "He will forget all about it soon, I trust."
"Do you mean you gave him no hope?" a suspicion of Lilla's veracity mingling with her disappointment.
"Certainly not," with great energy.
"But why?" asked Cecil, with asperity.
Bluebell turned her melancholy eyes full upon her, and the two rivals gazed steadily at each other. Then Cecil's head was impatiently flung back, her level eyebrows went down, and, without further remark, she rose and left the room.