Bluebell / A Novel

LYNDON'S LANDING.

Bluebell had begun to feel herself in a false position. Freddy's lessons were, of course, a farce; and Cecil now seemed never to care to practise with her. Miss Prosody, with every hour of the day marked out for herself and pupils, made sarcastic reflections on her want of occupation; but, unhappy though she was, she could not make up her mind to leave the Rollestons, and thus dissever the chief link with Bertie. Besides, she had heard (a piece of information derived from Fleda) that he was shortly expected to join them at Rice Lake. Therefore, when Mrs. Rolleston unfolded the project of sending her to England to cultivate the musical predilections of Evelyn Leighton, Bluebell showed such repugnance to the scheme, that Mrs. Rolleston did not press it further; and, though surprised, being personally indifferent, soon dismissed it from her thoughts, with an inward comment that girls never knew their own minds a month together.

Cecil, however, marvelled at her mother's want of penetration and could not refrain from increased coolness to Bluebell.

White horses were curling the broad waters of Ontario, as the huge river-steamer "St. Michael" was getting up the steam for its run to Quebec; and, from the crowd on the wharf waiting to embark, it might be surmised that even the sofas in the saloon would be at a premium for sleeping berths. The Rollestons were surrounded with acquaintances, either going themselves or seeing others off, till the bell rang, when there was a rush to the tug, and the big paddle-wheels got in motion. The children ran up and down the long, narrow saloon on to the decks at each end, while Miss Prosody was vainly trying to wrest the key of a sleeping-berth from the purser, who, the supply not being equal to the demand, was having rather a hot time of it.

"Two double cabins," cried Colonel Rolleston, presently; "the rest must have berths in the ladies' cabin, and trouble enough to secure that. However, here are the keys. How shall we divide?"

"Shall Estelle and Lola sleep in the wide lower berth of one cabin, and I in the upper?" said Cecil.

"And we must take Freddy, I suppose?" said Mrs. Rolleston; "and Miss Prosody, Bluebell, and Fleda, go to the ladies' cabin."

"Oh, Cecil!" cried Lola, as they unlocked their domicile off the saloon, "what a little—little bed! If you turn, you'll tumble into ours; and how will you get up? Won't I catch your foot!"

"No bath!" exclaimed Estelle; "only two small basins! And what a looking-glass! it makes one squint!"

"It is better than the ladies' cabin," said Fleda, dolefully, "with the stewardess sitting there, and two or three sick-looking people, and the berths all open like the shelves of a bookcase."

"It is only for one night," said Cecil. "We land at Cobourg to-morrow afternoon. Look! the waiters are laying the long tables for luncheon, or dinner I suppose it is. Come out on the deck till it is ready. Oh, dear! there is not a patch of shade left for us. How they over-crowd these boats!"

"There's a gentleman holding his umbrella over Bluebell," said Lola.

Cecil's eyes opened in some amazement. She would have thought it rather impertinent in a stranger offering such familiar accommodation, but Bluebell availed herself of it with the frankest nonchalance, and, in the conversation that ensued, lost her place in the first rush of diners, who, at the ringing of the bell, instantly occupied every vacant chair.

"They seem to be having a very good time," observed Fleda, who had picked up some Americanisms.

Somewhat aghast at his daughter's precocity, the Colonel stepped out on the deck, and, with grave dignity, offered Bluebell his arm to conduct her to his seat, which, quite unconscious of his disapprobation, she accepted with civil indifference.

And the young subaltern lit a cigar to console himself for the withdrawal of the clear blue eyes that looked so deep under the shadow of the umbrella, and tried to find as much piquancy in the "funny book" he had recently purchased at the St. Michael's book-stall, while the good ship went ploughing on, past wooden villages, brown houses picked out with white, and perhaps here and there a little orange-frocked child giving a characteristic dash of colour.

Then, as the sun sank lower, the most gorgeous hues came into the sky. But, while every one was on deck gazing on its almost tropical vividness, a film stole between, a shivering dampness pervaded the air, and soon a dense fog drove the chagrined passengers back into the saloon.

The captain went to his bridge, and the tea-bell rang soon after. People were beginning to talk sociably to their neighbours, and a mild hilarity reigned, when a violent concussion, followed by a sudden cessation of the paddles, caused a general rush from the table.

Bluebell, in the act of receiving the second supply of coffee, was aroused from her immediate bewilderment by a scalding douche down her neck—the waiter, a young German with heart disease painted on his livid lips and pasty complexion, having held the coffee-pot suspended topsy-turvy for an instant, and then fallen in a fit on the floor.

All the men had crowded on deck, and it soon became known that they had run into a log raft, which, though no lives were lost had been nearly swamped, and much injured by the collision. The "St. Michael," too, had received a bulge, which rendered a little tinkering at the first port desirable.

The first alarm of the passengers being lulled, and the panic having subsided into the excitement of a danger passed, public interest became concentrated on the young waiter, who still lay in a death like swoon, till, eventually resuscitated by means of one of the numerous little brandy-flasks that popped out from sympathetic female bags, he was borne off by his napkin flapping fraternity to their crystal cave of tumblers.

Little sleep did Cecil get on her narrow perch that night, for her sisters, in their dreams, were ever in a sinking ship, or struggling in the foam-driven rapids. Even her heart beat quicker when the paddle-wheels suddenly ceased, and ominous voices, indistinctly heard, appeared in agonized consultation. A familiar sound of knocking and hammering, however, suggested that they must have put into port for the repairs determined on; and, grasping her scanty complement of bed-clothes that were slipping to the floor, Cecil conveyed the re-assuring intelligence to her sisters, and they composed themselves to sleep at last.

Another day's progress down the beautiful river,—narrow enough at intervals to see both shores, the Stars and Stripes in American villages, as well as the Union Jack in those of the "Dominion," as it is now called,—and then they entered among the thousand islands of the great St. Lawrence.

Everybody was on deck watching their changing shapes, some apparently all rock, and others a bower of greenery, and admiring the skilful steering of the large vessel among them. Soon after noon the first rapid was shot, a bubbling, seething whirlpool, with clouds of white foam beaten up by the jagged teeth of the sunken rocks.

Winding in and out among the islands till late in the afternoon, they reached their port, and repaired to the hotel, to pursue the rest of their journey by land.

A ricketty waggon—not an English hay-cart, but a spidery trap, with high wheels, so called—and a dilapidated buggy were placed at their disposal. Two children and the old nurse remained to follow in the coach, and the advance guard started, after an anxious consultation as to whether the wheel of the buggy could be trusted to revolve the twelve miles without dislocation.

The corduroy roads were in their usual inefficient state,—whole planks had disappeared in places, and were loose in others,—so locomotion became a series of jolts and bumps. The drivers wished to save two miles by crossing a river, and spoke confidently of a bridge, which, on arriving at, proved to be only some pieces of timber cast wholesale into it, some of them negligently nailed together.

Mrs. Rolleston, who was not of an adventurous nature, though much advanced in that direction since her residence in Canada, wished to return, and go round; but four miles lost was too serious a consideration; so she shut her eyes, clutched her husband, and prayed audibly, as the driver, with a screech of encouragement to his cattle, after a few struggles and flounders, landed the waggon on the opposite side.

But Miss Prosody declared that the wheel of the buggy would certainly be torn off in the attempt, and, losing her usual prudery in terror, whipped off her stockings, and proceeded to wade, to the exposure of a very attenuated pair of calves.

Freddy and Lola hung upon Cecil, powerless with laughter, comparing her to the thin-legged aquatic birds in the Zoo; but the Colonel, with rather a suspicious guffaw, rushed to her aid, relieving her from her hose, and, as she afterwards recollected in deep confusion, a pair of knitted garters.

The buggy bumped over somehow, and they got en route again, the road winding through woods golden in the setting sun. Occasionally a raccoon, playing about the trunks of trees, beguiled the loneliness of the way; or a strange bird, with harsh note, but gay plumage, flashed across their track. Colonel Rolleston, however, was not so much entranced as his children at discovering that the road stopped at the hotel on the lake, not coming within half-a-mile of his new property, and that they must embark and cross over in boats to Lyndon's Landing, as it was called, after the former occupants.

The evening was calm, and the sunset dyed their sail redly as it floated the barque lazily across the slumbering lake to their port at the bottom of a sloping lawn. The path, winding up hill, led them to a sylvan-looking lodge, where, instead of a bell, hung a hunting-horn.

Cecil executed a sonorous blast, but dropped it hastily, it being answered almost simultaneously by an ancient menial left in charge. Their own servants were coming on by coach, and they were much comforted by perceiving that this provident person had prepared a substantial repast, combining supper and tea, in a small, snug room.

The young people rushed about on a tour of inspection, and found plenty to satisfy their curiosity. The hall, to begin with was filled with trophies of the chase—antlers of moose, stuffed aquatic birds, Indian spears, and strange carving. A long, low, narrow room opened on it, in which were chairs of the weirdest description, fashioned out of boughs of the forest nailed together almost in their natural shapes. The late owner was a man of eccentric and various accomplishments, and his handiwork appeared in every detail of the house.

Pictures from his brush were on the walls; of the lake in every mood—stormy and slumbering, golden sunsets, and tempest-torn clouds, a canoe stealing through the rice, a flight of wild ducks overhead, and one swirling down to the gun of its occupant; again, the lake frozen over, and a sleighing party careering upon it.

There was a screen of his carving, and two or three couches, the latter more comfortable than the rest of the furniture, being covered with moose and seal skins. Other skins were stretched on the floor. The table-legs, like the chairs, were made of fantastic branches of wood, having rather the effect of antlers when visible under the embroidered cloths, probably the production of the squaws in the Indian village. Mr. Lyndon was the architect of the villa itself, and his whimsical fancy came out in every detail. Long, rambling passages squandered space, while queer-shaped rooms appeared up and down steps, and in unexpected places and corners, as if squeezed in by an afterthought, yet the humblest commanded a pretty view. Many of the ceilings were decorated with Cupids, Mermaids, and Dryads carelessly painted in, apparently the resource of wet afternoons.

Colonel Rolleston's voice summoned them from these attractive rooms to supper, and certainly the menu was varied enough to suit all tastes.

Prairie-hens and snipe were flanked with Indian corn, salsify, maple sugar, and cocoa-nut cakes; tea at one end, and a disipated-looking bottle of "old rye" at the other. But hasty justice was done to this repast by Lola and Freddy, who were dying to go down to the landing, and witness the disembarkation of their sisters, and introduce them to their discoveries; so soon as the boat was descried, they flew down with Colonel Rolleston, waving a flag hastily caught up in the hall.

Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil went to arrange the distribution of bed-rooms, the latter choosing for herself a queer little triangular nook in a gable. Perhaps she perceived that a room of less modest proportions would inevitably have to be shared with Bluebell. It might have been a watchtower from the extent of its view, which swept the lake up to the Indian village.

The children below were full of the stories the boatman had told them. That black island there was called "Long Island," and the other, with scarcely any trees, "Spate" or "Spirit Island," because it was the burying-ground of the Indians. Another was "Sheepback," from its shape, and full of poisoned ivy, which, if accidentally touched, infected the blood, and caused swelling like erysipelas.

The younger ones, with Cecil and Bluebell, were too restless to stay in the lamp-lit room they had supped in, but wandered about, finally settling in the long drawing-room, where they could watch from the windows the moon silvering the lake, and the antlered furniture throwing strange shadows on the floor.

Then Bluebell sang the "Lorelei," and Cecil invented legends for the lake, till, their rooms being at last prepared, the old nurse swooped down on her charges, and bore them away from the domain of Undines to that of Nod.

Colonel Rolleston had soon exhausted the resources of his new purchase, and duck-shooting having not yet begun, he went down to Quebec, taking Cecil with him, for an excursion up the Saguenay. She was rather unwilling to go, for, though the elders got tired of a place without roads, she was perfectly content to be all day long in her canoe, fishing, sketching, reading, or picnicing with the children on the island. But perhaps her strongest reason for not wishing to absent herself was the continual expectation of Du Meresq's appearance.

They had had no tidings of him since they had settled at the lake; but nearly all Bertie's advents were sudden and without warning. From her nook in the gable she commanded the hotel landing, and few boats left it without being reconnoitred through Cecil's binocular.

But then the Colonel wanted a companion, and was convinced it would be delightful for Cecil; so she prepared to go with well-assumed expressions of pleasure, devoutly hoping that no such contretemps as Bertie wasting any days of his leave by coming in her absence might befall.

To be sure, as she was in correspondence with him, nothing, apparently, was easier than to mention her intended trip, which, of course, would prevent his choosing that time to come to the lake; but it happened that Cecil had written last, and since a certain fatal speech, which even now maddened her to remember, she had been very particularly careful to let him make all the running. Still, not wishing to be left in the dark should he arrive during her absence, she said, carelessly,—"I hope, mamma, you will write now and then, and let us know how you are getting on in this dear little place."

"Really," returned Mrs. Rolleston, smiling, no arrière pensée having struck her,—"I more depend on hearing from you. Bluebell can write her fishing experiences, and how often they have tea on the islands; but all I expect to do is to travel over a good deal of my point-lace flounce before you return."

While Cecil went away to put on her travelling dress, as sometimes happens, the true bearing of the speech flashed on her; and when her step-daughter returned, arrayed en voyageuse, Mrs. Rolleston considerately remarked,—"How dull I shall be without you! I think I'll write to Bertie;" and the quick, grateful glance of intelligence in Cecil's eyes encouraged her to say much more in that letter than she would otherwise have done.

CALF LOVE.

The arrival of the Rolleston family created a good deal of interest in the limited society of the lake, and not entirely of a friendly nature. Needless to say, the adolescent members of it were all more or less engaged to each other, which, being rather the result of propinquity than uncontrollable preference, the maidens noticed with angry surprise the admiration excited in the bosoms of their swains by the apparition of Bluebell on their hitherto uninvaded waters. Alec Gough and Bernard Lumley, both morally placarded "engaged," having, as a matter of course, plighted their troth to two neighbouring fledglings, were wild for an introduction; and no sooner did Bluebell's canoe leave Lyndon's Landing, than two corresponding ones were sure to shoot out, apparently actuated by the same persuasion that there was no more likely place for a fish than the snag round which she was trolling, and ready to gaff a maskinonge, or help to land an obdurate bass, if occasion offered.

Any such incident might have commenced an acquaintance, were it not that Miss Prosody, with a boatful of children, was never far off, and had a scaring and terrifying effect.

Bluebell rather despised very young men. Still, she was not insensible to admiration, and was quite aware of these two young aborigines following in her wake as surely as a gull in that of a vessel.

One day Alec Gough was able to render her some slight assistance, her line being obstinately entangled in the snag; but Miss Prosody sternly brought up the boatman to complete the service, and bowed off the interloper with such extreme severity, that Bluebell could not resist bestowing a coquettish and dangerously grateful glance, which set his heart bumping, and instantaneously obliterated the image of his sandy-haired little love.

It was too bad of Alec, for he had been engaged a year, and had already cleared (he was a lumberer) space enough in the backwoods to start a farm, and he was now on a short visit to his betrothed to report progress and pursue his suit. So he had no business to get his heart entangled with the line, and his legitimate affections disengaged with the string he was clearing, under Circe's azure eyes; and why need he, in that tactless manner, talk of her at tea as "The Lady of the Lake"? which, if such a senseless sobriquet was worth having at all, Miss Janet Cameron considered she had an indisputable right to, for could she not row, swim, dive, and paddle with the best?

Then again, after tea, he actually stole out in his canoe, muttering something about "looking for ducks," to which Bernard Lumley gallantly remarked that he "needn't leave home to find them." He certainly did take a gun, but was also provided with a little flageolet, the companion of his lonely life in the woods; and waiting till nightfall, by the light of a waning moon, this absurd and reprehensible young lumberer paddled himself off to Lyndon's Landing.

There he carefully reconnoitred the house, wondering which could be Bluebell's casement. The insensible building afforded no hint, so he pulled out his "howling stick," as Bernard called it, and timorously breathed forth a lay of love, which certainly must have been first cousin to the one that encompassed the extinction of the cow.

The inmates were apparently asleep, and Alec, getting bolder, played every suggestive air he could think of. I don't know whether he expected Bluebell would open the window and enter into conversation; but, in point of fact, the lattice under which he was serenading was Mrs. Rolleston's, who not particularly expecting any lovers, was sleeping the sleep of the just far too soundly to be disturbed by it.

There being no policeman to direct him to "move on," Alec continued his dismal repertory till he was tired, and then paddled off, not wholly discouraged, as he hoped that Bluebell, though she would make no sign, might have been secretly listening to, even watching him, and conscious of the admiration he sought to convey.

The Lake families called within the next few days. Bluebell did not appear when the Camerons, mother and daughter, came; and, as Mrs. Rolleston happened to say her daughter was away, they were quite mystified as to whom the dangerous stranger could be. Then Coey and Crickey Palmer came with their mother's cards; and as at that time Bluebell was present, reading to Mrs. Rolleston, they naturally took her for one of the daughters, and made acquaintance after the manner of girls; and, I have no doubt, had Bluebell committed a murder and absconded next day, either of these young ladies could have given a more complete and accurate description of her person than detectives are generally furnished with. Notwithstanding the reluctant admiration that the inspection resulted in, Coey (Bernard's affianced) heroically hoped, as she rose to take leave, that Miss Rolleston would spend the afternoon and stay to tea the following day.

Mrs. Rolleston glanced at Bluebell, who was rather dimpling at the prospect of a change, and carelessly replied that "her daughter was at Tadousac, but that her young friend Miss Leigh would be very happy."

I suppose she was, for she certainly was rather solicitous about her toilette for the occasion—only an innocent brown-holland dress; but two hours were spent in knotting up some wicked blue bows for throat and hair, and re-trimming her gipsy hat with the same shade. It is, of course, an undoubted fact that women dress for their own satisfaction only, and in accordance with their instincts of "the true and the beautiful;" so it would be mere hypercritical carping to suspect coquetry of lurking in the deft folds of that unpretending blue ribbon, or that, in the face of her grande passion for Du Meresq, she could for a moment occupy herself with the foolish admiration of Alec and Bernard.

Well, Bluebell is our heroine, and we must make the best of her,—to some people admiration never does come amiss; and if a demure oeillade can play the mischief with the too inflammable of the rougher sex, I don't know who is to be held accountable except the father of lies.

"Palmer's Landing" was a less original building than Lyndon's but on a more accessible side of the lake. The establishment and furniture were of the rough-and-ready order. When a too independent help, finding her mistress didn't suit, gave herself an hour's warning, and went up North, Coey or Crickey would resignedly cook the family meals till an opportunity arrived to get another, and as, in addition to those occasional calls upon them, they were their own dressmakers, they had less time to get discontented with the monotony of the lake than might otherwise have been the case.

Bluebell was taken round by the two girls to visit their garden and poultry-yard. The latter was a source of profit, as they supplied the house, and drove hard bargains with their mother for the chickens and eggs. She also was shown their own room, and the rose-wreathed, green tarlatane, which Miss Crickey explained with conscious pride she was to wear at a city assembly next week. "I am to stay with my uncle—he has a large dry-good-store at ——, but he lives on Brock." She was also warned off trespassing by the full account of Coey's engagement, and by that time Bernard had arrived to escort the girls for a ramble in the woods.

Crickey, on the principle of doing as she would be done by, marched Bluebell on in front, so that the others might linger behind, and make love upon the usual pattern. It was customary at the lake for to tuck their fiancées under their arm, and cast incessant sheep's eyes at them, much conversation was not de rigueur.

Bernard, however, was somewhat discontented: he thought there were innumerable opportunities for that kind of thing; so his eyes wandered from the face of his love to Bluebell's round waist and waving hair. Instead of incessantly squeezing her arm, he barely held it, and finally dropped it to remove a briar from the skirt of his distractor.

Bluebell smiled with her big blue eyes, perhaps more gratefully than the service demanded, which encouraged the youth to commence conversation. The few platitudes he attempted might have been the most sparkling wit from the animation with which they were received. Surprised to find himself so agreeable, he lingered by her side. Crickey, expecting him every minute to fall back, remained by Bluebell, so poor Coey trudged behind, and began to experience what jealousy was.

After a while, the others tried to bring her into the conversation by appeals to her opinion, but Coey was not to be so easily propitiated, and returned austere answers.

Then Bernard, thinking he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, became all the more engrossed with his captivator, and it was in at one of strong discontent that he exclaimed, as they were returning,—"Why, there's Alec and Janet Cameron coming down to the house!"

Their unexpected arrival was rather a relief to the Palmer girls, Bluebell only saw more mischief before her, but Bernard's impatience at the sight of Alec whose motive for coming he easily guessed, was quite undisguised.

The latter accounted for himself by saying "that Janet wished to make Miss Rolleston's acquaintance, and, therefore, he had accompanied her."

"Oh, I am not Miss Rolleston," said Bluebell, "I am the governess."

"I have had the advantage of seeing the governess," said Alec, demurely, "and she is old enough to be your mother."

"But I am the musical one and Freddy is my pupil entirely."

"Are you really?" said he, brightening "Then you like music?"

"I am sure that is not a necessary consequence," said Bluebell, rather mystified by the meaning tone of his voice, but Alec, believing she had heard his nocturnal serenade and assuming a secret understanding on the strength of it, lingered by her side talking in an undertone—really about nothing in particular, for, like most spoony boys, he trusted more to his eyes than his tongue. Still it had all the effect of a flirtation, and when the girls went upstairs to prepare for tea, Bluebell found herself quite out of court without the support of the other sex. Coey was already turned into a very belligerent little ring-dove, and Janet watched her askance, for she had never before known Alec so keen about partaking of tea at Palmer's Landing. Crickey, whose feelings were not so powerfully engaged, supplied her with toilette requisites, and such conversation as hospitality demanded.

Bluebell was rather flattered by the apprehension she excited, and, with mischievous ostentation, produced from her pocket a weapon of war in the shape of a blue ribbon, and began weaving it into her chestnut fuzz, too naturally wavy and long to require frizettes. Coey, who was rather pretty in the white kitten style, had sparse pale hair, never properly combed over her "water fall," as she called it, which obtruded itself like a crow's nest. This attractive peculiarity was more apparent than ever to-day, the frizette having been caught by a bough in the woods.

Bluebell observed that her decorative preparations were restricted to a dab of violet-powder on her nose, and a slight application of lip-salve. "I can't let her go down such a figure," thought she, "though she is dreadfully angry with me," and, seizing a comb, began silently to effect a reformation in Coey's chevelure.

"Oh, thank you," said the other distantly. "Isn't it right? Never mind. Dressing is such a waste of time."

"Hugger-muggering with Bernard is not, I suppose?" thought Bluebell, resolutely continuing her task.

But it was Janet's turn to be angry, when, at tea that evening, utterly oblivious of the vacant chair next herself, her faithless swain manoeuvred into one next Bluebell.

"Are you fond of music by moonlight?" he took the first opportunity of whispering.

"I like it anywhere," replied she, innocently. "I can't say I ever heard it by moonlight."

Much discomfited, Alec gazed incredulously, and then burst out laughing.

Bluebell naturally inquired what she had said to amuse him; but he evaded the question, as Janet was evidently listening. Later on, when the former was at the piano, and he pretending to turn over, he whispered,—"I wonder under whose window I was making such a lovely noise the other night?"

"How should I know? And why did you do it?"

"I wanted to give you a welcome to the Lake; but perhaps I serenaded that vinegar-faced governess instead."

Bluebell was playing rather a pathetic sonata; but the time got decidedly erratic, as she stared bewildered at Alec, and then went off into a fit of laughing. "How could you be such a goose? If Colonel Rolleston had been at home, he would have fired his ten-shooter at you."

"Tell me which is your window," he whispered, "and I'll give you plenty of music by moonlight. I hope it is the one with the balcony."

"Why?"

"Because," said Alec, audaciously, "you would look so beautiful stepping out on it, like Julia in 'Guy Mannering.' And we could talk, you know."

"Very well," said Bluebell, who opined it was about time to shut him up. "Suppose we refer it to Miss Cameron. I understand your heart and accomplishments are all made over to her. Perhaps she would assist at the balcony scene!"

Alec bit his lip, and looked rather ashamed. Such a rebuff would not have embarrassed Bertie, nor awakened in him a slumbering conscience, as it did in this young lumberer, who was ridiculous enough to be in earnest in his infidelity.

But Bluebell, knowing she had no quarter to expect from the girls if she returned to them now, was far from wishing to bring him to a sense of his duty before the evening was over, so smiled as engagingly as ever, and continued to accept his attentions, till Janet, fizzing in high dudgeon, announced her intention of going home, which, of course, involved the escort of her recreant young man.

"Wait here a quarter of an hour," whispered Alec to Bluebell, "and I will run back and row you home."

"Gracious, no!" said she, with rather the sensation of a child who has been sent out to spend the afternoon and has misbehaved. "Here is Mrs. Rolleston's servant come for me. Go back with Miss Janet and make it up, for I am never going to speak to you again,"—and she turned away to make her adieux to Mrs. Palmer, a motherly-looking old lady, who had been nodding half asleep on the sofa all the time.

"Such a charming musical evening—such a treat!" said she, brisking up, and quite unaware of what had been passing round her the last two hours.

"Miss Leigh was quite untireable," sneered Janet. "One could not have asked her to exert herself so much."

"Must you really go?" interposed Crickey, fearing now the music was over the harmony might cease also.

Bluebell pleaded a promise to return early.

"I am sorry to be the means of taking away any attraction that might have induced you to stay," put in Janet, determined to give her "one" before she went.

"Thank you," said Bluebell, sweetly, declining to understand; "but I could scarcely expect you to stay to amuse me."

"That, I feel sure, would be quite out of my power!" said the other, bent on provocation; and Crickey nervously dragged Bluebell away to get her hat.

Alec lingered till she was fairly off, fearing that Bernard would try and escort her home. He, however, was thoroughly sulky at the way Gough had monopolized her the whole evening, and was quite as ready as Coey to pronounce her an arrant flirt; which so mollified the latter, that when, a few days later, she and her sister were asked to return Bluebell's visit at Lyndon's Landing, she accepted without the slightest hesitation, in a perfectly charitable frame of mind.

Alec and Janet, of course, quarrelled going home; but it being not the first time by a good many, it blew over without a rupture, the gentleman, for the future, cautiously avoiding Bluebell's name, though he tried all he knew to meet her alone, in which respect Fortune did not favour him; and there being no more efficient chaperons than children, with their sharp observation and fatal habit of repetition, they might meet every day on the blue water without his obtaining more than a saucy glance or a few commonplace words, which he would try and put as much meaning into as he could.

THE PRINCE PHILANDER.