A division of souls may take place without a word being exchanged. One reminded of those mists that rise into a cool stratum of air soon to redescend in flakes of snow....
Human Sadness.
The day that the Misses Palmer were to spend at Lyndon's Landing turned to rain in the afternoon. The children had a half-holiday, and so the weather was a double misfortune; and after "What shall we do?" had been asked in every minor key of querulous despondency, they eventually grouped themselves, some sitting, some lying on buffalo robes scattered on the floor, and demanded stories from the elder girls. From the darkness of the sky, twilight had come earlier, and Freddy had closed the curtains, to give greater mystery to the fairy lore they were invoking.
Previous to this they had had a grand dressing up and a fancy ball. Crickey retained the turban and Indian table-cloth which had been her "make-up" as an "Eastern Princess." Freddy was a wild beast; and Lola, by dint of a long pair of military boots, seal-skin gloves, and "pretending very much," was "Puss in Boots." The old nurse's cap and spectacles were, with a peaked hat, the salient points of a "Mother Hubbard." But they were tired of it now, and no sound was heard except the sullen moan of the storm on the lake, and the voice of Bluebell, half-inventing and half-relating from memory.
"And so the Princess remained in the strong tower of the Giant Jealousy; for though the doors were all open, and you would suppose she had nothing to do but walk out and be free, yet if she did get a little way some invisible power always drew her back again, after which the Giant seemed more tormenting than ever. For no one could really release her but the Prince Philander, whom she loved, and he only by remaining true to her alone (which, perhaps, was not always the case, and that was how she had strayed into Castle Jealousy), and coming himself and overthrowing the Giant, who would then be instantly dissolved into smoke, and—"
But the ultimate fate of the bewitched Princess was never known, the story being arrested by a shout from the children as they caught sight of a tall, dark figure, half-concealed by a carved screen, and even in the dusk Bluebell discerned the expression of amused attention and half-satirical smile on his lips.
"I saw him first!" cried Lola, jumping up exultingly. "He has been standing there ever so long, but he made me a sign not to tell."
"I wanted to hear Miss Leigh's story," interposed Bertie; "but it is only the plain Princesses that Giant gets hold of, and then the fairy Princes are too busy with the beauties ever to come and rescue them!"
Bluebell was almost unnerved by the surprise of his unlooked-for appearance. A real Prince Philander had come at her invocation; whether he was to overthrow the Giant, or strengthen his hands, remained to be proved.
She had a dim impression of presenting him to the Misses Palmer with a mortified recollection of her own absurd "make-up," and then sat down, quite faint from the uncontrollable beating of her heart.
Perhaps it was to relieve her he was so amiably making conversation with Coey and Crickey; and exceedingly well they were getting on, she began to think, recovering rather rapidly when not the object of any particular attention.
"And you have been shut up here all day without any exercise?" she heard him say. "That's very bad. Suppose we play hide-and-seek and run about all over the house;" and, clamorously supported by the children, the motion was carried, and the game commenced.
Bluebell, who was under the influence of strong feeling, thought it most sickening folly, and wished that Mrs. Rolleston would come in and stop it; but she was charitably reading to a sick fisherman close by, and, perhaps, weather bound. Miss Prosody was taking a peaceful afternoon snooze; and if she did hear the scampering about the house, they were not unaccustomed sounds on a wet day.
It had struck Bluebell that the game might have been a ruse of Du Meresq's to get a word with her in private; but Estelle came up in fits of laughing, to tell her that Bertie and Crickey were hid together in the cupboard. This was too much, and she walked coldly downstairs and out of the game.
Coey went in search of her sister, who bounded down directly after with a very red face; and soon Mrs. Rolleston came in, full of exclamations and inquiries.
Du Meresq said,—"He and Lascelles had got a week's leave, and had come to the hotel for some duck-shooting."
"And Cecil won't be back till Thursday," said Mrs. Rolleston, regretfully.
The significance of this remark was not lost upon Bluebell, who stole a furtive glance at Bertie's face.
"I thought I had got to an enchanted hall," said he. "I daren't wind the horn lest I should fall under the spell. The portal yielded to my touch, and I entered the first room, where conceive my surprise to see, fantastically dressed, and reclining in Eastern fashion on skins and cushions, a galaxy of beauty. They were silent, too, except one, who, in a hushed, mysterious, voice, was improvising an allegory."
"In short," said Mrs. Rolleston, in a matter-of-fact tone, "the children were dressed up and telling stories." She began to wonder where Miss Prosody could be. It was no use Bertie prejudicing his chance with Cecil by getting up an idle flirtation with these Lake young ladies, who were already blushing so ridiculously at him; and would have been further confirmed in this conviction had she guessed that ten minutes ago he had tried to kiss one of them in a cupboard.
She offered him a bed, but willingly accepted his excuse that Lascelles was all alone, and he had promised to go back, but would bring him to dinner next night. And then he went away through the rain, and Bluebell was left with her thoughts.
Well she had never pictured such a meeting as that! And how disagreeable it had all been. Of course she did not mind his not having paid her much attention before the children, who repeated everything, but to go on in that silly romping away with Crickey was ineffably disgusting. She did not at all recognise it as a poetical justice on her for tampering with other people's lovers a few days before, but mentally denounced that young person as bold and unlady like to the last degree.
The evening continued so stormy, that Mrs. Rolleston kept the girls all night, and Bluebell, much against her will, had to entertain them, which was the more irksome as they were both expiring with curiosity about Bertie, and could talk of nothing but his extraordinary behaviour. Crickey hadn't even the sense to keep his impertinence in the cupboard to herself, and Bluebell, who had only suspected before, was provoked into the most trenchant expressions of condemnation.
"How could I help it?" asked Crickey, indignantly. "How should I know he would be so impudent?"
"Why need you have got into the cupboard with him?" said Bluebell. "It is just what you might have expected, in fact, it was inviting it."
"It wasn't," said Crickey, almost crying, for she had previously been inclined to take it as a tribute to her charms. "Freddy and Estelle had hid there before, and Captain Du Meresq said it was the best place in the house."
"For that, no doubt," began the other. But Coey came to her sister's assistance with a Biblical allusion to the mote and the beam, and Bluebell saw that if personalities were to be avoided, they had better go downstairs at once. So the party of ladies passed a quiet sleepy evening,—Mrs. Rolleston mentally resolving not to encourage those girls about the house while Du Meresq was at the lake, and wishing she could expedite Cecil's return. How much more danger there was from Bluebell she never suspected, Bertie had been so very cautious.
As they went up to bed, Crickey, who had become rather sobered by the dull evening, entreated Bluebell not to mention the cupboard scene in hide-and-seek, which was impatiently promised. To think that she should be asked to keep any girl's secret about Bertie! "And now," thought the poor bewildered child, "it will be almost more difficult than ever to see him alone, and I must ask him if there is anything between him and Cecil." For that seed of bitterness sown by Lilla had borne "Dead Sea fruit"; and, much as she struggled against the hateful idea, it really seemed the only clue to Bertie's inconsistencies.
The next day Mrs. Rolleston had some letters, and reading one attentively, she threw it over to Bluebell. "You didn't seem to care for this some weeks ago, but you see you can think twice of it. I did write rather enthusiastically about your music, which, really, is too good to be wasted on my children, and the result is Mrs. Leighton is quite wild to have you."
A singular expression flitted over the girl's face as she mechanically took the letter—it was only to gain time, she wasn't reading it; and the large salary and kind promises of a happy home took no effect on her mind.
She was thinking of Du Meresq. Suppose he was only trifling with her, and all those warm protestations of affection were really to end in nothing! She might even have to see him married to Cecil! The thought was unendurable, yet it was possible; and, if so, how could she remain with the Rollestons? And it would be almost as bad as returning to the cottage, once "so rich with thoughts of him." Chance had thrown Du Meresq again in her path, and she was determined to find out the truth. Chance also offered her this retreat, which would put the ocean between them if he failed her, and then no distance could be too great for her wishes.
"Can you give me till the mail after next to decide?" said she, as she arrived at this point of decision.
"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Rolleston, smiling at the almost tragic tone of resolution in which it was uttered. "You will have to consult your mother, and she might not wish you to go to England. Why child, how pale you are!"
Bluebell forced a wintry smile and escaped, for a lump was rising in her throat, and she could not but remember that she must expect no sympathy or support from Mrs. Rolleston, who had once said, "It would be a most unsuitable connection." She passed the day in reviewing the situation. This was the first time she had ever been called on to think seriously and painfully, and act for herself without a friendly word to support her. Perhaps Du Meresq's behaviour the day before had not a little braced her to the energetic course she had determined on. It was, indeed, no easy task to extort from a man who professed so much the simple question in black and white which could alone give value to his addresses. With no witnesses present, she had little doubt that he would be as ardent a lover as ever; but that would no longer satisfy her. She had arranged her plan, and relied on two feelers to settle the matter one way or the other.
The first was to repeat to Bertie what Lilla had said about himself and Cecil, and then judge of the effect of her words. If unsatisfactory, she might tell him she was going to take a situation in England, "and if he makes no effort to stop that, it will, indeed, be over, and I will go," was the necessary conclusion.
Du Meresq and his friend, Captain Lascelles, came to dinner. Were either to die, exchange, or marry, the other would doubtless feel much inconvenienced, not to say injured. In England, their hunters, rooms at Newmarket, stall at the Opera, or whatever would bear division, were all joint-stock affairs; and either would, with perfect cordiality, have lent the other money, which a long unpaid tradesman would have found exceedingly hard to extract from him.
Both were unquiet spirits in the regiment, abhorring the monotony of drill and stables, and insatiable for leave. Yet on field-days, even their most pipe clay of colonels admitted that there was no smarter turned out troop than Lascelles', and no better squadron leader than Du Meresq.
The party was so small at dinner that conversation became pretty general. Captain Lascelles at first tried to be au mieux with the only young lady present; but he didn't make much way, and began to think her rather stupid, and to wish that those lively girls his friend Bertie had told him of would swim or paddle themselves across. To Bluebell the evening was little short of purgatory. Never had she known Du Meresq so altered. Scarcely a sentence had passed between them, and his manner was conventional and guarded. Formerly he had been equally cautious in public, yet they were always en rapport, and some slight glance was certain to be exchanged in assurance of it.
This night she knew from internal consciousness that they were not, and that a palpable change had taken place. Her heroic resolutions of the morning passed away in inconsistent and impotent longing for one word or gesture to break down this impenetrable wall that seemed to have arisen between them, and to recall the old happy love-making days. Mrs. Rolleston asked her to sing. A bird robbed of its nest could not have felt more disinclined, yet she would try, though her voice sounded strange to herself, and was harsh and wiry.
Du Meresq wondered what had jarred those silvery tones, and stolen the melody from the voice he had once thought almost seraphic. Music, and especially Bluebell's, had ever a potent charm for him. She had abandoned the song at the end of the verse, and glided without stopping, into an instrumental piece. There was a subdued hum of voices, but Bertie's was not among them, and Bluebell knew he was listening as of old. She had arranged some variations to their favourite valse, and some impulse made her select that. Keeping the subject cautiously back, and only allowing suggestions of it to steal into the modulations, it seemed like fugitive snatches of an air borne on a gust of wind, and overcome by nearer sounds,—the breeze in the trees, the tinkle of sheep-bells, the brawling of a brook.
Bertie listened curiously, thought he had caught the air, lost it, and doubted, till he recognised, in the mocking melody that continually eluded him, the valse he had so often danced with Bluebell. He shot one glance of intelligence at her as she finished, but Lascelles, who could not bear the piece, was so loud in admiration, and found so much to say about it, that Du Meresq could not have got in a word had he wished it.
Bluebell turned impatiently away, and snatching up some work, went to a secluded part of the room, under cover of requiring a shaded lamp there. "If there is any truth in magnetic attraction," thought she, "Captain Lascelles shall not come near me, and Bertie shall." She excluded every other thought from her mind, and willed steadily. Du Meresq became restless, rose from his chair, and stood aimlessly looking at something on a table. Bluebell continued her mesmeric efforts, every fibre quivering. He was coasting in her direction; in another instant he would be close, and have sat down on the sofa by her. Then she looked up, and their eyes met and mingled. It might have been for half-an-hour to her overwrought sensations; the past was forgotten,—she was gazing in a trance. What impelled Mrs. Rolleston at that moment to say,—"I heard from Cecil this afternoon, Bertie, and if they catch the boat at ——, they will be here to-morrow evening?"
The passionate eyes drowning themselves in the love light of Bluebell's became thoughtful and colder. The spell was broken. Du Meresq turned away, and began talking to his sister about the expected travellers.
The reaction was painful as the killing of a nerve, and the cause of it so cruel, that she made no attempt to endure it. A swift glance round showed her she was unobserved, and springing to the door, she fled from the room, to weep out her blue eyes in senseless, hopeless repining.
No one noticed her exit but Lascelles, who, going through his social devoirs with mechanical propriety, had his powers of observation quite disengaged.
"I can't make the girl out," he soliloquized. "She is aggravatingly pretty, plays very uncanny, unpleasant music, and looks at me with about as much interest as if I had called to tune the piano or regulate the clocks. I wonder if she is expected to go to bed at ten! I fancy there is a very stringent code of rules for a companion. She was sitting in such a nice inviting corner, to. Du Meresq seemed sloping off for a spoon; but when he doubled back, and I was just ready to bear down, she shot out of the room, like Cinderella when she had 'exceeded her pass.'"
The two friends looked in next morning. They were going in a yacht as far as the Indian village, and Bertie said if the Colonel and Cecil would be likely to have arrived, he would come in on his way back. There was some discussion about trains and connecting boats, and a guide-book was fruitlessly hunted for.
"Oh, I recollect," said Mrs. Rolleston, suddenly; "I put it in the table-drawer in the next room,—right-hand drawer, Bertie," as he went to fetch it. He found a little more than he sought, for there, alone, with every appearance of being caught, was Bluebell. Du Meresq would, perhaps, have avoided the contretemps, had he been prepared for it. As it was he advanced towards her, and, clasping her in his arms, kissed the cheek from which every ray of colour had vanished, and said, tenderly,—"What has turned my Bluebell into a Lily?"
"I have heard something. I want to ask you a question," came out almost mechanically.
Du Meresq had not expected so serious an answer to a banalite, and his countenance altered.
"Why are you so grave, Bluebell? You take life too seriously, my child. A young beauty like you need never be unhappy—only make other people so."
But his theories were no longer taken as gospel.
"Oh, I am quite happy," said she, with an involuntary ironical infusion in her voice, "but I don't often see you alone, Bertie, and there are one or two things I want to ask you."
"We'll soon square that", said Du Meresq carelessly, "What do you think of Lascelles?"
"Think of him?" repeated Bluebell, with passion "What should I think of him? I don't care if he dies to morrow!"
"What, a good looking fellow like that?" said Du Meresq, jestingly, "and he admires you awfully." What a flash of those violet eyes—regular blue lightning! But a sudden gush of tears extinguished it, and, breaking from him, Bluebell rushed out of the room.
A look of extreme annoyance came over his face and he whistled thoughtfully. Lascelles shouting his name, burst into the room.
"Where is that book? 'His only books were women's looks, and folly all they taught him.' Oh Bertie I fear me you are a sly dog."
"What the devil do you mean?" said Du Meresq with much irritation.
"What do you? Keeping me here all day, while you are spooning the pretty companion. She bolted out of this so quick,—nearly ran into my arms, and seemed taking on shocking. Oh, you strangely ammoral young man!"
"By Jove!" said Du Meresq, "it is lucky it was only you. Well, let us be off now, and shut up, there's a good fellow."
CHAPTER XXI.
A PERILOUS SAIL.
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar.
The water wraith was shrieking,
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
There was a bright moon that evening, and Colonel Rolleston and his daughter were crossing the lake. A yacht passed them, sailing rapidly before the wind. Some one on board took his hat off.
"Who was that?" asked Cecil.
"It was very like Lascelles," said the Colonel. "I wonder what he is doing up here."
Cecil's colour rose. The name of Lascelles suggested Bertie. She knew they usually hunted in couples, and her busy mind was alive with conjecture. She wondered if the same idea had occurred to her father. She thought he looked a shade grimmer; but he smoked his cigar in silence, and a few more pulls from the sinewy arm of the boatman shot them into Lyndon's Landing. And then it all seemed to Cecil as if the same scene had been enacted in a previous state of existence. Where before had she seen his dark figure thrown out just so by the moonlight? Certainly not in a dream. Could one's life be repeated? She almost felt, by an exertion of memory, she might tell what was coining next.
A deep, calm satisfaction stole over her as Bertie helped her from the boat, and his eyes sought hers under the stars. She heeded not that Colonel Rolleston's greeting was apparently cool and formal, nothing signified—life had suddenly become intense again. What could ruffle the golden content of the present? Happiness is a great beautifier, and as she sprang to shore, her graceful figure so undulating and spirited, and her soul beaming warm in her radiant eyes, he wondered that he could ever have thought Bluebell more beautiful. She often recurred to him hereafter just as she stood that night, shrouded in a crimson Colleen Bawn, under cover of which her hand remained so long in his.
Du Meresq did not stay very late. Both he and Cecil were quiet and dreamy. To be in the same room again was quite happiness enough for the present. Mrs. Rolleston also was entirely satisfied, diverted her husband's attention with creature comforts, and made no effort to detain Bertie. Given a love affair, and a certain interest in it, the most unscheming nature becomes Macchiavellian in tact and policy.
And Du Meresq unmoored a canoe and paddled himself off, unwitting of a young, desolate face pressed against an upper casement. From thence she had watched him waiting for Cecil at the landing, and, with eyes sharpened by anxiety, had detected their happiness in meeting. She could not go down to receive confirmation of what required none. Better receive the coup de grâce from his own lips than to undergo gradual vivisection while looking helplessly on.
Bluebell was young and credulous, her heart had been flattered away by this man, who had had so many before and did not want it now, and yet, poor child, could she have looked beyond, she might have seen cause for thankfulness that the thing most hotly desired was withheld for this early love had not root enough for the wear and tear of life. It was a hob day romance, born of the senses, the bewildering fascination of a graceful presence and winning voice, and well for her if her guardian angel stood with even a flaming sword in the way.
The two girls did not meet till the morning, when Cecil, preoccupied as she was, could not but notice the blanched weariness of Bluebell's face which, owing a great deal of its beauty to colouring, appeared by contrast almost plain.
"You should have come up the Saguenay with us. I am sure Rice Lake cannot agree with you," said she, launching into a glowing and graphic description of their adventures. In reality, Cecil had detested the whole expedition, having been in a continual fever to return; but, now that her mind was at ease, memory brought out the notable points in a surprising way, and she quite talked herself into believing that she had enjoyed it immensely, and had witnessed everything with the utmost relish and curiosity.
They were sitting in the garden over-looking the lake, and a tiny sail shot out from the hotel landing and stood towards them. A light stole over the face of the brunette, but the features of the blonde became rigid as they marked its progress. Neither alluded to the circumstance—Cecil continued her narrative, and Bluebell made the requisite replies; but when the boat had made Lyndon's Landing, and Du Meresq and Lascelles jumped out, Cecil found she was receiving them alone.
The latter was come on a farewell call. The two friends meant to sail to a railway station five miles up the lake, where Lascelles would take the car, and Du Meresq bring the canoe back. After a short visit, Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil strolled down to see them off.
"I have never tried the canoe with a sail up," remarked the latter. "With this wind it must be absolutely flying."
"Not quite so dry," said Lascelles, laughing. "Du Meresq is such a duffer; he ships a lot of water."
"Cecil," said Bertie, giving a pre-conceived idea the air of an impromptu, "come up to Coonwood with us; it's lovely scenery all the way, and I should have a companion back."
"What do you say, mamma; may I go?" dropping her eyes and speaking in an indifferent voice, to disguise her delight in the anticipation.
"May I go?" mimicked Lascelles to himself. "Bertie is always sacrificing me to some girl or other. She will swamp the boat,—it's within an inch of the water already with my portmanteau,—and very likely make me miss my train, or get wet through pulling her out." This in soliloquy, but he looked courteous and smiling.
Mrs. Rolleston hesitated; in her heart she acquiesced; but what would the Colonel say? The younger ones took silence for consent, and Cecil was reclining on a bear-skin at the bottom of the canoe, Lascelles kneeling in a cramped attitude, with the steering paddle, in the bow, and Bertie in charge of the sail, before words of prohibition could come from her.
"Dear me! I don't half like it," said she, nervously. "How stormy it looks in the west. How long will it take you?"
"We shall have the wind back," said Bertie. "About two hours and a half—three at the outside. I'll bring her home in good time for dinner,"—and Cecil kissed her hand in laughing defiance while he spread the sail to the wind, and, catching the light breeze after a flap or two, they glided gaily on their course.
"Don't move about, Cecil," said Du Meresq; "we are rather low down in the water."
No one knew better than Cecil, who had quite appreciated the small spice of risk in weighting the frail bark with an additional person; but then it was worth it to sail back alone with Bertie.
"You are getting dreadfully wet, I am afraid, Miss Rolleston," said Lascelles. "Ease the sail a bit, Bertie."
"You shouldn't keep her head to the waves," argued the other, "as if it were a boat. Keep her broadside to them, and we shan't ship half so many."
There was a fresh breeze when they left the landing, but, after getting three miles or so on their way, the wind rose almost into a squall; white horses raced on the lake, and, in spite of every effort of the two young men, about one wave in ten flung a curl of spray over Cecil. Bertie threw off his coat, and made her thrust her arms into it as well as she could, and Lascelles followed suit by spreading his over her knees. The sky became stormier, and the wind howled ominously. They had started full of spirits, and gay talk and chaff had been bandied among them. No one could quite tell when it dropped, for it had been kept up with an effort after the threatening appearance of things had sobered them.
Cecil was drenched to the skin, but they ceased to express solicitude on that account, for a more pressing apprehension filled each mind, that the canoe so weighted could not live through it much longer.
The girl was stiffening in the rigidity of her reclining attitude. The least movement would have capsized them, and each wave larger than the rest she expected to swamp the canoe. Suddenly she remembered Du Meresq having once said he could not swim, and then, for the first time, her heart sunk, and a sickening horror came over her.
Lascelles, she supposed, in the event of their being upset, would endeavour to save her. But Bertie! He would drown before her eyes, for the water was deep, and the shore for some time had been only a nearly perpendicular rock. Probably Lascelles so laden might be unable to land even her. Looking upon Du Meresq as doomed, that contingency did not disturb her. Drowning, she had heard, was a pleasant death. It didn't look so though, with that cruel steel water lapping thirstily for its prey. After the one supreme moment when she sunk with her love, would they rise again in the land where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, with the Platonic serenity of spirits, all earthly passion etherealized away?
She looked up; Lascelles was baling out the water with his hat. "Du Meresq, you had better haul down the sail and take the paddle," said he significantly.
"Our only chance is to make Coonwood," returned the other; "there's no landing nearer. We should never get there paddling. I must keep up the sail and run for it."
He glanced at Cecil as he spoke, who met his eyes with a calm, strange smile.
A muttered consultation between Du Meresq and Lascelles alone broke the silence for some time. The latter continued to bale, rejecting Cecil's offer of assistance, only entreating her to continue perfectly still. The canoe was almost level with the water. "It must come very soon now," she thought, and, shutting her eyes, tried to realize the great change approaching.
Her favourite day-dream of sailing away to a new strange country with Bertie recurred to her. What if this was to be the fulfilment of it, and they were to explore for ever an unknown land beyond the skies! But would it be so? No sooner should the frail bark sink from under them than she would feel Lascelles clutch her in a desperate grip, and be dragged through the water, and placed alive, though half-suffocated, on the shore. But Du Meresq would be sucked down in the blue lake, and travel to that bourn alone.
Cecil shuddered, and formed a rapid resolve. "Who was Lascelles that he should separate them? Let him save himself if he thought it worth while. Whatever was Bertie's fate should be hers also."
Thus determined, Cecil waited for the end. She had only to elude Lascelle's grasp at the critical moment, and her fate was as certain as Du Meresq's. She gave a regretful thought to her father; but he had other children, and Cecil had no strong family ties.
As she waited in a state of half exaltation, a quiet little thought crept in,—how was it, after all this time, the boat still lived? Why they could not be far from Coonwood! Lascelles was still baling, but Bertie, from improved dexterity in the management of the sail, evaded the waves more successfully.
Cecil continued to watch, and the tension of her mind yielded to a flutter of hope as she saw the water no longer gained on them.
"We should be pretty near now," observed Lascelles.
"Yes, here we are!" rose in almost a shout of triumph from both, as, on rounding the point, the wished-for harbour appeared in view. With one last effort the envious waves dashed over, drenching them through and through as they landed.
"A drop more or less doesn't much matter now," cried Cecil, gaily, wringing her dripping garments. And they all shook hands in their elation of spirits, with short expressions of relief, and congratulations at their escape, which all confessed to have been in doubt of at one time.
"You are a regular heroine, Miss Rolleston," said Lascelles, heartily. "If you had jumped up, or gone into hysterics, as some girls would, we should have gone under pretty soon. As it was, I thought I had my work cut out, for do you know that Du Meresq can't swim?"
"Yes, I know," grudgingly, for she could not bear Bertie to be at a disadvantage. "But I am sure it is quite miraculous how he managed the sail through that squall."
"Only if we had swamped, Lascelles must have saved you," whispered he, regretfully; "and I would never have forgiven him!"
Cecil did not make any verbal answer, but, as usual, her face was not so reticent. Lascelles felt himself rather de trop as he concluded,—"Well, if they are on for a spoon already, I may as well be looking after my car."
"There's your Bullgine," cried Du Meresq, with some alacrity. "I daresay it has been there an hour: no fear of losing a train in this leisurely country!"
"Well, adieu, Miss Rolleston; I trust you will not suffer from your soaking. You will have an hour or two to wait, I am afraid, before the gale goes down, and Du Meresq will hardly fulfil his promise of getting you home in good time for dinner."
"We are only too lucky to require another dinner; but I suppose we shall be in an awful scrape," answered Cecil, speaking quickly and nervously, for somehow she began to half dread being alone with Bertie. "Good-bye, Captain Lascelles. Here's your coat, which you were so good as to spare me; I am afraid it is not a valuable acquisition in its present spongy state;" and "Good-bye, old man," from the two friends as Lascelles ran off; shooting a momentary humorous glance of intelligence at Du Meresq.
The former, as he settled himself in the locomotive, thought rather seriously of the "situation" he had left his friend in. He rather wondered at Bertie, who appeared dangerously in earnest this time. To be sure, she was a nice enough girl, and very "coiny," he believed; but though convinced that such a marriage would be a piece of good fortune for his friend, remembering the convenience of their mutual partnership, he sincerely hoped he would "behave badly," and get out of the scrape somehow.
CHAPTER XXII.
AT LAST.
The leaf lay without whispering in the tree;
We were together.
How, where, what matter? Somewhere in a dream,
Drifting, slow drifting down a wizard stream.
"It is just as well," said Du Meresq, laughing, "we have not got to take him back again. The experiment of three in that birchen bark is too expensive to repeat; and we could not throw him over as a Jonah, since he is the only one of us who can swim."
"I ought never to have come! And, now we can think of wordly things again, only fancy what a rage papa will be in about it all. It is a curious fact, Bertie, the very last time we were out together, an accident made us late—at the tobogganing party, you know."
They had entered the station, which appeared perfectly deserted. The last official had gone up with Lascelles' train. A fire, however, was still burning, and the coal-box only half empty.
Du Meresq threw the coals on the waning embers, which responded with a cheerful fizz to the needed aliment, and then began unlacing Cecil's wet boots as she sat before the fire.
These two had often been alone together without the slightest embarrassment, but now, perhaps from the reaction, and being a little unstrung, she felt a most distressing sensation of it, besides which the anti-climax of his occupation after her overwrought anticipations of their mutual fate, gave her an hysterical inclination to a peal of laughter.
He did not speak, and silence was too oppressive to be endured, so she cast about desperately for a topic of conversation. The entourage was not particularly suggestive,—four white-washed walls and the chair she was sitting on comprised the furniture. Clearly she could not take in ideas with her eyes, which, indeed, were fixed with a magnetic persistence on the mathematically straight parting of Bertie's back hair, which would scarcely furnish subject for remark.
"There go a ruined pair of Balmorals," said he, placing them in the fender. "Your stockings are wet through, too; why don't you take them off?"
"I prefer them wet," said Cecil, rather scandalized.
"Shall I go and walk about outside while you dry them?" asked he, with a smile.
"Yes, do. Walk away altogether if you like."
"But you might drown yourself going home alone, and haunt my remaining days.
For a soul so warm and true,
And all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe,'"—
quoted Bertie, jestingly.
Cecil disliked his manner, and felt irritated; but there she was, imprisoned, bootless, in her chair, while those appendages smoked damply in the fender.
"Dear me," she said, impatiently, "will that wind never drop! When shall we be able to start, I wonder?"
"Don't you think we are more comfortable here?" said he, lazily. "Remember what a row there'll be when we get home."
"Yes, you always get me into scrapes. Why did you bother me into this idiotic expedition?"
"Didn't you ask me to take you?" provokingly. "I am sure I understood you wished to come."
Cecil coloured angrily, and then burst out laughing.
"I can't afford to quarrel with you in this disgusting desolation, it would be like the two men in the lighthouse; but remember, sir, it goes down to your account when I am restored to my friends."
"The captive should not use threats. I am not intimidated. What should now forbid that I whirl you away on the next car to Ne Yock, and marry you right off? and then you would have to obey me ever afterwards."
"Bertie, you forget yourself," with great dignity and rising colour.
"I can't help my unselfish nature. I never do think of myself. Seriously, Cecil, would it not be a good plan?"
"I hardly understand how you would effect it in broad daylight against my will."
"Nothing more easy. I shouldn't put you into the train till it was just going, and I am sure you would have too much self-respect to make a disturbance. If you did, I would point to my forehead, and shake my head expressively. Then, probably, the guard would assist me. After we were married, I should shut you up for a time to reconcile you to the situation, and by degrees, if you pleased me, I would allow you more liberty."
"Suppose I ran away and never returned."
"Oh, you would always be watched, I should, perhaps, let you get a little distance to encourage you, and then bring you back again."
Cecil would not vouchsafe a retort. She thought Bertie's behaviour in the very worst taste, and had never known him so little agreeable. But there they were incarcerated, and the wind still howled. "How was it they were so little in tune," she wondered, "wasting time with this tactless badinage?" Bertie, too, whose greatest charm was his lightning perception of all her thoughts and feelings, could he possibly think—and here a hot glow mounted to her cheeks, which were not cooled by feeling her hand suddenly captured by Du Meresq, as he whispered in her ear,—
"As we always get into scrapes together, don't you think, Cecil, for the future we had better only be responsible to each other?"
"I think," said she, flaming up at last, and her bright eyes flashing indignantly upon him, "that your conduct is idiotic and ungentlemanly: What right have you to make me the subject of your silly jokes?"
"I have made you look at me at last," cried he, "though I am almost 'blasted with excess of light.' Dearest Cecil, you must know what I have come to Rice Lake for, and that you can make me the happiest or most miserable fellow breathing."
Bertie's eyes were glowing with earnestness, and his whole manner was as eager as it had before been inert. Cecil was dumb from contending emotions, love, pride, and doubt, all at war; yet a small voice in her heart kept repeating "At last!"
"You must have known my wishes ever since we parted at Montreal," pleaded Bertie. ("I was by no means so certain," thought Cecil.) "I could not speak then; your father will, perhaps, think I oughtn't to now. Yet, at least I can say honestly, will you marry me, my dearest little Cecil?"
At the asseveration, "I can say honestly," a sudden illumination came over her face, as if every cloud had been instantaneously swept away.
Persons conversant with such subjects maintain that the plain words, "I will," are generally first used by the bride in church, when she promises to worship M. or N. with her body. No doubt, Bertie was answered somehow; but as there are no reporters in Paradise, so happiness requires no chronicler, and we drop the curtain while Cecil becomes engaged to her ideal and only love—a fate sufficiently uncommon in this world of contradictions.
The wind was lulled to a whisper, and a golden sunset was reddening the lake, ere our lovers remembered, with a start, that they had to get home.
"Now comes the rude awakening," cried Du Meresq. "Dinner spoiled, and a very stern expression of paternal opinion to you, my poor Cecil. Very grumpy to me. By Jove, I won't tell him to-night! Here's your half-baked boots. We shall never get them on. Shall I carry you to the boat, and roll your feet in the bear-skin?"
"I feel as if a hundred years had passed since we were last in the canoe," said Cecil, evading this obliging proposal. "But how the lake has calmed itself down; it seems sleeping, and the shore and the islands cast long shadows on it."
A day of storm so often leaves,"
began Bertie, with his incurable propensity for quoting. "What made you so shy at the station, Cecil? I was obliged to put you in a rage to get you natural again."
"After the pleasing picture you draw of our domestic felicity, I can't think how I ever accepted you."
"I was just going to begin when I was unlacing your boots, but the idea struck me that to propose holding a lady's foot instead of her hand, would be too ludicrous a variation from all precedent. What a sensitive girl you are, Cecil! I am sure you knew what was coming, for I felt you drawing into a shell of consciousness, that would have made me nervous too, if I had not been impertinent instead"
Cecil was not far from a relapse, for dreamily happy as she was, she had already begun to torment herself. She had accepted Du Meresq so readily,—good Heavens! she might almost say thankfully,—and, disguise it as he might, he must know it. Could a thing be really valued that was so easy of attainment? When Cecil was shy she was usually dumb, it never revealed itself by hasty, foolish speech, or an artificial laugh. Her countenance, however, was not so silent; and Bertie, as he watched her changing hues and varying expression, thought how much more he admired that mobile, sensitive face, than the pink and white of a soul-less beauty.
"Where is your hand, Cecil?" stretching out a long arm to feel for it. "I am sure a dragon of propriety might trust a loving pair in this wabbly little craft, which an attempt at osculation would upset."
There was just breeze enough to fill the little sail, which bore them swiftly and gently along. A pale star came out in the sky. Though dusk, it was far from dark, night in a Canadian summer being of very abbreviated duration. The lovers had relapsed into dreamy reverie, but, as they began to approach more familiar objects, stern reality resumed its sway. Cecil was the first to give evidence of it, by saying, in rather a subdued voice,—
"Don't you think, Bertie, as you must go away to-morrow, you had better get it over to night?"
"Heaven forbid!" cried he, rousing up, "let us have this evening in peace. You see, my dearest little Cecil, he will hate it anyhow, and to-night will be awfully put out at my bringing you home so late; so this would be the very worst opportunity to choose. To-morrow, after dinner, I'll try what I can do with him. I am a shocking bad match for you, Cecil, and that's the fact. But when I went back to Montreal, thinking of nothing but you, I considered and pondered over every possibility of putting my prospects in a fair light to your father. To the amazement of my creditors, I asked for their accounts. Then I made a little arrangement with Green, the senior lieutenant. He is the son of a money-lender, and very sick of being a subaltern; so he paid the over-regulation down on account for my troop, and will shell out the rest, with an extra thousand, directly my papers are in. The over-regulation money, with a little stretching, covered my debts. To be sure, Green had to part pretty freely, but his pater will get it out of some one else. Now, my idea is to realize what remains of my slender fortune, and try my luck in Australia. You see, my darling, you are all right, for all your money will be settled on yourself; so that if I smash up there, the worst that can happen will be your having to maintain me till I can 'strike ile,' or bring out a patent horse-medicine, or become riding-master to young ladies."
"I put my veto on the last," laughed Cecil. "But really, Bertie, I can hardly believe such good news as your being actually cleared up at last; indeed, I almost feel a sentimental attachment to your debts, for it was about them you first got confidential that Spring you stayed with us in England."
"That visit did my business for life," said Bertie, with a wooer's usual disregard of veracity. "But you are far more beautiful now, Cecil, than you were then."
Not even Du Meresq could persuade Cecil that she had any claims to boast of on that score; indeed, she had once overheard him say that he hardly ever admired dark women, so she passed it by with a half smile of incredulity, as she observed,—
"I really begin to have some faint hope of papa consenting. Your being out of debt will weigh tremendously with him."
"And I am sure you will like Australia," cried he, enthusiastically. "It is the most charming climate, and the life delightful. I will send you up a lot of books on the subject."
Cecil was ashamed to confess how many she had read already. "You must go by that boat to-morrow night, I suppose?" said she, meditatively.
"Yes; no help for it. But as I shall send my papers in at once, most probably I can get leave till I am gazetted out."
"Oh! I wish that mauvais quart-d'heure with papa were over," sighed Cecil. "All to-morrow in suspense!"
"Cecil," said Du Meresq, in his most persuasive tones, "it is better to be prepared for the worst. I know you are true as steel, and far firmer than most girls. Promise that you will marry me,—with his consent, if possible; if not, without."
They had landed just before, and were walking up to the house. What presentiment checked the unqualified pledge he would have imposed on her?
"I promise," she cried, "to marry no one else while you are alive."