Mrs. George Croft Huddleston - Bluebell

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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.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting,
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar.
--Wordsworth.

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water wraith was shrieking,
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
--Campbell.

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 grace_ 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.

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