Chapter 12

THE LAKE SHORE ROAD.

But all that I care for, And all that I know, Is that, without wherefore, I worship thee so. --Lord Lytton.

"I suppose, Bluebell, you keep all your fine spirits for company?" said Miss Opie, tauntingly; and, indeed, she had some reason to be aggrieved. Few things are more trying than living with a person in the persistent enjoyment of the blues; and the old, saddened by failing health and the memory of heavy sorrows, are apt to look upon gloom in youth as entrenching on their own prescriptive rights.

Bluebell was always now taking long, aimless walks, bringing home neither news nor gossip, and then sitting silent, absorbed in her own thoughts, or else feverishly expectant; while each evening she sank into deeper despondency after the day's disappointment.

"Spirits can't be made to order," answered she, shortly. "I have got nothing to talk about."

"I am afraid you are ill, my dear," said Mrs. Leigh; "outgrowing your strength, perhaps. You are such a great girl, Bluebell--so different to me; and you scarcely touched the baked mutton at dinner, which was a little frozen and red yesterday, but so nice to-day."

Bluebell shivered. She was not at a very critical age, but the culinary triumphs of the "general servant" made her practice a good deal of enforced abstinence since she had been accustomed to properly prepared cookery at "The Maples."

"People who do nothing all day can't expect to be hungry," said Miss Opie, sententiously. "If a man will not work neither may he eat."

"Then it is all right," retorted Bluebell, "as it seems I do neither."

"Not work!" cried Mrs. Leigh. "Why she has earned already more than I ever did in my life, and brought me ten dollars to get a dress with, only I shan't, for I shall keep it for her. I must say, Aunt Jane, you are always blaming the child; and, if her mother is satisfied, I think you may be."

Aunt Jane was silenced, but she wondered what Bluebell could do that her shortsighted mother would not be satisfied with. Meantime the object of the discussion had escaped from the room. She had no wish to spend the afternoon in the dim parlour, stuffy with stove heat and the lingering aroma of baked mutton; and a fancy had occurred to her to wander through the wood she had last traversed with the sole occupant of her ill-regulated mind.

Trove, now a well-to-do and unabashed dog, rolled and kicked on his back in puppy-like ecstacy as he watched her dress, and officiously brought her her muff, which, however, he objected to resigning. Trove was Bluebell's confidant and the repository of her woes, and perhaps as safe a one as young ladies generally choose.

Not a sign of the Rollestons had she seen since her arrival at the cottage ten days ago. Bluebell thought she could not have been more cut off from them if she had crossed the Atlantic instead of the Common. Going to the Rink would have too much the appearance of seeking Du Meresq, so she rigorously avoided that; but even in King Street, where Cecil's cutter flashed most days, she never caught sight of "Wings'" owl-decorated head.

There was a great deal of her father's disposition in Bluebell, and she chafed at the monotony of days so grey and eventless, and longed for she knew not what; so that it was life, movement, _pain_ even, to exhaust those new springs of thought and feeling that the awakening touch of a first love had called forth, and would not now be laid.

Bluebell, like most Canadians, had had plenty of early admiration from hobbledehoys, who made honest, though ungainly, love to her; but her heart would as soon have been touched by an amorous Orson as by these youthful tyros in the art. Du Meresq had that deceptive countenance apparently created for the shipwreck of female hearts. Sometimes men called him an ugly fellow, but no woman ever thought so. There was expression enough in those luminous eyes to have set up three beauty men. They could look both demoniacal and seraphic,--tender often, but scarcely ever true; add to this a magnificent _physique_, a soft manner, a winning voice, and, what gave him an almost superstitious interest to women, that _fey_ look attributed to the Stewarts. He had read and studied hard by fits and starts, for whatever possessed his mind he always pursued with ardour, and to Cecil was fond of inveighing against his useless, unsatisfying life. In spite of her infatuation, though, she judged him more truly than most people, and perceived that his fitful remorse was chiefly occasioned by pressure of money matters, and seldom lasted over pecuniary relief.

In the most secret flights of her imagination, she pictured herself in some new country with Bertie. An adventurous, reckless nature such as his, she thought, turned every gift to evil in the commonplace life where his idiosyncrasy had no play; but detached from his idle mess-room habits, and launched into a new career, when to live at all involved exertion of mind and body, would metamorphosize her hero into all she could wish.

Such was the ideal, in her conventual bringing up, of the rich and well placed Cecil; while Bluebell, to whom luxury was unknown, longed for wealth to take her into a sphere where taste was not starved by economy, nor all her horizon bounded by weekly bills. But in both cases their air castles were to be occupied with Du Meresq.

The girl and the dog sped along on their desolate walk--it was too cold to linger. Bluebell carefully followed the route she had taken with Bertie, that memory might be added by association.

"Ah, Trove," said she to the dog, who bounced up against her, "I am as much a waif and stray as you are--disowned by my grandfather, who might have made us rich, and taken up by people one day and forgotten the next; but you have drifted into harbour now, my dog, and who knows--"

A smothered growl interrupted this monologue, and then a sharp bark. Bluebell looked round to see what was exciting him; she heard a distant tinkle of bells, and listened keenly; laughing voices were apparently approaching. From an impulse that she could not have explained, Bluebell darted into an empty woodshed, dragging Trove in after her, and holding him firmly by the muzzle to stifle his growling. Through an aperture in the boards she could observe, unseen herself.

The sounds grew louder, and a score of sleighs defiled past her hiding-place. Bluebell scanned each carefully. There were the usual members of the Sleigh Club. She recognized the Tremaines, and several others of her little world. Jack in his tandem; but, faithful Lubin! no "cloud-capped" Muffin sat by his side; his companion was of the sterner sex, or, as he would have described him, "a dog." But where were the Rollestons? No representative of "The Maples" was present, not even Du Meresq. They had flashed past within a minute; but, like a fresh breeze over still water, the little incident had awakened and roused up Bluebell from her lethargy.

Her thoughts became more lively as she speculated why Bertie and Cecil were absent from the sleighing party. It was some consolation, at any rate, not to see him enjoying himself quite as much without her. The sun was setting redly as she neared the cottage, and a young moon gaining brightness. Bluebell, remembering a childish superstition, paused to wish. The passage was dark as she entered, and her mother's tones, talking with great volubility, struck her ear. "Mamma has her company voice on," thought she, which, being interpreted, meant an increase of nervousness and consequent garrulity.

She opened the door, and her heart gave a sudden leap as she became aware of, rather than saw in the dusk, the tall, broad-shouldered form of Du Meresq. Bluebell came stiffly forward, and offered a cold hand, utterly belying her heart, to Bertie, who bent over it as if sorely tempted, in spite of Mrs. Leigh's presence, to carry it to his lips. But she withdrew it abruptly, and sat down, seized with more overpowering shyness than she had ever experienced.

Miss Opie's keen, attentive eyes were taking in the situation.

"Captain Du Meresq has been kind enough to call," said Mrs. Leigh, "to say there is no immediate hurry for your return, my dear."

Bluebell raised disappointed, questioning eyes; but something in his face conveyed to her that the message was coined as an excuse for his appearance.

"I hope Cecil is well?" said she, trying to speak unconcernedly; "but I saw she was not out with the Club to-day."

"I think she is tired of it. Where did you fall in with them?" asked he.

"In the Humber," very consciously.

"Were you there?" asked Bertie, with a tender inflection in his voice, that Bluebell knew well. But she would not look up, and Miss Opie did, so he proceeded carelessly,--"I suppose they were coming from the Lake Shore Road, up the serpentine drive in the wood?"

"Oh! that is such a pretty walk in summer!" said Mrs. Leigh.

"I dare say," said Bertie, looking straight down his nose. "I went round that way once, and even in winter found it the pleasantest walk I ever took in my life."

"Ah, then," said Mrs. Leigh, knowingly, "I dare say some pretty young lady was with you."

"No such happiness," said Bertie, with an imperceptible glance at Bluebell. "The fact is, Mrs. Leigh, women detest me! I suppose it is my deep respect, making me so fearful of offending, that bores them; but I fear I am a social failure."

"In my day," said Miss Opie, ironically, "young ladies _expected_ to be treated with respect."

"And that could not have been so long ago; yet now they are beyond a bashful man's comprehension," said Bertie, with an air of simplicity, slightly scanning Miss Opie's wakeful face. He had got on so well with the mamma, who was this old maid, who appeared so objectionably on the alert?

"Well, I am sure," said Mrs. Leigh, "some girls here _are_ that pert and forward, I can't bear it myself; and yet the gentlemen all encourage it, and think it real smart. Lilla Tremaine, you know, Aunt Jane."

"Ah!" said Bertie, shaking his head, "a very unsteady young person."

While Du Meresq was making conversation, Bluebell sat incapable of contributing to it. She would not have believed that his presence should afford her so little pleasure; but he seemed incongruous here, and was apparently amusing himself with the simplicity of her relatives. A clatter of tea-things filled her mind with dismay. The ideas of the "help" on the subject of cleanliness were in a very rudimentary stage, and that the cloth would be in anything but its first freshness, was a moral certainty. Impossible, however, to avert the catastrophe, and the general servant, actuated by a determination to get another look at Miss Bluebell's "young man," undauntedly bore in the tray.

"Dear me, is it not rather early?" said Mrs. Leigh. "Oh, Captain Du Meresq,"--seeing him rise,--"you must stay and have a cup with us."

"Another day, if you will allow me," said Bertie, trying to disguise his extreme lameness. "I hope, having found my way here, I may be permitted to call again in this sociable manner, and have a little agreeable conversation, so preferable to gaiety, which I abhor."

"If you will take us as you find us," said the little lady, graciously, "we shall look upon it as a great favour, I am sure. Dear me, Captain Du Meresq, have you hit your foot? You seem quite lame."

"I am, rather. I had an accident. Is there not some shorter way back than the road I came?"

"Oh, yes, by Barker's Row. You know the Link House?"

"No--a," said Bertie, looking expressively at Bluebell, as a hint that she might offer to point out the road.

"Oh, surely you _must_; keep straight on King Street, and then you come to--"

"Wolfe Street?" suggested Du Meresq.

"Gracious, no! that would be quite out of your way! Go to--I'll tell you what, Bluebell shall show you where you turn off--it isn't ten minutes from here."

Bertie murmured a profusion of thanks, and, distrustful of Miss Opie, protested against being so troublesome. But Bluebell, scarce able to believe in such luck, sprang up with a sudden illumination of countenance, and the next minute the lovers were alone under the light of the moon.

"Bluebell," said Du Meresq, "I have got a sleigh here. I thought I _might_ get you out of it if I pretended I was walking, and didn't know the way; but the fact is, my child, I can hardly limp a hundred yards. Come a little drive with me."

"Oh! I dare not. It is so late, and they expect me back again directly."

"Then you are going to run away the first moment we have been alone for so long!"

"Whose fault is that," said she, reproachfully.

"Not mine. I have been laid up ten days with a broken ankle. But I suppose you have been seeing Jack Vavasour every day, and forgotten all about me?"

"Bertie," said Bluebell, hesitatingly, "did they say anything to you about--"

"About Jack? Yes, they said he was spoons on you. And also, Miss Bluebell, that you were awfully in love with him."

"No, no, nonsense," said she, blushing. "I meant about yourself."

"They know nothing of that?" said he, inquiringly.

"They do, though. I don't know what you will say, Bertie, but I told Mrs. Rolleston."

"What can you mean, Bluebell? Bella told me that you cared for nobody but Jack Vavasour; and I was deuced angry, I can tell you; at first, though I thought it uncommon 'cute of you saying so."

Bluebell, utterly confounded by this extraordinary assertion, had no time to reply, for she found herself close to a covered sleigh, and the man had got down and opened the door. She drew back.

"Jump in," said Bertie, impatiently.

Bluebell shook her head.

"What do you propose?" said he, in an angry whisper. "We can't sit out in the snow, and I can't walk another yard."

She hesitated, and he gently impelled her into the vehicle, following himself, to the anguish of his injured foot, that he had struck in his haste.

"Where to, sir?" said the man, whom Bertie, in his momentary pain, had forgotten.

"Go to the Don Bridge."

"Can't, sir. I am ordered at the College by six o'clock."

"Drive to the devil, then. I mean, drive about as long as you can. I like driving."

"Hush, Bertie! how can you? What will he think?"

"How much 'old rye' he will get out of the job. Come, Bluebell; the hour is ours, don't spoil it fidgetting about trivialities. I have scarcely dared to look at you yet, my beautiful pet," trying to steal an arm round her waist. But she drew herself away, irresponsive and rigid, being uneasy and frightened at the escapade she had been led into.

"You haven't a spark of moral courage, Bluebell," said Bertie, impatiently. "You are as prim and unlike yourself as possible, just because you are wondering what that man on the box will think. Or, perhaps, you are afraid of that thin, sour old duenna at home."

"She will be inquisitive enough," said Bluebell, resignedly. "And, Bertie, I wanted to tell you, but, perhaps, you know, that they will never have me again at the 'Maples' while you are there,--Mrs. Rolleston so utterly disapproves of it."

"What _is_ this hallucination that you have got hold of?" said Du Meresq. "What did you tell, or fancy you told, Bella?"

"We got on the subject. Your name wasn't actually mentioned; but she quite understood, and said something," said Bluebell, reddening as she felt the awkwardness of her words, "very strong against it."

Bertie looked relieved. He began to understand the mistake, which he considered a fortunate one.

"And did you promise to give me up?"

She turned her large, innocent eyes upon him. "How could I, when I care more for you than anything in the world?"

"My poor little Bluebell!" said Du Meresq, crushing her in his arms. But the sleigh stopped; the man was getting down.

"My time is up, sir."

"Well, drive to where you took us up," said Bertie. "Bluebell, tell me quick, where shall I see you again?"

"I can't risk driving," said she, hurriedly. "When will you be able to walk?"

"Can't I see you alone at home sometimes? When are your people likely to be out?"

"They don't go out for days together, except on Sunday, to church; and Aunt Jane would suspect something directly if I didn't go with them."

"Let her, meddling old idiot! I shall come then, Bluebell."

"No, no, Bertie; pray don't! Could you walk in a week?"

"What an eternity! Well, meet me in the Avenue in the Queen's Park, at three o'clock on Wednesday. Here's this brute getting down again. Only just time to kiss those dear blue eyes. _Addio_ Leonore. How the deuce am I to get home, I wonder?"

"Bertie, you'll never be able to walk."

"Never mind me. Run back, my dearest, and throw dust in the eyes of that misguided old female, who presumes to open them on what doesn't concern her."