Chapter 25

CHANGES.

I remember the way we parted. The day and the way we met; You hoped we were both broken hearted; I knew we should both forget.

A hand like a white wood-blossom You lifted, and waved and passed With head hung down to the bosom, And pale, as it seemed at last. --Swinburne.

Du Meresq in indignant dismay at the abduction of Cecil on the day of the picnic stood awhile silent and bitter, deaf to the impatience of the children, who wanted to be off. While thus irresolute, he chanced to glance at Bluebell, whose countenance betrayed an agony of suspense. The entreating look in her eyes she was probably unconscious of, for the child had not yet learned to command her face. Bertie yielded to it by a sort of magnetism, and flung himself into the boat where she and Mrs. Rolleston were already seated, but remained silent and thoughtful as they floated monotonously along. His sister was equally occupied with uneasy reflections, and Bluebell seemed as spell-bound as the rest. For one soul deeply moved and agitated often affects by electricity another in a receptive condition. Does not the atmosphere in a tempestuous mood thrill and disturb our nervous system?

She was next to Bertie, and noted that, though concealed by rugs and waterproofs, his hand did not seek hers as of yore.

They were joined on Long Island by the rest of the party, and all kept pretty much together at first. There was luncheon to be unpacked, the fire to be made and some fish to be grilled in a frying-pan. Du Meresq partially shook off his gloom, and assisted the children in their preparations; and, from the noise that ensued, a stranger would not have suspected the mental disquietude of three of the number.

After luncheon, Bluebell wandered away in search of wild flowers, the children hunted for cray-fish, Miss Prosody spudded up ferns, and Mrs. Rolleston drew from her pocket her favourite point-lace.

Du Meresq, hungering for that exclusively masculine solace, tenderly brought forth the pipe of his affections, nestling next his heart. There was too much air on the beach, and he sauntered away in search of a more sheltered situation in which to woo his divinity.

Some "spirit in his feet" must have led him "who knows how," for ere long he found himself seated on a log beside Bluebell. I cannot tell what spell that syren had used to attract his footsteps so unerringly, for, little accustomed as he was to resist female influence, in thought at least Du Meresq was loyal enough to Cecil.

He made no attempt to kiss her, as he would have done before in a similar situation, but talked a while in that half-fond, half-bantering manner that had misled the inexperienced child. The sun poured its level rays upon them, and a little brown snake, with a litter of young, crawled from beneath the log. This occasioned a hasty change of quarters, and they found another seat o'ershadowed by a tangle of blackberries. It was very secluded and still, and here, with her whole soul, in her eyes, Bluebell abruptly asked Bertie her dreaded question.

Rather taken back, he answered evasively. But the ice once broken, she was not to be turned from her purpose, and repeated, as if it were a stereotyped form of words she had been practising, "I only wish to ask one single thing, are you engaged to Cecil?"

Du Meresq was no coxcomb. He was distressed at the repressed agitation in Bluebell's voice, her hueless face, and the hopeless look in eyes he remembered so beaming, and for the moment heartily wished he had never seen her.

"How young she looks, with her lap full of flowers. Like an unhappy child," thought he remorsefully. "I must tell her the truth; she'll soon get over it."

Very gently he took her hand, and said, gravely,--"I asked Cecil yesterday to marry me, and she said yes."

Bluebell staggered to her feet, with perhaps a sudden impulse of flight, but so unsteadily that Du Meresq involuntarily threw a supporting arm round her. At that moment Lola, in search of blackberries, and herself concealed by the bush she was rifling, peeped through the brambles, and remained a petrified and curious observer.

Bluebell, struggling for composure, tried to speak, but the effort only precipitated an irrepressible flood of tears, and Du Meresq, grieved and self-reproachful, in his attempts to console her, used the fatal words that Lola afterwards repeated to Cecil. The child escaped without her presence being detected.

Bluebell's emotion had passed over like a storm that clears the atmosphere. It left her calm and cold, and only anxious to be away from Du Meresq.

There is a bracing power in knowing the worst. He had gained her affections without the most distant intention of matrimony, and resentment and shame restored her to composure.

She turned her large child-like eyes on him with mute reproach.

"You should have told me before," were her first articulate words. "No wonder Cecil hated me when you were pretending to care for me behind her back."

Bertie murmured,--"There was no pretence in the matter."

"Then why do you marry Cecil?" asked Bluebell, with the most uncompromising directness. "Is it because she is rich?"

"Confound it," thought Du Meresq; "I trust she won't suggest that to Cecil."

"Can't I love you both?" cried he, somewhat irritated; and just then Miss Prosody and her brood appeared in sight.

"I return you my share," exclaimed Bluebell, breaking abruptly from him, and, running down the path, joined the governess and children.

Du Meresq had rather a bad quarter of an hour over the pipe which this sentimental episode had extinguished; but he could not regret, in the face of his new engagement, the _finale_ of a past and now inopportune love-affair.

Bluebell did not come down to dinner that day nor see Du Meresq again; but afterwards, Mrs. Rolleston, who was in nobody's confidence, and had the uneasy conviction that something was going desperately wrong, came into her room.

Bluebell's state of repression could endure no longer. She began by entreating Mrs. Rolleston to accept Mrs. Leighton's situation, and let her go to England at once; and after that it did not take much pressing to induce her to make full confession of all that had passed.

It must be remembered that Bluebell was under the impression that her friend had always known of the flirtation between herself and Bertie; but now for the first time the horror-stricken Mrs. Rolleston had her eyes opened to what had been passing before them.

Everything burst on her at once. Recollection and perception awoke together. To keep it from Cecil seemed the most urgent necessity, and the removal of Bluebell the thing most to be wished for.

Bluebell was disposed to keep back nothing, and answered every question with frank recklessness. She told of their first walk in the wood, their frequent interviews at "The Maples," and Bertie's visit to the cottage, laughing at the idea of having ever seriously cared for Jack Vavasour.

Mrs. Rolleston remembered that Cecil had not shared her delusion on that subject, and anxiously inquired if she had ever acknowledged to her her _penchant_ for Bertie.

Bluebell answered in the negative, giving as a reason that, though unable to guess the cause, her manner had always repelled any approach to confidence on that subject.

Mrs. Rolleston remembered Cecil's strange behaviour that afternoon, but she had not even seen Bluebell since the picnic. It remained unaccountable.

She reflected with vexation on the fatality that had made her refuse the child's confidence so many months before; but yet she hoped no harm was done, since Bluebell averred that Bertie and Cecil were engaged.

The letter to Mrs. Leighton was written that night ready for the morning mail; another was also despatched to Mrs. Leigh at Bluebell's request, who was anxious that Mrs. Rolleston should break the rather summary measures to her--not that the latter anticipated much difficulty there. All Canadians have a great idea of a visit to England, which they tenaciously speak of as "home," and "the old country." And she would probably be glad that Bluebell should see her father's birthplace.

At the child's express wish, it was also arranged for her to go home at once, as companionship with Cecil could now be agreeable to neither of them.

Mrs. Rolleston had only seen Du Meresq for a moment before he went away, yet his manner, no less than her step-daughter's, clearly indicated that something was wrong. Even Colonel Rolleston had taken up an attitude of impenetrable reserve, and his wife was completely at fault. Next day, however, the shock and terror of Cecil's illness fell upon them, turning her mind to a more immediate subject of anxiety.

Bluebell could not do less than offer to remain, and share the vigils in the sick room; but even in delirium Cecil became palpably worse when her rival approached, so, in a few days, with much sadness, she bade farewell to those who had made the world of her "most memorial year."

While Cecil was hovering on the borderland of mental darkness, a note came for her from Bertie, written on receipt of the packet that Lola had posted and was as follows:--

"What can I imagine, Cecil, from this parcel of my letters returned without a word beyond the date and hour? You must have packed them up at the very time I, as we had agreed, was asking for you from your father. I shall not speak of the almost insulting way in which he received my proposals, for that we had anticipated; but you had promised in any event to be true to me. You could not have changed in a summer day, I know your nature, my dearest little Cecil, and you would not have deserted me in this crisis unless your vulnerable side, jealousy, had been awakened. Indeed you have no cause for it. I cannot come back to the Lake, for your father would not receive me, but shall make no plans till I hear from you.

"Yours, as ever, devotedly,

"B."

It was three weeks before Cecil could read this letter, and the following day Du Meresq got hers, written at her father's dictation.

It was not a soothing one for an ardent lover to receive, and Bertie was at first furious, and considered himself very ill used. With it all, though, he never believed that Cecil had really changed. He thought very probably his unfortunate flirtation with Bluebell had come out; returning his letters looked like an _accès_ of jealousy, and the one she had written was probably prompted by the same cause.

Any way, though, he was at a dead lock. Her father, of course, would not allow her to see him, and while she was in this mood writing was useless. His papers were in, and tired of inaction at Montreal, he obtained leave to go to England. He lingered time enough to have received an answer to his letter, and, none coming, he took the first steamer homeward-bound.

Du Meresq had not acquainted his sister of his engagement to Cecil; for being aware of the Colonel's inimical disposition, he did not wish to draw her into any difficulty about it. She did not even know that he had written to Cecil since he left, as the letter had fallen into her husband's hands, who, though not intending to withhold it altogether, considered it a document that might very well wait her convalescence.

Mrs. Rolleston wished to apprise Bertie of Cecil's dangerous illness, but she had allowed one mail to pass, and they only recurred once a week, so that Du Meresq was embarking at Quebec the day her letter arrived at Montreal.

Cecil made a slow recovery. The rheumatic fever, caused by sitting so many hours in wet clothes, and aggravated by the shock she had since received, hung about her many weeks, and as soon as she could be moved they took her back to Toronto. Then her father most unwillingly gave her Du Meresq's letter. He was too honourable to destroy it; but, looking upon him as the frustrator of his plans for Cecil, and the indirect cause of her illness, viewed with impatience any chance of a renewal of intercourse.

Cecil read it repeatedly; but though her heart longed to believe, her mind remained unconvinced. She shrank from all mention of the subject with her step-mother, knowing how one-sided a partisan she would be, but could not deny herself the self-torture of questioning Lola again. The child relentlessly stuck to her text, painting the scene with a vividness that did credit to her descriptive powers; and being one of those vivacious and ubiquitous children never to be sufficiently guarded against, was able to mention one or two other occasions on which she had "popped on them."

And all that time Bertie had apparently been devoted to herself! This was decisive. Lola could have no interest in deceiving her. She must not answer his letter or be his dupe again.

Bluebell's approaching departure to England still further corroborated Lola's story. At that picnic on Long Island, Bertie had evidently acknowledged his engagement to herself, which she now fully believed to be a mercenary one, as, doubtless, he had also assured her rival. But perpetual lonely walks and rides were unfavourable to oblivion, and had Du Meresq been but on the spot, I think even then the mists between these two lovers would soon have been drawn aside.

Mrs. Rolleston wondered that she had not heard from Bertie, but imagined he was somewhere on leave. Cecil would not speak on the subject, but she mentioned it sometimes to Bluebell with surprise, who was much perplexed to guess what could have divided them. Her own conscience was easy; she had told Cecil nothing--indeed, they had never met since the latter's illness. Bluebell was now with her mother, preparing for her journey to England, and had persistently avoided going to "The Maples."

A very cordial acceptance had come from Mrs. Leighton, who said Evelyn was all impatience for her musical friend. Mrs. Rolleston, who was now a frequent visitor at the cottage, laughed a little at the letter, which was very gushing, and told Bluebell they were an emotional pair. Evelyn was strangely brought up,--every fancy, however extravagant, gratified, partly on account of her delicate health, and partly from the sentimental sympathy of her mother. One whim was, she would never learn from ugly people, and the supply of beautiful governesses being limited, her education was proportionably so also.

Mrs. Leighton sent minute directions. She would pay Miss Leigh's passage-money, giving her rather less salary the first year. Of course she was to come under protection of the captain, to whom the _rôle_ of heavy father to unchaperoned girls is usually relegated; and on arriving at Liverpool the railway journey to Leighton Court would be only a few hours.

Mrs. Rolleston gave her a pretty travelling dress, and otherwise replenished her slender wardrobe. She also contributed a little good advice as to abstention from flirting, explaining that in her unprotected situation she could not be too sceptical of the honest intentions of would-be wooers.

Bluebell indignantly repudiated the possibility of thinking of such a thing for the present, if, indeed, ever, and professed the most ascetic sentiments.

It was rather hard on Mrs. Leigh, this far-away separation from her only child--indeed, she could not understand why she was not engaged to one or other of the whilom visitors at the cottage, but comforted herself with the reflection that there were doubtless many rich husbands in England. Bluebell, like her father, seemed of a roving disposition, and she must let her fledgling try her wings.

Mrs. Leigh was romantically inclined, and thought a heroine setting out on her adventures should be provided with some talisman, and, in this case, proof of her origin. So she disinterred from the old hair-trunk, where it was usually entombed, the miniature of Theodore Leigh. How young he looked! more like Bluebell's brother. "You must never lose it," said she to her daughter; "for if your grandfather left his money to you after all, I dare say the lawyers would try and prove you were some one else; so it is as well to have your father's portrait to show, and your eyebrows are brown and arched just like his."

Though at a loss to comprehend why lawyers should display such unprovoked enmity, Bluebell gladly received the miniature. Her unknown father represented to her another and more brilliant life; and when most discontented at the penury of the cottage, she was fond of picturing to herself her paternal relations, whom she imagined very grand people, and in a very different position to that in which she had been brought up. In these last days, Bluebell thought a good deal of Cecil with some return of her old affection. She remembered how generous and dear a friend she had been till Bertie came between, and thought how ungrateful she must consider her to have clandestinely stolen away the only treasure she would have been unwilling to share with her. Still, even were they to meet, nothing she could say would do any good, for Bluebell knew of old how difficult it was to speak to Cecil on any subject she was determined to avoid, and it was not likely she would be particularly approachable on this one.

So, upon the whole, it would be a relief to get away, and break new ground, leaving painful associations behind; and the bustle of preparation for the voyage was not without interest.

Miss Opie presented her with a brown-holland bag, divided off for brushes, slippers, etc., which she enjoined her to hang up in the cabin. "Habits of neatness are always of great importance in a confined space; and I have put in a paper of peppermint lozenges in case of sea-sickness," she added.

It was the last evening at home, and every bit of furniture in the once despised house seemed instinct with a meaning no other place could have for her.

There was the old piano, on which she used to dream away so many hours; and that arm-chair seemed still haunted by the vision of her handsome, faithless lover, as she had seen him in the gloaming.

How long they had lived there! The little china dog on the shelf was the same she used to play with on the floor before she could walk. Dull and trite, and only too well known as these objects might be, a sentimental interest seemed now to hallow them. Youth is selfish, and takes all affection as its due; but even the slight brush with the world Bluebell had already sustained, gave her the consciousness that, tired as she might be of her limited life at home, never need she expect to meet elsewhere such unselfish tenderness as a mother's.