CHAPTER XXI.

AT MARLOW REGATTA.

Sir Mark Trevor's family mansion, as everyone knows, is in Cornwall, but, being passionately fond of the River Thames, he had bought a place down at Hurley, where he passed the summer months, and there entertained his large circle of friends. The idle, pleasant life of the river suited the baronet to perfection, and being a man fond of books and antiquities, he found the neighbourhood quite to his taste, much preferring the unpretending house at Hurley to his grand hall in Cornwall, and the pleasant vales and hills of Bucks to the wild Tors and iron-bound coasts of the west country.

Bellfield, as it was called--the name being an invention of Sir Mark's happy combination of his daughter's name and the fields which surrounded the house--was not a very large place. It had originally been a farm-house, and stood near the high road, while beyond arose the sloping hills with a fringe of trees on top, and down towards the river stretched broad fields, all yellow with waving corn.

The original portion of the house was built of flint, and Sir Mark had added to it, until the whole place looked nothing but a mass of gables covered with trelliswork and overgrown with creeping plants. But a very comfortable house it was, the favourite apartment being a kind of smoking-room which opened on to a glass porch, and beyond, a wide lawn, a gorse hedge, yellow with blossom, and a view of tall beeches and glimpses of distant hills.

The walls of the smoking-room were covered from top to bottom with cartoons from "Vanity Fair," only leaving one space where guns, daggers, swords, and other warlike instruments were displayed. Plenty of low basket-chairs, soft fur rugs, side tables with a generous profusion of pipes, tobacco, and cigarettes, and on the large table, near Sir Mark's writing desk, a spirit-stand always stood ready, together with an unlimited supply of soda and seltzer for thirsty boating parties.

There was a piano in one corner, with piles of new music, principally, it must be confessed, of the comic opera and music-hall orders, and over the piano a fox's head and brush, trophies of Miss Bell's prowess in the hunting field. Off this snuggery was the saddle-room, which the young men, and indeed not a few of the ladies used to vote "awfully jolly," in the expressive slang of to-day.

There were plenty of bedrooms, low-pitched and quaint, wide staircases with unexpected turnings and twistings, and an oak-panelled dining-room, wherein Sir Mark's guests used to wax noisy at meals, but the favourite room of the house was undoubtedly the smoking-room, and in it on this bright July morning all the guests staying at Bellfield were waiting, ready to start for the Marlow Regatta.

And a very jovial party they were. Pat Ryan, having returned from the Emerald Isle, was talking his usual nonsense to pretty Kate Lester, who was stopping at Bellfield with her uncle, a gentleman who passed most of his time asleep. He had declined to go to the regatta, and was already lying in one of the low basket chairs pretending to read the _Times_.

Bell was standing by Carmela, who looked pale and white as she listened to Mr. Chester's chatter, giving that brilliant youth the mistaken idea that he had made an impression. Sir Mark was moving about, from one to the other, with his grave smile, and two young ladies, arrayed in white serge dresses, with jaunty straw hats, were flirting desperately with a young Oxonian called Wellthirp, but familiarly known as Bubbles, from his effervescent flow of spirits.

"We'd better start, I'm thinking," observed Mr. Ryan to the company; "it's a mighty bad thing wasting all this beautiful morning."

"You won't come, uncle?" asked Kate, going over to her avuncular relative.

"Not to-day, my dear; I'm a little tired."

"Begad, he's the seven sleepers rolled into one," said Pat to Miss Lester as they stepped out into the sunshine. "Come, Miss Lester, I'll race ye for a pair of gloves."

"Against what?" asked Kate, as he helped her through the gate.

"A kiss," said Pat, whereupon Kate blushed, and vowed she wouldn't run, so Pat set off, like a deer, by himself along the narrow path which led through the cornfield to the village of Hurley.

"How sad you are looking, Carmela," said Sir Mark, as he walked soberly along beside Miss Cotoner.

"She wants Mr. Monteith," said Bell, mischievously.

"Nonsense," retorted Carmela, while a flush came over her pale face.

"Then she'll soon be gratified," laughed Sir Mark; "for Mr. Monteith will be at the regatta to-day."

Carmela clenched her teeth. He would be at the regatta, and how would he meet her after all that had passed? The last time she saw him she was free, but now he would see her as the affianced wife of another. Well, she would wait and see. Their meeting must come sooner or later, so why not now?

The party went through the quaint village of Hurley, past the Old Bell inn with its antique gables and wide windows--through the remains of the old monastery, which was one of the finest in England, and along by Lady Bell Place with its old walls and picturesque, red roof, under which the conspirators of 1688 met to mature their plot for driving James II. from his kingdom.

Over the bridge they went, and found the river crowded with boats, filled with men in flannels, and pretty girls in yachting costumes, all waiting for the lock to be opened. Sir Mark's boats were below Hurley Lock, so they all went down, only pausing a moment to look into the lock, filled with boats, and presenting a blaze of colour. A number of young fellows were leaning on the great arms of the lock gate, chattering idle nonsense to the pretty girls in the boats below.

"I wonder how many engagements these flirtations at the locks have been accountable for?" said Pat, sentimentally, to Kate, as he handed her into his boat.

"I'm sure I don't know," retorted Kate, and a pretty flush dyed her cheek; though, to be sure, it might only have been the sun shining through her red sunshade. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like one more to be added to the number," said Ryan, audaciously; whereat Kate blushed again, and was spared the trouble of answering by Bubbles telling the Irishman to push off, and not talk so much. Pat consented with an ill grace; for, versed as he was in affairs of the heart, he saw that Kate knew his feelings, and responded to them.

Kate and Carmela sat in the stern of the boat; the former steering, while Carmela sat idly gazing at the gay throng on the river, her thoughts far away with Ronald Monteith.

They passed Temple Court, embowered among trees, and had to take their turn in entering the lock, which gave Pat and Bubbles lots of opportunity to converse and chaff their friends. Indeed, it was really wonderful how many people these young men knew, and even Carmela smiled as she heard Pat's witty tongue running riot.

At last they got into the lock, Bubbles skilfully piloting them; and, as the boat sank rapidly to the lower reach, several ladies in other boats shrieked, but were pacified when the water ceased to fall.

"Begad, they're as bad as banshees!" said Pat; whereon he was once more told to hold his tongue by Bubbles, who was captain, and soon they were out again on the broad river, with the roar of the weir in their ears.

"An' would ye like to tow down?" asked Pat, persuasively, of Kate. But that young lady declined, on the plea of heat, so Pat had to give up his idea of a flirtation on the towing-path, and work hard instead.

"There's Bisham!" said Bubbles, as they passed the grey old abbey. "Where Shelley wrote his 'Revolt of Islam' floating in a boat under the beeches."

"Begad, I hope he had a lady with him!" said Pat, gaily; "there's nothing stirs imagination like a pretty girl."

"Your imagination is quite vivid enough already," said Carmela.

"There's Marlow Church and Marlow Bridge," observed Bubbles, still in the character of guide book.

"Where the bargees ate puppy pie," put in Ryan; "but here we are at Shaw's--shall we go on shore or stop in the boat?"

Both ladies preferred to go on shore, so, after making the boat fast among all the other crafts, Pat and Bubbles put on their coats, and handed the ladies out. Sir Mark's boat was nowhere to be seen, whereupon Pat proposed to go over to the Anglers' Hotel, and see what was doing there.

"I believe you want to drink," said Kate, severely, as they walked over the bridge.

"And small shame to me," retorted the undaunted Pat; "haven't I rowed ye down under a blazing sun?"

"I suppose you must be rewarded," said Carmela, with a smile; so Pat and Bubbles, nothing loth, went into the quaint inn, which bears the sign of the Anglers, and had two tankards of foaming beer.

"Xerxes wanted a new pleasure," said Bubbles, when he had finished. "I'd have given him a thirsty day on the river with a pot of beer handy."

Pat laughed at this, and they went out to join the ladies, who were seated under one of the big trees, talking to two men.

"Hullo!" said Bubbles; "where did these Johnnies spring from?" But Pat did not hear him, as he was running towards the taller of the two, and was soon shaking him heartily by the hand.

"My dear Ronald," he said, eagerly; "how are ye? I'm glad to have a look at ye again, and Foster, too. Oh, we are a happy family."

But neither Carmela nor Ronald looked very happy.

Pat introduced Bubbles, who speedily made himself at home, and both Foster and Ronald declining Mr. Ryan's hospitable invitation to drink, they all went over the bridge again to see the races.

A bright day, gaily dressed crowd, the broad, blue river crowded with crafts, and the green country and picturesque red-roofed houses on either side--nothing could be more delightful. Pat, Bubbles, and Foster, all ardent boating-men, shouted vociferously as the boats went shooting up the stream, their oars flashing in the sunlight.

And the cheers that rang through the air when the winning crew won by a boat's length were as hearty for the losers as for the victors.

Ronald, however, looked grave and haggard as he stood by Carmela's side watching the races. He kept glancing at her face, and saw that she, too, was pale and thin, while everyone else was bright and gay, enjoying the animated scene, only those two unhappy lovers were brooding over their sorrows.

"She could not have committed such a crime," thought Ronald, his eyes fixed absently on the bright waters.

"He can never believe that I am marrying my cousin willingly," she thought, with a sigh; "he must know that it's to save my sister."

"I had your letter," said Ronald, in a low whisper, in her ear.

"And you understood my reasons?" she asked, though her lips grew white.

He bowed, thinking she alluded to her crime.

"Is it true?" he asked, huskily.

"Yes; God forgive me, it is," she replied, thinking he was referring to her sister's sin.

Ronald gave a shudder, and turned away as white as a sheet.

"From her own lips," he muttered; "it is impossible; I'll ask her again."

Ah me, how often cross purposes mar our lives!

After that the party went down to the boats to luncheon, and Sir Mark, delighted to see the young men, asked them to dinner.

"We dine at seven," he said, hospitably, "where are you stopping?"

"The Crown Hotel," replied Foster.

"Then you'll come and dine with me to-night?" said Sir Mark.

"Yes," answered Ronald, eagerly, for he thought he then could speak freely to Carmela, "we shall be delighted."

Foster saw what his friend wanted, so gladly accepted the invitation, the more so, as he felt a decided inclination to improve his acquaintance with Miss Trevor, whose bright eyes had made an impression on his heart.

Ronald had no more speech with Carmela that day, and kept aloof from her, a fact she attributed to his knowledge of her engagement with Vassalla. The rest of the afternoon passed rapidly, and though there was to be a procession of illuminated boats that night, the Bellfield party said they would go home, and departed up the river in the gathering shadows, Sir Mark's cheery voice being the last heard. "Seven o'clock, my boys!" he sang out, "not a minute later."