Bluebell Part 34

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 antic.i.p.ated 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 att.i.tude 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 antic.i.p.ated; 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 _acces_ 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 doc.u.ment 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 pa.s.s, 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sage-money, giving her rather less salary the first year. Of course she was to come under protection of the captain, to whom the _role_ 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 a.s.sociations 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 s.p.a.ce; 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.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CROSSING THE HERRING POND.

A few short hours, the sun will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth.

--Childe Harold.

The morning rose clear and brilliant. The partings were over, and Bluebell, on the deck of the river steamer, was gazing her last on the long flat sh.o.r.e, with its high elevators, and waving adieu to the diminishing forms of Mrs. Leigh and Miss Opie, who had seen her on board,--the latter with many injunctions to ascertain that two old-fashioned hirsute trunks containing her wardrobe were really put into the steamer at Quebec. Bluebell had treated herself to a smart little portmanteau for the cabin, being rather ashamed of her antediluvian luggage. She had ten sovereigns in her purse, that had been sc.r.a.ped together among them as a provision for any emergency. The Rolleston children had sent her a travelling-bag; but not even a message came from Cecil, which saddened Bluebell, but did not make her resentful, for she could not but suspect that the former's engagement to Bertie had come to an end, and that, in some way or other, she herself had been the cause of it.

A touch of frost during the last fortnight had worked a transformation on the foliage. The thousand islands were changed from green bowers to the semblance of shrubberies of rhododendron, so brilliant were the crimson and red of their leaves. They were a.s.sociated in her mind with Cecil, whose artistic eye revelled in the autumn tints, and was perpetually painting and grouping them during the last fall.

It was rather lonely and monotonous in the river steamer. There was no one on board that she knew, and, as each hour increased the distance from all familiar places, a feeling of friendlessness stole over her.

Arrived at Quebec, every one seemed to push before and jostle her away; but patiently following in the stream, she found herself, with a sensation of relief on board the huge Leviathan steamer that was to be her home across the broad Atlantic.

Some misgivings respecting luggage obtruded themselves. A porter had put her portmanteau and bag on board, but the two trunks she had never seen.

No one seemed to attend to her till one man gruffly replied,--"That if they were properly addressed, they would be put into the hold all right."

And Bluebell took comfort in the remembrance of the labels plentifully nailed on by Aunt Jane, that she had then thought looked so nervously ridiculous.

She sat for some time alone in the saloon, waiting till the rush for state rooms should have a little subsided before making a timid request for her own.

Several people were now returning, apparently with disburdened minds, for anxious wrinkles were smoothed out into complacent curiosity. Bluebell made an incoherent attack on the stewardess, who swept by, without attending, and after being pa.s.sed on from one official to the other, she found herself half-proprietess of a dark confined den, with two berths, two wash-hand-stands, and a sofa. Her partner in these luxuries had apparently taken possession and gone, for rather a queer shawl lay on one berth, and a singularly tasteless hat hung on a peg.

These significant articles deprived the little dungeon of all charms of privacy, and, feeling as if it belonged so much more to the other lodger, and she herself were somewhat of an intruder, Bluebell left her small effects in the portmanteau, which she stowed away in the most un.o.bstrusive manner, not even venturing to hang up the brown-holland contrivance of Aunt Jane.

Then she found her way on deck, where most of the pa.s.sengers were congregated, and, sitting down on a centre bench, in rather inconvenient proximity to a skylight, was sufficiently amused in speculating on her fellow travellers.

"My comrade can't be among them," she thought, "for she has left her hat below."

Most noticeable were a young officer and his bride, as Bluebell immediately decided the latter to be, partly from her helpless _exigeante_ demeanour, and partly from the extreme newness of her fashionable get up.