"I can play," said Jack, stoutly, who had not attempted it since his childhood, but only wanted an excuse to remain on. So they sat down at the spidery table, saying little; Jack quite well entertained with his hand frequently coming in contact with Bluebell's on the board. He would have liked to crush up that little member in his own, and meditated the bold coup more than once, but was always discouraged by that far away, unconscious look in her eyes.

In this squalid parlour, where she was the only soft-hued thing in the room, he thought her more beautiful than ever. Perhaps she was, for the love-light burned steadily in her Irish eyes, and he could not tell it was not for him.

Never were more lenient or careless adversaries. Twice Jack's queen was in Bluebell's grasp uncaptured, and he could at any time have checkmated her, had he been as attentive to the variations of the game as to those of her countenance. Suddenly Bluebell swept her hand over the board, crying,—"I never saw such men, they don't fight. We have been playing half-an-hour, and have hardly taken any prisoners."

"It is a slow game," said Jack, equably; "let us try cat's-cradle. Or, perhaps," he continued, meeting with no response, "I ought to be saying good-night."

Bluebell was secretly tired of him, and could not conceive on what principle her mother began pressing him to stay.

"There's the nicest bit of toasted cheese coming up for supper," said she. "I know all officers like a Welsh rabbit. My poor late husband did, though he used to say, in his funny way, he only ate it because there was nothing else fit to touch."

"I fear I must go; but I hope you'll ask me to tea again, Mrs. Leigh, it is so jolly getting away from mess sometimes," said the young diplomatist.

"That I will," said she, highly flattered, "and I shall be very much offended if you don't come. I am only sorry you can't sit a little longer now."

Jack was not quite sure he couldn't, but Bluebell, pretending not to see his hesitation, held out her hand and said "good-night," so he had nothing for it but to go. In two minutes, though, his head re-appeared. "Come and look at the Northern Lights, Miss Leigh; regular tip-top fireworks. Here's a shawl; make haste." But when she come out, only a few weak-coloured pink clouds were floating about.

"Is that all?" ejaculated Bluebell.

"Not quite," said Jack; "it was a western light I was trying to invoke, or, rather, the light of my eyes. When may I come and see you, Bluebell?"

"I came out to look at meteors," said she, laughing at his unwonted flowers of speech; "and I don't know who gave you leave to call me by my Christian name."

"It isn't your Christian," urged Jack.

"It will be my nom de guerre, then, if you say it again."

"Change it if you like," quoth he, "if you will let me change your surname too."

A startled stare of blue eyes, a smothered laugh, and Bluebell had darted into the house, clapping the door after her.

"Confound it," thought Jack, "just my luck. In another moment I should have kissed her—I think I should; but, hang it, when a girl looks you straight in the face and talks to you as if you were her grandmother, it puts one off. Well, I have kissed lots of girls without proposing and now it's vice versa, for it was as good as an offer, and all I got by it was her nipping in just when I thought I had her to myself."



CHAPTER XIV.

THE TRYST.

Twas full of love—to rhyme with dove, And all that tender sort of thing, Of sweet and meet—and heart and dart, But not a word about a ring! —Hood.

Time flew much lighter with our heroine as she counted the days to the next rendezvous with Du Meresq; anticipation is ever sweeter than reality. The cottage was no longer dull, nor existence empty, even the unrenewed and diminishing snow, dusky as a goose in a manufacturing town, was the symptoms of approaching spring and verdure. Who need think of the torrents of rain which must precede it? The little episode with Jack outside the door afforded her secret entertainment, and although she did not look upon it as a bona-fide proposal, that did not bias her intention of relating the anecdote for Bertie's delectation. It might be just as well to let him see if he couldn't speak out, others could, and if he were jealous, why so much the better.

Clouds were chasing each other in the sky, and the increased mildness of the atmosphere inspired Bluebell with the dread that rain was approaching, for a rendezvous under dripping umbrellas, if feasible, was not the most desirable pose for a romantic interview.

However, the morning rose clear and sunny, the snow was thawing, and in many places the runners of the sleighs grated on bare ground.

Bluebell was exultant. The elements evidently didn't mean to oppose her, but she was somewhat disconcerted at dinner by Miss Opie's remarks on her Sunday dress, which, being of a becoming hue, she had rashly donned.

"Are you going visiting, Bluebell, that you are so smart?"

"Oh, dear no; only for a walk."

"How foolish to draggle that mazarin blue poplinette in sloppy snow! Once let it get any snow stains on, and it will look quite shabby on bright spring days."

"It's no use having things, if one doesn't wear them," returned the girl, evasively. But when she came down ten minutes later equipped for her walk, she encountered Miss Opie again in full marching order.

"My, dear, as you are dressed so nicely, I dare say you are going 'on King,' and so am I; so we can walk together."

Consternation in Bluebell's face—it was only a quarter to three.

"I am going quite in the opposite direction," cried she, hurriedly, and, without waiting to see the effect of her words, abruptly fled.

"Just Canadian independence," muttered Miss Opie; "It makes all the girls such thoroughly bad style."

Bluebell began to feel very nervous; two or three young friends that she met on the way, she passed with a quick nod and averted face, dreading their joining her. Her eye swept the broad walk of the Avenue in an instant; no familiar figure arrested her vision, and the seats placed at regular intervals on each side were also vacant of interest.

So she was first—the Cathedral clock had struck three some minutes before, she was perplexed to know what to do with herself, and began walking slowly to the other end. Of all possible contretemps, the non-appearance of Du Meresq had never suggested itself; but after a couple of turns the unwelcome misgiving strengthened, and there would be only one at the tryst that day.

In a tumult of disappointment and indignation, conjecture after conjecture chased each other; while ever and anon her fancy was mocked by some one turning in at the gates bearing a general resemblance to Du Meresq, only to be dispelled by a nearer and more accurate view.

A simple explanation suddenly dawned; Bertie might have written to warn her of an unavoidable absence. The possibility of such a letter, which, had she had received it in the morning, would have been the bitterest disappointment, now seemed a resurrection from despair to hope, and with relaxed features and brightening eyes, Bluebell walked rapidly through the gates to the Post-office.

Letters were so rare and unlooked for at the cottage, that the postman never included it in his rounds; and the contents of the pigeon-hole appropriated to them at the office was seldom inquired for, except on mail-days, when there might be an off-chance of an English letter for Miss Opie. Even Bluebell, who for the first fortnight after her banishment from "The Maples" had been a regular applicant, had not been near it since Bertie's visit to the cottage.

"Two letters for Miss Theodora Leigh." One she scarcely looked at; the other instinct told her must be Bertie's handwriting; it had been lying two days at the Post-office.

"My dearest Bluebell," ran this note, "I can't come to the Avenue on Wednesday, being now entirely confined to the sofa with my ankle, which has gone to the bad. I am only staying on now with sick leave, and the Chief very sulky at that. When shall I again see those beloved, angel-like, soft blue eyes? Don't write to me here, for, as you may remember, the orderly fetches the letters, and my august brother-in-law sometimes deals them round.

"Your ever devotedly attached, "A. Du M."

Poor Bluebell, as she read these few and rather cavalier lines, felt for the moment as if she had never suffered till now; his hinted at departure, and apparent resignation to absence from her, was a severe shock, and, in the first hot feeling of grief, the scales fell from her eyes, and she began to see Bertie as he was, but she could not yet endure the light of reason, so resumed her voluntary blindness, and re-read the letter, and though very little of it could satisfy her expectations, she dwelt more on the few words that did. After a while, she remembered the other letter, and found, with awakening interest, it was from Mrs. Rolleston. This was written in a pleasant chit-chat style, giving an account of their every-day life since she left, and not at all avoiding Bertie's name, the tedious effect of his toboggining accident being one of the chief incidents mentioned. It wound up with saying that they expected her back as soon as she liked.

Bluebell felt rather mystified at the tone of this epistle; but was much comforted by the thought that the ban was removed, and she might go to "The Maples" and judge for herself. This was dated prior to the other letter, but Bertie appeared to have been ignorant of it.

The following day, our heroine, in a hired sleigh, was jingling back to "The Maples," and curiosity and interest all centred on one question—"Is he there still?"

As she passed through the hall, her eye glanced searchingly round on the chance of seeing some familiar property of Bertie's. There was only a pair of his moccasins; but they might so easily have been left behind as useless, now the snow was evaporating.

Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil received her very cordially, but, knowing their sentiments, that was rather an unfavourable omen, and Freddy and Lola, who had come down to see her, kept up such an incessant chatter, that there seemed no chance of obtaining the information she dreaded.

At last, in a momentary pause, she faltered out a leading remark in such a low voice that no one attended to it. A minute later, she tried again,—"I hope Captain Du Meresq is better."

"How red you have got, 'Boobell!'" said Freddy. "Look, mamma!"

"What did you say, my dear—Bertie? Oh, yes, he is very lame still; but he was obliged to go yesterday."

The sudden colour left Bluebell's cheek, and she sat for some minutes in a relaxed, drooping attitude, oblivious of all around, till becoming sensible of Cecil's gaze rivetted on her. It was a cold satirical expression, at the same time inquiring. Bluebell was very unhappy; but this roused her, and, raising her head, she looked her enemy steadily in the eyes, with a bitter smile.

She never, strange to say, suspected Cecil of being a rival, merely supposing she was carrying on the family politics; and wounded by her officiously hostile demeanour, as she considered it, resolved no trace of her sufferings should ever be witnessed by this cold friend.

And thus it happened that the topic was jealously avoided by each; though, with mutual occupation and amusements, they became friendly again, now the disturber of their amicability was removed.

Bertie and Cecil had been inseparable the last week. His premature exertion in calling at the cottage had thrown him back; and really ill, and, in enforced inaction, he could not bear her out of his sight.

So day after day Cecil passed in the smoking-room, only hurrying out for a short drive or constitutional; and half-repaid by the gloomy complaint, "How long yon have been!" when she re-entered.

Du Meresq's correspondence, too, as we have before hinted, was not calming. A half-indignant letter from a friend whose temporary accommodation had not been repaid, a bill at three months wanting renewing, a tailor threatening the extremest rigours of the law, and similar literature, familiar to a distressed man, was punctually brought by the Post-office orderly for his delectation.

"You seem interested, Cecil," said he, as, with the uncerimoniousness of a trusted confidante, she glanced through the variations of the same text. "Do you young ladies ever get up behind each other, and back each other's bills?"

"You haven't opened some, Bertie; and they are not all bills."

"You can, if it amuses you," hobbling across the room. "Why, Cecil, my foot is almost sound again. We'll drive somewhere this afternoon, anyhow."

"See what the doctor says. Look here, Bertie, here's a letter marked private, so I didn't go on."

"Where did you find that? I never saw it." As he read, his brow grew dark, and he pondered several minutes; while Cecil, devoured with curiosity, and half-apprehensive of evil, remained silent.

"Will you get me a railway-guide, Cecil? There's one in the dining-room."

She complied, most unwillingly.

"Are you really going, Bertie?"

"I must, to-night."

"Why?" she more looked than asked.

He glanced through the letter again, and tossed it to her. "You see I have no secrets from you, Cecil, though I should not care for any one else in the house to be acquainted with its contents."

It was a confidential letter from his Colonel, saying, if absolutely necessary, he would give him more sick leave; but advising him, if possible, to return at once and settle some of his most urgent liabilities, which, having repeatedly come to his ears, he could no longer avoid taking notice of, unless he took steps to get the more serious ones shortly arranged.

"What will you do, Bertie?"

"I don't know that anything but jumping into the Lachine Rapids would solve the difficulty," returned he, lightly; "and even that must be deferred till the river is open."

"How much is it?" impatiently.

"I dare say six hundred might soothe the chief's sense of propriety, and give one a little breathing-time. But I can't get that, so the smash must come a little sooner than it otherwise would."

"You tell me that, and tie my hands by refusing to let me help you. Bertie, if you could just hold on till August, when I might draw any cheques I pleased—"

"You dearest little angel!" interrupted Du Meresq, warmly; "what have I done that you should be so kind to me? But all women are alike—generous and true-hearted when a fellow is down in the world; and—"

"Then you promise? You will count on the money?" said Cecil, not much flattered at being supposed only to act up to the inevitable instincts of her sex.

"Good heavens, Cecil! no; I am not such an unprincipled brute as to rob you of a penny. Under no possible circumstances could I touch—"

"Under no possible circumstances?" leapt out before she could restrain her speech. Had the meaning escaped him, the eloquent blood which rushed over neck and brow must have betrayed it completely.

Bertie, who had been speaking without motive, was taken by surprise as the sense of her impulsive words flashed on his brain.

"My darling Cecil!"

Cecil, the colour of a carnation, and expiring with embarrassment, raised her eyes, and encountered his fixed on her with a fond, sad, but not responsive expression. If shame could kill, she had received her coup de grace that moment. He had understood, and yet said nothing.

The most rapturous gratitude on his part would hardly have reconciled her to herself; not to be met half-way was ignominious rejection.

It had all been the work of one moment, and relief came in the next with the entrance of Colonel Rolleston. Cecil, feeling as if delivered from a spell, got out of the room, and entrenched herself in her own, where her thoughts became almost unendurable.

In horror at what she had done, her first wish was never to see Bertie again. Every particle of pleasure in his society must now be over since that one mad, unguarded sentence.

"I might have known," thought she, bitterly, "that that false, caressing manner of his never meant anything. I have seen it with a dozen girls—even Bluebell,"—here she winced; "and yet in the face of all probability I must needs believe myself more to him than any one, because it suits him to make me the receptacle of his worries. Well, he is disinterested, at any rate, since all my money has no more attractions for him than myself."

A stormy hour did poor Cecil pass with her wounded pride, when she was interrupted by Lola, the Mercury of the establishment, who came to tell her that "dinner would be an hour earlier, because Bertie was going away."

Cecil received the intelligence very shortly, and nipped in the bud her evident intention of lingering by declaring herself "busy," which that astute young person, seeing no signs of employment, interpreted as "cross."

"I must face it," thought she, as the last peal of the gong jarred on her nerves. She descended just in time to see Colonel and Mrs. Rolleston disappear into the dining-room. Du Meresq, who had waited, eagerly placed her hand under his arm, and drew her back a moment.

"Cecil, where have you been hiding all this afternoon?"

I suppose he had the key to the answer, for the changing hues of her complexion, in which pride struggled with confusion, was the only one he got.

"You utter little goose!" said Bertie, emphatically, crushing the hand under his arm as they entered the dining-room. Curious to relate, Cecil scarcely felt so ashamed as she had an hour ago. Not a chance would she give him, though, of speaking a syllable in private; and very soon after dinner he departed, taking leave of Cecil before all the rest, with no more distinguishing mark of affection than a long hand-clasp, which seemed as if it would never unlock.

"Only his odious flirting manner!" said Cecil to herself; but she did not think so, and felt a good deal less self-contempt than she had before.

Next day, when Mrs. Rolleston announced Bluebell's expected return, Cecil felt quite in charity with her, and resolved to make things pleasanter than they had been, though this relenting mood was nearly dissipated by her unconscious rival presuming to look miserable at the tidings of Du Meresq's departure.



CHAPTER XV.

AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER.

'Tis Spring, bright Spring, and bluebirds sing.

I was monarch supreme in my cloudland. I was master of fate in that proud land; I would not endure That a grief without cure, A love that could end, Or a false hearted friend, Should dwell for an instant in cloudland. —Mackay.

Nothing but rain, pouring rain, for the next few days, washing the walls of snow down the unmetaled streets, a very slough of despond to all beasts of burden. Once more the sight of green grass relieved the eye, weary of the one monotonous hue it had rested on for weeks, and still it rained as if determined not to stop till it had fulfilled its mission, and dissolved every sooty patch that in chilly spots still obstinately lingered.

At last the clouds parted, the sun came out, and Cecil, regardless of mud, and impatient of long confinement, started off for a gallop on "Wings."

On her way she met the Post-office orderly with letters, who stopped and gave her one. It isn't such a very easy thing to read your correspondence on horseback, with the wind catching the sheets, and the sun shining through the paper, mixing the writing on the other side with the one you are reading. Still less feasible is it in a crowded street; so, though Cecil at once recognised the handwriting of Du Meresq, it had to be consigned to the saddle-pocket till the traffic was threaded, and she had entered on a quiet corduroy road by the lake. Then she opened it with a flattering feeling of expectation, and was half-disappointed at its calm commencement.

Bertie, with his usual dependence on her sympathy, began by telling her that he had been able to make a temporary arrangement, which had squared things for the present. "But," he continued, "the evil day must be no longer deferred. I will try and find out every shilling I owe. It will be more than I expect, I dare say, yet my commission ought to cover it, and, altogether, I shall probably save enough out of the fire to be a small capitalist in Australia. Much as I hate it, I must cut the service, for if my debts were paid to-morrow I should have just as many in two years. Dearest Cecil, I know you do not exactly hate me; I wish I were more worthy of the affection of such a dear, true-hearted girl. Will you trust me, Cecil, and believe in me a little longer, even if I say no more at present? I don't think your father likes me; I wish now he did. Let me see your dear handwriting soon. I believe you have more head than any girl I know, and more heart, too; and no one can appreciate your sense and affection more than yours, ever devotedly,

"A. Du MERESQ."

Cecil rode thoughtfully on, as she turned the letter over in her mind, trying to penetrate Bertie's meaning.

"Why does he not speak out more plainly?" thought she. "He will never be any richer unless he marries me, so it is useless waiting for that. I will not, any how, be in too great a hurry to understand him this time. If his debts are paid, and he leaves the army soon, he must say more—or nothing." And at that chance Cecil turned rather pale, and giving Wings his head, who had been fretting some time, started off at a good refreshing galop. They were on the race course now, and, excited by the turf, he gave her quite enough to do to hold him.

"What fun station-life must be," thought she. "Always riding in a wild, strange country,—birds, animals, plants, scenery, and ideas, all different and unhackneyed. Canada is well enough, but it mimics England too much, and is fifty years behind it." Before she got home, she had composed a clear-headed and sympathetic, but not at all lover-like, letter to Bertie, who was disappointed at the tone of it; and—"as the nymph flies, the swain pursues"—he wrote a much more affectionate one back, and then Cecil suffered her thoughts to take a more decided shape, and they dwelt especially on a "lodge in some vast wilderness" of her colonial paradise,—picturesque, but not luxurious—an exquisite climate, and Bertie combining the life of a happy hunter and enterprising colonist, returning to sup on a kangaroo steak, and to wake up to another day of movement and adventure.

Cecil passed a great deal of her time in this ideal log-house, sometimes garrisoning and defending it, during Bertie's absence, against a war party of savages, for danger was by no means excluded from her scheme of felicity, except perhaps one, like St. Senaun's isle, her—

"Sacred sod, Should ne'er by Woman's feet be trod."

In such dreams and the companionship of Bluebell, who gave no further offence, now that she had learnt self-command and the necessity of keeping her feelings to herself, the spring advanced apace, and the first bluebird, alighting on the garden rails, was descried with a shriek of ecstacy by Lola.

The children, who unlike their elders, had had no gaieties, or sleighing and skating parties, to wile away the rigours of the snow king's reign, were emancipated from dulness by the approach of summer. Their lessons could be carried on in the garden; and, one day, Lola, who had shut her eyes while repeating to herself an irregular verb, saw, on opening them, a jewelled humming-bird balancing itself in the air on a level with her hat, and apparently inspecting that head-dress with wonder and curiosity, after which it flashed off and dived into a flower.

The garden was alive with fairy wonders; wild canaries came to it—pure saffron, except their black-flecked wings,—the soldier-bird, so bold and scarlet,—robins were a drug in the market, and only tolerated for their tameness and vocal powers. But none could weary of the bluebirds, whose azure took so vivid a hue in flight, from the sun shining through their wings.

Then there were excursions to the Humber woods in search of wild flowers, all new, rare, and delicate,—too much so to bear the pressure of eager hands, for they seldom survived the transit home. Often Cecil, Bluebell, Miss Prosody, and the children drove there in a waggonette, with a luncheon-basket, and spent the whole day in the golden woods, or rowing on the Humber river. Cecil's craze at this time was to paddle her own canoe; and occasionally Lilla Tremaine, who had become pretty intimate with her, joined the aquatic party.

The Colonel had rather demurred at first, thinking there was a soupcon of fastness and independence in it. Visions of possible anglers and unchaperoned river flirtations disturbed his mind; but eventually he satisfied himself, by requiring Miss Prosody to be always of the party, who followed with the children and a boatman in a flat-bottomed tub.

On one of these occasions they had been pulling about the beautiful bends of the river. Cecil, paddling her canoe, with a trolling-line out at the end of it, and Bluebell rowing a boat, while Lilla fished with a very especial spoon-bait of her own devising. Despite, however, the seductions of the gaudy red cloth and tassel of long hair from a deer's tail, not a fish impaled itself on the circle of formidable hooks prepared for its reception, and the mid-day sun began to dart fiercely on them.

"All nature speaks of luncheon and repose," cried Lilla, beginning to wind up her line, after the frequent weed had repeatedly mocked her hopes with its dull, dead pull. "Let us moor the fleet under this overhanging fir-tree, Cecil; it makes quite a bower."

"It feels like thunder, the fish don't bite, and the mosquitoes do," assented Cecil. "We must signal for the Infantry, though, who are also the Commissariat."

Bluebell tied a silk handkerchief to her oar, and waved it wildly.

"I wonder if that old nuisance enjoys herself," speculated Miss Tremaine, as Miss Prosody's prim visage appeared in the stern of the other boat. "So like you English, always carrying your propriety about in the shape of a foil."

"Don't abuse our treasure," said Cecil, demurely. "Ask papa what he thinks of Miss Prosody."

"I should get a more impartial opinion from Estelle and Fleda, who are always being kept in and bullied."

"Well, I really think the other children are enough for to-day," said Cecil. "What a fuss Freddy made to get after Bluebell into that tituppy little boat of yours."

"Yes, and you would all have been beseeching him not to till now, if I had not taken him by the scruff of the neck and dropped him into the other!"

"Well, dear," said Cecil, languidly; "we don't all possess your strength of mind and biceps. What have you got there, Lola?" as the boatman deftly shot the other boat under the overhanging branches.

"Water-lily leaves for plates! See now stiff and shining they are, and washed up so clean."

"Then, I suppose we must not use these wooden ones, my fanciful fairy?"

"Don't be so foolish, Lola!" snapped in Miss Prosody. "You'll spoil your frock; throw them away!"

"We can put them over the platters," said Cecil. "Hand out the edibles, Bluebell. What have you got?"

"Here's a pie, a cake, a tart, croquettes; no knives, about a pound of salt, and some butter in the last stage of dissolution."

"No knives!" cried Miss Prosody. "There must be!" plunging desperately into the basket.

"That is more untidy than a lily-leaf plate," remarked Lilla.

"No, positively not," said the governess. "How very remiss of Bowers, particularly as I observe he has provided forks!"

The children looked disappointed. They had been reckoning on the phenomenon of Miss Prosody, subjugated by hunger, eating pie with her fingers.

"Here be a knife!" said the boatman, wiping on his trousers the blade of his clasp-knife.

"Let as put a polish on," said Lilla, laughing at Cecil's face; and, jumping on to the bank, thrust it several times into the earth. The children, tired of their cramped position in the boat, wished to dine on shore; but it was thickly wooded, and there was no clear space; so Freddy was wedged into a fork of the tree, and Lola swung on another bough, where they chattered like two pies, handing down a basket on a string when they required fresh supplies.

Cecil lay on the bear-skin in her canoe, with her hat over her face, declaring it too hot to eat, but consuming, under protest, a croquette occasionally tossed in for her sustenance. Miss Prosody, quite genial and urbane after luncheon, was deep in consultation with the boatman as to the locality of certain ferns she proposed spudding up for her pet rockery at "The Maples," where her lighter hours were diurnally spent in washing and tending her spoils.

"I suppose this is all very sylvan and jolly," said Lilla, handing the remnants of the refection to the boatman; "yet somehow, candidly, it's slow."

"Possibly," said Cecil, "it is the absence of the other sex that makes you find it so?"

"Perhaps," said Lilla, frankly, with furtive enjoyment of Miss Prosody's stiffening face. "Well, ladies, I should like my little smoke; can I offer anybody one? You will find them very mild,"—and she drew forth a neat case of Latakia cigarettes, selected one, and, striking a match on the heel of her boot, lit it.

"Of course, if you choose to be so unlady-like, we cannot prevent you," said the governess, icily.

"Dear me!" said Lilla, innocently, "I never dreamt of your objecting; for I have heard you tell Colonel Rolleston, when he has been smoking, how fond you were of it in the open air."

"Colonel Rolleston would most decidedly disapprove of your doing it."

"He does, I believe, of most of my actions; but he is very kind to me all the same. Look at this wretch of a mosquito actually stinging through my glove. I'll just touch him up with the red ash of my cigar."

Miss Prosody knew of old that Lilla was incorrigible, and, having no hope of support from Cecil in any attempt to snub her, resolved to discountenance the proceeding by going away, and summoned the children from their tree, who were quite ready for a fresh start. The girls declared it was too hot to move. Lilla continued to puff away lazily, the zest rather gone now there was nobody to be shocked at it. Bluebell, mingling her voice with the birds, was singing the "Danube River," while Cecil, with shut eyes, lay in her canoe, and gave herself up to the dreamy music, till, aroused by its sudden cessation, she looked up, and saw a boat half checked in its speed, and Major Fane and Jack Vavasour doffing their billy-cock hats.

Cecil's return bow was freezing, and Major Fane, who had rested irresolutely a moment on his oars, shot the boat on with vigorous pulls. She felt half penitent as she saw his discomfited face, but her coldness arose from having become alive to a possible danger.

Colonel Rolleston had lately very frequently asked him to dinner, even when there was no one else, and he always fell to her share to entertain. Now Major Fane was a very good match in every way,—quite what parents and guardians would approve; so, thought Cecil,—"I can't have any mistakes about that, or it will only settle papa against Bertie."

"Did you summon those two from this vasty deep, Lilla?" cried she. "But, I forgot; I don't think either of them sail under your flag."

"My colours are too rakish and privateerish for Major Fane; and as for Jack, I am afraid he has the bad taste to prefer Bluebells to Lilies."

"If you think him worth your acceptance," said Bluebell "I will make you a present of him."

"He may be yours to keep, my dear, but not to give away. At present I am not 'on for matrimony,' and, to flirt with, I don't know any one better fun than Bertie Du Meresq."

The other girls were both too conscious to reply to this audacious remark, and after awhile they resumed fishing, Lilla's gaudy bait still unsuccessful, though Cecil had landed one or two pike. Bluebell grew tired of rowing steadily to keep her companion's line extended, and persuaded her to wind it up; then Lilla took the sculls, and they fell into conversation.

"Were you at that tobogganing party where Captain Du Meresq hurt his ankle?" asked Bluebell, diligently examining the corolla of a water-lily.

"Why?" was the counter inquiry.

"Because I never heard how it happened."

"How was that?" said Lilla, launching into narrative. At the close of it she said,—"Cecil pulled him through that time. I shouldn't have thought nursing much in her line; but she was very hard hit, you know, and I rather wondered Bertie didn't propose before he left so suddenly. Very likely he did though."

Bluebell's eyes opened in horror at this unpalatable suggestion. "What are you dreaming of, Lilla?" gasped she. "Cecil! why she looks upon him as an uncle or something."

"Oh, Bluebell, you blind little bat, it would be as well if you looked upon him 'as an uncle or something.'"

But the other sat aghast and speechless. Lily glanced at her sympathetically.

"Well, perhaps he mayn't care for Cecil. He has been talking nonsense to you, too, I see, as he has to us all three, for that matter. I feel so angry about it, I have a great mind to tell you all he said to me."

"I don't want to hear," said her companion, coldly; "nor do I at all agree with you about Cecil"

"All right," returned the other. "Only remember he can't afford to marry, whatever he may have pretended to you—not but what that subject is about the last it ever occurs to him to enter upon."

Bluebell at first utterly refused to receive this intolerable suggestion into her mind. Lilla must be inventing—in love with him herself, and trying to make mischief. Nothing should induce her to believe it. How irritating she was, too, with that knowing, quizzing expression in her face!

So when Cecil, tired of solitude, proposed coming into their boat, Bluebell eagerly took possession of the canoe, and went off on an independent paddle, ostensibly to look for Miss Prosody.



CHAPTER XVI.

DETECTED.

His passion is not, he declares, the mere fever Of a rapturous moment. It knows no control; It will burn in his breast thro' existence for ever, Immutably fixed in the deeps of the soul. —The Wanderer.

"Why did you shoot on so quick, Major?" said Vavasour, in an injured tone, after the dumb scene before referred to. "We might as well have stayed and discoursed those young women."

Fane growled something about not choosing to intrude.

"I don't suppose they would have minded. That spicy little party, Lily Tremaine, was smoking. I wonder who finds her in cigars?"

"I hate Canadian girls!" said Fane. "And when they pretend to be fast they are more unbearable still."

"Oh, come," said Jack, warmly, for was not Bluebell of that maligned nationality? "they must have used you badly, Major. They are far more unaffected and natural than English girls, who always ride to orders; and as for beauty—"

"You have only got to look at Bluebell Leigh. Well, slope back to them, Jack. You shan't have the boat, because I should never get it again. But if you like to plough through that long grass to their bivouac, I daresay the mosquitoes will receive you warmly if the young ladies don't."

In the meantime, Bluebell, tempted by a shady creek, abandoned her canoe, and, flinging herself down on a bed of wild flowers, remained a prey to the consideration of this new view of Lilla's, which would account, in the most unwelcome manner, for the inconsistency of Du Meresq's conduct with his professions.

Cecil a rival! Much as she wished to disbelieve it, corroborative evidence, unheeded at the time, now recurred with such startling distinctness that she marvelled at her own previous blindness. Still, Bluebell was not cured. That he cared most for herself she continued to believe, though Cecil's fortune might have tempted him away. Plan after plan for obtaining an explanation was discarded as unfeasible; and, at last, Bluebell, in despair, hid her face in her hands, and burst into the unrestrained grief of the young.

She was disturbed by a slight rustling in the bushes, and, looking up, beheld Jack Vavasour in an attitude of confusion and consternation, apparently meditating flight.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Leigh; I was going away before you saw me. I'll go at once. My darling Bluebell, what is the matter?"

"I don't know," said she, relieved to see it was "only Jack." "I am very hot and—miserable."

Vavasour sat down, and tried in his honest and unsophisticated way to console her. "Was there any one he could pitch into for her? He would do anything she wished, etc., if she would only say what was vexing her."

Bluebell could hardly help laughing, but was so unaccustomed of late to sympathy, that she felt half tempted to take him into council, and confide her misplaced attachment and perplexities.

It was rather heartless, knowing his sentiments; but callousness to the pangs of a lightly won and unvalued heart is not uncommon in Love's annals.

However, he was too precipitate for her.

"Bluebell," he began, blushing rather, and looking, as she thought, almost handsome in his eagerness, "do you remember what I said to you the other night when we were looking at the Northern Lights?"

"I remember some absurd chaff."

"It wasn't," said Jack, with emphasis suited to the solemnity of the declaration. "I meant every word of it; and now I say, like the Beast in the fairy tale—'Beauty, will you marry me?'"

"And she always said,—'No, Beast,'" said Bluebell, laughing; "and then he went away, 'very sorrowful.'"

"Yes, but that's the difference. I shan't go away, or let you, till you say 'Yes.'"

"I couldn't, really," said she, treating it as a joke. "So we shall be starved to death, and covered up by birds, like the babes in the wood."

"No; we will live happy ever afterwards," passing an arm round her waist with an air of proprietorship. "Shall I tell Colonel Rolleston to-night?"

"Oh, this is too serious," cried Bluebell, energetically freeing herself. "If you really want an answer to such stuff, most decidedly 'No.'"

Jack, in furious mortification, for he saw she was now thoroughly in earnest, poured forth reproaches, accusing her of coquetry and purposely deceiving him, caring not if his words were just or unjust; and Bluebell's conscience was not altogether guiltless. Perhaps her own disappointment made her better understand his; for she waited patiently till the torrent of words had a little subsided, and then, laying her hand persuasively on his arm, said with gentle archness,—

"Don't be angry, Jack. What should we live on? I haven't a penny, you can't always pay your mess bill, and I am afraid an officer's wife couldn't go on the strength of the regiment, and take in washing."

"I didn't think you were so mercenary," said he, looking into her liquid eyes, that were fast quenching the angry light in his.

"I suppose I must be," said Bluebell, naively; "for I hate poverty so. You know my father married—just as you want to do—a pretty girl without a dollar to her name."

"You are pretty, my darling, and you know it," said Jack, bitterly.

"I don't know why people care for me if I am not, for I'm afraid there isn't much in me; and at the age of seventeen one may at least lay claim to la beaute du diable. Well, as I was going to say, my father married just as imprudently, and got disinherited for his pains."

"No fear of that with me," said Jack. "I am number seven, and they have all good constitutions. Destiny has decreed that I must live by my wits, without even providing me with any."

"So you see," continued she, "as we have neither money nor brains, it is no use thinking of it!"

"You are wise in your generation," said Jack, darkly. "You are pretty enough to get a rich husband any day; but whoever it is, for Heaven's sake, don't let it be Du Meresq!"

Bluebell's fair brow contracted, and her dark lashes swept her cheek, as she said, in a low, pained voice,—"No fear of that."

"I trust not," said Jack, severely, and quite unconvinced. "You are but a child, Bluebell; and, though you won't take me, I shall watch over you, and see that you do not throw yourself away; though if any good fellow wants you, I suppose I must grin and bear it."

"Thanks, my stern guardian. I hope you won't die of old age in the mean time. And now, do go, dear Jack. I must paddle after the others."

"Say good-bye first. May I, Bluebell? Only this once,"—and, without waiting for consent, he imprinted a kiss, grave as an officiating priest's to a new made bride. Touched by his love and resignation she voluntarily returned it, and, turning away, encountered the two mischievous eyes of Miss Tremaine in the stern of her boat, which had glided up unobserved.

I suppose there is no dereliction from the Eleventh Commandment, in which people would more joyfully welcome an earthquake than being taken at a similar disadvantage. No explanation or extenuating circumstances can be attempted in that deep confusion.

Lilla raised her eyes to heaven with a most edifying expression of pious horror, and shook her head disapprovingly.

"Jack," muttered Bluebell, in a tone of concentrated anguish, "I shall die of it!"

Vavasour suppressed an expletive more forcible than parliamentary, and strode down to pull the boat in.

"Oh, here you are," cried Cecil, innocent of the foregoing pantomime, for she was rowing, and had her back to them. "Mr. Vavasour, where do you spring from?" She noted, as she spoke, his strange expression and Bluebell's heightened colour with quickening curiosity and pleasure.

"I left Fane further down the river," said he; "and Miss Leigh and I sat listening to the—bull-frogs." Here Jack cast a look half-imploring, half-furious, at Lilla, who had assumed a most Quakerish expression, and hummed the air, "A frog he would a wooing go."

"Well, get in Bluebell," said Cecil, smiling; "we are going home now. Come and see us soon, Mr. Vavasour."

Jack liked Cecil very much; but he only bowed gloomily, and placing Bluebell in her canoe, disappeared, as might be inferred, to Fane; though afterwards that gentleman bitterly complained that he had, on returning home,—after waiting, to his great inconvenience, an hour or more, anathematizing Jack,—found that he had walked back to barracks totally oblivious of his companion.

Bluebell's return drive was far from a peaceful one. Lilla, it is true, abstained from remarks before the children; but there was no escaping her provokingly wicked glances, which argued ill for her future discretion.

Cecil, on the contrary, was unusually suave and considerate to Bluebell, and had rather the air of shielding her from Lilla; which would have been less incomprehensible had she known that in the interval of disembarking and entering the waggonette, Cecil had been made a participator in that malicious damsel's discovery.

At bed-time, Miss Rolleston, contrary to her wont, entered Bluebell's room, hair-brush in hand, as if disposed for a cozy confab. But that employment, so provocative of feminine disclosures, appeared futile this night, and the raven and chestnut coils were brushed to the sheen of a bird's wing ere Cecil had discovered what she had come for.

At last, under cover of lighting her candle, she said, with a disarming smile,—"You are very reserved, Bluebell. May I guess what Lubin said to you in the Humber, to-day?"

"I dare say you can," said the other, simply. "He will forget all about it soon, I trust."

"Do you mean you gave him no hope?" a suspicion of Lilla's veracity mingling with her disappointment.

"Certainly not," with great energy.

"But why?" asked Cecil, with asperity.

Bluebell turned her melancholy eyes full upon her, and the two rivals gazed steadily at each other. Then Cecil's head was impatiently flung back, her level eyebrows went down, and, without further remark, she rose and left the room.



CHAPTER XVII.

DID YOU PROPOSE THEN?

A lover came riding by a while; A wealthy lover was he, whose smile Some maids would value greatly. —More Bad Ballads.

The summer had not been a very gay one. The heat was so intense as to throw languour on the garden and croquet-parties, which replaced the winter balls and sleigh drives. Thunder was in the air, and growled and muttered around; but the joyfully-hailed clouds floated away without affording a drop of rain; or if one black flying monster poured itself like a water-spout on the parched city, laying the flowers with its violence, the thirsty earth licked it up, scarce leaving a trace. Summer lightning quaked in long sheets over the horizon; the geese were lying dead on the common from drought; and the restless night was haunted by the tramp of straying horses on the wooden side-walks.

"Round trips" were advertised in all the papers, and brackish bathing-places on the St. Lawrence were already crowded. The Saguenay and Marguerite rivers had carried off their fishing votaries, the black fly worked its wicked will at Tadousac, where the "property" whale of the —— hotel had already been seen spouting, according to the waiter, as he attended at the matitudinal table-d'hote. At any rate, seals might be seen with the naked eye, and shot, too, by a wary seal-slayer in a boat. Two such trophies were already in the hotel, affording unlimited excitement to the visitors, who, indeed, were somewhat in need of extraneous amusement, for the only resource the place could boast was pulling a boat against the strong tide of the two rivers meeting, with the alternative of a garment-rending scramble in the woods, a prey to the nipping fly, and coming sometimes in undesired proximity to a wild cat.

Twice a week the Quebec boats, with Saguenay trippers, chiefly Americans, halted at the hotel for an hour or two, and turned in their freight, who invariably commenced dancing to the more amiable than tuneful strains of an amateur performer in the public drawing-room.

This pleasure was partaken of quite as "sadly" as if they were our own unfrisky compatriots; but it passed the time, and the males still further diversified it by "smiling" at the bar.

The Rollestons, vacillating between Tadousac, the Falls, a trip in the "Algoma," and a journey to Boston, their large party being an objection to each and all, were finally attracted by an advertisement of a fishing-lodge to be let or sold on Rice Lake.

This would be a pied a terre for disposing of the impedimenta of the family—governess and children—during the hot months, leaving the others at liberty for flying excursions. The price was so ridiculous that Colonel Rolleston bought it outright, jestingly saying to Lola that it should be her marriage portion.

There had been a croquet party at "The Maples," but nearly every one was gone except two or three who were remaining for dinner. Among these, with a movement of vexation, Cecil observed Major Fane, her father's persistent encouragement of whom began to cause her serious uneasiness. Why, this was the second time within four days he had been asked to dine! "Can he possibly have spoken to papa first?" thought she. "It is just the sort of matter-of-fact thing he would do." Revolving it over, she walked slowly towards her step-mother, who was revelling in a packet of English letters just received, and began reading out portions to Cecil, who listened absently at first, till a passage in one of them, from circumstances, arrested her attention.

It was from a cousin of Mrs. Rolleston's, and chiefly related to her only daughter, who was heiress to a considerable property. This child had always been backward and excitable, and apparently incapable of the fatigue of study. The letter went on to say that Evelyn was developing a passion for music, even attempting to compose, and that the writer desired to find a good musician to reside with them, who should be also young and cheerful, and likely to tempt her on in other branches of education as well.

"Mrs. Leighton is exactly describing Bluebell," said Cecil, quietly.

"Oh! and she would suit them so perfectly. I wonder if it would do! Bluebell will be crazy with delight, she has such a wish to see England; but I doubt if her mother would part with her to such a distance."

Cecil despised herself for saying,—"If you were to put it very strongly to Mrs. Leigh, and show her the advantages to her daughter,—for they are rich as Croesus, and would pay anything for a fancy,—surely she would not stand in her way."

Mrs. Rolleston was meditating, and answered, rather inconsequently,—"I feel greatly interested in Bluebell. I think she is very conscientious and right-minded. Mr. Vavasour never comes here now; and I am sure she has never encouraged him since I gave her a hint on the subject."

Cecil remembered the scene in the Humber, and Bluebell's suggestively-conscious face that evening, so did not rate so highly the heroism of her friend. But the stragglers now drew round them, and they went in to prepare for dinner.

Cecil had also kept Lilla Tremaine, for latterly she had shrunk from a tete-a-tete with Bluebell, who, sensible of their estrangement, yet sadly acquiesced in it, as her new-born suspicions had been strengthened by seeing Cecil receive a letter in Bertie's handwriting.

Lilla, who could not forget the tableau vivant she had witnessed, was continually persecuting her hapless victim with inuendoes and allusions, whose anger and powerlessness to exculpate herself gave an additional zest to the amusement. Therefore, finding this young lady was to remain the evening, Bluebell took refuge in the school-room tea, and did not appear at dinner.

Conversation fell on the new purchase, and their approaching departure for Rice Lake; and, observing this did not appear to have a very exhilarating effect on the Major, Colonel Rolleston continued,—"When will you come down and see us, Fane? We shall get very tired of our recluse life, and want some one to bring us the news."

The Major's face brightened, but, stealing a glance at Cecil's, which only expressed consternation, it was speedily overcast, and he returned an evasive answer. Looking gloomily for the relief he expected to discern in her countenance, he received a swift glance of gratitude, which uncomplimentary graciousness completed his discomfiture.

Soon after dinner some garrison duty summoned away Colonel Rolleston, and the others returned to the garden, where daylight struggled with the newly-risen moon. A soft breeze came up from the lake, reviving after the glaring day. Cecil was distraite and silent, so Lilla's vivacious tongue attracted around her the gentlemen of the group, and, without any effort of his, Major Fane found himself somewhat apart with Miss Rolleston.

Though heart-whole when we first introduced him, he was now really in love with Cecil,—that is to say, he approved of and wished to marry her.

As an eligible, many determined efforts had been made for his capture, and the absence of any desire on her part to attract him gave first the feeling of security which soon led to a stronger one. If not pretty, she was graceful, especially so just now, he thought, in that unconscious, reflective attitude.

Fane became nervous: it wasn't often he got the chance of being alone with her, and she might immediately rejoin the others; but just then Cecil, coming out of her reverie, looked up, and said,—"Don't you want to smoke? Not here, but come over to the summer-house where the children do their lessons."

This proposal from the reserved Cecil, who had lately been so conspicuously repellent? He thought the change too good so be believed, and, without another asking, accompanied her to the arbour; but she insisted on the ostensible motive of their going there being carried out.

"Do you think, Cecil," said he, darting on his opportunity, "I want anything else when I am alone with you?"

Fane had, as he thought, broken the ice; but the next instant he was uncertain if she had heard or understood. A moonbeam showed him her face,—it was very pale with a look of determination on it, and her eyes were bright and steady.

"Yes," said she, after a pause, "I am glad we are alone. Major Fane, I have known you such a long time, I want to ask a favour of you, and tell you a secret."

The most confident lover might have found something ominous in these words. Fane felt as if he had made a false step; but he answered, stiffly, perhaps,—"You must have known me to very little purpose, Miss Rolleston, if you are not assured how gladly I would help or be of use to you in any way."

"Don't think me mad," cried the girl, impulsively; "but could you stay away—I mean, not come here quite so often."

Fane was too much astonished to speak, and Cecil plunged desperately on. "You have been so kind to me," she faltered, "I am afraid of its misleading papa, and his thinking that you have wishes and intentions—"

"That I might wish to marry you, Cecil? Is that the misconception you are afraid of?"

"Pray don't imagine I think so, but he, might; and, oh! Major Fane, I care most deeply for some one whom I know would not be acceptable to papa. You, on the contrary, would be everything he could wish—don't you see? the disappointment would make the other all the more objectionable to him."

"I do see my unenviable position," said Fane, shortly, for it was bad enough to be thrown over himself without being expected to be interested in a rival. "What do you wish me to do, Miss Rolleston?"

"To forget, if you can, every word I have said," cried Cecil, in an acces of embarrassment now that she had done it, and the excitement was over. "What must you think of me!"

Fane was silent for some time, for he was struggling with mortification. Fortunately for Cecil, he was a gentleman, or he might have revenged himself by assuring her she had totally mistaken his intentions.

"I can't under-value the sacrifice you ask of me," said he, presently. "I do not blame you, for you have never pretended to spare me any affection from the lover you are so true to. I hope he is worthy of it."

A pang seized her, as the doubt whether she was not throwing away true gold for counterfeit obtruded itself. "We are good enough for each other," said she, simply, "but, at present, his prospects are so discouraging, that we are not even engaged." A curious expression passed over Fane's face. "But I have money enough for both," pursued Cecil, "and if papa is not dazzled and attracted by more brilliant—by you, in short, he must see there is sufficient, and, if I remain firm, eventually consent."

Her extreme eagerness infected Fane too, and relieved the awkwardness of her strange appeal.

"Still afraid of me!" said he, sadly. "My poor child! I fear there is trouble before you. Will it satisfy you if I get six months' leave, and go to England? By that time, perhaps, your complications may have arranged themselves."

Cecil's dark eyes beamed on him with the most speaking gratitude. "You are a true friend," cried she, warmly, "but how selfish and exacting of me to banish you!"

"Oh, as to that," said he, with a short laugh, "I shall not dislike it. I should have got away long ago if I had known what I do now."

Nothing a woman detests so much as friendship from the man she cares for, and yet she always offers it to the suitor she rejects.

"I never thought you would care really," said she softly "I hope I have not lost my friend by putting too much confidence in him."

"I ought to thank you for your honesty," said he, with a reaction to bitterness, and they rose and returned to the others, met by many a significant look and shrug. Fane observed it, and determined to go. He was in no humour to be watched and commented on as a suitor of Cecil's. His dog-cart hadn't come, but he lit a cigar, and walked to meet it. "So that's settled," thought he. "And now the sooner I get out of this horrid country the better. I wish I hadn't refused a share of that moor; I should have been just in time for it. Well, she is a nice girl—far too good for that scamp, Du Meresq. I might have suspected what was going on there. Poor child! what a life he will lead her if it comes off, but most likely it won't. It must be Du Meresq; for, though I was evidently meant by the Colonel, I remember that Madame never seemed especially pleased to see me."

How unfeeling women are! Cecil forgot her remorse at Fane's disappointment in exultation at having so successfully removed a serious obstacle from her path, and her eye sparkled with wicked amusement as she noticed the marked coldness of Mrs. Rolleston's manner, due to her supposed flirtation with the Major.

The Colonel, too, who returned shortly afterwards, glanced round and inquired for Fane.

"Gone, I think," said Cecil, innocently; and he also threw upon her a look of gloom and reproach. No engaged young lady could be gayer than Cecil the rest of the evening. She became the life of the party, would keep everybody as late as possible: and certainly more than one shared the opinion of Mrs. Rolleston, whom her daughter mischievously tried to confirm in it, that the arbour had been the scene of a proposal and acceptance.

As the elder lady was slowly undressing that night, Cecil, still with the same provoking brightness on her face, peeped in.

"Are you sleepy, mamma?"

There was something in her manner that brought Mrs. Rolleston's annoyance to the culminating point. She thought the faithless damsel had come to announce her engagement, and demand sympathy and congratulations. So, with a view to arrest any aggressive gush, she said, with some asperity,—"I am glad you have come, for I wanted to tell you, Cecil, how bad it looked your walking off in that way with Major Fane."

"I suppose it was rather strong," said the girl coolly; "but I like him so much. I had no idea he was so nice."

Mrs. Rolleston took refuge in the ill-assumed dignity of rising anger.

"I suppose, mamma, he is very well off? Papa often wonders that he goes soldiering on."

"Really, Cecil, whatever your speculations may be, it was not a delicate act, sitting apart with him for half-an-hour in a dark arbour."

"I thought he might propose,"—Mrs. Rolleston's face expressed, "Are you mad?"—"or give me a chance somehow of saying what I wanted to. And what's more," she continued, "I am not certain whether he meant to, or not. To be sure, I didn't give him much time."

"Did you, propose, then? Cecil, if you don't wish me to disbelieve my own senses, tell me at once what you were about in the summer-house."

"Refusing eight thousand a year," was the short reply.

A puzzled, not unpleased expression, was dawning. "I thought you said he did not propose?"

"Well, no; honestly, he didn't. We had a little conversation, and the upshot was, he has promised to go to England for six months."

Mrs. Rolleston was not a proud woman, and the relief was so great, that she folded Cecil in a silent embrace.

"Perhaps, mamma," continued the girl, demurely, "you won't think it necessary to mention this to papa. It wouldn't be fair to betray Major Fane!"

Mrs. Rolleston was only too convinced, and replied, "that she should consider it Cecil's secret, and say nothing about it." Whereupon the damsel ran merrily off, humming the air, "I told them they needn't come wooing to me." But, arrived in her own room, her evanescent high spirits vanished, and a bitter and clear-sighted mood succeeded. "Bertie," she thought, "your evil influence is over us all. Mamma, till now the truest of step-mothers, is only thinking of ensuring you my fortune. I disoblige papa, send away a true love, hate Bluebell for her too attractive soft eyes, am harassed by doubts even of you—is it worth it? I might yet recall Lucian Fane; he is very calm, and would not expect too much. What folly! No, if I am to be miserable, it must be my own way, with the only man who interests me heart and soul. I suppose, if we marry, I may reckon on one year of happiness, though hardly any one who knew Bertie would expect him to be constant even for that time. But by then I should have got immense influence, for, though I am not clever and attractive like him, I have far more will, and, in the long run, it is character more than talent that shapes our life. If Bluebell would only go to England!"

Then she detached from the wall and began to pack up a little possession that always travelled with her. It was only an old print of a cavalier, and no one but Cecil had observed that a twin soul to Bertie's looked out of its dreaming eyes.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LYNDON'S LANDING.

All the fairy crowds Of islands that together lie As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds. —Unknown.

Bluebell had begun to feel herself in a false position. Freddy's lessons were, of course, a farce; and Cecil now seemed never to care to practise with her. Miss Prosody, with every hour of the day marked out for herself and pupils, made sarcastic reflections on her want of occupation; but, unhappy though she was, she could not make up her mind to leave the Rollestons, and thus dissever the chief link with Bertie. Besides, she had heard (a piece of information derived from Fleda) that he was shortly expected to join them at Rice Lake. Therefore, when Mrs. Rolleston unfolded the project of sending her to England to cultivate the musical predilections of Evelyn Leighton, Bluebell showed such repugnance to the scheme, that Mrs. Rolleston did not press it further; and, though surprised, being personally indifferent, soon dismissed it from her thoughts, with an inward comment that girls never knew their own minds a month together.

Cecil, however, marvelled at her mother's want of penetration and could not refrain from increased coolness to Bluebell.

White horses were curling the broad waters of Ontario, as the huge river-steamer "St. Michael" was getting up the steam for its run to Quebec; and, from the crowd on the wharf waiting to embark, it might be surmised that even the sofas in the saloon would be at a premium for sleeping berths. The Rollestons were surrounded with acquaintances, either going themselves or seeing others off, till the bell rang, when there was a rush to the tug, and the big paddle-wheels got in motion. The children ran up and down the long, narrow saloon on to the decks at each end, while Miss Prosody was vainly trying to wrest the key of a sleeping-berth from the purser, who, the supply not being equal to the demand, was having rather a hot time of it.

"Two double cabins," cried Colonel Rolleston, presently; "the rest must have berths in the ladies' cabin, and trouble enough to secure that. However, here are the keys. How shall we divide?"

"Shall Estelle and Lola sleep in the wide lower berth of one cabin, and I in the upper?" said Cecil.

"And we must take Freddy, I suppose?" said Mrs. Rolleston; "and Miss Prosody, Bluebell, and Fleda, go to the ladies' cabin."

"Oh, Cecil!" cried Lola, as they unlocked their domicile off the saloon, "what a little—little bed! If you turn, you'll tumble into ours; and how will you get up? Won't I catch your foot!"

"No bath!" exclaimed Estelle; "only two small basins! And what a looking-glass! it makes one squint!"

"It is better than the ladies' cabin," said Fleda, dolefully, "with the stewardess sitting there, and two or three sick-looking people, and the berths all open like the shelves of a bookcase."

"It is only for one night," said Cecil. "We land at Cobourg to-morrow afternoon. Look! the waiters are laying the long tables for luncheon, or dinner I suppose it is. Come out on the deck till it is ready. Oh, dear! there is not a patch of shade left for us. How they over-crowd these boats!"

"There's a gentleman holding his umbrella over Bluebell," said Lola.

Cecil's eyes opened in some amazement. She would have thought it rather impertinent in a stranger offering such familiar accommodation, but Bluebell availed herself of it with the frankest nonchalance, and, in the conversation that ensued, lost her place in the first rush of diners, who, at the ringing of the bell, instantly occupied every vacant chair.

"They seem to be having a very good time," observed Fleda, who had picked up some Americanisms.

Somewhat aghast at his daughter's precocity, the Colonel stepped out on the deck, and, with grave dignity, offered Bluebell his arm to conduct her to his seat, which, quite unconscious of his disapprobation, she accepted with civil indifference.

And the young subaltern lit a cigar to console himself for the withdrawal of the clear blue eyes that looked so deep under the shadow of the umbrella, and tried to find as much piquancy in the "funny book" he had recently purchased at the St. Michael's book-stall, while the good ship went ploughing on, past wooden villages, brown houses picked out with white, and perhaps here and there a little orange-frocked child giving a characteristic dash of colour.

Then, as the sun sank lower, the most gorgeous hues came into the sky. But, while every one was on deck gazing on its almost tropical vividness, a film stole between, a shivering dampness pervaded the air, and soon a dense fog drove the chagrined passengers back into the saloon.

The captain went to his bridge, and the tea-bell rang soon after. People were beginning to talk sociably to their neighbours, and a mild hilarity reigned, when a violent concussion, followed by a sudden cessation of the paddles, caused a general rush from the table.

Bluebell, in the act of receiving the second supply of coffee, was aroused from her immediate bewilderment by a scalding douche down her neck—the waiter, a young German with heart disease painted on his livid lips and pasty complexion, having held the coffee-pot suspended topsy-turvy for an instant, and then fallen in a fit on the floor.

All the men had crowded on deck, and it soon became known that they had run into a log raft, which, though no lives were lost had been nearly swamped, and much injured by the collision. The "St. Michael," too, had received a bulge, which rendered a little tinkering at the first port desirable.

The first alarm of the passengers being lulled, and the panic having subsided into the excitement of a danger passed, public interest became concentrated on the young waiter, who still lay in a death like swoon, till, eventually resuscitated by means of one of the numerous little brandy-flasks that popped out from sympathetic female bags, he was borne off by his napkin flapping fraternity to their crystal cave of tumblers.

Little sleep did Cecil get on her narrow perch that night, for her sisters, in their dreams, were ever in a sinking ship, or struggling in the foam-driven rapids. Even her heart beat quicker when the paddle-wheels suddenly ceased, and ominous voices, indistinctly heard, appeared in agonized consultation. A familiar sound of knocking and hammering, however, suggested that they must have put into port for the repairs determined on; and, grasping her scanty complement of bed-clothes that were slipping to the floor, Cecil conveyed the re-assuring intelligence to her sisters, and they composed themselves to sleep at last.

Another day's progress down the beautiful river,—narrow enough at intervals to see both shores, the Stars and Stripes in American villages, as well as the Union Jack in those of the "Dominion," as it is now called,—and then they entered among the thousand islands of the great St. Lawrence.

Everybody was on deck watching their changing shapes, some apparently all rock, and others a bower of greenery, and admiring the skilful steering of the large vessel among them. Soon after noon the first rapid was shot, a bubbling, seething whirlpool, with clouds of white foam beaten up by the jagged teeth of the sunken rocks.

Winding in and out among the islands till late in the afternoon, they reached their port, and repaired to the hotel, to pursue the rest of their journey by land.

A ricketty waggon—not an English hay-cart, but a spidery trap, with high wheels, so called—and a dilapidated buggy were placed at their disposal. Two children and the old nurse remained to follow in the coach, and the advance guard started, after an anxious consultation as to whether the wheel of the buggy could be trusted to revolve the twelve miles without dislocation.

The corduroy roads were in their usual inefficient state,—whole planks had disappeared in places, and were loose in others,—so locomotion became a series of jolts and bumps. The drivers wished to save two miles by crossing a river, and spoke confidently of a bridge, which, on arriving at, proved to be only some pieces of timber cast wholesale into it, some of them negligently nailed together.

Mrs. Rolleston, who was not of an adventurous nature, though much advanced in that direction since her residence in Canada, wished to return, and go round; but four miles lost was too serious a consideration; so she shut her eyes, clutched her husband, and prayed audibly, as the driver, with a screech of encouragement to his cattle, after a few struggles and flounders, landed the waggon on the opposite side.

But Miss Prosody declared that the wheel of the buggy would certainly be torn off in the attempt, and, losing her usual prudery in terror, whipped off her stockings, and proceeded to wade, to the exposure of a very attenuated pair of calves.

Freddy and Lola hung upon Cecil, powerless with laughter, comparing her to the thin-legged aquatic birds in the Zoo; but the Colonel, with rather a suspicious guffaw, rushed to her aid, relieving her from her hose, and, as she afterwards recollected in deep confusion, a pair of knitted garters.

The buggy bumped over somehow, and they got en route again, the road winding through woods golden in the setting sun. Occasionally a raccoon, playing about the trunks of trees, beguiled the loneliness of the way; or a strange bird, with harsh note, but gay plumage, flashed across their track. Colonel Rolleston, however, was not so much entranced as his children at discovering that the road stopped at the hotel on the lake, not coming within half-a-mile of his new property, and that they must embark and cross over in boats to Lyndon's Landing, as it was called, after the former occupants.

The evening was calm, and the sunset dyed their sail redly as it floated the barque lazily across the slumbering lake to their port at the bottom of a sloping lawn. The path, winding up hill, led them to a sylvan-looking lodge, where, instead of a bell, hung a hunting-horn.

Cecil executed a sonorous blast, but dropped it hastily, it being answered almost simultaneously by an ancient menial left in charge. Their own servants were coming on by coach, and they were much comforted by perceiving that this provident person had prepared a substantial repast, combining supper and tea, in a small, snug room.

The young people rushed about on a tour of inspection, and found plenty to satisfy their curiosity. The hall, to begin with was filled with trophies of the chase—antlers of moose, stuffed aquatic birds, Indian spears, and strange carving. A long, low, narrow room opened on it, in which were chairs of the weirdest description, fashioned out of boughs of the forest nailed together almost in their natural shapes. The late owner was a man of eccentric and various accomplishments, and his handiwork appeared in every detail of the house.

Pictures from his brush were on the walls; of the lake in every mood—stormy and slumbering, golden sunsets, and tempest-torn clouds, a canoe stealing through the rice, a flight of wild ducks overhead, and one swirling down to the gun of its occupant; again, the lake frozen over, and a sleighing party careering upon it.

There was a screen of his carving, and two or three couches, the latter more comfortable than the rest of the furniture, being covered with moose and seal skins. Other skins were stretched on the floor. The table-legs, like the chairs, were made of fantastic branches of wood, having rather the effect of antlers when visible under the embroidered cloths, probably the production of the squaws in the Indian village. Mr. Lyndon was the architect of the villa itself, and his whimsical fancy came out in every detail. Long, rambling passages squandered space, while queer-shaped rooms appeared up and down steps, and in unexpected places and corners, as if squeezed in by an afterthought, yet the humblest commanded a pretty view. Many of the ceilings were decorated with Cupids, Mermaids, and Dryads carelessly painted in, apparently the resource of wet afternoons.

Colonel Rolleston's voice summoned them from these attractive rooms to supper, and certainly the menu was varied enough to suit all tastes.

Prairie-hens and snipe were flanked with Indian corn, salsify, maple sugar, and cocoa-nut cakes; tea at one end, and a disipated-looking bottle of "old rye" at the other. But hasty justice was done to this repast by Lola and Freddy, who were dying to go down to the landing, and witness the disembarkation of their sisters, and introduce them to their discoveries; so soon as the boat was descried, they flew down with Colonel Rolleston, waving a flag hastily caught up in the hall.

Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil went to arrange the distribution of bed-rooms, the latter choosing for herself a queer little triangular nook in a gable. Perhaps she perceived that a room of less modest proportions would inevitably have to be shared with Bluebell. It might have been a watchtower from the extent of its view, which swept the lake up to the Indian village.

The children below were full of the stories the boatman had told them. That black island there was called "Long Island," and the other, with scarcely any trees, "Spate" or "Spirit Island," because it was the burying-ground of the Indians. Another was "Sheepback," from its shape, and full of poisoned ivy, which, if accidentally touched, infected the blood, and caused swelling like erysipelas.

The younger ones, with Cecil and Bluebell, were too restless to stay in the lamp-lit room they had supped in, but wandered about, finally settling in the long drawing-room, where they could watch from the windows the moon silvering the lake, and the antlered furniture throwing strange shadows on the floor.

Then Bluebell sang the "Lorelei," and Cecil invented legends for the lake, till, their rooms being at last prepared, the old nurse swooped down on her charges, and bore them away from the domain of Undines to that of Nod.

Colonel Rolleston had soon exhausted the resources of his new purchase, and duck-shooting having not yet begun, he went down to Quebec, taking Cecil with him, for an excursion up the Saguenay. She was rather unwilling to go, for, though the elders got tired of a place without roads, she was perfectly content to be all day long in her canoe, fishing, sketching, reading, or picnicing with the children on the island. But perhaps her strongest reason for not wishing to absent herself was the continual expectation of Du Meresq's appearance.

They had had no tidings of him since they had settled at the lake; but nearly all Bertie's advents were sudden and without warning. From her nook in the gable she commanded the hotel landing, and few boats left it without being reconnoitred through Cecil's binocular.

But then the Colonel wanted a companion, and was convinced it would be delightful for Cecil; so she prepared to go with well-assumed expressions of pleasure, devoutly hoping that no such contretemps as Bertie wasting any days of his leave by coming in her absence might befall.

To be sure, as she was in correspondence with him, nothing, apparently, was easier than to mention her intended trip, which, of course, would prevent his choosing that time to come to the lake; but it happened that Cecil had written last, and since a certain fatal speech, which even now maddened her to remember, she had been very particularly careful to let him make all the running. Still, not wishing to be left in the dark should he arrive during her absence, she said, carelessly,—"I hope, mamma, you will write now and then, and let us know how you are getting on in this dear little place."

"Really," returned Mrs. Rolleston, smiling, no arriere pensee having struck her,—"I more depend on hearing from you. Bluebell can write her fishing experiences, and how often they have tea on the islands; but all I expect to do is to travel over a good deal of my point-lace flounce before you return."

While Cecil went away to put on her travelling dress, as sometimes happens, the true bearing of the speech flashed on her; and when her step-daughter returned, arrayed en voyageuse, Mrs. Rolleston considerately remarked,—"How dull I shall be without you! I think I'll write to Bertie;" and the quick, grateful glance of intelligence in Cecil's eyes encouraged her to say much more in that letter than she would otherwise have done.



CHAPTER XIX.

CALF LOVE.

I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue; 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wet wi' dew— Her graceful bosom lily white— It was her een sae bonnie blue. —Scotch Song.

The arrival of the Rolleston family created a good deal of interest in the limited society of the lake, and not entirely of a friendly nature. Needless to say, the adolescent members of it were all more or less engaged to each other, which, being rather the result of propinquity than uncontrollable preference, the maidens noticed with angry surprise the admiration excited in the bosoms of their swains by the apparition of Bluebell on their hitherto uninvaded waters. Alec Gough and Bernard Lumley, both morally placarded "engaged," having, as a matter of course, plighted their troth to two neighbouring fledglings, were wild for an introduction; and no sooner did Bluebell's canoe leave Lyndon's Landing, than two corresponding ones were sure to shoot out, apparently actuated by the same persuasion that there was no more likely place for a fish than the snag round which she was trolling, and ready to gaff a maskinonge, or help to land an obdurate bass, if occasion offered.

Any such incident might have commenced an acquaintance, were it not that Miss Prosody, with a boatful of children, was never far off, and had a scaring and terrifying effect.

Bluebell rather despised very young men. Still, she was not insensible to admiration, and was quite aware of these two young aborigines following in her wake as surely as a gull in that of a vessel.

One day Alec Gough was able to render her some slight assistance, her line being obstinately entangled in the snag; but Miss Prosody sternly brought up the boatman to complete the service, and bowed off the interloper with such extreme severity, that Bluebell could not resist bestowing a coquettish and dangerously grateful glance, which set his heart bumping, and instantaneously obliterated the image of his sandy-haired little love.

It was too bad of Alec, for he had been engaged a year, and had already cleared (he was a lumberer) space enough in the backwoods to start a farm, and he was now on a short visit to his betrothed to report progress and pursue his suit. So he had no business to get his heart entangled with the line, and his legitimate affections disengaged with the string he was clearing, under Circe's azure eyes; and why need he, in that tactless manner, talk of her at tea as "The Lady of the Lake"? which, if such a senseless sobriquet was worth having at all, Miss Janet Cameron considered she had an indisputable right to, for could she not row, swim, dive, and paddle with the best?

Then again, after tea, he actually stole out in his canoe, muttering something about "looking for ducks," to which Bernard Lumley gallantly remarked that he "needn't leave home to find them." He certainly did take a gun, but was also provided with a little flageolet, the companion of his lonely life in the woods; and waiting till nightfall, by the light of a waning moon, this absurd and reprehensible young lumberer paddled himself off to Lyndon's Landing.

There he carefully reconnoitred the house, wondering which could be Bluebell's casement. The insensible building afforded no hint, so he pulled out his "howling stick," as Bernard called it, and timorously breathed forth a lay of love, which certainly must have been first cousin to the one that encompassed the extinction of the cow.

The inmates were apparently asleep, and Alec, getting bolder, played every suggestive air he could think of. I don't know whether he expected Bluebell would open the window and enter into conversation; but, in point of fact, the lattice under which he was serenading was Mrs. Rolleston's, who not particularly expecting any lovers, was sleeping the sleep of the just far too soundly to be disturbed by it.

There being no policeman to direct him to "move on," Alec continued his dismal repertory till he was tired, and then paddled off, not wholly discouraged, as he hoped that Bluebell, though she would make no sign, might have been secretly listening to, even watching him, and conscious of the admiration he sought to convey.

The Lake families called within the next few days. Bluebell did not appear when the Camerons, mother and daughter, came; and, as Mrs. Rolleston happened to say her daughter was away, they were quite mystified as to whom the dangerous stranger could be. Then Coey and Crickey Palmer came with their mother's cards; and as at that time Bluebell was present, reading to Mrs. Rolleston, they naturally took her for one of the daughters, and made acquaintance after the manner of girls; and, I have no doubt, had Bluebell committed a murder and absconded next day, either of these young ladies could have given a more complete and accurate description of her person than detectives are generally furnished with. Notwithstanding the reluctant admiration that the inspection resulted in, Coey (Bernard's affianced) heroically hoped, as she rose to take leave, that Miss Rolleston would spend the afternoon and stay to tea the following day.

Mrs. Rolleston glanced at Bluebell, who was rather dimpling at the prospect of a change, and carelessly replied that "her daughter was at Tadousac, but that her young friend Miss Leigh would be very happy."

I suppose she was, for she certainly was rather solicitous about her toilette for the occasion—only an innocent brown-holland dress; but two hours were spent in knotting up some wicked blue bows for throat and hair, and re-trimming her gipsy hat with the same shade. It is, of course, an undoubted fact that women dress for their own satisfaction only, and in accordance with their instincts of "the true and the beautiful;" so it would be mere hypercritical carping to suspect coquetry of lurking in the deft folds of that unpretending blue ribbon, or that, in the face of her grande passion for Du Meresq, she could for a moment occupy herself with the foolish admiration of Alec and Bernard.

Well, Bluebell is our heroine, and we must make the best of her,—to some people admiration never does come amiss; and if a demure oeillade can play the mischief with the too inflammable of the rougher sex, I don't know who is to be held accountable except the father of lies.

"Palmer's Landing" was a less original building than Lyndon's but on a more accessible side of the lake. The establishment and furniture were of the rough-and-ready order. When a too independent help, finding her mistress didn't suit, gave herself an hour's warning, and went up North, Coey or Crickey would resignedly cook the family meals till an opportunity arrived to get another, and as, in addition to those occasional calls upon them, they were their own dressmakers, they had less time to get discontented with the monotony of the lake than might otherwise have been the case.

Bluebell was taken round by the two girls to visit their garden and poultry-yard. The latter was a source of profit, as they supplied the house, and drove hard bargains with their mother for the chickens and eggs. She also was shown their own room, and the rose-wreathed, green tarlatane, which Miss Crickey explained with conscious pride she was to wear at a city assembly next week. "I am to stay with my uncle—he has a large dry-good-store at ——, but he lives on Brock." She was also warned off trespassing by the full account of Coey's engagement, and by that time Bernard had arrived to escort the girls for a ramble in the woods.

Crickey, on the principle of doing as she would be done by, marched Bluebell on in front, so that the others might linger behind, and make love upon the usual pattern. It was customary at the lake for to tuck their fiancees under their arm, and cast incessant sheep's eyes at them, much conversation was not de rigueur.

Bernard, however, was somewhat discontented: he thought there were innumerable opportunities for that kind of thing; so his eyes wandered from the face of his love to Bluebell's round waist and waving hair. Instead of incessantly squeezing her arm, he barely held it, and finally dropped it to remove a briar from the skirt of his distractor.

Bluebell smiled with her big blue eyes, perhaps more gratefully than the service demanded, which encouraged the youth to commence conversation. The few platitudes he attempted might have been the most sparkling wit from the animation with which they were received. Surprised to find himself so agreeable, he lingered by her side. Crickey, expecting him every minute to fall back, remained by Bluebell, so poor Coey trudged behind, and began to experience what jealousy was.

After a while, the others tried to bring her into the conversation by appeals to her opinion, but Coey was not to be so easily propitiated, and returned austere answers.

Then Bernard, thinking he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, became all the more engrossed with his captivator, and it was in at one of strong discontent that he exclaimed, as they were returning,—"Why, there's Alec and Janet Cameron coming down to the house!"

Their unexpected arrival was rather a relief to the Palmer girls, Bluebell only saw more mischief before her, but Bernard's impatience at the sight of Alec whose motive for coming he easily guessed, was quite undisguised.

The latter accounted for himself by saying "that Janet wished to make Miss Rolleston's acquaintance, and, therefore, he had accompanied her."

"Oh, I am not Miss Rolleston," said Bluebell, "I am the governess."

"I have had the advantage of seeing the governess," said Alec, demurely, "and she is old enough to be your mother."

"But I am the musical one and Freddy is my pupil entirely."

"Are you really?" said he, brightening "Then you like music?"

"I am sure that is not a necessary consequence," said Bluebell, rather mystified by the meaning tone of his voice, but Alec, believing she had heard his nocturnal serenade and assuming a secret understanding on the strength of it, lingered by her side talking in an undertone—really about nothing in particular, for, like most spoony boys, he trusted more to his eyes than his tongue. Still it had all the effect of a flirtation, and when the girls went upstairs to prepare for tea, Bluebell found herself quite out of court without the support of the other sex. Coey was already turned into a very belligerent little ring-dove, and Janet watched her askance, for she had never before known Alec so keen about partaking of tea at Palmer's Landing. Crickey, whose feelings were not so powerfully engaged, supplied her with toilette requisites, and such conversation as hospitality demanded.

Bluebell was rather flattered by the apprehension she excited, and, with mischievous ostentation, produced from her pocket a weapon of war in the shape of a blue ribbon, and began weaving it into her chestnut fuzz, too naturally wavy and long to require frizettes. Coey, who was rather pretty in the white kitten style, had sparse pale hair, never properly combed over her "water fall," as she called it, which obtruded itself like a crow's nest. This attractive peculiarity was more apparent than ever to-day, the frizette having been caught by a bough in the woods.

Bluebell observed that her decorative preparations were restricted to a dab of violet-powder on her nose, and a slight application of lip-salve. "I can't let her go down such a figure," thought she, "though she is dreadfully angry with me," and, seizing a comb, began silently to effect a reformation in Coey's chevelure.

"Oh, thank you," said the other distantly. "Isn't it right? Never mind. Dressing is such a waste of time."

"Hugger-muggering with Bernard is not, I suppose?" thought Bluebell, resolutely continuing her task.

But it was Janet's turn to be angry, when, at tea that evening, utterly oblivious of the vacant chair next herself, her faithless swain manoeuvred into one next Bluebell.

"Are you fond of music by moonlight?" he took the first opportunity of whispering.

"I like it anywhere," replied she, innocently. "I can't say I ever heard it by moonlight."

Much discomfited, Alec gazed incredulously, and then burst out laughing.

Bluebell naturally inquired what she had said to amuse him; but he evaded the question, as Janet was evidently listening. Later on, when the former was at the piano, and he pretending to turn over, he whispered,—"I wonder under whose window I was making such a lovely noise the other night?"

"How should I know? And why did you do it?"

"I wanted to give you a welcome to the Lake; but perhaps I serenaded that vinegar-faced governess instead."

Bluebell was playing rather a pathetic sonata; but the time got decidedly erratic, as she stared bewildered at Alec, and then went off into a fit of laughing. "How could you be such a goose? If Colonel Rolleston had been at home, he would have fired his ten-shooter at you."

"Tell me which is your window," he whispered, "and I'll give you plenty of music by moonlight. I hope it is the one with the balcony."

"Why?"

"Because," said Alec, audaciously, "you would look so beautiful stepping out on it, like Julia in 'Guy Mannering.' And we could talk, you know."

"Very well," said Bluebell, who opined it was about time to shut him up. "Suppose we refer it to Miss Cameron. I understand your heart and accomplishments are all made over to her. Perhaps she would assist at the balcony scene!"

Alec bit his lip, and looked rather ashamed. Such a rebuff would not have embarrassed Bertie, nor awakened in him a slumbering conscience, as it did in this young lumberer, who was ridiculous enough to be in earnest in his infidelity.

But Bluebell, knowing she had no quarter to expect from the girls if she returned to them now, was far from wishing to bring him to a sense of his duty before the evening was over, so smiled as engagingly as ever, and continued to accept his attentions, till Janet, fizzing in high dudgeon, announced her intention of going home, which, of course, involved the escort of her recreant young man.

"Wait here a quarter of an hour," whispered Alec to Bluebell, "and I will run back and row you home."

"Gracious, no!" said she, with rather the sensation of a child who has been sent out to spend the afternoon and has misbehaved. "Here is Mrs. Rolleston's servant come for me. Go back with Miss Janet and make it up, for I am never going to speak to you again,"—and she turned away to make her adieux to Mrs. Palmer, a motherly-looking old lady, who had been nodding half asleep on the sofa all the time.