Bluebell Part 33

"Why," perplexed at her unusual manner, which exhibited no surprise and little curiosity, "all he had to say was, that he wished to abandon his profession, and take you on a wild goose chase to the Antipodes. That in itself would have been quite sufficient, but there are other reasons, I have not a good opinion of Du Meresq, and I had almost rather see you in your grave than married to him." Cecil made no sign, and the Colonel continued,--"It may seem hard now, but you will live to thank me. I wish you, Cecil, since he will not be satisfied with less, to write a few lines and tell him all must be at an end between you."

She rose mechanically, brought her writing-desk, and took out pen and paper.

"What shall I say?" she asked, tranquilly.

The Colonel, who was prepared for determined opposition from his strong willed daughter, knew not whether to be most relieved or confounded by this apathetic submission. "I will leave the composition to you," said he, gently.

"Thank you," said Cecil "I should prefer writing it from your dictation."

"Say, then," returned her father, not ill pleased to get it expressed strongly "that you find I am so irrevocably opposed to your marriage with him, that you have no alternative but to give up all thoughts of it for the future, and that he must understand this decision to be final."

Deliberately, and with the same stony indifference, she wrote it word for word, handed it to her father to read then sealed the letter with her own signet-ring, and returned it to him.

"It will be Fane yet," thought the bewildered Colonel, with a secret glow of hope. "I was mistaken, her heart is not in this business--if she has one," was the irrepressible doubt, for though Bertie's ardent suit had left him inflexible, his daughter's insensibility almost disgusted him.

Muttering to himself, "That job's over," with a lightened heart he sought his wife, and directed her to go to Cecil, whom he thought far from well.

But an interview with Bertie's sister just then was too distasteful to the unhappy girl, and she only answered Mrs. Rolleston's request, that she would open the door, by entreaties to be left in peace and allowed to sleep.

It would have been better had she admitted her not only into her room, but her confidence for the kind lady knew what even Cecil might have acknowledged to be extenuating circ.u.mstances, but she now felt completely alienated and distanced by the forbidding reserve of her step daughter, of whom she was not altogether devoid of awe.

The next day an express was on its way to Peterboro' for a doctor. Cecil was down with rheumatic fever, and delirious.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHANGES.

I remember the way we parted.

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

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

--Swinburne.

Du Meresq in indignant dismay at the abduction of Cecil on the day of the picnic stood awhile silent and bitter, deaf to the impatience of the children, who wanted to be off. While thus irresolute, he chanced to glance at Bluebell, whose countenance betrayed an agony of suspense. The entreating look in her eyes she was probably unconscious of, for the child had not yet learned to command her face. Bertie yielded to it by a sort of magnetism, and flung himself into the boat where she and Mrs.

Rolleston were already seated, but remained silent and thoughtful as they floated monotonously along. His sister was equally occupied with uneasy reflections, and Bluebell seemed as spell-bound as the rest. For one soul deeply moved and agitated often affects by electricity another in a receptive condition. Does not the atmosphere in a tempestuous mood thrill and disturb our nervous system?

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

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

After luncheon, Bluebell wandered away in search of wild flowers, the children hunted for cray-fish, Miss Prosody spudded up ferns, and Mrs.

Rolleston drew from her pocket her favourite point-lace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bluebell did not come down to dinner that day nor see Du Meresq again; but afterwards, Mrs. Rolleston, who was in n.o.body's confidence, and had the uneasy conviction that something was going desperately wrong, came into her room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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