Before going to bed on the very night of his arrival, Maurice found the
list of steamers, and with his father's approbation fixed upon one which
was advertised to sail in a few days over a fortnight from that time. It
happened to be a vessel the comfortable accommodation of which had been
specially praised by some experienced travellers, his fellow-passengers
in the 'India,' and the advantages of going by it being quite evident,
served to satisfy what small scruples of conscience Mr. Bellairs had
been able to awaken. He wrote, therefore, to secure berths and put his
letter ready to be taken into Cacouna next morning, when he should go to
pay his promised visit to Mrs. Bellairs.
It was early when Maurice awoke; he did so with a sense of having much
to do, but the aspect of his own old room, so strange now and yet so
familiar, kept him dreaming for a few minutes before that important
day's work could be begun. How bare and angular it seemed, how shabby
and poor the furniture! It never had been anything but a boy's room of
the simplest sort, and yet it had many happy and some few sad
associations, such as no other room could ever have for him. He recalled
the long ago days when his brother and he had shared it together, and
their mother used to come in softly at night to look that her two sons
were safe and well,--the later years, when mother and brother were both
gone, and he himself sat there alone reading or writing far into the
night. He thought of the many summer mornings when he had opened his
window to watch for the movement of Lucia's curtain, or for the glimpse
of her girlish figure moving about under the light shadows of the
acacias in the Cottage garden.
But when he came to that point in his meditation, he sprang up
impatiently, and the uncomfortable irritating feeling that he had been
unfairly dealt with, tricked, in fact, began to take possession of him
again. However, it only acted as a stimulant. He began to feel that he
had entered into the lists with Mrs. Costello, and, regarding her as a
faithless ally, was not a little disposed to do battle with her _à
l'outrance_, and carry off Lucia for revenge as well as for love.
Directly after breakfast he had out the little red sleigh in which last
winter he had so often driven his old playfellow to and from Cacouna,
and started alone. He had many visits of friendship or business to pay,
but he could not resist going first to Mrs. Bellairs.
After all, now that the first sharpness of his disappointment was over,
it was pleasant to be at home and to meet friendly faces at every turn.
He had to stop again and again to exchange greetings with people on the
road, and even sometimes to receive congratulations on being a "rich man
now," "a lucky fellow"--congratulations which were both spoken and
listened to as much as if the lands of Hunsdon were a fairy penny, in
the virtues of which neither speaker nor hearer had any very serious
belief. In fact, there was something odd and incredible in the idea that
this was no longer plain Maurice Leigh, the most popular and one of the
poorest members of this small Backwoods world, but Maurice Leigh
Beresford, of Hunsdon, an English country gentleman rich enough, if he
chose, to buy up the whole settlement.
Maurice went on his way, however, little troubled by his new dignity,
and found Mrs. Bellairs and Bella expecting him. They had guessed that
he would not delay coming for the promised address, and Mr. Strafford's
note containing it lay ready on the table; but when he came into the
room their visitor did actually for the moment forget his errand in
seeing the sombre black-robed figure which had taken the place of the
gay Bella Latour. He had gone away just before her wedding, he had left
her happy, bright, mischievous,--a girl whom sorrow had never touched,
who seemed incapable of understanding what trouble meant; he came back,
full of his own perplexities and disappointments, and found her one so
seized upon by grief that it had grown into her nature, and clothed and
crowned her with its sad pre-eminence. There was no ostentation of
mourning about the young widow, it is true, but none the less Maurice in
looking at her first forgot himself utterly, and then remembered his
impatience and ill-humour with more shame than was at all agreeable.
To Bella also the meeting was a painful one. Of all her friends, Maurice
was the only one who was associated with her girlish happiness, and
quite dissociated from her married life and its tragic ending. The sight
of him, therefore, renewed for the moment the recollections which she
had taught herself to keep as much as possible for her solitary hours,
and almost disturbed the calm she had forced upon herself in the
presence of others.
Mrs. Bellairs, however, used to her sister's calamity and ignorant of
Maurice's feelings, did not long delay referring to the Costellos.
"Here is Mr. Strafford's note," she said. "I wrote and begged of him to
tell me by what means a letter would be likely to reach them, and this
is his answer."
It was only a few lines, saying that Mrs. Costello had told him
expressly that she should remain for some time in France, and would
write to her Canadian friends as soon as she had any settled home, but
that in the meantime he believed her movements would be known by her
relative, Mr. Wynter, whose address he enclosed.
Maurice, whose anxiety was revived by the sight of this missive,
examined it with as much care as if he expected to extract more
information from it than in reality the writer possessed, but he was
obliged to content himself with copying the address and giving the
warmest thanks to Mrs. Bellairs for the help he thus gained.
"I suppose," she asked smiling, "that I may entrust you with a message
for Lucia?"
Maurice looked rather foolish. He certainly did mean to follow up the
clue in person, but he had not said so, and he fancied Mrs. Bellairs was
inclined to laugh at him for his romance.
"I will carry it if you do," he answered, "but I do not promise when it
will be delivered."
"You are really going to England at the time you spoke of last night?"
"Yes."
"And from England to France is not much of a journey?"
"No; and I have not seen Paris yet."
"Ah! well, you will go over and meet with them, and rejoice poor Lucia's
heart with the sight of a home face."
"Shall I? Will they be homesick, do you think?"
"_They?_ I don't know. _She_ will, I think--do not you, Bella?"
"At all events, she went away with her mind full of the idea that she
would be sure to see you before long."
Perhaps this speech was not absolutely true, but Maurice liked Bella
better than ever as she said it. He got up soon after, and went his way
with a lighter heart about those various calls which must be made, and
which were pleasant enough now that he saw his way tolerably clear
before him with regard to that other and always most important piece of
business.
When he got home he set himself to consider whether it were better to
write boldly to Mr. Wynter and ask for news of the travellers, or
whether to wait, and after taking his father to Hunsdon run over himself
to Chester, and make his request in person. There was little to be
gained by writing, for Mr. Wynter's answer, even if it were
satisfactory, would have to be sent to Hunsdon, and there wait his
arrival, while Mrs. Costello would have plenty of time to hear of his
application, and to baffle him if she wished to do so. He quickly
decided, therefore, to do nothing until he could go himself to Chester,
and from thence direct to the place, wherever that might be, where Lucia
was to be found.
Mr. Leigh's day, meanwhile, had been far less comfortable than
Maurice's. He had made a pretence of looking over papers, and arranging
various small affairs in readiness for their voyage, but his mind all
the while had been occupied with two or three questions. Had Maurice
really sent to him a note for Mrs. Costello which by any carelessness of
his had been lost? Had the change he remembered in her manner been
connected with the loss? Had Lucia cared for Maurice? Had either mother
or daughter thought so ill of Maurice as he, his own father, had done?
The poor old man tormented himself, much as a woman might have done,
with these speculations, but he dared not breathe a word of them. He
even went so far in his self-accusations and self-disgust as to imagine
that if he had been his son's faithful helper, he might have prevented
that flight from the Cottage which had caused so much trouble and
vexation.
Still, when Maurice came home full of energy and hope, and anxious to
atone for his unreasonableness of the previous day, the aspect of
affairs brightened a good deal, and the evening passed happily with
both.
But after that first day a certain amount of disturbance began to be
felt in the household. People came and went perpetually. There was so
much to be done, and so little time to do it in; and there was not only
the actual business of moving, but innumerable claims from old friends
were made upon Maurice, all of which had to be satisfied one way or
other.
And the days flew by so quickly. Maurice congratulated himself again and
again on having provided so good a reason for leaving Cacouna at a
certain time. "Our berths are taken," was a conclusive answer to all
proposals of delay; and if it had not been for that, he often thought it
would have been impossible to have held to his purpose. But as it was,
all engagements, whatever they might be, had to be pressed into the
short space of a fortnight, and under the double impulse of Maurice's
own energies, and of that irrevocable _must_, things went on fast and
prosperously.
It was well for Mr. Leigh that these last weeks in his old home were so
full of hurry and excitement, and that he was supported by the presence
of his son, and by the thought that he was fulfilling what would have
been the desire of his much-beloved and long-lost wife; for the pain of
parting for ever from the places where so many years of happiness and of
sorrow had been spent--from the birthplace of his children, and the
graves which were sacred to his heart, grew at times very bitter, and
needed all his absorbing love for his last remaining child, to make it
endurable. It is quite true, however, that at other times, the idea of
meeting his old neighbour of the Cottage in that far-away and
half-forgotten England, and of seeing Maurice and Lucia once more
together, as he could not help but hope they would be, cheered him into
positive hopefulness and eagerness to be gone.
Two days before their actual leaving, it was necessary for the household
to be broken up. Maurice wished to go for the interval to a hotel.
Cacouna had two,--long gaunt wooden buildings supposed to be possessed
of "every accommodation,"--but so many voices were instantly raised
against this plan, that it had to be given up, and Mrs. Bellairs, with
great rejoicing, carried off both father and son from half-a-dozen
other claimants. Literally, she only carried off Mr. Leigh, for Maurice,
who had entirely resumed his Canadian habits, was still deep in the
business of packing and of seeing to the arrangements for the morrow's
sale; but he had promised to have his work finished before evening, and
to join them in good time in Cacouna.
As Mrs. Bellairs drove Mr. Leigh home in her own sleigh, flourishing the
whip harmlessly over Bob's ears and making him clash all his silver
bells at once with the tossing of his head, she could not help saying,
"Don't you think now Maurice is such a rich man he ought to marry soon?"
Her companion looked at her doubtfully.
"Perhaps he is thinking of it," he answered.
"When he is married," she went on with a little laugh, "he has promised
to invite us to England."
But Mr. Leigh did not smile.
"I hope you will come soon, then," he said.
"You think there is a chance?"
"I think it will not be his fault if there is not."
"And I think he is not likely to find the lady very obstinate."
"What lady? _Any_ one or one in particular?"
"I thought of one, certainly."
"Lucia Costello?"
"Yes."
"You think she would marry him?"
"Why not? Yes, I think so."
"And her mother?"
"Ah! I don't know; Mrs. Costello has a will of her own."