be that. The mistake was all on my side. I was a conceited coxcomb to
think that she could ever care for me; but I did think it, and went on
dreaming my foolish castle in the air, until one day it fell to the
ground, and left me sitting among the ruins."
"It was a heart affair, then! I thought it was," cried Pixie shrewdly.
"I heard a lot about heart affairs in Paris, and I had a sister once who
was married. Her husband used to look just like you do when she was
cross to him; but really and truly she wanted to be kind, and now they
are married and living happily ever after. It will come all right for
you too, some day!"
"No, never! There's no hope of that. She married someone else. That
was the news which came to me one day and wrecked my castle!"
"Oh, oh!--how could she! The misguided creature! And when she might
have had you instead! I'd marry you myself if I were big enough!" cried
Pixie in a fervour of indignation which was more soothing than any
expressions of sympathy; and the Captain stretched out his hand and
patted her tenderly on the shoulder.
"Would you really? That's very sweet of you. Thank you, dear, for the
compliment. We will be real good friends in any case, won't we? and you
will keep my confidence, for no one in this place knows anything about
it. And we won't talk of it any more, I think; it's rather a sore
subject, don't you know. We might begin unpacking those baskets. The
children will want their tea."
CHAPTER THIRTY.
IN THE LOCK.
The tea-making was attended with the usual excitements, and the kettle-
boiling with the inevitable misadventures. A scouting party was
organised to discover a sheltered spot in which to lay the fire, but
although until this minute the day had appeared absolutely calm and
tranquil, all the winds of heaven seemed to unite in blowing upon that
unfortunate fire from the moment that the match was applied!
When at long last a feeble flame was established, the sticks promptly
collapsed and precipitated the kettle to the ground; when rebuilt more
solidly, it died out for want of a draught; and when at last, and at
last, and at very long last, the smoke was seen issuing from the kettle-
spout, lo, the water was smoked, and unfit to drink! So decided the
Captain, at least, but while he drank milk with the little girls, Pixie
emptied the tea-pot with undiminished enjoyment.
"It gives it a flavour," she said. "I like to taste what I'm drinking."
It was not a trifle like smoked tea which would mar Mamzelle Paddy's
enjoyment when on pleasure bent!
The Captain's preparations had been on so lavish a scale that there was
quite a supply of good things left when the meal was finished, and by a
kindly thought these were packed together to give to the children of the
lock-keeper on the way up stream.
When every odd piece of paper had been religiously collected and packed
in the hamper with the cups and saucers, the little girls were lifted
into the boat, Pixie pulled the rudder-ropes over her shoulders, and the
Captain pushed the boat from the shore and jumped lightly into his seat.
They were off again, rowing homewards and passing once more all the
fascinating landmarks which they had noticed on the way down. The
picnickers on the banks were fastening hampers and preparing to depart;
on the green lawns by the waterside servants were flitting to and fro
carrying trays into the house. Inda was beginning to yawn and long for
bed. She leant against Pixie, the weight of the small head becoming
ever heavier and heavier, but roused up again as the boat entered the
"box," as she persisted in calling a lock. She wanted to hand out the
parcel of good things without a moment's delay, but the Captain told her
to wait until the water had lifted the boat nearer to the bank.
It seemed an extraordinary thing that, whereas, in passing through the
lock before they had gone down, down, down, they should now rise higher
with every moment that passed. The children had a hundred questions to
ask, while the Captain stood up and kept the boat in position with a
boat-hook. He explained the mystery as simply as possible, and also why
he was at such pains to keep at a safe distance from the walls.
"You see those things sticking out from the side of the boat into which
I put my oars? They are called `rollocks,' and when you are coming up
stream through a lock you have to be careful indeed not to let them
catch under any of the beams. It would be almost impossible to get them
loose again, you see, because every moment more water would pour in, and
press them tighter and tighter!"
"And what would it do to us if it did press them?" Viva inquired
curiously, whereat the Captain smiled and shook his head.
"Something very disagreeable, I'm afraid--give us all a good wetting in
the water! You needn't be afraid of that, though, when you are with me,
for I shall take good care of my little crew. You see how far I keep
away with this oar."
"Yes, I see. But why does one end of the boat stick out into the
middle, and the other into the side?"
"It's the current that sweeps it round, the force of the water that is
coming in under the gates. That doesn't matter so long as we are not
caught."
"But the end _is_ caught, isn't it? That little bit of iron that sticks
up at the pointed end!" cried Pixie suddenly. She was densely ignorant
of all that concerns boats, and invariably alluded to the bow and the
stern as the "blunt" and "pointed" ends, to the Captain's intense
amusement.
This time, however, he did not smile. Pixie saw his face set suddenly
as he turned his head to look in the direction of her outstretched
finger, but his voice sounded reassuringly confident.
"Oh, I see! Yes. Let me pass you, dear, for a moment. Sit quite
still!"
He stepped past her into the space occupied by the hampers, and stamped
vigorously first with one foot, then with two, jumped with all his
weight, then stepped quickly back to the centre of the boat and called
to the man at the sluices--
"Hi, there! _Stop_! My boat is caught! Turn off that water! Quick,
man, do you hear me!"
But the man's head was turned in the opposite direction, and he was so
much engrossed with his work that it was some moments before he heard,
and meantime it was terrifying to see how swiftly the water arose, how
dangerously near to its edge grew the side of the boat! The children
began to shriek and stand on their seats, and the Captain seized Inda in
his arms and held her up, calling loudly for help.
The lock-keeper was hurriedly dropping the sluices, but at the sound of
the continued cries his wife ran out of the house and across the
bridgeway. In another moment she would be able to lift Inda ashore; but
Viva, frantic with terror, was clamouring to be taken too, and Pixie
impetuously lifted her towards the bank.
What happened next it is difficult to describe, so swiftly did it
happen, so like a nightmare did it appear for ever after in the memories
of those concerned. The woman came rushing forward, followed by her
husband; they seized the children and dragged them on the bank.
The boat, relieved suddenly of a weight, gave an unexpected lurch, and
the next moment Pixie and the Captain were in the water. The children
screamed aloud in terror, but the Captain had hardly disappeared before
he was up again, capless, and shaking the water from his head, but
looking none the worse for his ducking. But it was a long, agonising
minute before there came a swirling and bubbling at the end of the lock,
and Pixie's white, unconscious little face floated on the surface. The
Captain's arm was round her in an instant, the lock-keeper threw a rope
to help him to the iron ladder fixed in the walls of the lock, and
between them the two men carried the dripping figure along the bank and
into the house.
There was a sofa in an inner room, and there they laid her, while the
woman, assisted by her eldest daughter, took off the wringing garments
and wrapped her round with warm blankets and coverings. The Captain ran
out into the village, sent a messenger flying for a doctor, and rushed
back again in terror lest the two little girls should have taken
advantage of his absence to get into fresh mischief.
This was a pretty ending to their expedition! What would Mrs Wallace
say to him when he got home, and what should he say to himself if
through any fault or carelessness a serious injury had happened to sweet
little Mamzelle!
"Why on earth do they want to put these irons at the end of a boat?
Wretched, dangerous things!" cried the distracted man to himself. "To
think that I have been through a thousand locks in safety, and that this
should have happened just when I had made myself responsible for a party
of children! Never again! Never again, if I get safely out of this! I
wonder how long that doctor fellow will take to come along?"
Viva and Inda were sitting in the front kitchen, glancing askance at
several rosy, curly-headed children who were shyly huddled together by
the door. The fascination of new surroundings and possible new
playmates had diverted their minds from their misfortunes, and the
Captain heaved a sigh of relief as he passed into the inner room.
The lock-keeper's wife had filled two bottles with hot water, and put
one to Pixie's feet, and another between her cold hands; a towel was
wrapped round the wet locks with somewhat ghastly effect, and the young
man shivered as he looked down at the still, white face.
"She is not--she can't be--" he faltered, not having the courage to
pronounce the dread word; and to his inexpressible relief the woman
smiled at the thought.
"Not she! Stunned a bit, that's all. Perhaps hit her head in falling.
I've often had them like this before, and they are pretty well all right
in a few hours. We have a lot of people up here in summertime who know
nothing about managing a boat--no offence to you, sir--I daresay you are
well accustomed to them, but accidents will happen!"
"I thought I was!" sighed the Captain dismally. He knelt down by the
couch, and touched the cold cheek with his fingers. "Feels a little
warmer, doesn't she? For goodness' sake, take that thing off her head,
I can't bear to see it."
The woman lifted the head from the pillow to unloosen the tight folds,
and at the movement Pixie sighed, and opened wide, bewildered eyes. For
the first moment they held nothing but blankest surprise at finding
herself in so extraordinary a position, but, even as the Captain held
his breath in suspense, a spark of remembrance came into the clear
depths, and the face lit up with a flickering merriment.
"Were we drowned?" she whispered hoarsely. "The two of us?--Viva
jumped, and the boat slipped, and my feet went down. Who saved me? Was
it you?"
"I suppose it was, but it was not a very heroic rescue--only a few yards
to the bank. You are sure you feel all right? Quite warm and
comfortable? Your head doesn't ache?"
Pixie shook her dishevelled head from side to side, frowning the while
in speculative fashion.
"I think it does--a little bit, but I'm not quite sure. It feels
muzzy!" she declared, with a gesture and accent which lent some
enlightenment to the enigmatical expression. Then she stretched out a
hand, and touched him anxiously on the shoulder. "You're drenched!
You'll catch all sorts of diseases in those wet clothes. Can't you have
some blankets too? I'm so lovely and warm."
"My husband is putting out some clothes for you upstairs, sir. You had
better go and change. The young lady is all right now, and I will tell
you when the doctor comes."
"Doctor! Is a doctor coming? To see me?" Pixie asked, rapturously
incredulous.
To find herself the heroine of an adventure, a genuine thrilling
adventure, to lie stretched upon a sofa, wrapped in blankets, with two
attendants anxiously inquiring her symptoms; to know that a doctor was
hurrying to her side--this was indeed a glorious ending to the day's
enjoyment! She lay back on the cushions wreathed in smiles, and the
doctor, coming in hurriedly, was somewhat taken aback to behold so
radiant a patient.
"I fainted!" cried Pixie proudly. "I never fainted before in all my
life. I don't remember a single thing after I slipped, until I woke up
on this sofa."
"Indeed!--and a very sensible arrangement. Just as well to know nothing
about these disagreeable experiences."
The doctor smiled, and fingered her head with a careful touch. "Does
that hurt you? No? Does that? Do you feel any tenderness there? A
little bit, eh? You don't like me to press it? You probably grazed
yourself slightly as you fell, and that caused the `faint.' Nothing
serious, though. You need not be frightened."
"I like it!" said Pixie stoutly, and the burst of laughter with which
the two hearers greeted this statement, sounded pleasantly in the
Captain's ears as he dressed himself in the lock-keeper's Sunday
garments in the room overhead.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
LOVERS' MEETINGS.
The doctor saw no reason why Pixie should not be driven home, and
offered to order a closed carriage in the village, and pending its
arrival, the adventurers enjoyed another cup of tea, not smoked this
time, and made merry over the change in their appearance, wrought by the
borrowed clothing.
Pixie's red merino dress was the pride of little Miss Lock-keeper's
heart, but about two sizes too big for its present occupant. The bodice
hung in folds about her tiny figure, the sleeves came down to her
finger-tips; the Captain's shiny black suit made him appear quite clumsy
and awkward, but that was all part of the fun, in the estimation of
three members of the party, at least.
Mrs Wallace was undecided whether to laugh or to cry as she welcomed
her truants and listened to the story of their adventures. Nothing
would satisfy her but to despatch Pixie to bed forthwith, to that young
lady's intense mortification, and to order the Captain upstairs to have
a hot bath and a dose of quinine. When he came downstairs, she was
putting a letter in the post-box in the hall, and, motioning towards it,
explained its purport.
"I've been writing to Mamzelle's sister in London. These lock accidents
get into the papers sometimes, and are generally exaggerated into
something really so thrilling and terrible. It's best to tell the true
story ourselves."
"And I have brought this trouble upon you! I could kick myself for my
stupidity. You will never trust me again, but please make me the
scapegoat to the sister, and let her wreak her wrath on me. It's not
fair that you should be blamed."
"Oh, I am not afraid of any wrath, I assure you. She's a charming girl,
and as sweet as Mamzelle herself. I have asked her to come down to-
morrow and see for herself that there is no harm done. I thought that
was the best way out of the difficulty; and please don't blame yourself
too much. It was an accident, and we must just be very, very thankful
that you were all preserved from harm."
The next morning the Captain took himself off for a long walk,
ostensibly to call on some friends, in reality to avoid meeting the
visitor from town; for though a man may boldly acknowledge his
responsibility and offer to bear the blame, he has an instinctive
shrinking from the society of females in distress, and will walk a very
long distance in order to avoid anything like a scene.
It seemed the height of bad fortune that this particular visitor should
arrive in the afternoon, instead of the morning, and that he should
stumble into the library almost immediately after she had arrived. She
was seated on an ottoman with her back towards him, but Mrs Wallace's
quick exclamation took away any chance of retreating unseen.
"Why, here he is!" she cried. "This is the culprit, or the hero,
whichever you choose to call him. Come and tell your own story, Dick.
This is Mademoiselle's sister, Miss O'Shaughnessy."
But he had recognised her already. She had turned her head as Mrs
Wallace spoke, and beneath the curving brim of the hat he had seen the
face which had been enshrined in his heart for three long years, the
sweet face which had brought to him at once the greatest joy and the
bitterest sorrow of his life! He stood still in the middle of the room,
staring at her as if suddenly turned to stone, and Bridgie rose to her
feet, the pretty colour fading out of her cheeks, her lips a-tremble
with emotion.
Mrs Wallace looked from one to the other, and with a woman's intuition
divined something very nearly approaching the truth. Dick was quite
changed from his old happy self--everyone had noticed it, and speculated
as to the cause. In his last furlough he had stayed some time in
Ireland. Could it be--could it possibly be--
"You have met before?" she said quickly. "That is very nice. You know
each other, and can talk over yesterday's adventure without my help.
Will you excuse me if I leave you for a few moments, while I give some
orders to the maids?"
No one answered, but she lost no time in hurrying from the room, and as
the door closed behind her, the Captain came slowly across the room,
staring at Bridgie's white face.
"_Miss O'Shaughnessy_! She called you `_Miss O'Shaughnessy_'!"
She shrank before him, scared by his strange, excited manner.
"Yes, it is my name. I am Bridgie O'Shaughnessy. Don't you remember
me?"
"Remember you!" he repeated with an emphasis which was more eloquent
than a hundred protestations. He seized her hands in a painful
pressure. "You are not married, then? It was not true! You did not
marry him as they told me?"
"I? You thought I was married! Oh, what put such an idea into your
head?"
"I heard it eighteen months ago--shortly after your last letter arrived,
telling me about your father, and hinting at other changes which might
follow. My friend wrote that Miss O'Shaughnessy was engaged to a fellow
with a lot of money--Hilliard--that they were going to be married almost
at once. Was it all an invention? Was there no truth in it at all?"
"It was quite true--quite, but it was Esmeralda, not me! She married
him over a year ago."
"Esmeralda! your sister--but he said the eldest daughter, and you are
the eldest. I knew I was not mistaken about that, for I remember every
word you had told me."
Bridgie smiled faintly; the colour was coming back into her cheeks, and
the grey eyes met his with shy, incredulous happiness.
"But most people give her the credit for it, all the same. There's so
much more of her, you see. You never wrote to--to ask if it were true?"
"I was too proud and hurt, badly hurt, Bridgie--mortally badly! And you
never wrote to ask why I was silent. Were you proud too, or
contemptuous--which was it? Did you think I was nothing but a flirt,
and a heartless one at that?"
"I never thought unkindly of you, but I suppose I was proud, for I
couldn't write when all the money was gone, and I was so poor. I
thought you had forgotten, or met someone else! I hoped you were very
happy, only I--wasn't!" faltered Bridgie, with a little break in her
voice as she spoke that last word, which brought the tears to the
Captain's eyes. He bent his head over the clasped hands, and kissed
them a dozen times over.
"Bridgie, Bridgie!" he cried brokenly. "Is it true? Have I found you
again after all these years? Can you forgive me for this wretched
blunder which has brought such unhappiness upon us both? I am thankful
to know you were unhappy too, for I had nothing to go on, Bridgie, no
claim whatever upon you, only you must have guessed how I felt. I could
not believe that you had really given yourself to me in that short
time."
"I couldn't myself!" said Bridgie naively. "I tried to pretend that it
was all a mistake, and that I was quite happy without you." She looked
up at him shyly, and shook her head in the most beguiling denial.
"'Twas not a mite of use. I remember all the same! And are you sure--
quite sure--that you thought of me all the time? Was there never anyone
else all these long, long years?"
The Captain smiled and stroked his moustache in amused, contemplative
fashion.
"There was never anyone, except one girl! I met one girl who quite
stole my heart, and I think I stole hers into the bargain."
"Oh! oh! How dreadful! Why did you tell me? But you didn't--you never
thought of marrying her, did you, Dick?"
"I'm not so sure. She did!" He laughed, and seized her hands once
more. "No, it is too bad! I won't tease you. It was Mamzelle Paddy,
darling, to whom I confided my story, and who comforted me in her own
sweet fashion. And she is your sister, and it is she who has brought us
together! Bridgie, if I didn't love you with all my heart, I believe I
should still have to marry you, for nothing else than to be Mamzelle's
brother."
But Bridgie did not affect to be jealous. She threw back her head, and
smiled happily as she answered, "I'm thankful to hear you say it, for
whoever marries me must love Pixie too. I can never leave her behind
me!"
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
CONCLUSION.
The news of Captain Victor's engagement and long attachment to the
charming Miss O'Shaughnessy caused the greatest interest and excitement
among the guests at the cottage, while his old friends rejoiced to see
the happy brightness on his face.
"Welcome home, Dick!" Mr Wallace cried, shaking him warmly by the
hand. "Thankful to see you back again, instead of that other fellow who
has been moping about in your clothes!" and Pixie commented on the
announcement with her usual outspoken honesty.
"I told ye it would come all right! I suppose it was you Bridgie was
fretting about, when I thought it was the bills! She's got dips in her
cheeks, only you can't see them now, because she's blushing. I'm glad
you are coming into the family, but I don't see how you can ever be
married! She can't be spared!"
The Captain laughed at that statement, and vowed that she would have to
be spared, and that at an early date; but a shadow fell across Bridgie's
face, and as they sat alone in the garden she said anxiously--
"I am afraid I have been selfish, Dick! I can think of nothing but you,
but, after all, Pixie was quite right--I can't possibly be spared for a
long time to come. She won't be old enough to take charge of a house
for three years at the soonest, and Jack has been so good and unselfish
that I couldn't possibly leave him in the lurch. You have waited so
long that you won't mind waiting a few years longer, will you?"
"It doesn't seem to me a particularly logical conclusion, sweetheart!"
the Captain said, smiling. "Personally I feel that I ought to be
rewarded at once, but I won't make any promises one way or another until
I have met your brother and heard his views. Don't worry yourself, you
shan't do anything that you feel to be wrong, but I don't despair of
finding a solution of the difficulty. When it is an alternative between
that and waiting for you for three years, Bridgie, I shall be very, very
resourceful!"
"I don't know what you can do. It's no use suggesting a housekeeper--
the boys would not hear of it, and she'd be destroyed in a week with the
life they would lead her!" So argued Bridgie, but she was willing to be
convinced, and too happy in the present to feel much concern for the
future.
The weight of depression which had lain on her heart despite her brave
cheeriness of manner was lifted once and for ever now that she was
convinced of Dick's faithful love, and it seemed impossible that she
could ever be more content than at this moment. Until now almost all
the joys of her life had come from an unselfish pleasure in the good
fortune of others, but this wonderful new happiness was her very own,
hers and Dick's, and she could hardly believe that it was true, and not
a wonderful dream.
Mrs Wallace's letter had conveyed an invitation to stay for the night,
so the lovers had two days to sit and talk together in the lovely summer
garden before returning to give an account of themselves in Rutland
Road.
Jack was not prepared to see a stranger accompanying his sister, but he
welcomed him with Irish heartiness, and guessed how the land lay at the
first glance at Bridgie's face. So did Pat; so did Miles; but they
concealed their suspicions with admirable tact, and talked persistently
through the evening meal with intent to relieve the embarrassment which
was so evidently experienced by the hostess.