GENTLE ANNIE.
The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
--Moore.
"Bluebell," said little Lola, bursting into the nursery, where Freddy,
rather a tyrant in his affections, had insisted on her singing him to
sleep, "Ma says you have got to dine down to-night, and Miss Prosody,
too. Won't she be in a way, for her white muslin never came home from the
wash, and she had begun altering the _barège_; so I asked Felda to tell
her," said Lola, diplomatically. "Do you know Bertie has come?" (His
nieces never prefaced his name with the formality of uncle.) "Oh of
course, you must have seen him at the Rink. Do you like him? He is sure
to like you, at first, at any rate," said Lola, who apparently, like
other lookers-on saw most of the game. "And don't tell, but I believe he
hates Miss Prosody."
"Why?" asked Bluebell, absently.
"Well, one day he was whispering to Cecil, with their heads very near
together. Miss Prosody was looking for a book in a recess behind the
door, close to them; but they never saw her till she moved away, and I
heard Bertie mutter something about an 'inquisitive old devil.' But don't
tell, mind. There's the bell; I must go to tea," _Exit_ Lola, and
Bluebell flew off with some alacrity to her bed-room to prepare.
"Bluebell," cried Cecil, opening the intervening door, "can I lend you
anything?" It pleased her to supply her friend's deficiencies of toilet
when a sudden summons to a domestic field-day had been issued.
"Is it a party?" said the other. "I have only my eternal black-net
dress."
"Just Mr. Vavasour and Captain Deveril," both in her father's regiment;
they never either of them alluded to Bertie. "Here are some fixings for
it," returning with a lapful of silver acorns and oak leaves, "unless you
would prefer butter-cups. What a thing it is to have a complexion like
yours, that everything goes with,"--and Cecil looked with half envy at
the girl, whose blue eyes were bluer, and hair and cheeks brighter, than
usual, as she chattered away with a vivacity, of which, perhaps, the
nattering glances of Captain Du Meresq may have been the secret spring.
Bluebell hadn't the slightest idea of assuming the demure demeanour of
a governess in society; the Rollestons had been her great friends before,
and did not treat her as if she was in any altered position; not so,
however, Miss Prosody, who would have reduced her to the _status_ of a
nursery-maid had it been in her power.
That austere virgin was talking, or rather listening, in a sympathetic
manner to Colonel Rolleston as the girls entered the room; but her eye
had taken in every detail of Miss Leigh's costume, and disapprovingly
remarked the silver oak leaves that festooned the black-net dress, and
Maltese cross and bracelets that accompanied it, all of which she well
knew belonged to Cecil.
The three young men were talking together.
"Du Meresq," said Captain Deveril, "you get more leave than any other
fellow. You were in the Prairies in July, England in the spring, and now
here you are at large again in January."
"You must have a rattling good chief," said Mr. Vavasour, "I don't think,
Mrs. Rolleston, the Colonel is ever able to spare us quite so often."
"You see," said Bertie, "there's no demand for leave among our fellows
just now; they are all in love at Montreal, and there's so much going on
there. Lascelles most imprudently gave up his to drive Miss Ellery about
a little longer."
"Oh, ah, I know her," said young Vavasour; "girl with grey eyes, and head
always on one side when she's valsing; looks as if she was kissing her
own shoulder."
"Will she land him, do you think?" said Deveril.
"Not she," said Bertie. "I have known him in as bad a scrape before;
he'll get away to England soon; he always bolts when the family becomes
affectionate."
A discordant gong resounding through the house was followed by the
announcement of dinner.
"Come, my dear Miss Prosody," said the Colonel, complacently, leading her
forth; he hadn't near done his recital of the morning's field-day, which
required that delicate tact and judicious prompting to extort from him
that, though not really Brigadier on the occasion, his opinion and
authority had actually directed the proceedings.
Generally any amount of this affectionate incense was forthcoming from
his wife and daughter; but to-night they both seemed a little _distrait_
and occupied with Bertie, which, however, was a loss little felt with
Miss Prosody present, whose motto seemed that of the volunteers, "Always
ready," and her "soothing treatment" was certainly equal to that of
either of the others.
"It's you and I, Miss Bluebell," said young Vavasour, hastily offering
his arm, while Bertie who had hesitated an instant, gave his to Cecil.
The momentary reluctance was not lost upon her, she become rather silent,
ditto Captain Du Meresq; but their opposite neighbours were in a full
flow of chatter.
"I saw you on the Rink, Miss Leigh, I wish I could skate like you. What
is that thing you do with a broom??"
"The rose."
"Take a good deal of cultivating to produce. I should think? Are you
going to the M'Nab's ball?"
"No; I am not asked. The others are."
"But you do go to balls sometimes?"
"Oh, yes; Mrs. Rolleston promised I should; but I can't go without an
invitation, and I very seldom get one."
"I daresay not," said Jack hotly; "they don't want their daughters cut
out."
"Stuff," cried Bluebell, with a sudden blush, which was not occasioned by
the remark, but by the expression of Bertie Du Meresq's eyes that she had
caught for about the third time since dinner began. It was very
provoking; they had a sort of magnetic power, that forced her to look
that way, and she fancied she detected a half-pleased smile in
recognition of the involuntary suffusion.
"We are going; to 'fix up a prance' after the garrison sleigh drive on
the 10th," continued young Vavasour; "will you come my sleigh, Miss
Leigh?"
Bluebell's face brightened with anticipation; then she looked down, and
demurred,--"I don't know that I shall be able to go."
"That's only a put off, I am sure; you came out last garrison
sleigh-drive."
"Yes, because Colonel Rolleston took me in his, but I mustn't expect
to go every time; and you see there's Freddy; but I _should_ like it
awfully, Mr. Vavasour."
"Well, I know they will make you come," said he confidently. "Promise me
you won't drive with any other fellow."
"No fear of that; I don't suppose any one else will ask me."
"Wouldn't they," thought Vavasour. "I know two or three of our fellows
are death on driving her."
"Cecil," said Bertie, suddenly, "I think you have grown much quieter."
"I am sure I might make the same remark, and for the purposes of
conversation it requires two to talk."
"You are so stiff, or something," murmured he; "not like the jolly little
girl who used to ride with me in the Farwoods. Those were pleasant days,
Cecil--at least, I thought so."
"You got very suddenly tired of them, however."
"That I didn't," exclaimed he. "I was obliged to go."
"It was a yachting excursion, wasn't it?" carelessly.
"Yes, ostensibly; I had business too. Do you know Cecil very nearly wrote
to you. But then, I thought you wouldn't care to hear from me, and might
think it a bore answering."
Cecil was silent. "Did you miss me, my child?"
She forgot her resolves, and met his eyes with a dark, soft look.
Bertie pressed her hand under the table, and for a moment they were
oblivious of anything passing around.
"Sweet or dry, sir?" said the deep voice of the liveried [unreadable],
for the second time of asking.
Du Meresq darted a searching glance at the man, who looked as stolid as
the Serjeant in 'Our's.' No one could have guessed he was thinking what
a _piquante_ anecdote it would be to relate to his inamorata, the cook,
over their supper-beer. Bertie gave a laughing but relieved glance at
his neighbour, whose eyes were fixed on her plate. They both began
simultaneously talking louder, with an exaggerated openness, on general
topics. Mrs. Rolleston joined in.
"You must stay over the sleighing-party, Bertie."
"I hate driving a hired sleigh," said he. "I wish I could get mine up;
but the Grand Trunk would be sure to deliver it the day after the fair."
"But you have your musk-ox robes here; they would dress up the shabbiest
sleigh. I only saw one set like them on New Year's Day, when we had at
least sixty sleighs up here."
"How did you enjoy that celebration?"
"I think," said Cecil, "it is rather tiresome for ladies to have to stay
in all day and receive, while the gentlemen go out calling. We had a
spread, of course--luncheon, tea, coffee, everything. One man, who had a
large acquaintance, came before breakfast, and they were rushing in all
day. It would have been well enough if they were not in such a hurry; but
they just swallowed a glass of wine, and the burden of all their remarks
was, 'I have been to a dozen places already, and have about thirty or
forty more to do.'"
"Could not you two young ladies make them linger over smiles and wine?"
laughed Bertie. "We are not such duffers at Montreal."
"No, indeed. I saw Bluebell give a man a scalding cup of coffee, with the
most engaging smile. There was a nervous glance at the clock. 'Oh, thank
you, Miss Leigh, how hot it is! I shall never have time to drink it,'
just as if he had a train to catch."
"They have an arrear of balls and dinners to call for; that is the only
day in the year a good many ever can pay visits--the civilians, I mean."
The Colonel, who had now exhausted conversation with Miss Prosody, had
leisure to observe the determined flirtation of young Vavasour with
Bluebell. That unformidable young person being only seventeen, of course
looked upon him as a mere boy, and her chaffing manner was not at all to
the Colonel's taste, whose attention was drawn to it by an expressive
glance from Miss Prosody; so he telegraphed to his wife, who soon
signalled her female following from the room.
Bertie got to the door, and as Bluebell passed through last of the
ladies, she again met that look of interest and admiration Du Meresq had
practised so often.
Shyness hitherto had been no infirmity of this young Canadian; but Bertie
somehow had mesmerized her into a state of consciousness--it was a
cobwebby kind of fetter, but the first she had worn.
"Come and talk to me Bluebell," said Mrs. Rolleston, "as Cecil is so
studious."
The former glanced at her friend, and involuntarily whispered--"_How_
well she looks to-night!"
Cecil was sitting apart, utterly absent as it seemed, but her eyes were
shining, and there was a soft brightness about her as she turned over the
pages of a book. It was "The Wanderer,"--one that Bertie had brought with
him.
Mrs. Rolleston agreed and interpreted it her own way. Bluebell drew a
long rocking-chair by her side, and they fell into a pleasant little
talk. Mrs. Rolleston always made a pet of this child; she was the best of
step-mothers, but stood a little in awe of Cecil.
Du Meresq came in shortly before the rest; the elder girl did not even
look up, but her face again lit. He stood _à l'Anglais_, with his back to
the fire, talking to his sister, and occasionally, though without any
particular _empressement_, addressing Bluebell, who thought his voice
sweeter than any man's she had ever heard. It made her unconsciously
modulate her own, which as yet had the untuned accents of early girlhood;
but the spell was on her, and she felt, for the first time, at a loss for
words. Yet when Mrs. Rolleston shortly after sent her to the piano, it
was more of disappointment than a relief. Some one was following to turn
the leaves--only Mr. Vavasour--odious, officious boy! Who wanted him?
"Pray, don't," cried she, pettishly. "You are sure to do it all wrong."
"Let me try," pleaded Jack. "If you just look at me I shall know when to
turn."
"Well, see if you can bring that book" (indicating a very heavy one at
the bottom of a pile) "without spilling the rest, or dropping it on your
toes. Thank you. Now you had better go away; this is not at all the sort
of music you would understand."
"Classical, I suppose. I am afraid my taste is too uncultivated."
"Come, Miss Leigh," said the Colonel, half-impatiently, "we are all
expectation."
Bertie had approached Cecil, and taken up the book she was reading. It
was open at "Aux Italiens," and he murmured low some of the verses:--
"I thought of the dress she wore last time,
When we stood 'neath the cypress trees together,
In that lost land, in that soft clime,
In the crimson evening weather.
Of her muslin dress, for the eve was hot,
And her warm white neck in its golden chain.
And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot,
And falling loose again."
Mrs. Rolleston thought they looked very like lovers bending over the same
book, and their eyes speaking to each other, and in harmony with it went
rippling on one of the wildest and most plaintive of the Lieders under
Bluebell's sympathetic and brilliant fingers.
"What a magnificent touch that child has!" said Du Meresq, pausing to
listen.
"She has quite a genius for music;" and, mentally, she commented, "I
never heard her play better."
"She plays," said Bertie, "as if she were desperately in love."
"With Mr. Vavasour?" laughed Cecil.
"With no one, I dare say. It indicates, however, a _besoin d'aimer_."
Cecil took up "The Wanderer" again, but she soon found they were not _en
rapport_. The captain's temperament was now, ear and fancy, under the
spell of the fair musician.
Bertie was soon by the piano, but Bluebell ceased almost directly after.
He had brought from Montreal [unreadable] Minstrel Melodies, then just
out, and asked her to try one. She excused herself on the plea that it
was a man's song, so he began it himself. Who has not suffered from the
male amateur, who comes forward with bashful fatuity to favour the
company with a strain tame and inaudible as a nervous school girl's?
Bertie was no musician, and his songs were all picked up by ear, but
there was a passion and _timbre_ in the tenor voice, fascinating if
unskilful, and the refrain of "Gentle Annie,"
"Shall we never more behold her,
Never hear that winning voice again,
Till the spring time comes, gentle Annie,
Till the wild flowers are scattered o'er the plain?"
lingered with its mournful, tender inflection in more than one ear
that night.
Afterwards the two young men from the barracks, muffled to the chin in
buffalo robes, lit the inevitable cigar, and jingled merrily off to the
music of the bells.