THE LAKE SHORE ROAD.
But all that I care for,
And all that I know,
Is that, without wherefore,
I worship thee so.
--Lord Lytton.
"I suppose, Bluebell, you keep all your fine spirits for company?" said
Miss Opie, tauntingly; and, indeed, she had some reason to be aggrieved.
Few things are more trying than living with a person in the persistent
enjoyment of the blues; and the old, saddened by failing health and the
memory of heavy sorrows, are apt to look upon gloom in youth as
entrenching on their own prescriptive rights.
Bluebell was always now taking long, aimless walks, bringing home neither
news nor gossip, and then sitting silent, absorbed in her own thoughts,
or else feverishly expectant; while each evening she sank into deeper
despondency after the day's disappointment.
"Spirits can't be made to order," answered she, shortly. "I have got
nothing to talk about."
"I am afraid you are ill, my dear," said Mrs. Leigh; "outgrowing your
strength, perhaps. You are such a great girl, Bluebell--so different to
me; and you scarcely touched the baked mutton at dinner, which was a
little frozen and red yesterday, but so nice to-day."
Bluebell shivered. She was not at a very critical age, but the culinary
triumphs of the "general servant" made her practice a good deal of
enforced abstinence since she had been accustomed to properly prepared
cookery at "The Maples."
"People who do nothing all day can't expect to be hungry," said Miss
Opie, sententiously. "If a man will not work neither may he eat."
"Then it is all right," retorted Bluebell, "as it seems I do neither."
"Not work!" cried Mrs. Leigh. "Why she has earned already more than I
ever did in my life, and brought me ten dollars to get a dress with, only
I shan't, for I shall keep it for her. I must say, Aunt Jane, you are
always blaming the child; and, if her mother is satisfied, I think you
may be."
Aunt Jane was silenced, but she wondered what Bluebell could do that her
shortsighted mother would not be satisfied with. Meantime the object of
the discussion had escaped from the room. She had no wish to spend the
afternoon in the dim parlour, stuffy with stove heat and the lingering
aroma of baked mutton; and a fancy had occurred to her to wander through
the wood she had last traversed with the sole occupant of her
ill-regulated mind.
Trove, now a well-to-do and unabashed dog, rolled and kicked on his back
in puppy-like ecstacy as he watched her dress, and officiously brought
her her muff, which, however, he objected to resigning. Trove was
Bluebell's confidant and the repository of her woes, and perhaps as safe
a one as young ladies generally choose.
Not a sign of the Rollestons had she seen since her arrival at the
cottage ten days ago. Bluebell thought she could not have been more cut
off from them if she had crossed the Atlantic instead of the Common.
Going to the Rink would have too much the appearance of seeking Du
Meresq, so she rigorously avoided that; but even in King Street, where
Cecil's cutter flashed most days, she never caught sight of "Wings'"
owl-decorated head.
There was a great deal of her father's disposition in Bluebell, and she
chafed at the monotony of days so grey and eventless, and longed for she
knew not what; so that it was life, movement, _pain_ even, to exhaust
those new springs of thought and feeling that the awakening touch of a
first love had called forth, and would not now be laid.
Bluebell, like most Canadians, had had plenty of early admiration from
hobbledehoys, who made honest, though ungainly, love to her; but her
heart would as soon have been touched by an amorous Orson as by these
youthful tyros in the art. Du Meresq had that deceptive countenance
apparently created for the shipwreck of female hearts. Sometimes men
called him an ugly fellow, but no woman ever thought so. There was
expression enough in those luminous eyes to have set up three beauty men.
They could look both demoniacal and seraphic,--tender often, but scarcely
ever true; add to this a magnificent _physique_, a soft manner, a winning
voice, and, what gave him an almost superstitious interest to women, that
_fey_ look attributed to the Stewarts. He had read and studied hard by
fits and starts, for whatever possessed his mind he always pursued with
ardour, and to Cecil was fond of inveighing against his useless,
unsatisfying life. In spite of her infatuation, though, she judged him
more truly than most people, and perceived that his fitful remorse was
chiefly occasioned by pressure of money matters, and seldom lasted over
pecuniary relief.
In the most secret flights of her imagination, she pictured herself in
some new country with Bertie. An adventurous, reckless nature such as
his, she thought, turned every gift to evil in the commonplace life
where his idiosyncrasy had no play; but detached from his idle mess-room
habits, and launched into a new career, when to live at all involved
exertion of mind and body, would metamorphosize her hero into all she
could wish.
Such was the ideal, in her conventual bringing up, of the rich and well
placed Cecil; while Bluebell, to whom luxury was unknown, longed for
wealth to take her into a sphere where taste was not starved by economy,
nor all her horizon bounded by weekly bills. But in both cases their air
castles were to be occupied with Du Meresq.
The girl and the dog sped along on their desolate walk--it was too cold
to linger. Bluebell carefully followed the route she had taken with
Bertie, that memory might be added by association.
"Ah, Trove," said she to the dog, who bounced up against her, "I am as
much a waif and stray as you are--disowned by my grandfather, who might
have made us rich, and taken up by people one day and forgotten the next;
but you have drifted into harbour now, my dog, and who knows--"
A smothered growl interrupted this monologue, and then a sharp bark.
Bluebell looked round to see what was exciting him; she heard a distant
tinkle of bells, and listened keenly; laughing voices were apparently
approaching. From an impulse that she could not have explained, Bluebell
darted into an empty woodshed, dragging Trove in after her, and holding
him firmly by the muzzle to stifle his growling. Through an aperture in
the boards she could observe, unseen herself.
The sounds grew louder, and a score of sleighs defiled past her
hiding-place. Bluebell scanned each carefully. There were the usual
members of the Sleigh Club. She recognized the Tremaines, and several
others of her little world. Jack in his tandem; but, faithful Lubin! no
"cloud-capped" Muffin sat by his side; his companion was of the sterner
sex, or, as he would have described him, "a dog." But where were the
Rollestons? No representative of "The Maples" was present, not even Du
Meresq. They had flashed past within a minute; but, like a fresh breeze
over still water, the little incident had awakened and roused up Bluebell
from her lethargy.
Her thoughts became more lively as she speculated why Bertie and Cecil
were absent from the sleighing party. It was some consolation, at any
rate, not to see him enjoying himself quite as much without her. The sun
was setting redly as she neared the cottage, and a young moon gaining
brightness. Bluebell, remembering a childish superstition, paused to
wish. The passage was dark as she entered, and her mother's tones,
talking with great volubility, struck her ear. "Mamma has her company
voice on," thought she, which, being interpreted, meant an increase of
nervousness and consequent garrulity.
She opened the door, and her heart gave a sudden leap as she became aware
of, rather than saw in the dusk, the tall, broad-shouldered form of Du
Meresq. Bluebell came stiffly forward, and offered a cold hand, utterly
belying her heart, to Bertie, who bent over it as if sorely tempted, in
spite of Mrs. Leigh's presence, to carry it to his lips. But she withdrew
it abruptly, and sat down, seized with more overpowering shyness than she
had ever experienced.
Miss Opie's keen, attentive eyes were taking in the situation.
"Captain Du Meresq has been kind enough to call," said Mrs. Leigh, "to
say there is no immediate hurry for your return, my dear."
Bluebell raised disappointed, questioning eyes; but something in his face
conveyed to her that the message was coined as an excuse for his
appearance.
"I hope Cecil is well?" said she, trying to speak unconcernedly; "but I
saw she was not out with the Club to-day."
"I think she is tired of it. Where did you fall in with them?" asked he.
"In the Humber," very consciously.
"Were you there?" asked Bertie, with a tender inflection in his voice,
that Bluebell knew well. But she would not look up, and Miss Opie did, so
he proceeded carelessly,--"I suppose they were coming from the Lake Shore
Road, up the serpentine drive in the wood?"
"Oh! that is such a pretty walk in summer!" said Mrs. Leigh.
"I dare say," said Bertie, looking straight down his nose. "I went round
that way once, and even in winter found it the pleasantest walk I ever
took in my life."
"Ah, then," said Mrs. Leigh, knowingly, "I dare say some pretty young
lady was with you."
"No such happiness," said Bertie, with an imperceptible glance at
Bluebell. "The fact is, Mrs. Leigh, women detest me! I suppose it is my
deep respect, making me so fearful of offending, that bores them; but I
fear I am a social failure."
"In my day," said Miss Opie, ironically, "young ladies _expected_ to be
treated with respect."
"And that could not have been so long ago; yet now they are beyond a
bashful man's comprehension," said Bertie, with an air of simplicity,
slightly scanning Miss Opie's wakeful face. He had got on so well with
the mamma, who was this old maid, who appeared so objectionably on the
alert?
"Well, I am sure," said Mrs. Leigh, "some girls here _are_ that pert and
forward, I can't bear it myself; and yet the gentlemen all encourage it,
and think it real smart. Lilla Tremaine, you know, Aunt Jane."
"Ah!" said Bertie, shaking his head, "a very unsteady young person."
While Du Meresq was making conversation, Bluebell sat incapable of
contributing to it. She would not have believed that his presence should
afford her so little pleasure; but he seemed incongruous here, and was
apparently amusing himself with the simplicity of her relatives. A
clatter of tea-things filled her mind with dismay. The ideas of the
"help" on the subject of cleanliness were in a very rudimentary stage,
and that the cloth would be in anything but its first freshness, was a
moral certainty. Impossible, however, to avert the catastrophe, and the
general servant, actuated by a determination to get another look at Miss
Bluebell's "young man," undauntedly bore in the tray.
"Dear me, is it not rather early?" said Mrs. Leigh. "Oh, Captain Du
Meresq,"--seeing him rise,--"you must stay and have a cup with us."
"Another day, if you will allow me," said Bertie, trying to disguise
his extreme lameness. "I hope, having found my way here, I may be
permitted to call again in this sociable manner, and have a little
agreeable conversation, so preferable to gaiety, which I abhor."
"If you will take us as you find us," said the little lady, graciously,
"we shall look upon it as a great favour, I am sure. Dear me, Captain Du
Meresq, have you hit your foot? You seem quite lame."
"I am, rather. I had an accident. Is there not some shorter way back than
the road I came?"
"Oh, yes, by Barker's Row. You know the Link House?"
"No--a," said Bertie, looking expressively at Bluebell, as a hint that
she might offer to point out the road.
"Oh, surely you _must_; keep straight on King Street, and then you come
to--"
"Wolfe Street?" suggested Du Meresq.
"Gracious, no! that would be quite out of your way! Go to--I'll tell you
what, Bluebell shall show you where you turn off--it isn't ten minutes
from here."
Bertie murmured a profusion of thanks, and, distrustful of Miss Opie,
protested against being so troublesome. But Bluebell, scarce able to
believe in such luck, sprang up with a sudden illumination of
countenance, and the next minute the lovers were alone under the light
of the moon.
"Bluebell," said Du Meresq, "I have got a sleigh here. I thought I
_might_ get you out of it if I pretended I was walking, and didn't know
the way; but the fact is, my child, I can hardly limp a hundred yards.
Come a little drive with me."
"Oh! I dare not. It is so late, and they expect me back again directly."
"Then you are going to run away the first moment we have been alone for
so long!"
"Whose fault is that," said she, reproachfully.
"Not mine. I have been laid up ten days with a broken ankle. But I
suppose you have been seeing Jack Vavasour every day, and forgotten all
about me?"
"Bertie," said Bluebell, hesitatingly, "did they say anything to you
about--"
"About Jack? Yes, they said he was spoons on you. And also, Miss
Bluebell, that you were awfully in love with him."
"No, no, nonsense," said she, blushing. "I meant about yourself."
"They know nothing of that?" said he, inquiringly.
"They do, though. I don't know what you will say, Bertie, but I told Mrs.
Rolleston."
"What can you mean, Bluebell? Bella told me that you cared for nobody but
Jack Vavasour; and I was deuced angry, I can tell you; at first, though I
thought it uncommon 'cute of you saying so."
Bluebell, utterly confounded by this extraordinary assertion, had no time
to reply, for she found herself close to a covered sleigh, and the man
had got down and opened the door. She drew back.
"Jump in," said Bertie, impatiently.
Bluebell shook her head.
"What do you propose?" said he, in an angry whisper. "We can't sit out in
the snow, and I can't walk another yard."
She hesitated, and he gently impelled her into the vehicle, following
himself, to the anguish of his injured foot, that he had struck in his
haste.
"Where to, sir?" said the man, whom Bertie, in his momentary pain, had
forgotten.
"Go to the Don Bridge."
"Can't, sir. I am ordered at the College by six o'clock."
"Drive to the devil, then. I mean, drive about as long as you can. I like
driving."
"Hush, Bertie! how can you? What will he think?"
"How much 'old rye' he will get out of the job. Come, Bluebell; the hour
is ours, don't spoil it fidgetting about trivialities. I have scarcely
dared to look at you yet, my beautiful pet," trying to steal an arm round
her waist. But she drew herself away, irresponsive and rigid, being
uneasy and frightened at the escapade she had been led into.
"You haven't a spark of moral courage, Bluebell," said Bertie,
impatiently. "You are as prim and unlike yourself as possible, just
because you are wondering what that man on the box will think. Or,
perhaps, you are afraid of that thin, sour old duenna at home."
"She will be inquisitive enough," said Bluebell, resignedly. "And,
Bertie, I wanted to tell you, but, perhaps, you know, that they will
never have me again at the 'Maples' while you are there,--Mrs. Rolleston
so utterly disapproves of it."
"What _is_ this hallucination that you have got hold of?" said Du Meresq.
"What did you tell, or fancy you told, Bella?"
"We got on the subject. Your name wasn't actually mentioned; but she
quite understood, and said something," said Bluebell, reddening as she
felt the awkwardness of her words, "very strong against it."
Bertie looked relieved. He began to understand the mistake, which he
considered a fortunate one.
"And did you promise to give me up?"
She turned her large, innocent eyes upon him. "How could I, when I care
more for you than anything in the world?"
"My poor little Bluebell!" said Du Meresq, crushing her in his arms. But
the sleigh stopped; the man was getting down.
"My time is up, sir."
"Well, drive to where you took us up," said Bertie. "Bluebell, tell me
quick, where shall I see you again?"
"I can't risk driving," said she, hurriedly. "When will you be able to
walk?"
"Can't I see you alone at home sometimes? When are your people likely to
be out?"
"They don't go out for days together, except on Sunday, to church; and
Aunt Jane would suspect something directly if I didn't go with them."
"Let her, meddling old idiot! I shall come then, Bluebell."
"No, no, Bertie; pray don't! Could you walk in a week?"
"What an eternity! Well, meet me in the Avenue in the Queen's Park, at
three o'clock on Wednesday. Here's this brute getting down again. Only
just time to kiss those dear blue eyes. _Addio_ Leonore. How the deuce
am I to get home, I wonder?"
"Bertie, you'll never be able to walk."
"Never mind me. Run back, my dearest, and throw dust in the eyes of that
misguided old female, who presumes to open them on what doesn't concern
her."