LITTLE PITCHERS.
If aught in nature be unnatural,
It is the slaying, by a spring-tide frost,
Of Spring's own children; cheated blossoms all
Betrayed i' the birth, and born for burial,
Of budding promise; scarce beloved ere lost.
--Fables In Song.
The whole party were gathered on the lawn after breakfast, preparing for
the start, and continually running backwards and forwards for something
forgotten. Du Meresq and Cecil were talking apart: the Colonel was to be
told that evening after dinner; and Bertie had to get to Cobourg, and
catch the night steamer there.
"If we are late back, there will be hardly any time," said the girl.
"Long enough to explain my magnificent prospects, or rather projects. Oh,
Cecil, you will be firm, anyhow!"
Her answer was prevented by a clinging sister rushing up. She hummed the
words of a favourite air. "Loyal je serai durant ma vie."
Bertie picked a rose and gave it to her. "It exactly matches your
ribbons," said he.
It reminded Cecil of her dream, when he gave her a rose instead of a
ring, and turned into Fane, and a superstitious chill came over her. At
this moment Colonel Rolleston stepped out.
"It is time you people were off. I am only coming with you as far as the
hotel to get a trap. I find I must go to Cobourg for letters. I wish,
Cecil you would drive with me."
What? give up all those hours with Bertie! His last day, too, and the
first of their happiness!
In utter consternation, Cecil cast a most imploring glance at her father;
but he, appearing not to see it, continued nonchalantly,--
"It is a long, dull drive, and I shall really be glad of your company."
Du Meresq ground his heel into the gravel with vexation, and Mrs.
Rolleston attempted a feeble remonstrance. "The children will be
disappointed if Cecil goes away,"--which sentiment they eagerly
chorussed.
"Well, you must spare her to-day," said their father, "for I want her
too. It will be much better for Cecil to take a quiet drive after her
exposure yesterday, than to grill on those islands all day."
It was quite evident opposition would be useless. In sullen resignation
she entered a boat with the Colonel, and, taking the rudder lines,
steered a course away from Long Island, which the picnic party were now
making for. She had seen Bertie standing angry and irresolute, and,
apparently, not going; and then he must have changed his mind, for as
they were just pulling off, he stepped into the vacant place of a boat
containing Mrs. Rolleston, Freddy and Bluebell. Not for a moment was
she deceived as to the Colonel's motive in causing her to forego her
day's amusement. It was not her society that he wanted--it was to
separate her from Du Meresq; and who could tell that he might not intend
to bring her back too late to see him before he went?
This she determined to resist to the utmost. She did not feel as if
she could endure the suspense, if Du Meresq lost this opportunity of
speaking, however doubtful might be the result.
Revolving the difficulties in her path only made Cecil more resolute. She
would never give Bertie up, neither would she wait to grow prematurely
old with the sickness of hope deferred.
If her father refused consent, would a long secret engagement, promising
to remain faithful to each other, be their only resource? Cecil smiled at
the idea. She did not forget she was an heiress and of age. Love is for
the young, and she was far too proud to meditate bestowing herself upon
Bertie when years should have quenched hope and spirit, and stealthily
abstracted every charm of youth. And as to him? Well, his antecedents had
certainly given no promise of the long suffering fidelity of a Jacob.
Colonel Rolleston was pretty well aware of what was passing in his
daughter's mind, for his eyes were now fully opened; but he did not
choose to show it.
They arrived at Cobourg, where he found his letters; and then the horses
were put up to bait, and they went to the hotel for luncheon.
Cecil expressed a hope that they would be able to return when the horses
were rested.
"Certainly," said her father; "we will drive back to dinner."
And, much relieved, she brightened up considerably.
Now the Colonel would rather have detained her long enough there to
ensure passing Du Meresq on the road; but the _ennui_ of spending so
many hours in so uninteresting a place, and the absence of any excuse
for waiting, favoured Cecil's wishes.
Still the time seemed interminable to her in that dusty inn parlour, with
its obsolete Annuals, cracked pianoforte, and ugly prints on the walls.
Surely no horses ever required so long a rest, and when her father
suggested ordering her some tea, it seemed almost like _malice prepense_
to occasion a further delay.
However, they were off at last, and as they rattled along in their shaky
conveyance, she became painfully conscious of its discomfort. Every jolt
was anguish, and her head and all her limbs were aching. Was it the
ducking yesterday, or only this dreadful springless buggy?
They reached the landing before any of the party had returned, and Cecil
sought her gable and threw herself on the bed, trusting to rest to remove
some of her unpleasant sensations.
As she closed her eyes, she fell into a not unhappy reverie. True, there
were opposition and difficulties to contend with, but Bertie was her own,
and she would never doubt him more. How disinterested and straightforward
he had been in freeing himself from debt before he spoke at all? Even her
father must acknowledge that; also that he had sufficient money for the
career he had chosen, and only valued her fortune as a security and
comfort to herself.
The unutterable luxury of being able to think of him unrestrained only
dated from yesterday; for before there was always the humiliating dread
that her idolatry was only returned in the same measure in which it was
distributed among his somewhat numerous loves. But now distrust had all
melted away, and she cared not for the many who had hooked, and lost,
since she had landed him.
Aroused by the splash of oars on the lake, Cecil tried to spring from
the bed, but her limbs were stiff and heavy, and she dragged herself
languidly to the window. They were all on the landing but Du Meresq, and
the quick pulsation stilled again.
"I suppose he went first to the hotel," thought she, and began arranging
her hair, disordered by the pillow. She heard Lola running upstairs, and
called her as she passed.
"I am coming, Cecil. I have got a message for you from Bertie, which is,
that he has only gone up to the hotel, and will be here in ten minutes."
Cecil kissed the welcome Mercury, and drew her into the room shutting the
door.
"Well, dear, and did you have a pleasant day? What did you do?"
"Oh, yes," said Lola, whose eyes were glittering with excitement, and who
had altogether rather a strange manner. "That is to say, pretty well. We
didn't do much."
"How was that?"
"Why, Bertie and Bluebell were so stupid. They went away by themselves
for ever so long."
Cecil felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched her heart and frozen the
blood in her veins. Could that pale face, with wildly gleaming eyes, be
the same so sweet and tranquil, that was carelessly smiling at the child
an instant before?
"And do you know, Cecil," pursued Lola, warming with her subject, and
speaking with intense excitement, "Bertie kissed Bluebell. I saw him do
it."
A pause, and the child, apparently gratified by the interest she had
awakened, continued,--
"I think Bluebell was crying, and he trying to console her; at any rate,
I heard him say he 'loved her very much.'"
One has noticed some years warm weather set in delusively early, and
blossoms of fruit and flowers nursed in its smiles peep prematurely
forth; and then a biting frost and northeast wind will spring up, the sun
all the while treacherously shining, and in one hour destroy the bud and
promise for ever. No less swift was the scathing power wielded by that
innocent executioner. Every word, fraught with conviction and crushing
evidence, sank deep down into her heart. She sat so still that Lola got
frightened, and entreated her to say what was the matter; but Cecil
appeared unconscious of her presence, and, scared and bewildered, the
child shrank away.
Then the girl rose up, and with rapid, uneven steps paced the room. After
a while, first bolting the door, she unlocked a sandal-wood box, where,
tied with a ribbon and carefully dated, was a packet of Bertie's letters.
One by one she patiently read them through, noting and comparing
passages, then tying them up, wrote the day of the month and the hour on
a slip of paper, and finally enclosed all in an outer cover, which she
sealed with her signet-ring, and directed to Du Meresq. This done, the
restless walk was resumed. Her head was burning, and throbbed almost too
wildly to think. One line seemed ceaselessly to ring in it, that had
mingled with her dreams last night, and recurred with hateful
appropriateness,--
"Once the soul of truth is gone, love's sweet life is o'er."
Contempt of herself for having been so duped added bitterness to these
thoughts. How long and easily had Bertie and Bluebell hoodwinked her to
be on the terms they were, and doubtless had often laughed over her
simplicity and short-sightedness! But Lola had described her in tears,
not smiles; and then Bertie appeared baser than ever. He loved Bluebell,
yet would sacrifice her for Cecil's fortune; for the unhappy girl no
longer believed in his disinterested professions of the day before. No!
she was dark and unlovely, and her rival beautiful, in his favourite
style! And Du Meresq was black and treacherous, as a smothered instinct
had sometimes warned her.
Mrs. Rolleston came to the door and begged her to come down. Lola's
account had startled her. Cecil entreated to be left alone; "she had a
splitting headache, and wished to be quiet;" and on her step-mother
effecting an entrance, the sight of her face left no doubt of the
validity of the excuse.
"Bertie will be so disappointed if he does not see you to-night," cried
she regretfully. A bitter smile, and the reiteration, "I cannot come
down."
"Your hand is burning, child. You are in a fever. What _is_ the matter?"
Cecil coldly withdrew it, in the same somnambulistic manner, and said
she would lie down; and Mrs. Rolleston went out, hurt by her want of
confidence, and much bewildered by many events of that day.
Lola next invaded her, sent by Bertie to entreat for admission. "He only
just wants to come in for a minute, and see how you are."
"I can't see _any one_, my head is too bad; tell Bertie so. I am going to
lock the door, and go to bed."
But she only threw herself on it. The light waned and darkened, and the
moon arose. Then Cecil stole cautiously to the window and watched.
Presently Du Meresq came out alone, and she knew he was on his way to the
boat. He would look up, she was sure, and she entrenched herself behind
the curtain. By the light of the moon she saw his gaze rivet itself on
her window, as though it would pierce the gloom. His face was strangely
pale, and even sad, and her rebellious heart throbbed wildly as she felt
how perilously dear he still was to her. He turned away. Whatever he wore
or did, there was a picturesque grace about him, thought Cecil; and as
his boat became smaller and smaller in the distance, she wished, in the
bitterness of her heart, they had both sunk in the squall of yesterday,
e'er she had discovered how falsely he had lied to her.
Lola again disturbed her. "Papa says he is coming up in ten minutes to
see you. Bertie told me to tell you he was very sorry you would not speak
to him, or say good-bye."
Lola had dined late, it being her birthday, and wore Cecil's locket on a
ribbon, but she looked scared and depressed. "It was so dull downstairs,"
she said. "Mamma had gone away after dinner, and talked a long time to
Bluebell. Bertie had not come out of the dining room till it was time to
go, and she had had no one to speak to but Miss Prosody--not a bit like a
birthday."
"Lola," said Cecil, much too preoccupied to attend to her complaints,
"has the letter bag gone down to the boat yet?"
"I saw it still open in the passage."
"Then run down quick with this big letter--you understand? Don't stop to
speak to any one, but put it in the bag and come back and tell me when it
is done."
The child looked at the address "Why, Cecil," said she, curiously, "this
is for Bertie! What a pity I couldn't have given it to him before he
went! What a lot of postage stamps it takes!"
"Never mind, dear, run away with it," anxiously.
Lola was but just in time before the Colonel came out, locked the bag,
and went upstairs to his daughter.
Pre-occupied as he was, he was startled at her changed appearance. A
shawl was thrown around her, and she appeared shivering, while a fever
spot burned on either cheek. The Colonel was alarmed and irritated. "It
is all that folly yesterday. Have your fire lit, and go to bed, but I
must say a word or two first."
No assistance from Cecil, he took a turn or two about the room, surprised
at her apathy. It was very difficult to begin, he wished to be kind, but
was determined to be firm. How indifferent she seemed. Perhaps she would
not care so very much.
"Cecil," he began, "you will guess what I wish to speak about. I don't
know whether I was more surprised or annoyed at Du Meresq's preposterous
proposal for you to-night."
"What did he say, papa?"
"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 circumstances, 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.