A bird of passage

by B. M. Croker

"Once I loved a maiden fair,

But she did deceive me."

When last we saw Mr. Quentin, he had just succeeded in convincing his companion that he was Miss Denis's favoured suitor. This was well—this was satisfactory. But it was neither well, nor yet satisfactory, to behold Lisle calmly appropriate the posy ring, and put it in his waistcoat pocket.

"Hullo! I say, you know," expostulated Apollo, "give me back my property."

"No," returned the other very coolly; "it was originally mine, and as it has once more come into my hands, I will keep it."

Mr. Quentin became crimson with anger and dismay.

"I found it on the wreck, and gave it to Miss Denis, who said she valued it greatly, but as she has passed it on to you, I see that her words were a mere façon de parler, and if she asks you what you have done with it, you can tell her that you showed it to me, and that I retained it."

There was a high-handed air about this bare-faced robbery that simply took Mr. Quentin's breath away, and the whole proceeding put him in, as he expressed it himself, "such an awful hat;" for he had never meant to steal the ring—he only wanted the loan of it for half an hour, and now that it had served his purpose, it was to be restored to its mistress; but here was Lisle actually compelling him to be a thief! Vainly he stammered, blustered, and figuratively flapped his wings! he might as well have stammered and blustered to the wall. Lisle was impassive—moreover, the boat was waiting; and Abdul returned to Ross and Fatima, plus twenty rupees, but minus the ring. And what a search there was for that article when Helen Denis missed it; rooms were turned out, matting was taken up, every hole and corner was searched, but all to no purpose—considering that the ring was, as we know, on its way to the Nicobars.

Fatima, the Cleopatra-like, was touched when she saw her Missy actually weeping for her lost property; but all the same, she positively assured her that she had never seen it since she had had it on her finger last—indeed, if it had been in her power to return it she would have done so, for Helen offered a considerable reward to whoever would restore her the most precious of her possessions. Days and weeks went by, but no ring was found.

The Scotia left Calcutta once every six weeks, calling firstly at Port Blair, then at the Nicobars, then Rangoon, and so back to Calcutta; and the reason of Mr. Quentin's hurried departure was that the order to start for the Nicobars came in the steamer that was to take him there, otherwise there would have been the usual delay of six weeks. Once on board, he went straight below to his cabin, turned in, and recouped himself for his sleepless night. He slept soundly all day long, having immense capacities in that line. Mr. Hall, the settlement officer, walked the deck with Mr. Lisle, and subsequently they descended to the saloon and played chess. The group near the flagstaff had not been unnoticed by the passengers of the Scotia as she steamed by under the hill; there had been some waving of handkerchiefs, but Mr. Lisle's had never left his pocket. He had something else in that selfsame pocket that forbade such demonstration—the fatal ring, and a ring that bore for motto, as he had now discovered, "Love me and leave me not"—a motto that implied a bitter mockery of the present occasion. This wreck ring was assuredly an unlucky token! Only last night, and Helen had seemed to him the very incarnation of simplicity, truth, and faith—what a contrast to those many lovely London sirens who smiled on him—and his rent roll! Never again would he be deceived by nineteen summers, and sweet grey eyes; no, never again. This was the determination he came to, as he paced the deck that night beneath the stars.