A bird of passage

by B. M. Croker

"Storm! what nonsense! Why, the water is like glass!" exclaimed Mrs. Home. "He merely says that because he is not coming himself—though I asked him, and told him he might bring Mr. Lisle, for I really do not see why he should be debarred from everything."

"If he is debarred, it's his own fault," rejoined Lizzie Caggett, accepting the challenge in the absence of Mrs. Creery in the other boat. "If he would only be open about himself, no one would mind his poverty."

Mrs. Home looked sweetly incredulous, and Miss Caggett continued,—

"At any rate the chances are that he would not come if he was asked. I don't suppose he has any decent clothes, and he is more in his element in the bush, or out in that white boat of Mr. Quentin's, sailing among the islands; he half lives on the water, but," with a peculiar laugh, "there is no fear of his being drowned!"

Miss Lizzie was merciless to this mysterious pauper, chiefly because she had an idea that he had talked his host out of certain matrimonial designs that were very near to her heart. Jim Quentin's visits had been less frequent, ever since he had given lodging to this odious adventurer!

Now Mrs. Home considered Mr. Lisle inoffensive and gentlemanly-looking, and quite entitled to keep his affairs to himself if he chose, and she took up the cudgels at once, and the argument was waxing hot, when, luckily, some one commenced to sing, and politeness enforced silence. It was a long row to North Bay, fully eight miles, and it was past five o'clock when the party landed, and began to walk about and stretch their rather cramped legs, and to stroll along the beach with a careless eye to shells.—But this was not a bonâ fide shelling trip.—Presently, in answer to a whistle, with various degrees of alacrity they flocked round Mrs. Home's well-spread table-cloth, which was laid out on the moss under a big Pedouk tree, and in a position, that commanded a fine view of the open sea. Here every one ate and drank, and were merry; and afterwards they sang songs and gave riddles and exchanged stories, well-known or otherwise, and then by degrees they scattered once more, and went up into the woods close by, in couples or in small parties, and commenced (the ladies especially) to tear down orchids that would be priceless in grey-skyed England; to fill their hands and their baskets with enormous bunches of Eucharis lilies that carpeted the jungle. Helen was somewhat surprised to find herself alone with Lizzie Caggett, but this was a mere passing thought, her whole attention was given to the flowers; she felt quite bewildered among such an embarras de richesse, and she paused every now and then to exclaim, and to gather handfuls. She was also in ecstasies at the love-birds, honey-suckers, blue-jays and golden orioles that flew "with a shocking tameness" across their path.

Miss Caggett was accustomed to these sights; her enthusiasm—if she had any—she kept bottled up for the benefit of a male companion, and did not trouble herself to respond to Helen's raptures; she had dogged her, and purposely kept off Dr. Malone, and singled her out as her own special associate, in order that she, as she said to herself, "might have it out with her here in the jungle," where she could be as shrill as she pleased,—yea, as one of the island peacocks! where she could give reins to her wrath, and no one but her unsuspicious rival would be any the wiser!—Now on Ross the very walls had ears.

The two girls wandered along, one empty-handed, and the other laden with spoils, till they came to an opening in the forest, where there was a very beautiful shallow pool, apparently a spring. It was an unusual sight, and Lizzie halted, and looked down into it, and beheld the reflection of her own figure, and of her, at present, very cross, discontented little face as seen in a mirror set in a lovely frame of ferns, and mossy stones, and graceful grasses.

As she pondered over her own appearance, and felt an agonizing thrill, at the patent fact that she was now beginning to look old! a bright young face came into view over her shoulder—a bright young face that she hated from the bottom of her heart! No wonder she was a prey to envy, as she gazed at Helen's reflection; never had she looked better, than in that soft white gown, with a wreath of Eucharis lilies twined round her sailor hat. Lizzie stared, and noted every item of that pretty vision, and felt a conviction of her own powerlessness to crush the horrible truth, that one of those two faces was lovely, and smiling, and young, and that the other was pinched, ill-tempered, and passée—and that other her own! Her day was on the wane, the summer of her life—oh, that it would come again! she would sell her soul to recall it!—was gone. And in Helen Denis's case, she had all her golden youth before her. These bitter thoughts were too much for her self-control, her face worked convulsively, the corners of her mouth went down, and all of a sudden she burst into tears! Helen was dismayed; she led her gently to a fallen log of ebony, and implored of her to tell her if she was ill, or what was the matter?

The tears were but a summer shower, and quickly spent, and Miss Caggett came to herself, dried her eyes, and said that it was merely a slight nervous seizure, the result of a racking headache, and meant nothing. "But," she added, "I'm tired, and we may as well rest here awhile, there is no hurry."