A bird of passage

by B. M. Croker

"Very well," agreed Helen, "I want to settle these flowers, they are in a most dreadful state," proceeding to arrange her much-crowded basket.

"Then, whilst you arrange your flowers, dear, I will tell you a story," said Lizzie, now completely composed.

"Oh, do! how nice of you! I like stories, and this"—looking round—"is the very place for one. A ghost story?"

"But mine is going to be a love-tale," said Miss Caggett briefly.

"I don't care for them so much," rejoined Helen, sorting out orchids as she spoke. "However, anything you like."

"Once upon a time there was a girl, and she lived in the East Indies with her mother; her name was Lizzie Caggett," she commenced. Helen, who was kneeling at the log, using it as a table for her flowers, looked up as if she did not believe her ears. "Her name, as I tell you, was Lizzie Caggett. She was not a great beauty like some people, but she was not bad-looking. A young man came to Port Blair, paid her marked attention, fell in love with her, and she with him; he gave her songs and presents, he wrote her heaps of letters, he told her that he could not live without her. His name was James Quentin!" She paused, and Helen got up slowly from her knees and stood in front of her—her heart was beating rather fast, and her colour was considerably brighter than usual. "A girl arrived at Port Blair named Helen Denis, and he, man-like, paid her attention at first because she was new,—he half lives at her house, he is always at her side, and" (viciously) "he has made her the talk of the whole place. He," also rising and suddenly dropping the narrative form for plainer speaking, "is a hypocrite, he told you a lie about that piano!—it belongs to Mr. Baines—he has pretended to you that he scarcely knew me. Scarcely ever was out of our house, is nearer the truth! One thing he can't deny, and that is his own hand-writing. Look here," dragging out a thick packet of letters tied with blue ribbon, "you can read them if you like. You won't!" in answer to a scornful gesture. "Then there," tossing them violently on the ground, where they fell with a heavy thud, and the ribbon coming undone, lay scattered about like a pack of cards.

Miss Caggett after this outbreak paused, and folded her arms akimbo, but her eyes were gleaming, and her lips working convulsively.

Helen was thunderstruck, never had it dawned upon her till now, that she had come and seen, and conquered, this furious lady's lover; the sudden announcement gave her a shock and for some seconds she was speechless.

"There," proceeded Miss Caggett, pointing to a letter at her feet, "three months ago I was his dearest Lizzie, and now you are his dearest Helen," and she laughed like a hyena.

"You are altogether mistaken, and quite wrong," cried her companion, speaking at last; "I am nothing to him but an ordinary acquaintance, and I don't think you should repeat these terrible things about him to me! You can't care very much for him, or you would not say that he is a hypocrite and does not speak the truth. As to his making me the talk of the place, I am quite distressed to hear that Port Blair is so hard up for a topic." Helen was very angry, and her face was an open book, in which every emotion that swayed her was eloquently expressed. Mr. Quentin was utterly indifferent to her, and this fact gave her a considerable advantage over Miss Caggett. Besides being angry she was disgusted, and looked down upon her opponent with a glance of unmistakable scorn.