Bluebell / A Novel

by Mrs. G. C. Huddleston

"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.