So thought Bertie, as his expressive glance but too well revealed when they met at breakfast.  He made no attempt to conceal his devotion; his eyes scarcely left her face, and his voice took a different tone in addressing her.  Fortunately for Bluebell’s peace of mind, she was not present.  Mrs. Rolleston noticed it, and rejoiced; the Colonel was equally perceptive, and made an inward resolve.

CHAPTER XXIV.

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.”