It was quite evident opposition would be useless.  In sullen resignation she entered a boat with the Colonel, and, taking the rudder lines, steered a course away from Long Island, which the picnic party were now making for.  She had seen Bertie standing angry and irresolute, and, apparently, not going; and then he must have changed his mind, for as they were just pulling off, he stepped into the vacant place of a boat containing Mrs. Rolleston, Freddy and Bluebell.  Not for a moment was she deceived as to the Colonel’s motive in causing her to forego her day’s amusement.  It was not her society that he wanted—­it was to separate her from Du Meresq; and who could tell that he might not intend to bring her back too late to see him before he went?

This she determined to resist to the utmost.  She did not feel as if she could endure the suspense, if Du Meresq lost this opportunity of speaking, however doubtful might be the result.

Revolving the difficulties in her path only made Cecil more resolute.  She would never give Bertie up, neither would she wait to grow prematurely old with the sickness of hope deferred.

If her father refused consent, would a long secret engagement, promising to remain faithful to each other, be their only resource?  Cecil smiled at the idea.  She did not forget she was an heiress and of age.  Love is for the young, and she was far too proud to meditate bestowing herself upon Bertie when years should have quenched hope and spirit, and stealthily abstracted every charm of youth.  And as to him?  Well, his antecedents had certainly given no promise of the long suffering fidelity of a Jacob.

Colonel Rolleston was pretty well aware of what was passing in his daughter’s mind, for his eyes were now fully opened; but he did not choose to show it.

They arrived at Cobourg, where he found his letters; and then the horses were put up to bait, and they went to the hotel for luncheon.

Cecil expressed a hope that they would be able to return when the horses were rested.

“Certainly,” said her father; “we will drive back to dinner.”

And, much relieved, she brightened up considerably.

Now the Colonel would rather have detained her long enough there to ensure passing Du Meresq on the road; but the ennui of spending so many hours in so uninteresting a place, and the absence of any excuse for waiting, favoured Cecil’s wishes.

Still the time seemed interminable to her in that dusty inn parlour, with its obsolete Annuals, cracked pianoforte, and ugly prints on the walls.  Surely no horses ever required so long a rest, and when her father suggested ordering her some tea, it seemed almost like malice prepense to occasion a further delay.

However, they were off at last, and as they rattled along in their shaky conveyance, she became painfully conscious of its discomfort.  Every jolt was anguish, and her head and all her limbs were aching.  Was it the ducking yesterday, or only this dreadful springless buggy?