How strange and far away, almost like part of their childhood, seemed
the time of which he spoke. Like a painted picture, suddenly thrust
before their view, the scene came back to them. A windy night in late
Autumn, illumined without only by the broad shafts of light from the
Commodore's mansion, and within by the leaping flames in the big hall
fire-place. The young people had improvised a dance in the great hall,
and Helene had tantalizingly bestowed most of her favours upon Fred
Jarvis, a handsome youngster of twenty, who frequently improved his
opportunities of becoming the special object of Edward's boyish
enmity. To fall a willing victim to the pangs of jealousy formed,
however, no part of this young gentleman's intention. Returning late
in the evening, he caught a glimpse of Fred and Helene dancing a
stately minuet together, and, lightly securing his horse at the door,
he entered the hall, just as Helene was protesting that she was too
tired to dance any longer. "Just once with me," he pleaded; and their
winged footsteps kept time to the tumultuous throbbing of the music.
The young girl suddenly grew faint. "Give me air," she cried, and at
the words Edward's strong arm swept her across the broad veranda, and
up on the waiting steed. Mounting behind her, like another young
Lochinvar, they dashed wildly off, but just in what direction could
not be told, for Helene, in mingled consternation, exhaustion, and
alarm, had fainted in earnest, and Edward, in the endeavour to hold
her limp, unconscious figure before him, had dropped the reins. The
steed, however, with a prudent indisposition for pastures new at that
hour of the night, turned into a stubble-field, and brought up at a
haystack. How, in the utter darkness, and with the wind blowing a
gale, the young man managed to restore his companion to consciousness
and bring her back to the house, were mysteries which Rose could never
attempt to penetrate with any degree of satisfaction. Helene, of
course, was superbly angry, and even this bare mention of the escapade
brought fire to her eyes and a loftier poise to the well-set head.
Strongly set about the heart of this young Huguenot were barriers of
pride, that could not be overleaped in a day--scarcely in a life-time.
"It is a bargain, then," said Edward, with a mischievous light in his
smile, "you will never forgive, and I shall never forget."
"I wish, if it isn't asking too much, that you would allow me to
forget. I particularly want to forget everything unpleasant on a
morning as beautiful as this," rejoined Helene.
It was indeed an ideal morning. The sky was as soft and warm, as blue
and white, as only the skies of early summer can be. Treading the
mingled shadow and light, thrown from the interlacing boughs above,
they came at last to the blue curves of Kempenfeldt Bay, whose waves
lapped lightly on the beach. Here they found the two younger Macleod
children, who had come to see the party off. Just as the latter
arrived, the youth, Herbert, who had been amusing himself rocking a
punt in a creek by the shore, managed to upset the craft and
precipitate himself into deep water. The mishap had no more serious
result--for the lad was a good swimmer--than to frighten Rose, and
deprive her of the anticipated pleasure of a visit to "Bellevue" with
Helene and her brother Edward. Bidding the former a hurried goodbye,
with injunctions to her brother to take care of her friend, Rose
disappeared with the children into the woods.
The young man now released a row-boat from its bondage to the shore,
helped his companion into it, and pushed it far out upon its native
element. A new day in the New World, and a long boat-ride before