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',  D.  HO  WELLS 


THE    LIBRARY  OF 

YORK 

UNIVERSITY 

Presented  by 

The  estate  of  the 
Hon.  George  S.  Henry 


3  9007  0281  9023  9 


^^ 


Date  Due 


Mr.  W.  D.  Howells'  Works. 

IN  SHILLING  VOLUMES 


The  Shadow  of  a  Dream. 
An  Open-Eyed  Conspiracy. 
A  Foregone  Conclusion. 
Their  Wedding  Journey. 
A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 
The  Lady  of  the  Aroostook. 

2  vols. 
Out  of  the  Question 


Out  of  the  Question.  ff ,   i^  n.;h 

A  Fearful  Eesponsihility.      I  Idyls  m  Drab. 

LIBRARY  EDITIONS. 
Impressions  and  Experiences.    1  vol. 
April  Hopes.    1  vol. 


The  Undiscovered  Country. 

2  vols. 
Venetian  Life.    2  vols. 
Italian  Journeys.    2  vols. 
The  Kise  of  Silas  Lapham. 

2  vols. 
Indian  Summer.    2  vols. 
An  Imperative  Duty. 


X'Hazard  of  New  Fortunes.    2  vols. 
Annie  Kilbum.     1  vol.      . 
Indian  Summer.    1  vol.     .        . 
The  Minister's  Charge.     1  vol. 
Mercy.    1  vol.     .        .        • 
A  Modem  Instance.    2  vols.     . 
A  Woman's  Reason.    2  vols.     . 
Dr.  Breen's  Practice.    1  vol.     , 
Modem  Italian  Poets.    1  vol.   , 
The  Shadow  of  a  Dream.     1  vo 
The  World  of  Chance.    1  vol. 
A  Traveller  from  Altruria.     1 
The  Landlord  at  Lion's  Head. 


FARCES. 


The  Mouse-Trap. 
Evening  Dress. 
The  Garotters. 
Five  O'clock  Tea. 


Is.  each. 

The  Unexpected  Guests. 
A  Letter  of  Introduction. 
A  Likely  Story. 
The  Albany  DepOt. 


Edinburgh  :  David  Douglas,  10  Castle  Street. 

London:  Simpkin,  Marshall,  Hamilton, 

Kent  &  Co.,  Ltd. 


A   CHANCE 
ACQUAINTANCE 

BY 

WILLIAM  D.  HO  WELLS 


EDINBURGH 
DAVID  DOUGLAS.  CASTLE  STREET 

1902 


PS 


EDINBURGH  :  Printed  by  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE  for 

David  Douglas 

London:  Simpkin,  Marshall  and  Co. 


A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE 


UP  THE  SAGUENAY 

ON  the  forward  promenade  of  the  Saguenay 
boat  which  had  been  advertised  to 
leave  Quebec  at  seven  o'clock  on  Tuesday 
morning,  Miss  Kitty  Ellison  sat  tranquilly 
expectant  of  the  joys  which  its  departure 
should  bring,  and  tolerantly  patient  of  its 
delay  ;  for  if  all  the  Saguenay  had  not  been 
in  promise,  she  would  have  thought  it  the 
greatest  happiness  just  to  have  that  prospect 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  Quebec.  The  sun 
shone  with  a  warm  yellow  light  on  the  Upper 
Town,  with  its  girdle  of  grey  wall,  and  on 
the  red  flag  that  drowsed  above  the  citadel, 
and  was  a  friendly  lustre  on  the  tinned  roofs 
of  the  Lower  Town  ;  while  away  off  to  the 
south  and  east  and  west  wandered  the  purple 
hills  and  the  farmlit  plains  in   such  dewy 


6  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

shadow  and  effulgence  as  would  have  been 
enough  to  make  the  heaviest  heart  glad. 
Near  at  hand  the  river  was  busy  with  every 
kind  of  craft,  and  in  the  distance  was  mys- 
terious with  silveiy  vapours ;  little  breaths 
of  haze,  like  an  ethereal  colourless  flame, 
exhaled  from  its  surface,  and  it  all  glowed 
with  a  lovely  inner  radiance.  In  the  middle 
distance  a  black  ship  was  heaving  anchor 
and  setting  sail,  and  the  voice  of  the  seamen 
came  soft  and  sad  and  yet  wildly  hopeful  to 
the  dreamy  ear  of  the  young  girl,  whose  soul 
at  once  went  round  the  world  before  the 
ship,  and  then  made  haste  back  again  to  the 
promenade  of  the  Saguenay  boat.  She  sat 
leaning  forward  a  little  with  her  hands  fallen 
into  her  lap,  letting  her  unmastered  thoughts 
play  as  they  would  in  memories  and  hopes 
around  the  consciousness  that  she  was  the 
happiest  girl  in  the  world,  and  blest  beyond 
desire  or  desert.  To  have  left  home  as  she 
had  done,  equipped  for  a  single  day  at 
Niagara,  and  then  to  have  come  adventur- 
ously on,  by  grace  of  her  cousin's  wardrobe, 
as  it  were,  to  Montreal  and  Quebec ;  to  be 
now  going  up  the  Saguenay,  and  finally  to 
be  destined  to  return  home  by  way  of  Boston 
and  New  York  ;  this  was  more  than  any  one 
human  being  had  a  right  to ;   and,  as  she 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  7 

had  written  home  to  the  girls,  she  felt  that 
her  privileges  ought  to  be  divided  up  among 
all  the  people  of  Eriecreek.  She  was  very 
grateful  to  Colonel  Ellison  and  Fanny  for 
aflfording  her  these  advantages ;  but  they 
being  now  out  of  sight  in  pursuit  of  state- 
rooms, she  was  not  thinking  of  them  in 
relation  to  her  pleasure  in  the  morning 
scene,  but  was  rather  regretting  the  absence 
of  a  lady  with  whom  they  had  travelled  from 
Niagara,  and  to  whom  she  imagined  she 
would  that  moment  like  to  say  something  in 
praise  of  the  prospect.  This  lady  was  a  Mrs. 
Basil  March  of  Boston  ;  and  though  it  was 
her  wedding  journey,  and  her  husband'.-i 
presence  ought  to  have  absorbed  her,  she 
and  Miss  Kitty  had  sworn  a  sisterhood,  and 
were  pledged  to  see  each  other  before  long 
at  Mrs.  March's  home  in  Boston.  In  her 
absence,  now,  Kitty  thought  what  a  very 
charming  person  she  was,  and  wondered  if 
all  Boston  people  were  really  like  her,  so 
easy  and  friendly  and  hearty.  In  her  letter 
she  had  told  the  girls  to  tell  her  Uncle  Jack 
that  he  had  not  rated  Boston  people  a  bit 
too  high,  if  she  were  to  judge  fi'om  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  March,  and  that  she  was  sure  they 
would  help  her  as  far  as  they  could  to  carry 
out  his  instructions  when  she  got  to  Boston. 


5  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTAXCK. 

These  instructions  were  such  as  might 
seem  preposterous  if  no  more  particular 
statement  in  regard  to  her  Uncle  Jack  were 
made,  but  will  be  imaginable  enough,  I  hope, 
when  he  is  a  little  described.  The  Ellisons 
were  a  West  Virginia  family  who  had  wan- 
dered up  into  a  comer  of  North-western  New 
York,  because  Dr.  Ellison  (unceremoniously 
known  to  Kitty  as  Uncle  Jack)  was  too 
much  an  abolitionist  to  live  in  a  slaveholding 
State  with  safety  to  himself  or  comfort  to 
his  neighbours.  Here  his  family  of  three 
boys  and  two  girls  had  gro\\Ti  up,  and  hither 
in  time  had  come  Kitty,  the  only  child  of 
his  youngest  brother,  who  had  gone  first  to 
Illinois,  and  thence,  from  the  pretty  con- 
stant adversity  of  a  countrj'  editor,  to  Kansas, 
where  he  joined  the  Free  .State  party  and  fell 
in  one  of  the  border  feuds.  Her  mother  had 
died  soon  after,  and  Dr.  Ellison's  heart 
bowed  itself  tenderly  over  the  orphan.  She 
was  something  not  only  dear,  but  sacred  to 
him  as  the  child  of  a  martyr  to  the  highest 
cause  on  earth ;  and  the  love  of  the  whole 
family  encompassed  her.  One  of  the  boys 
had  brought  her  from  Kansas  when  she 
was  yet  very  little,  and  she  had  grown  up 
among  them  as  their  youngest  sister ;  but 
the   doctor,  from  a  tender   scmple   against 


UP   THE   SAGCENAV  9 

seeming  to  usurp  the  place  of  his  brother  in 
her  childish  thought,  would  not  let  her  call 
him  father,  and  in  obedience  to  the  rule 
which  she  soon  began  to  give  their  love,  they 
all  turned  and  called  him  Uncle  Jack  with 
her.  Yet  the  Ellisons,  though  they  loved 
their  little  cousin,  did  not  spoil  her, — neither 
the  doctor,  nor  his  great  grown-up  sons 
whom  she  knew  as  the  boys,  nor  his  daugh- 
ters whom  she  called  the  girls,  tliough  they 
were  well-nigh  women  when  she  came  to 
them.  She  was  her  Uncle's  pet  and  most 
intimate  friend,  riding  with  him  on  his  pro- 
fessional \'isits  till  she  became  as  familiar  a 
feature  of  his  equipage  as  the  doctor's  horse 
itself ;  and  he  educated  her  in  those  extreme 
ideas,  tempered  by  humour,  which  formed 
the  character  of  himself  and  his  family. 
They  loved  Kitty,  and  played  with  her,  and 
laughed  at  her  when  she  needed  ridiculing  ; 
they  made  a  jest  of  their  father  on  the  one 
subject  on  which  he  never  jested,  and  even 
the  anti-slavery  cause  had  its  droll  points 
turned  to  the  light.  They  had  seen  danger 
and  trouble  enough  at  different  times  in  its 
service,  but  no  enemy  ever  got  more  amuse- 
ment out  of  it.  Their  house  was  a  principal 
entrepCt  of  the  under-ground  railroad,  and 
they  were  always  helping  anxious  travellers 


10  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

over  the  line ;  but  the  boys  seldom  came 
back  from  an  excursion  to  Canada  without 
adventures  to  keep  the  family  laughing  for 
a  week  ;  and  they  made  it  a  serious  business 
to  study  the  comic  points  of  their  benefici- 
ai-ies,  who  severally  lived  in  the  family 
records  by  some  grotesque  mental  or  physical 
trait.  They  had  an  irreverent  name  among 
themselves  for  each  of  the  humourless  aboli- 
tion lecturers  who  unfailingly  abode  with 
them  on  their  rounds ;  and  these  brethren 
and  sisters,  as  they  called  them,  paid  with 
whatever  was  laughable  in  them  for  the  sub- 
stantial favours  they  received. 

Miss  Kitty,  having  the  same  natural  bent, 
Degan  even  as  a  child  to  share  in  these  harm- 
less reprisals,  and  to  look  at  life  with  the 
same  wholesomely  fantastic  Aasion.  But  she 
remembered  one  abolition  visitor  of  whom 
none  of  them  made  fun,  but  treated  with  a 
serious  distinction  and  regard, — an  old  man 
with  a  high,  narrow  forehead,  and  thereon  a 
thick  upright  growth  of  grey  hair ;  who 
looked  at  her  from  under  bushy  brows  with 
eyes  as  of  blue  flame,  and  took  her  on  his 
knee  one  night  and  sang  to  her  "Blow  ye 
the  trumpet,  blow  I  "  He  and  her  uncle  had 
been  talking  of  some  indefinite,  far-off  place 
that  they  called  Boston,  in  terms  that  com- 


UP   THE   SAGUEN'AT.  11 

mended  it  to  her  childish  apprehension  as 
very  little  less  holy  than  Jerusalem,  and  as 
the  home  of  all  the  good  and  great  people 
outside  of  Palestine. 

In  fact,  Boston  had  always  been  Dr. 
Ellison's  foible.  In  the  beginning  of  the 
great  anti-slavery  agitation,  he  had  ex- 
changed letters  (corresponded,  he  used  to 
say)  with  John  Quincy  Adams  on  the  subject 
of  Lovejoy's  murder  ;  and  he  had  met  several 
Boston  men  at  the  Free  Soil  Convention  in 
Buffalo  in  1848.  "  A  little  formal  perhaps, 
a  little  reserved,"  he  would  say,  "but  excel- 
lent men  ;  polished,  and  certainly  of  sterling 
principle  :  "  which  would  make  bis  boys  and 
girls  laugh,  as  they  grew  older,  and  some- 
times provoke  them  to  highly  coloured 
dramatisations  of  the  formality  of  these 
Bostonians  in  meeting  their  father.  The 
years  passed  and  the  boys  went  West,  and 
when  the  war  came,  they  took  service  in 
Iowa  and  Wisconsin  regiments.  By  and 
by  the  President's  Proclamation  of  freedom 
to  the  slaves  reached  Eriecreek  while  Dick 
and  Bob  happened  both  to  be  home  on  leave. 
After  they  had  allowed  their  sire  his  rapture, 
"Well,  this  is  a  great  blow  for  father," 
said  Bob  ;  "  what  are  you  going  to  do  now, 
father?     Fugitive  slaverj'  and  all  its  charms 


12  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

blotted  out  for  ever,  at  one  fell  swoop. 
Pretty  rough  on  you,  isn't  it?  No  more 
men  and  brothers,  no  more  soulless  oligarchy. 
Dull  lookout,  father. " 

"Oh  no,"  insinuated  one  of  the  girls, 
"there's  Boston." 

"Why,  yes,"  cried  Dick,  "to  be  sure 
there  is.  The  President  hasn't  abolished 
Boston.     Live  for  Boston. " 

And  the  Doctor  did  live  for  an  ideal 
Boston,  thereafter,  so  far  at  least  as  con- 
cerned a  never-relinquished,  never- fulfilled 
purpose  of  some  day  making  a  journey  to 
Boston.  But  in  the  meantime  there  were 
other  things ;  and  at  present,  since  the  Pro- 
clamation had  given  him  a  country  worth 
living  in,  he  was  ready  to  honour  her  by 
studying  her  antiquities.  In  his  youth, 
before  his  mind  had  been  turned  so  strenu- 
ously to  the  consideration  of  slavery,  he  had 
a  pretty  taste  for  the  mystery  of  the  Mound 
Builders,  and  each  of  his  boys  now  returned 
to  camp  with  instructions  to  note  any  pheno 
mena  that  would  throw  light  upon  this 
interesting  subject.  They  would  have 
abundant  leisure  for  research,  since  the  Pro- 
clamation, Dr.  Ellison  insisted,  practically 
ended  the  war. 

The  Mound  Builders  were  only  a  starting- 


VT   THE   SAGUEXAT.  13 

point  for  the  doctor.  He  advanced  from 
them  to  historical  times  in  due  course,  and  it 
happened  that  when  Colonel  Ellison  and  his 
wife  stopped  off  at  Eriecreek  on  their  way 
East,  in  1870,  they  found  him  deep  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Old  French  War.  As  yet  the  Colo- 
nel had  not  intended  to  take  the  Canadian 
route  eastward,  and  he  escaped  without  the 
charges  which  he  must  otherwise  have  re- 
ceived to  look  up  the  points  of  interest  at 
Montreal  and  Quebec  connected  with  that  an- 
cient struggle.  He  and  his  wife  carried  Kitty 
with  them  to  see  Niagara  (which  she  had 
never  seen  because  it  was  so  near) ;  but  no 
sooner  had  Dr.  Ellison  got  the  despatch 
announcing  that  they  would  take  Kitty  on 
with  them  dowTi  the  St.  La^vi-ence  to  Quebec, 
and  bring  her  home  by  way  of  Boston,  than 
he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  letter  of  the 
most  comprehensive  character.  As  far  as 
concerned  Canada  his  mind  was  purely  his- 
torical ;  but  when  it  came  to  Boston  it  was 
strangely  re-abolitionised,  and  amidst  an 
ardour  for  the  antiquities  of  the  place,  his 
old  love  for  its  humanitarian  pre-eminence 
blazed  up.  He  would  have  her  visit  Faneuil 
Hall  because  of  its  Revolutionary  memories, 
but  not  less  because  Wendell  Phillips  had 
there   made   his    first    anti-slavery   speech- 


14  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

She  was  to  see  the  collections  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Historical  Society,  and  if  possible, 
certain  points  of  ancient  colonial  interest 
which  he  named  ;  but  at  any  rate  she  was 
somehow  to  catch  sight  of  the  author  of  the 
"Biglow  Papers,"  of  Senator  Sumner,  of  Mr. 
Whittier,  of  Dr.  Howe,  of  Colonel  Higgin- 
son,  and  of  Mr.  Garrison.  These  people 
were  all  Bostonians  to  the  idealising  remote- 
ness of  Dr.  Ellison,  and  he  could  not  well 
conceive  of  them  asunder.  He  perhaps 
imagined  that  Kitty  was  more  likely  to  see 
them  together  than  separately  ;  and  perhaps 
indeed  they  were  less  actual  persons,  to  his 
admiration,  than  so  many  figures  of  a  grand 
historical  composition.  Finally,  "I  want 
you  to  remember,  my  dear  child, "  he  wi-ote, 
"that  in  Boston  you  are  not  only  in  the 
birthplace  of  American  liberty,  but  the  yet 
holier  scene  of  its  resurrection.  There 
everything  that  is  noble  and  grand  and 
liberal  and  enlightened  in  the  national  life 
has  originated,  and  I  cannot  doubt  that  you 
will  find  the  character  of  its  people  marked 
by  every  attribute  of  a  magnanimous  demo- 
cracy. If  I  could  envy  you  anything,  my 
dear  girl,  I  should  envy  you  this  privilege  of 
seeing  a  city  where  man  is  valued  simply 
and  solely  for  what  he  is  in  himself,  and 


UP   THE   SAGUENAT.  15 

where  colour,  wealth,  family,  occupation, 
and  other  vulgar  and  meretricious  distinc- 
tions are  wholly  lost  sight  of  in  the  consi- 
deration of  individual  excellence." 

Kitty  got  her  uncle's  letter  the  night 
before  starting  up  the  Saguenay,  and  quite 
too  late  for  compliance  with  his  directions 
concerning  Quebec  ;  but  she  resolved  that  as 
to  Boston  his  wishes  should  be  fulfilled  to 
the  utmost  limit  of  possibility.  She  knew 
that  nice  Mr.  March  must  be  acquainted 
with  some  of  those  very  people.  Kitty  had 
her  uncle's  letter  in  her  pocket,  and  she 
was  just  going  to  take  it  out  and  read  it 
again,  when  something  else  attracted  her 
notice. 

The  boat  had  been  advertised  to  leave  at 
seven  o'clock,  and  it  was  now  half-past.  A 
party  of  English  people  were  pacing  some- 
what impatiently  up  and  down  before  Kitty, 
for  it  had  been  made  known  among  the  pas- 
sengers (by  that  subtle  process  through 
which  matters  of  public  interest  transpire  in 
such  places)  that  breakfast  would  not  be 
served  till  the  boat  started,  and  these  Eng- 
lish people  had  the  appetites  which  go  before 
the  admirable  digestions  of  their  nation. 
But  they  had  also  the  good  temper  which 
does  not  so  certainly  accompany  the  insular 


16  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCK. 

good  appetite.  The  man  in  his  dashing 
Glengari-y  cap  and  his  somewhat  shabby 
grey  suit  took  on  one  arm  the  plain,  jolly 
woman  who  seemed  to  be  his  wife,  and  on 
the  other,  the  amiable,  handsome  young 
girl  who  looked  enough  like  him  to  be  his 
sister,  and  strode  rapidly  back  and  forth, 
saying  that  they  must  get  up  an  appetite 
for  breakfast.  This  made  the  woman  laugh, 
and  so  he  said  it  again,  which  made  them 
laugh  so  much  that  the  elder  lost  her  balance, 
and  in  regaining  it  tmsted  off  her  high  shoe 
heel,  which  she  briskly  tossed  into  the  river. 
But  she  sat  down  after  that,  and  the  three 
were  presently  intent  upon  the  Liverpool 
steamer  which  was  j  ust  aiTived  and  was  now 
gliding  up  to  her  dock,  with  her  population 
of  passengers  thronging  her  quarter-deck. 

"  She  's  from  England  1 "  said  the  husband, 
expressively. 

"Only  fancy!"  answered  the  wife. 
"Give  me  the  glass,  Jenny."  Then,  after 
a  long  survey  of  the  steamer,  she  added, 
' '  Fancy  her  being  from  England  !  "  They 
all  looked  and  said  nothing  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  when  the  wife's  mind  turned  to  the 
delay  of  their  own  boat  and  of  breakfast. 
"This  thing,"  she  said,  with  that  air  of 
uttering  a  novelty  which   the  English  cast 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  17 

about  their  commonplaces, — "  tliis  thing 
doesn't  start  at  seven,  you  know. " 

"  No,"  replied  the  younger  woman,  "she 
waits  for  the  Montreal  boat. " 

' '  Fancy  her  being  from  England  ! "  said 
the  other,  whose  eyes  and  thoughts  had  both 
wandered  back  to  the  Liverpool  steamer. 

"  There  's  the  Montreal  boat  now,  comin' 
round  the  point,"  cried  the  husband. 
"  Don't  you  see  the  steam  ?  "  He  pointed 
with  his  glass,  and  then  studied  the  white 
cloud  in  the  distance.  "  No,  by  Jove  !  it 's 
a  saw-mill  on  the  shore." 

"Oh,  Harry!"  sighed  both  the  women 
reproachfully. 

"Why,  deuce  take  it,  you  know," 
he  retorted,  ' '  I  didn't  turn  it  into  a  saw- 
mill. It's  been  a  saw-mill  all  along,  I 
fancy. " 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  Montreal 
boat  came  in  sight,  the  women  would  have 
her  a  saw-mill  till  she  stood  in  full  view  in 
mid-channel.  Their  o-wn  vessel  paddled  out 
into  the  stream  as  she  drew  near,  and  the 
two  bumped  and  rubbed  together  till  a  gang- 
way plank  could  be  passed  from  one  to  the 
other.  A  very  well  dressed  young  man 
stood  ready  to  get  upon  the  Saguenay  boat, 
with  a  porter  beside  him  bearing  his  sub- 


18  A    CHAJ^CE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

stantial  valise.  No  one  else  apparently  wm 
coming  aboard. 

The  English  people  looked  upon  him  for 
an  instant  with  wrathful  eyes,  as  they  hung 
over  the  rail  of  the  promenade.  "  Upon  my 
word,"  said  the  elder  of  the  women,  "  have 
we  been  waitin'  all  this  time  for  one  man  ? " 

"  Hush,  Edith,"  answered  the  younger. 
"  it 's  an  Englishman."  And  they  all  three 
mutely  recognised  the  right  of  an  English- 
man to  stop,  not  only  the  boat,  but  the 
whole  solar  system,  if  his  ticket  entitled 
him  to  a  passage  on  any  particular  planet, 
while  Mr.  Miles  Arbuton  of  Boston,  Massa- 
chusetts, passed  at  his  ease  from  one  vessel 
to  the  other.  He  had  often  been  mistaken 
for  an  Englishman,  and  the  error  of  those 
spectators,  if  he  had  known  it,  would  not 
have  surprised  him.  Perhaps  it  might  have 
softened  his  judgment  of  them  as  he  sat 
facing  them  at  breakfast ;  but  he  did  not 
know  it,  and  he  thought  them  three  very 
common  English  people  with  something  pro- 
fessional, as  of  public  singing  or  acting, 
about  them.  The  young  girl  wore,  instead 
of  a  travelling  suit,  a  vivid  light-blue  dress  ; 
and  over  her  sky-blue  eyes  and  fresh  cheeks 
a  glory  of  corn-coloured  hair  lay  in  great 
braids  and  masses.     It  was  magnificent,  but 


UP   THJi   SAGtJENAY.  19 

it  wanted  distance ;  so  near,  it  was  almost 
harsh.  Mr.  Arbuton's  eyes  fell  from  the 
face  to  the  vivid  blue  dress,  which  was  not 
quite  fresh  and  not  quite  new,  and  a  glimmei 
of  cold  dismissal  came  into  them,  as  he  gave 
himself  entirely  to  the  slender  merits  of  the 
steamboat  breakfast. 

He  was  himself,  meantime,  an  object  of 
interest  to  a  young  lady  who  sat  next  to  the 
English  party,  and  who  glanced  at  him  from 
time  to  time,  out  of  tender  grey  eyes,  with 
a  furtive  play  of  feeling  upon  a  sensitive 
face.  To  her  he  was  that  divine  possibility 
which  every  young  man  is  to  every  young 
maiden  ;  and,  besides,  he  was  invested  with 
a  halo  of  romance  as  the  gentleman  with 
the  blond  moustache,  whom  she  had  seen  at 
NiagJira  the  week  before,  on  the  Goat  Island 
Bridge.  To  the  pretty  matron  at  her  side 
he  was  exceedingly  handsome,  as  a  young 
man  may  frankly  be  to  a  young  matron,  but 
not  otherwise  comparable  to  her  husband, 
the  full-personed,  good-humoured-looking 
gentleman  who  had  just  added  sausage  to 
the  ham  and  eggs  on  his  plate.  He  was 
handsome,  too,  but  his  full  beard  was  red- 
dish, whereas  Mr.  Arbuton's  moustache  was 
flaxen  ;  and  his  dress  was  not  worn  with 
that  scrupulosity  with  which  the  Bostonian 


'M  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

bore  his  clothes  ;  there  was  a  touch  of  sloven- 
liness  in  him  that  scarcely  consorted  with 
the  alert,  ex-military  air  of  some  of  hia 
movements.  "Good-looking  young  John 
Bull,"  he  thought  concerning  Mr.  Arbuton, 
and  then  thought  no  more  about  him,  being 
no  more  self-judged  before  the  supposed 
Englishman  than  he  would  have  been  be- 
fore so  much  Frenchman  or  Spaniard.  Mr. 
Arbuton,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  had  met 
an  Englishman  so  well  dressed  as  himself, 
must  at  once  have  arraigned  himself,  and 
had  himself  tacitly  tried  for  his  personal 
and  national  difference.  He  looked  in  his 
turn  at  these  people,  and  thought  he  should 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  in  spite  of 
the  long-lashed  grey  eyes. 

It  was  not  that  they  had  made  the  faintest 
advance  towards  acquaintance,  or  that  the 
choice  of  knowing  them  or  not  was  vrith 
Mr.  Arbuton  ;  but  he  had  the  habit  of  thus 
protecting  himself  from  the  chances  of  life, 
and  a  conscience  against  encouraging  people 
whom  he  might  have  to  drop  for  reasons  of 
society.  This  was  sometimes  a  sacrifice,  for 
he  was  not  past  the  age  when  people  take  a 
lively  interest  in  most  other  human  beings. 
When  breakfast  was  over,  and  he  had  made 
the  tour  of  the  boat,  and  seen  all  his  fellow- 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  'Zl 

passengers,  he  perceived  that  he  could  have 
little  in  common  with  any  of  them,  and  that 
probably  the  journey  would  require  the  full 
exercise  of  that  tolerant  spirit  in  which  he 
had  undertaken  a  branch  of  summer  travel 
in  his  native  land. 

The  rush  of  air  against  the  steamer  was 
very  raw  and  chill,  and  the  forward  prome- 
nade was  left  almost  entirely  to  the  English 
professional  people,  who  walked  rapidly  up 
and  down,  with  jokes  and  laughter  of  their 
kind,  while  the  wind  blew  the  girl's  hair  in 
loose  gold  about  her  fresh  face,  and  t^visted 
her  blue  drapery  tight  about  her  comely 
shape.  When  they  got  out  of  breath  they 
sat  down  beside  a  large  American  lady,  with 
a  great  deal  of  gold  filling  in  her  front  teeth, 
and  presently  rose  again  and  ran  races  to 
and  from  the  bow.  Mr.  Arbuton  turned 
away  in  displeasure.  At  the  stem  he  found 
a  much  larger  company,  most  of  whom  had 
furnished  themselves  with  novels  and  maga- 
zines from  the  stock  on  board,  and  were 
drowsing  over  them.  One  gentleman  was 
reading  aloud  to  three  ladies  the  newspaper 
account  of  a  dreadful  shipwreck ;  other 
ladies  and  gentlemen  were  coming  and 
going  for  ever  from  their  state-rooms,  aa 
the  wont  of  some  is ;   others  yet  sat  with 


22  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

closed  eyes,  as  if  having  come  to  see  the 
Saguenay  they  were  resolved  to  see  nothing 
of  the  St.  La^vrence  on  the  way  thither,  but 
would  keep  their  vision  sacred  to  the  wonders 
of  the  former  river. 

Yet  the  St.  Lawrence  was  worthy  to  be 
seen,  as  even  Mr.  Arbuton  owned,  whose 
way  was  to  slight  American  scenery,  in  dis- 
tinction from  his  countrymen  who  boast  it 
the  finest  in  the  world.  As  you  leave 
Quebec,  with  its  mural- crowned  and  castled 
rock,  and  drop  down  the  stately  river,  pre- 
sently the  snowy  fall  of  Montmorenci,  far 
back  in  its  purple  hollow,  leaps  perpetual 
avalanche  into  the  abyss,  and  then  you  are 
abreast  of  the  beautiful  Isle  of  Orleans, 
whose  low  shores,  with  their  expanses  of 
farm-land,  and  their  groves  of  pine  and  oak, 
are  still  as  lovely  as  when  the  wild  grape 
festooned  the  primitive  forests  and  won  from 
the  easy  rapture  of  old  Cartier  the  name  of 
Isle  of  Bacchus.  For  two  hours  farther  do^Ti 
the  river,  either  shore  is  bright  and  populous 
with  the  continuous  villages  of  the  habitans, 
each  clustering  about  its  slim-spired  church, 
in  its  shallow  vale  by  the  water's  edge,  or 
lifted  in  more  eminent  picturesqueness  upon 
some  gentle  height.  The  banks,  nowhere 
lofty  or  abrupt,  are  such  as  in  a  southern 


CP   THE   SAGOENAY.  23 

land  some  majestic  river  might  flow  between, 
wide,  slumbrous,  open  to  all  the  heaven  and 
the  long  day  till  the  very  set  of  sun.  But 
no  starry  palm  glasses  its  crest  in  the  clear 
cold  green  from  these  low  brinks ;  the  pale 
birch,  slender  and  delicately  fair,  mirrors 
here  the  wintry  whiteness  of  its  boughs  ; 
and  this  is  the  sad  great  river  of  the  awful 
North. 

Gradually,  as  the  day  wore  on,  the  hills 
which  had  shrunk  almost  out  of  sight  on  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  were  dark  purple  in 
the  distance,  drew  near  the  shore,  and  at 
one  point  on  the  northern  side  rose  almost 
from  the  water's  edge.  The  river  expanded 
into  a  lake  before  them,  and  in  their  lap 
some  cottages,  and  half-way  up  the  hillside, 
among  the  stunted  pines,  a  much-galleried 
hotel  proclaimed  a  resort  of  fashion  iu  the 
heart  of  what  seemed  otherwise  a  wilder- 
ness. Indian  huts  sheathed  in  birch-bark 
nestled  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  which  were 
rich  in  orange  and  scarlet  stains  ;  out  of  the 
tops  of  the  huts  curled  the  blue  smoke, 
and  at  the  door  of  one  stood  a  squaw  in  a 
flame-red  petticoat ;  others  in  bright  shawls 
squatted  about  on  the  rocks,  each  with  n. 
circle  of  dogs  and  papooses.  But  all  this 
warmth  of  colour  only  served,  like  a  winter 


24  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

sunset,  to  heighten  the  chilly  and  desolate 
sentiment  of  the  scene.  The  light  dresses 
of  the  ladies  on  the  verandah  stinick  cold 
upon  the  eye  ;  in  the  faces  of  the  sojourners 
•who  lounged  idly  to  the  steamer's  landing- 
place,  the  passenger  could  fancy  a  sad  reso- 
lution to  repress  their  tears  when  the  boat 
should  go  away  and  leave  them.  She  put 
off  two  or  three  old  peasant-women  who 
were  greeted  by  other  such  on  the  pier,  as 
if  returned  from  a  long  journey ;  and  tlien 
the  crew  discharged  the  vessel  of  a  pro- 
digious freight  of  onions  which  formed  the 
sole  luggage  these  old  women  had  brought 
from  Quebec.  Bale  after  bale  of  the  pun- 
gent bulbs  was  borne  ashore  Lu  the  careful 
arms  of  the  deck-hands,  and  counted  by  the 
owners.  At  last  order  was  given  to  draw 
in  the  plank,  when  a  passionate  cry  burst 
from  one  of  th.e  old  women,  who  extended 
both  hands  with  an  imploring  gesture  to- 
wards the  boat.  A  bale  of  onions  had  been 
left  aboard  ;  a  deck-hand  seized  it  and  i"an 
quickly  ashore  with  it,  and  then  back  again, 
followed  by  the  benedictions  of  the  tran- 
quillised  and  comforted  beldam.  The  gay 
Rojourners  at  Murray  Bay  controlled  their 
grief,  and  as  Mr.  Arbuton  turned  from 
them,  the  boat,  pushing  out,  left  them  to 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  25 

their  fashionable  desolation.  She  struck 
across  to  the  southern  shore,  to  land  pas- 
sengers for  Cacouna,  a  watering-place  greater 
than  ]\Iurray  Bay.  The  tide,  which  rises 
fifteen  feet  at  Quebec,  is  the  impulse,  not 
the  savour  of  the  sea  ;  but  at  Cacouna  the 
water  is  salt,  and  the  sea-bathing  lacks  no- 
thing but  the  surf  ;  and  hither  resort  in 
great  numbers  the  Canadians  who  fly  their 
cities  dm-ing  the  fierce,  brief  fever  of  the 
northern  summer.  The  watering-place  vil- 
lage and  hotel  is  not  in  sight  from  the  land- 
ing, but,  as  at  Murray  Bay,  the  sojourners 
thronged  the  pier,  as  if  the  arrival  of  the 
steamboat  were  the  great  event  of  their  day. 
That  afternoon  they  were  in  unusual  force, 
having  come  on  foot  and  by  omnibus  and 
calash  ;  and  presently  there  passed  down 
through  their  ranks  a  strange  procession 
with  a  band  of  music  leading  the  way  to 
the  steamer. 

"It's  an  Indian  wedding,"  Mr.  Arbuton 
heard  one  of  the  boat's  officers  saying  to  the 
gentleman  with  the  ex-military  air,  who 
stood  next  him  beside  the  rail ;  and  now, 
the  band  having  drawn  aside,  he  saw  the 
bride  and  groom, — the  latter  a  common, 
stolid-faced  savage,  and  the  former  pretty 
and  almost  white,  with  a  certain  modesty 


26  A   CHANCE   ACQ0AINTAJSrCE. 

and  sweetness  of  mien.  Before  them  went 
a  young  American,  with  a  jaunty  Scotch 
cap  and  a  visage  of  supernatural  gravity, 
as  the  master  of  ceremonies  which  he  had 
probably  planned ;  arm  in  arm  with  him 
walked  a  portly  chieftain  in  black  broad- 
cloth, preposterously  adorned  on  the  breast 
with  broad  flat  discs  of  silver  in  two  rows. 
Behind  the  bridal  couple  came  the  whole 
village  in  pairs,  men  and  women,  and 
children  of  all  ages,  even  to  brown  babies 
in  arms,  gay  in  dress  and  indescribably 
serious  in  demeanour.  They  were  mated 
in  some  sort  according  to  years  and  size ; 
and  the  last  couple  were  young  fellows 
paired  in  an  equal  tipsiness.  These  reeled 
and  wavered  along  the  pier  ;  and  when  the 
other  wedding  guests  crowned  the  day's 
festivity  by  going  aboard  the  steamer,  they 
followed  dizzily  down  the  gangway.  Mid- 
way they  lurched  heavily  ;  the  spectators 
gave  a  cry  ;  but  they  had  happily  lurched 
in  opposite  directions  ;  their  grip  upon  each 
other's  arms  held,  and  a  forward  stagger 
launched  them  victoriously  aboard  in  a  heap. 
They  had  scarcely  disappeared  from  sight, 
when,  ha\'ing  as  it  were  instantly  satisfied 
their  curiosity  concerning  the  boat,  the 
other   guests   bc.gan    to  go  ashore    in   due 


UP  THE  SAGITEKAY.  27 

order.  Mr.  Arbuton  waited  in  a  slight 
anxiety  to  see  whether  the  tipsy  couple 
could  repeat  their  manoeuvre  successfully 
on  an  upward  incline ;  and  they  had  just 
appeared  on  the  gangway,  when  he  felt  a 
Aand  passed  carelessly  and  as  if  uncon- 
sciously through  his  arm,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  voice  said,  "Those  area  pair  of 
disappointed  lovers,  I  suppose. " 

He  looked  round  and  perceived  the  young 
lady  of  the  party  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  have  nothing  to  do  with,  resting  one 
hand  on  the  rail,  and  sustaining  herself 
with  the  other  passed  through  his  arm, 
while  she  was  altogether  intent  upon  the 
scene  below.  The  ex-military  gentleman, 
the  head  of  the  party,  and  apparently  her 
kinsman,  had  stepped  aside  without  her 
knowing,  and  she  had  unwittingly  taken 
Mr.  Arbuton's  ann.  So  much  was  clear 
to  him,  but  what  he  was  to  do  was  not  so 
plain.  It  did  not  seem  quite  his  place  to 
tell  her  of  her  mistake,  and  yet  it  seemed 
a  piece  of  unfairness  not  to  do  so.  To  leave 
the  matter  alone,  however,  was  the  simplest, 
safest,  and  pleasantest ;  for  the  pressure  of 
the  pretty  figure  lightly  thro'mi  upon  his 
arm  bad  something  agreeably  confiding  and 
appealing  in  it.    So  he  waited  till  the  young 


28  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

lady,  turning  to  him  for  some  response,  dis- 
covered her  error,  and  disengaged  herself 
with  a  face  of  mingled  horror  and  amuse- 
ment. Even  then  he  had  no  inspiration. 
To  speak  of  the  mistake  in  tones  of  compli- 
ment would  have  been  grossly  out  of  place  ; 
an  explanation  was  needless  :  and  to  her 
murmured  excuses,  he  could  only  bow 
silently.  She  flitted  into  the  cabin,  and 
he  walked  away,  lea\dng  the  Indians  to 
stagger  ashore  as  they  might.  His  arm 
seemed  still  to  sustain  that  elastic  weight, 
and  a  voice  haunted  his  ear  with  the  words, 
"A  imir  of  disappointed  lovers,  I  suppose  ;" 
and  still  more  awkward  and  stupid  he  felt 
his  own  part  in  the  affair  to  be  ;  though  at 
the  same  time  he  was  not  without  some 
obscure  resentment  of  the  young  girl's  mis- 
take as  an  intrusion  upon  him. 

It  was  late  twilight  when  the  boat  reached 
Tadoussac,  and  ran  into  a  sheltered  cove 
under  the  shadow  of  uplands  on  which  a 
quaint  village  perched  and  dispersed  itself 
on  a  country  road  in  summer  cottages  ; 
above  these  in  turn  rose  loftier  heights  of 
barren  sand  or  rock,  with  here  and  there 
a  rank  of  sickly  pines  dying  along  their 
sterility.  It  had  been  harsh  and  cold  all 
day  when  the  boat  moved,  for  it  was  run' 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  2^ 

ning  full  in  the  face  of  the  north-east ;  the 
river  had  widened  almost  to  a  sea,  growing 
more  and  more  desolate,  with  a  few  lonely 
islands  breaking  its  expanse,  and  the  shores 
sinking  lower  and  lower  till,  near  Tadoussac, 
they  rose  a  little  in  flat-topped  bluffs  thickly 
overgro\vn  with  stunted  evergreens.  Here, 
into  the  vast  low- walled  breadth  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  a  dark  stream,  narrowly  bordered 
by  rounded  heights  of  rock,  steals  down 
from  the  north  out  of  regions  of  gloomy  and 
ever-durlng  solitude.  This  is  the  Saguenay  ; 
and  in  the  cold  evening  light  under  which 
the  traveller  approaches  its  mouth,  no  land- 
scape could  look  more  forlorn  than  that  of 
Tadoussac,  where  early  in  the  sixteenth 
century  the  French  traders  fixed  their  first 
post,  and  whei-e  still  the  oldest  church  north 
of  Florida  is  standing. 

The  steamer  lies  hei-e  five  hours,  and 
supper  was  no  sooner  over  than  the  pas- 
sengers went  ashore  in  the  gathering  dusk. 
Mr.  Arbuton,  guarding  his  distance  as  usual, 
went  too,  with  a  feeling  of  surprise  at  his 
own  concession  to  the  popular  impulse. 
He  was  not  without  a  desire  to  see  the  old 
church,  wondering  in  a  half-compassionate 
way  what  such  a  bit  of  American  antiquity 
would   look   like ;    and   he   had    perceived 


30  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

since  the  little  embarrassment  at  Cacouurt 
that  he  was  a  discomfort  to  the  young  lady 
involved  by  it.  lie  had  caught  no  glimpse 
of  her  till  supper,  and  then  she  had  briefly 
supped  with  an  air  of  such  studied  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  presence  that  it  was  plain 
she  was  thinking  of  her  mistake  every 
moment.  "  Well,  I'll  leave  her  the  freedom 
of  the  boat  while  we  stay,"  thought  Mr. 
Arbuton  as  he  went  ashore.  He  had  not 
the  least  notion  whither  the  road  led,  but 
like  the  rest  he  followed  it  up  through  the 
village,  and  on  among  the  cottages  which 
seemed  for  the  most  part  empty,  and  so 
down  a  gloomy  ravine,  in  the  bottom  of 
which,  far  beneath  the  tremulous  rustic 
bridge,  he  heard  the  mysterious  crash  and 
fall  of  an  unseen  torrent.  Before  him 
towered  the  shadowy  hills  up  into  the 
starless  night ;  he  thrilled  with  a  sense  of 
the  loneliness  and  remoteness,  and  he  had 
a  formless  %vish  that  some  one  qualified  by 
the  proper  associations  and  traditions  were 
there  to  share  the  satisfaction  he  felt  in  the 
whole  effect.  At  the  same  instant  he  was 
once  more  aware  of  that  delicate  pressure, 
that  weight  so  lightly,  sweetly  borne  upon 
his  arm.  It  startled  him,  and  again  he 
followed   the  road,   which   with   a  sudden 


nP   THE   SAOtTENAT.  31 

turn  brought  him  in  sight  of  a  hotel  and  in 
sound  of  a  bowling-alley,  and  therein  young 
ladies'  cackle  and  laughter,  and  he  wondered 
a  little  scornfully  who  could  be  spending 
the  summer  there.  A  bay  of  the  river 
loftily  shut  in  by  rugged  hills  lay  before 
him,  and  on  the  shore,  just  above  high-tide, 
stood  what  a  wandering  shadow  told  him 
was  the  ancient  church  of  Tadoussac.  The 
windows  were  faintly  tinged  -with,  red  as 
from  a  single  taper  burning  within,  and  but 
that  the  elements  were  a  little  too  bare  and 
simple  for  one  so  used  to  the  rich  eifects  of 
the  Old  World,  Mr.  Arbuton  might  have 
been  touched  by  the  vigil  which  this  poor 
chapel  was  still  keeping  after  three  hundred 
years  in  the  heart  of  that  gloomy  place. 
While  he  stood  at  least  tolerating  its  appeal, 
he  heard  voices  of  people  talking  in  the 
obscurity  near  the  church  door,  which  they 
seemed  to  have  been  vainly  trying  for 
entrance. 

"  Pity  we  can't  see  the  inside,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  am  so  glad  to  see  any  of  it. 
Just  think  of  its  having  been  builL  in  the 
seventeenth  century  ! " 

"Uncle  Jack  would  enjoy  it,  wouldn't 
he?" 

•'  Oh  yes,  poor  Uncle  Jack  !     I  feeJ  some- 


3'2  A    CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

how  as  if  I  were  cheating  him  out  of  it. 
He  ought  to  be  here  in  my  place.  But  I  do 
like  it ;  and,  Dick,  I  don't  know  what  I 
can  ever  say  or  do  to  you  and  Fanny  for 
bringing  me. " 

"Well,  Kitty,  postpone  the  subject  till 
you  can  think  of  the  right  thing.  We  're  in 
no  hurry." 

Mr.  Arbuton  heard  a  shaking  of  the  door, 
as  of  a  final  attempt  upon  it  before  retreat, 
and  then  the  voices  faded  into  inarticulate 
sounds  in  the  darkness.  They  were  the 
voices,  he  easily  recognised,  of  the  young 
lady  who  had  taken  his  arm,  and  of  that 
kinsman  of  hers,  as  he  seemed  to  be.  He 
blamed  himself  for  having  not  only  over- 
heard them,  but  for  desiring  to  hear  more  of 
their  talk,  and  he  resolved  to  follow  them 
back  to  the  boat  at  a  discreet  distance.  But 
they  loitered  so  at  every  point,  or  he  unwit- 
tingly made  such  haste,  that  he  had  over- 
talvcn  them  aa  they  entered  the  lane  between 
the  outlying  cottages,  and  he  could  not  help 
being  privy  to  their  talk  again. 

"Well,  it  may  be  old,  Kitty,  but  I  don't 
til  ink  it's  lively." 

"It  isn't  exactly  a  whii'l  of  excitement,  I 
must  confess. " 

"It's  the  deadliest  place  I  ever  saw.     Is 


0P   THE   SAGUENAY.  33 

that  a  swing  in  front  of  that  cottage  ?  No, 
it 's  a  gibbet.  Why,  they  've  all  got  'em  ! 
I  suppose  they  're  for  the  summer  tenants  at 
the  close  of  the  season.  What  a  rush  there 
would  be  for  them  if  the  boat  sliould  happen 
to  go  off  and  leave  her  passengers  !  " 

Mr.  Arbuton  thought  this  i-ather  a  coarse 
kmd  of  drolling,  and  strengthened  himself 
anew  in  his  resolution  to  avoid  those  people. 

They  now  came  in  sight  of  the  steamer, 
where  in  the  cove  she  lay  illumined  with 
all  her  lamps,  and  through  every  window 
and  door  and  crevice  was  bursting  with 
the  i-uddy  light.  Her  brilliancy  contrasted 
vividly  with  the  obscurity  and  loneliness  of 
the  shore,  where  a  few  lights  glimmered  in 
the  village  houses,  and  under  the  porch  of 
the  village  store  some  desolate  idlers — 
iabitans  and  liaK-breeds — had  clubbed  their 
miserable  leisure.  Beyond  the  steamer 
yawned  the  wide  vacancy  of  the  greater 
river,  and  out  of  this  gloomed  the  course  of 
the  Saguenay. 

"Oh,  I  hate  to  go  on  board!"  said  the 
young  lady.  "Do  you  think  he's  got  back 
yet?     It 's  perfect  misery  to  meet  him." 

"  Never  mind,  Kitty.  He  probably  thinks 
you  didn't  mean  anything  by  it.  /  don't 
believe  you  would  have  taken  his  arm  U 
C 


34  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

you  hadn't  supposed  it  was  mine,  any 
way. " 

She  made  no  answer  to  this,  as  if  too 
much  overcome  by  the  true  state  of  the 
case  to  be-  troubled  by  its  perversion,  Mr. 
Arbuton,  following  them  on  board,  felt  him- 
self in  the  unpleasant  character  of  persecu- 
tor, some  one  to  be  shunned  and  escaped  by 
every  manoeuvre  possible  to  self-respect. 
He  was  to  be  the  means,  it  appeared,  of 
spoiling  the  enjoyment  of  the  voyage  for 
one  who,  he  infeiTed,  had  not  often  the 
opportunity  of  such  enjoyment.  He  had  a 
willingness  that  she  should  think  well  and 
not  ill  of  him  ;  and  then  at  the  bottom  of  all 
was  a  sentunent  of  superiority,  which,  if  he 
had  given  it  shape,  would  have  been  jioblessc 
oblige.  Some  action  was  due  to  himself  as  a 
gentleman. 

The  young  lady  went  to  seek  the  matron 
of  the  party,  and  left  her  companion  at  the 
door  of  the  saloon,  wistfully  fingering  a 
cigar  in  one  hand,  and  feeling  for  a  match 
with  the  other.  Presently  he  gave  himself 
a  clap  on  tlie  waistcoat,  which  he  had  found 
empty,  and  was  turning  away,  when  Mr. 
Arbuton  said,  offering  his  own  lighted  cigar, 
•'May  I  be  of  use  to  you ? " 

The  other  took  it  with  a  hearty,  "  Oh  yes, 


CP  THE  SAGUENAY.  35 

thank  you  ! "  and  with  many  inarticulate 
murmurs  of  satisfaction,  lighted  his  cigar, 
and  returned  Mr.  Arbuton's  with  a  brisk, 
half-military  bow. 

Mr.  Ai-buton  looked  at  him  narrowly  a 
moment.  ''I'm  afi'aid,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"that  I  've  most  unluckily  been  the  cause  of 
annoyance  to  one  of  the  ladies  of  your  party. 
It  isn't  a  thing  to  apologise  for,  and  I  hardly 
know  how  to  say  that  I  hope,  if  she  's  not 
already  forgotten  the  matter,  she  '11  do  so. " 
Saying  this,  Mr.  Arbuton,  by  an  impulse 
which  he  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
plain, offered  his  card. 

His  action  had  the  effect  of  frankness,  and 
the  other  took  it  for  cordiality.  He  drew 
near  a  lamp,  and  looked  at  the  name  and 
street  address  on  the  card,  and  then  said, 
' '  Ah,  of  Boston  !  My  name  is  Ellison  ;  I  'm 
of  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin. "  And  he  laughed 
a  free,  ti-ustful  laugh  of  good  companionship. 
"Why  yes,  my  cousin's  been  tormenting 
herself  about  her  mistake  the  whole  after- 
noon ;  but  of  course  it 's  all  right,  you  know. 
Bless  my  heart !  it  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  Have  you  been  ashore  ? 
There 's  a  good  deal  of  repose  about  Tadous- 
sac,  now,  but  it  must  be  a  lively  place  in 
winter  !     Such  a  cheerful  lookout  from  these 


36  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

cottages,  or  that  hotel  over  yonder  i  We 
went  over  to  see  if  we  could  get  into  the 
little  old  church ;  the  purser  told  me  there 
are  some  lead  tablets  there,  left  by  Jacques 
Cartier's  men,  you  know,  and  dug  up  in  the 
neighbourhood.  I  don't  think  it 's  likely, 
and  I  'm  bearing  up  very  well  under  the 
disappointment  of  not  getting  in.  I  've  done 
my  duty  by  the  antiquities  of  the  place; 
and  now  I  don't  care  how  soon  we  are  off." 

Colonel  Ellison  was  talking  in  the  kind- 
ness of  his  heart  to  change  the  subject  which 
the  younger  gentleman  had  introduced,  in 
the  belief,  which  would  scarcely  have  pleased 
the  other,  that  he  was  much  embarrassed. 
His  good-nature  went  still  further ;  and 
when  his  cousin  returned  presently,  with 
Mrs.  Ellison,  he  presented  Mr.  Arbuton  to 
the  ladies,  and  then  thoughtfully  made  Mrs. 
Ellison  walk  up  and  dowTi  the  deck  with 
him  for  the  exercise  she  would  not  take 
ashore,  that  the  others  might  be  left  to  deal 
with  their  vexation  alone. 

"I'm  very  soiTy,  Miss  Ellison,"  said  Mr. 
Arbuton,  "  to  have  been  the  means  of  a  mis- 
take to  you  to-day." 

•'And  I  was  dreadfully  ashamed  to  make 
you  the  victim  of  my  blunder,"  answered 
Miss  Ellison  penitently  ;  and  a  little  silence 


UP   THE   SAGUEXAY.  37 

ensued.  Then  as  if  she  had  suddenly  been 
able  to  alienate  the  case,  and  see  it  apart 
from  herself  in  its  unmanageable  absurdity, 
she  broke  into  a  confiding  laugh,  very  like 
her  cousin's,  and  said,  "WTiy,  it's  one  of 
the  most  hopeless  things  I  ever  heard  of.  I 
don't  see  what  in  the  world  can  be  done 
about  it. " 

"It  is  rather  a  difficult  matter,  and  I'm 
not  prepared  to  say  myself.  Before  I  make 
up  my  mind  I  should  like  it  to  happen 
again." 

Mr.  Arbuton  had  no  sooner  made  this 
speech,  which  he  thought  neat,  than  he  was 
vexed  with  himself  for  having  made  it,  since 
nothing  was  further  from  his  purpose  than 
a  flirtation.  But  the  dark,  ^■icinity,  the 
young  girl's  prettiness,  the  apparent  fresh- 
ness and  reliance  on  his  sj-mpathy,  from 
which  her  frankness  came,  were  too  much : 
he  tried  to  congeal  again,  and  ended  in  some 
feebleness  about  the  scenery,  which  was 
indeed  very  lonely  and  wild,  after  the  boat 
started  up  the  Saguenay,  lea\'ing  the  few 
lights  of  Tadoussac  to  blink  and  fail  behind 
her.  He  had  an  absurd  sense  of  being  alone 
in  the  world  there  with  the  young  lady ; 
and  he  suffered  himself  to  enjoy  the  situa- 
tion, which  ims  as  perfectly  safe  as  anything 


38  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

could  be.  He  and  Miss  Ellison  had  both 
come  on  from  Niagara,  it  seemed,  and  they 
talked  of  that  place,  she  consciously  with- 
holding the  fact  that  she  had  noticed  Mr. 
Arbuton  there ;  they  had  both  come  down 
the  Rapids  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  they 
had  both  stopped  a  day  in  Montreal.  These 
common  experiences  gave  them  a  surprising 
interest  for  each  other,  which  was  enhanced 
by  the  discovery  that  their  experiences  dif- 
fered thereafter,  and  that  whereas  she  had 
passed  three  days  at  Quebec,  he,  as  we  know, 
had  come  on  directly  from  Montreal. 

"Did  you  enjoy  Quebec  very  much.  Miss 
Ellison  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed  !  It 's  a  beautiful  old 
town,  with  everything  in  it  that  I  had 
always  read  about  and  never  expected  to 
see.     You  know  it 's  a  walled  city. " 

"Yes.  But  I  confess  I  had  forgotten  it 
till  this  morning.  Did  you  find  it  all  that 
vou  expected  a  walled  city  to  be  ?  " 

"  More,  if  possible.  There  were  some 
Soston  people  with  us  there,  and  they  said 
it  was  exactly  like  Europe.  They  fairly 
sighed  over  it,  and  it  seemed  to  remind 
them  of  pretty  nearly  everything  they  had 
seen  abroad.     They  were  just  married." 

"  Did  that  make  Quebec  look  like  Europe  ?" 


UP   THE   SAGDENAY.  39 

"No,  but  I  suppose  it  made  them  willing 
to  see  it  in  the  pleasantest  light.  Mrs. 
March — that  was  their  name — wouldn't  allow 
me  to  say  that  /  enjoyed  Quebec,  because  if 
I  hadn't  seen  Europe,  I  couldn't  properly 
enjoy  it.  '  You  may  thinh  you  enjoy  it, '  she 
was  always  saying,  *  but  that 's  merely 
fancy. '  Still  I  cling  to  my  delusion.  But  I 
don't  know  whether  I  cared  more  for  Quebec, 
or  the  beautiful  little  villages  in  the  country 
all  about  it.  The  whole  landscape  looks  just 
like  a  dream  of  '  Evangeline. '  " 

"  Indeed  !  I  must  certainly  stop  at 
Quebec.  I  should  like  to  see  an  American 
landscape  that  put  one  in  mind  of  anything. 
What  can  your  imagination  do  for  the  pre- 
sent scenery  ? " 

"I  don't  think  it  needs  any  help  from 
me,"  replied  the  young  girl,  as  if  the  tone 
of  her  companion  had  patronised  and  piqued 
her.  She  turned  as  she  spoke  and  looked 
up  the  sad,  lonely  river.  The  moon  was 
making  its  veiled  face  seen  through  the 
grey  heaven,  and  touching  the  black  stream 
with  hints  of  melancholy  light.  On  either 
hand  the  uninhabitable  shore  rose  in  desolate 
grandeur,  friendless  heights  of  rock  with  a 
thin  covering  of  pines  seen  in  dim  outline 
along  their  tops  and   deepening    into  the 


40  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

solid  dark  of  hollows  and  ravines  upon  their 
sides.  The  cry  of  some  wild  bird  struck 
through  the  silence  of  which  the  noise  of 
the  steamer  had  gro^^l  to  be  a  part,  and 
echoed  away  to  nothing.  Then  from  the 
saloon  there  came  on  a  sudden  the  notes 
of  a  song  ;  and  Miss  Ellison  led  the  way 
within,  where  most  of  the  other  passengers 
were  grouped  about  the  piano.  The  English 
girl  with  the  corn-coloured  hair  sat,  in 
ravishing  picture,  at  the  instrument,  and  the 
commonish  man  and  his  very  plain  wife  were 
singing  with  heavenly  sweetness  together. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful  !"  said  Miss  Ellison. 
"  How  nice  it  must  be  to  be  able  to  do  such 
things  ! " 

"Yes?  do  you  think  so?  It's  rather 
public,"  answered  her  companion. 

When  the  English  people  had  ended,  a 
grave  elderly  Canadian  gentleman  sat  down 
to  give  what  he  believed  a  comic  song,  and 
sent  everybody  disconsolate  to  bed. 

"Well,  Kitty?"  cried  Mrs.  Ellison,  shut- 
ting herself  inside  the  young  lady's  state- 
room a  moment. 

"Well,  Fanny?" 

"  Isn't  he  handsome  ?  " 

"He  is,  indeed." 

"Is  he  nice?" 


UP   THE   SAGUENAY.  41 

"  I  don't  know. " 

"Sweet?" 

"  /ce-cream,"  said  Kitty,  and  placidly  let 
herself  be  kissed  an  enthusiastic  good-night. 
Before  Mrs.  Ellison  slept  she  wished  to  ask 
her  husband  one  question. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Should  you  want  Kitty  to  marry  a  Bos- 
tonian  ?     They  say  Bostonians  are  so  cold. " 

"  What  Bostonian  has  been  asking  Kitty 
to  marry  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  how  spiteful  you  are  !  I  didn't  say 
any  had.     But  if  there  should  ?  " 

"Then  it'll  be  time  to  think  about  it. 
You  've  married  Kitty  right  and  left  to 
everybody  who 's  looked  at  her  since  we 
left  Niagara,  and  I've  worried  myself  to 
death  investigating  the  character  of  her 
husbands.  Now  I  'm  not  going  to  do  it  any 
longer, — till  she  has  an  offer." 

"Very  well.  You  can  depreciate  your 
own  cousin,  if  you  like.  But  I  know  what 
/  shall  do.  I  shall  let  her  wear  all  my  best 
things.  How  fortunate  it  is,  Richard,  that 
we  're  exactly  of  a  size  !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad 
we  brought  Kitty  along  !  If  she  should 
many  and  settle  down  in  Boston — no,  I 
hope  she  could  get  her  husband  to  live  in 
New  York  " — 


42  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  my  dear  I "  cried  Colonel 
Ellison,  with  a  groan  of  despair,  "Kitty 
has  talked  twenty-five  minutes  with  this 
young  man  about  the  hotels  and  steamboats, 
and  of  course  he'll  be  round  to-morrow 
morning  asking  my  consent  to  marry  her 
as  soon  as  we  can  get  to  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  My  hair  is  gradually  turning  grey, 
and  I  shall  be  bald  before  my  time ;  but  I 
don't  mind  that  if  you  find  any  pleasure  in 
these  little  hallucinations  of  yours.    Go  on  I " 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  man(eu\tie.      43 


MRS.   ELLISON  S  LITTLE  RIANCEUVRE. 

THE  next  morning  oiir  tourists  found 
themselves  at  rest  in  Ha-Ha  Bay,  at 
the  head  of  navigation  for  the  larger 
steamers.  The  long  line  of  sullen  hills 
had  fallen  away,  and  the  morning  sun 
shone  warm  on  what  in  a  friendlier  climate 
would  have  been  a  very  lovely  landscape. 
The  bay  was  an  irregular  oval,  with  shores 
that  rose  in  bold  but  not  lofty  heights  on 
one  side,  while  on  the  other  lay  a  narrow 
plain  with  two  villages  clinging  about  the 
road  that  followed  the  crescent  beach,  and 
lifting  each  the  slender  tin-clad  spire  of  its 
church  to  sparkle  in  the  sun. 

At  the  head  of  the  bay  was  a  mountainous 
top,  and  along  its  waters  were  masses  of 
rocks,  gaily  painted  with  lichens  and 
stained  with  metallic  tints  of  orange  and 
scarlet.  The  unchanging  growth  of  stunted 
pines  was  the  only  forest  in  sight,  though 


44  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Ha-Ha  Bay  is  a  famous  lumbering  port, 
and  some  schooners  now  lay  there  receiving 
cargoes  of  odorous  pine  plank.  The  steam- 
boat-wharf was  all  astir  with  the  liveliest 
toil  and  leisure.  The  boat  was  taking  on 
wood,  which  was  brought  in  wheelbarrows 
to  the  top  of  the  steep,  smooth  gangway- 
planking,  where  the  habitant  in  charge 
planted  his  broad  feet  for  the  downward 
slide,  and  was  hurled  aboard  more  or  less 
en  masse  by  the  iierce  velocity  of  his  heavj'- 
laden  wheelbarrow.  Amidst  the  confusion 
and  hazard  of  this  feat  a  procession  of  other 
habitants  marched  aboard,  each  one  bearing 
under  his  arm  a  coffin-shaped  wooden  box. 
The  rising  fear  of  Colonel  Ellison,  that  these 
boxes  represented  the  loss  of  the  whole 
infant  population  of  Ha-Ha  Bay,  was 
checked  by  the  reflection  that  the  region 
could  not  have  produced  so  many  children, 
and  calmed  altogether  by  the  purser,  who 
said  that  they  were  full  of  huckle-berries, 
and  that  Colonel  Ellison  could  have  as 
many  as  he  liked  for  fifteen  cents  a  bushel. 
This  gave  him  a  keen  sense  of  the  poverty 
of  the  land,  and  he  bought  of  the  boys  who 
came  aboard  such  abundance  of  wild  red 
raspberries,  in  all  manner  of  birch-bark 
canoes  and   goblets  and   cornucopias,  that 


MRS.    ELLISON  S   LITTLE   MANCEUVHE.        45 

he  was  obliged  to  make  presents  of  them 
to  the  very  dealers  whose  stock  he  had 
exhausted,  and  he  was  in  treaty  with  the 
local  half-wit — very  fine,  with  a  hunchback, 
and  a  massive  wen  on  one  side  of  his  head — 
to  take  charity  in  the  wild  fruits  of  his 
native  province,  when  the  crowd  about  him 
was  gently  opened  by  a  person  who  advanced 
with  a  flourishing  bow  and  a  sprightly 
"Good  morning,  good  morning,  sir!" 
"How  do  you  do?"  asked  Colonel  Ellison; 
but  the  other,  intent  on  business,  answered, 
"I  am  the  only  person  at  Ha-Ha  Bay  who 
speaks  English,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  if 
you  would  not  like  to  make  a  promenade  in 
my  horse  and  buggy  upon  the  mountain 
before  breakfast.  i''ou  shall  be  gone  aa 
long  as  you  will  for  one  shilling  and  six- 
pence. I  will  show  you  all  that  there  is  to 
be  seen  about  the  place,  and  the  beautiful 
view  of  the  bay  from  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain. But  it  is  elegant,  you  know,  I  can 
assure  you. " 

The  speaker  was  so  fluent  of  his  English, 
he  had  such  an  audacious,  wide-branching 
moustache,  such  a  twinkle  in  his  left  eye, 
— which  wore  its  lid  in  a  careless  slouching 
fashion, — that  the  heart  of  man  naturally 
clove  to  him ;    and  Colonel  Ellison  agreed 


4G  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

ou  the  spot  to  make  the  proposed  pro- 
menade, for  himself  and  both  his  ladies,  of 
wliom  he  went  joyfully  in  seai'oh.  He  found 
tliem  at  the  stei'n  of  the  boat,  admiring  the 
wild  scenery,  and  looking 

"  Fresh  as  tliu  mom  and  as  tbe  season  fair." 

He  was  not  a  close  observer,  and  of  his 
wife's  wardrolie  he  had  the  ignorance  of  a 
good  husband,  who,  as  soon  as  the  pang  of 
paying  for  her  dresses  is  past,  forgets  what- 
ever she  has  ;  but  he  could  not  help  seeing 
that  some  gaieties  of  costume  which  he 
had  dimly  associated  with  his  wife  now 
enhanced  the  charms  of  his  cousin's  nice 
little  face  and  figure.  A  scarf  of  lively  hue 
carelessly  tied  about  the  throat  to  keep  ofi 
tlie  morning  chill,  a  prettier  ribbon,  a  more 
stylish  jacket  than  Miss  Ellison  owned, — 
what  do  I  know? — an  air  of  preparation  for 
battle,  caught  the  colonel's  eye,  and  a  con- 
scious red  stole  responsive  into  Kitty's  cheek. 

"  Kitty,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  let  yourself 
be  made  a  goose  of." 

"I  hope  she  won't — by  you!"  retorted 
his  wife,  "and  I'll  thank  you,  Colonel 
Ellison,  not  to  be  a  Bettj',  whatever  you 
are.  I  don't  think  it 's  manly  to  be  always 
noticing  ladies'  clothes. " 


MRS.    ELLISON'S  LITTLE   MANCEUVBE.        47 

*'  Who  said  anything  about  clothes  ?  "  de- 
manded the  colonel,  taking  his  stand  upon 
the  letter. 

"Well,  don't  you,  at  any  rate.  Yes,  I'd 
like  to  ride,  of  all  things  ;  and  we  've  time 
enough,  for  breakfast  isn't  ready  till  half- 
past  eight.     Where 's  the  carriage  ?  " 

The  only  English  scholar  at  Ha-Ha  Bay 
had  taken  the  light  xsTaps  of  the  ladies  and 
was  movmg  off  -with  them.  "This  way, 
this  way,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand  towards 
a  larger  number  of  vehicles  on  the  shore  than 
could  have  been  reasonably  attriljuted  to 
Ha-Ha  Bay.  "  I  hope  you  won't  object  tc 
having  another  passenger  with  you  ?  There 's 
plenty  of  room  for  all.  He  seems  a  very 
nice,  gentlemanly  person,"  said  he,  with  a 
queer,  patronising  graciousness  which  he 
had  no  doubt  caught  from  his  English 
patrons. 

"The  more  the  merrier,"  answered  Col- 
onel Ellison,  and  "not  in  the  least!" 
said  his  mfe,  not  meaning  the  proverb.  Her 
eye  had  swept  the  whole  array  of  vehicles 
and  had  found  them  all  empty,  save  one,  in 
which  she  detected  the  blamelessly  coated 
back  of  Mr.  Arbuton.  But  I  ought  perhaps 
to  explain  Mrs.  Ellison's  motives  better  than 
they  can  be  made  to  appear  in  her  conduct 


48  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

She  cared  nothing  for  Mr.  Arbuton  ;  and 
she  had  no  logical  wish  to  see  Kitty  in  love 
\vith  him.  But  here  were  two  young  people 
thrown  somewhat  romantically  together ; 
Mrs.  Ellison  was  a  bom  matchmaker,  and 
to  have  refrained  from  promoting  their 
better  acquaintance  in  the  interest  of  abs- 
tract matrimony  was  what  never  could  have 
entered  into  her  thought  or  desire.  Her 
whole  being  closed  for  the  time  about  this 
purpose  ;  her  heart,  always  warm  towards 
Kitty, — whom  she  admired  with  a  sort  of 
generous  frenzy, — expanded  with  all  kinds 
of  lovely  designs  ;  in  a  word,  every  dress 
she  had  she  would  instantly  have  bestowed 
upon  that  worshipful  creature  who  was 
capable  of  adding  another  marriage  to  the 
world.  I  hope  the  reader  finds  nothing 
vulgar  or  unbecoming  in  this,  for  I  do  not  ; 
it  was  an  enthusiasm,  pure  and  simple,  a 
beautiful  and  unselfish  abandon  ;  and  I  am 
sure  men  ought  to  be  soiTy  that  they  ai'e  not 
worthier  to  be  favoured  by  it.  Ladies  have 
often  to  lament  in  the  midst  of  their  finesse 
that,  really,  no  man  is  deserving  the  fate 
they  devote  themselves  to  prepare  for  him, 
or,  in  other  words,  that  women  cannot  marry 
women. 

I  am  not  going  to  be  so  rash  as  try  to 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  manceu\tie.      49 

depict  Mrs.  Ellison's  arts,  for  then,  indeed, 
I  should  make  her  appear  the  clumsy  con- 
spirator she  was  not,  and  should  merely 
convict  myself  of  ignorance  of  such  matters. 
Whether  Mr.  Arbuton  was  ever  aware  of 
them,  I  am  not  sure  :  as  a  man  he  was,  of 
course,  obtuse  and  blind  ;  but  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  seen  far  more  of  the 
world  than  Mrs.  Ellison,  and  she  may  have 
been  clear  as  day  to  him.  Probably,  though, 
he  did  not  detect  any  design  ;  he  could  not 
have  conceived  of  such  a  thing  in  a  person 
with  whom  he  had  been  so  irregularly  made 
acquainted,  and  to  whom  he  felt  himself  so 
hopelessly  superior.  A  film  of  ice  such  as 
in  autumn  you  find  casing  the  still  pools 
eai'ly  in  the  frosty  mornings  had  gathered 
upon  his  manner  over  night ;  but  it  thawed 
under  the  greetings  of  the  others,  and  he 
jumped  actively  out  of  the  vehicle  to  offer 
the  ladies  their  choice  of  seats.  When  all 
was  arranged  he  found  himself  at  Mrs. 
Ellison's  side,  for  Kitty  had  somewhat 
eagerly  climbed  to  the  front  seat  with  the 
colonel.  In  these  circumstances  it  was  pure 
zeal  that  sustained  Mrs,  Ellison  in  the  flat- 
tering constancy  with  which  she  babbled  on 
to  Mr.  Arbuton  and  refrained  from  openly 
resenting  Kitty's  contumacy. 


50  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

As  the  wagon  began  to  ascend  the  hill, 
the  road  was  so  rough  that  the  springs 
smote  together  with  pitiless  jolts,  and  the 
ladies  uttered  some  irrepressible  raoans. 
"Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  the  colonel, 
turning  about  to  his  wife,  "  we  've  got  all 
the  English  there  is  at  Ha-Ha  Bay,  any 
way."  Whereupon  the  driver  gave  him  a 
wink  of  sudden  liking  and  good-fellowship. 
At  the  same  time  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and 
he  began  to  talk  of  himself.  "You  see  my 
dog,  how  he  leaps  at  the  horse's  nose  ?  He 
is  a  moose-dog,  and  keeps  himself  in  practice 
of  catching  the  moose  by  the  nose.  You 
ought  to  come  in  the  hunting  season.  I 
could  furnish  you  with  Indians  and  every- 
thing you  need  to  hunt  -with.  I  am  a  dealer 
in  wild  beasts,  you  know,  and  I  must  keep 
prepared  to  take  them." 

"  Wild  beasts  ? " 

"  Yes,  for  Barnum  and  the  other  show- 
men, I  deal  in  deer,  wolf,  bear,  beaver, 
moose,  cariboo,  wild-cat,  link  " — 

"  What  ? " 

*'  Link — link  !  You  say  deer  for  deers, 
and  link  for  lynx,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Certamly,"  answered  the  unblushing 
colonel.  "  Are  there  many  link  about 
here  '  " 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE   MANCEUVRE.        51 

"  Not  many,  and  they  are  a  very  ex- 
pensive animal.  I  have  been  shamefully 
treated  in  a  link  that  I  have  sold  to  a 
Boston  showman.  It  was  a  difficult  beast 
to  take  ;  bit  my  Indian  awfully  ;  and  Mr. 
Doolittle  would  not  give  the  price  he 
promised." 

"  What  an  outrage  !  " 

"Yes,  but  it  was  not  so  bad  as  it  might 
have  been.  He  wanted  the  money  back 
afterwards ;  the  link  died  in  about  two 
weeks,"  said  the  dealer  in  wild  animals, 
with  a  smile  that  curled  his  moustache  into 
his  ears,  and  a  glance  at  Colonel  Ellison. 
"  He  may  have  been  bruised,  I  suppose. 
He  may  have  been  homesick.  Perhaps  he 
was  never  a  very  strong  link.  Tlie  link  is  a 
curious  animal,  miss,"  he  said  to  Kitty,  in 
conclusion. 

They  had  been  slowly  climbing  the 
mountain  road,  from  which,  on  either  hand, 
the  pasture-lands  fell  away  in  long,  irregu- 
lar knolls  and  hollows.  The  tops  were 
quite  barren,  but  in  the  little  vales,  despite 
the  stones,  a  short  grass  grew  very  thick 
and  tenderly  green,  and  groups  of  kine 
tinkled  their  soft  bells  in  a  sweet,  desultory 
assonance  as  they  cropped  the  herbage. 
Below,  the  bay  filled  the  oval  of  the  hillp 


f52  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

with  its  sunny  expanse,  and  the  white 
steamer,  where  she  lay  beside  the  busy 
wharf,  and  the  black  lumber-ships,  gave 
their  variety  to  the  pretty  scene,  which  was 
completed  by  the  picturesque  villages  on  the 
shore.  It  was  a  very  simple  sight,  but 
somehow  very  touching,  as  if  the  soft 
spectacle  were  but  a  respite  from  desolation 
and  solitude  ;  as  indeed  it  was. 

Mr.  Arbuton  must  have  been  talking  of 
travel  elsewhere,  for  now  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Ellison,  "  This  looks  like  a  bit  of  Norway  ; 
the  bay  yonder  might  very  well  be  a  fiord 
of  the  Northern  sea. " 

Mrs.  Ellison  murmured  her  sense  of 
obligation  to  the  bay,  the  fiord,  and  Mr. 
Arbuton,  for  their  complaisance,  and  Kitty 
remembered  that  he  had  somewhat  snubbed 
her  the  night  before  for  attributing  any  sug- 
gestive gi-ace  to  the  native  scenery.  "  Then 
you  've  really  found  something  in  an  Ameri- 
can landscape.  I  suppose  we  ought  to  con- 
gratulate it,"  she  said,  in  smiling  enjoyment 
of  her  triumph. 

The  colonel  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of 
humorous  question ;  Mrs.  Ellison  looked 
blank  ;  and  Mr.  Arbuton,  having  quite  for- 
gotten what  he  had  said  to  provoke  this 
comment  now,  looked  puzzled  and  answered 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  manceuvre.      53 

nothing  ;  for  he  had  this  trait  also  in  com- 
mon with  the  sort  of  Englishman  for  whom 
he  was  taken,  that  he  never  helped  out  your 
conversational  venture,  but  if  he  failed  to 
respond  inwardly,  left  you  with  your  unac- 
cepted remark  upon  your  hands,  as  it  were. 
In  his  silence,  Kitty  fell  a  prey  to  very  evil 
thoughts  of  him,  for  it  made  her  harmless 
sally  look  like  a  blundering  attack  upon 
him.  But  just  then  the  driver  came  to  her 
rescue  ;  he  said,  "  Gentlemen  and  ladies, 
this  is  the  end  of  the  mountain  promenade," 
and,  turning  his  horse's  head,  drove  rapidly 
back  to  the  village. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  they  came  again  to 
the  church,  and  his  passengers  wanted  to 
get  out  and  look  into  it.  "Oh,  certainly,' 
said  he,  "  it  isn't  finished  yet,  but  you  can 
say  as  many  prayers  as  you  like  in  it. " 

The  church  was  decent  and  clean,  like 
most  Canadian  churches,  and  at  this  early 
hour  there  was  a  good  number  of  the  \-il- 
lagers  at  their  devotions.  The  lithographic 
pictures  of  the  stations  to  Calvary  were,  of 
course,  on  its  walls,  and  there  was  the  ordi- 
nary tawdriness  of  paint  and  carving  about 
the  high  altar. 

"I  don't  like  to  see  these  things,"  said 
Mrs.   Ellison.     "It  really  seems  to  savour 


54  A   CHAi^CE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

of  idolatry.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  At- 
buton  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  doubt  if  they  're 
the  sort  of  people  to  be  hurt  by  it." 

"They  need  a  good  stout  faith  in  cold 
climates,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  the  colonel. 
"It  helps  to  keep  them  warm.  The  broad 
church  would  be  too  full  of  draughts  up 
here.  They  want  something  snug  and  tight. 
Just  imagine  one  of  these  poor  devils  listen- 
ing to  a  liberal  sei-mon  about  birds  and 
fruits  and  flowers  and  beautiful  sentiments, 
and  then  driving  home  over  the  hills  with 
the  mercury  thirty  degrees  below  zero  ! 
He  couldn't  stand  it. " 

"Yes,  yes,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton, 
and  looked  about  him  with  an  eye  of  cold, 
uncompassionate  inspection,  as  if  he  were 
trying  it  by  a  standard  of  taste,  and,  on  the 
whole,  finding  the  poor  little  church  vulgar. 
When  they  mounted  to  their  places  again, 
the  talk  fell  entirely  to  the  colonel,  who,  as 
his  wont  was,  got  what  information  he  could 
out  of  the  driver.  It  appeared,  in  spite  of 
his  theory,  that  they  were  not  all  good 
Catholics  at  Ha-Ha  Bay.  "This  chap,  for 
example,"  said  the  Frenchman,  touching 
himself  on  the  breast  and  using  the  slang 
he  must  have  picked  up  from  American  tra- 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  manceuvke.     55 

vellers,  "is  no  Catholic, — not  much  !  He 
has  made  too  many  studies  to  care  for  reli- 
gion. There  's  a  large  French  party,  sir,  in 
Canada,  that's  opposed  to  the  priests  and 
In  favour  of  annexation. " 

He  satisfied  the  colonel's  utmost  curiosity, 
discoursing,  as  he  drove  by  the  log-built  cot- 
tages which  were  now  and  then  sheathed  in 
birch  bark,  upon  the  local  affairs,  and  the 
chai'acter  and  history  of  such  of  his  fellow- 
villagers  as  they  met.  He  knew  the  pretty 
girls  upon  the  street,  and  saluted  them  bj 
name,  interrupting  himself  with  these  cour- 
tesies in  the  lecture  he  was  giving  the  colonel 
on  life  at  Ha-Ha  Bay.  There  was  only  one 
brick  house  (which  he  had  built  himself,  but 
had  been  obliged  to  sell  in  a  season  unfa- 
vourable for  wild  beasts),  and  the  other 
edifices  dropped  through  the  social  scale  to 
some  picturesque  bams  thatched  with  straw. 
These  he  excused  to  his  Americans,  but 
added  that  the  ungainly  thatch  was  some- 
times useful  in  saving  the  lives  of  the  cattle 
toward  the  end  of  an  unusually  long,  hard 
winter. 

"And  the  people,"  asked  the  colonel, 
"  what  do  they  do  in  the  winter  to  pass  the 
time  ? " 

"  Draw  the  wood,  smoke  the  pipe,  court 


56  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  ladies.  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the 
inside  of  one  of  our  poor  cottages  ?  I  shall 
be  very  proud  to  have  you  look  at  mine,  and 
to  have  you  drink  a  glass  of  milk  from  my 
cows.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  offer  you 
brandy,  but  there's  none  to  be  bought  in 
the  place." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it !  For  an  eye-opener 
there  is  nothing  like  a  glass  of  milk,"  gaily 
answered  the  colonel. 

They  entered  the  best  room  of  the  house, 
— wide,  low-ceiled,  dimly  lit  by  two  small 
windows,  and  fortified  against  the  winter  by 
a  huge  Canada  stove  of  cast-ii'on.  It  was 
rude  but  neat,  and  had  an  air  of  decent 
comfort.  Through  the  window  appeared  a 
very  little  vegetable  garden  with  a  border 
of  the  hardiest  flowers.  "  The  large  beans 
there,"  explained  the  host,  "are  for  soup 
and  coffee.  My  com,"  he  said,  pointing  out 
some  rows  of  dwarfish  maize,  "has  escaped 
the  early  August  frosts,  and  so  I  expect  to 
have  some  roasting  ears  yet  this  summer. " 

"Well,  it  isn't  exactly  what  you'd  call  an 
InvitLng  climate,  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  colonel. 

The  Canadian  seemed  a  hard  little  man, 
but  he  answered  now  with  a  kind  of  pathos, 
"It's  cruel !  I  came  here  when  it  was  all 
bush.     Twenty  years  I  have  lived  here,  and 


MRS.    ELLISONS   LITTLE   MANffiTTVTlE.        5> 

it  has  not  been  worth  while.  If  it  was  to 
do  over  again,  I  should  rather  not  live  any- 
where. I  was  bom  in  Quebec,"  he  said,  as  if 
to  explain  that  he  was  used  to  mild  climates, 
and  began  to  tell  of  some  events  of  his  life 
at  Ha-Ha  Bay.  "  I  wish  you  were  going  to 
stay  here  a  while  with  me.  You  wouldn't 
find  it  so  bad  in  the  summer-time,  I  can 
assure  you.  There  are  bears  in  the  bush, 
sir,"  he  said  to  the  colonel,  "and  you  might 
easily  kill  one." 

"  But  then  I  should  be  helping  to  spoil 
your  trade  in  wild  beasts,"  replied  the 
colonel,  laughing. 

Mr.  Arbuton  looked  like  one  who  might 
be  very  tired  of  this.  He  made  no  sign  of 
interest  either  in  the  early  glooms  and  pri- 
vations or  the  summer  bears  of  Ha-Ha  Bay. 
He  sat  in  the  qiiaint  parlour,  -wath  his  hat  on 
his  knee,  in  the  decorous  and  patient  atti- 
tude of  a  gentleman  making  a  call. 

He  had  no  feeling,  Kitty  said  to  herself  ; 
but  that  is  a  matter  about  which  we  can 
easily  be  wrong.  It  was  rather  to  be  said 
of  Mr.  Arbuton  that  he  had  always  shrunk 
from  knowledge  of  things  outside  of  a  very 
narrow  world,  and  that  he  had  not  a  ready 
imagination.  Moreover  he  had  a  personal 
dislike,  as  I  may  call  it,  of  poverty  ;  and  he 


58  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

did  not  enjoy  this  poverty  as  she  did,  be- 
cause it  was  strange  and  suggestive,  though 
doubtless  he  would  have  done  as  much  to 
relieve  distress. 

"  Rather  too  much  of  his  autobiography," 
he  said  to  Kitty,  as  he  waited  outside  the 
door  with  her,  while  the  Canadian  quieted 
his  dog,  which  was  again  keeping  himself 
in  practice  of  catching  the  moose  by  making 
vicious  leaps  at  the  horse's  nose.  "The 
egotism  of  that  kind  of  people  is  always  so 
aggressive.  But  I  suppose  he  's  in  the  habit 
of  throwing  himself  upon  the  sympathy  of 
summer  \nsitors  in  this  way.  You  can't 
offer  a  man  so  little  as  shilling  and  sixpence 
who's  taken  you  into  his  confidence.  Did 
you  find  enough  that  was  novel  in  his  place 
to  justify  him  in  bringing  us  here,  Miss 
Ellison  ? "  he  asked,  with  an  air  he  had  of 
taking  you  of  course  to  be  of  his  mind,  and 
which  equally  offended  you  whether  you 
were  so  or  not. 

Every  face  that  they  had  seen  Ln  their  drive 
had  told  its  pathetic  story  to  Kitty ;  everj' 
cottage  that  they  passed  she  had  entered  in 
thought,  and  dreamed  out  its  humble  drama. 
What  their  host  had  said  gave  breath  and 
colour  to  her  fancies  of  the  struggle  of  life 
there,   and  she   was   startled  and   shocked 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE   MAN(EUVKE.        59 

when  this  cold  doubt  was  cast  upon  the 
Bympathetic  tints  of  hetf  picture.  She  did 
not  know  what  to  say  at  first ;  she  looked  at 
Mr.  Arbuton  with  a  sudden  glance  of  embar- 
rassment and  trouble  ;  then  she  answered, 
"  I  was  very  much  interested.  I  don't  agree 
with  you,  I  believe  ;"  which,  when  she  heard 
it,  seemed  a  resentful  little  speech,  and  made 
her  willing  for  some  occasion  to  soften  its 
effect.  But  nothing  occurred  to  her  during 
the  brief  drive  back  to  the  boat,  save  the 
fact  that  the  morning  air  was  delicious. 

"Yes,  but  rather  cool,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton, 
whose  feelings  apparently  had  not  needed 
any  balm  ;  and  the  talk  fell  again  to  the 
others. 

On  the  pier  he  helped  her  down  from  the 
wagon,  for  the  colonel  was  intent  on  some- 
thing the  driver  was  saying,  and  then  offered 
his  hand  to  Mrs.  Ellison. 

She  sprang  from  her  place,  but  stumbled 
slightly,  and  when  she  touched  the  ground, 
"I  believe  I  turned  my  foot  a  little,"  she 
said  with  a  laugh .  "  It 's  nothing,  of  course, " 
and  fainted  in  his  arms. 

Kitty  gave  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  the  next 
instant  the  colonel  had  relieved  Mr.  Arbuton. 
It  was  a  scene,  and  nothing  could  have  an  - 
noyed   him   more   than   this   tumult   which 


60  A    CHAXCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

poor  Mrs.  Ellison's  misfortune  occasioned 
among  the  bystanding  habitants  and  deck- 
hands, and  the  passengers  eagerly  craning 
forward  over  the  bulwarks,  and  running 
ashore  to  see  what  the  matter  was.  Few 
men  know  just  how  to  offer  those  little 
offices  of  helpfulness  which  such  emerg- 
encies demand,  and  Mr.  Arbuton  could  do 
nothing  after  he  was  rid  of  his  burden  ;  he 
hovered  anxiously  and  uselessly  about,  while 
Mrs.  Ellison  was  carried  to  an  airy  position 
on  the  bow  of  the  boat,  where  in  a  few 
minutes  he  had  the  great  satisfaction  of 
seeing  her  open  her  eyes.  It  was  not  the 
moment  for  him  to  speak,  and  he  walked 
somewhat  guiltily  away  with  the  dispersing 
crowd. 

Mrs.  Ellison  addressed  her  first  words  to 
pale  Kitty  at  her  side.  "  You  can  have  all 
my  things,  now,"  she  said,  as  if  it  were  a 
clause  in  her  will,  and  perhaps  it  had  been 
her  last  thought  before  unconsciousness. 

"Why,  Fanny,"  cried  Kitty,  with  an  hys- 
terical laugh,  "  you  're  not  going  to  die  !  A 
sprained  ankle  isn't  fatal !  " 

' '  No  ;  but  I  've  heard  that  a  person  with 
a  sprained  ankle  can't  put  their  foot  to  the 
ground  for  weeks ;  and  I  shall  only  want  a 
dressing-gown,  you  know,  to  lie  on  the  sofa 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE   MANCEU\'RE.        61 

in."  With  that,  Mrs.  Ellison  placed  her 
hand  tenderly  on  Kitty's  head,  like  a  mother 
wondering  what  will  become  of  a  helpless 
child  during  her  disability  ;  in  fact,  she  was 
mentally  weighing  the  advantages  of  her 
wardrobe,  which  Kitty  would  now  fully 
enjoy,  against  the  loss  of  the  friendly  stra- 
tegy which  she  would  now  lack.  Helpless 
to  decide  the  matter,  she  heaved  a  sigh. 

' '  But,  Fannj',  you  won't  expect  to  travel 
in  a  dressing-gown. " 

"Indeed,  I  wish  I  knew  whether  I  could 
travel  in  anything  or  not.  But  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  will  show.  If  it  swells 
up,  I  shall  have  to  rest  a  while  at  Quebec ; 
and  if  it  doesn't,  there  may  be  something 
internal.  I've  read  of  accidents  when  the 
person  thought  they  were  perfectly  well  and 
comfortable,  and  the  first  thing  they  knew 
they  were  in  a  very  dangerous  state.  That 's 
the  worst  of  these  internal  injuries :  you 
never  can  tell.  Not  that  I  think  there 's 
anything  of  that  kind  the  matter  with  me. 
But  a  few  days'  rest  won't  do  any  hann, 
whatever  happens  ;  the  stores  in  Quebec  are 
quite  as  good  and  a  little  cheaper  than  in 
Montreal ;  and  I  could  go  about  in  a  caiTiage, 
you  know,  and  put  in  the  time  as  well  in 
one  place  a^  the  other.     I  'm  sure  we  could 


62  A    CHA^'CE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

get  on  very  pleasantly  there  ;  and  the  colonel 
needn't  be  home  for  a  mouth  yet.  I  sup- 
pose that  I  could  hobble  mto  the  stores  on  a 
crutch. " 

Whilst  Mrs.  Ellison's  monologue  ran  on 
with  scarcely  a  break  from  Kitty,  her  hus- 
band was  gone  to  fetch  her  a  cup  of  tea  and 
such  other  light  refreshment  as  a  lady  may 
take  after  a  swoon.  When  he  returned  she 
bethought  herself  of  Mr.  Arbuton,  who, 
having  once  come  back  to  see  if  all  was  going 
well,  had  vanished  again. 

"Why,  our  friend  Boston  is  bearing  up 
under  his  share  of  the  morning's  work  like  a 
hero — or  a  lady  with  a  sprained  ankle,"  said 
the  colonel  as  he  arranged  the  provision. 
"To  see  the  havoc  he  's  making  in  the  ham 
and  eggs  and  chicory  is  to  be  convinced  that 
there  is  no  appetiser  like  regi'et  for  the 
sufferings  of  others. " 

"Why,  and  here's  poor  Kitty  not  had 
a  bite  yet  1 "  cried  Mrs.  Ellison.  "Kitty, 
go  off  at  once  and  get  your  breakfast.  Put 
on  my  " — 

"Oh,  don't,  Fanny,  or  I  can't  go;  and 
I  'm  really  very  hungry. " 

"Well,  I  won't  then,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison, 
seeing  the  rainy  cloud  in  Kitty's  eyes. 
"Go  just  as  you  are,  and  don't  mind  me. '' 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  kanceuvke.      63 

And  so  Kitty  went,  gathering  courage  at 
every  pace,  and  sitting  down  opposite  Mr, 
Arbutou  with  a  vivid  colour  to  be  sure,  but 
otherwise  lion-bold.  He  had  been  upbraid- 
ing the  stars  that  had  thrust  him  further 
and  further  at  every  step  into  the  intimacy 
of  these  people,  as  he  called  them  to  himself. 
It  was  just  twenty-four  hours,  he  reflected, 
since  he  had  met  them,  and  resolved  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them,  and  in  that  time 
the  young  lady  had  brought  him  under  the 
necessity  of  apologising  for  a  blunder  of  har 
own  ;  he  had  played  the  eavesdropper  to  her 
talk ;  he  had  seutLmentalised  the  midnight 
hour  with  her  ;  they  had  all  taken  a  morn- 
ing ride  together ;  and  he  had  ended  by 
having  Mrs.  Ellison  sprain  her  ankle  and 
faint  in  his  arms.  It  was  outrageous ;  and 
what  made  it  worse  was  that  decency  obliged 
him  to  take  henceforth  a  regretful,  depre- 
catory attitude  towards  Mrs.  Ellison,  whom 
he  liked  least  among  these  people.  So  he 
sat  vindictively  eating  an  enormous  break- 
fast, in  a  sort  of  angry  abstraction,  from 
which  Kitty's  coming  roused  him  to  say  that 
he  hoped  Mrs.  Ellison  was  better. 

*'  Oh,  very  much  !     It 's  just  a  sprain. " 
"A  sprain  may  be  a  very  annoying  thing," 
said  Mr.  Arbuton  dismally.    "  Miss  Ellison*" 


64  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

he  cried,  "I've  been  nothing  but  an  afflic- 
tion to  your  party  since  I  came  on  board 
this  boat  1 " 

"Do  you  think  evil  genius  of  our  party 
would  be  too  harsh  a  term  ? "  suggested 
Kitty. 

"Not  in  the  least;  it  would  be  a  mere 
euphemism, — base  flattery,  in  fact.  Call  me 
something  woi'se. " 

"  I  can't  think  oi  anything.  I  must  leave 
you  to  your  own  conscience.  It  was  a  pity 
to  end  our  ride  in  that  way  ;  it  would  have 
been  such  a  pleasant  ride  ! "  And  Kitty 
took  heart  from  his  apparent  mood  to  speak 
of  some  facts  of  the  morning  that  had  moved 
lier  fancy.  "What  a  strange  little  nest  it  is 
up  here  among  these  half-thawed  hills  !  and 
imagine  the  winter,  the  fifteen  or  twenty 
months  of  it  they  must  have  every  year.  I 
could  almost  have  shed  tears  over  that 
patch  of  com  that  had  escaped  the  early 
August  frosts.  I  suppose  this  is  a  sort  of 
Indian  summer  that  we  are  enjoying  now, 
and  that  the  cold  weather  will  set  in  after  a 
week  or  two.  My  cousin  and  I  thought 
that  Tadoussac  was  somewhat  retired  and 
composed  last  night,  but  I'm  sure  that  I 
shall  see  it  in  its  true  light,  as  a  metro- 
polis, going  back.     I  'm  afraid  that  the  tur- 


MRS.  Ellison's  little  manoeuvre.      65 

moil  and  bustle  of  Eriecreek,  when  I  get 
home  " — 

"Eriecreek? — when  you  get  home? — 1 
thought  you  lived  at  Milwaukee." 

"  Oh,  no  !  It 's  my  cousins  who  live  at 
Milwaukee.  I  live  at  Eriecreek,  New  York 
State." 

*'  Oh  !  "  Mr.  Arbuton  looked  blank  and 
not  altogether  pleased.  Milwaukee  was  bad 
enough,  though  he  understood  that  it  was 
largely  peopled  from  New  England,  and  had 
a  great  German  element,  which  might  ac- 
count for  the  fact  that  these  people  were 
not  quite  barbaric.  But  this  Eriecreek,  New 
York  State  1  "I  don't  think  I  've  heard  of 
it,"  he  said. 

"It's  a  small  place,"  observed  Kitty, 
"and  I  believe  it  isn't  noted  for  anything 
in  particular ;  it 's  not  even  on  any  railroad. 
It 's  in  the  north-west  part  of  the  State. " 

"Isn't  it  in  the  oil-regions?"  groped  Mr. 
Ai'buton. 

"Why,  the  oil-regions  are  rather  migra- 
tory, you  know.  It  used  to  be  in  the  oil- 
regions  ;  but  the  oil  was  pumped  out,  and 
then  the  oil-regions  gi'acefully  withdrew  and 
left  the  cheese-regions  and  grape-regions  to 
come  back  and  take  possession  of  the  old 
derricks  and  the  rusty  boilerp.     You  might 


66  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

suppose  from  the  appearance  of  the  meadows, 
that  all  the  boilers  that  ever  blew  up  had 
come  down  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Erie- 
creek.  And  every  field  has  its  derrick 
standing  just  as  the  last  dollar  or  the  last 
drop  of  oil  left  it. " 

Mr.  Arbuton  brought  his  fancy  to  bear 
upon  Eriecreek,  and  wholly  failed  to  con- 
ceive of  it.  He  did  not  like  the  notion  of 
its  being  thrust  within  the  range  of  his 
knowledge  ;  and  he  resented  its  being  the 
home  of  Miss  Ellison,  whom  he  was  begin- 
ning to  accept  as  a  not  quite  comprehensible 
yet  certainly  agreeable  fact,  though  he  still 
had  a  disposition  to  cast  her  off  as  something 
incredible.  He  asked  no  further  about  Erie- 
creek,  and  presently  she  rose  and  went  to 
join  her  relatives,  and  he  went  to  smoke  his 
cigar,  and  to  ponder  upon  the  problem  pre- 
sented to  him  in  this  young  girl  from  whose 
locality  and  conjecturable  experiences  he 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  infer  her  as  he  found 
her  here. 

She  had  a  certain  self-reliance  mingling 
with  an  innocent  trust  of  others,  which  Mrs. 
Isabel  March  had  described  to  her  husband 
as  a  charm  potent  to  make  everybody  sym- 
pathetic and  good-natured,  but  which  it 
would  not  be  easy   to   account  for  to  Mr. 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE    MANCEUVRE.        67 

Arbuton.  In  part  it  was  a  natural  gift,  and 
pai'tly  it  came  from  mere  ignorance  of  the 
world  ;  it  was  the  unsuubbed  fearlessness  of 
a  heart  which  did  not  suspect  a  sense  of 
social  diflference  in  others,  or  imagine  itself 
misprised  for  anything  but  a  fault.  For 
such  a  false  conception  of  her  relations  to 
polite  society,  Kitty's  Uncle  Jack  was  chiefly 
to  blame.  In  the  fierce  democracy  of  his 
revolt  from  his  Virginian  traditions  he  had 
taught  his  family  that  a  belief  in  any  save 
intellectual  and  moral  distinctions  was  a 
mean  and  cruel  superstition ;  he  had  con- 
trived to  fix  this  idea  so  deeply  in  the 
education  of  his  children,  that  it  gave  a 
colouring  to  their  lives,  and  Kitty,  when  her 
turn  came,  had  the  effect  of  it  in  the  charac- 
ter of  those  about  her.  In  fact,  she  accepted 
his  extreme  theories  of  equality  to  a  degree 
that  delighted  her  uncle,  who,  having  held 
them  many  years,  was  growing  perhaps  a 
little  languid  in  their  tenure,  and  was  glad 
to  have  his  gi-asp  strengthened  by  her  faith. 
Socially  as  well  as  politically  Eriecreek  was 
almost  a  perfect  democracy,  and  there  was 
little  in  Kitty's  circumstances  to  contradict 
the  doctor's  teachings.  The  brief  visits 
which  she  had  made  to  Bufi'alo  and  Erie, 
and,   since   the   colonel's  marriage,  to  Mil- 


b8  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

waukee,  had  not  suiEced  to  undeceive  her ; 
she  had  never  suffered  slight  save  from  the 
ignorant  and  uncouth  ;  she  innocently  ex- 
pected that  in  people  of  culture  she  should 
always  find  community  of  feeling  and  ideas  ; 
and  she  had  met  Mr.  Arbuton  all  the  more 
trustfully  because  as  a  Bostonian  he  must  be 
cultivated. 

In  the  secluded  life  which  she  led  perforce 
at  Eriecreek  there  was  an  abundance  of 
leisure,  which  she  bestowed  upon  books  at 
an  age  when  most  girls  are  sent  to  school. 
The  doctor  had  a  good  taste  of  an  old- 
fashioned  kind  in  literature,  and  he  had  a 
library  pretty  well  stocked  with  the  eldei'ly 
English  authors,  poets  and  essayists  and 
novelists,  and  here  and  there  an  historian, 
and  these  Kitty  read  childlike,  liking  them 
at  the  time  in  a  certain  way,  and  storing  up 
in  her  mind  things  that  she  did  not  under- 
stand for  the  present,  but  whose  beauty  and 
value  dawned  upon  her  from  time  to  time, 
as  she  grew  older.  But  of  far  more  use 
and  pleasure  to  her  than  these  now  some- 
what mouldy  classics  were  the  more  modern 
books  of  her  cousin  Charles, — that  pi'ide  and 
hope  of  his  father's  heart,  who  had  died  the 
year  before  she  came  to  Eriecreek.  He  Avas 
named  after  her  own  father,  and  it  was  as  if 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE    MANa!;U^^lE.        09 

her  Uncle  Jack  found  both  his  son  and  his 
brother  in  her  again.  When  her  taste  tot 
reading  began  to  show  itself  in  force,  the  old 
man  one  day  unlocked  a  certain  bookcase  in 
a  little  upper  room,  and  gave  her  the  key, 
saying,  M-ith  a  broken  pride  and  that  queer 
Virginian  pomp  which  still  clung  to  him, 
"This  was  my  son's,  who  would  one  day 
have  been  a  great  writer  ;  now  it  is  j'oiirs. " 
After  that  the  doctor  would  pick  up  the 
books  out  of  this  collection  which  Kitty  was 
reading,  and  had  left  lying  about  the  rooms, 
and  look  into  them  a  little  way.  Sometimes 
he  fell  asleep  over  them ;  sometimes  when 
he  opened  on  a  page  pencilled  with  marginal 
notes,  he  would  put  the  volume  gently  down 
and  go  very  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

"Kitty,  I  reckon  you'd  better  not  leave 
poor  Charley's  books  around  where  Uncle 
Jack  can  get  at  them,"  one  of  the  girls, 
Virginia  or  Rachel,  would  say ;  "I  don't 
believe  he  cares  much  for  those  writers,  and 
the  sight  of  the  books  just  tries  him.  So 
Kitty  kept  the  books,  and  herself  for  the 
most  part  with  them,  in  the  upper  chamber 
which  had  been  Charles  Ellison's  room,  and 
where,  amongst  the  witnesses  of  the  dead 
boy's  ambitious  dreams,  she  grew  dreamer 
herself,   and    seemed    to    inherit    with   his 


70  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

earthly    place    his    o^yn     fine    and     gentle 
spirit. 

The  doctor,  as  his  daughter  suggested,  did 
not  care  much  for  the  modem  authors  in 
whom  his  son  had  delighted.  Like  many 
another  simple  and  puro-hearted  man,  he 
thought  that  since  Pope  there  had  been  no 
great  poet  iDut  Byron,  and  he  could  make 
nothing  out  of  Tennyson  and  Browning, 
or  the  other  contemporary  English  poets. 
Amongst  the  Americans  he  had  a  great 
respect  for  Whittier,  but  he  preferred  Lowell 
to  the  rest  because  he  had  written  "The 
Biglow  Papers,"  and  he  never  would  allow 
that  the  last  .series  was  half  so  good  as  the 
first.  These  and  the  other  principal  poets 
of  our  nation  and  language  Kitty  inherited 
from  her  cousin,  as  well  as  a  full  stock  of  the 
contemporary  novelists  and  romancers,  whom 
she  liked  better  than  the  poets,  on  the 
whole.  She  had  also  the  advantage  of  the 
magazines  and  reviews  which  used  to  come 
to  him,  and  the  house  overflowed  with  news- 
papers of  every  kind,  from  the  "Eriecreek 
Courier"  to  the  "New  York  Tribune." 
What  with  the  coming  and  going  of  the 
eccentric  visitors,  and  this  continual  reading, 
and  her  rides  about  the  country  with  her 
Uncle  Jack,  Kitty's  education,  such  as   it 


MRS.    ELLISON'S   LITTLE   MAN(EU\rBE.        71 

was,  went  on  very  actively  and  with  the 
efi'ect,  at  least,  to  give  her  a  great  liveliness 
of  mind  and  several  decided  opinions. 
Where  it  might  have  warped  her  out  of 
natural  simplicity,  and  made  her  conceited, 
the  keen  and  wholesome  airs  which  breathed 
continually  in  the  Ellison  household  came  in 
to  restore  her.  There  was  such  kindness  in 
this  discipline,  that  she  never  could  remem- 
ber when  it  wounded  her ;  it  was  part  of  the 
gaiety  of  those  times  when  she  would  sit 
down  with  the  girls,  and  they  took  up  some 
work  together,  and  rattled  on  in  a  free, 
wild,  racy  talk,  with  an  edge  of  satire  for 
whoever  came  near,  a  fantastic  excess  in  its 
drollery,  and  just  a  touch  of  native  melan- 
choly tinging  it.  The  last  queer  guest, 
some  neighbourhood  gossip,  some  youthful 
folly  or  pretentiousness  of  Kitty's,  some  trait 
of  their  own,  some  absurdity  of  the  boys  if 
they  happened  to  be  at  home,  and  came 
lounging  in,  were  the  themes  out  of  which 
they  contrived  such  jollity  as  never  was, 
save  when  in  Uucle  Jack's  presence  they  fell 
upon  some  characteristic  action  or  theory  of 
his,  and  turned  it  mto  endless  ridicule. 

But  of  such  people,  of  such  life,  Mr. 
Aibuton  could  have  made  nothing  if  he  had 
known  them.      In  many  things  he  was  an 


rz  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

excellent  person,  and  greatly  to  be  respected 
for  certain  qualities.  He  was  very  sincere  ; 
his  mind  had  a  singular  purity  and  rectitude  ; 
he  was  a  scrupulously  just  person  so  far  as 
he  knew.  He  had  traits  that  would  have 
fitted  him  very  well  for  the  career  he  had 
once  contemplated,  and  he  had  even  made 
some  preliminary  studies  for  the  ministry. 
But  the  very  generosity  of  his  creed  per- 
plexed him,  his  mislikers  said ;  contending 
that  he  could  never  have  got  on  with  the 
mob  of  the  redeemed,  "  Ai-buton,"  said  a 
fat  young  fellow,  the  supposed  wit  of  the 
class,  "thinks  there  are  persons  of  low  ex- 
traction in  heaven  ;  but  he  doesn't  like  the 
idea."  And  Mr.  Arbuton  did  not  like  the 
speaker  very  well,  either,  nor  any  of  his 
poorer  fellow-students,  whose  gloveless  and 
unfashionable  poverty,  and  meagre  board 
and  lodgings,  and  general  hungry  depend- 
ence upon  pious  bequests  and  neighbourhood 
kindnesses,  offended  his  instincts.  "  So  he 's 
given  it  up,  has  he  ?  "  moralised  the  same 
wit,  upon  his  retu-ement.  "If  Arbuton 
could  have  been  a  divinely  commissioned 
apostle  to  the  best  society,  and  been 
obliged  to  save  none  but  well-connected, 
old-established,  and  cultivated  souls,  he 
might  have  gone  into  the  ministry. "    This 


MRS.    ELLISON'S  LITTLB   MANCEOVEE.        73 

was  a  coarse  construction  of  the  truth,  but 
it  was  not  altogether  a  perversion.  It  was 
long  ago  that  he  had  abandoned  the  thought 
of  the  ministry,  and  he  had  since  travelled, 
and  read  law,  and  become  a  man  of  society 
and  of  clubs ;  but  he  still  kept  the  traits 
that  had  seemed  to  make  his  vocation  clear. 
On  the  other  hand  he  kept  the  prejudices 
that  were  imagined  to  have  disqualified  him. 
He  was  an  exclusive  by  training  and  by 
instinct.  He  gave  ordinary  humanity  credit 
for  a  certain  measure  of  sensibility,  and  it  is 
possible  that  if  he  had  known  more  kinds  of 
men,  he  would  have  recognised  merits  and 
excellencies  which  did  not  now  exist  for  him  ; 
but  I  do  not  think  he  would  have  liked  them. 
His  doubt  of  these  Westera  people  was  the 
most  natural,  if  not  the  most  justifiable 
thing  in  the  world,  and  for  Kitty,  if  he 
could  have  known  all  about  her,  I  do  not  see 
how  he  could  have  believed  in  her  at  all.  As 
it  was,  he  went  in  search  of  her  party,  when 
he  had  smoked  his  cigar,  and  found  them  on 
the  forward  promenade.  She  had  left  hian 
in  quite  a  lenient  mood,  although,  as  she 
perceived  with  amusement,  he  had  done 
nothing  to  merit  it,  except  give  her  cousin  fi 
sprained  ankle.  At  the  moment  of  his  re- 
appearance, Mrs.  Ellison  had  been  telling 


74  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

Kitty  that  she  thought  it  was  beginning  to 
swell  a  little,  and  so  it  could  not  be  any- 
thing internal ;  and  Kitty  had  understood 
that  she  meant  her  ankle  as  well  as  if  she 
had  said  so,  and  had  sorrowed  and  rejoiced 
over  her,  and  the  colonel  had  been  inculpated 
for  the  whole  affair.  This  made  Mr.  Ar- 
buton's  excuses  rather  needless,  though  they 
were  most  graciously  received. 


ON    THE    WAY   BACK   TO   QUEBEC.  75 


III. 

ON  THE  WAY  BACK  TO  QUEBEC. 

BY  this  time  the  boat  was  moving  down 
the  river,  and  every  one  was  alive  to 
the  scenery.  The  procession  of  the  pine- 
elad,  rounded  heights  on  either  shore  began 
shortly  after  Ha-Ha  Bay  had  disappeared 
behind  a  curve,  and  it  hardly  ceased,  save 
at  one  point,  before  the  boat  re-entered  the 
St.  Lawrence.  The  shores  of  the  stream  are 
almost  uninhabited.  The  hills  rise  from  the 
water's  edge,  and  if  ever  a  narrow  vale 
divides  them,  it  is  but  to  open  drearier 
solitudes  to  the  eye.  In  such  a  valley 
would  stand  a  saw-mill,  and  huddled  about 
it  a  few  poor  huts,  while  a  friendless  road, 
scarce  discernible  from  the  boat,  wound  up 
from  the  river  through  the  valley,  and  led  to 
wildernesses  all  the  forlomer  for  the  devas- 
tation of  their  forests.  Now  and  then  an 
island,  rugged  as  the  shores,  broke  the  long 
reaches  o.^  the  grim  river  with  its  massive 


76  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCK. 

rock  and  dark  evergreen,  and  seemed  in  the 
distance  to  forbid  escape  from  those  dreary 
waters,  over  which  no  bird  flew,  and  in 
which  it  was  incredible  any  fish  swam. 

Mrs.  Ellison,  with  her  foot  comfortably 
and  not  ungracefully  supported  on  a  stool, 
was  in  so  little  pain  as  to  be  looking  from 
time  to  time  at  one  of  the  guide-books 
which  the  colonel  had  lavished  upon  his 
pai'ty,  and  which  she  was  disposed  to  hold 
to  very  strict  account  for  any  excesses  of 
description. 

"It  says  here  that  the  water  of  the 
Saguenay  is  as  black  as  ink.  Do  you  think 
it  is,  Richard  ?  " 

"It  looks  so." 

"  Well,  but  if  you  took  some  up  in  your 
hand  ? " 

' '  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  as  black  as  the 
best  Maynard  and  Noyes,  but  it  would  be 
black  enough  for  all  practical  purposes." 

"Maybe,"  suggested  Kitty,  "the  guide- 
book means  the  kind  that  is  light  blue  at 
first,  but  '  becomes  a  deep  black  on  exposure 
to  the  air,'  as  the  label  says." 

"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Arbuton?" 
asked  Mrs.  Ellison  with  unabated  anxiety. 

"Well,  really,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr. 
Arbuton,  who  thought  it  a  very  trivial  kind 


ON    THE    WAY   BACK    TO    QUEBEC.  77 

of  talk,  "I  can't  say,  indeed.  I  haven't 
taken  any  of  it  up  in  my  hand. " 

"  That 's  true,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison  gravely, 
with  an  accent  of  reproval  for  the  others 
who  had  not  thought  of  so  simple  a  solution 
of  the  problem,  "very  true." 

The  colonel  looked  into  her  face  mth  an 
air  of  well-feigned  alarm.  "  You  don't 
think  the  sprain  has  gone  to  your  head, 
Fanny  ?  "  he  asked,  and  walked  away,  leav- 
ing Mr.  Arbuton  to  the  ladies.  Mrs.  Ellison 
did  not  care  for  this  or  any  other  gibe,  if 
she  but  served  her  own  purposes  ;  and  now, 
having  made  everj'body  laugh  and  given  the 
conversation  a  lively  turn,  she  was  as  per- 
fectly content  as  if  she  had  not  been  herself 
an  offering  to  the  cause  of  cheerfulness. 
She  was,  indeed,  equal  to  any  sacrifice  in 
the  enterprise  she  had  undertaken,  and 
would  not  only  have  given  Kitty  aU  her 
worldly  goods,  but  would  have  quite  effaced 
herself  to  further  her  own  designs  upon  Mr. 
Arbuton.  She  turned  again  to  her  guide- 
book, and  left  the  young  people  to  continue 
the  talk  in  unbroken  gaiety.  They  at  once 
became  serious,  as  most  people  do  after  a 
hearty  laugh,  which,  if  you  think,  seems 
always  to  have  something  strange  and  sad  in 
it.     But  besides,   Kitty  was  oppressed   by 


78  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  coldness  that  seemed  perpetually  to 
hover  in  Mr,  Arbuton's  atmosphere,  while 
she  was  interested  by  his  fastidious  good 
looks  and  his  blameless  manners,  and  his 
air  of  a  world  different  from  any  she  had 
hitherto  known.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
whose  pei-fection  makes  you  feel  guilty  of 
misdemeanour  whenever  they  meet  you,  and 
whose  greeting  turns  your  honest  good-day 
coarse  and  common ;  even  Kitty's  fearless 
ignorance  and  more  than  Western  disregard 
of  dignities  were  not  proof  against  him. 
She  had  found  it  easy  to  talk  with  Mrs. 
March  as  she  did  with  her  cousin  at  home  ; 
she  liked  to  be  frank  and  gay  in  her  parley, 
to  jest  and  to  laugh,  and  to  make  harmless 
fun,  and  to  sentimentalise  in  a  half  earnest 
way  ;  she  liked  to  be  with  Mr.  Arbuton,  but 
now  she  did  not  see  how  she  could  take 
her  natural  tone  with  him.  She  wondered 
at  her  daring  lightness  at  the  breakfast- 
table  ;  she  waited  for  him  to  say  something, 
and  he  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  grey 
heaven  that  always  overhangs  the  Saguenay, 
that  it  was  beginning  to  rain,  and  unfurled 
the  slender  silk  umbrella  which  harmonised 
so  perfectly  with  the  London  effect  of  his 
dress,  and  held  it  over  her.  Mrs.  Ellison 
sat  within  the  shelter  of  the  projecting  roof, 


ON  THE   WAY  BACK  TO   QUEBEC.  79 

and  diligently  pei-used  her  book  with  her 
eyes,  and  listened  to  their  talk. 

"  The  great  drawback  to  this  sort  of 
thing  in  America,"  continued  Mr.  Arbuton, 
"is  that  there  is  no  human  interest  about 
the  scenery,  fine  as  it  is. " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  Kitty,  "  there 
was  that  little  settlement  round  the  saw- 
mill. Can't  you  imagine  any  human  interest 
in  the  lives  of  the  people  there  ?  It  seems 
to  me  that  one  might  make  almost  anything 
out  of  them.  Suppose,  for  example,  that 
the  owner  of  that  mill  was  a  disappointed 
man  who  had  come  here  to  bury  the  wi-eck 
of  his  life  in — sawdust  ? " 

•'  Oh,  yes  !  That  sort  of  thing  ;  certainly. 
But  I  didn't  mean  that,  I  meant  something 
historical.  There  is  no  past,  no  atmosphere, 
no  traditions,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  but  the  Saguenay  has  a  tradition," 
said  Kitty.  "You  know  that  a  party  of 
the  first  explorers  left  their  comrades  at 
Tadoussac,  and  came  up  the  Saguenay  three 
hundred  years  ago,  and  never  were  seen  or 
heard  of  again.  I  think  it 's  so  in  keeping 
■with  the  looks  of  the  river.  The  Saguenay 
would  never  tell  a  secret." 

"Um  !"  uttered  Mr.  Arbuton,  as  if  he 
were  not  quite  sure  that  it  was  the  Sague- 


80  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

nay's  place  to  have  a  legend  of  this  sort,  aud 
disposed  to  snub  the  legend  because  the 
Saguenay  had  it.  After  a  little  silence,  he 
began  to  speak  of  famous  rivers  abroad. 

"  I  suppose,"  Kitty  said,  "  the  Rhine  has 
traditions  enough,  hasn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "but  I  think  the 
Rhine  rather  overdoes  it.  You  can't  help 
feeling,  you  know,  that  it 's  somewhat  melo- 
dramatic and — common.  Have  you  ever 
seen  the  Rhine  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!  This  is  almost  the  first  I 've 
seen  of  anything.  Perhaps,"  she  added  de- 
murely, yet  with  a  tremor  at  finding  herself 
about  to  make  light  of  Mr.  Ai-buton,  "  if  I 
had  had  too  much  of  tradition  on  the  Rhine, 
I  should  want  more  of  it  on  the  Saguenay. " 

"  Why,  you  must  allow  there's  a  golden 
mean  in  everything,  Miss  Ellison,"  said  her 
companion  with  a  lenient  laugh,  not  feeling 
it  disagreeable  to  be  made  light  of  by  her. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  'm  afraid  we  're  going  to  find 
Cape  Trinity  and  Cape  Eternity  altogether 
too  big  when  we  come  to  them.  Don't  you 
think  eighteen  hundred  feet  excessively  high 
for  a  feature  of  river  scenery  ?  " 

Mr.  Arbuton  really  did  have  an  objection 
to  the  exaggerations  of  nature  on  this  con- 
tinent,  and   secretly  thought  them  in  bad 


ox   THE   WAY  BACK  TO   QUEBEC.  81 

taste,  but  he  had  never  formulated  liis  feel- 
ing. He  was  not  sure  but  it  was  ridiculous, 
now  that  it  was  suggested,  and  yet  the  pos- 
sibility was  too  novel  to  be  entertained 
without  suspicion. 

However,  when  after  a  while  the  runioui 
of  their  approach  to  the  great  objects  of  the 
Saguenay  journey  had  spread  among  the 
passengers,  and  they  began  to  assemble  at 
points  favourable  for  the  enjoyment  of  the 
spectacle,  he  was  glad  to  have  secured  the 
place  he  held  with  ^liss  Ellison,  and  a  sym- 
pathetic thrill  of  excitement  passed  through 
his  loath  superiority.  The  rain  ceased  as 
they  drew  nearer,  and  the  grey  clouds  that 
had  hung  so  low  upon  the  hills  sullenly 
lifted  from  them  and  let  their  growing 
height  be  seen.  The  captain  bade  his  sight- 
seers look  at  the  vast  Roman  profile  that 
showed  itself  upon  the  rock,  and  then  he 
pointed  out  the  wonderful  Gothic  arch,  the 
reputed  doorway  of  an  unexplored  cavern, 
under  which  an  upright  shaft  of  stone  had 
stood  for  ages  statue-like,  till  not  many 
winters  ago  the  frost  heaved  it  from  its  base, 
and  it  plunged  headlong  down  through  the 
ice  into  the  unfathomed  depths  below.  The 
unvarying  gloom  of  the  pines  was  lit  now  by 
the  pensive  glimmer  of  birch-trees,  and  ^his 


82  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

grey  tone  gave  an  inclesci-ibable  sentiment  of 
pathos  and  of  age  to  the  scenery.  Suddenly 
the  boat  rounded  the  corner  of  the  three 
steps,  each  five  hundred  feet  high,  in  which 
Cape  Eternity  climbs  from  the  river,  and 
crept  in  under  the  naked  side  of  the  awful 
cliff.  It  is  sheer  rock,  springing  from  the 
black  water,  and  stretching  upward  with  a 
weary,  efi"ort-like  aspect,  in  long  impulses  of 
stone  marked  by  deep  seams  from  space  to 
space,  till,  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  air,  its 
vast  brow  beetles  forward,  and  frowns  with 
a  scattering  fi'inge  of  pines.  There  are 
stains  of  weather  and  of  oozing  springs  upon 
the  front  of  the  cliff,  but  it  is  height  alone 
that  seems  to  seize  the  eye,  and  one  remembers 
afterwards  these  details,  which  are  indeed  so 
few  as  not  properly  to  enter  into  the  effect. 
The  rock  fully  justifies  its  attributive  height 
to  the  eye,  which  follows  the  upward  rush 
of  the  mighty  acclivity,  steep  after  steep, 
till  it  wins  the  cloud-capt  summit,  when  the 
measureless  mass  seems  to  swing  and  sway 
overhead,  and  the  nerves  tremble  with  the 
same  terror  that  besets  him  who  looks  down- 
ward from  the  verge  of  a  lofty  precipice.  It 
is  wholly  gi-im  and  stem  ;  no  touch  of  beauty 
relieves  the  austere  majesty  of  that  presence. 
At  the  foot  of  Cape  Eternity  the  water  is  of 


ON   THE    WAY    BACK   TO    QUEBEC.  83 

uukiio\vu  depth,  and  it  spreads,  a  black  ex- 
panse, in  the  rounding  hollow  of  shores  of 
unimaginable  wildness  and  desolation,  and 
issues  again  in  its  river's  course  around  the 
base  of  Cape  Trinity.  This  is  yet  loftier 
than  the  sister  cliff,  but  it  slopes  gently 
backward  from  the  stream,  and  from  foot  to 
crest  it  is  heavily  clothed  with  a  forest  of 
pines.  The  woods  that  hitherto  have 
shagged  the  hills  with  a  stunted  and  meagre 
growth,  showing  long  stretches  scan-ed  by 
fire,  now  assume  a  stately  size,  and  assemble 
themselves  compactly  upon  the  side  of  tlie 
mountain,  setting  their  serried  stems  one 
rank  above  another,  till  the  summit  is 
crowned  with  the  mass  of  their  dark  green 
plumes,  dense  and  soft  and  beautiful ;  so 
that  the  spirit  perturbed  by  the  spectacle  of 
the  other  cliff  is  calmed  and  assuaged  by  the 
serene  grandeur  of  this. 

There  have  been,  to  be  sure,  some  human 
agencies  at  work  even  under  the  shadow  of 
Cape  Eternity  to  restore  the  spu'it  to  self- 
possession,  and  perhaps  none  turns  from  iv 
wholly  dismayed.  Kitty,  at  any  rate,  took 
heart  from  some  works  of  art  which  the  cliff 
wall  displayed  near  the  water's  edge.  One 
of  thes"-  was  a  lively  fresco  portrait  of  Lieu- 
tenant-General  Sherman,  with   the  insignia 


84  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

of  his  rank,  and  the  other  was  an  even  more 
striking  effigy  of  General  O'Neil,  of  the 
Armies  of  the  Irish  Republic,  wearing  a 
threatening  aspect,  and  designed  in  a  bold 
ijonceit  of  his  presence  there  as  conqueror  of 
Canada  in  the  year  1875.  Mr.  Arbuton  was 
inclined  to  resent  these  intrusions  upon  the 
sublimity  of  nature,  and  he  could  not  con- 
ceive, without  disadvantage  to  them,  how 
Miss  Ellison  and  the  colonel  should  accept 
them  so  cheerfully  as  part  of  the  pleasure  of 
the  whole.  As  he  listened  blankly  to  their 
exchange  of  jests  he  found  himself  awfully 
beset  by  a  temptation  which  one  of  the  boat's 
crew  placed  before  the  passengers.  This 
was  a  bucket  full  of  pebbles  of  inviting  size ; 
and  the  man  said,  "Now,  see  which  can  hit 
the  cliff.  It 's  farther  than  any  of  you  can 
throw,  though  it  looks  so  near. " 

The  passengers  cast  themselves  upon  the 
store  of  missiles.  Colonel  Ellison  most  actively 
among  them.  None  struck  the  cliff,  and 
suddenly  Mr.  Arbuton  felt  a  blind,  stupid, 
irresistible  longing  to  try  his  chance.  The 
spirit  of  his  college  days,  of  his  boating  and 
ball-playing  youth,  came  upon  him.  He 
picked  up  a  pebble,  while  Kitty  opened  her 
eyes  in  a  stare  of  dumb  surprise.  Then  he 
wheeled  and    threw  it,    and  as    it   stru^-k 


O.V   THE   WAY   BACK   TO   QUEBEC.  85 

against  the  clifiF  with  a  shock  that  seemed  to 
have  broken  all  the  windows  on  the  Back 
Bay,  he  exulted  in  a  sense  of  freedom  the 
havoc  caused  him.  It  was  as  if  for  an  in- 
stant he  had  rent  away  the  ties  of  custom, 
thrown  off  the  bonds  of  social  allegiance, 
broken  down  and  trampled  upon  the  conven- 
tions which  his  whole  life  long  he  had  held 
so  dear  and  respectable.  In  that  moment 
of  frenzy  he  feared  himself  capable  of  shak- 
ing hands  with  the  shabby  Englishman  in 
the  Glengan-y  cap,  or  of  asking  the  whole 
admiring  company  of  passengers  down  to 
the  bar.  A  cry  of  applause  had  broken 
from  them  at  his  achievement,  and  he  had 
for  the  first  time  tasted  the  sweets  of  popu- 
lar favour.  Of  course,  a  revulsion  must 
come,  and  it  must  be  of  a  corresponding 
violence  ;  and  the  next  moment  Mr.  Arbuton 
hated  them  all,  and  most  of  all  Colonel 
Ellison,  who  had  been  loudest  in  his  praise. 
Him  he  thought  for  that  moment  everything 
that  was  aggressively  and  intrusively  vulgar. 
But  he  could  not  utter  these  friendly  impres- 
sions, nor  is  it  so  easy  to  withdraw  from  any 
concession,  and  he  found  it  impossible  to 
repair  his  broken  defences.  Destiny  had 
been  against  him  from  the  beginning,  and 
now  why  should  he  not  strike  hands  with  it 


&0  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

for  the  brief  half-day  that  he  was  to  con- 
tinue in  these  people's  society?  In  the 
morning  he  would  part  from  them  for  ever, 
and  in  the  meantime  why  should  he  not  tiy 
to  please  and  be  pleased  ?  There  might,  to 
be  sure,  have  been  many  reasons  why  he 
should  not  do  this ;  but  however  the  balance 
stood  he  now  yielded  himself  passively  to 
his  fate.  He  was  polite  to  Mrs.  Ellison,  he 
was  attentive  to  Kitty,  and  as  far  as  he 
could  he  entered  into  the  fantastic  spirit  of 
her  talk  with  the  colonel.  He  was  not  a 
dull  man  ;  he  had  quite  an  apt  wit  of  his 
own,  and  a  neat  way  of  saying  things ;  but 
humour  always  seemed  to  him  something 
not  perfectly  well  bred  ;  of  course  he  helped 
to  praise  it  in  some  old-established  diner-out, 
or  some  woman  of  good  fashion,  whose  mots 
it  was  customary  to  repeat,  and  he  even 
tolerated  it  in  books ;  but  he  was  at  a  loss 
with  these  people,  who  looked  at  life  in  so 
bizarre  a  temper,  yet  without  airiness  or 
pretension,  nay,  with  a  whimsical  readiness 
to  acknowledge  kindred  in  every  droll  or 
laughable  thing. 

The  boat  stopped  at  Tadoussac  on  her 
return,  and  among  the  spectators  who  came 
dovm  to  the  landmg  was  a  certain  very 
pretty,  conscious-lool  ing,  silly,  bridal-faced 


ON    THE   WAT   BACK   TO   QUEBEC,  87 

/oung  woman, — imaginably  the  belle  of  the 
season  at  that  forlorn  watering-place, — 
who,  before  coming  on  board,  stood  a  while 
attended  by  a  following  of  those  elderly 
imperial  and  colonial  British  who  heavily 
flutter  round  the  fair  at  such  resorts.  She 
had  an  air  of  utterly  satisfied  vanity,  in 
which  there  was  no  harm  in  the  world,  and 
when  she  saw  that  she  had  fixed  the  eyes 
of  the  shoreward-gazing  passengers,  it  ap- 
peared as  if  she  fell  into  a  happy  trepida- 
tion too  blissful  to  be  passively  bome ;  she 
moistened  her  pretty  red  lips  with  her 
tongiie,  she  twitched  her  mantle,  she  settleo 
the  bow  at  her  lovely  throat,  she  bridled 
and  tossed  her  graceful  head. 

' '  What  should  you  do  next,  Kitty  ? "  asked 
the  colonel,  who  had  been  sympathetically 
intent  upon  all  this. 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  should  pat  my  foot," 
answered  Kitty ;  and  in  fact  the  charming 
simpleton  on  shore,  having  perfected  her 
attitude,  was  tapping  the  ground  nervously 
with  the  toe  of  her  adorable  slipper. 

After  the  boat  started,  a  Canadian  lady 
of  ripe  age,  yet  of  a  vivacity  not  to  be  recon- 
ciled with  the  notion  of  the  married  state, 
capered  briskly  about  among  her  some- 
what stolid  and  indifferent  friends,  saying, 


88  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCi;. 

♦'  They  're  going  to  fire  it  as  soon  as  we  round 
the  point;"  and  presently  a  dull  boom,  as 
of  a  small  piece  of  ordnance  discharged  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  hotel,  struck 
through  the  gathering  fog,  and  this  elderly 
sylph  clapped  her  hands  and  exulted : 
'*  They  've  fired  it,  they  've  fired  it !  and 
now  the  captain  will  blow  the  whistle  in 
answer."  But  the  captain  did  nothing  of 
the  kind,  and  the  lady,  after  some  more 
girlish  effervescence,  upbraided  him  for  an 
old  owl  and  an  old  muff,  and  so  sank  into 
such  a  flat  and  spiritless  calm  that  she  was 
sorrowful  to  see. 

"Too  bad,  Mr.  Arbuton,  isn't  it?"  said 
the  colonel ;  and  Mr.  Ai-butou  listened  in 
vague  doubt  whUe  Kitty  built  up  with  her 
cousin  a  touching  romance  for  the  poor  lady, 
supposed  to  have  spent  the  one  brilliant  and 
successful  summer  of  her  life  at  Tadoussac, 
where  her  admirers  had  agreed  to  bemoan 
her  loss  in  this  explosion  of  gunpowder. 
They  asked  him  if  he  did  not  wish  the  cap- 
tain had  whistled;  and  "Oh  !"  shuddered 
Kitty,  "doesn't  it  all  make  you  feel  just  as 
If  you  had  been  doing  it  yourself? " — a  ques- 
tion which  he  hardly  knew  how  to  answer, 
never  having,  to  his  knowledge,  done  a  ridi- 
culous thing  in  his  lue,  much  less  been  guilty 


ON   THE   WAY   BACK   TO   QUEBEC.  89 

of  such  behaviour  as  that  of  the  disappointed 
lady. 

At  Cacouna,  where  the  boat  stopped  to 
take  on  the  horses  and  carriages  of  some 
home-returning  sojourners,  the  pier  was  a 
labyrinth  of  equipages  of  many  sorts  and 
sizes,  and  a  herd  of  bright-hooded,  gaily 
blanketed  horses  gave  variety  to  the  human 
crowd  that  soaked  and  steamed  in  the  fino, 
slowly  falling  rain.  A  draught-horse  was 
every  three  minutes  driven  into  their  midst 
with  tedious  iteration  as  he  slowly  drew 
baskets  of  coal  up  from  the  sloop  unloading 
at  the  wharf,  and  each  time  they  closed 
solidly  upon  his  retreat  as  if  they  never 
expected  to  see  that  horse  again  while  tho 
world  stood.  They  were  idle  ladies  and 
gentlemen  under  umbrellas,  Indians  and 
habitants  taking  the  rain  stolidly  erect  or 
with  shrugged  shoulders,  and  two  or  three 
clergymen  of  the  curate  tj'pe,  who  might 
have  stepped  as  they  were  out  of  any  dull 
English  novel.  These  were  talking  in  low 
voices  and  putting  their  hands  to  their  ears 
to  catch  the  replies  of  the  lady  passengers 
who  hung  upon  the  rail,  and  twaddled  back 
as  dryly  as  if  there  was  no  moisture  in  life. 
All  the  while  the  safety-valves  hissed  with 
the   escaping  cteam,   and   the   boat's   crev/ 


90  A   CHANCE   ACQCTAINTANCS. 

silently  toiled  with  the  grooms  of  the  differ- 
ent horses  to  get  the  equipages  on  board. 
With  the  carriages  it  was  an  affair  of  mere 
muscle,  but  the  horses  required  to  be  managed 
with  brain.  No  sooner  had  one  of  them 
placed  his  fore  feet  on  the  gangway  plank 
than  he  protested  by  backing  up  over  a 
mass  of  patient  Canadians,  carrying  with 
him  half  a  dozen  grooms  and  deck-hands. 
Then  his  hood  was  drawn  over  his  eyes,  and 
he  was  blindly  walked  up  and  dovm  the 
pier,  and  back  to  the  gangway,  which  he 
knew  as  soon  as  he  touched  it.  He  pulled, 
he  pranced,  he  shied,  he  did  all  that  a  bad 
and  stubborn  horse  can  do,  till  at  last  a 
groom  mounted  his  back,  a  clump  of  deck- 
hands tugged  at  his  bridle,  and  other  grooms, 
tenderly  embracing  him  at  different  points, 
pushed,  and  he  was  thus  conveyed  on  board 
with  mingled  affection  and  ignominy.  None 
of  the  Canadians  seemed  amused  by  this ; 
they  regarded  it  with  serious  composure  as 
a  fitting  decorum,  and  Mr.  Arbuton  had  no 
comment  to  make  upon  it.  But  at  the  first 
embrace  bestowed  upon  the  horse  by  the 
grooms,  the  colonel  said  absently,  "Ah! 
long-lost  brother,"  and  Kitty  laughed  ;  and 
as  the  scruples  of  each  brute  were  successively 
overcome,  she  helped  to  give  some  grotesque 


ON   THE   WAY  BACK  TO  QUEBEO.  91 

InterpretatioD  to  the  variona  scenes  of  the 
melodrama,  while  Mr.  Arbuton  stood  beside 
her,  and  sheltered  her  with  his  umbrella ; 
and  a  spice  of  malice  in  her  heart  told  her 
that  he  viewed  this  drolling,  and  especially 
her  part  in  it,  with  grave  misgiving.  That 
gave  the  zest  of  transgression  to  her  excess, 
mixed  with  dismay;  for  the  tricksy  spirit 
in  her  was  not  a  domineering  spirit,  but 
was  easily  abashed  by  the  moods  of  others. 
She  ought  not  to  have  laughed  at  Dick's 
speeches,  she  soon  told  herseK,  much  less 
helped  him  on.  She  dreadfully  feared  that 
she  had  done  something  indecorous,  and  she 
was  pensive  and  silent  over  it  as  she  moved 
listlessly  about  after  supper ;  and  she  sat  at 
last  thinking  in  a  dreary  sort  of  perplexity 
on  what  had  passed  during  the  day,  which 
seemed  a  long  one. 

The  shabby  Englishman  with  his  wife  and 
sister  were  walking  up  and  down  the  cabin. 
By  and  by  they  stopped,  and  sat  down  at 
the  table,  facing  Kitty ;  the  elder  woman, 
with  a  civil  freedom,  addressed  her  some 
commonplace,  and  the  four  were  presently 
in  lively  talk ;  for  Kitty  had  beamed  upon 
the  woman  in  return,  having  already  longed 
to  know  something  of  them.  The  world 
was  so  fresh  to  her,  that  she   could   find 


92  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCff. 

delight  in  those  poor  singing  or  acting  folk, 
though  she  had  soon  to  own  to  herself  that 
their  talk  was  not  very  witty  nor  very  wise, 
and  that  the  best  thing  about  them  was 
their  good-nature.  The  colonel  sat  at  the 
end  of  the  table  with  a  newspaper ;  Mrs. 
Ellison  had  gone  to  bed ;  and  Kitty  was 
beginning  to  tire  of  her  new  acquaint- 
ance, and  to  wonder  how  she  could  get  away 
from  them,  when  she  saw  rescue  in  the  eye 
of  Mr.  Arbuton  as  he  came  down  the  cabin. 
She  knew  he  was  looking  for  her  ;  she  saw 
him  check  himself  with  a  start  of  recogni- 
tion ;  then  he  walked  rapidly  by  the  group, 
without  glancing  at  them. 

"Burr!"  said  the  blonde  girl,  drawing 
her  blue  knit  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
"isn't  it  cold?"  and  she  and  her  friends 
laughed, 

"Oh  dear!"  thought  Kitty,  "I  didn't 
suppose  they  were  po  rude,  I  'm  afraid  I 
must  say  good-night,"  she  added  aloud, 
after  a  little,  and  stole  away,  the  most  con- 
science-stricken creature  on  that  boat.  She 
heard  those  people  laiigh  again  alter  she  left 
them. 


MB.  arbuton's  inspiration.         83 


rv. 

MR.  ARBUTON'S  inspiration. 

THE  next  morning,  when  Mr.  Arbuton 
awoke,  he  found  a  clear  light  upon  the 
world  that  he  had  left  wrapped  in  fog  at 
midnight.  A  heavy  gale  was  blowing,  and 
the  wide  river  was  running  in  seas  that 
made  the  boat  stagger  in  her  course,  and 
now  and  then  struck  her  bows  "with  a  force 
that  sent  the  spray  from  their  seething 
tops  into  the  faces  of  the  people  on  the  pro- 
menade. The  sun,  out  of  rifts  of  the  break- 
ing clouds,  launched  broad  splendours  across 
the  villages  and  farms  of  the  level  landscape, 
and  the  crests  and  hollows  of  the  waves ; 
and  a  certain  joy  of  the  air  penetrated  to 
the  guarded  consciousness  of  Mr.  Arbuton. 
Involuntarily  he  looked  about  for  the  people 
he  meant  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with, 
that  he  might  appeal  to  the  sympathies  of 
one  of  them,  at  least,  in  his  sense  of  such 
an  admirable  morning.  But  a  great  many 
passengers  had  come  on  board,  during  the 


94  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

night,  at  Murray  Bay,  where  the  brief 
season  was  ending,  and  their  number  hid 
the  Ellisons  from  him.  When  he  went  to 
bieakfast,  he  found  some  one  had  taken 
his  seat  near  them,  and  they  did  not  notice 
him  as  he  passed  by  in  search  of  another 
chair.  Kitty  and  the  colonel  were  at  table 
alone,  and  they  both  wore  pre-occupied  faces. 
After  breakfast  he  sought  them  out  and 
asked  for  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  had  shared  in 
most  of  the  excitements  of  the  day  before, 
helping  herself  about  with  a  pretty  limp, 
and  who  certainly  had  not,  as  her  husband 
phrased  it,  kept  any  of  the  meals  waiting. 

"Why,"  said  the  colonel,  "I'm  afraid 
her  ankle's  worse  this  morning,  and  that 
we'll  have  to  lie  by  at  Quebec,  for  a  few 
days,  at  any  rate. " 

Mr.  Arbutou  heard  this  sad  news  with  a 
cheerful  aspect  unaccountable  in  one  who 
was  concerned  at  Mrs.  Ellison's  misfortune. 
He  smiled  when  he  ought  to  have  looked 
pensive,  and  he  laughed  at  the  colonel's  joke 
when  the  latter  added,  "  Of  course,  this  is  a 
great  hardship  for  my  cousin,  who  hates 
Quebec,  and  wants  to  get  home  to  Eriecreek 
as  soon  as  possible." 

Kitty  promised  to  bear  her  trials  with 
fii-mness,  and  Mr,  Ai'buton  said,  not  very 


MR.    ARBUTON'S   INSPIRATION.  95 

consequently,  as  she  thought,  "I  had  been 
planning  to  spend  a  few  days  in  Quebec, 
myself,  and  I  shall  have  the  opportunity  of 
inquiring  about  Mrs.  Ellison's  convalescence. 
In  fact,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  colonel, 
"I  hope  you'll  let  me  be  of  service  to  you 
in  getting  to  a  hotel." 

And  when  the  boat  landed,  Mr.  Arbuton 
actually  busied  himself  in  finding  a  can-iage 
and  putting  the  various  Ellison  wraps  and 
bags  into  it.  Then  he  helped  to  support 
Mrs.  Ellison  ashore,  and  to  lift  her  to  the 
best  place.  He  raised  his  hat,  and  had 
good-morning  on  his  tongue,  when  the 
astonished  colonel  called  out,  "  Why,  the 
deuce  !    You  're  going  to  ride  up  with  us  ! " 

Mr.  Arbuton  thought  he  had  better  get 
another  carriage  j  he  should  incommode  Mrs. 
Ellison ;  but  Mrs.  Ellison  protested  that  he 
would  not  at  all;  and,  to  cut  the  matter 
short,  he  mounted  to  the  colonel's  side.  It 
was  another  stroke  of  fate. 

At  the  hotel  they  found  a  line  of  people 
reaching  half-way  down  the  outer  steps  from 
the  inside  of  the  office. 

"  Hallo  1  what 's  this  ?  "  asked  the  colonel 
of  the  last  man  in  the  queue. 

"Oh,  it's  a  little  procession  to  the  hotel 
register  1     We  've  been  three  quarters  of  an 


96  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

hour  in  passing  a  given  point,"  said  the  man, 
who  was  plainly  a  fellow-citizen. 

"And  haven't  got  by  yet,"  said  the  colo- 
nel, taking  to  the  speaker.  ' '  Then  the  house 
is  full  ?  " 

"Well,  no;  they  haven't  begun  to  throw 
them  out  of  the  window. " 

•'  His  humour  is  degenerating,  Dick,"  said 
Kitty;  and  "Hadn't  you  better  go  inside 
and  inquire  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ellison.  It  was 
part  of  the  Ellison  travelling  joke  for  her 
thus  to  prompt  the  colonel  in  his  duty. 

"I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it,  Fanny.  I 
was  just  going  to  drive  off  in  despair."  The 
colonel  vanished  within  doors,  and  after 
long  delay  came  out  flushed,  but  not  with 
triumph.  "On  the  express  condition  that 
I  have  ladies  with  me,  one  an  invalid,  I  am 
promised  a  room  on  the  fifth  floor  some  time 
during  the  day.  They  tell  me  the  other 
hotel  is  craimned,  and  it's  no  use  to  go 
there." 

Mrs.  Ellison  was  ready  to  weep,  and  for 
the  first  time  since  her  accident  she  har- 
boured some  bitterness  against  Mr.  Arbuton. 
They  all  sat  silent,  and  the  colonel  on  the 
side- walk  silently  wiped  his  brow. 

Mr.  Arbuton,  in  the  poverty  of  his  in- 
vention, wondered  if   there  was   not   some 


MR.  abbuton's  inspiration.  97 

lodging-house  where  they  could  find 
shelter. 

"Of  course  there  is,"  cried  Mrs.  Ellison, 
beaming  upon  her  hero,  and  calling  Kitty's 
attention  to  his  ingenuity  by  a  pressure  with 
her  well  foot.  "  Richard,  we  must  look  up 
a  boarding-house." 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  good  boarding- 
houses  ? "  asked  the  colonel  of  the  driver, 
mechanically. 

"Plenty,"  answered  the  man. 

"Well,  drive  us  to  twenty  or  thirty  first- 
class  ones,"  commanded  the  colonel;  and 
the  search  began. 

The  colonel  first  asked  prices  and  looked 
at  rooms,  and  if  he  pronounced  any  apart- 
ment unsuitable,  Kitty  was  despatched  by 
Mrs.  Ellison  to  view  it  and  refute  him.  As 
often  as  she  confirmed  him,  Mrs.  Ellison 
was  sure  that  they  were  both  too  fastidious, 
and  they  never  turned  away  from  a  door 
but  they  closed  the  gates  of  Paradise  upon 
that  afflicted  lady.  She  began  to  believe 
that  they  should  find  no  place  whatever, 
when  at  last  they  stopped  before  a  portal  so 
unboarding-house-like  in  all  outward  signs, 
that  she  maintained  it  was  of  no  use  to  ring, 
and  imparted  so  much  of  her  distrust  to  the 
colonel  that,  after  ringing,  he  prefaced  his 

G 


ys  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

demand  for  rooms  with  an  apology  for  sup- 
posing that  there  were  rooms  to  let  there. 
Then,  after  looking  at  them,  he  returned  to 
the  carriage  and  reported  that  the  whole 
affair  was  perfect,  and  that  he  should  look  no 
further.  Mrs.  Ellison  replied  that  she  never 
could  trust  his  judgment,  he  was  so  care- 
less. Kitty  inspected  the  premises,  and 
came  back  in  a  transport  that  alarmed  the 
worst  fears  of  Mrs.  Ellison.  She  was  sure 
that  they  had  better  look  further,  she  knew 
there  were  plenty  of  nicer  places.  Even  if 
the  rooms  were  nice  and  the  situation  plea- 
sant, she  was  certain  that  there  must  be 
some  drawbacks  which  they  did  not  know 
of  yet.  Whereupon  her  husband  lifted  her 
from  the  carriage,  and  bore  her,  without 
reply  or  comment  of  any  kind,  into  the 
house. 

Throughout  the  search  Mr  Arbuton  had 
been  making  up  his  mind  that  he  would  part 
with  his  friends  as  soon  as  they  found  lodg- 
ings, give  the  day  to  Quebec,  and  take  the 
evening  train  for  Gorham,  thus  escaping  the 
annoyances  of  a  crowded  hotel,  and  ending 
at  once  an  acquaintance  which  he  ought 
never  to  have  let  go  so  far.  As  long  as  the 
Ellisons  were  without  shelter,  he  felt  that 
it  was  due  to  Inmsolf  not  to  abandon  them. 


MR.    ARBUTO>''S   INSPIRATION.  99 

But  even  now  that  tliej'  were  happily  housed, 
had  he  done  all  that  nobility  obliged  ?  He 
stood  irresolute  beside  the  can-iage. 

"Won't  you  come  up  and  see  where  we 
live  ?  "  asked  Kitty,  hospitably. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  colonel,  in  the 
parlour,  "I  didn't  engage  a  room  for  you. 
I  supposed  you  'd  rather  take  your  chances 
at  the  hotel." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  going  away  to-night." 

"  Whj',  that 's  a  pity  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  've  no  fancy  for  a  cot-bed  in  the 
hotel  parlour.  But  I  don't  quite  like  to 
leave  j'ou  here,  after  bringing  this  calamity 
upon  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  that !  I  was  the  only 
one  to  blame.  We  shall  get  on  splendidly 
here." 

Mr.  Arbuton  suffered  a  vague  disappoint- 
ment. At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  was  a 
formless  hope  that  he  might  in  some  way 
be  necessary  to  the  Ellisons  in  their  adver- 
sity ;  or  if  not  that,  then  that  something 
might  entangle  him  further  and  compel  his 
stay.  But  they  seemed  quite  equal  in  them- 
selves to  the  situation  ;  they  were  in  far 
more  comfortable  quarters  than  they  could 
have  hoped  for,  and  plainly  should  want  for 


100  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

nothing ;  Fortune  put  on  a  smiling  face,  and 
bade  him  go  free  of  them.  He  fancied  it  a 
mocking  smile  though,  as  he  stood  an  in- 
stant silently  weighing  one  thing  against 
another.  The  colonel  was  patiently  waiting 
his  motion  ;  Mrs.  Ellison  sat  watching  him 
from  the  sofa  ;  Kitty  moved  about  the  room 
with  averted  face, — a  pretty  domestic  pre 
senoe,  a  household  priestess  ordering  the 
temporary  Penates.  Mr.  Arbuton  opened 
his  lips  to  say  farewell,  but  a  god  spoke 
through  them, — inconsequently,  as  the  gods 
for  the  most  part  do, — saying,  "  Be- 
sides, I  suppose  you  've  got  all  the  rooms 
here." 

*'  Oh,  as  to  that  I  don't  know,"  answered 
the  colonel,  not  recognising  the  language 
of  inspiration,  "let's  ask."  Kitty  knocked 
a  photograph-book  oflf  the  table,  and  Mrs. 
Ellison  said,  "  Why,  Kitty  !  "  But  nothing 
more  was  spoken  till  the  landlady  came. 
She  had  another  room,  but  doubted  if  it 
would  answer.  It  was  in  the  attic,  and  was 
a  back  room,  though  it  bad  a  pleasant  out- 
look. Mr.  Arbuton  had  no  doubt  that  it 
would  do  very  well  for  the  day  or  two  he 
was  going  to  stay,  and  took  it  hastily,  with- 
out going  to  look  at  it.  He  had  his  valise 
carried  up  at  once,  and  then  he  went  to  the 


MR.  arbuton's  inspiration,        101 

post-office  to  see  if  he  had  any  letters,  oflfer- 
ing  to  ask  also  for  Colonel  Ellison. 

Kitty  stole  off  to  explore  the  chamber 
given  her  at  the  rear  of  the  house ;  that  is  to 
say,  she  opened  the  window  looking  out  on 
what  their  hostess  told  her  was  the  garden 
of  the  Ursultne  Convent,  and  stood  there  in 
a  mute  transport.  A  black  cross  rose  in  the 
midst,  and  all  about  this  wandered  the  paths 
and  alleys  of  the  garden,  through  clumps  of 
lilac-bushes  and  among  the  spires  of  holly- 
hocks. The  grounds  were  enclosed  by  high 
walls  in  part,  and  ui  part  by  the  gi'oup  of 
the  convent  edifices,  built  of  grey  stone,  high 
gabled,  and  topped  by  dormer-windowed 
steep  roofs  of  tin,  which,  under  the  high 
morning  sun,  lay  an  expanse  of  keenest  splen- 
dour, while  many  a  grateful  shadow  dappled 
the  full-foliagcd  garden  below.  Two  slim, 
tall  poplars  stood  against  the  gable  of  the 
chapel,  and  shot  their  tops  above  its  roof, 
and  under  a  porch  near  them  two  nuns  sat 
motionless  in  the  sun,  black-robed,  with 
black  veils  falling  over  their  shoulders,  and 
their  white  faces  lost  in  the  white  linen  that 
draped  them  from  breast  to  crown.  Their 
hands  lay  quiet  in  their  laps,  and  they  seemed 
unconscious  of  the  other  nuns  walking  in 
the  garden-paths  with  little  children,  their 


102  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

pupils,  and  answering  their  laughter  from  time 
to  time  with  voices  as  simple  and  innocent  as 
their  own.  Kitty  looked  down  upon  them 
all  with  a  swelling  heart.  They  were  but 
figures  in  a  beautiful  pictui-e  of  something 
old  and  poetical ;  but  she  loved  them,  and 
pitied  them,  and  was  most  happy  in  them, 
the  same  as  if  they  had  been  real.  It  could 
not  be  that  they  and  she  were  in  the  same 
world  :  she  must  be  dreaming  over  a  book  in 
Charley's  room  at  Eriecreek.  She  shaded 
her  eyes  for  a  better  look,  when  the  noon- 
day gun  boomed  from  the  citadel ;  the  bell 
upon  the  chapel  jangled  harshly,  and  those 
strange  maskers,  those  quaint  black  birds 
with  white  breasts  and  faces,  flocked  in- 
doors. At  the  same  time  a  small  dog  under 
her  window  howled  dolorously  at  the  jang- 
ling of  the  bell ;  and  Kitty,  with  an  impar- 
tial joy,  turned  from  the  pensive  romance  of 
the  convent  garden  to  the  mild  comedy  of 
the  scene  to  which  his  woful  note  attracted 
her.  When  he  had  uttered  his  anguish,  he 
relapsed  into  the  quietest  small  French  dog 
that  ever  was,  and  lay  down  near  a  large 
tranquil  cat,  whom  neither  the  bell  nor  he 
had  been  able  to  stir  from  her  slumbers  in 
the  sun  ;  a  peasant-like  old  man  kept  on 
?awing  wood,  and  a  little  child  stood  still 


ME.    ARBTJTOS'S  INSPIRATIOX.  103 

amidst  the  larkspurs  and  marigolds  of  a  tiny 
garden,  while  over  the  flower-pots  on  the 
low  window-sill  of  the  neighbouring  house 
to  which  it  belonged,  a  young,  motherly 
face  gazed  peacefully  out.  The  great  extent 
of  the  convent  grounds  had  left  this  poor 
garden  scarce  breathing-space  for  its  humble 
blooms  ;  with  the  low  paling  fence  that  separ- 
ated it  from  the  adjoining  house-yards  it 
looked  like  a  toy-garden  or  the  background 
of  a  puppet-show,  and  in  its  way  it  was  as 
quaintly  unreal  to  the  young  girl  as  the 
nunnery  itself. 

When  she  saw  it  first,  the  city's  walls  and 
other  warlike  ostentations  had  taken  her 
imagination  with  the  historic  grandeur  of 
Quebec;  but  the  fascination  deepened  now 
that  she  was  admitted,  as  it  were,  to  the 
religious  heart  and  the  domestic  privacy  of 
the  famous  old  town.  She  was  romantic,  as 
most  good  young  girls  are  ;  and  she  had  the 
same  pleasure  in  the  strangeness  of  the 
things  about  her  as  she  would  have  felt  in 
the  keeping  of  a  charming  story.  To  Fanny's 
"Well,  Kitty,  I  suppose  all  this  just  suits 
you,"  when  she  had  returned  to  the  little 
parlour  where  the  sufferer  lay,  she  answered 
with  a  sigh  of  irrepressible  content,  "Oh 
yes !  could  anything  be   more  beautiful  ? " 


104  A  CUANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

and  her  enraptured  eye  dwelt  upon  the  lo\«' 
ceilings,  the  deep,  wide  chimneys  eloquent 
of  the  mighty  fires  with  which  they  must 
roar  in  winter,  the  French  windows  with 
their  curious  and  clumsy  fastenings,  and 
every  little  detail  that  made  the  place  alien 
and  precious. 

Fanny  broke  into  a  laugh  at  the  visionary 
absence  in  her  face. 

"  Do  you  think  the  place  is  good  enough 
for  your  hero  and  heroine?"  asked  she, 
slyly ;  for  Kitty  had  one  of  those  family 
reputes,  so  hard  to  survive,  for  childish 
attempts  of  her  o'svti  in  the  world  of  fiction 
where  so  great  part  of  her  life  had  been 
passed ;  and  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  was  as  un- 
literary  a  soul  as  ever  breathed,  admired  her 
with  the  heartiness  which  unimaginative 
people  often  feel  for  their  idealising  friends, 
and  believed  that  she  was  always  deep  in 
the  mysteries  of  some  plot. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Kitty  answered  with 
a  little  colour,  "about  heroes  and  heroines; 
but  I'd  like  to  live  here,  myself.  Yes," 
she  continued,  rather  to  herself  than  to 
her  listener,  "I  do  believe  this  is  what  I 
was  made  for.  I've  always  wanted  to  live 
amongst  old  things,  in  a  stone  house  with 
dormer-windows.     "Wliy,  there  isn't  a  single 


MR.  arbuton's  inspiration.         105 

donner-window  in  Eriecreek,  nor  even  a 
brick  house,  let  alone  a  stone  one.  Oh 
yes,  indeed  !  I  was  meant  for  an  old 
country." 

"Well,  then,  Kitty,  I  don't  see  what 
you  're  to  do  but  to  many  East  and  live 
East ;  or  else  find  a  rich  husband,  and  get 
him  to  take  you  to  Europe  to  live. " 

"Yes;  or  get  him  to  come  and  live  in 
Quebec.  That 's  all  I  'd  ask,  and  he  needn't 
be  a  very  rich  man,  for  that. " 

"Why,  you  poor  child,  what  sort  of  hus- 
band could  you  get  to  settle  down  in  ihis 
dead  old  place?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  some  kind  of  artist  or 
literarj'  man. " 

This  was  not  Mrs.  Ellison's  notion  of  the 
kind  of  husband  who  was  to  realise  for  Kitty 
her  fancy  for  life  in  an  old  country  ;  but  she 
was  content  to  let  the  matter  rest  for  the 
present,  and,  in  a  serene  thankfulness  to  the 
power  that  had  brought  two  marriageable 
young  creatures  together  beneath  the  same 
roof,  and  under  her  own  observance,  she 
composed  herself  among  the  sofa-cushions, 
from  which  she  meant  to  conduct  the  cam- 
paign against  Mr.  Arbuton  with  relentless 
vigour. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "it  won't  be  fair  if  you 


106  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

are  not  happy  in  this  world,  Kitty,  you  ask 
so  little  of  it ;  "  while  Kitty  turned  to  the 
window  overlooking  the  street,  and  lost 
herself  in  the  drama  of  the  passing  figures 
below.  They  were  new,  and  yet  oddly 
familiar,  for  she  had  long  known  them  in 
the  realm  of  romance.  The  peasant- women 
who  went  by,  in  hats  of  felt  or  straw,  some 
on  foot  with  baskets,  and  some  in  their  light 
market-carts,  were  all,  in  their  wrinkled  and 
crooked  age  or  their  fresh-faced,  strong- 
limbed  youth,  her  friends  since  childhood  in 
many  a  tale  of  France  or  Germany  ;  and  the 
black-robed  priests,  who  mixed  with  the 
passers  on  the  narrow  wooden  sidewalk,  and 
now  and  then  courteously  gave  way,  or  lifted 
their  wide-rimmed  hats  in  a  gi-ave,  smiling 
salutation,  were  more  recent  acquaintances, 
but  not  less  intimate.  They  were  out  of  old 
romances  about  Italy  and  Spain,  in  which 
she  was  very  learned ;  and  this  butcher's 
boy,  tilting  along  through  the  crowd  with  a 
half-staggering  run,  was  from  any  one  of 
Dickens's  stories,  and  she  divined  that  the 
four-armed  wooden  trough  on  his  shoulder 
was  the  butcher's  tray,  which  figures  in 
every  novelist's  description  of  a  London 
street-crowd,  Thei-e  were  many  other  types, 
as  French  mothers  of  families  with  market- 


MR.  arbuton's  inspiration-.        107 

baskets  on  their  arms ;  very  pretty  French 
school-girls  with  books  under  their  arms ; 
wild-looking  country  boys  with  red  rasp- 
berries in  birch-bark  measures  ;  and  quiet 
gliding  nuns  with  white  hoods  and  downcast 
faces  ;  each  of  whom  she  unerringly  relegated 
to  an  appropriate  comer  of  her  world  of  un- 
reality, A  young,  mild-faced,  spectacled 
Anglican  curate  she  did  not  give  a  moment's 
pause,  but  rushed  him  instantly  through  the 
whole  series  of  Anthony  TroUope's  novels, 
which  dull  books,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  she  had 
read,  and  liked,  every  one ;  and  then  she 
began  to  find  various  people  astray  out  of 
Thackeray.  The  trig  corporal,  with  the 
little  visorless  cap  worn  so  jauntily,  the 
light  stick  carried  in  one  hand,  and  the 
broad-sealed  official  document  in  the  other, 
had  also,  in  his  breast-pocket,  one  of  those 
brief,  infrequent  missives  which  Lieutenant 
Osborne  used  to  send  to  poor  Amelia ;  a  tall, 
awkward  officer  did  duty  for  Major  Dobbin  ; 
and  when  a  very  pretty  lady  driving  a  pony 
carriage,  with  a  footman  in  livery  on  the 
little  perch  behind  her,  drew  rein  beside  the 
pavement,  and  a  handsome  young  captain  in 
a  splendid  uniform  saluted  her  and  began 
talking  with  her  in  a  langiiid,  affected  way, 
it  was  Osborne  recreant  to  the  thought  of 


108  A    CHANCE  ACQUAINTAKCE. 

his  betrothed,  one  of  whose  tender  letters  he 
kept  twirling  in  his  fingers  while  he 
talked. 

Most  of  the  people  whom  she  saw  passing 
had  letters  or  papers,  and,  in  fact,  they  were 
coming  from  the  post-ofiice,  where  the  noon- 
day mails  had  just  been  opened.  So  she 
went  on  turning  substance  into  shadow, — 
unless,  indeed,  flesh  and  blood  is  the  illusion, 
— and,  as  I  am  bound  to  o^vn,  catching  at 
very  slight  pretexts  in  many  cases  for  the 
exercise  of  her  sorcery,  when  her  eye  fell 
upon  a  gentleman  at  a  little  distance.  At 
the  same  moment  he  raised  his  eyes  from  a 
letter  at  which  ;_he  had  been  glancing,  and 
ran  them  along  the  row  of  houses  opposite, 
till  they  rested  on  the  window  at  which 
she  stood.  Then  he  smiled  and  lifted  his 
hat,  and,  vnth.  a  start,  she  recognised  Mr. 
Arbuton,  while  a  certain  chill  stmck  to  her 
heart  through  the  tumult  she  felt  there. 
Till  he  saw  her  there  had  been  such  a  cold 
reserve  and  hauteur  in  his  bearing,  that  the 
trepidation  which  she  had  felt  about  him  at 
times,  the  day  before,  and  which  had  worn 
quite  away  under  the  events  of  the  morning, 
was  renewed  again,  and  the  aspect  in  which 
he  had  been  so  strange  that  she  did  not 
know  him,  seemed  the  only  one  that  he  had 


1\1R.    ARBUTON'a   INSPIRATIQ-^-.  1 09 

ever  worn.  This  effect  lasted  till  Mr.  Arbu- 
ton  could  find  his  way  to  her,  and  place  in 
her  eager  hand  a  letter  from  the  girls  and 
Dr.  Ellison.  She  forgot  it  then,  njid  van- 
ished till  she  read  her  letter. 


110  A    CHA^'CE    ACQUAINTANCE 


MR.  AllEUTON  MAKES  HIMSELF 
AGREEABLE. 

THE  first  care  of  Colonel  Ellison  had  been 
to  call  a  doctor,  and  to  know  the  worst 
about  the  sprained  ankle,  upon  which  his 
plans  had  fallen  lame ;  and  the  worst  was 
that  it  was  not  a  bad  sprain,  but  Mrs. 
Ellison,  having  been  careless  of  it  the  day 
before,  had  aggravated  the  hurt,  and  she 
must  now  hav^e  that  perfect  rest,  which 
physicians  prescribe  so  recklessly  of  other 
interests  and  duties,  for  a  week  at  least,  and 
possibly  two  or  three. 

The  colonel  was  still  too  much  a  soldier  to 
be  impatient  at  the  doctor's  order,  but  he 
was  of  far  too  active  a  temper  to  be  quiet 
under  it.  He  therefore  proposed  to  himself 
nothing  less  than  the  capture  of  Quebec  in 
an  historical  sense,  and  even  before  dinner 
he  began  to  prepare  for  the  campaign.  Ho 
sallied  forth,  and  descended  upon  the  book- 
stores wherever  he  found  them  lurking,  in 


ARBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    Ill 

whatsoever  recess  of  the  Upper  or  Lower 
To\\Ti,  and  returned  home  laden  with  guide- 
books to  Quebec,  and  monographs  upon 
episodes  of  local  history,  such  as  are  pro- 
duced in  great  quantity  by  the  semi-clerical 
literary  taste  of  out-of-the-way  Catholic 
capitals.  The  colonel  (who  had  gone  actively 
into  business,  after  leaving  the  army,  at  the 
close  of  the  war)  had  always  a  newspaper 
somewhere  about  him,  but  he  was  not  a 
reader  of  many  books.  Of  the  volumes  in 
the  doctor's  library,  he  had  never  in  former 
days  willingly  opened  any  but  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare,  and  Don  Quixote,  long  passages 
of  which  he  knew  by  heart.  He  had  some- 
times attempted  other  books,  but  for  the 
most  of  Kitty's  favourite  authors  he  pro- 
fessed as  frank  a  contempt  as  for  the  Mound - 
Builders  themselves.  He  had  read  one  book 
of  travel,  namely,  "  The  Innocents  Abroad," 
which  he  held  to  be  so  good  a  book  that  he 
need  never  read  anything  else  about  the 
countries  of  which  it  treated.  When  he 
brought  in  this  extraordinary  collection  of 
pamphlets,  both  Kitty  and  Fanny  knew 
what  to  expect ;  for  the  colonel  was  as  ready 
to  receive  literature  at  second-liand  as  to 
avoid  its  original  sources.  He  had  in  this 
way  picked  up  a  gi-eat  deal  of  useful  know- 


112  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

ledge,  and  he  was  famous  for  clipping  from 
newspapers  scraps  of  instructive  fact,  all  of 
which  he  relentlessly  remembered.  He  had 
already  a  fair  outline  of  the  local  history  in 
his  mind,  and  this  had  been  deepened  and 
freshened  by  Dr.  Ellison's  recent  talk  of  his 
historical  studies.  Moreover,  he  had  secured 
in  the  course  of  the  present  journey,  from 
his  wife's  and  cousin's  reading  of  divers 
guide-books,  a  new  store  of  names  and  dates, 
which  he  desired  to  attach  to  the  proper 
localities  with  their  help. 

"Light  reading  for  leisure  hours,  Fanny," 
said  Kitty,  looking  askance  at  the  colonel's 
literature  as  she  sat  down  near  her  cousin 
after  dinner. 

"Yes;  and  you  start  fair,  ladies.  Start 
with  Jacques  Cartier,  ancient  mariner  of 
Dieppe,  in  the  year  1535,  No  favouritism 
in  this  investigation  ;  no  bringing  forward  of 
Champlain  or  Montcalm  prematurely ;  no 
running  oS  on  subsequent  conquests  or  other 
aide-issues.  Stick  to  the  discovery,  and  the 
names  of  Jacques  Cartier  and  Donnacona. 
Come,  do  something  for  an  honest  living. " 

' '  Who  was  Donnacona  ? "  demanded  Mrs, 
Ellison,  M-ith  indifference. 

"  That  is  just  what  these  fascinating  little 
volumes  will  tell  us.     Kitty,  read  something 


AREUTON   MAKES   HIMSELF  AGREEABLE.    113 

to  your  suffering  cousins  about  Donnacona, 
— he  sounds  uncommonly  like  an  Irishman," 
answered  the  colonel,  establishing  himself  iii 
an  easy-chair  ;  and  Kitty  picked  up  a  small 
sketch  of  the  history  of  Quebec,  and,  open- 
ing it,  fell  into  the  trance  which  came  upon 
her  at  the  touch  of  a  book,  and  read  on  for 
some  pages  to  herself. 

•'  Well,  upon  my  word,"  said  the  colonel, 
"  I  might  as  well  be  reading  about  Donna- 
cona myself,  for  any  comfort  I  get." 

"  Oh,  Dick,  I  forgot.  I  was  just  looking. 
Now  I'm  really  going  to  commence." 

"No,  not  yet,"  cried  Mrs.  Ellison,  rising 
on  her  elbow.     '  Where  is  LIr.  Arbuton  ? 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  Donnacona,  my 
dear  ? " 

"  Everything.  You  know  he  's  stayed  on 
our  account,  and  I  never  heard  of  anything 
so  impolite,  so  inhospitable,  as  offering  to 
read  without  him.  Go  and  call  him,  Richard, 
do." 

"  Oh,  no,"  pleaded  Kitty,  "he  won't  care 
about  it.    Don't  call  him,  Dick." 

"Why,  Kitty,  I'm  surprised  at  you! 
When  you  read  so  beautifully  !  You  needn't 
be  ashamed,  I'm  sure." 

"I'm  not  ashamed;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  I  don't  want  to  read  to  hiiru" 


114  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  Well,  call  him  anyway,  colonel.  He's 
in  his  room. " 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Kitty,  -with  superfluous 
dignity,  "  I  must  go  away." 

"Very  well,  Kittj^  just  as  you  please. 
Only  I  want  Richard  to  witness  that  I  'm  not 
to  blame  if  Mr.  Arbuton  thinks  us  unfeeling 
or  neglectful." 

' '  Oh,  if  he  doesn't  say  what  he  thinks, 
it'll  make  no  difference." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  this  is  a  good  deal 
of  fuss  to  make  about  one  human  being,  a 
mere  passing  man  and  brother  of  a  day, 
isn't  it?"  said  the  colonel.  "Go  on  with 
Donnacona,  do." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Kitty 
leaped  nervously  to  her  feet,  and  fled  out  of 
the  room.  But  it  was  only  the  little  French 
serving-maid  upon  some  en'and  which  she 
quickly  despatched. 

"Well,  ?!ow  what  do  you  think?"  asked 
Mrs.  Ellison. 

"Why,  I  think  you've  a  surprising  know- 
ledge of  French  for  one  who  studied  it  at 
school.  Do  you  suppose  she  understood 
you  ?  " 

"Oh,  nonsense  !  You  know  I  mean  Kitty 
and  her  very  queer  behaviour.  Richard,  if 
you  moon  at  me  in  that  stupid  way,"  she 


ARBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    115 

continued,  "  I  shall  certainly  end  in  au 
insane  asylum.  Can't  you  see  what 's  under 
your  very  nose  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  can,  Fanny,"  answered  the 
colonel,  "  if  anything's  there.  But  I  give 
you  my  word,  I  don't  know  any  more  than 
millions  yet  unborn  what  you  're  driving  at. " 
The  colonel  took  up  the  book  which  Kitty 
had  thro^^Ti  do^\^l,  and  went  to  his  room  to 
try  to  read  up  Donnacona  for  himself,  while 
his  wife  penitently  turned  to  a  pamphlet  in 
French,  which  he  had  bought  with  the 
others.  "After  all,"  she  thought,  "men 
will  be  men  ; "  and  seemed  not  to  find  the 
fact  wholly  wanting  in  consolation. 

A  few  minutes  after  tliere  was  a  murmur 
of  voices  in  the  entry  without,  at  a  window 
looking  upon  the  convent  garden,  where  it 
happened  to  Mr.  Arbuton,  descending  from 
his  attic  chamber,  to  find  Kitty  standing,  a 
pretty  shape  against  the  reflected  light  of 
the  convent  roofs,  and  amidst  a  little 
greenery  of  house-plants,  tall  geraniums,  an 
overarching  ivy,  some  delicate  roses.  She 
had  paused  there,  on  her  way  from  Fanny's 
to  her  own  room,  and  was  looking  into  the 
garden,  where  a  pair  of  silent  nuns  were 
pacing  up  and  down  the  paths,  turning  now 
their  backs   with   the  heavy  sable  coifiure 


116  A   CHAXCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

sweeping  their  black  robes,  and  now  their 
still,  mask-like  faces,  set  in  that  stiflF  frame- 
work of  white  linen.  Sometimes  they  came 
so  near  that  she  could  distinguish  their 
features,  and  imagine  an  expression  that 
she  should  know  if  she  saw  them  again  ;  and 
while  she  stood  self-forgetfuUy  feigning  a 
character  for  each  of  them,  Mr.  Arbuton 
spoke  to  her  and  took  his  place  at  her  side. 

"  We  're  remarkably  favoured  in  having 
this  bit  of  opera  under  our  windows.  Miss 
Ellison,"  he  said,  and  smiled  as  Kitty 
answered,  "  Oh,  is  it  really  like  an  opera? 
I  never  saw  one,  but  I  could  imagine  it  must 
be  beautiful,"  and  they  both  looked  on  in 
silence  a  moment,  while  the  nuns  moved, 
shadowlike,  out  of  the  garden,  and  left  it 
empty. 

Then  Mr.  Arbuton  said  something  to 
which  Kitty  answered  simply,  "I'll  see  if 
my  cousin  doesn't  want  me,"  and  presently 
stood  beside  Mrs.  Ellison's  sofa,  a  little 
conscious  in  colour.  ' '  Fannj',  Mr.  Arbuton 
has  asked  me  to  go  and  see  the  cathedral 
\vith  him.    Do  you  think  it  would  be  right  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ellison's  triumphant  heart  rose  to 
her  lips.  Why,  you  dear,  particular, 
innocent  little  goose,"  she  cried,  flinging  her 
arms  about  Kitty,  and  kissing  her  till  the 


ARBUTON   MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    117 

young  girl  blushed  again ;  "of  course  it 
would  I  Go  !  You  mustn't  stay  mewed  up 
in  here.  /  sha'n't  be  able  to  go  about  with 
you  ;  and  if  I  can  judge  by  the  colonel's 
breailung,  as  he  calls  it,  from  the  room  in 
there,  he  won't,  at  present.  But  the  idea  of 
your  having  a  question  of  propriety  ! "  And 
indeed  it  was  the  first  time  Kitty  had  ever 
had  such  a  thing,  and  the  remembrance  of 
it  put  a  kind  of  restraint  upon  her,  as 
she  strolled  demurely  beside  Mr.  Arbuton 
towards  the  cathedral. 

"  You  must  be  guide,"  said  he,  "  for  this 
is  my  first  day  in  Quebec,  you  know,  and 
you  are  an  old  inhabitant  in  comparison. " 

"I'll  show  the  way,"  she  answered,  "if 
you'll  interpret  the  sights.  I  think  I  must 
be  stranger  to  them  than  you,  in  spite  of 
my  long  residence.  Sometunes  I  'm  afraid 
that  I  do  only  fancy  I  enjoy  these  things,  as 
Mrs.  March  said,  for  I  've  no  European  ex- 
periences to  contrast  them  with.  I  know 
that  it  seems  very  delightful,  though,  and 
quite  like  what  I  should  expect  in  Europe. " 

"  You'd  expect  very  little  of  Europe,  then, 
in  most  things  ;  though  there 's  no  disputing 
that  it's  a  very  pretty  illusion  of  the  Old 
World." 

A  few  steps  had  brought  them  into  the 


118  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

market-sqnare  in  front  of  the  cathedral, 
where  a  little  belated  traffic  still  lingered  in 
the  few  old  peasant-women  hovering  over 
baskets  of  such  fruits  and  vegetables  as  had 
long  been  out  of  season  in  the  States,  and 
the  housekeepers  and  sei-ving-maids  cheapen- 
ing these  wares.  A  sentry  moved  mechani- 
cally up  and  down  before  the  high  portal  of 
the  Jesuit  Barracks,  over  the  arch  of  which 
were  still  the  letters  I.H.S.  carved  long  ago 
upon  the  keystone  ;  and  the  ancient  edifice 
itself,  with  its  yellow  stucco  front  and  its 
grated  windows,  had  every  right  to  bo  a 
monastery  turned  barracks  in  France  or 
Italy.  A  row  of  quaint  stone  houses — inns 
and  shops — formed  the  upper  side  of  the 
Square  ;  while  the  modem  buildings  of  the 
Rue  Fabrique  on  the  lower  side  might  serve 
very  well  for  that  show  of  improvement 
which  deepens  the  sentiment  of  the  neigh- 
bouring antiquity  and  decay  in  Latin  towns. 
As  for  the  cathedral,  which  faced  the  con- 
vent from  across  the  Square,  it  was  as  cold 
and  torpid  a  bit  of  Eenaissance  as  could  be 
found  in  E,ome  itself.  A  red-coated  soldier 
or  two  passed  through  the  Square  ;  three  or 
four  neat  little  French  policemen  lounged 
about  in  blue  uniforms  and  flaring  havelocks  ; 
some   walnut-faced,   blue-eyed   old   citizens 


ARBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    119 

and  peasants  sat  upon  the  thresholds  of  the 
row  of  old  houses,  and  gazed  dreamily 
through  the  smoke  of  their  pipes  at  the 
slight  stir  and  glitter  of  shopping  about  the 
fine  stores  of  the  Rue  Fabrique.  An  air  of 
serene  disoccupation  pervaded  the  place, 
with  which  the  occasional  riot  of  the  drivers 
of  the  long  row  of  calashes  and  carriages  in 
front  of  the  cathedral  did  not  discord. 
Whenever  a  stray  American  wandered  into 
the  Square,  there  was  a  wild  flight  of  these 
drivers  toward  him,  and  his  person  was  lost 
to  sight  amidst  their  pantomime.  They  did 
not  try  to  underbid  each  other,  and  thei' 
were  perfectly  good-humoured ;  as  soon  as 
he  had  made  his  choice,  the  rejected  multi- 
tude returned  to  their  places  on  the  curb- 
stone, pursuing  the  successful  aspirant  with 
insci-utable  jokes  as  he  drove  off,  while  the 
horses  went  on  munching  the  contents  of 
their  leathern  head-bags,  and  tossing  them 
into  the  air  to  shake  down  the  lurking 
grains  of  com. 

' '  It  is  like  Europe ;  your  friends  were 
right,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton  as  they  escaped 
into  the  cathedral  from  one  of  these  friendly 
onsets.  "It's  quite  the  atmosphere  of 
foi'eign  travel,  and  you  ought  to  be  able  to 
realise  the  feelings  of  a  tomist. ' 


120  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

A  priest  was  saying  mass  at  one  of  the 
side-altars,  assisted  by  acolytes  in  their 
everj'day  clothes ;  and  outside  of  the  railing 
a  market-woman,  with  a  basket  of  choke- 
cherries,  knelt  among  a  few  other  poor  people. 
Presently  a  young  English  couple  came  in, 
he  with  a  dashing  India  scarf  about  his  hat, 
and  she  very  stylishly  dressed,  who  also 
made  their  genuflections  with  the  rest,  and 
then  sat  down  and  dropped  their  heads  in 
prayer. 

"This  is  like  enough  Europe,  too,"  mur- 
mured Mr.  Arbuton.  "It's  very  good 
North  Italy ;  or  South,  for  the  matter  of 
that. " 

"Oh,  is  it?"  answered  Kitty,  joyously. 
' '  I  thought  it  must  be  ! "  And  she  added, 
in  that  trustful  way  of  hers,  "It's  all  verj' 
familiar ;  but  then  it  seems  to  me  on  this 
journey  that  I  've  seen  a  great  many  things 
tliat  I  know  I  have  only  read  of  before ; " 
and  so  followed  Mr,  Arbuton  in  his  tour  of 
the  pictures. 

She  was  as  ignorant  of  art  as  any  Roman 
or  Florentine  girl  whose  life  has  been  passed 
in  the  midst  of  it ;  and  she  believed  these 
mighty  fine  pictures,  and  was  puzzled  by 
Mr.  Arbuton's  behaviour  towards  them, 
who  was  too  little  imaginative  or  too  con- 


ARBUTON   MAKES   HIMSELF   AGKEEABLK.    121 

Bcieiitious  to  make  merit  for  them  out  of  the 
things  they  suggested.  He  treated  the  poor 
altar-pieces  of  the  Quebec  cathedral  with  the 
same  harsh  indifference  he  would  have 
sho'wn  to  the  second-rate  paLutings  of  a 
European  gallery  ;  doubted  the  Vandyck, 
and  cared  nothing  for  the  Conception,  "in 
the  style  of  Le  Bnin,"  over  the  high-altar, 
though  it  had  the  historical  interest  of  hav- 
ing survived  that  bombardment  of  1759 
which  destroyed  the  church. 

Kitty  innocently  singled  out  the  worst 
picture  Lq  the  place  as  her  favourite,  and 
then  was  piqued,  and  presently  frightened, 
at  his  cold  reluctance  about  it.  He  made 
her  feel  that  it  was  very  bad,  and  that  she 
shared  its  inferiority,  though  he  said  nothing 
to  that  effect.  She  learned  the  shame  of 
not  being  a  connoisseur  in  a  connoisseur's 
company,  and  she  perceived  more  painfully 
than  ever  before  that  a  Bostonian,  who  had 
been  much  in  Europe,  might  be  very  uncom- 
fortable to  the  simple,  untravelled  American. 
Yet,  she  reminded  herself,  the  Marches  had 
been  in  Europe,  and  they  were  Bostonians 
also ;  and  they  did  not  go  about  putting 
everything  under  foot ;  they  seemed  to  care 
for  everything  they  saw,  and  to  have  a 
friendly  jest,   if  not  praises,  for  it.      .She 


122  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

liked  that ;  she  would  have  been  well 
enough  pleased  to  have  Mr.  Arbuton  laugh 
outright  at  her  picture,  and  she  could  have 
joined  him  in  it.  But  the  look,  however 
flattered  into  an  air  of  polite  question  at  last, 
which  he  had  bent  upon  her,  seemed  to  out- 
law her  and  condemn  her  taste  in  everything. 
As  they  passed  out  of  the  cathedral,  she 
would  rather  have  gone  home  than  continued 
the  walk  as  he  begged  her,  if  she  were  not 
tired,  to  do ;  but  this  would  have  been 
flight,  and  she  was  not  a  coward.  So  they 
sauntered  down  the  Kue  Fabrique,  and 
turned  into  Palace  Street.  As  they  went 
by  the  door  of  Hotel  Musty,  her  pleasant 
friends  came  again  into  her  mind,  and  she 
said,  "This  is  where  we  stayed  last  week, 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  March." 

"  Those  Boston  people  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  live  in 
Boston  ? " 

"Why,  we  have  their  address;  but  I 
can't  think  of  it.  I  believe  somewhere  in 
the  southern  part  of  the  city  " — 

"  The  South  End  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  that 's  it.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  them  I " 

"No." 


AKBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF  AGEEEABLE.    123 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  have 
known  Mr.  March.     He's  in  the  insurance 

business. " 

•'Oh  no!  No,  I  don't  know  him,"  said 
Mr.  Arbuton,  eagerly.  Kitty  wondered  if 
there  could  be  anything  wrong  with  the 
business  repute  of  Mr.  March,  but  dismissed 
the  thought  as  unworthy ;  and  having  per- 
ceived that  her  friends  were  snubbed,  she 
said  bravely,  that  they  were  the  most  de- 
lightful people  she  had  ever  seen,  and  she 
was  soiTy  that  they  were  not  still  in  Quebec. 
He  shared  lier  regret  tacitly,  if  at  all,  and 
they  walked  in  silence  to  the  gate,  whence 
they  strolled  down  the  winding  street  out- 
side the  wall  into  the  Lower  Town.  But 
it  was  not  a  pleasant  ramble  for  Kitty ;  she 
was  in  a  dim  dread  of  hitherto  unseen  and 
unimagined  trespasses  against  good  taste, 
not  only  in  pictures  and  people,  but  in  all 
life,  which,  from  having  been  a  very  smiling 
prospect  when  she  set  out  with  Mr.  Arbuton, 
had  suddenly  become  a  narrow  pathway,  in 
which  one  must  pick  one's  way  with  more 
regard  to  each  step  than  any  general  end. 
All  this  was  as  obscure  and  uncertain  as  the 
intimations  which  had  produced  it,  and 
which,  in  words,  had  really  amoimted  to 
nothing.     But  she  felt  more  and  more  that 


124  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

in  her  companiou  there  was  Bomething 
wholly  alien  to  the  influences  which  had 
shaped  her  ;  and  though  she  could  not  know 
how  much,  she  was  sure  of  enough  to  make 
her  dreary  in  his  presence. 

They  wandered  through  the  quaiatness 
and  noiseless  bustle  of  the  Lower  Town 
thoroughfares,  and  came  by  and  by  to  that 
old  church,  the  oldest  in  Quebec,  which  was 
built  near  two  hundred  years  ago,  in  fulfil- 
ment of  a  vow  made  at  the  repulse  of  Sir 
William  Phipps's  attack  upon  the  city,  and 
further  famed  for  the  prophecy  of  a  nun, 
that  this  church  should  be  ruined  by  the 
fire  in  which  a  successful  attempt  of  the 
English  was  yet  to  involve  the  Lower  Town. 
A  painting,  which  represented  the  vision  of 
the  nun,  perished  in  the  conflagration  which 
verified  it,  in  1759 ;  but  the  walls  of  the 
ancient  structure  remain  to  witness  this 
singular  piece  of  history,  which  Kitty  now 
glanced  at  furtively  in  one  of  the  colonel's 
guide-books  ;  since  her  ill-fortune  with  the 
picture  in  tlie  cathedral,  she  had  not  openly 
cared  for  anything. 

At  one  side  of  the  church  there  was  a 
booth  for  the  sale  of  crockery  and  tin  ware ; 
and  there  was  an  every-day  cheerfulness  of 
email  business  in  the  shops  and  tented  stands 


ARBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    125 

about  the  square  on  which  the  church  faced, 
and  through  which  there  was  continual  pass- 
ing of  heavy  burdens  from  the  port,  swift 
calashes,  and  slow,  country-paced  market- 
carts. 

Mr.  Arbuton  made  no  motion  to  enter  the 
church,  and  Kitty  would  not  hint  the 
curiosity  she  felt  to  see  the  interior ;  and 
while  they  lingered  a  moment,  the  door 
opened,  and  a  peasant  came  out  with  a  little 
coffin  in  his  arms.  His  eyes  were  dim  and 
his  face  wet  with  weeping,  and  he  bore  the 
little  coffin  tenderly,  as  if  his  caress  might 
reach  the  dead  child  within.  Behind  him 
she  came  who  must  be  the  mother,  her  face 
deeply  hidden  in  her  veil.  Beside  the  pave- 
ment waited  a  shabby  calash,  -n-ith  a  driver 
half  asleep  on  his  perch  ;  and  the  man,  still 
clasping  his  precious  burden,  clambered  into 
the  vehicle,  and  laid  it  upon  his  knees, 
while  the  woman  groped,  through  her  tears 
and  veil,  for  the  step.  Kitty  and  her  com- 
panion had  moved  reverently  aside ;  but 
now  Mr.  Arbuton  came  forward,  and  helped 
the  woman  to  her  place.  She  gave  him  a 
hoarse,  sad  "  Mercil  "  and  spread  a  fold  of 
her  shawl  fondly  over  the  end  of  the  little 
coffin  ;  the  drowsy  driver  whipped  up  hia 
beast,  and  the  calash  jolted  away. 


12G  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Kitty  cast  a  grateful  glance  upon  Sir. 
Arbuton,  as  they  now  entered  the  church,  by 
a  common  impulse.  On  their  way  towards 
the  high-altar  they  passed  the  rude  black 
bier,  with  the  tallow  candles  yet  smoking  in 
tlieir  black  wooden  candlesticks.  A  few 
worshippers  were  dropped  here  and  there  in 
the  vacant  seats,  and  at  a  principal  side- 
altar  knelt  a  poor  woman  praying  before  a 
wooden  elBgy  of  the  dead  Christ  that  lay  in 
a  glass  case  under  the  altar.  The  image 
was  of  life-size,  and  was  painted  to  represent 
life,  or  rather  death,  with  false  hair  and 
beard,  and  with  the  muslin  drapery  managed 
to  expose  the  stigmata :  it  was  stretched 
upon  a  bed  strewn  with  artificial  flowers  ; 
and  it  was  dreadful  But  the  poor  soul  at 
her  devotions  thei-e  prayed  to  it  in  an 
ecstasy  of  supplication,  flinging  her  arms 
asunder  %vith  imploring  gesture,  clasping  her 
hands  and  bowing  her  head  upon  them, 
while  her  person  swayed  from  side  to  side  in 
the  abandon  of  her  prayer.  Who  could 
she  be,  and  what  was  her  mighty  need 
of  blessing  or  forgiveness  ?  As  her  wont 
was,  Kitty  threw  her  o-mi  soul  into  the 
imagined  case  of  the  suppliant,  the  tragedy 
of  her  desire  or  sorrow.  Yet,  like  all  who 
6ufi"er  sympathetically,  she  was  not  without 


ARBUTON    MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    127 

consolations  unknown  to  the  principal ;  and 
the  waning  afternoon,  as  it  lit  up  the  con- 
ventional ugliness  of  the  old  church,  and  the 
paraphernalia  of  its  worship,  relieved  her 
emotional  self-abandon  with  a  remote  sense 
of  content,  so  that  it  may  have  been  a 
jealousy  for  the  integrity  of  her  own  reverie, 
as  well  as  a  feeling  for  the  poor  woman,  that 
made  her  tremble  lest  Mr.  Arbuton  should 
in  some  way  disparage  the  spectacle.  I  sup- 
pose that  her  interest  in  it  was  more  an 
sesthetic  than  a  spiritual  one  ;  it  embodied 
to  her  sight  many  a  scene  of  penitence  that 
had  played  before  her  fancy,  and  I  do  not 
know  but  she  would  have  been  willmg  to 
have  the  suppliant  guilty  of  some  dreadful 
misdeed,  rather  than  eating  meat  last 
Friday,  which  was  probably  her  sin.  How- 
ever it  was,  the  ancient  crone  before  that 
ghastly  idol  was  precious  to  her,  and  it 
seemed  too  great  a  favour,  when  at  last  the 
suppliant  wiped  her  eyes,  rose  trembling 
from  her  knees,  and,  approaching  Kitty, 
stretched  towards  her  a  shaking  palm  for 
charity. 

It  was  a  touch  that  transfigured  all,  and 
gave  even  Mr.  Arbuton 's  neutrality  a  light 
of  ideal  character.  He  bestowed  the  alms 
craved  of  him  in  turn,  he  did  not  repulse 


128  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTA>'CF,. 

the  beldame's  blessing;  and  Kitty,  who 
was  already  moved  by  his  kindness  to  that 
poor  mourner  at  the  door,  forgot  that  the 
earlier  part  of  their  walk  had  been  so  miser- 
able, and  climbed  back  to  the  Upper  Town 
through  the  Prescott  Gate  in  greater  gaiety 
than  she  had  yet  known  that  day  in  his 
company.  I  think  he  had  not  done  much 
to  make  her  cheerful ;  but  it  is  one  of  the 
advantages  of  a  temperament  like  his,  that 
very  little  is  expected  of  it,  and  that  it  can 
more  easily  than  any  other  make  the  human 
heart  glad  ;  at  the  least  softening  in  it,  the 
soul  frolics  with  a  craven  lightsomeness. 
For  this  reason  Kitty  was  able  to  enjoy 
with  novel  satisfaction  the  picturesqueness 
of  Mountain  Street,  and  they  both  admired 
the  huge  shoulder  of  rock  near  the  gate, 
mth  its  poplars  atop,  and  the  battery  at 
the  brink,  with  the  muzzles  of  the  guns 
thrust  forward  against  the  sky.  She  could 
not  move  him  to  her  pleasure  in  the 
grotesqueness  of  the  circus-bills  plastered 
half-way  up  the  rock  ;  but  he  tolerated  the 
levity  with  which  she  commented  on  them, 
and  her  light  sallies  upon  passing  things, 
and  he  said  nothing  to  prevent  her  reaching 
home  in  serene  satisfaction. 

"  Well,   Kitty,"  said   the   tenant  of  the 


ARBUTON    MAKES    HIMSELF   AGREEABLE.    129 

sofa,  as  Kitty  and  the  colonel  drew  up  to 
the  table  on  \vhich  the  tea  was  laid  at  the 
sofa-side,  "you've  had  a  nice  walk,  haven't 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  very  nice.  That  is,  the  first 
part  of  it  wasn't  very  nice  ;  but  after  a 
while  we  reached  an  old  church  in  the 
Lower  Town, — which  was  very  interesting, 
— and  then  we  appeared  to  cheer  up  and 
take  a  new  start. " 

"Well,"  asked  the  colonel,  "what  did 
you  find  so  interesting  at  that  old  church  ?  " 

"Why,  there  was  a  baby's  funeral ;  and 
an  old  woman,  perfectly  crushed  by  some 
trouble  or  other,  praying  before  an  altar, 
and  " — 

"  It  seems  to  take  very  little  to  cheer 
you  up,"  said  the  colonel.  "All  you  ask 
of  your  fellow-beings  is  a  heart-breaking  be- 
reavement and  a  religious  agony,  and  you 
are  lively  at  once.  Some  people  might  re- 
quire human  sacrifices,  but  you  don't." 

Kitty  looked  at  her  cousin  a  moment  with 
vague  amaze.  The  grossness  of  the  absurd- 
ity flashed  upon  her,  and  she  felt  as  if 
another  touch  must  bring  the  tears.  She 
said  nothing ;  but  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  saw 
only  that  she  was  cut  off  from  her  heart's 
desire  of  gossip,  came  to  the  rescue. 


130  A  OHANCE  ACKiUAINTANCE. 

"  Don't  answer  a  word,  Kitty,  not  a  single 
word  ;  I  never  heard  anything  more  insult- 
ing from  one  cousin  to  another  ;  and  I 
should  say  it,  if  I  was  brought  into  a  court 
of  justice." 

A  sudden  burst  of  laughter  from  Kitty, 
who  hid  her  conscious  face  in  her  hands, 
interrupted  Mrs.  Ellison's  defence. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  piqued  at 
her  desertion,  "I  hope  you  understand 
yourselves.  /  don't."  This  was  Mrs. 
Ellison's  attitude  towards  her  husband's 
whole  family,  who  on  their  part  never  had 
been  able  to  account  for  the  colonel's 
choice  except  as  a  joke,  and  sometimes 
questioned  if  he  had  not  perhaps  carried 
the  joke  too  far ;  though  they  loved  her 
too,  for  a  kind  of  passionate  generosity  and 
sublime,  inconsequent  unselfishness  about 
her. 

"What  I  want  to  know,  noiv,"  said  the 
colonel,  as  soon  as  Kitty  would  let  him, 
"  and  I  '11  try  to  put  it  as  politely  as  I  can, 
is  simply  this  :  What  made  the  first  part  of 
your  walk  so  disagreeable  ?  You  didn't  see 
a  wedding  party,  or  a  child  rescued  from  a 
horrible  death,  or  a  man  saved  from  drown- 
ing, or  anything  of  that  kind,  did  you  ?  " 

But  the  colonel  would  have  done  better 


AJRBDTOM    MAKES   HIMSELF  AGREEABLE.    131 

not  to  say  auytbing.  His  wife  was  made 
peevish  by  his  persistence,  and  the  loss  of 
the  harmless  pleasure  upon  which  she  had 
counted  in  the  history  of  Kitty's  walk  with 
Mr.  Arbuton.  Kitty  herself  would  not 
laugh  again  ;  in  fact  she  grew  serious  and 
thoughtful,  and  presently  took  up  a  book, 
and  after  that  went  to  her  own  room,  where 
she  stood  a  while  at  her  window,  and  looked 
out  on  the  garden  of  the  Ursulines.  The 
moon  hung  full  orb  in  the  stainless  heaven, 
and  deepened  the  mystery  of  the  paths  and 
trees,  and  lit  the  silvery  roofs  and  chimneys 
of  the  convent  with  tender  effulgence.  A 
wandering  odour  of  leaf  and  flower  stole  up 
from  the  garden,  but  she  perceived  the 
sweetness,  like  the  splendour,  with  veiled 
senses.  She  was  turning  over  in  her  thought 
the  incidents  of  her  walk,  and  trying  to 
make  out  if  anything  had  really  happened, 
first  to  provoke  her  against  Mr.  Arbuton, 
and  then  to  reconcile  her  to  him.  Had  he 
said  or  done  anything  about  her  favourite 
painting  (which  she  hated  now),  or  the 
Marches,  to  offend  her  ?  Or  if  it  had  been 
his  tone  and  manner,  was  his  after-conduct 
at  the  old  church  sufficient  penance  ?  What 
was  it  he  had  done  tliat  common  humanity 
did  not  require  ?    Was  he  so  very  supei-ior 


132  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

to  common  humanity,  that  she  should 
meekly  rejoice  at  his  kindness  to  the  afflicted 
mother  ?  Why  need  she  have  cared  for  his 
forbearance  towards  the  rapt  devotee  ?  She 
became  aware  that  she  was  ridiculous. 
"Dick  was  right,"  she  confessed,  "and  I 
will  not  let  myself  be  made  a  goose  of  ;  "  and 
when  the  bugle  at  the  citadel  called  the 
soldiers  to  rest,  and  the  harsh  chapel-bell 
bade  the  nuns  go  dream  of  heaven,  she  also 
fell  asleep,  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  light 
heart  in  her  breast. 


A    LETTER   OF    KITTY'S.  133 


VI. 

A  LETTER  OF  KITTY's. 

Quebec,  August  — ,  1870. 

DEAR  GIRLS,— Since  the  letter  I  wrote 
you  a  day  or  two  after  we  got  here, 
we  have  been  going  on  very  much  as  you 
might  have  expected.  A  whole  week  has 
passed,  but  we  still  bear  our  enforced  leisure 
with  fortitude ;  and  though  Boston  and 
New  York  are  both  fading  into  the  impro- 
bable (as  far  as  we  are  concerned),  Quebec 
continues  inexhaustible,  and  I  don't  begrudge 
a  moment  of  the  time  we  are  giving  it. 

Fanny  still  keeps  her  sofa  ;  the  first 
enthusiasm  of  her  affliction  has  worn  away, 
and  she  has  nothing  to  sustain  her  now  but 
planning  our  expeditions  about  the  city. 
She  has  got  the  map  and  the  history  of 
Quebec  by  heart,  and  she  holds  us  to  the 
literal  fulfilment  of  her  instructions.  On 
this  account,  she  often  has  to  send  Dick  and 
me  out  together  when  she  would  like  to 
keep  him  with  her,  for  she  won't  trust  either 


134  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

of  US  alone,  and  when  we  come  back  she 
examines  us  separately  to  see  whether  we 
have  skipped  anything.  This  makes  us 
faithful  in  the  smallest  things.  She  says 
she  is  determined  that  Uncle  Jack  shall 
have  a  full  and  circumstantial  report  from 
me  of  all  that  he  wants  to  know  about  the 
celebrated  places  here,  and  I  really  think  he 
will,  if  I  go  on,  or  am  goaded  on,  in  this 
way.  It's  pure  devotion  to  the  cause  in 
Fanny,  for  you  know  she  doesn't  care  for 
such  things  herself,  and  has  no  pleasure  in 
it  but  carrying  a  point.  Her  chief  consola- 
tion under  her  trial  of  keeping  still  is  to  see 
how  I  look  in  her  dififerent  dresses.  She 
sighs  over  me  as  I  appear  in  a  new  garment, 
and  says,  Oh,  if  she  only  had  the  dressing 
of  me  !  Then  she  gets  up  and  limps  and 
hops  across  the  room  to  where  I  stand  before 
the  glass,  and  puts  a  pin  here  and  a  ribbon 
there,  and  gives  my  hair  (which  she  has 
dressed  herself)  a  little  dab,  to  make  it  lie 
differently,  and  then  scrambles  back  to  her 
sofa,  and  knocks  her  lame  ankle  against 
Bomething,  and  lies  there  groaning  and 
enjoying  herself  like  a  martyr.  On  days 
when  she  thinks  she  is  never  going  to  get 
well,  she  says  she  doesn't  know  why  she 
doesn't  give  me  her  things  at  once  and  be 


A    LETTER   OF    KITTY'S.  135 

done  with  it ;  and  on  days  when  she  thinks 
she  is  going  to  get  well  right  away,  she  says 
she  will  have  me  one  made  something  like 
whatever  dress  I  have  got  on,  as  soon  as 
she  's  home.  Then  up  she  '11  jump  again  for 
the  exact  measure,  and  tell  me  the  history 
of  every  stitch,  and  how  she'll  have  it 
altered  just  the  least  gi'ain,  and  differently 
trimmed  to  suit  my  complexion  better  ;  and 
ends  by  having  promised  to  get  me  some- 
thing not  in  the  least  like  it.  You  have 
some  idea  already  of  what  Fanny  is ;  and 
all  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  multiply  it  by 
about  fifty  thousand.  Her  sprained  ankle 
simply  intensifies  her  whole  character. 

Besides  helping  to  compose  Fanny's  expe- 
ditionary corps,  and  really  exerting  himseli 
in  the  cause  of  Uncle  Jack,  as  he  calls  it, 
Dick  is  behaving  beautifully.  Every  morn- 
ing, after  breakfast,  he  goes  over  to  the 
hotel,  and  looks  at  the  arrivals  and  reads 
the  newspapers,  and  though  we  never  get 
anything  out  of  him  afterwards,  we  some- 
how feel  informed  of  all  that  is  going  on. 
He  has  taken  to  smoking  a  clay  pipe  in 
honour  of  the  Canadian  fashion,  and  he 
wears  a  gay,  barbaric  scarf  of  Indian  muslin 
wound  round  his  hat  and  flying  out  behind  ; 
because  the  Quebeckera  protect  themselves 


136  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

in  that  way  against  sunstroke  when  the 
thermometer  gets  up  among  the  sixties. 
He  has  also  bought  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  to 
be  prepared  for  the  other  extreme  of  weather, 
in  case  anything  else  should  happen  to 
Fanny,  and  detain  us  into  the  winter. 
When  he  has  rested  from  his  walk  to  the 
hotel,  we  usually  go  out  together  and 
explore,  as  we  do  also  in  the  afternoon  ; 
and  in  the  evening  we  walk  on  Durham 
Terrace,  —  a  promenade  overlooking  the 
river,  where  the  whole  cramped  and 
crooked  city  goes  for  exercise.  It's  a 
formal  parade  in  the  evening;  but  one 
morning  I  went  there  before  breakfast,  for 
a  change,  and  found  it  the  resort  of  careless 
ease  j  two  or  three  idle  boys  were  sunning 
themselves  on  the  carriages  of  the  big  guns 
that  stand  on  the  Terrace  ;  a  little  dog  was 
barking  at  the  chimneys  of  the  Lower  Town, 
and  an  old  gentleman  was  walking  up  and 
down  in  his  dressing-goAva  and  slippers, 
just  as  if  it  were  his  own  front  porch.  He 
looked  something  like  Uncle  Jack,  and  I 
wislied  it  had  been  he, — to  see  the  smoke 
curling  softly  up  from  the  Lower  Town,  the 
bustle  about  the  market-place,  and  the 
shipping  in  the  river,  and  the  haze  hanging 
over  the  water  a  little   way  off,  and  the 


A    LETTER   OF    KITTY'S,  137 

near  hills  all  silver,  and  the  distant  ones 
blue. 

But  if  we  are  coming  to  the  gi-and  and 
the  beautiful,  why,  there  is  no  direction  in 
which  you  can  look  about  Quebec  without 
seeing  it;  and  it  is  always  mixed  up  with 
something  so  familiar  and  homelike,  that 
my  heart  warms  to  it.  The  Jesuit  Barracks 
are  just  across  the  street  from  us  in  the 
foreground  of  the  most  magnificent  land- 
scape ;  the  building  is — think,  you  Erie- 
creeks  of  an  hour  ! — two  hundred  years  old, 
and  it  looks  five  hundred.  The  English 
took  it  away  from  the  Jesuits  in  1760,  and 
have  used  it  as  baiTacks  ever  since  ;  but  it 
isn't  in  the  least  changed,  so  that  a  Jesuit 
missionary  who  visited  it  the  other  day  said 
that  it  was  as  if  his  brother  priests  had  been 
driven  out  of  it  the  week  before.  Well, 
you  might  think  so  old  and  so  historical  a 
place  would  be  putting  on  airs,  but  it  takes 
as  kindly  to  domestic  life  as  a  new  frame- 
house,  and  I  am  never  tired  of  looking  over 
into  the  yard  at  the  frowsy  soldiers'  wives 
hanging  out  clothes,  and  the  unkempt 
children  playing  among  the  burdocks,  and 
chickens  and  cats,  and  the  soldiers  them- 
selves carrying  about  the  officers'  boots,  or 
sawing  wood  and  picking  up  chips  to  boil 


138  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  tea-kettle.  They  are  oflF  dignity  as  well 
a3  off  duty,  then  ;  but  when  they  are  on 
both,  and  in  full  dress,  they  make  our 
volunteers  (as  I  remember  them)  seem  very 
shabby  and  slovenly. 

Over  the  belfry  of  the  Barracks,  our  win- 
dows command  a  view  of  half  Quebec,  with 
its  roofs  and  spires  dropping  down  the  slope 
to  the  Lower  Town,  where  the  maats  of  the 
ships  in  the  river  come  tapering  up  among 
them,  and  then  of  a  plain  stretching  from 
the  river  in  the  valley  to  a  range  of  moun- 
tains against  the  horizon,  with  far-off  white 
villages  glimmering  out  of  their  purple  folds. 
The  whole  plain  is  bright  with  houses  and 
harvest-fields ;  and  the  distinctly  divided 
farms — the  owners  cut  them  up  every  gener- 
ation, and  give  each  son  a  strip  of  the  entire 
length — run  back  on  either  hand,  from  the 
straight  roads  bordered  by  poplars,  while 
the  highways  near  the  city  pass  between 
lovely  villas. 

But  this  landscape  and  the  Jesuit  Bar- 
racks, with  all  their  merits,  are  nothing  to 
the  Ursiiline  Convent,  just  under  our  back 
windows,  which  I  told  you  something  about 
in  my  other  letter.  We  have  been  reading 
up  its  history  since,  and  we  know  about 
Madame  de  la  Peltrie,  the  noble   Norman 


A    LETTER   OJ    KITTY's.  139 

lady  who  founded  it  in  1640.  She  was  very 
rich  and  very  beautiful,  and  a  saint  from 
the  beginning,  so  that  when  her  husband 
died,  and  her  poor  old  father  wanted  her  to 
marry  again  and  not  go  into  a  nunnery,  she 
didn't  mind  cheating  him  by  a  sham  mar- 
riage with  a  devout  gentleman ;  and  she 
came  to  Canada  as  soon  as  her  father  was 
dead,  with  another  saint,  Marie  de  I'lncar- 
nation,  and  founded  this  convent.  The  first 
building  is  standing  yet,  as  strong  as  ever, 
though  everything  but  the  stone  walls  waa 
burnt  two  centuries  ago.  Only  a  few  years 
since  an  old  ash-tree,  under  which  the  Ui-su- 
lines  first  taught  the  Indian  children,  blew 
down,  and  now  a  large  black  cross  marks  its 
place.  The  modem  nuns  are  in  the  garden 
nearly  the  whole  morning  long,  and  by  night 
the  ghosts  of  the  former  nuns  haunt  it ;  and 
in  very  bright  moonlight  I  myself  do  a  bit 
of  Madame  de  la  Peltrie  there,  and  teach 
little  Indian  boys,  who  dwindle  like  those 
in  the  song,  as  the  moon  goes  down.  It  is 
an  enchanted  place,  and  I  wish  we  had  it  in 
the  back  yard  at  Eriecreek,  though  I  don't 
think  the  neighbours  Avould  approve  of  the 
architecture.  I  have  adopted  two  nuns  for 
my  own  :  one  is  tall  and  slender  and  pallid, 
and  you  can  see  at  a  glance  that  she  broke 


140  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  heart  of  a  mortal  lover,  and  knew  it, 
when  she  became  the  bride  of  heaven  1  and 
the  other  is  short  and  plain  and  plump,  and 
looks  as  comfortable  and  commonplace  as 
life -after- dinner.  When  the  world  is  bright 
I  revel  in  the  statue-like  sadness  of  the 
beautiful  nun,  who  never  laughs  or  plays 
with  the  little  girl  pupils  ;  but  when  the 
world  is  dark — as  the  best  of  worlds  will  be 
at  times  for  a  minute  or  two — I  take  to  the 
fat  nun,  and  go  in  for  a  clumsj'  I'omp  with 
the  children ;  and  then  I  fancy  that  I  am 
wiser  if  not  better  than  the  fair  slim  Ursu- 
line.  But  whichever  I  am,  for  the  time 
being,  I  am  vexed  with  the  other ;  yet  they 
always  are  together,  as  if  they  were  counter- 
parts. I  think  a  nice  story  might  be  wx'itten 
about  them. 

In  Wolfe's  siege  of  Quebec  this  Ursuliue 
Garden  of  ours  was  everywhere  torn  up  by 
the  falling  bombs,  and  the  sisters  were  driven 
out  into  the  world  they  had  forsaken  for 
ever,  as  Fanny  has  been  reading  in  a  little 
French  account  of  the  events,  viTitten  at  the 
time,  by  a  nun  of  the  General  Hospital.  It 
was  there  the  Ursulmes  took  what  refuge 
there  was  ;  going  from  their  cloistered  school- 
rooms and  their  innocent  little  ones  to  the 
wards  of  the  hospital,  filled  with  the  wounded 


A    LETTER   OF    KITTY'S.  141 

and  dying  of  either  side  and  echoing  with 
their  dreadful  groans.  What  a  sad,  evil, 
bewildering  world  they  had  a  glimpse  ofl 
In  the  garden  here,  our  poor  Montcalm — 
I  belong  to  the  French  side,  please,  in 
Quebec — was  buried  in  a  grave  dug  for  him 
by  a  bursting  shell.  They  have  his  skull 
now  in  the  chaplain's  room  of  the  convent, 
where  we  saw  it  the  other  day.  They  have 
made  it  comfortable  in  a  glass  box,  neatly 
bound  with  black,  and  covered  with  a  white 
lace  drapery,  just  as  if  it  were  a  samt's.  It 
was  broken  a  little  in  taking  it  out  of  the 
grave ;  and  a  few  years  ago,  some  English 
officers  boiTOwed  it  to  look  at,  and  were 
horrible  enough  to  pull  out  some  of  the 
teeth.  Tell  Uncle  Jack  the  head  is  very 
broad  above  the  ears,  but  the  forehead  is 
small. 

The  chaplain  also  showed  us  a  copy  of  an 
old  painting  of  the  first  convent,  Indian 
lodges,  Madame  de  la  Peltrie's  house,  and 
Madame  herself,  veiy  splendidly  dressed, 
with  an  Indian  chief  before  her,  and  some 
French  cavaliers  riding  down  an  avenue 
towards  her.  Then  he  showed  us  some  of 
the  nuns'  work  in  albums,  painted  and  let- 
tered in  a  way  to  give  me  an  idea  of  old 
missals.     By  and  by  he  went  into  the  chapel 


142  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE, 

with  US,  and  it  gave  such  a  queer  notion  of 
his  indoors  life  to  have  him  put  on  an  over- 
coat and  india-rubbers  to  go  a  few  rods 
through  the  open  air  to  the  chapel  door; 
he  had  not  been  very  well,  he  said.  When 
he  got  m,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  put  on  an 
octagonal  priest's  cap,  and  showed  us  every- 
thing in  the  kindest  way— and  his  manners 
were  exquisite.  There  were  beautiful  paint- 
ings sent  out  from  France  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution ;  and  wood-carvings  round  the 
high-altar,  done  by  Quebec  artists  in  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century;  for  he  said 
they  had  a  school  of  arts  then  at  St.  Anne's, 
twenty  miles  below  the  city.  Then  there 
was  an  ivory  crucifix,  so  life-like  that  you 
could  scarcely  bear  to  look  at  it.  But  what 
I  most  cared  for  was  the  tiny  twinkle  of  a 
votive  lamp  which  he  pointed  out  to  us  in 
one  corner  of  the  nuns'  chapel :  it  was  lit  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  by  two  of  our 
French  officers  when  their  sister  took  the 
veil,  and  has  never  been  extinguished  since, 
except  during  the  siege  of  1759.  Of  course^ 
I  think  a  story  might  be  written  about  this  ; 
aiid  the  truth  is,  the  possibilities  of  fiction 
in  Quebec  are  overpowering ;  I  go  about  in 
a  perfect  haze  of  romances,  and  meet  people 
at  every  turn  who  have  nothmg  to  do  but 


A    LETTEK   OF   kitty's.  143 

invite  the  passing  novelist  into  their  houses, 
and  have  their  likenesses  done  at  once  for 
heroes  and  heroines.  They  needn't  change 
a  thing  about  them,  but  sit  just  as  they  are  ; 
and  if  this  is  in  the  present,  only  thuik  how 
the  ■whole  past  of  Quebec  must  be  crying  out 
to  be  put  into  historical  romances  ! 

I  wish  you  could  see  the  houses,  and  how 
substantial  they  are.  I  can  only  think  of 
Eriecreek  as  an  assemblage  of  huts  and  bark- 
lodges  in  contrast.  Our  boarding-house  is 
comparatively  slight,  and  has  stone  walls 
only  a  foot  and  a  half  thick,  but  the  avei'age 
is  two  feet  and  two  and  a  half ;  and  the 
other  day  Dick  went  through  the  Laval 
University, — he  goes  everj^nhere  and  gets 
acquainted  with  everybody, — and  saw  the 
foundation  walls  of  the  first  building,  which 
have  stood  all  the  sieges  and  conflagrations 
since  the  seventeenth  century  ;  and  no  won- 
der, for  they  are  six  feet  thick,  and  form  a 
series  of  low-vaulted  corridors,  as  heavy,  he 
says,  as  the  casemates  of  a  fortress.  There 
is  a  beautiful  old  carved  staircase  there,  of 
the  same  date ;  and  he  liked  the  president, 
a  priest,  ever  so  much  ;  and  we  like  the 
looks  of  all  the  priests  we  sec ;  they  are  so 
handsome  and  polite,  and  they  all  speak 
English,  with  some  funny  little  defect.     The 


144  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

other  day  we  asked  such  a  nice  young  priest 
about  the  way  to  Hare  Point,  where  it  in 
said  the  RecoUet  friars  had  their  first  mission 
on  the  marshy  meadows  :  he  didn't  know  of 
this  bit  of  history,  and  we  showed  him  our 
book.  "Ala!  you  see,  the  book  say  'pro- 
bab-ly  the  site.'  If  it  had  said  certainly,  I 
should  have  known.  But  -pro-bab-ly,  pro- 
iab-ly,  you  see  ! "  However,  he  showed  us 
the  way,  and  down  we  went  through  the 
Lower  To\vn,  and  out  past  the  General 
Hospital  to  this  Pointe  aux  Lifevres,  which 
is  famous  also  because  somewhere  near  it,  on 
the  St.  Charles,  Jacques  Cartier  wintered 
in  1536,  and  kidnapped  the  Indian  king 
Donnacona,  whom  he  carried  to  France. 
And  it  was  here  Montcalm's  forces  tried  to 
rally  after  their  defeat  by  "Wolfe.  (Please 
read  this  several  times  to  Uncle  Jack,  so  that 
he  can  have  it  impressed  upon  him  how 
faithful  I  am  in  my  historical  researches. ) 

It  makes  me  dreadfully  Angry  and  sad  to 
think  the  French  should  have  been  robbed  of 
Quebec,  after  what  they  did  to  build  it.  But 
it  is  still  quite  a  French  city  in  everything, 
even  to  sympathy  with  France  in  the  Prus- 
sian war,  which  you  would  hardly  think 
they  would  care  about.  Our  landlady  says 
the  very  boys  in  the  street  know  about  the 


A   LETTER   OF   KITTY'S.  145 

battles,  and  explain,  every  time  the  French 
are  beaten,  how  they  were  outnumbered  and 
betrayed, — something  the  way  we  used  to 
do  in  the  first  of  our  war. 

I  suppose  you  will  think  I  am  crazy ;  but 
I  do  wish  Uncle  Jack  would  wind  up  his 
practice  at  Ei-iecreek,  and  sell  the  house, 
and  come  to  live  at  Quebec.  I  have  been 
asking  prices  of  things,  and  I  find  that 
everything  is  very  cheap,  even  according  to 
the  Eriecreek  standai'd ;  we  could  get  a 
beautiful  house  on  the  St.  Louis  Road  for 
two  hundred  a  year ;  beef  is  ten  or  twelve 
cents  a  pound,  and  everything  else  in  pro- 
portion. Then  besides  that,  the  washing  is 
sent  out  into  the  country  to  be  done  by  the 
peasant-women,  and  there  isn't  a  crumb  of 
bread  baked  in  the  house,  but  it  all  comes 
from  the  bakers  ;  and  only  think,  girls,  what 
a  relief  that  would  be  !  Do  get  Uncle  Jack 
to  consider  it  seriously. 

Since  I  began  this  letter  the  afternoon 
has  worn  away — the  light  from  the  sunset 
on  the  mountains  would  glorify  our  supper- 
table  without  extra  charge,  Lf  we  lived  here 
— and  the  twilight  has  passed,  and  the  moon 
has  come  up  over  the  gables  and  dormer- 
windows  of  the  convent,  and  looks  into  the 
garden  so  invitingly  that  I  can't  help  join- 

K 


146  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

ing  her.  So  I  will  put  my  wi'iting  by  till 
to-morrow.  The  goiug-to-bed  bell  has  rung, 
and  the  red  lights  have  vanished  one  by  one 
from  the  ■windows,  and  the  nuns  are  asleep, 
and  another  set  of  ghosts  are  playing  in  the 
garden  with  the  copper-coloured  phantoms 
of  the  Indian  children  of  long  ago.  What ! 
not  Madame  de  la  Peltrie  ?  Oh  !  how  do 
they  like  those  little  fibs 'of  yours  up  in 
teaven  ? 

Sunday  afternoon. — As  we  were  at  the 
French  cathedral  last  Sunday,  we  went  to 
the  English  to-day  ;  and  I  could  easily  have 
imagined  myself  in  some  church  in  old  Eng- 
land, hearing  the  royal  family  prayed  for, 
and  listening  to  the  pretty  poor  sermon 
delivered  with  such  an  English  brogue.  The 
people,  too,  had  such  Englishy  faces  and 
such  queer  little  eccentricities  of  dress  ;  the 
young  lady  that  sang  contralto  in  the  choir 
wore  a  scarf  like  a  man's  on  her  hat.  The 
cathedral  isn't  much,  architecturally,  I  sup 
pose,  but  it  affected  me  very  solemnly,  and 
T  couldn't  help  feeling  that  it  was  as  much 
a  part  of  British  power  and  grandeur  as 
the  citadel  itself.  Over  the  bishop's  seat 
drooped  the  flag  of  a  Crimean  regiment, 
tattered  by  time  and  battles,  which  was 
hung   up    here   with   great  ceremonies,   in 


»    LETTER   OF   KITTY'S.  147 

1860  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  presented 
them  with  new  colours ;  and  up  in  the 
gallery  was  a  kind  of  glorified  pew  for 
royal  highnesses  and  governors-general  and 
so  forth,  to  sit  in  when  they  are  here. 
There  are  tablets  and  monumental  busts 
about  the  walls ;  and  one  to  the  memory 
of  the  Duke  of  Lennox,  the  governor-general 
who  died  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century 
from  the  bite  of  a  fox  ;  which  seemed  an 
odd  fate  for  a  duke,  and  somehow  made  me 
very  sorry  for  him. 

Fanny,  of  course,  couldn't  go  to  church 
with  me,  and  Dick  got  out  of  it  by  lingering 
too  late  over  the  newspapers  at  the  hotel, 
and  BO  I  trudged  off  with  our  Bostonian, 
who  is  still  with  us  here.  I  didn't  dwell 
much  upon  him  in  my  last  letter,  and  I  don't 
believe  now  I  can  make  him  quite  clear  to 
you.  He  has  been  a  good  deal  abroad,  and 
he  is  Europeanised  enough  not  to  think 
much  of  America,  though  I  can't  find  that 
he  quite  approves  of  Europe,  and  his  experi- 
ence seems  not  to  have  left  him  any  par- 
ticular country  in  either  hemisphere. 

He  isn't  the  Bostonian  of  Uncle  Jack's 
imagination,  and  I  suspect  he  wouldn't  like 
to  be.  He  is  rather  too  young,  still,  to  have 
much  of  an  anti-slavery  record,  and  even  if 


f48  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

he  had  lived  soon  enough,  I  think  that  he 
would  not  have  been  a  John  Brown  man. 
I  am  afraid  that  he  believes  in  "  vulgar  and 
meretricious  distinctions"  of  all  sorts,  and 
that  he  hasn't  an  atom  of  "  magnanimous 
democracy  "  in  him.  In  fact,  I  find,  to  my 
great  astonishment,  that  some  ideas  which 
I  thought  were  held  only  in  England,  and 
which  I  had  never  seriously  thought  of,  seem 
actually  a  part  of  Mr.  Arbuton's  nature  or 
education.  He  talks  about  the  lower  classes, 
and  tradesmen,  and  the  best  people,  and 
good  families,  as  I  suppose  nobody  in  thh 
country  ever  did, — in  earnest.  To  be  sure, 
I  have  always  been  reading  of  characters 
who  had  such  opinions,  but  I  thought  they 
were  just  put  into  novels  to  eke  out  some 
bodj''s  unhappiness, — to  keep  the  high-born 
daughter  from  marrying  beneath  her  for  love, 
and  so  on  ;  or  else  to  be  made  fun  of  in  the 
person  of  some  silly  old  woman  or  some 
odious  snob  ;  and  I  could  hardly  believe  at 
first  that  our  Bostonian  was  serious  in  talk- 
ing in  that  way.  Such  things  sound  so  dif- 
fei'ently  in  real  life  ;  and  I  laughed  at  them 
till  I  found  that  he  didn't  know  what  to 
make  of  my  laughing,  and  then  I  took  leave 
to  differ  with  him  in  some  of  his  notions ; 
but  he  never  disputes  anji;hing  I  say,  and 


A    LETTER   OF    KITTY'S.  149 

80  makes  it  seem  rude  to  differ  with  him. 
I  always  feel,  though  he  begins  it,  as  if 
I  had  thrust  my  opinions  upon  him.  But 
in  spite  of  his  weaknesses  and  disagree- 
abilities,  there  is  something  really  high  about 
him ;  he  is  so  scrupulously  true,  so  exactly 
just,  that  Uncle  Jack  himself  couldn't  be 
more  so  ;  though  you  can  see  that  he  re- 
spects his  virtues  as  the  peculiar  result  of 
some  extraordinaiy  system.  Here  at  Quebec, 
though  he  goes  round  patronising  the  land- 
scape and  the  antiquities,  and  coldly  smiling 
at  my  little  enthusiasms,  there  is  really  a 
great  deal  that  ought  to  be  at  least  improv- 
ing in  him.  I  get  to  paying  him  the  same 
respect  that  he  pays  himself,  and  imbues  his 
verj'  clothes  with,  till  everything  he  has  on 
appears  to  look  like  him  and  respect  itself 
accordingly.  I  have  often  wondered  what 
his  hat,  his  honoured  hat,  for  instance, 
would  do,  if  I  should  throw  it  out  of  the 
front  window.  It  would  make  aoi  earth- 
quake, I  believe. 

He  is  politely  curious  about  us  ;  and  from 
time  to  time,  in  a  shrinking,  disgusted  way, 
he  asks  some  leading  question  about  Erie- 
creek,  which  he  doesn't  seem  able  to  form  any 
idea  of,  as  much  as  I  explain  it.  He  clings 
to  his  original  notion,  that  it  is  in  the  heail; 


150  A   CHANCE    ACQUAINTA^'CE. 

of  the  Oil  Regions,  of  which  he  has  seen 
pictures  in  the  illustrated  papers  ;  and  when 
I  assert  myself  against  his  opinions,  he  treats 
me  very  gingerly,  as  if  I  were  an  explosive 
sprite,  or  an  inflammable  naiad  from  a  tor- 
pedoed well,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  safe  to 
oppose  me,  or  I  would  disappear  with  a  flash 
and  a  bang. 

When  Dick  isn't  able  to  go  with  me  on 
Fanny's  account,  Mr.  Arbuton  takes  his 
place  in  the  expeditionary  corps  ;  and  we 
have  visited  a  good  many  points  of  interest 
together,  and  now  and  then  he  talks  very 
entertainingly  about  his  travels.  But  I 
don't  think  they  have  made  him  very  cos- 
mopolitan. It  seems  as  if  he  went  about 
with  a  little  imaginary  standard,  and  was 
chiefly  interested  in  things,  to  see  whether 
they  fitted  it  or  not.  Trifling  matters  annoy 
him  ;  and  when  he  finds  sublimity  mixed  up 
with  absurdity,  it  almost  makes  him  angry. 
One  of  the  oddest  and  oldest-looking  build- 
ings in  Quebec  is  a  little  one-story  house  on 
St.  Louis  Street,  to  which  poor  General  Mont- 
gomery was  taken  after  he  was  shot ;  and 
't  is  a  pastiy-cook's  now,  and  the  tarts  and 
cakes  in  the  window  vexed  Mr.  Arbuton  so 
much — not  that  he  seemed  to  care  for  Mont- 
gomery—that I  didn't  dare  to  laugh. 


A    LETTER  OF   KITTY's.  151 

I  live  very  little  in  the  nineteenth  century 
at  present,  and  do  not  care  much  for  people 
who  do.  Still  I  have  a  few  grains  of  affec- 
tion left  for  Uncle  Jack,  which  I  want  you 
to  give  him. 

I  suppose  it  will  take  about  six  stamps  to 
pay  this  letter.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Dick 
goes  to  be  barbered  every  day  at  the  "  Mont- 
calm Shaving  and  Shampooing  Saloon,"  so 
called  because  they  say  Montcalm  held  his 
last  council  of  war  there.  It  is  a  queer  little 
steep-roofed  house,  with  a  flowering  bean  up 
the  front,  and  a  bit  of  garden,  full  of  snap- 
dragons, before  it. 

We  shall  be  here  a  week  or  so  yet,  at  any 
rate,  and  then,  I  think,  we  shall  go  straight 
home,  Dick  has  lost  so  much  time  already. 

With  a  great  deal  of  love,  your 

Kitty. 


152  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCK. 


vn. 

love's  young  dream. 

WITH  the  two  young  people  whose  days 
now  lapsed  away  together,  it  could 
not  be  said  that  Monday  varied  much 
ivom  Tuesday,  or  ten  o'clock  from  half-past 
three  ;  they  were  not  always  certain  what 
day  of  the  week  it  was,  and  sometimes  they 
fancied  that  a  thing  which  happened  in  the 
morning  had  taken  place  yesterday  after- 
noon. 

But  whatever  it  was,  and  however  un- 
certain LQ  time  and  character  theu'  slight 
adventure  was  to  themselves,  Mrs.  Ellison 
secured  all  possible  knowledge  of  it  from 
Kitty.  Since  it  was  her  misfortune  that 
promoted  it,  she  considered  herself  a  martyr 
to  Kitty's  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Arbuton, 
and  believed  that  she  had  the  best  claim  to 
any  gossip  that  could  come  of  it.  She 
lounged  upon  her  sofa,  and  listened  with  a 
patience  superior  to  the  maiden  caprice  with 


LOVE'S   YOUNG   DREAM.  153 

which  her  inquisition  was  sometimes  met ; 
for  if  that  delayed  her  satisfaction  it  also 
employed  her  arts,  and  the  final  triumph  of 
getting  everything  out  of  Kitty  afforded  her 
a  delicate  self-flattery.  But  commonly  the 
young  girl  was  ready  enough  to  speak,  for  she 
was  glad  to  have  the  light  of  a  worldlier  mind 
and  a  greater  experience  than  her  o-wn  on  Mr. 
Arbutou's  character :  if  Mrs.  Ellison  was 
not  the  wisest  head,  still  talking  him  over 
was  at  least  a  relief  from  thinking  him  over ; 
and  then,  at  the  end  of  the  ends,  when 
were  ever  two  women  averse  to  talk  of  a  man  ? 
She  commonly  sought  Fanny's  sofa  when 
she  returned  from  her  rambles  through  the 
city,  and  gave  a  sufficiently  strict  account  of 
what  had  happened.  This  was  done  light- 
heartedly  and  with  touches  of  burlesque  and 
extravagance  at  first ;  but  the  reports  grew 
presently  to  have  a  more  serious  tone,  and 
latterly  Kitty  had  been  so  absent  at  times 
that  she  would  fall  into  a  puzzled  silence  in 
the  midst  of  her  naiTation  ;  or  else  she  would 
meet  a  long  procession  of  skilfully  marshalled 
questions  with  a  flippancy  that  no  one  but 
a  martyr  could  have  suffered.  But  Mrs. 
Ellison  bore  all  and  would  have  bonie  much 
more  in  that  cause.  Baffled  at  one  point, 
she  turned  to  another,  and  the  sum  of  her 


154  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

researches  was  often  a  clearer  perception  of 
Kitty's  state  of  mind  than  the  young  girl 
herself  possessed.  For  her,  indeed,  the 
whole  affair  was  full  of  mystery  and  mis- 
giving. 

"Our  acquaintance  has  the  charm  of 
novelty  every  time  we  meet,"  she  said  once, 
when  pressed  hard  by  Mrs.  Ellison.  "We 
are  growing  better  strangers,  Mr.  Arbuton 
and  I.  By  and  by,  some  morning,  we  shall 
not  know  each  other  by  sight.  I  can  barely 
recognise  him  now,  though  I  thought  I  knew 
him  pretty  well  once.  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  I  speak  as  an  unbiassed  spectator, 
Fanny." 

"Oh,  Kitty  !  how  can  you  accuse  me  of 
trying  to  pry  into  your  affairs  !  "  cries  in- 
jured Mrs.  Ellison,  and  settles  herself  in  a 
more  comfortable  posture  for  listening. 

"  I  don't  accuse  you  of  anything.  I  'm 
sure  you  've  a  right  to  know  everything  about 
me.     Only,  I  want  you  really  to  know." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  says  the  matron,  with  hypo- 
critical meekness. 

"  Well,"  resumes  Kitty,  "  there  are  things 
that  puzzle  me  more  and  more  about  him, — 
things  that  used  to  amuse  me  at  first,  because 
I  didn't  actually  believe  that  they  could  be, 
and  that  I  felt  like  defirirc  afterwards.    But 


LOVE'S   YOUNG   DREAM.  155 

now  I  can't  bear  up  against  them.  They 
frighten  me,  and  seem  to  deny  me  the  right 
to  be  what  I  believe  I  am." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Kitty." 

"  Why,  you  've  seen  how  it  is  with  us  at 
home,  and  how  Uncle  Jack  has  brought  us 
up.  We  never  had  a  rule  for  anything 
except  to  do  what  was  right,  and  to  be  care- 
ful of  the  rights  of  others." 

"Well." 

"Well,  Mr.  Arbuton  seems  to  have  lived 
in  a  world  where  everything  is  regulated  by 
some  rigid  law  that  it  would  be  death  to 
break.  Then,  you  know,  at  home  we  are 
always  talking  about  people,  and  discussing 
them  ;  but  we  always  talk  of  each  person  for 
what  he  is  in  himself,  and  I  always  thought 
a  person  could  refine  himself  if  he  tried,  and 
was  sincere,  and  not  conceited.  But  ke 
seems  to  judge  people  according  to  their 
origin  and  locality  and  calling,  and  to  be- 
lieve that  all  refinement  must  come  from 
just  such  training  and  circumstances  as  his 
own.  Without  exactly  saying  so,  he  puts 
everything  else  quite  out  of  the  question.  He 
doesn't  appear  to  dream  that  there  can  be 
any  difi"erent  opinion.  He  tramples  upon  all 
that  I  have  been  taught  to  believe ;  and  though 
I  cling  the  closer  to  my  idols,  I  can't  help,  now 


156  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

aoid  then,  trying  myself  by  his  criterions ; 
and  then  I  find  myself  wanting  in  every 
civilised  trait,  and  my  whole  life  coarse  and 
poor,  and  all  my  associations  hopelessly 
degraded.  I  think  his  ideas  are  hard  and 
narrow,  and  I  believe  that  even  my  little 
experience  would  prove  them  false  j  but 
then,  they  are  his,  and  I  can't  reconcile 
them  vdth.  what  I  see  is  good  in  him." 

Kitty  spoke  with  half -averted  face  where 
she  sat  beside  one  of  the  front  windows, 
looking  absently  out  on  the  distant  line  of 
violet  hills  beyond  Charlesbourg,  and  now 
and  then  lifting  her  glove  from  her  lap  and 
letting  it  drop  again. 

•'Kitty,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison  in  reply  to 
her  difSculties,  "you  oughtn't  to  sit  against 
a  light  like  that.  It  makes  j'our  profile 
quite  black  to  any  one  back  in  the  room." 

"Oh  well,  Fanny,  I'm  not  black  in 
reality." 

' '  Yes,  but  R  young  lady  ought  always  to 
tliink  how  she  is  looking.  Suppose  some 
one  was  to  come  in." 

"Dick's  the  only  one  likely  to  come  in 
just  now,  and  he  wouldn't  mind  it.  But  if 
you  like  it  better,  I  '11  come  and  sit  by  you," 
said  Kitty,  and  took  her  place  beside  the  sofa. 

Her  hat  was  in  her  hand,  her  sack  on  her 


love's  young  dream.  157 

arm  ;  the  fatigue  of  a  recent  walk  gave  her 
a  soft  pallor,  and  languor  of  face  and  attitude. 
Mrs.  Ellison  admired  her  pretty  looks  with 
a  generous  regret  that  they  should  be  wasted 
on  herself,  and  then  asked,  "Where  were 
you  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  went  to  the  H6tel  Dieu,  for  one 
thing,  and  afterwards  we  looked  into  the 
court-yard  of  the  convent ;  and  there  an- 
other of  his  pleasant  little  traits  came  out, — 
a  way  he  has  of  always  putting  you  in  the 
wrong  even  when  it 's  a  matter  of  no  conse- 
quence any  way,  and  there  needn't  be  any 
right  or  wrong  about  it.  I  remembered  the 
place,  because  Mrs.  March,  you  know, 
showed  us  a  rose  that  one  of  the  nuns  in  the 
hospital  gave  her,  and  I  tried  to  tell  Mr. 
Arbuton  about  it,  and  he  graciously  took  it 
as  if  poor  Mrs.  March  had  made  an  advance 
towards  his  acquaintance.  I  do  wish  you 
could  see  what  a  lovely  place  that  court- 
yard is,  Fanny.  It 's  so  strange  that  such  a 
thing  should  be  right  there,  in  the  heart  of 
this  crowded  city  ;  but  there  it  was,  with 
its  peasant  cottage  on  one  side,  and  its  long 
low  bams  on  the  other,  and  those  wide- 
homed  Canadian  cows  munching  at  the  racks 
of  hay  outside,  and  pigeons  and  chickens  all 
about  among  their  feet  " — 


158  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

' '  Yes,  yes ;  never  mind  all  that,  Kitty. 
You  know  I  hate  nature.  Go  on  about  Mr. 
Ai-buton,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  did  not 
mean  a  sarcasm. 

"  It  looked  like  a  farm-yard  in  a  picture, 
far  out  in  the  country  somewhere, "  resumed 
Kitty  ;  "  and  Mr.  Arbuton  did  it  the  honour 
to  say  it  was  just  like  Normandy." 

"Kitty  1" 

"He  did,  indeed,  Fanny;  and  the  cows 
didn't  go  down  on  their  knees  out  of  grati- 
tude, either.  Well,  off  on  the  right  were 
the  hospital  buildings  climbing  up,  you 
know,  with  their  stone  walls  and  steep  roofs, 
and  windows  dropped  about  over  them,  like 
our  convent  here  ;  and  there  was  an  artist 
there,  sketching  it  all ;  he  had  such  a  brown, 
pleasant  face,  with  a  little  black  moustache 
and  imperial,  and  such  gaj'  black  eyes,  that 
nobody  could  help  falling  in  love  with  him  ; 
and  he  was  talking  in  such  a  free-and-easy 
way  with  the  lazy  workmen  and  women 
overlooking  him.  He  jotted  down  a  little 
image  of  the  Virgin  in  a  niche  on  the  wall, 
and  one  of  the  people  called  out, — Mr. 
Arbuton  was  translating, — 'Look  there! 
with  one  touch  he's  made  our  Blessed  Lady.' 
'Oh,'  says  the  painter,  'that's  nothing; 
with   three  touches  I   can  make  the  entire 


LOVE'S   YOUNG   DREAM.  159 

Holy  Family. '  And  they  all  laughed  ;  and 
that  little  joke,  you  know,  won  my  heart, — 
I  don't  hear  many  jokes  from  Mr.  Arbuton  ; 
— and  so  I  said  what  a  blessed  life  a  painter's 
must  be,  for  it  would  give  you  a  right  to  be 
a  vagrant,  and  you  could  wander  through 
the  world,  seeing  everything  that  was  lovely 
and  funny,  and  nobody  could  blame  you  ; 
and  I  wondered  everybody  who  had  the 
chance  didn't  learn  to  sketch.  Mr.  Arbuton 
took  it  seriously,  and  said  people  had  to 
have  something  more  than  the  chance  to 
learn  before  they  could  sketch,  and  that 
most  of  them  were  an  afiiiction  with  their 
sketch-books,  and  he  had  seen  too  much  of 
the  sad  efifects  of  drawing  from  casts.  And 
he  put  me  in  the  wrong,  as  he  always  does. 
Don't  you  see  ?  I  didn't  want  to  learn 
drawing  ;  I  wanted  to  be  a  painter,  and  go 
about  sketching  beautiful  old  convents,  and 
sit  on  camp-stools  on  pleasant  afternoons, 
and  joke  with  people.  Of  course,  he 
couldn't  understand  that.  But  I  know  the 
artist  could.  Oh,  Fanny,  if  it  had  only 
been  the  painter  whose  arm  I  took  that  first 
day  on  the  boat,  instead  of  Mr.  Arbuton  1 
But  the  worst  of  it  is,  he  is  making  a  hypo- 
crite of  me,  and  a  cowardly,  uimatural  girl. 
I  wanted  to  go  nearer  and  look  at  the  painter's 


160  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTAXCE. 

sketch  ;  but  I  was  ashamed  to  say  I  'd  ne-ver 
seen  a  real  artist's  sketch  before,  and  I'm 
getting  to  be  ashamed,  or  to  seem  ashamed, 
of  a  great  many  innocent  things.  He  has  a 
way  of  not  seeming  to  think  it  possible  that 
any  one  he  associates  with  can  differ  from 
hun.  And  I  do  differ  from  him.  I  diflfer  from 
him  as  much  as  my  whole  past  life  differs 
from  his  ;  I  know  I  'm  just  the  kind  of  pro- 
duction he  disapproves  of,  and  that  I'm 
altogether  irregular  and  unauthorised  and 
unjustifiable  ;  and  though  it 's  fuuny  to  have 
him  talking  to  me  as  if  I  must  have  the 
sympathy  of  a  rich  girl  with  his  ideas,  it 's 
provoking,  too,  and  it's  very  bad  for  me. 
Up  to  the  present  moment,  Fanny,  if  you 
want  to  know,  that 's  the  principal  effect  of 
Mr.  Arbuton  on  me.  I'm  being  gradually 
snubbed  and  scared  into  treasons,  stratagems, 
and  spoils." 

Mrs.  Ellison  did  not  find  all  this  so  very 
grievous,  for  she  was  one  of  those  women 
who  like  a  snub  from  the  superior  sex,  if  it 
does  not  involve  a  slight  to  their  beauty  or 
their  power  of  pleasing.  But  she  thought  it 
best  not  to  enter  into  the  question,  and 
merely  saidj  "But  surely,  Kitty,  there  are 
a  great  many  things  in  Mr.  Arbuton  that 
j'X)u  must  respect." 


love's  vouxg  dream.  161 

"Respect?  Oh,  j'es,  indeed!  But  re- 
spect isn't  just  the  thing  for  one  who  seems 
to  consider  himself  sacred.  Say  reve^'e, 
Fanny ;  say  revere  !  " 

Kitty  had  risen  from  her  chair,  but  Mrs. 
Ellison  waved  her  again  to  her  seat  with  an 
imploi'ing  gesture.  ' '  Don't  go,  Kitty  ;  I  'm 
not  half  done  with  you  yet.  You  must  tell 
me  something  moi-e.  You  've  stin-ed  me  up 
so,  now.  I  know  you  don't  always  have 
such  disagreeable  times.  You  've  often 
come  home  quite  happy.  What  do  you 
generally  find  to  talk  about?  Do  tell  me 
some  particulars  for  once." 

"  Why,  little  topics  come  up,  you  know. 
But  sometimes  we  don't  talk  at  all,  becaitse 
I  don't  like  to  say  what  I  think  or  feel,  for 
fear  I  should  be  thinking  or  feeling  some- 
thing vulgar.  Mr.  Arbuton  is  rather  a 
blight  upon  conversation  in  that  way.  He 
makes  you  doubtful  whether  there  isn't 
something  a  little  common  in  breathing  and 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  whether 
it  wouldn't  be  tnie  refinement  to  stop 
them." 

**  Stuff,  Kitty  !  He 's  very  cultivated, 
isn't  he  ?  Don't  you  talk  about  books  ?  He's 
read  everything,  I  suppose." 

*'  Oh  yes,  he  's  read  enough." 


162  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only  sometimes  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  he  hadn't  read  because  he  loved  it, 
but  because  he  thought  it  due  to  himself. 
But  maybe  I  'm  mistaken.  I  could  imagine 
a  delicate  poem  shutting  up  half  its 
sweetness  from  his  cold,  cold  scrutiny, — if 
you  will  excuse  the  floweriness  of  the 
idea." 

"Why,  Kitty  !  don't  you  think  he's  re- 
fined ?  I  'm  sure,  T  think  he  's  a  very  refined 
person. " 

"He's  a  very  elaborated  person.  But  I 
don't  think  it  would  make  much  difference 
to  him  what  our  opinion  of  him  was.  His 
own  good  opinion  would  be  quite  enough. " 

"Is  he — is  he — always  agreeable ? " 

"I  thought  we  were  discussing  his  mind, 
Fanny.  I  don't  know  that  I  feel  like  en- 
larging   upon    his    manners,"    said    Kitty, 

Biyiy. 

"  But  surely,  Kitty,"  said  the  matron, 
with  an  air  of  argument,  "  there  's  some 
connection  between  his  mind  and  his 
manners  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  think 
there's  much  between  his  heart  and  his 
manners.  They  seem  to  have  been  put  on 
him   instead   of  having   come   out   of   him. 


love's  young  dream.  163 

He 's  very  well  trained,  and  nine  times  out 
of  ten  he 's  so  exquisitely  polite  that  it 's 
wonderful ;  but  the  tenth  time  he  may  say 
something  so  rude  that  you  can't  believe 
it." 

"Then  you  like  him  nine  times  out  of 
ten. " 

"  I  didn't  say  that.  But  for  the  tenth 
time,  it 's  certain,  his  training  doesn't  hold 
out,  and  he  seems  to  have  nothing  natural 
to  fall  back  upon.  But  you  can  believe  that, 
if  he  knew  he  'd  been  disagreeable,  he  'd  be 
sorry  for  it." 

"  Why,  then,  Kitty,  how  can  you  say 
that  there's  no  coimection  between  his 
heart  and  manners  ?  This  very  thing 
proves  that  they  come  from  his  heart. 
Don't  be  illogical,  Kitty,"  said  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, and  her  ner\'es  added,  sotto  voce,  "  if 
you  are  so  abominably  provoking  !  " 

"  Oh,"  responded  the  young  girl,  with  the 
kind  of  laugh  that  meant  it  was,  after  all, 
not  such  a  laughing  matter,  "I  didn't  say 
he  'd  be  sony  for  you  !  Perhaps  he  would  ; 
but  he  'd  be  certain  to  be  sorry  for  himself. 
It's  with  his  politeness  as  it  is  with  his 
reading ;  he  seems  to  consider  it  something 
that's  due  to  himself  as  a  gentleman  to 
treat  people  well ;  and  it  isn't  in  the  least 


164  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

as  if  he  cared  for  them.  He  wouldn't  like 
to  fail  in  such  a  point." 

"But,  Kitty,  isn't  that  to  his  credit?" 

"  Maybe.  I  don't  say.  If  I  knew  more 
about  the  world,  perhaps  I  should  admire 
it.  But  now,  you  see," — and  here  Kitty's 
laugh  grew  more  natural,  and  she  gave  a 
subtle  caricature  of  Mr.  Arbuton's  air  and 
tone  as  she  spoke, — "  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  it 's  a  little — vulgar. " 

Mrs.  Ellison  could  not  quite  make  out 
how  much  Kitty  really  meant  of  what  she 
had  said.  She  gasped  once  or  twice  for 
argument ;  then  she  sat  up,  and  beat  the 
sofa-pillows  vengefully  in  composing  her- 
self anew,  and  finally,  "Well,  Kitty,  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it  all," 
she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  Why,  we're  not  obliged  to  make  any- 
thing of  it,  Fanny,  there's  that  comfort," 
replied  Kitty  ;  and  then  there  was  a  silence, 
while  she  brooded  over  the  whole  affair  of 
her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Arbuton,  which 
this  talk  had  failed  to  set  in  a  more  pleasant 
or  hopeful  light.  It  had  begun  like  a 
romance  ;  she  had  pleased  her  fancy,  if  not 
her  heart,  with  the  poetry  of  it ;  but  at 
last  she  felt  exiled  and  strange  in  his 
presence.     She  had  no  right  to  a  different 


LOVE'S   YOUNG   DREAM.  165 

result,  even  thi'ougli  any  deep  feeling  in  the 
matter ;  but  while  she  OAvned,  with  her  half- 
sad,  half-comical,  consciousness,  that  she 
had  been  tacitly  claimiug  aud  expecting  too 
luuch,  she  softly  pitied  herself,  with  a  kind 
of  impersonal  compassion,  as  if  it  were  some 
other  girl  whose  pretty  dream  had  been 
broken.  Its  ruin  involved  the  loss  of 
another  ideal ;  for  she  was  aware  that 
there  had  been  gradually  rising  in  her  mind 
an  image  of  Boston,  different  alike  from  the 
holy  place  of  her  childhood,  the  sacred  city 
of  the  anti-slavery  heroes  and  martjrrs,  and 
from  the  jesting,  easy,  sympathetic  Boston 
of  !Mr.  and  Mrs.  March.  This  new  Boston 
with  which  Mr.  Arbuton  inspired  her  was  a 
Boston  of  mysterious  prejudices  and  lofty 
reservations  ;  a  Boston  of  high  and  difficult 
tastes,  that  fouud  its  social  ideal  in  the  Old 
World,  and  that  shrank  from  contact  with 
the  reality  of  this ;  a  Boston  as  alien  as 
Europe  to  her  simple  experiences,  and  that 
seemed  to  be  proud  only  of  the  things  that 
were  unlike  other  American  things  ;  a  Boston 
that  would  rather  perish  by  fire  and  sword 
than  be  suspected  of  vulgarity  ;  a  critical, 
fastidious,  and  reluctant  Boston,  dissatisfied 
with  the  rest  of  the  hemisphere,  and  gelidly 
self-satisfied  in  so  far  as  it  was  not  in  the 


166  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

least  the  Boston  of  her  fond  preconceptions. 
It  was,  doubtless,  no  more  the  real  Boston 
we  know  and  love,  than  either  of  the  others ; 
and  it  pei-plexed  her  more  than  it  need,  even 
if  it  had  not  been  mere  phantasm.  It  made 
her  suspicious  of  Mr.  Arbuton's  behaviour 
towards  her,  and  observant  of  little  things 
that  might  very  well  have  otherwise 
escaped  her.  The  bantering  humour,  the 
light-hearted  trust  and  self-reliance  with 
which  she  had  once  met  him  deserted  her, 
and  only  returned  fitfully  when  some  acci- 
dent called  her  out  of  herself,  and  made  her 
forget  the  differences  that  she  now  too 
plainly  saw  ia  their  ways  of  thinking  and 
feeling.  It  was  a  greater  and  greater  effort 
to  place  herself  in  sympathy  with  him  ;  she 
relaxed  into  a  languid  self-contempt,  as  if 
she  had  been  playing  a  part,  when  she  suc- 
ceeded. "Sometimes,  Fanny,"  she  said 
now,  after  a  long  pause,  speaking  in  behalf 
of  tliat  other  girl  she  had  been  thinking  of, 
"  it  seems  to  me  as  if  Mr.  Arbuton  were  all 
gloves  and  slim  umbrella, — the  mere  husk  of 
well-dressed  culture  and  good  manners.  His 
looks  do  promise  everything ;  but  oh  dear 
me  !  I  should  be  sorry  for  any  one  that 
was  in  love  with  him.  Just  imagine  some 
girl  meeting  with  such  a  man,  and  taking  a 


love's  young  dream.  167 

fancy  to  him !  I  suppose  she  never  would 
quite  believe  but  that  he  must  somehow  be 
what  she  first  thought  him,  and  she  would 
go  down  to  her  grave  believing  that  she  had 
failed  to  understand  him.  What  a  curious 
story  it  would  make  I  " 

"Then  why  don't  you  write  it,  Kitty?" 
asked  Mrs.  Ellison.  "No  one  could  do  it 
better. " 

Kitty  flushed  quickly ;  then  she  smiled : 
"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it  at  all.  It 
wouldn't  be  a  very  easy  story  to  work  out. 
Perhaps  he  might  never  do  anything  posi- 
tively disagreeable  enough  to  make  any- 
body condemn  him.  The  only  way  you 
could  show  his  character  would  be  to  have 
her  do  and  say  hateful  things  to  him, 
when  she  couldn't  help  it,  and  then  repent 
of  it,  while  he  was  impassively  perfect 
through  everything.  And  perhaps,  after 
all,  he  might  be  regarded  by  some  stupid 
people  as  the  injured  one.  Well,  Mr. 
Arbuton  has  been  very  polite  to  us,  I  'm 
sure,  Fanny,"  she  said  after  another  pause, 
as  she  rose  from  her  chair,  "and  maybe 
I  'm  unjust  to  him.  I  beg  his  pardon 
of  you ;  and  I  wish,"  she  added,  with  a 
dull  disappointment  quite  her  own,  and 
a  pang   of  surprise  at  words  that  seemed 


168  A    CUANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

to  utter  themselves,  * '  that  he  would  go 
away." 

"Why,  Kitty,  I'm  shocked,"  said  Mrs. 
fillisou,  rising  from  her  cushions. 

"Yes  ;  so  am  I,  Fanny." 

"  Are  you  really  tired  of  him,  then?  " 

Kitty  did  not  answer,  but  turned  away 
her  face  a  little,  where  she  stood  beside  the 
chair  in  which  she  had  been  sitting. 

Mrs.  Ellison  put  out  her  hand  towards 
her.  "Kitty,  come  here,"  she  said  with 
imperious  tenderness. 

"No,  I  won't,  Fanny,"  answered  the 
young  girl  in  a  trembling  voice.  She  raised 
the  glove  that  she  had  been  nervoiisly  swing- 
ing back  and  forth,  and  bit  hard  upon  the 
button  of  it.  "I  don't  know  whether  I'm 
tired  of  hhn, — though  he  isn't  a  person  to 
rest  one  a  great  deal, — but  I  'm  tired  of  it. 
I  'm  perplexed  and  troubled  the  whole  time, 
and  I  don't  see  any  end  to  it.  Yes,  I  wish 
he  would  go  away  I  Yes,  he  is  tiresome. 
What  is  he  staying  here  for  ?  If  he  thinks 
himself  so  much  better  than  all  of  us,  I 
wonder  he  troubles  himself  with  our  com- 
pany. It 's  quite  time  for  him  to  go.  No, 
Fanny,  uo,"  cried  Kitty,  with  a  little  broken 
laugh,  still  rejecting  the  outstretched  hand, 
"  I  '11  be  flat  in  private,  if  you  please."   And 


love's  young  dream.  169 

dashing  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  she  flitted 
out  of  the  room.  At  the  door  she  turned 
and  said,  "You  needn't  think  it's  what 
you  thinlc  it  is,  Fanny. " 

"No  indeed,  dear;  you're  just  over- 
wrought. " 

"  For  I  really  wish  he'd  go." 

But  it  was  on  this  very  day  that  Mr. 
Ai'buton  found  it  harder  than  ever  to  renew 
his  resolution  of  quitting  Quebec,  and  cut- 
ting short  at  once  his  acquaintance  with 
these  people.  He  had  been  pledging  him- 
self to  this  in  some  form  every  day,  and 
every  morrow  had  melted  his  resolution 
away.  Whatever  was  his  opinion  of  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Ellison,  it  is  certain  that,  if  he 
considered  Kitty  merely  in  relation  to  the 
present,  he  could  not  have  said  how,  by 
being  different,  she  could  have  been  better 
than  she  was.  He  perceived  a  charm,  that 
would  be  recognised  anywhere,  in  her 
manner,  though  it  was  not  of  his  world; 
her  fresh  pleasure  in  all  she  saw,  though  he 
did  not  know  how  to  respond  to  it,  was 
very  Aviuning  ;  he  respected  what  he  thought 
the  good  sense  running  through  her  trans- 
ports ;  he  wondered  at  the  culture  she  had 
somewhere,  somehow  got  ;  and  he  was  so 
good  as  to  find  that  her  literaiy  euthusiasnis 


170  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

had  nothing  offensive,  but  were  as  pretty 
and  naif  as  a  girl's  love  of  flowers.  More- 
over, he  approved  of  some  personal  attri- 
butes of  hers :  a  low,  gentle  voice,  tender, 
long-lashed  eyes ;  a  trick  of  drooping 
shoulders,  and  of  idle  hands  fallen  into 
the  lap,  one  in  the  other's  palm ;  a  serene 
repose  of  face ;  a  light  and  eager  laugh. 
There  was  nothing  so  novel  in  those  traits, 
and  in  different  combination  he  had  seen 
them  a  thousand  times ;  yet  in  her  they 
strangely  wrought  upon  his  fancy.  She  had 
that  soft,  kittenish  way  with  her  which 
invites  a  caressing  patronage,  but,  as  he 
learned,  she  had  also  the  kittenish  equip- 
ment for  resenting  over-condescension  ;  and 
she  never  took  him  half  so  much  as  when 
she  showed  the  high  spirit  that  was  in  her, 
and  defied  him  most. 

For  here  and  now,  it  was  all  well  enough  ; 
but  he  had  a  future  to  which  he  owed  much, 
and  a  conscience  that  would  not  leave  him 
at  rest.  The  fascination  of  meeting  her  so 
familiarly  under  the  same  roof,  the  sorcery 
of  the  constant  sight  of  her,  were  becoming 
too  much  ;  it  would  not  do  on  any  account ; 
for  his  own  sake  he  must  put  an  end  to  it. 
But  from  hour  to  hour  he  lingered  upon  his 
unenforced  resolve.     The  passing  days,  that 


love's  young  dream.  171 

brought  him  doubts  in  which  he  shuddered 
at  the  great  difference  between  himself  and 
her  and  her  people,  brought  him  also  mo- 
ments of  blissful  forgetfulness  in  which  his 
misgivings  were  lost  in  the  sweetness  of  her 
looks,  or  the  young  grace  of  her  motions. 
Passing,  the  days  rebuked  his  delay  in  vain ; 
a  week  and  two  weeks  slipped  from  under 
his  feet,  and  still  he  had  waited  for  fate  to 
part  him  and  his  folly.  But  now  at  last  he 
would  go ;  and  in  the  evening,  after  his 
cigar  on  Durham  Terrace,  he  knocked  at 
Mrs.  Ellison's  door  to  say  that  on  the  day 
after  to-morrow  he  should  push  on  to  the 
White  Mountains. 

He  foimd  the  Ellisons  talking  over  an 
expedition  for  the  next  morning,  in  which 
he  was  also  to  take  part.  Mrs.  Ellison  had 
already  borne  her  full  share  in  the  prepara 
tion  ;  for,  being  always  at  hand  there  in  her 
room,  and  ha^-ing  nothing  to  do,  she  had 
been  almost  a  willing  victim  to  the  colonel's 
passion  for  information  at  second-hand,  and 
had  probably  come  to  know  more  than  any 
other  American  woman  of  Arnold's  expedi- 
tion against  Quebec  in  1775.  She  knew 
why  the  attack  was  planned,  and  with  what 
prodigious  hazard  and  heroical  toil  and 
endurance    it  was    carried    out ;    how  the 


172  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

dauntless  little  army  of  riflemen  cut  their 
tvay  through  the  untrodden  forests  of  Maiue 
and  Canada,  and  beleaguered  the  grey  old 
fortress  on  her  rock  till  the  red  autumn 
faded  into  whiter,  aud,  on  the  last  bitter 
night  of  the  year,  flung  themselves  against 
her  defences,  and  fell  back,  leaving  half 
their  number  captive,  Montgomery  dead, 
and  Arnold  wounded,  but  haplessly  destined 
to  survive. 

"Yes,"  said  the  colonel,  "considering  the 
age  in  which  they  lived,  and  their  total 
lack  of  modem  improvements,  mental, 
moral,  and  physical,  we  must  acknowledge 
that  they  did  pretty  well.  It  wasn't  on  a 
very  large  scale ;  but  I  don't  see  how  they 
could  have  been  braver,  if  every  man  had 
been  multiplied  by  ten  thousand.  In  fact, 
as  it's  going  .to  be  all  the  same  thing  a 
hundred  years  from  now,  I  don't  know  but 
I  'd  as  soon  be  one  of  the  men  that  tried  to 
take  Quebec  as  one  of  the  men  that  did  take 
Atlanta.  Of  course,  for  the  present,  and  on 
account  of  my  afflicted  family,  Mr.  Arbuton, 
I  'm  willing  to  be  what  and  where  I  am ; 
but  just  see  what  those  fellows  did."  Aud 
the  colonel  drew  from  his  glowing  memory 
of  Mrs.  Ellison's  facts  a  brave  historical 
picture  of  Arnold's  expedition.     "  And  now 


love's  young  dream.  173 

we  're  going  to-morrow  morning  to  look  up 
the  scene  of  the  attack  on  the  31st  of  De- 
cember.    Kitty,  sing  something." 

At  another  time  Kitty  might  have  hesi- 
tated ;  but  that  evening  she  was  so  at  rest 
about  Mr.  Arbuton,  so  sure  she  cared 
nothing  for  his  liking  or  disliking  anything 
she  did,  that  she  sat  dovra  at  the  piano,  and 
sang  a  number  of  songs,  which  I  suppose 
were  as  unworthy  the  cultivated  ear  as  any 
he  had  heard.  But  though  they  were  given 
with  an  untrained  voice  and  a  touch  as  little 
skilled  as  might  be,  they  pleased,  or  else  the 
singer  pleased.  The  simple-hearted  courage 
of  the  performance  would  alone  have  made 
it  charming ;  and  Mr.  Arbuton  had  no  rea- 
son to  ask  himself  how  he  should  like  it  in 
Boston,  if  he  were  married,  and  should  hear 
it  from  his  wife  there.  Yet  when  a  young 
man  looks  at  a  young  girl  or  listens  to  her, 
a  thousand  vagaries  possess  his  mind, — 
formless  imaginations,  lawless  fancies.  The 
question  that  presented  itself  remotely,  like 
pain  in  a  dream,  dissolved  in  the  ripple  of 
the  singer's  voice,  and  left  his  reverie  the 
more  luxuriously  untroubled  for  having  been. 

He  remembered,  after  saying  good-night, 
that  he  had  forgotten  something  :  it  w^fl  to 
tell  them  he  was  going  away. 


174  A  CHAiJCE   ACQUA1NT4_NC^. 


vm. 

NEXT  MORNING. 

QUEBEC  lay  shining  in  the  tender  oblique 
light  of  the  northern  sun  when  they 
passed  next  morning  through  the  Uppei 
Town  market-place  and  took  their  way  to- 
wards Hope  Gate,  where  they  were  to  be 
met  by  the  colonel  a  little  later.  It  is  easy 
for  the  alert  tourist  to  lose  his  course  in 
Quebec,  and  they,  who  were  neither  hurried 
nor  heedful,  went  easily  astray.  But  the 
street  into  which  they  had  wandered,  if  it 
did  not  lead  straight  to  Hope  Gate,  had 
many  merits,  and  was  very  characteristic  of 
the  city.  Most  of  the  houses  on  either  hand 
were  low  structures  of  one  story,  built 
heavily  of  stone  or  stuccoed  brick,  with  two 
dormer-'RTndows,  full  of  house-plants,  in 
each  roof  ;  the  doors  were  each  painted  of  a 
livelier  colour  than  the  rest  of  the  house, 
and  each  glistened  with  a  polished  brass 
knob,  a  large  brass  knocker,  or  an  intricate 


NEXT   MORNING.  175 

bell-pull  of  the  same  resplendent  metal,  and 
a  plate  bearing  the  owner's  name  and  hi 
professional  title,  which,  if  not  avocat,  was 
sure  to  be  nofaire,  so  well  is  Quebec  supplied 
with  those  ministers  of  the  law.  At  the 
side  of  each  house  was  a  jiorte-cochere,  and 
in  this  a  smaller  door.  The  thresholds  and 
doorsteps  were  covered  with  the  neatest  and 
brightest  oil-cloth  ;  the  wooden  sidewalk  was 
very  clean,  like  the  steep,  roughly  paved 
street  itself ;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  down 
which  it  sloped  was  a  breadth  of  the  city 
wall,  pierced  for  musketry,  and,  past  the 
comer  of  one  of  the  houses,  the  half-length 
of  cannon  showing.  It  had  the  charm  of 
those  ancient  sti'eets,  dear  to  Old-World 
travel,  in  which  the  past  and  the  present, 
decay  and  repair,  peace  and  war,  have  made 
friends  in  an  eflfect  that  not  only  wins  the 
eye,  but,  however  illogically,  touches  the 
heart ;  and  over  the  top  of  the  wall  it  had 
a  stretch  of  such  landscape  as  I  know  not 
what  Old-World  street  can  command  :  the 
St.  Lawrence,  blue  and  wide  ;  a  bit  of  the 
white  village  of  Beauport  on  its  bank  ;  then 
a  vast  breadth  of  pale-green,  upward-sloping 
meadows  ;  then  the  purple  heights ;  and  the 
hazy  heaven  over  them.  Half-way  down  this 
happy  street  sat  the  artist  whom  they  had 


176  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE, 

seen  before  in  the  court  of  the  H6tel  Dieu  ;  he 
was  sketching  something,  and  evolving  the 
cnrions  life  of  the  neighbourhood.  Two 
school-boys  in  the  uniform  of  the  Seminary 
paused  to  look  at  him  as  they  loitered  down 
the  pavement ;  a  group  of  children  encircled 
him  ;  a  little  girl  with  her  hair  in  blue  rib- 
bons talked  at  a  window  about  him  to  some 
one  within  ;  a  young  lady  opened  her  case- 
ment and  gazed  furtively  at  him ;  a  door 
was  set  quietly  ajar,  and  an  old  grandam 
peeped  out,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand  ; 
a  woman  in  deep  mourning  gave  his  sketch 
a  glance  as  she  passed ;  a  calash  with  a  fat 
Quebecker  in  it  ran  into  a  cart  driven  by  a 
broad-hatted  peasant-woman,  so  eager  were 
both  to  know  what  he  was  drawing ;  a  man 
lingered  even  at  the  head  of  the  street,  as  if 
it  were  any  use  to  stop  there. 

As  Kitty  and  Mr.  Ai-buton  passed  him, 
the  artist  glanced  at  her  with  the  smile  of  a 
man  who  believes  he  knows  how  the  case 
stands,  and  she  followed  his  eye  in  its  with- 
drawal towards  the  bit  he  was  sketching : 
an  old  roof,  and  on  top  of  this  a  balcony, 
shut  in  with  green  blinds  ;  yet  higher,  a 
weather-worn,  wood-coloured  gallery,  pent- 
roofed  and  balustered,  with  a  geranium 
showing  through  the   balusters  ;  a  dormer- 


NEXT   MORXING.  177 

window  with  hook  and  tackle,  beside  an 
Oriental-shaped  pavilion  with  a  shining  tin 
dome, — a  picturesque  confusion  of  forms 
which  had  been,  apparently,  added  from 
time  to  time  without  design,  and  yet  were 
full  of  harmony.  The  unreasonable  succes- 
sion of  roofs  had  lifted  the  top  far  above  the 
level  of  the  surrounding  houses,  into  the 
heart  of  the  morning  light,  and  some  white 
doves  circled  about  the  pavilion,  or  nestled 
cooing  upon  tlie  window-sill,  where  a  young 
girl  sat  and  sewed. 

"Why,  it's  Hilda  in  her  tower,"  said 
Kitty,  "of  course!  And  this  is  just  the 
kind  of  street  for  such  a  girl  to  look  down 
into.  It  doesn't  seem  like  a  street  in  real 
life,  does  it  ?  The  people  all  look  as  if  they 
had  stepped  out  of  stories,  and  might  step 
back  any  moment ;  and  these  queer  little 
houses :  they  're  the  very  places  for  things 
to  happen  in  !  " 

Mr.  Arbuton  smiled  forbearingly,  as  she 
thought,  at  this  burst,  but  she  did  not  care, 
and  she  turned,  at  the  bottom  of  the  street, 
and  lingered  a  few  moments  for  another  look 
at  the  whole  charming  picture  ;  and  then  he 
praised  it,  and  said  that  the  artist  was  mak- 
ing a  very  good  sketch.  "  I  wonder  Quebec 
isn't  infested  by  artists  the  whole   summer 


178  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

long,"  he  added.  "  They  go  about  hungrily 
picking  up  bits  of  the  picturesque  along  our 
shores  and  country  roads,  when  they  might 
exchange  their  famine  for  a  feast  by  coming 
here. " 

"I  suppose  there's  a  pleasure  in  find- 
ing out  the  small  graces  and  beauties  of 
the  poverty-stricken  subjects,  that  they 
wouldn't  have  in  better  ones,  isn't  there  ? " 
asked  Kitty.  "  At  any  rate,  if  I  were  to 
write  a  story,  I  should  want  to  take  the 
slightest  sort  of  plot,  and  lay  the  scene  in 
the  dullest  kind  of  place,  and  then  bring  out 
all  their  possibilities.  I'll  tell  you  a  book 
after  my  own  heart :  '  Details, ' — just  the 
history  of  a  week  in  the  life  of  some  young 
people  who  happen  together  in  an  old  New 
England  countrj'-house ;  nothing  extraordi- 
nary, little,  every-day  things  told  so  exqui- 
sitely, and  all  fading  naturally  away  without 
any  particular  result,  only  the  full  meaning 
of  everything  brought  out." 

"  And  don't  you  think  it 's  rather  a  sad 
ending  for  all  to  fade  away  without  any 
particular  result  ?  "  asked  the  young  man, 
stricken  he  hardly  knew  how  or  where. 
"Besides,  I  always  thought  that  the  author 
of  that  book  found  too  much  meaning  in 
everything.     He  did  for  men,  I  'm  sure  ;  but 


NEXT   MORNING.  179 

I  believe  women  are  different,  and  see  much 
more  than  we  do  in  a  little  space. " 

"  '  Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye? 
For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  fly,' 

nor  a  woman,"  mocked  Kitty.  "  Have  you 
read  his  other  books  ? " 

"Yes." 

••  Aren't  they  delightful  ?  " 

"They're  very  well ;  and  I  always  won- 
dered he  could  write  them.  He  doesn't 
look  it." 

"  Oh,  have  you  ever  seen  Mm?  " 

"He  lives  in  Boston,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but " — Kitty  could  not  go  on 
and  say  that  she  had  not  supposed  authors 
consorted  with  creatures  of  common  clay; 
and  Mr.  Ai'buton,  who  was  the  constant 
guest  of  people  who  would  have  thought 
most  authors  sufficiently  honoured  in  being 
received  among  them  to  meet  such  men  as 
he,  was  very  far  from  guessing  what  was  in 
her  mind. 

"  He  waited  a  moment  for  her,  and  then 
said,  "  He  's  a  very  ordinary  sort  of  man, — 
not  what  one  would  exactly  call  a  gentle- 
man, you  know,  in  his  belongings, — and  yet 
his  books  have  nothing  of  the  shop,  nothing 
professionally  literai-y  about  them.    It  seems 


180  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

as  if  almost  any  of  us  might  have  wi-itten 
them." 

Kitty  glanced  quickly  at  him  to  see  if  he 
were  jesting;  but  Mr.  Ai'buton  was  not 
easily  given  to  irony,  and  he  was  now  very 
much  in  earnest  about  drawing  on  his  light 
overcoat,  which  he  had  hitherto  carried  on 
his  arm  with  that  scrupulous  consideration 
for  it  which  was  not  dandyism,  but  part  of 
his  self-respect ;  apparently,  as  an  overcoat, 
he  cared  nothing  for  it ;  as  the  overcoat  of 
a  man  of  his  condition  he  cared  everything  ; 
and  now,  though  the  sun  was  so  bright  on 
the  open  spaces,  in  these  narrow  streets  the 
garment  was  comfortable. 

At  another  time,  Kitty  would  have  en- 
joyed the  care  with  which  he  smoothed  it 
about  his  person,  but  this  profanation  of  her 
dearest  ideals  made  the  moment  serious. 
Her  pulse  quickened,  and  she  said,  "I'm 
afraid  I  can't  enter  into  your  feelings.  I 
wasn't  taught  to  respect  the  idea  of  a  gentle- 
man very  much.  I  've  often  heard  my  uncle 
say  that,  at  the  best,  it  was  a  poor  excuse 
for  not  being  just  honest  and  just  brave  and 
just  kind,  and  a  false  pretence  of  being  some- 
thing more.  I  believe,  if  I  were  a  man,  I 
shouldn't  want  to  be  a  gentleman.  At  any 
rate.  I  'd  rather  be  the  author  of  those  books, 


SEXT    aiOKXIXG.  18i 

yhicli  any  gentleman  might  have  written, 
Shan  all  the  gentlemen  who  didn't,  put  to- 
gether." 

In  the  career  of  her  indignation  she  had 
anconsciously  hurried  her  companion  for- 
w^ard  so  s'\\'iftly  that  they  had  reached  Hope 
Gate  as  she  spoke,  and  interrupted  the 
reverie  m  which  Colonel  Ellison,  loafing  up 
against  the  masom-y,  was  contemplating  the 
sentry  in  his  box. 

"You'd  better  not  overheat  yourself  so 
early  in  the  day,  Kitty,"  said  her  cousin, 
serenely,  with  a  glance  at  her  flushed  face ; 
"this  expedition  is  not  going  to  be  any 
joke." 

Now  that  Prescott  Gate,  by  which  so  many 
thousands  of  Americans  have  entered  Quebec 
since  Arnold's  excursionists  failed  to  do  so 
is  demolished,  there  is  nothing  left  so  pictur- 
esque and  characteristic  as  Hope  Gate,  and 
I  doubt  if  anywhere  in  Europe  there  is  a 
moi-e  mediaeval-looking  bit  of  military  archi- 
tecture. The  heavy  stone  gateway  is  black 
with  age,  and  the  gate,  which  has  probably 
never  been  closed  in  our  century,  is  of  mas- 
sive frame  set  thick  with  mighty  bolts  and 
spikes.  The  wall  here  sweeps  along  the 
brow  of  the  crag  on  which  the  city  is  built, 
and   a  steep  street  drops  down,  by  ston**- 


182  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

parapeted  curves  and  angles,  from  the  Upper 
to  the  Lower  Town,  where,  in  1775,  nothing 
but  a  narrow  lane  bordered  the  St.  Law- 
rence. A  considerable  breadth  of  land  has 
since  been  won  from  the  river,  and  several 
streets  and  many  piers  now  stretch  between 
this  alley  and  the  water ;  but  the  old  Sault 
au  Matelot  still  crouches  and  creeps  along 
under  the  shelter  of  the  city  wall  and  the 
overhanging  rock,  which  is  thickly  bearded 
with  weeds  and  grass,  and  trickles  with 
abundant  moisture.  It  must  be  an  ice-pit 
in  winter,  and  I  should  think  it  the  last 
spot  on  the  continent  for  the  summer  to 
find ;  but  when  the  summer  has  at  last 
found  it,  the  old  Sault  au  Matelot  puts  on 
a  vagabond  air  of  Southern  leisure  and 
abandon,  not  to  be  matched  anjrwhere  out 
of  Italy.  Looking  from  that  jutting  rock 
near  Hope  Gate,  behind  which  the  defeated 
Americans  took  refuge  from  the  fire  of  their 
enemies,  the  vista  is  almost  unique  for  a 
certain  scenic  squalor  and  gipsy  luxury  of 
colour :  sag-roofed  bama  and  stables,  and 
weak-backed,  sunken-chested  workshops  of 
every  sort  lounge  along  in  tum.ble-down  suc- 
cession, and  lean  up  against  the  clifiF  in  every 
imaginable  posture  of  worthlessness  and  de- 
crepitude ;   light  wooden  galleries  cross  to 


NEXT  MORMNG.  183 

them  from  the  second  stories  of  the  houses 
which  back  upon  the  alley ;  and  over  these 
galleries  flutters,  from  a  labyi'inth  of  clothes- 
lines, a  variety  of  bright-coloured  garments 
of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  conditions  ;  while  the 
footway  underneath  abounds  in  gossiping 
women,  smoking  men,  idle  poultry,  cats, 
children,  and  large,  indolent  Newfoundland 
dogs. 

"It  was  through  this  lane  that  Arnold's 
party  advanced  almost  to  the  foot  of  Moun- 
tain Street,  where  they  were  to  be  joined  by 
Montgomery's  force  in  an  attempt  to  sur- 
prise Prescott  Gate,"  said  the  colonel,  with 
his  unerring  second-hand  history. 

"'You  that  will  follow  me  to  this  attempt.' 

'  Wait  till  you  see  the  whites  of  their  eyes, 
and  then  fire  low,'  and  so  forth.  By  the 
way,  do  you  suppose  anybody  did  that  at 
Bunker  Hill,  Mr.  Arbuton  ?  Come,  you  're  a 
Boston  man.  My  experience  is  that  recruits 
chivalrously  fire  into  the  air  without  waiting 
to  see  the  enemy  at  all,  let  alone  the  whites 
of  their  eyes.  Why  !  aren't  you  coming  ?  " 
he  asked,  seeing  no  movement  to  follow  in 
Kitty  or  Mr.  Arbuton. 

"  It  doesn't  look  very  pleasant  under  foot, 
Dick,    suggested  Kitty. 


184  A   CHANCE    ACQUAINTAXCE. 

"Well,  upon  my  word!  Is  this  your 
uncle's  niece  ?  I  shall  never  dare  to  report 
this  panic  at  Eriecreek." 

"I  can  see  the  whole  length  of  the  alley, 
and  there 's  nothing  in  it  but  chickens  and 
domestic  animals." 

"Very  well,  as  Fanny  saysj  when  Uncle 
Jack — he 's  your  uncle — asks  you  about  every 
mch  of  the  ground  that  Arnold's  men  were 
demoralised  over,  I  hope  you  '11  know  what 
to  say." 

Kitty  laughed  and  said  she  should  try  a 
little  Invention,  if  her  Uncle  Jack  came 
dowTi  to  inches. 

"All  right,  Kitty;  you  can  go  along  St. 
Paul  Street,  there,  and  I>Ir.  Arbuton  and  I 
will  exx:)lore  the  Sault  au  Matelot,  and  come 
out  upon  you,  covered  with  glory,  at  the 
other  end. " 

"I  hope  it'll  be  glory,"  said  Kitty,  with 
a  glance  at  the  lane  ;  "but  I  think  it 's  more 
likely  to  be  feathers  and  chopped  straw. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Arbuton." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  answered  the  young 
man  ;  "  I  'm  going  with  you." 

The  colonel  feigned  indignant  surprise, 
and  marched  briskly  down  the  Sault  au 
Matelot  alone,  while  the  othei-s  took  their 
way  through  St.   Paul  Street  in  the   same 


NEXT    MORNING.  185 

direction,  amidst  the  bustle  and  business  oi 
the  port,  past  the  banks  and  great  commer- 
cial houses,  with  the  encounter  of  throngs  of 
seafaring  faces  of  many  nations,  and,  at  the 
comer  of  St.  Peter  Street,  a  glimpse  of  the 
national  flag  thrown  out  from  the  American 
Consulate,  which  intensified  for  uutravelled 
Kitty  her  sense  of  remoteness  from  her 
native  land.  At  length  they  turned  into 
the  street  now  called  Sault  au  Matelot,  into 
which  opens  the  lane  once  bearing  that 
name,  and  strolled  idly  along  in  the  cool 
shadow,  silence,  and  solitude  of  the  street. 
She  was  strangely  released  from  the  con- 
sti-aint  which  Mr.  Ai-buton  usually  put  upon 
her.  A  certain  defiant  ease  filled  her  heart ; 
she  felt  and  thought  whatever  she  liked,  for 
the  first  time  in  many  days  ;  while  he  went 
puzzling  himself  with  the  problem  of  a  young 
lady  who  despised  gentlemen,  and  yet  re- 
mained charming  to  him. 

A  mighty  marine  smell  of  oakum  and  salt 
fish  was  in  the  air,  and  "Oh,"  sighed 
Kitty,  "doesn't  it  make  you  long  for  dis- 
tant seas  ?  Shouldn't  you  like  to  be 
shipwi-ecked  for  half  a  day  or  so,  Mr. 
Arbuton  ? " 

"Yes;  yes,  certainly,"  he  replied  ab- 
sently, and  wondered  what  she  laughed  at. 


186  A   CHANCE   ACQCrAINTANCE. 

The  silence  of  the  place  was  broken  only  by 
the  noise  of  coopermg  which  seemed  to  be 
going  on  in  every  other  house  ;  the  solitude 
relieved  only  by  the  Newfoundland  dogs 
that  stretched  themselves  upon  the  thresh- 
olds of  the  cooper-shops.  The  monotony  of 
these  shops  and  dogs  took  Kitty's  humour, 
and  as  they  went  slowly  by  she  made  a  jest 
of  them,  as  she  used  to  do  with  things  she 
saw. 

"  But  here  's  a  door  without  a  dog  I "  she 
said,  presently.  "This  can't  be  a  genuine 
cooper-shop,  of  course,  without  a  dog.  Oh, 
that  accounts  for  it,  perhaps  I "  she  added, 
pausing  before  the  threshold,  and  glancing 
up  at  a  sign — "  Acad6mie  commerciale.  et 
UMraire"— set  under  an  upper  window. 
"What  a  curious  place  for  a  seat  of  learn- 
ing I  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  connec- 
tion between  cooper-shops  and  an  academical 
education,  Mr.  Arbuton  ? " 

She  stood  looking  up  at  the  sign  that 
moved  her  mirth,  and  swinging  her  shut 
parasol  idly  to  and  fro,  while  a  light  of 
laughter  played  over  her  face. 

Suddenly  a  shadow  seemed  to  dart  be- 
twixt her  and  the  oi)en  doorway,  Mr.  Ar- 
buton was  hurled  violently  against  her,  and 
as  she  struggled  to  keep  her  footing  under 


NEXT   MORNING.  187 

the  shock,  she  saw  him  bent  over  a  furious 
dog,  that  hung  from  the  breast  of  his  over- 
coat, while  he  clutched  its  throat  with  both 
his  hands. 

He  met  the  teiTor  of  her  face  with  a  quick 
glance.  "I  beg  your  pardon;  don't  call 
out,  please,"  he  said.  But  from  within  the 
shop  came  loud  cries  and  maledictions,  "  Oh 
nom  de  Dieu  !  c'est  le  bouledogue  du  capit- 
aine  anglais  ! "  with  appalling  screams  for 
help  ;  and  a  wild,  uncouth  little  figure  of  a 
man,  bareheaded,  horror-eyed,  came  flying 
out  of  the  open  door.  He  wore  a  cooper's 
apron,  and  he  bore  in  one  hand  a  red-hot 
iron,  which,  with  continuous  clamour,  he 
dashed  against  the  muzzle  of  the  hideous 
brute.  Without  a  sound  the  dog  loosed  his 
grip,  and  dropping  to  the  ground,  fled  into 
the  obscurity  of  the  shop,  as  silently  as  he 
had  launched  himself  out  of  it,  while  Kitty 
yet  stood  spell-bound,  and  before  the  crowd 
that  the  appeal  of  Mr.  Arbuton's  rescuer 
had  summoned  could  see  what  had  happened. 

Mr.  Arbuton  lifted  himself,  and  looked 
angrily  round  upon  the  gaping  spectators, 
who  began,  one  by  one,  to  take  in  their 
heads  from  their  windows  and  to  slink  back 
to  their  thresholds  as  if  they  had  been 
guilty    of     something     much    worse    than 


188  A   CUANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

a    desire    to    succour    a    human    being    in 
peril. 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Mr.  Arbuton, 
"what  an  abominable  scene!"  His  face 
was  deadly  pale  as  he  turned  from  these 
insolent  intruders  to  his  deliverer,  whom  he 
saluted,  with  a  "  Merci  bien  !  "  spoken  in  a- 
cold,  steady  voice.  Then  he  drew  off  his 
overcoat,  which  had  been  torn  by  the  dog's 
teeth  and  irreparably  dishonoured  in  the  en- 
counter. He  looked  at  it  shuddering,  with 
a  countenance  of  intense  disgust,  and  made 
a  motion  as  if  to  hurl  it  into  the  street. 
But  his  eye  agaui  fell  upon  the  cooper's 
squalid  little  figure,  as  he  stood  twisting  his 
hands  into  his  apron,  and  with  voluble 
eagerness  protesting  that  it  was  not  his  dog, 
but  that  of  the  English  ship-captain,  who 
had  left  it  with  him,  and  whom  he  had 
many  a  time  besought  to  have  the  beast 
killed.  Mr.  Arbuton,  who  seemed  not  to 
hear  what  he  was  saying,  or  to  be  so 
absorbed  in  something  else  as  not  to  consider 
whether  he  was  to  blame  or  not,  broke  in 
upon  him  in  French  :  ' '  You  've  done  me  the 
greatest  service.  I  cannot  repay  you,  but 
you  must  take  this,"  he  said,  as  he  thrust  a 
bank-note  into  the  little  man's  grimy 
hand. 


NEXT   MORNING.  1S9 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  too  much  !  But  it  is  like  a 
monsieur  so  brave,  so  " — 

"  Hush  !  It  was  nothing,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Arbuton  again.  Then  he  threw  his  over- 
coat upon  the  man's  shoulder.  "  If  you 
will  do  me  the  pleasure  to  receive  this  also  ? 
Perhaps  you  can  make  use  of  it." 

"Monsieur  heaps  me  with  benefits; — 
monsieur  " — began  the  bewildered  cooper  ; 
but  Mr.  Ai'buton  turned  abruptly  away 
from  him  toward  Kitty,  who  trembled  at 
having  shared  the  guilt  of  the  other  specta- 
tors, and  seizing  her  hand,  he  placed  it  on 
his  arm,  where  he  held  it  close  as  he  strode 
away,  leaving  his  deliverer  planted  in  the 
middle  of  the  side-walk  and  staring  after 
him.  She  scarcely  dared  ask  him  if  he  were 
hurt,  as  she  found  herself  doing  now  with  .1 
faltering  voice. 

"  No,  I  believe  not,"  he  said  with  a  glance 
at  the  frock-coat,  which  was  buttoned  across 
his  chest  and  was  quite  intact ;  and  still  he 
strode  on,  with  a  quick  glance  at  every 
threshold  which  did  not  openly  declare  a 
Newfoundland  dog. 

It  had  all  happened  so  suddenly,  and  in 
so  brief  a  time,  that  she  might  well  havt- 
failed  to  understand  it,  even  if  she  had  seen 
it  all.      It  was  barely  intelligible  to  Mr. 


190  A   CHAJiOE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Arbuton  himself,  who,  as  Kitty  had  loitered 
mocking  and  laughing  before  the  door  of  the 
shop,  chanced  to  see  the  dog  crouched 
within,  and  had  only  time  to  leap  forward 
and  receive  the  cruel  brute  on  his  breast  as 
it  flung  itself  at  her. 

He  had  not  thought  of  the  danger  to  him- 
self in  what  he  had  done.  He  knew  that  he 
was  unhurt,  but  he  did  not  care  for  that  j  he 
cared  only  that  she  was  safe  ;  and  as  he 
pressed  her  hand  tight  against  his  heart, 
there  passed  through  it  a  thiill  of  inexpres- 
sible tenderness,  a  quick,  passionate  sense  oi 
possession,  a  rapture  as  of  having  won  her 
and  made  her  his  own  for  ever,  by  saving  her 
from  that  horrible  risk.  The  maze  in  which 
he  had  but  now  dwelt  concerning  her  seemed 
an  obsolete  frivolity  of  an  alien  past ;  all  the 
cold  doubts  and  hindering  scruples  which  he 
had  felt  from  the  first  were  gone ;  gone  all 
his  care  for  his  world.  His  world  ?  In  that 
supreme  moment,  there  was  no  world  but  in 
the  tender  eyes  at  which  he  looked  down 
with  a  glance  which  she  knew  not  how  to 
interpret. 

She  thought  that  his  pride  was  deeply 
wounded  at  the  ignominy  of  his  adventure, 
— for  she  was  sure  he  would  care  more  for 
that  than  for  the  danger, — and  that  if  she 


NEXT   MORNING.  191 

spoke  of  it  she  might  add  to  the  angry  pain 
he  felt.  As  thej'^  hurried  along  she  waited 
for  him  to  speak,  but  he  did  not ;  though 
always,  as  he  looked  do^vn  at  her  with  that 
strange  look,  he  seemed  about  to  speak. 

Presently  she  stopped,  and,  withdrawing 
her  hand  from  his  arm,  she  cried,  "Why, 
we  've  forgotten  my  cousin  I " 

•'Oh — yes!"  said  Mr.  Arbuton  with  a 
vacant  smile. 

Looking  back  they  saw  the  colonel  stand- 
ing on  the  pavement  near  the  end  of  the  old 
Sault  au  Matelot,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  steadiastly  staring  at  them. 
He  did  not  relax  the  severity  of  his  gaze 
when  they  returned  to  join  him,  and  ap- 
peared to  find  little  consolation  in  Kitty's 
"Oh,  Dick,  I  forgot  all  about  you,"  given 
with  a  sudden,  inexplicable  laugh,  inter- 
mpted  and  renewed  as  some  ludicrous  image 
seemed  to  come  and  go  in  her  mind. 

"  Well,  this  may  be  very  flattering,  Kitty, 
but  it  isn't  altogether  comprehensible, "  said 
he,  with  a  keen  glance  at  both  their  faces. 
"I  don't  know  what  you'll  say  to  Uncle 
Jack.  It 's  not  forgetting  me  alone  :  it 's 
forgetting  the  whole  American  expedition 
against  Quebec." 

The  colonel  waited  for  some  reply ;   but 


192  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Kitty  dared  not  attempt  an  explanation, 
and  Mr.  Arbiiton  was  not  the  man  to  seem 
to  boast  of  his  share  of  the  adventure  by 
telling  what  had  happened,  even  if  he  had 
cared  at  that  moment  to  do  so.  Her  very 
ignorance  of  what  he  had  dared  for  her  only 
confirmed  his  new  sense  of  possession  ;  and, 
if  he  could,  he  would  not  have  marred  the 
pleasure  he  felt  by  making  her  grateful 
yet  sweet  as  that  might  be  in  its  time. 
Now  he  liked  to  keep  his  knowledge,  to 
have  had  her  unwitting  compassion,  to  hear 
her  pour  out  her  unwitting  relief  in  this 
laugh,  while  he  superiorly  pei-mitted  it. 

"I  don't  understand  this  thing,"  said  the 
colonel,  through  whose  dense,  masculine  in- 
telligence some  suspicions  of  love-making 
were  beginning  to  pierce.  But  he  dismissed 
them  as  absurd,  and  added,  "However,  I'm 
willing  to  forgive,  and  you  've  done  the  for- 
getting ;  and  all  that  I  ask  now  is  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  on  the  spot  where 
Montgomery  fell.  Fanny  '11  never  believe 
I've  found  it  unless  you  go  with  me,"  he 
appealed,  finally. 

"Oh,  we'll  go,  by  all  means,"  said  Mr. 
Arbuton,  unconsciously  speaking,  as  by 
authority,  for  both. 

They  came  into  busier  streets  of  the  Port 


NEXT   MORNING.  193 

again,  and  then  passed  through  the  square  of 
the  Lower  Town  Market,  with  the  market- 
house  in  the  midst,  the  shops  and  ware- 
houses on  either  side,  the  long  row  of  tented 
booths  with  every  kind  of  peasant-wares  to 
sell,  and  the  wide  stairway  dropping  to  the 
river  which  brought  the  abundance  of  the 
neighbouring  country  to  the  mart.  The 
whole  place  was  alive  with  country-folk  in 
carts  and  citizens  on  foot.  At  one  point  a 
gaily-painted  wagon  was  drawn  up  in  the 
midst  of  a  gi-oup  of  people  to  whom  a  quack - 
ish-faced  Yankee  was  hawking,  in  his  own 
personal  French,  aji  American  patent-medi- 
cine, and  making  his  audience  giggle. 
Because  Kitty  was  amused  at  this,  Mr. 
Ai'buton  found  it  the  drollest  thmg  imagi- 
nable, but  saw  something  yet  droller  when 
she  made  the  colonel  look  at  a  peasant, 
standing  in  one  comer  beside  a  basket  of 
fowls,  which  a  woman,  coming  up  to  buy, 
examined  as  if  the  provision  were  some 
natural  curiosity,  while  a  crowd  at  once 
gathered  round. 

"It  requires  a  considerable  population 
to  make  a  bargain,  up  here,"  remarked  the 
colonel.  "  I  suppose  they  turn  out  the 
garrison  when  they  sell  a  beef."  For  both 
buyer  and  seller  seemed  to  take  advice  of 


194  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  bystanders,  who  discussed  and  inspected 
the  different  fowls  as  if  nothing  so  novel  as 
poultry  had  yet  fallen  in  their  way. 

At  last  tlie  peasant  himself  took  up  the 
fowls  and  carefully  scrutinised  them. 

"  Those  chickens,  it  seems,  never  hap- 
pened to  catch  his  eye  before,"  interpreted 
Kitty  ;  and  Mr.  Arbuton,  who  was  usually 
very  restive  during  such  banter,  smiled  as  if 
it  were  the  most  admirable  fooling,  or  the 
most  precious  wisdom  in  the  world.  He 
made  them  wait  to  see  the  bargain  out,  and 
could,  apparently,  have  lingered  there  for 
ever. 

But  the  colonel  had  a  conscience  about 
Montgomery,  and  he  hurried  them  away, 
on  past  the  Queen's  Wharf,  and  down  the 
Cove  Road  to  that  point  where  the  scarped 
and  rugged  breast  of  the  cliff  bears  the  sign, 
"  Here  fell  Montgomery,"  though  he  really 
fell,  not  half-way  up  the  height,  but  at  the 
foot  of  it,  where  stood  the  battery  that  for- 
bade his  juncture  with  Arnold  at  Prescott 
Gate. 

A  certain  wildness  yet  possesses  the  spot : 
the  front  of  the  crag,  topped  by  the  high 
citadel-wall,  is  so  grim,  and  the  few  tough 
evergreens  that  cling  to  its  clefts  are  torn 
and  twisted  by  the  winter  blasts,  and  the 


NEXT   MORNINa.  195 

houses  are  decrej^it  mth  age,  showing  here 
and  there  the  scars  of  the  frequent  fires  that 
sweep  the  Lower  ToMm. 

It  was  quite  useless  :  neither  the  memories 
of  the  place  nor  their  setting  were  sufficient 
to  engage  the  wajnvard  thoughts  of  these 
curiously  assorted  pilgrims  ;  and  the  colonel, 
after  some  attempts  to  bring  the  matter 
home  to  himself  and  the  others,  was  obliged 
to  abandon  Mr.  Arbuton  to  his  tender 
reveries  of  Kitty,  and  Kitty  to  her  puzzling 
over  the  change  in  Mr.  Ai-buton.  His  com- 
plaisance made  her  uncomfortable  and  shy 
of  him,  it  was  so  strange  ;  it  gave  her  a 
little  shiver,  as  if  he  were  behaving  undig- 
nifiedly. 

"Well,  Kitty,"  said  the  colonel,  "I 
reckon  Uncle  Jack  would  have  made  more 
out  of  this  than  we  've  done.  He  'd  have 
had  their  geology  out  of  these  rocks,  any 
way, " 


196  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE, 


IX. 
MR.  ARBUTON's  infatuation. 

KITTY  went  as  usual  to  Mrs.  Ellison's 
room  after  her  walk,  but  she  lapsed 
into  a  deep  abstraction  as  she  sat  down 
beside  the  sofa. 

"  What  are  you  smiling  at  ? "  asked  Mi-s. 
Ellison,  after  briefly  supporting  her  abstrac- 
tion. 

' '  Was  I  smiling  ? "  asked  Kitty,  begin- 
ning to  laugh.     "  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  What  has  happened  so  very  funny  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  whether  it 's  so 
very  funny  or  not.  I  believe  it  isn't  funny 
at  all." 

' '  Then  what  makes  you  laugh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Was  I " — 

"Now  donH  ask  me  if  you  were  laughing, 
Kitty.  It 's  a  little  too  much.  You  can 
talk  or  not,  as  you  choose  ;  but  I  don't  like 
to  be  turned  into  ridicule." 

"  Oh,  Fanny,  how  can  you  ?  I  was  think- 
ing about  something  very  different.     But  I 


MR.  arbuton's  infatuation.        197 

don't  see  how  1  can  tell  you,  without  put- 
ting Mr.  Arbuton  in  a  ludicrous  light,  and 
it  isn't  quite  fair." 

"  You  're  very  careful  of  him,  all  at  once," 
said  Mrs.  Ellison.  "You  didn't  seem  dis- 
posed to  spare  him  yteterday  so  much.  I 
don't  understand  this  sudden  conversion. " 

Kitty  responded  with  a  fit  of  outrageous 
laughter.  "Now  I  see  I  must  tell  you," 
she  said,  and  rapidly  recounted  Mr.  Ar- 
buton's adventure. 

' '  Why,  I  never  knew  anything  so  cool 
and  brave,  Fanny,  and  I  admired  him  more 
thcin  ever  I  did ;  but  then  I  couldn't  help 
seeing  the  other  side  of  it,  you  know." 

' '  What  other  side  ?    I  don't  know. ' ' 

"  Well,  you  'd  have  had  to  laugh  yourself, 
if  you'd  seen  the  lordly  way  he  dismissed 
the  poor  people  who  had  come  iiinnLng  out 
of  their  houses  to  help  him,  and  his  stateli- 
ness  in  rewarding  that  little  cooper,  and 
his  heroic  parting  from  his  cherished  over- 
coat,— which  of  course  he  can't  replace  in 
Quebec, — and  his  absent-minded  politeness 
in  taking  my  hand  under  his  ann,  and 
marching  off  with  me  so  magnificently. 
But  the  worst  thing,  Fanny," — and  she 
bowed  herself  under  a  tempest  of  long-pent 
mirth, — "the  worst    thing    was,   that  the 


I9S  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTAXCE. 

iron  you  know,  was  the  cooper's  branding- 
iron,  and  I  had  a  vision  of  the  dog  carrying 
about  on  his  nose,  as  long  as  he  lived,  the 
monogram  that  marks  the  cooper's  casks  as 
holding  a  certain  number  of  gallons  " — 

' '  Kitty,  don't  be — sacrilegious  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Ellison. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  she  retorted,  gaspmg 
and  panting.  "I  never  respected  Mr. 
Arbuton  so  much,  and  you  say  yourself  I 
haven't  shown  myself  so  careful  of  him 
before.  But  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see 
Dick  in  my  life,  and  to  have  some  excuse 
for  laughing.  I  didn't  dare  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Arbuton  about  it,  for  he  couldn't,  if  he 
had  tried,  have  let  me  laugh  it  out  and  be 
done  with  it.  I  trudged  demurely  along 
by  his  side,  and  neither  of  us  mentioned 
the  matter  to  Dick,"  she  concluded  breath- 
lessly. Then,  "  1  don't  know  why  I  should 
tell  you  now ;  it  seems  wicked  and  cruel," 
she  said  penitently,  almost  pensively. 

Mi's.  Ellison  had  not  been  amused.  She 
said,  "Well,  Kitty,  In  some  girls  I  should 
say  it  was  quite  heartless  to  do  as  you've 
done." 

"It's  heartless  in  me,  Fanny;  and  you 
needn't  say  such  a  thing.  I  'm  sure  I  didn't 
utter  a  syllable   to  wound   him,  and  just 


MK.  abbuton's  infatuation.         199 

before  that  he  'd  been  very  disagreeable,  and 
I  forgave  him  because  I  thought  he  was 
mortified.  And  you  needn't  say  that  I  've 
no  feeling  : "  and  thereupon  she  rose, 
and,  putting  her  hands  into  her  cousin's. 
"Fanny,"  she  cried,  vehemently,  "I  liave 
been  heartless.  I  'm  afraid  I  haven't  shown 
any  sympathy  or  consideration.  I'm  afraid 
I  must  have  seemed  dreadfully  callous  and 
hard.  I  oughtn't  to  have  thought  of  any- 
thing but  the  danger  to  him ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  now  I  scarcely  thought  of  that 
at  all.  Oh,  how  rude  it  was  of  me  to 
see  anything  funny  in  it !  What  can  I 
do?" 

"  Don't  go  crazy,  at  any  rate,  Kitty.  He 
doesn't  know  that  you  've  been  laughing 
about  him.     You  needn't  do  anything. " 

"Oh  yes,  I  need.  He  doesn't  know  that 
I  've  been  laughing  about  him  to  j'ou  ;  but, 
don't  you  see,  I  laughed  when  we  met  Dick  ; 
and  what  can  he  think  of  that  ? " 

"He  just  thinks  you  were  nervous,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Oh,  do  you  suppose  he  does,  Fanny? 
Oh,  I  wish  I  could  believe  that !  Oh,  I  'm 
so  horribly  ashamed  of  myself  !  And  here 
yesterday  I  was  criticising  him  for  being 
unfeeling,  and  now  I  've  been   a  thousand 


200  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

times  worse  than  he  has  ever  been,  or  evei 
could  be  !     Oh  dear,  dear,  dear  I " 

"  Kitty  I  hush  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ellison  ; 
"you  run  on  like  a  wild  thing,  and  you're 
driving  me  distracted,  by  not  being  like 
yourself." 

"  Oh,  it 's  very  well  for  you  to  be  so  calm  ; 
but  if  you  didn't  know  what  to  do,  y«'a 
wouldn't." 

"Yes,  I  would  ;  I  don't,  and  I  am," 

"But  what  shall  I  do?"  And  Kitty 
plucked  away  the  hands  which  Fanny  had 
been  holdiag  and  wrung  them.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I  can  do,"  she  suddenly  added, 
while  a  gleam  of  relief  dawned  upon  her 
face  :  "  I  can  bear  all  his  disagreeable  ways 
after  this,  as  long  as  he  stays,  and  not  say 
anything  back.  Yes,  I  '11  put  up  with 
everything.  I  '11  be  as  meek !  He  may 
patronise  me  and  snub  me,  and  put  me  in 
the  wrong  as  much  as  he  pleases.  And  then 
he  won't  be  approaching  my  behaviour.  Oh, 
Fanny  ! " 

Upon  this,  Mrs.  Ellison  said  that  she  was 
going  to  give  her  a  good  scolding  for  her 
nonsense,  and  pulled  her  down  and  kissed 
her,  and  said  that  she  had  not  done  any- 
thing, and  was,  nevertheless,  consoled  at 
her  resolve  to  expiate  her  offence  by  respect- 


MK.  akbuton's  infatuation.        201 

mg  thenceforward  Mr.  Arbuton's  foibles  aud 
prejudices. 

It  is  not  certain  how  far  Kitty  would 
have  succeeded  in  her  good  purposes :  these 
things,  80  easily  conceived,  are  not  of  suck 
facile  execution  ;  she  passed  a  sleepless  night 
of  good  resolutions  and  schemes  of  repara- 
tion ;  but,  fortunately  for  her,  Mr.  Arbuton's 
foibles  and  prejudices  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  a  strange  abeyance.  The  change  that 
had  come  upon  him  that  day  remained ;  he 
was  still  Mr.  Arbuton,  but  with  a  difference. 
He  could  not  undo  his  whole  inherited  and 
educated  being,  and  perhaps  no  chance  could 
deeply  affect  it  without  destroying  the  man. 
He  continued  hopelessly  superior  to  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Ellison  :  but  it  is  not  easy  to  love 
a  woman  ai^d  not  seek,  at  least  before 
marriage,  to  please  those  dear  to  her.  Mr. 
Arbuton  had  contested  his  passion  at  evei-y 
advance ;  he  had  finnly  set  his  face  against 
the  fancy  that,  at  the  beginning,  invested 
this  girl  with  a  charm  ;  he  had  only  done  the 
things  afterwards  that  mere  civilisation  re- 
quired ;  he  had  suffered  torments  of  doubt 
concerning  her  fitness  for  himself  and  his 
place  in  society ;  he  was  not  sure  yet  that 
her  unknown  relations  were  not  horribly 
vulgar  people;    even  yet,   he   was    almost 


202  A   CUANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

wholly  ignorant  of  the  circumstances  and 
conditions  of  her  life.  But  now  he  saw  her 
only  in  the  enrapturing  light  of  his  daring 
for  her  sake,  of  a  self-devotion  that  had 
seemed  to  make  her  his  own  ;  and  lie  behaved 
toward  her  with  a  lover's  self-forgetfulness, 
— or  something  like  it :  say  a  perfect  toler- 
ance, a  tender  patience,  in  which  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  detect  the  lurking  shadow 
of  condescension. 

He  was  fairly  domesticated  with  the 
family.  Mrs.  Ellison's  hurt,  in  spite  of  her 
many  imprudences,  was  decidedly  better, 
and  sometimes  she  made  a  ceremony  of  being 
helped  down  from  her  room  to  dinner  ;  but 
she  always  had  tea  beside  her  sofa,  and  he 
with  the  others  drank  it  there.  Few  hours 
of  the  day  passed  in  which  they  did  not 
meet  in  that  easy  relation  which  establishes 
itself  among  people  sojourning  in  summer 
idleness  under  the  same  roof.  In  the  morn- 
ing he  saw  the  young  girl  fresh  and  glad  as 
any  flower  of  the  garden  beneath  her  window, 
while  the  sweet  abstraction  of  her  maiden 
dreams  yet  hovered  in  her  eyes.  At  night 
he  sat  with  her  beside  the  lamp  whose  light, 
illuming  a  little  world  within,  shut  out  the 
great  world  outside,  and  seemed  to  be  the 
soft  effulgence  of  her  presence,  as  she  sewed, 


MR.    ARBUTON'S   INFATUATION.  203 

or  knit,  or  read, — a  heavenly  spirit  of  home. 
Sometimes  he  heard  her  talking  with  her 
cousin,  or  lightly  laughing  after  he  had  said 
good-night ;  once,  when  he  woke,  she  seemed 
to  be  looking  out  of  her  window  across  the 
moonlight  in  the  Ursulines'  Garden  while 
she  sang  a  fragment  of  song.  To  meet  her 
on  the  stairs  or  in  the  narrow  entries  ;  or  to 
encounter  her  at  the  doors,  and  make  way 
for  her  to  pass  with  a  jest  and  blush  and 
Sutter  ;  to  sit  down  at  table  with  her  three 
times  a  day, — was  a  potent  witchery.  There 
was  a  rapture  in  her  shawl  flung  over  the 
back  of  her  chair  ;  her  gloves,  lying  light  as 
fallen  leaves  on  the  table,  and  keeping  the 
shape  of  her  hands,  were  full  of  winning 
character;  and  all  the  more  unaccountably 
they  touched  his  heart  because  they  had  a 
certain  careless,  sweet  shabbiness  about  the 
finger-tips. 

He  found  himself  hanging  upon  her  desul- 
tory talk  with  Fanny  about  the  set  of  things 
and  the  agreement  of  colours.  There  was 
always  more  or  less  of  this  talk  going  on, 
whatever  the  main  topic  was,  for  continual 
question  arose  in  the  minds  of  one  or  other 
lady  concerning  those  adaptations  of  Mrs. 
Ellison's  finery  to  the  exigencies  of  Kitty's 
dai^y    life.      They    pleased    their    innocent 


204  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

hearts  with  the  secrecy  of  the  affair,  which, 
in  the  concealments  it  required,  the  sudden 
difficulties  it  presented,  and  the  guiltless 
equivocations  it  inspired,  had  the  excite- 
ment of  intrigue.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  to  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Ellison  than  to 
deck  Kitty  for  this  perpetual  masquerade ; 
and,  since  the  things  were  very  pretty,  and 
Kitty  was  a  girl  in  every  motion  of  her 
being,  I  do  not  see  how  anything  could  have 
delighted  her  more  than  to  wear  them. 
Their  talk  effervesced  with  the  delicious 
consciousness  that  he  could  not  dream  of 
what  was  going  on,  and  bubbled  over  with 
mysterious  jests  and  laughter,  which  some- 
times he  feared  to  be  at  his  expense,  and  so 
joined  in,  and  made  them  laugh  the  more 
at  his  misconception.  He  went  and  came 
among  them  at  will ;  he  had  but  to  tap  at 
Mrs.  Ellison's  door,  and  some  voice  of  uu- 
afifected  cordiality  welcomed  him  In  ;  he  had 
but  to  ask,  and  Kitty  was  frankly  ready  for 
any  of  those  stroUs  about  Quebec  in  which 
most  of  their  waking  hours  were  dreamed 
away. 

The  grey  Lady  of  the  North  cast  her  spell 
about  them, — the  freshness  of  her  mornings, 
the  still  heat  of  her  middays,  the  slant, 
pensive  radiance  of  her  afternoons,  and  the 


MR.  arbuton's  infatuation.        205 

pale  splendour  of  her  auroral  nights.  Never 
was  city  so  faithfully  explored ;  never  did 
city  so  abound  in  objects  of  interest ;  for 
Kitty's  love  of  the  place  was  boundless,  and 
his  love  for  her  was  inevitable  friendship 
with  this  adopted  patriotism. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  Western  people 
cared  for  these  things,"  he  once  said;  "I 
thought  your  minds  were  set  on  things  new 
and  square." 

"But  how  could  you  think  so?"  replied 
Kitty,  tolerantly.  "It's  because  we  have 
so  many  new  and  square  things  that  we  like 
the  old  crooked  ones.  I  do  believe  I  should 
enjoy  Europe  even  better  than  you.  There 's 
a  forsaken  farm-house  near  Eriecreek,  drop- 
ping to  pieces  amongst  its  wild-grown  sweet- 
briars  and  quince-bushes,  that  I  used  to 
think  a  wonder  of  antiquity  because  it  was 
built  in  1815.  Can't  you  imagine  how  I 
must  feel  in  a  city  like  this,  that  was  founded 
nearly  three  centuries  ago,  and  has  suffered 
so  many  sieges  and  captures,  and  looks  like 
pictures  of  those  beautiful  old  towns  I  can 
never  see  ?  " 

"Oh,  perhai)s  you  will  see  them  some 
day  !  "  he  said,  touched  by  her  fervour. 

"I  don't  ask  it  at  present:  Quebec's 
enough.      I'm  in  love   with   the  place.     I 


206  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

vdsh  I  never  had  to  leave  it.  There  isn't  a 
crook,  or  a  turn,  or  a  tin-roof,  or  a  dormer- 
window,  or  a  grey  stone  in  it  that  isn't 
precious." 

Mr.  Arbuton  laughed.  "  Well,  you  shall 
be  sovereign  lady  of  Quebec  for  me.  Shall 
we  have  the  English  garrison  turned  out  ?  " 

"No;  not  unless  you  can  bring  back 
Montcalm's  men  to  take  their  places." 

This  might  be  as  they  sauntered  out  oi 
one  of  the  city  gates,  and  strayed  through 
the  Lower  To\'ni  till  they  should  chance 
u  pon  some  poor,  bare-interiored  church,  with 
a  few  humble  worshippers  adoring  their 
Saint,  with  his  lamps  alight  before  his  pic- 
ture ;  or  as  they  passed  some  high  convent- 
wall,  and  caught  the  strange,  metallic  clang 
of  the  nuns'  voices  singing  their  hymns 
within.  Sometimes  they  whiled  away  the 
hours  on  the  Esplanade,  breathing  its  pensive 
sentiment  of  neglect  and  incipient  decay,  and 
pacing  up  and  down  over  the  turf  athwart  the 
slim  shadows  of  the  poplars  ;  or,  with  com- 
fortable indifference  to  the  local  obsei-vances, 
sat  in  talk  on  the  carriage  of  one  of  the  burly, 
uncared-for  guns,  while  the  spider  wove  his 
web  across  the  mortar's  mouth,  and  the  grass 
nodded  above  the  tumbled  pyramids  of  shot, 
and  the  children  raced  up  and  down,  and  tho 


MR.  arbuton's  infatuation.        207 

nursery-maids  were  wooed  of  the  dapper  ser- 
geants, and  the  red-coated  sentry  loitered 
lazily  to  and  fro  before  his  box.  On  the 
days  of  the  music,  they  listened  to  the  band 
in  the  Governor's  Garden,  and  watched  the 
fine  world  of  the  old  capital  in  flirtation  with 
the  blond-whiskered  officers  ;  and  on  pleasant 
nights  they  mingled  with  the  citizen  throng 
that  filled  the  Durham  Terrace,  while  the 
river  shaped  itself  in  the  lights  of  its  ship- 
ping, and  the  Lower  Town,  with  its  lamps, 
lay,  like  a  nether  firmament,  two  hundred 
feet  below  them,  and  Point  Levis  glittered 
and  sparkled  on  the  thither  sliore,  and  in  the 
northern  sky  the  aurora  throbbed  in  swift 
pulsations  of  violet  and  crimson.  They  liked 
to  climb  the  Break-Neck  Steps  at  Prescott 
Gate,  dropping  from  the  Upper  to  the 
Lower  Towtq,  which  reminded  Mr.  Arbuton 
of  Naples  and  Trieste,  and  took  Kitty  with 
the  unassociated  picturesqueness  of  their  odd 
shops  and  taverns,  and  their  lofty  windows 
green  with  house  plants.  They  would  stop 
and  look  up  at  the  geraniums  and  fuchsias, 
and  fall  a-thinking  of  far  different  things, 
and  the  friendly,  unbusy  people  would  come 
to  their  doors  and  look  up  with  them. 
They  recognised  the  handsome,  blond  young 
man,  and   the   pretty,  grey-eyed   girl ;   for 


208  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

people  in  Quebec  have  time  to  note  stran- 
gers who  linger  there,  and  Kitty  and  Mr. 
Arbuton  had  come  to  be  well-known  figures, 
different  from  the  fleeting  tourists  on  their 
rounds ;  and,  indeed,  as  sojourners  they 
themselves  perceived  their  poetic  distinction 
from  mere  birds  of  passage. 

In-doors  they  resorted  much  to  the  little 
entrj'-window  looking  out  on  the  Ursu- 
lines'  Garden.  Two  chairs  stood  confronted 
there,  and  it  was  hard  for  either  of  the 
young  people  to  pass  them  without  sinking 
a  moment  mto  one  of  them,  and  this  ap- 
peared always  to  charm  another  presence 
into  the  opposite  chair.  There  they  often 
lingered  in  the  soft  forenoons,  talking  in 
desultory  phrases  of  things  far  and  near,  or 
watching,  in  long  silences,  the  nuns  pacing 
up  and  down  In  the  garden  below,  and  wait 
ing  for  the  pensive,  slender  nun,  and  the 
stout,  jolly  nun  whom  Kitty  had  adopted, 
and  whom  she  had  gaily  interpreted  to  him 
as  an  allegory  of  Life  in  their  quaint  in- 
separableness ;  and  they  played  that  the 
influence  of  one  or  other  nun  was  in  the 
ascendant,  according  as  their  own  talk  was 
gay  or  sad.  In  their  relation,  people  are 
uot  so  different  from  children ;  they  like 
the  same  thing  over  and  over  again ;  they 


MR.  arbuton's  infatuation.        209 

like    it    the   better    the    less    it    is   in    it- 
self. 

At  times  Kittj'  -n-ould  come  with  a  book 
in  her  hand  (one  finger  shut  in  to  keep  the 
place) — some  latest  novel,  or  a  pirated  edi- 
tion of  Longfellow,  recreantly  purchased  at 
a  Quebec  bookstore  ;  and  then  Mr.  Ai'buton 
must  ask  to  see  it ;  and  he  read  romance  or 
poetrj'  to  her  by  the  hour.  He  showed  to 
as  much  advantage  as  most  men  do  in  the 
serious  follies  of  wooing ;  and  an  influence 
which  he  could  not  defy,  or  would  not, 
shaped  him  to  all  the  sweet,  absurd  de- 
mands of  the  affair.  From  time  to  time, 
recollecting  himself,  and  trying  to  look  con- 
sequences in  the  face,  he  gently  turned  the 
talk  upon  Eriecreek,  and  endeavoured  to 
possess  himself  of  some  intelligible  image  of 
the  place,  and  of  Kitty's  home  and  friends. 
Even  then,  the  present  was  so  fair  and  full 
of  content,  that  his  thoughts,  when  they 
revolted  to  the  future,  no  longer  met  the 
obstacles  that  had  made  him  recoil  from  it 
before.  Whatever  her  past  had  been,  he 
could  find  some  way  to  weaken  the  ties  that 
bound  her  to  it ;  a  year  or  two  of  Europe 
would  leave  no  trace  of  Eriecreek  ;  with- 
out efi'ort  of  his,  her  life  would  adapt  itself 
to  his  own,  and  cease  to  be  a  part  of  the 
0 


210  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

lives  of  those  people  there  ;  again  and  again 
his  amiable  inaaginations — they  were  scarcely 
intents — accomplished  themselves  in  many  a 
swift,  fugitive  reverie,  while  the  days  went 
by,  and  the  shadow  of  the  ivy  in  the  window 
at  which  they  sat  fell,  in  moonlight  and  sun- 
light, upon  Kitty's  cheeks,  and  the  fuchsia 
kissed  her  hair  with  its  purple  and  crimson 
blossom. 


MB.     ABBUXON    SPEAKS.  211 


X. 

ME.  ARBUTON  SPEAKS. 

MRS.  ELLISON  was  almost  well;  she 
had  already  been  shopping  twice  in 
the  Rue  Fabrique,  and  her  recovery  was  now 
chiefly  retarded  by  the  dressmaker's  delays 
in  making  up  a  silk  too  precious  to  be  risked 
in  the  piece  ^vith  the  customs  officers,  at  the 
frontier.  Moreover,  although  the  colonel 
was  beginning  to  chafe,  she  Avas  not  loath 
to  linger  yet  a  few  days  for  the  sake  of  an 
affair  to  which  her  suffering  had  been  a  will- 
ing sacrifice.  In  return  for  her  indefatigable 
self-devotion,  Kitty  had  lately  done  very 
little.  She  ungratefully  shrank  more  and 
more  from  those  confidences  to  which  her 
cousin's  speeches  covertly  invited ;  she  openly 
resisted  open  attempts  upon  her  knowledge 
of  facts.  If  she  was  not  prepared  to  confess 
everything  to  Fanny,  it  was  perhaps  because 
it  was  all  so  very  little,  or  because  a  young 
girl  has  not,  or  ought  not  to  have,  a  mind  in 
certain  matters,  or  else  knows  it  not,  till  it 


212  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

is  asked  her  by  the  one  first  authorised  to 
learn  it.  The  dream  in  which  she  lived  was 
flattering  and  fair  ;  and  it  wholly  contented 
her  imagination  while  it  lulled  her  con- 
sciousness. It  moved  from  phase  to  phase 
without  the  harshness  of  reality,  and  was 
apparently  allied  neither  to  the  future  nor 
to  the  past.  She  herself  seemed  to  have  no 
more  fixity  or  responsibility  in  it  than  the 
heroine  of  a  romance. 

As  their  last  week  in  Quebec  di-ew  to  its 
close,  only  two  or  three  things  remained  for 
them  to  do,  as  tourists ;  and  chief  among 
the  few  unvisited  shrines  of  sentiment  was 
the  site  of  the  old  Jesuit  mission  at  Sillery. 

"  It  won't  do  not  to  see  that,  Kitty,"  said 
Mrs.  Ellison,  who,  as  usual,  had  arranged 
the  details  of  the  excursion,  and  uom'  an- 
nounced them.  "It's  one  of  the  principal 
things  here,  and  your  Uncle  Jack  would 
never  be  satisfied  if  you  missed  it.  In  fact, 
it 's  a  shame  to  have  left  it  so  long.  I  can't 
go  with  you,  for  I  'm  saving  up  my  strength 
for  our  picnic  at  Chateau-Bigot  to-morrow  ; 
and  I  want  you,  Kitty,  to  see  that  the 
colonel  sees  everything.  I've  had  trouble 
enough,  goodness  knows,  getting  the  facts 
together  for  him,"  This  was  as  Kitty  and 
Mr.  Arbuton  sat  waiting  in  Mrs,  Ellison's 


MR.    ARBUTON   SPEAKS.  213 

parlour  for  the  delinquent  colonel,  who  had 
just  stepped  round  to  the  H6tel  St.  Louis 
and  was  to  be  back  presently.  But  the 
moment  of  his  return  passed  ;  a  quarter- 
hour  of  grace ;  a  half -hour  of  gi'im  mag- 
nanimity,— and  still  no  colonel.  Mrs.  Ellison 
began  by  saying  that  it  was  perfectly  abomin- 
able, and  left  herself,  in  a  greater  extremity, 
vdth  nothing  more  forcible  to  add  than  that 
it  was  too  provoking.  "  It 's  getting  so 
late  now,"  she  said  at  last,  "  tliat  it's  no 
use  waiting  any  longer,  if  you  mean  to  go 
at  all  to-day  ;  and  to-day 's  the  onlj'  day  you 
can  go.  There,  you'd  better  drive  on  with- 
out him.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  miss  it. " 
And,  thus  adjured,  the  young  people  rose 
and  went. 

When  the  high -bom  Noel  Brulart  de 
Sillery,  Knight  of  Malta  and  courtier  of 
Marie  de  Medicis,  turned  from  the  vanities 
of  this  world  and  became  a  priest,  Canada 
was  the  fashionable  mission  of  the  day,  and 
the  noble  neophyte  signalised  his  self-renun- 
ciation by  giving  of  his  gi'eat  wealth  for  the 
conversion  of  the  Indian  heathen.  He  sup- 
plied the  Jesuit"?  with  money  to  maintain  a 
religious  establishment  near  Quebec  j  and 
the  settlement  of  red  Christians  took  hia 
musical  name,  which  the  region  still  keeps. 


214  A   CnANCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

It  became  famoiis  at  once  as  the  first  resi- 
dence of  the  Jesuits  and  the  nuns  of  the 
H6tel  Dieu,  who  wrought  and  suffered  for 
religion  there  amidst  the  terrors  of  pesti- 
lence, Iroquois,  and  winter.  It  wa.9  the 
scene  of  miracles  and  martyrdoms,  and 
marvels  of  many  kinds,  and  the  centre  of 
the  missionary  efforts  among  the  Indians. 
Indeed,  few  events  of  the  picturesque  early 
history  of  Quebec  left  it  untouched  ;  and  it 
is  worthy  to  be  seen,  no  less  for  the  wild 
beauty  of  the  spot  than  for  its  heroical 
memories.  About  a  league  from  the  city, 
where  the  irregular  wall  of  rock  on  which 
Quebec  is  built  recedes  from  the  river,  and  a 
grassy  space  stretches  between  the  tide  and 
the  foot  of  the  woody  steep,  the  old  mission 
and  the  Indian  village  once  stood  ;  and  to 
this  day  there  yet  stands  the  stalwart  frame 
of  the  first  Jesuit  Residence,  modernised,  of 
course,  and  turned  to  secular  uses,  but  firm 
as  of  old,  and  good  for  a  century  to  come. 
All  around  is  a  world  of  lumber,  and  rafts  of 
vast  extent  cover  the  face  of  the  waters  in 
the  ample  cove, — one  of  many  that  indent 
the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  A  careless 
village  straggles  along  the  roadside  and  the 
river's  margin  ;  huge  lumber-ships  are  load- 
ing for  Eurone  in  the  stream  ;  a  town  shines 


flIR.    ABBUTON    SPEAKS.  215 

out  of  the  woods  on  the  opposite  shore ; 
nothing  but  a  friendly  climate  is  needed  to 
make  this  one  of  the  most  charming  scenes 
the  heart  could  imagine. 

Kitty  and  Mr.  Arbuton  drove  out  towards 
Sillery  by  the  St.  Louis  Road,  and  already 
the  jealous  foliage  that  hides  the  pretty 
villas  and  stately  places  of  that  aristocratic 
suburb  was  tinged,  in  here  and  there  a  bough, 
with  autumnal  crimson  or  yellow ;  in  the 
meadows  here  and  there  a  vine  ran  red 
along  the  grass ;  the  loath  choke-cherries 
were  ripening  in  the  fence  comers ;  the  air 
was  full  of  the  pensive  jargoning  of  the 
crickets  and  grasshoppers,  and  all  the  .subtle 
sentiment  of  the  fading  summer.  Their 
hearts  were  open  to  every  dreamy  influence 
of  the  time  ;  their  driver  understood  hardly 
any  English,  and  their  talk  might  safely  be 
made  up  of  those  harmless  egotisms  which 
young  people  exchange, — those  strains  of 
psychological  autobiography  which  mark  ad- 
vancing intimacy  and  in  which  they  appear 
to  each  other  the  most  uncommon  persons 
that  ever  lived,  and  their  experiences  and 
emotions  and  ideas  are  the  more  surprisingly 
unique  because  exactly  alike. 

It  seemed  a  very  short  league  to  Sillery 
when  they  left  the  St.  Louis  Road,  and  the 


216  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

driver  turned  his  horses'  heads  towards  the 
river,  down  the  winding  sylvan  way  that 
descended  to  the  shore ;  and  they  had  not 
so  much  desire,  after  all,  to  explore  the 
site  of  the  old  mission.  Xevei'theless,  they 
got  out  and  visited  the  little  space  once 
occupied  by  the  Jesuit  chapel,  where  its 
foundations  may  yet  be  traced  in  the  grass, 
and  they  read  the  inscription  on  the  monu- 
ment lately  raised  by  the  parish  to  the 
memory  of  the  first  Jesuit  missionary  to 
Canada,  who  died  at  Sillery.  Then  there 
seemed  nothing  more  to  do  but  admire  the 
mighty  rafts  and  piles  of  lumber ;  but  their 
show  of  interest  in  the  local  celebrity  had 
stirred  the  pride  of  Sillery,  and  a  little 
French  boy  entered  the  chapel-yard,  and 
gave  Kitty  a  pamphlet  history  of  the  place, 
for  which  he  would  not  suffer  himself  to  be 
paid ;  and  a  sweet-faced  young  English- 
woman came  out  of  tlie  house  across  the 
way,  and  hesitatingly  asked  if  they  would 
not  like  to  see  the  Jesuit  Residence.  She 
led  them  in-doors,  and  showed  them  how 
the  ancient  edifice  had  been  encased  by  the 
modem  house,  and  bade  them  note,  from 
the  deep  shelving  window-seats,  that  the 
stone  walls  were  three  feet  thick.  The 
rooms  were  low-ceiled  and  quaintly-shaped, 


MR.    ARC0TOX    SPEAKS.  217 

but  they  borrowed  a  certain  grandeur  from 
this  massiveness  ;  and  it  was  easy  to  figure 
the  priests  in  black  and  the  nuns  in  grey  in 
those  dim  chambers,  which  now  a  life  so 
different  inhabited.  Behind  the  house  was 
a  plot  of  grass,  and  thence  the  wooded  hill 
rose  steep. 

"But  come  up-stairs,"  said  the  ardent 
little  hostess  to  Kitty,  when  her  husband 
came  in,  and  had  civilly  welcomed  the 
strangers,  "and  I 'U  show  you  my  own 
room  ;  that 's  as  old  as  any. " 

They  left  the  two  men  below,  and 
mounted  to  a  large  room  carpeted  and 
furnished  in  modem  taste.  "  We  had  to 
take  down  the  old  staircase,"  she  continued, 
"  to  get  our  bedstead  up," — a  magnificent 
structure  which  she  plainly  thought  well 
worth  the  sacrifice ;  and  then  she  pointed 
out  divers  remnants  of  the  ancient  building. 

"  It 's  a  queer  place  to  live  Id  ;  but  we  're 
only  here  for  the  summer  ;  "  and  she  went 
on  to  explain,  with  a  pretty  naivete,  how 
her  husband's  business  brought  him  to 
Sillery  from  Quebec  in  that  season.  They 
were  descending  the  stairs,  Kitty  foremost, 
as  she  added,  "This  is  my  first  housekeeping, 
you  know,  and  of  course  it  would  be  strange 
anywhere ;  but  you  can't  think  how  funny 


218  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE 

it  is  here.  I  suppose,"  she  said,  sJiyly,  but 
as  if  her  confidences  merited  some  return, 
while  Kitty  stepped  from  the  stairway  face 
to  face  with  Mr.  Arbuton,  who  was  about 
tu  follow  them,  with  the  lady's  husband, — 
"  I  suppose  tins  is  your  wedding-journey." 

A  quick  alarm  flamed  tlirough  the  young 
girl,  and  bmued  out  of  her  glowing  checks. 
This  pleasant  masquerade  of  hers  must  look 
to  others  like  the  most  intentional  love- 
making  between  her  and  Mr.  Arbuton, — 
no  dreams  either  of  them,  nor  figures  in  a 
play,  nor  characters  in  a  romance  ;  nay,  on 
one  spectator,  at  least,  it  had  shed  the  soft 
lustre  of  a  honeymoon.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise?  Here  on  this  fatal  line  of  wed- 
ding-travel,— so  common  that  she  remem- 
bered Mrs.  ilarch  half  apologised  for  making 
it  her  first  tour  after  marriage, — how  could 
it  happen  but  that  two  young  people  to- 
gether as  they  were  should  be  taken  for 
bride  and  bridegroom?  Moreover,  and 
worst  of  all,  he  must  have  heard  that  fatal 
speech  ! 

He  was  pale,  if  she  was  flushed,  and 
looked  grave,  as  she  fancied  ;  but  he  passed 
on  up  the  stairs,  and  she  sat  down  to  wait 
for  his  retui-u. 

"  I  used  to  notice  so  many  couples  from 


MR.    ARBUTON   SPEAKS.  219 

the  States  when  we  lived  in  the  city,"  con- 
tinued the  hospitable  mistress  of  the  house, 
"  but  I  don't  think  they  often  came  out  to 
Sillery.  In  fact,  you  're  the  only  pair  that  'a 
come  this  summer ;  and  so,  when  you  seemed 
interested  about  the  mission,  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind  if  I  spoke  to  you,  and  asked 
you  in  to  see  the  house.  Most  of  the 
Americans  stay  long  enough  to  visit  the 
citadel,  and  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  and  the 
Falls  at  Montmorenci,  and  then  they  go 
away.  I  should  think  they  'd  be  tired 
always  doing  the  same  things.  To  be  sure, 
they're  always  different  people." 

It  was  unfair  to  let  her  entertainer  go  on 
talking  for  quantity  in  this  way  ;  and  Kitty 
said  how  glad  she  was  to  see  the  Old  Resi- 
dence, and  that  she  should  always  be  grate- 
ful to  her  for  asking  them  in.  She  did  not 
disabuse  her  of  her  error  ;  it  cost  less  to 
leave  it  alone  ;  and  when  Mr.  Arbuton  reap- 
peared, she  took  leave  of  those  kind  people 
with  a  sort  of  remote  enjoyment  of  the 
wife's  mistakenness  concerning  herself .  Yet, 
as  the  young  matron  and  her  husband  stood 
beside  the  carriage  repeating  their  adieus, 
she  would  fain  have  prolonged  the  parting 
for  ever,  so  much  she  dreaded  to  be  left  alone 
with  Mr.    Arbuton.      But,  left  alone  with 


220  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

hiin,  her  spirits  violently  rose  ;  and  as  they 
drove  along  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliff, 
she  descanted  in  her  liveliest  strain  upon  the 
various  interests  of  the  way ;  she  dwelt  on 
the  beauty  of  the  wide,  still  river,  with  the 
ships  at  anchor  in  it ;  she  praised  the  lovely 
sunset-light  on  the  other  shore  ;  she  com- 
mented lightly  on  the  village,  through 
which  they  passed,  with  the  open  doors  and 
the  suppers  frying  on  the  great  stoves  set 
into  the  partition-walls  of  each  cleanly 
home  ;  she  made  him  look  at  the  two  great 
stairways  that  climb  the  cliff  from  the 
lumber-yards  to  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  and 
the  army  of  labourers,  each  with  his  empty 
dinner-pail  in  hand,  scaling  the  once  difficult 
heights  on  their  way  home  to  the  suburb  of 
St.  Roch  ;  she  did  whatever  she  could  to 
keep  the  talk  to  herself  and  yet  away  from 
herself.  Part  of  the  way  the  village  was 
French  and  neat  and  pleasant,  then  it 
grovelled  with  Irish  people,  and  ceased  to 
be  a  tolerable  theme  for  discourse  ;  and  so 
at  last  the  silence  against  which  she  had 
battled  fell  upon  them  and  deepened  like  a 
spell  that  she  could  not  break. 

It  would  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Ar- 
buton's  success  just  then  if  he  had  not 
broken  it.     But  failure  was  not  within  his 


MR.    ARBUTON    SPEAKS.  221 

reckoniug  ;  for  he  had  so  long  regarded  this 
young  girl  de  haul  en  has,  to  say  it  brutally, 
that  he  could  not  imagine  she  should  feel 
any  doubt  in  accepting  him.  Moreover,  a 
magnanimous  sense  of  obligation  mingled 
with  his  confident  love,  for  she  must  have 
known  that  he  had  overheard  that  speech 
at  the  Residence.  Perhaps  he  let  this  feel- 
ing colour  his  manner,  however  faintly. 
He  lacked  the  last  fine  instinct ;  he  could 
not  forbear;  and  he  spoke  while  all  hei 
nen'es  and  fluttering  pulses  cried  him 
mercy. 


222  A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCJ3. 


XL 

KITTY  ANSWERS. 

IT  was  dimmest  twilight  when  Kitty 
entered  Mrs.  Ellison's  room  and  sank 
down  on  the  fii'st  chair  iu  silence. 

"The  colonel  met  a  friend  at  the  St. 
Louis,  and  forgot  about  the  expedition, 
Kitty,"  said  Fanny,  "and  he  only  came  in 
half  an  hour  ago.  But  it 's  just  as  well ;  I 
know  you've  had  a  splendid  time.  Where 's 
Mr.  Arbuton  ? " 

Kitty  burst  into  tears. 

"Why,  has  anything  happened  to  him?" 
cried  Mrs.  Ellison,  springing  towards  her. 

"To  him?  No!  What  should  happen 
to  him  ? "  Kitty  demanded  with  an  indig- 
nant accent. 

"Well,  then,  has  anything  happened  to 
you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  can  call  it  happeiv- 
ing.  But  I  suppose  you  '11  be  satisfied 
now,  Fanny.     He's  offered  himself  tome." 


KITTY   ANSWERS.  223 

Kitty  uttered  the  last  words  M-ith  a  sort  of 
violence,  as  if,  since  the  fact  must  be  stated, 
she  wished  it  to  appear  in  the  sharpest 
relief. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  not  so 
well  satisfied  as  the  successful  match-maker 
ought  to  be.  So  long  as  it  was  a  marriage 
in  the  abstract,  she  had  never  ceased  to 
desire  it ;  but  as  the  actual  union  of  Kitty 
and  this  Mr.  Arbuton,  of  whom,  really, 
they  knew  so  little,  and  of  whom,  if  she 
searched  her  heart,  she  had  as  little  liking 
as  knowledge,  it  was  another  affair.  Mrs. 
Ellison  trembled  at  her  triumph,  and  began 
to  think  that  failure  would  have  been  easier 
to  bear.  Were  they  in  the  least  suited  to 
each  other?  Would  she  like  to  see  poor 
Kitty  chained  for  life  to  that  impassive 
egotist,  whose  very  merits  were  repellent, 
and  whose  modesty  even  seemed  to  convict 
and  snub  you?  Mrs.  Ellison  was  not  able 
to  put  the  matter  to  herself  with  modera- 
tion, either  way ;  doubtless  she  did  Mr. 
Ai'buton  injustice  now.  "Did  you  accept 
him  ?  "  she  whispered  feebly. 

"  Accept  him ?  "  repeated  Kitty.     "No  !  " 
"Oh  dear!"  again  sighed  Mrs.  Ellison, 
feeling  that  this  was  scarcely  better,  and 
not  daring  to  ask  further. 


224  A  CnANCE   ACQTJAINTANCS. 

"I'm  dreadfully  perplexed,  Fanny,"  said 
Kitty,  after  waiting  for  the  questions  which 
(lid  not  come,  "and  I  wish  you'd  help  me 
think.' 

' '  I  will,  darlmg.  But  I  don't  know  that 
I  '11  be  of  much  use.  I  begin  to  thmk  I  'm 
not  very  good  at  thinking." 

Kitty,  who  longed  chiefly  to  get  the  situ- 
ation more  distinctly  before  herself,  gave 
no  heed  to  this  confession,  but  went  on  to 
rehearse  the  whole  affair.  The  twilight 
lent  her  its  veil ;  and  in  the  kindly  ob- 
scurity she  gathered  courage  to  face  all  the 
facts,  and  even  to  find  what  was  droll  in 
them, 

"It  was  very  solemn,  of  course,  and  I 
was  frightened ;  but  I  tried  to  keep  my 
wits  about  me,  and  not  to  say  yes,  simply 
because  that  was  the  easiest  thing.  I  told 
him  that  I  didn't  know, — and  I  don't ;  and 
that  I  must  have  time  to  think,— and  I 
must.  He  was  very  ungenerous,  and  said 
ho  had  hoped  I  had  already  had  time  to 
think  ;  and  he  could  n't  seem  to  understand, 
or  else  I  couldn't  very  well  explain,  how  it 
had  been  with  me  all  along." 

"He  might  certainly  say  you  had  enoou- 
rnged  him,"  Mrs.  Ellison  remarked,  thought- 
fully. 


KITTY   ANSWERS.  225 

"  Encouraged  him,  Fanny  ?  How  can 
/ou  accuse  me  of  such  indelicacy  ? " 

"Encouraging  isn't  indelicacy.  The 
gentlemen  have  to  be  encouraged,  or  of 
course  they'd  never  have  any  courage. 
They're  so  timid,  naturally." 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Arbuton  is  very  timid. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  only  to  ask 
as  a  matter  of  form,  and  I  had  no  business 
to  say  anything.  What  has  he  ever  done 
for  me  ?  And  hasn't  he  often  been  intensely 
disagreeable  ?  He  oughtn't  to  have  spoken 
just  after  overhearing  what  he  did.  It  was 
horrid  to  do  so.  He  was  very  obtuse,  too, 
not  to  see  that  girls  can't  always  be  so  cer- 
tam  of  themselves  as  men,  or,  if  they  are, 
don't  know  they  are  as  soon  as  they're 
asked." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Ellison,  "that's 
the  way  with  girls.  I  do  believe  that  most 
of  them — when  they  're  young  like  j'ou, 
Kitty — never  think  of  marriage  as  the  end 
of  their  flirtations.  They'd  just  like  the 
attentions  and  the  romance  to  go  on  for  ever, 
and  never  turn  into  anything  more  serious ; 
and  they  're  not  to  blame  for  that,  though 
they  do  get  blamed  for  it." 

"  Certainly,"    assented     Kitty,    eagerly, 

"  that 's  it ;  that 's  just  what  I  was  saying ; 

p 


226  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

that 's  the  very  reason  why  girls  must  have 
time  to  make  up  their  miuds.  You  had,  I 
suppose. " 

"Yes,  two  miuutes.  Poor  Dick  was 
going  back  to  his  regiment,  and  stood  with 
his  watch  in  his  hand.  I  said  no,  and  called 
after  him  to  correct  myself.  But,  Kitty,  if 
the  romance  had  happened  to  stop  without 
his  saying  anything,  you  wouldn't  have 
liked  that  either,  would  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  faltered  Kitty,  "I  suppose  not." 

"Well,  then,  don't  you  see?  That's  a 
great  point  in  his  favour.  How  much  time 
did  you  want,  or  did  he  give  you  ?  " 

"I  said  I  should  answer  before  we  left 
Quebec,"  answered  Kitty,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  to  say  now  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell.  That's  what  I  want  you 
to  help  me  think  out." 

"  Mrs.  Ellison  was  silent  for  a  moment 
before  she  said,  "Well,  then,  I  suppose  we 
shall  have  to  go  back  to  the  very  beginning. " 

' '  Yes, "  assented  Kitty,  faintly. 

"You  did  have  a  sort  of  fancy  for  him 
the  first  time  you  saw  him,  didn't  you?" 
asked  Mrs.  Ellison  coaxingly,  while  forcing 
herself  to  be  systematic  and  coherent,  by  a 
mental  strain  of  which  no  idea  can  be  given. 

"Yes,"  said    Kitty,   yet    more    faintly, 


KITTY   ANSWERS,  227 

adding,  "but  I  can't  tell  just  what  sort  of 
a  fancy  it  was.  I  suppose  I  admired  him 
for  bemg  handsome  and  stylish,  and  for 
having  such  exquisite  manners." 

"Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison.  "And  after 
you  got  acquainted  with  him  ?  " 

"Why,  you  know  we  've  talked  that  over 
once  already,  Fanny." 

"Yes,  but  we  oughtn't  to  skip  anything 
now,"  replied  Mis.  Ellison,  in  a  tone  of 
judicial  accuracy  which  made  Kitty  smile. 

But  she  quickly  became  serious  again, 
and  said,  "Afterwards  I  couldn't  tell 
whether  to  like  him  or  not,  or  whether  he 
wanted  me  to.  T  think  he  acted  very 
strangely  for  a  person  in — love.  I  used  to 
feel  so  troubled  and  oppressed  when  I  was 
with  him.  He  seemed  always  to  be  making 
himself  agreeable  under  protest. " 

"  Perhaps  that  was  just  your  imaguiation, 
Kitty." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  ;  but  it  troubled  me  just 
the  same." 

"Well,  and  then?" 

"Well,  and  then  after  that  day  of  the 
Montgomery  expedition,  he  seemed  to 
change  altogether,  and  to  try  always  to  be 
pleasant,  and  to  do  everything  he  could  to 
make  me  like  him.     I  don't  know  how  to 


228  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

account  for  it.  Ever  since  then  he  'a  been 
extremely  careful  of  me,  and  behaved — of 
course  without  knowing  it — as  if  I  belonged 
to  him  already.  Or  maybe  I've  Imagined 
that  too.  It 's  very  hard  to  tell  what  has 
really  happened  the  last  two  weeks." 

Kitty  was  silent,  and  Mrs.  Ellison  did  not 
speak  at  once.  Presently  she  asked,  "  Was 
his  acting  as  if  you  belonged  to  him  dis- 
agi-eeable  ? " 

"I  can't  tell.  I  think  it  was  rather  pi-e- 
suming.     I  don't  know  why  he  did  it. " 

"Do  you  respect  him?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Ellison. 

"  Why,  Fanny,  I  've  always  told  you  that 
I  did  respect  some  things  in  him. " 

Mrs.  Ellison  had  the  facts  before  her,  and 
it  rested  upon  her  to  sum  them  up,  and  do 
something  with  them.  She  rose  to  a  sitting 
posture,  and  confronted  her  task. 

"  Well,  Kitty,  I  '11  tell  you.  I  don't  really 
know  what  to  think.  But  I  can  say  this  : 
if  you  liked  him  at  first,  and  then  didn't 
like  him,  and  afterwards  he  made  himself 
more  agreeable,  and  you  didn't  mind  his 
behaving  as  if  you  belonged  to  him,  and 
you  respected  him,  but  after  all  didn't  think 
him  fascinating  " — 

"He   is  fascinating — in  a   kind  of  way. 


KITTY    ANSWERS.  229 

He  was,  from  the  beginuiug.  In  a  story  his 
cold,  snubbing,  putting-do^vn  ways  would 
have  been  perfectly  fascinating." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  take  him  ? " 

"  Because,  ".answered  Kitt  J',  between  laugh- 
ing and  crying,  "  it  isn't  a  story,  and  I  don't 
know  whether  I  like  him. " 

"  But  do  you  think  you  might  get  to  like 
him?" 

"I  don't  know.  His  asking  brings  back 
all  the  doubts  I  ever  had  of  him,  and  that 
I  've  been  forgetting  the  past  two  weeks.  I 
can't  tell  whether  I  like  him  or  not.  If  I 
did,  shouldn't  I  trust  him  more  ? " 

"Well,  whether  you  are  in  love  or  not, 
I'll  tell  you  what  j'ou  are,  Kitty,"  cried 
Mrs.  Ellison,  provoked  with  her  indecision, 
and  yet  relieved  that  the  worst,  whatever  it 
was,  was  postponed  thereby  for  a  day  or 
two. 

"What?" 

"  You  're  " — 

But  at  this  important  juncture  the  colonel 
came  lounging  in,  and  Kitty  glided  out  of 
the  room. 

"Pvichard,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  seriously, 
and  in  a  tone  implying  that  it  was  the 
colonel's  fault,  as  usual,  "you  know  what 
has  happened,  I  suppose  ?  " 


230  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  don't ;  but  no  matter  :  I 
will  presently,  I  dare  say. " 

"Oh,  I  wish  for  once  you  wouldn't  be  so 
flippant.  Mr.  Arbuton  has  offered  himself 
to  Kitty." 

Colonel  Ellison  gave  a  quick,  sharp  whistle 
of  amazement,  but  trusted  himself  to  nothing 
more  articulate. 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  responding  to  the 
whistle,  "and  it  makes  me  perfectly 
wretched." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  liked  him." 

"  I  didn't  like  him  ;  but  I  thought  it  would 
be  an  excellent  thing  for  Kitty." 

"And  won't  it? " 

"  She  doesn't  know." 

"  Doesn't  know  ?  " 

"No." 

The  colonel  was  silent,  while  Mrs.  Ellison 
stated  the  case  in  full,  and  its  pending  un- 
certainty. Then  he  exclaimed  vehemently, 
as  if  his  amazement  had  been  growing  upon 
him,  "  This  is  the  most  astonishing  thing  in 
the  world  !  Who  would  ever  have  dreamt 
of  that  young  iceberg  being  in  love  ?  " 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  all  along  he  was  ? " 

•'Oh  yes,  certainly;  but  that  might  be  taken 
either  way,  you  know.  You  would  discover 
the  tender  passion  in  the  eye  of  a  potato." 


KITTY   ANSWERS.  231 

"Colonel  Ellison,"  said  Fanny  with  stern- 
ness, "  why  do  you  suppose  he  's  been  hang- 
ing about  us  for  the  last  four  weeks  ?  Why 
should  he  have  stayed  in  Quebec  ?  Do  you 
think  he  pitied  me,  or  found  you  so  very 
agreeable  ? " 

"Well,  I  thought  he  found  us  just  toler- 
able, and  was  interested  in  the  place." 

Mrs.  Ellison  made  no  direct  reply  to  this 
pitiable  speech,  but  looked  a  scorn  which, 
happily  for  the  colonel,  the  darkness  hid. 
Presently  she  said  that  bats  did  not  express 
the  blindness  of  men,  for  any  bat  could  have 
seen  what  was  going  on. 

"Why,"  remarked  the  colonel,  "I  did 
have  a  momentary  suspicion  that  day  of  the 
Montgomery  business  ;  they  both  looked  very 
confused,  when  I  saw  them  at  the  end  of 
that  street,  and  neither  of  them  had  any- 
thing to  say ;  but  that  was  accounted  for 
by  what  you  told  me  afterwards  about  his 
adventure.  At  the  time  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  the  matter.  The  idea  of  his 
being  in  love  seemed  too  ridiculous." 

"Was  it  ridiculous  for  you  to  be  in  love 
with  me  ?  " 

"No  ;  and  yet  I  can't  praise  my  condition 
for  its  wisdom,  Fanny. " 

"  Yes  1  that 's  like  men.     As  soon   as  one 


232  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

of  them  is  safely  married,  lie  thinks  all  the 
love-making  iu  the  world  has  been  done  for 
ever,  and  he  can't  conceive  of  two  young 
people  taking  a  fancy  to  each  other. " 

"  That 's  something  so,  Fanny.  But  grant- 
ing— for  the  sake  of  argument  merely — that 
Boston  has  been  asking  Kitty  to  marry  him, 
and  she  doesn't  know  whether  she  wants 
him,  what  are  we  to  do  about  it  ?  /  don't 
like  him  well  enough  to  plead  his  cause  ;  do 
you  ?  When  does  Kitty  think  she  '11  be  able 
to  make  up  her  mind  ?  " 

"  She 's  to  let  him  know  before  we  leave." 

The  colonel  laughed.  "And  so  he's  to 
hang  about  here  on  uncertainties  for  two 
whole  days  !  That  is  rather  rough  on  him. 
Fanny,  what  made  j'ou  so  eager  for  this 
business  ? " 

' '  Eager  ?    I  wasn't  eager. " 

"Well,  then, — reluctantly  acquiescent?" 

"  Why,  she 's  so  literary  and  that." 

"And  what?" 

"  How  insulting  ! — Intellectual,  and  so  on  ; 
and  I  thought  she  would  be  just  fit  to  live 
in  a  place  where  everybody  is  literary  and 
intellectual.  That  is,  I  thought  that,  if  I 
thought  anything." 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "  you  may  have 
been  right  on  the  whole,  but  I  don't  think 


KITTY   ANSWERS,  233 

Kitty  is  showing  any  particular  force  of 
mind,  just  now,  that  would  fit  her  to  live  in 
Boston.  My  opinion  is,  that  it 's  ridiculous 
for  her  to  keep  him  in  suspense.  She  might 
as  well  answer  him  first  as  last.  She 's  put- 
ting herself  under  a  kind  of  obligation  by 
her  delay.     I  '11  talk  to  her  "— 

"If  yoa  do,  you'll  kill  her.  You  don't 
know  how  she  's  wrought  up  about  it," 

"Oh  well,  I'll  be  careful  of  her  sensibili- 
ties. It 's  my  duty  to  speak  with  her,  I  'm 
here  in  tlie  place  of  a  parent.  Besides,  don't 
I  know  Kitty  ?  I  've  almost  brought  her 
up." 

"Maybe  you're  right.  You're  all  so 
queer  that  perhaps  you  're  right.  Only,  do 
be  careful,  Richard.  You  must  approach 
the  matter  very  delicately, — indirectly,  you 
know.  Girls  are  different,  remember,  from 
young  men,  and  you  mustn't  be  blunt.  Do 
mancEuvre  a  little,  for  once  in  your  life. " 

"  All  right,  Fanny  ;  you  needn't  be  afraid 
of  my  doing  anything  awkward  or  sudden. 
1 11  go  to  her  room  pretty  soon,  after  she  is 
quieted  down,  and  have  a  good,  calm  old 
fatherly  conversation  with  her." 

The  colonel  was  spared  this  errand ;  for 
Kitty  had  left  some  of  her  things  on  Fanny's 
table,  and  now  came  back  for  them  with  a 


234  A   CHANCE   ACQnAINTA_N'CE. 

lamp  in  her  hand.  Her  averted  face  showed 
the  marks  of  weeping ;  the  comers  of  her 
firm-set  lips  were  downward  bent,  as  if  some 
resolution  which  she  had  taken  were  very 
painful.  This  the  anxious  Fanny  saw  ;  and 
she  made  a  gesture  to  the  colonel  which  any 
woman  would  have  understood  to  enjoin 
silence,  or,  at  least,  the  utmost  caution  and 
tenderness  of  speech.  The  colonel  sum- 
moned his  7?«€sse  and  said,  cheerily,  "Well, 
Kitty,  what 's  Boston  been  saying  to  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ellison  fell  back  upon  her  sofa  as  if 
shot,  and  placed  her  hands  over  her  face. 

Kitty  seemed  not  to  hear  her  cousin. 
Having  gathered  up  her  things,  she  bent  an 
unmoved  face  and  an  unseeing  gaze  full 
upon  him,  and  glided  from  the  room  without 
a  word. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,"  cried  the  colonel, 
"this  is  a  pleasant,  nightmarish,  sleep-walk- 
ing, Lady-Macbethish  little  transaction. 
Confound  it,  Fanny  1  this  comes  of  your 
wanting  me  to  mamvnvre.  If  you'd  let 
me  come  straight  at  the  subject, — like  a 
man  " — 

"  Please,  Richard,  don't  say  anything  more 
now,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Ellison  in  a  broken 
voice.  "You  can't  help  it,  I  know;  and  I 
must  do  the  best  I  can,  under  the  clrcum- 


KITTK^    ANSWERS.  235 

stances.  Do  go  away  for  a  little  while, 
darling  !    Oh  dear  ! " 

As  for  Kitty,  when  she  had  got  out  of 
the  room  in  that  phantasmal  fashion,  she 
dimly  recalled,  through  the  mists  of  her 
own  trouble,  the  colonel's  dismay  at  her  so 
glooming  upon  him,  and  began  to  think 
that  she  had  used  poor  Dick  more  tragically 
than  she  need,  and  so  began  to  laugh  softly 
to  herself;  but  while  she  stood  there  at 
the  entry  window  a  moment,  laughing  in 
the  moonlight,  that  made  her  lamp-flame 
thin,  and  painted  her  face  with  its  pale 
lustre,  Mr.  Arbuton  came  down  the  attic 
stairway.  He  was  not  a  man  of  quick 
fancies;  but  to  one  of  even  slower  imagin- 
ation and  of  calmer  mood,  she  might  very 
well  have  seemed  unreal,  the  creature  of 
a  dream,  fantastic,  intangible,  insensible, 
arch,  not  wholly  without  some  touch  of  the 
malign.  In  his  heart  he  groaned  over  her 
beauty  as  if  she  were  lost  to  him  for  ever  in 
this  elfish  transfiguration. 

•'Miss  Ellison!"  he  scarcely  more  than 
whispered. 

"  You  ought  not  to  speak  to  me  now," 
she  answered,  gravely. 

"  I  know  it ;  but  I  could  not  help  it.  For 
heaven's  sake,  do  not  1st  it  tell  against  me. 


236  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

I  wished  to  ask  if  I  should  not  see  you  to- 
morrow ;  to  beg  that  all  might  go  on  as  had 
been  planned,  and  as  if  nothing  had  been 
said  to-day. " 

' '  It  '11  be  very  strange, "  said  Kitty.  ♦ '  My 
cousLus  know  everj^thing  now.  How  can  we 
meet  before  them  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  going  away  without  an  answer, 
and  we  can't  remain  here  without  meeting. 
It  will  be  less  strange  if  we  let  everything 
take  its  course. " 

"Wen." 

"Thanks." 

He  looked  strangely  humbled,  but  even 
more  bewildered  than  humbled. 

She  listened  while  he  descended  the  steps, 
unbolted  the  street  door,  and  closed  it  be- 
hind him.  Then  she  passed  out  of  the 
moonlight  into  her  own  room,  whose  close - 
curtained  space  the  lamp  filled  with  its 
ruddy  glow,  and  revealed  her  again,  no 
malicious  sprite,  but  a  veiy  puzzled,  consci- 
entious, anxious  young  girl. 

Of  one  thing  at  least  she  was  clear.  It 
had  all  come  about  through  misunderstand- 
ing—through his  taking  her  to  be  something 
that  she  was  not ;  for  she  was  certain  that 
Mr.  Arbuton  was  of  too  worldly  a  spirit  to 
choose,   if  he   had   kno\vn,  a  girl   of  such 


KITTY    ANSWERS.  237 

origin  and  lot  as  she  was  only  too  proud  to 
own.  The  deception  must  have  begun  with 
dress ;  and  she  detennined  that  h^r  first 
stroke  for  truth  and  sincerity  should  be 
most  sublimely  made  in  the  return  of  Fanny's 
things,  and  a  rigid  fidelity  to  her  own  dresses, 
"Besides,"  she  could  not  help  reflecting, 
"my  travelling-suit  will  be  just  the  thing 
for  a  picnic. "  And  here,  if  the  cynical  reader 
of  another  sex  is  disposed  to  sneer  at  the 
method  of  her  self-devotion,  I  am  sure  that 
women,  at  least,  will  allow  it  was  most 
natural  and  highly  proper  that  in  this  great 
moment  she  should  first  think  of  dress,  upon 
which  so  great  consequences  hang  in  matters 
of  the  heart.  Who — to  be  honest  for  once, 
0  vain  and  conceited  men  ! — can  deny  that 
the  cut,  the  colour,  the  texture,  the  stylish 
set  of  dresses,  has  not  had  everything  to  do 
with  the  rapture  of  love's  young  dream? 
Are  not  certain  bits  of  lace  and  knots  of 
ribbon  as  much  a  part  of  it  as  any  smile  or 
sidelong  glance  of  them  all  ?  And  hath  not 
the  long  experience  of  the  fair  taught  them 
that  artful  dress  is  half  the  virtue  of  their 
spells  ?  Full  well  they  know  it ;  and  when 
Kitty  resolved  to  profit  no  longer  by  Fanny's 
wardrobe,  she  had  won  the  hardest  part  of 
the  battle  in  behalf  of  perfect  truth  towards 


238  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE, 

Mr.  Arbuton.  She  did  uot,  indeed,  stop  with 
this,  but  lay  awake,  devising  schemes  by 
which  she  should  disabuse  hiin  of  his  errors 
about  her,  and  persuade  him  that  she  was  no 
wife  for  him. 


THE    PICNIC   AT   CHATEAU-BIGOX.         239 


X3I. 

THE  PICNIC  AT  CHATEAU-BIGOT. 

"  WJ^^^'"  ^^^^  ■^^*"^"  ^^^i^<^"»  '^^'^  ^^ 
f  V  slipped  into  Kittj^'s  room,  in  the 
morning,  to  do  her  back  hair  with  some 
advantages  of  light  which  her  own  chamber 
lacked,  "it'll  be  no  crazier  than  the  i"est 
of  the  performance  ;  and  if  you  and  he  can 
stand  it,  I  am  sure  that  we  've  no  reason  to 
complain. " 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  how  it 's  to  be  helped, 
Fanny.  He  's  asked  it ;  and  I  'm  rather  glad 
he  has,  for  I  should  have  hated  to  have  the 
conventional  headache  that  keeps  young 
hidies  from  being  seen  ;  and  at  any  rate  I 
don't  understand  how  the  day  could  be 
passed  more  sensibly  than  just  as  we  origLu- 
ally  planned  to  spend  it.  I  can  make  up 
my  mind  a  great  deal  better  with  him  than 
away  from  him.  But  I  think  there  never 
was  a  more  ridiculous  situation  :  now  that 
the  high  tragedy  has  faded  out  of  it,  and 


240  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  serious  part  is  coming,  it  makes  me 
laugh.  Poor  Mr.  Arbuton  will  feel  all  day 
that  he  is  under  my  mercilessly  critical  eye, 
and  that  he  mustn't  do  this  and  he  mustn't 
say  that,  for  fear  of  me  ;  and  he  can't  run 
away,  for  he  's  promised  to  wait  patiently 
for  my  decision.  It 's  a  most  inglorious  posi- 
tion for  him,  but  I  don't  think  of  anything 
to  do  about  it.  I  could  say  no  at  once,  but 
he  'd  rather  not. " 

"  What  have  you  got  that  dress  on  for  ? '' 
asked  Mrs.  Ellison,  abruptly. 

"Because  I'm  not  going  to  wear  your 
things  any  more,  Fanny.  It  'a  a  case  of 
conscience.  I  feel  like  a  guilty  creature, 
being  courted  in  another's  clothes  ;  and  I 
don't  know  but  it's  for  a  kind  of  punish- 
ment of  my  deceit  that  I  can't  realise  this 
affair  as  I  ought,  or  my  part  in  it.  I  keep 
feeling,  the  whole  time,  as  if  it  were  some- 
body else,  and  I  have  an  absurd  kind  of 
other  person's  interest  in  it." 

Mrs.  Ellison  essayed  some  reply,  but  was 
met  by  Kitty's  steadfast  resolution,  and  in 
the  end  did  not  prevail  in  so  much  as  a 
ribbon  for  her  hair. 

It  was  not  till  well  into  the  forenoon  that 
the  preparations  for  the  picnic  were  com- 
plete, and  the  four  set  off  together  in  one 


THE    PICNIC   AT    CHATEAU-BIGOT.         241 

carriage.  In  the  strong  need  that  vas  on 
each  of  them  to  make  the  best  of  the  affair, 
the  colonel's  unconsciousness  might  have 
been  a  little  overdone,  but  Mrs.  Ellison's 
demeanour  was  sublimely  successful.  The 
situation  gave  full  play  to  her  peculiar 
genius,  and  you  could  not  have  said  that 
any  act  of  hers  failed  to  contribute  to  the 
perfection  of  her  design,  that  any  tone  or 
speech  was  too  highly  coloured.  Mr.  Arbu- 
ton,  of  whom  she  took  possession,  and  who 
knew  that  she  knew  all,  felt  that  he  had 
never  done  justice  to  her,  and  seconded  her 
efforts  with  something  like  cordial  admira- 
tion ;  while  Kitty,  with  certain  grateful 
looks  and  aversions  of  the  face,  paid  an 
ardent  homage  to  her  strokes  of  tact,  and 
after  a  few  miserable  moments,  in  which 
her  nightlong  trouble  gnawed  at  her  heart, 
began,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  enjoy  the 
humour  of  the  situation. 

It  is  a  lovely  road  out  to  Ch&teau-Bigot. 
First  you  drive  through  the  ancient  suburbs 
of  the  Lower  Town,  and  then  you  mount  the 
smooth,  hard  highway,  between  pretty  coun- 
try-houses, towards  the  village  of  Charles- 
bourg,  while  Quebec  shows,  to  your  casual 
backward  glance,  like  a  wondrous  painted 
scene,  with  the  spires  and  lofty  roofs  of 
Q 


242  A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

the  Upper  Town,  aud  the  long,  irregular 
wall  wandering  on  the  verge  of  the  cliflf; 
then  the  thronging  gables  and  chimneys  of 
St.  Roch,  and  again  many  spires  and  con- 
vent walls ;  lastly  the  shipping  in  the  St. 
Charles,  which,  in  one  direction,  runs,  a 
narrowing  gleam,  up  into  its  valley,  and  in 
the  other  widens  into  the  broad  light  of 
the  St.  Lawrence.  Quiet,  elmy  spaces  of 
meadow  land  stretch  between  the  suburbai? 
mansions  and  the  village  of  Charlesbourg. 
where  the  driver  reassured  himself  as  to  his 
route  from  the  group  of  idlers  on  the  plat- 
form before  the  church.  Then  he  struck  off 
on  a  country  road,  and  presently  turned  from 
this  again  into  a  lane  that  grew  rougher  and 
rougher,  till  at  last  it  lapsed  to  a  mere  cart- 
track  among  the  woods,  where  the  rich, 
strong  odours  of  the  pine,  and  of  the  wild 
herbs  bruised  under  the  wheels,  filled  the 
air.  A  peasant  and  his  black-eyed,  open- 
mouthed  boy,  were  cutting  withes  to  bind 
hay  at  the  side  of  the  track,  and  the  latter 
consented  to  show  the  strangers  to  the  chS,- 
teau  from  a  point  beyond  which  they  could 
uot  go  vAth  the  cai-riage.  There  the  small 
hahitant  and  the  driver  took  up  the  picnic- 
baskets,  and  led  the  way  through  pathless 
giowths  of  miderbrush  to  a  stream,  so  swift 


THE   PICNIC  AT  CHATEAD-BIGOT.        243 

that  it  is  said  never  to  freeze,  so  deeplj- 
sprung  that  the  summer  never  drinks  it  di'y. 
A  screen  of  water-growths  bordered  it ;  and 
when  this  was  passed,  a  wide  open  space 
revoaled  itself,  M'ith  the  ruin  of  the  chateau 
in  the  midst. 

The  pathos  of  long  neglect  lay  upon  the 
Bcene ;  for  here  were  evidences  of  gardens 
and  bowery  aisles  in  other  times,  and  now, 
for  many  a  year,  desolation  and  the  slow 
return  of  the  wilderness.  The  mountain 
rising  behind  the  chateau  grounds  showed 
the  dying  flush  of  the  deciduous  leaves 
among  the  dark  green  of  the  pines  that 
clothed  it  to  the  crest ;  a  cry  of  innumer- 
able crickets  filled  the  ear  of  the  dreaming 
noon. 

The  ruin  itself  is  not  of  impressive  size, 
and  it  is  a  chateau  by  grace  of  the  popular 
fancy  rather  than  through  any  right  of  its 
own ;  for  it  was,  in  truth,  never  more  than 
the  hunting-lodge  of  the  king's  Intendant, 
Bigot,  a  man  whose  sins  claim  for  hun  a 
lordly  consideration  in  the  history  of  Quebec. 
He  was  the  last  Intendant  before  the  British 
conquest,  and  in  that  time  of  general  distress 
he  grew  rich  by  oppression  of  the  citizens, 
and  by  peculation  from  the  soldiers.  He 
built  this  pleasure-house  here  in  the  woods. 


244  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

and  hither  he  rode  out  from  Quebec  to  enjoy 
himself  in  the  chase  and  the  carouses  that 
succeed  the  chase.  Here,  too,  it  is  said, 
dwelt  in  secret  the  Huron  girl  who  loved 
him,  and  who  survives  in  the  memory  of  the 
peasants  as  the  murdered  sauvagesse ;  and, 
indeed,  there  is  as  much  proof  that  she  was 
murdered  as  that  she  ever  lived.  "When  the 
wicked  Bigot  was  arrested  and  sent  to 
France,  where  he  was  tried  with  great  result 
of  documentary  record,  his  chateau  fell  into 
other  hands;  at  last  a  party  of  Arnold's 
men  wintered  there  in  1775,  and  it  is  to  our 
o\A'n  countrymen  that  we  owe  the  conflagra- 
tion and  the  ruin  of  Chateau-Bigot.  It 
stands,  as  I  said,  in  the  middle  of  that  open 
place,  with  the  two  gable  walls  and  the 
Btone  partition-wall  still  almost  entire,  and 
that  day  showing  very  effectively  against 
the  tender  northern  sky.  On  the  most 
weatherward  gable  the  iron  in  the  stone  had 
shed  a  dark  red  stain  under  the  lash  of  many 
winter  storms,  and  some  tough  lichens  had 
incrusted  patches  of  the  surface  ;  but,  for 
the  rest,  the  walls  rose  in  the  univied  naked- 
ness of  all  ruins  in  our  climate,  which  has 
no  clinging  evergi'eens  wherewith  to  pity 
and  soften  the  forloi-nness  of  decay.  Out  of 
the  rubbish  at  the  foot  of  the  walls  there 


THE  PICNIC  AT   CHATEAU-BIGOT.        245 

sprang  a  wilding  growth  of  sjTingas  and 
lilacs ;  and  the  interior  was  choked  with 
flourishing  weeds,  and  with  the  briars  of  the 
raspberry,  on  which  a  few  berries  hung. 
The  heavy  beams,  left  where  they  fell  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  proclaimed  the  honest  solidity 
with  which  the  chateau  had  been  built,  and 
there  was  proof  in  the  cut  stone  of  the  hearths 
and  chimney-places  that  it  had  once  had  at 
least  the  ambition  of  luxury. 

While  its  visitors  stood  amidst  the  ruin  a 
harmless  garden-snake  slipped  out  of  one 
crevice  into  another  ;  from  her  nest  in  some 
hidden  comer  overhead  a  silent  bird  flew 
away.  For  the  moment, — so  slight  is  the 
capacity  of  any  mood,  so  deeply  is  the  heart 
responsive  to  a  little  impulse, — the  palace  of 
the  Csesars  could  not  have  imparted  a  keener 
sense  of  loss  and  desolation.  They  eagerly 
sought  such  particulars  of  the  ruin  as  agi'eed 
with  the  descriptions  they  had  read  of  it, 
and  were  as  well  contented  with  a  bit  of 
cellar- way  outside  as  if  they  had  really  found 
the  secret  passage  to  the  subterranean  cham- 
ber of  the  chateau,  or  the  hoard  of  silver 
which  the  little  habitant  said  was  buried 
under  it.  Then  they  dispersed  about  the 
grounds  to  trace  out  the  borders  of  the  gar- 
den,  and   Mr.   Arbuton   won    the   common 


246  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

praise  by  discovering  the  foundations  of  the 
stable  of  the  chS,teau. 

Then  there  was  no  more  to  do  but  to  pre- 
pare for  the  picnic.  They  chose  a  grassy 
plot  in  the  shadow  of  a  half-dismantled  bark- 
lodge, — a  relic  of  the  Indians,  who  resort  to 
the  place  every  summer.  In  the  ashes  of 
that  sylvan  hearth  they  kindled  their  fire, 
Mr,  Arbuton  gathering  the  sticks,  and  the 
colonel  showing  a  peculiar  genius  in  adapting 
the  savage  flames  to  the  limitations  of  the 
civilised  coffee-pot  borrowed  of  Mrs.  Gray. 
Mrs.  Ellison  laid  the  cloth,  much  meditating 
the  arrangement  of  the  viands,  and  reversing 
again  and  again  the  relative  positions  of  the 
sliced  tongiie  and  the  sardines  that  flanked 
the  cold  roast  chicken,  and  doubting  dread- 
fully whether  to  put  down  the  cake  and  the 
canned  peaches  at  once,  or  reserve  them  for 
a  second  course  ;  the  stuffed  olives  drove  her 
to  despair,  being  in  a  bottle,  and  refusing 
to  be  balanced  by  anything  less  monumental 
in  shape.  Sonie  wild  asters  and  red  leaves 
and  green  and  yellowing  sprays  of  fern  which 
Kitty  arranged  in  a  tumbler  were  hailed 
with  rapture,  but  presently  flung  far  away 
with  fierce  disdain  because  they  had  ants 
on  them.  Kitty  witnessed  this  outburst 
with  her  usual  complacency,  and  then  went 


THE   PICNIC   AT  CHATEAU-BIGOT.        247 

on  making  the  coffee.  With  such  blissful 
pain  as  none  but  lovers  know,  Mr.  Arbuton 
saw  her  break  the  egg  upon  the  edge  of  the 
coffee-pot,  and  let  it  drop  therein,  and  then, 
with  a  charming  frenzy,  stir  it  round  and 
round.  It  was  a  picture  of  domestic  sug- 
gestion, a  subtle  insinuation  of  home,  the 
unconscious  appeal  of  inherent  housewifery 
to  inherent  husbandhood.  At  the  crash  of 
the  egg-shell  he  trembled ;  the  swift  agita- 
tion of  the  coffee  and  the  egg  within  the  pot 
made  him  dizzy. 

"  Sha'n't  I  stir  that  for  you,  Miss  Ellison?" 
he  said,  awkwardly. 

"Oh  dear,  no  !  "  she  answered  in  surprise 
at  a  man's  presuming  to  stir  coffee;  "but 
you  may  go  get  me  some  water  at  the  creek, 
if  you  please. " 

She  gave  him  a  pitcher,  and  he  went  off 
to  the  brook,  which  was  but  a  minute's  dis- 
tance away.  This  minute,  however,  left  her 
alone,  for  the  first  time  that  day,  with  both 
Dick  and  Fanny,  and  a  silence  fell  upon  all 
three  at  once.  They  could  not  help  looking 
at  one  another ;  and  then  the  colonel,  to 
show  that  he  was  not  thinking  of  anything, 
began  to  whistle,  and  Mrs.  Ellison  rebuked 
him  for  whistling.  "  Why  not?  "  he  asked. 
"  It  isn't  a  funeral,  is  it  ?  " 


248  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

"Of  course  it  isn't,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison; 
and  Kitty,  who  had  been  blushing  to  the 
verge  of  tears,  laughed  instead,  and  then 
was  consumed  with  vexation  when  Mr. 
Arbuton  came  up,  feeling  that  he  must  sus- 
pect himself  the  motive  of  her  ill-timed 
mirth.  * '  The  champagne  ought  to  be  cooled, 
I  suppose,"  observed  Mrs.  Ellison,  when  the 
coffee  had  been  finally  stirred  and  set  to  boil 
on  the  coals. 

"I'm  best  acquainted  with  the  brook," 
said  Mr.  Arbuton,  "and  I  know  just  the 
eddy  in  it  where  the  champagne  will  cool 
the  soonest." 

' '  Then  you  shall  take  it  there, "  answered 
the  governess  of  the  feast ;  and  Mr.  Arbuton 
duteously  set  off  with  the  bottle  in  his  hand. 

The  pitcher  of  water  which  he  had 
already  brought  stood  in  the  grass  ;  by  a 
sudden  movement  of  the  skirt,  Kitty 
knocked  it  over.  The  colonel  made  a  start 
forward  ;  Mrs.  Ellison  arrested  him  with  a 
touch,  while  she  bent  a  look  of  ineffable 
admiration  upon  Kitty. 

"Now,  I'll  teach  myself,"  said  Kitty, 
' '  that  I  can't  be  so  clumsy  with  impunity. 
Ill  go  and  fill  that  pitcher  again  myself." 
She  hurried  after  Mr.  Arbuton ;  they 
scarcely  spoke  going  or  coming ;    but  the 


THE   PIONIO   AX   CHATEAU-BIGOT.        249 

constraint  that  Kitty  felt  was  nothing  to 
that  she  had  dreaded  in  seeking  to  escape 
from  the  tacit  railleiy  of  the  colonel  and 
the  championship  of  Fanny.  Yet  she 
trembled  to  realise  that  already  her  life 
had  become  so  far  entangled  with  this 
stranger's,  that  she  found  refuge  with  him 
from  her  own  kindred.  They  could  do 
nothing  to  help  her  in  this  ;  the  trouble 
was  solely  hers  and  his,  and  they  two  must 
get  out  of  it  one  way  or  other  themselves ; 
the  case  scarcely  admitted  even  of  sym- 
pathy, and  if  it  had  not  been  hers,  it  would 
have  been  one  to  amuse  her  rather  than 
appeal  to  her  compassion.  Even  as  it  was, 
she  sometimes  caught  herself  smiling  at 
tlie  predicament  of  a  young  girl  who  had 
passed  a  month  in  evei-y  appearance  of  love- 
making,  and  who,  being  asked  her  heart, 
was  holding  her  lover  in  suspense  whilst 
she  searched  it,  and  meantime  was  picnic- 
ing  with  him  upon  the  terms  of  casual 
flirtation.  Of  all  the  heroines  in  her  books, 
she  knew  none  in  such  a  strait  as  this. 

But  her  perplexities  did  not  impair  the 
appetite  which  she  brought  to  the  sylvan 
feast.  In  her  whole  simple  life  she  had 
never  tasted  champagne  before,  and  she 
said   innocently,   as    she  put    the   frisking 


250  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

fluid  from  her  lips  after  the  first  taste, 
' '  Why,  I  thought  you  had  to  leatm  to  like 
champagne." 

"No,"  remarked  the  colonel,  "it's  like 
reading  and  writing  ;  it  comes  by  nature. 
I  suppose  that  even  one  of  the  lower  animals 
would  like  champagne.  The  refined  instinct 
of  young  ladies  makes  them  recognise  its 
merits  instantly.  Some  of  the  Confederate 
cellars,"  added  the  colonel,  thoughtfully, 
"  had  very  good  champagne  in  them.  Green 
seal  was  the  favourite  of  our  erring  brethren. 
It  wasn't  one  of  their  errors.  I  prefer  it 
myself  to  our  own  native  cider,  whether 
made  of  apples  or  grapes.  Yes,  it 's  better 
even  than  the  water  from  the  old  chain- 
pump  in  the  back  yard  at  Eriecreek,  though 
it  liasn't  so  fine  a  flavour  of  lubricating  oil 
in  it." 

The  faint  chill  that  touched  Mr.  Arbutoo 
at  the  mention  of  Eriecreek  and  its  petrolic 
associations  was  transient.  He  was  very 
light  of  heart,  since  the  advance  that  Kitty 
seemed  to  have  made  him ;  and  in  his 
temporaiy  abandon  he  talked  well,  and 
promoted  the  pleasure  of  the  time  without 
critical  reserves.  When  the  colonel,  with 
the  reluctance  of  our  soldiers  to  speak  of 
their  warlike   experiences  before  civilians, 


THE  PICNIC  AT  CHATEAU-BIOOT.        251 

had  suffered  himself  to  tell  a  story  that  his 
wife  begged  of  him  about  his  last  battle, 
Mr.  Arbuton  listened  with  a  deference  that 
flattered  poor  Mi-s.  Ellison,  and  made  her 
marvel  at  Kitty's  doubt  concerning  him; 
and  then  he  spoke  entertainingly  of  some 
ti'avel  experiences  of  his  own,  which  he 
politely  excused  as  quite  unworthy  to  come 
after  the  colonel's  story.  He  excused  them 
a  little  too  much,  and  just  gave  the  modest 
soldier  a  faint,  uneasy  fear  of  having  boasted. 
But  no  one  else  felt  this  result  of  his  deli- 
cacy, and  the  feast  was  merry  enough. 
When  it  was  ended,  Mrs.  Ellison,  being 
still  a  little  infirm  of  foot,  remained  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bark-lodge,  and  the  colonel 
lit  his  cigar,  and  loyally  stretched  himself 
upon  the  grass  before  her. 

There  was  nothing  else  for  Kitty  and 
Mr.  Arbuton  but  to  stroll  off  together,  and 
she  preferred  to  do  this. 

They  sauntered  up  to  the  ch5,teau  in 
silence,  and  peered  somewhat  languidly 
about  the  ruin.  On  a  bit  of  smooth  surface 
in  a  sheltered  place  many  names  of  former 
visitors  were  written,  and  Mr.  Arbuton 
said  he  supposed  they  might  as  well  add 
those  of  their  own  party. 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Kitty,  with  a  half- 


252  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

sigh,  seating  herself  upon  a  fallen  stono, 
and  letting  her  hands  fall  into  each  other  in 
her  lap  as  her  wont  was,  "  you  write  them." 
A  curious  pensiveuess  passed  from  one  to 
the  other  and  possessed  them  both. 

Mr.  Arbuton  began  to  wTite.  Suddenly, 
"Miss  Ellison,"  said  he,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  've  blundered  in  your  name  ;  I  neglected 
to  put  the  Ikliss  before  it ;  and  now  there 
isn't  room  on  the  plastering. " 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  replied  Kitty,  "I 
dare  say  it  won't  be  missed  !  " 

Mr.  Arbuton  neither  perceived  nor  heeded 
the  pun.  He  was  looking  in  a  sort  of 
rapture  at  the  name  which  his  own  hand 
had  written  now  for  the  first  time,  and  he 
felt  an  Indecorous  desire  to  kiss  it. 

"  If  I  could  speak  it  as  I  've  %\Titten  it " — 

"I  don't  see  what  harm  there  would  be 
in  that,"  said  the  owner  of  the  name,  "or 
V  hat  object,"  she  added  more  discreetly. 

—  "I  should  feel  that  I  had  made  a  great 
gain." 

"I  never  told  you,"  answered  Kitty, 
evasively,  how  much  I  admire  your  first 
name,  Mr.  Arbuton." 

"  How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"It  was  on  the  card  you  gave  my  cousin," 
said  Kitty,  frankly,  but  thinking  he  now 


THE   PICXIC  AT   CHATEAU-BIGOT.        253 

must  know  she  had  been  keeping  his 
card. 

"  It 's  an  old  family  name, — a  sort  of 
heirloom  from  the  first  of  us  who  came  to 
the  country  ;  and  in  every  generation  since, 
some  Arbuton  has  had  to  wear  it." 

"It's  superb!"  cried  Kitty.  "Miles! 
'Miles  Standish,  the  Puritan  captain,' 
•Miles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth.' 
I  should  be  very  proud  of  such  a  name. 

"You  have  only  to  take  it,"  he  said, 
gravely. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  said  with 
a  blush,  and  then  added,  ' '  Yours  is  a  very 
old  family,  then,  isn't  it  ? " 

"Yes,  it's  pretty  well,"  answered  Mr. 
Arbuton,  "but  it's  not  such  a  rare  thing 
in  the  East,  you  know." 

"I  suppose  not.  The  Ellisons  are  not  an 
old  family.  If  we  went  back  of  my  uncle, 
we  should  only  come  to  backwoodsmen  and 
Indian  fighters.  Perhaps  that 's  the  reason 
we  don't  care  much  for  old  families.  You 
think  a  great  deal  of  them  in  Boston,  don't 
you  ? " 

"  We  do,  and  we  don't.  It 's  a  long  storj', 
and  I  'm  afraid  I  couldn't  make  you  under- 
stand unless  you  had  seen  something  of 
Boston  society." 


254  A  CHAKCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

"Mr.  Arbuton,"  said  Kitty,  abniptly 
plunging  to  the  bottom  of  the  subject  on 
which  they  had  been  hovering,  "  I  'm  dread- 
fully afraid  that  what  you  said  to  me — what 
you  asked  of  me,  yesterday — was  all  through 
a  misunderstanding.  I  'm  afraid  that  you  've 
somehow  mistaken  me  and  my  circumstances, 
and  that  somehow  I  've  innocently  helped  on 
your  mistake. " 

' '  There  is  no  mistake, "  he  answered, 
eagerly,  "about  my  loving  you  !  " 

Kitty  did  not  look  up,  nor  answer  this 
outburst,  which  flattered  while  it  pained 
her.  She  said,  "I've  been  so  much  mis- 
taken myself,  and  I  've  been  so  long  finding 
it  out,  that  I  should  feel  anxious  to  have 
you  know  just  what  kind  of  girl  you'd 
asked  to  be  your  wife,  before  I  " — 

"What?" 

"  Nothing.  But  I  should  want  you  to 
know  that  in  many  things  my  life  has  been 
very,  very  different  from  yours.  The  first 
thing  I  can  remember — you  '11  think  I  'm 
more  autobiographical  than  our  driver  at 
Ha- Ha  Bay,  even,  but  I  must  tell  you  all 
this  —  is  about  Kansas,  whexe  we  had 
removed  from  Hlinois,  and  of  our  having 
hardly  enough  to  eat  or  wear,  and  of  my 
mother  grievin;?  over  our  privations.      At 


THE   PICNIC  AT  CHATEAU-BIGOT.        255 

last,  when  my  father  was  killed,"  she  said, 
dropping  her  voice,  "in  front  of  our  own 
door  " — 

Mr.  Arbuton  gave  a  start.     "  Killed  ?  " 

"Yes;  didn't  you  know?  Or  no:  how 
could  you?  He  was  shot  by  the  Mis- 
sourians." 

Whether  it  was  not  hopelessly  out  of 
taste  to  have  a  father-in-law  who  had  been 
shot  by  the  Missourians?  Whether  he 
could  persuade  Kitty  to  suppress  that  part 
of  her  history?  That  she  looked  very 
pretty,  sitting  there,  with  her  earnest  eyes 
lifted  towards  his.  These  things  flashed 
wilfully  through  Mr.  Arbuton's  mind. 

"My  father  was  a  Free-State  man,"  con- 
tinued Kitty,  in  a  tone  of  pride.  "He 
wasn't  when  he  first  went  to  Kansas,"  she 
added  simply ;  while  Mr.  Arbuton  groped 
among  his  recollections  of  that  forgotten 
struggle  for  some  association  with  these 
names,  keenly  feeling  the  squalor  of  it  all, 
and  thinking  still  how  verj'  pretty  she  was. 
"He  went  out  there  to  publish  a  pro -slavery 
paper.  But  when  he  found  out  what  the 
Border  Ruffians  really  were,  he  turned 
against  them.  He  used  to  be  very  bitter 
about  my  uncle's  having  become  an  Aboli- 
tionist;  they  had  had  a  quarrel  about  it; 


256  A  CHAls-CE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

but  father  wrote  to  him  from  Kansas,  and 
they  made  it  up  ;  and  before  father  died  he 
was  able  to  tell  mother  that  we  were  to  go 
to  uncle's.  But  mother  was  sick  then,  and 
she  only  lived  a  month  after  father ;  and 
when  my  cousin  came  out  to  get  us,  just 
before  she  died,  there  was  scarcely  a  crust 
of  combread  in  our  cabin.  It  seemed  like 
heaven  to  get  to  Eriecreek ;  but  even  at 
Eriecreek  we  live  in  a  way  that  I  am  afraid 
you  wouldn't  respect.  My  uncle  has  just 
enough,  and  we  are  very  plain  people  indeed. 
I  suppose,"  continued  the  young  girl  meekly, 
"that  I  haven't  had  at  all  what  you'd  call 
an  education.  Uncle  told  me  what  to  read, 
at  first,  and  after  that  I  helped  myself.  It 
seemed  to  come  naturally  ;  but  don't  you 
see  that  it  wasn't  an  education?" 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton,  with 
a  blush  ;  for  he  had  just  then  lost  the  sense 
of  what  she  said  in  the  music  of  her  voice, 
as  it  hesitated  over  these  particulars  of  her 
historj'. 

"I  mean,"  explained  Kitty,  "that  I'm 
afraid  I  must  be  verj'  one-sided.  I  'm  dread- 
fully ignorant  of  a  great  many  things.  I 
haven't  any  accomplishments,  only  the  little 
bit  of  singing  and  playing  that  you  've  heard ; 
I  couldn't   tell  a  good  picture  from  a  bad 


THE   PICNIC   AT   CHATEAU-BIGOT.  257 

one  ;  I  've  never  been  to  the  opera ;  I  don't 
know  anything  about  society.  Now  just 
imagine,"  cried  Kitty,  with  sublime  impar- 
tiality, "  such  a  girl  as  that  in  Boston  !  " 

Even  Mr.  Arbuton  could  not  help  smiling 
at  this  comic  earnestness,  while  she  resumed  : 
"At  home  my  cousins  and  I  do  all  kinds  of 
things  that  the  ladies  whom  you  know  have 
done  for  them.  We  do  our  own  work,  for 
one  thing,"  she  continued,  with  a  sudden 
treacherous  misgiving  that  what  she  was 
saying  might  be  silly  and  not  heroic,  but 
bravely  stilling  her  doubt.  "My  cousin 
Virginia  is  housekeeper,  and  Rachel  does 
the  sewing,  and  I  'm  a  kind  of  maid-of-all- 
work." 

Mr.  Arbuton  listened  respectfully,  vainly 
striving  for  some  likeness  of  Miss  Ellison  in 
the  figure  of  the  different  second-girls  who, 
during  life,  had  taken  his  card,  or  shown 
him  into  dra-ning-rooms,  or  waited  on  him 
at  table ;  failing  in  this,  he  tried  her  Ln  the 
character  of  daughter  of  that  kind  of  farm- 
house where  they  take  summer  boarders 
and  do  their  own  work  j  but  evidently  the 
Ellisons  were  not  of  that  sort  either  ;  and  he 
gave  it  up  and  was  silent,  not  knowing  what 
to  say,  while  Kitty,  a  little  piqued  by  his 
silence,    went   on:    "We're    not   ashamed, 


258  A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

you  understand,  of  our  ways ;  there  's  such 
a  thing  as  being  proud  of  not  being  proud  ; 
and  that 's  what  we  are,  or  what  I  am ;  for 
the  rest  are  not  mean  enough  ever  to  think 
about  it,  and  once  I  wasn't,  either.  But 
tliat  's  the  kind  of  life  I  'm  used  to ;  and 
though  I've  read  of  other  kinds  of  life  a 
great  deal,  I  've  not  been  brought  up  to  any- 
thing different,  don't  you  understand  ?  And 
maybe — I  don't  know — I  mightn't  like  or 
respect  your  kind  of  people  any  more  than 
they  did  me.  My  uncle  taught  us  ideas 
that  ai-e  quite  different  from  yours ;  and 
what  if  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  give  them 
up?" 

"There  is  only  one  thing  I  know  or  see: 
I  love  you  ! "  he  said,  passionately,  and  drew 
nearer  by  a  step  ;  but  she  put  out  her  hand 
and  repelled  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Sometimes  you  might  be  ashamed  of  me 
before  those  you  knew  to  be  my  inferiors, — 
really  coimnon  and  coarse-minded  people, 
but  regulai-ly  educated,  and  used  to  money 
and  fashion.  I  should  cower  before  them, 
and  I  never  could  forgive  you. 

' '  I  've  one  answer  to  all  this  :  I  love  you  ! " 

Kitty  flushed  in  generous  admii'ation  of 
his  magnanimity,  and  said,  with  more  of 
tenderness  than  she   had   yet   felt  towarcls 


THK   PICNIC   AT   CHATEAU- BIGOT.        259 

him,  "I'm  sorry  that  1  can't  answer  you 
now,  as  you  wish,  Mr.  Arbuton." 

"  But  you  will,  to-morrow?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know  ;  oh, 
I  don't  know  !  I  've  been  thinking  of  some- 
thing. That  Mrs.  March  asked  me  to  visit 
her  in  Boston ;  but  we  had  given  up  doing 
so,  because  of  the  long  delay  here.  If  1 
asked  my  cousins,  they  'd  still  go  home  that 
way.  It 's  too  bad  to  put  you  off  again ; 
but  you  must  see  me  in  Boston,  if  only  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  after  you  've  got  back  into 
your  old  associations  there,  before  I  answer 
you.  I  'm  in  great  trouble.  You  must  wait, 
or  I  must  say  no. " 

"  I  '11  wait,"  said  Mr.  Arbuton. 

"Oh,  tliank  you,"  sighed  Kitty,  grateful 
for  this  patience,  and  not  for  the  chance  of 
still  winning  him;  "you  are  very  forbear- 
ing, I  'm  sure." 

She  again  put  forth  her  hand,  but  not  nov/ 
to  repel  him.  He  clasped  it,  and  kept  it  m 
his,  then  impulsively  pressed  it  against  his 
lips. 

Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ellison  had  been  watch- 
ing the  whole  pantomime,  forgotten. 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  suppose 
that 's  the  end  of  the  play,  isn't  it  ?  I  don't 
like  it,  Fanny  ;  I  don't  like  it." 


260  A   CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Ellison. 

They  were  both  puzzled  when  Kitty  and 
Mr.  Arbuton  came  towards  them  with 
anxious  faces.  Kitty  was  painfully  revolv- 
ing In  her  mind  what  she  had  just  said,  and 
thinking  she  had  said  not  so  much  as  she 
meant,  and  yet  so  much  more,  and  torment- 
ing herself  with  the  fear  that  she  had  been 
at  once  too  bold  and  too  meek  in  her  demand 
for  longer  delay.  Did  it  not  give  him  fur- 
ther claim  upon  her?  Must  it  not  have 
seemed  a  very  audacious  thing  ?  What  right 
had  slie  to  make  it,  and  how  could  she  now 
finally  say  no?  Then  the  matter  of  her 
explanation  to  him  :  was  it  in  the  least  what 
she  meant  to  say  ?  Must  it  not  give  him  an 
idea  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  poverty  in 
her  life  which  she  knew  had  not  been  in  it  ? 
Would  he  not  believe,  in  spite  of  her  boasts, 
that  she  was  humiliated  before  him  by  a 
feeling  of  essential  inferiority  ?  Oh,  Imd  she 
boasted  ?  What  she  meant  to  do  was  just 
to  make  him  understand  clearly  what  she 
was;  but,  had  she?  Could  he  be  made  to 
understand  this  with  what  seemed  his  narrow 
conception  of  things  outside  of  his  own  ex- 
perience ?  Was  it  worth  while  to  try  ?  Did 
she  care  enough  for  him  to  make  the  effort 
desirable  ?     Had  she  made  it  for  his  sake,  or 


THE    PICNIC    AT   CUATEAU-BIGOT.        261 

"in  the  interest  of  truth  merely,  or  in  self- 
defence  ? 

These  and  a  thousand  other  like  questions 
beset  her  the  whole  way  home  to  Quebec, 
amid  the  frequent  pauses  of  the  talk,  and 
underneath  whatever  she  was  saying.  Half 
the  time  she  answered  yes  or  no  to  them, 
and  not  to  what  Dick,  or  Fanny,  or  Mr. 
Arbuton  had  asked  her  ;  she  was  distraught 
with  their  recurrence,  as  they  teased  about 
her  like  angry  bees,  and  one  now  and  then 
settled,  and  stung  and  stung.  Through  the 
whole  night,  too,  they  pursued  her  in  dreams 
with  pitiless  iteration  and  fantastic  change  ; 
and  at  dawn  she  was  awakened  by  voices 
calling  up  to  her  from  the  Ursulines'  Garden, 
— the  slim,  pale  nun  crying  out,  in  a  lament- 
able accent,  that  all  men  were  false,  and 
there  was  no  shelter  save  the  convent  or 
the  grave,  and  the  comfortable  sister  be- 
moaning herself  that  on  meagre  days  Madame 
de  la  Peltrie  ate  nothing  but  choke-cherries 
from  Chateau-Bigot. 

Kitty  rose  and  dressed  herself,  and  sat  at 
the  window,  and  watched  the  morning  come 
into  the  garden  below :  first  a  tremulous 
flush  of  the  heavens  ;  then  a  rosy  light  on 
the  silvery  roofs  and  gables ;  then  little 
golden    aisles  among   the  lilacs   and    holly- 


262  A    CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

hocks.  The  tiny  flower-beds  just  under 
her  window  were  left,  with  their  snap- 
dragons and  larkspiirs,  in  dew  and  sha- 
dow ;  the  small  dog  stood  on  the  threshold, 
and  barked  uneasily  when  the  bell  rang  in 
the  Ursulines'  Chapel,  where  the  nuns  were 
at  matins. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  a  soft  tranquillity 
blest  the  cool  air  in  which  the  young  girl 
bathed  her  troubled  spirit.  A  faint  antici- 
pative  home-sickness  mingled  now  with  her 
nightlong  anxiety, — a  pity  for  herself  that 
on  the  morrow  she  must  leave  these  pretty 
sights,  which  had  become  so  dear  to  her  that 
she  could  not  but  feel  herself  native  among 
them.  She  must  go  back  to  Eriecreek,  which 
was  not  a  walled  city,  and  had  not  a  stone 
building,  much  less  a  cathedral  or  convent, 
within  its  borders  ;  and  though  she  dearly 
loved  those  under  her  uncle's  roof  there,  yet 
she  had  to  own  that,  beyond  that  shelter, 
there  was  little  in  Eriecreek  to  touch  the 
heart  or  take  the  fancy  ;  that  the  village  was 
ugly,  and  the  village  people  mortally  dull, 
narrow,  and  uncongenial.  Why  was  not 
her  lot  cast  somewhere  else  ?  Why  should 
she  not  see  more  of  the  world  that  she  had 
found  so  fair,  and  which  all  her  aspirations 
had  fitted  her  to  enjoy  ?     Quebec  had  been 


THE    PICNIC    AT    CHATEAU-EIGOT.         263 

to  her  a  rapture  of  beautiful  antiquity  ;  but 
Europe,  but  London,  Venice,  Rome,  those 
infinitely  older  and  more  storied  cities  of 
which  she  had  lately  talked  so  much  with 
Mr.  Arbuton, — why  should  she  not  see 
them? 

Here,  for  the  guilty  space  of  a  heat-light- 
ning flash,  Kitty  wickedly  entertained  the 
thought  of  marrjnng  Mr.  Arbuton  for  the 
sake  of  a  bridal  trip  to  Europe,  and  bade 
love  and  the  fitness  of  things  and  the  incom- 
patibility of  Boston  and  Eriecreek  tradi- 
tions take  care  of  themselves.  But  then 
she  blushed  for  her  meanness,  and  tried  to 
atone  for  it  as  she  could  by  meditating  the 
praise  of  Mr.  Ai-buton.  She  felt  remorse  for 
having,  as  he  had  proved  yesterday,  under- 
valued and  misunderstood  him  ;  and  she  was 
willing  now  to  think  him  even  more  mag- 
nanimous than  his  generous  words  and 
conduct  showed  him.  It  would  be  a  base 
return  for  his  patience  to  accept  him  from  a 
worldly  ambition  ;  a  man  of  his  noble  spirit 
merited  the  best  that  love  could  give.  But 
she  respected  him ;  at  last  she  respected 
him  fully  and  entirely,  and  she  could  tell 
him  that  at  any  rate. 

The  words  in  which  he  had  yesterday  pro- 
tested his  love  for  her  repeated  themselves 


264  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

constantly  in  her  reverie.  If  he  should  speak 
them  again  after  he  had  seen  her  in  Boston, 
in  the  light  by  which  she  was  anxious  to  be 
tested, — she  did  not  know  what  sho  should 
say. 


xm. 


THEY  had  not  planned  to  go  anywhere 
that  day  ;  but  after  church  they  found 
themselves  with  the  loveliest  afternoon  of 
their  stay  at  Quebec  to  be  passed  somehow, 
and  it  was  a  pity  to  pass  it  in-doors,  the 
colonel  said  at  their  early  dinner.  They 
canvassed  the  attractions  of  the  different 
drives  out  of  town,  and  they  decided  upon 
that  to  Lorette.  The  Ellisons  had  already 
been  there,  but  Mr.  Arbuton  had  not,  and 
it  was  from  a  dim  motive  of  politeness  to- 
wards him  that  Mrs.  Ellison  chose  the 
excursion  ;  though  this  did  not  prevent  her 
from  wondering  aloud  afterwards,  from  time 
to  time,  why  she  had  chosen  it.  He  was 
restless  and  absent,  and  answered  at  random 
when  points  of  the  debate  were  referred  to 
him,  but  he  eagerly  assented  to  the  conclu- 
sion, and  was  in  haste  to  set  out. 
The  road  to  Lorette  is  through  St.  John 's 


266  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Gate,  clown  into  the  outlying  meadows  and 
rye-flelds,  where,  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
swift  St.  Charles,  it  finally  rises  at  Lorette 
above  the  level  of  the  citadel.  It  is  a  lone- 
lier road  than  that  to  Montmorenci,  and  the 
scattering  cottages  upon  it  have  not  the 
well-to-do  prettiness,  the  operatic  repair,  of 
stone-built  Beauport.  But  they  are  charm- 
ing, nevertheless,  and  the  people  seem  to  be 
remoter  from  modem  influences.  Peasant - 
girls,  in  purple  gowns  and  broad  straw  hats, 
and  not  the  fashions  of  the  year  before  last, 
now  and  then  appeared  to  our  acquaintance  ; 
near  one  ancient  cottage  an  old  man,  in  the 
true  habitant's  red  woollen  cap  with  a  long 
fall,  leaned  over  the  bars  of  his  gate  and 
smoked  a  short  pipe. 

By  and  by  they  came  to  Jeune-Lorette, 
an  almost  ideally  pretty  hamlet,  bordering 
the  road  on  either  hand  with  galleried  and 
balconied  little  houses,  from  which  the 
people  bowed  to  them  as  they  passed,  and 
piously  enclosing  in  its  midst  the  village 
church  and  churchyard.  They  soon  after 
reached  Lorette  itself,  which  they  might 
easily  have  kno^\Ti  for  an  Indian  town  by  its 
unkempt  air,  and  the  irregular  attitudes  in 
wliich  the  shabby  cabins  lounged  along  the 
lanes  that  wandered  through  it,  even  if  the 


ORDF.AL.  267 

Ellisons  had  not  known  it  already,  or  if 
they  had  not  been  welcomed  by  a  pomp  of 
Indian  boys  and  girls  of  all  shades  of  dark- 
ness. The  girls  had  bead -wrought  moccasins 
and  work-bags  to  sell,  and  the  boys  bore 
bows  and  arrows,  and  burst  into  loud  cries 
of  "Shoot!  shoot  I  grand  shoot!  Put-up- 
pennies  !  shoot-the-pennies  !  Grand  shoot  *  " 
When  they  recognised  the  colonel,  as  they 
did  after  the  party  had  dismounted  in  front 
of  the  church,  they  renewed  these  cries  with 
greater  vehemence. 

"Now,  Richard,"  implored  his  wife, 
you  're  not  going  to  let  those  little  pests 
go  through  all  that  shooting  performance 
again  ?  " 

"  I  must.  It  is  expected  of  me  whenever 
I  come  to  Lorette ;  and  I  would  never  be 
the  man  to  neglect  an  ancient  observance 
of  this  kind."  The  colonel  stuck  a  copper 
into  the  hard  sand  as  he  spoke,  and  a  small 
storm  of  arrows  hurtled  around  it.  Pre- 
sently it  flew  into  the  air,  and  a  fair-faced, 
blue-eyed  boy  picked  it  up  :  he  won  most 
of  the  succeeding  coins. 

"There's  an  aborigine  of  pure  blood," 
remarked  the  colonel ;  "  his  ancestors  came 
from  Normandy  two  hundred  years  ago. 
That 's    the    reason    he    uses   the    bow    so 


2b»  A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

much  better  than  these  coffee-coloured  im- 
postors." 

They  went  into  the  chapel,  which  stands 
on  the  site  of  the  ancient  church  burnt  not 
long  ago.  It  is  small,  and  it  is  bare  and 
rude  inside,  with  only  the  commonest  orna- 
mentation about  the  altar,  on  one  side  of 
which  was  the  painted  wooden  statue  of  a 
nun,  on  the  other  that  of  a  priest, — slight 
enough  commemoration  of  those  who  had 
suffered  so  much  for  the  hopeless  race  that 
lingers  and  wastes  at  Lorette  in  incurable 
squalor  and  wildness.  They  are  Christians 
after  their  fashion,  this  poor  remnant  of 
the  mighty  Huron  nation  converted  by  the 
Jesuits  and  crushed  by  the  Iroquois  in  the 
far- western  wilderness ;  but  whatever  they 
are  at  heart,  they  are  still  savage  in  counte- 
nance, and  these  boys  had  faces  of  wolves 
and  foxes.  They  followed  their  visitors  into 
the  church,  where  there  was  only  an  old 
woman  praying  to  a  picture,  beneath  which 
hung  a  votive  hand  and  foot,  and  a  few 
young  Huron  suppliants  with  very  sleek 
hair,  whose  wandering  devotions  seemed 
directed  now  at  the  strangers,  and  now  at 
the  wooden  effigy  of  the  House  of  St.  Ann 
borne  by  two  gilt  angels  above  the  high- 
altar.     There  was  no  service,  and  the  visi- 


tors  soon  quitted  the  chapel  amid  the 
clamours  of  the  boys  outside.  Some  young 
girls,  in  the  dress  of  our  period,  were  pro- 
menading up  and  down  the  road  with  their 
arms  about  each  other  and  their  eyes  alert 
for  the  efifect  upon  spectators. 

From  one  of  the  village  lanes  came  swag- 
gering towards  the  visitors  a  figure  of 
aggressive  fashion, — a  very  buckish  young 
fellow,  with  a  heavy  black  moustache  and 
black  eyes,  who  wore  a  jaunty  round  hat, 
blue  checked  trousers,  a  white  vest,  and  a 
moming-coat  of  blue  diagonals  ;  in  his  hand 
he  swung  a  light  cane. 

*'  That  is  the  son  of  the  chief,  Paul  Picot," 
whispered  the  driver. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  colonel,  instantly; 
and  the  young  gentleman  nodded.  "Can 
you  tell  me  if  we  could  see  the  chief  to- 
day ?  " 

' '  Oh  yes  !  "  answered  the  notary  in  Eng- 
lish, "my  father  is  chief.  You  can  see 
him ; "  and  passed  on  mth  a  somewhat 
supercilious  air. 

The  colonel,  in  his  first  hours  at  Quebec, 
had  bought  at  a  bazaar  of  Indian  wares  the 
photograph  of  an  Indian  warrior  in  a  splen- 
dour of  factitious  savage  panoply.  It  was 
called  "The  Last  of  the  Hurous,"  and  the 


270  A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

colonel  now  avenged  himself  for  the  curtuess 
of  M.  Picot,  by  styling  him  "  The  Next  to 
the  Last  of  the  Hurons." 

"Well,"  said  Fanny,  who  had  a  wife's 
willingness  to  see  her  husband  occasionally 
snubbed,  ' '  I  don't  know  why  you  asked 
him.  I  'm  sure  nobody  wants  to  see  that 
old  chief  and  his  WTetched  bead  trumperj' 
again." 

"My  dear,"  answered  the  colonel,  "  where- 
ever  Americans  go,  they  like  to  be  presented 
at  Coui't.  Mr.  Arbuton,  here,  I  've  no  doubt, 
has  been  introduced  to  the  crowned  heads 
of  the  Old  World,  and  longs  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  the  sovereign  of  Lorette.  Besides, 
I  always  call  upon  the  reigning  prince  when 
I  come  to  Lorette.  The  coldness  of  the  lieir- 
appai'eut  shall  not  repel  me." 

The  colonel  led  the  way  up  the  princi- 
pal lane  of  the  village.  Some  of  the  cabins 
were  ineliectually  white-waslied,  but  none 
of  them  were  so  uncleanly  within  as  the  out- 
side prophesied.  At  the  doors  and  windows 
sat  women  and  young  girls  working  moc- 
casins ;  here  and  there  stood  a  well-fed 
mother  of  a  family  with  an  infant  Huron 
in  her  arms.  They  all  showed  the  traces 
of  white  blood,  as  did  the  little  ones  who 
trooped  after  the  strangers  and  demanded 


OKDEAL.  271 

charity  as  clamorously  as  so  many  Italians  ; 
only  a  few  faces  were  of  a  clear  dark,  as  if 
stained  by  walnut  juice,  and  it  was  plain 
that  the  Hurons  were  fading,  if  not  dying 
out.  They  responded  with  a  queer  mixture 
of  French  liveliness  and  savage  stolidity  to 
the  colonel's  jocose  advances.  Great  lean 
dogs  lounged  about  the  thresholds ;  they 
and  the  women  and  children  were  alone 
visible  ;  there  were  no  men.  None  of  the 
houses  wei'e  fenced,  s<ave  the  chief's  ;  this 
stood  behind  a  neat  grass  plot,  across  which, 
at  the  moment  our  travellers  came  up,  two 
youngish  women  were  trailing  in  long  morn- 
ing-gowns and  eye-glasses.  The  chief's  house 
was  a  handsome  cottage,  papered  and  car- 
peted, with  a  huge  stove  in  the  parlour, 
where  also  stood  a  table  exposing  the  bead 
trumpery  of  Mrs.  Ellison's  scorn.  A  full- 
bodied  elderly  man  with  quick  black  eyes 
and  a  tranquil  dark  face  stood  near  it ;  he 
wore  a  half-military  coat  with  brass  buttons, 
and  was  the  chief  Picot.  At  sight  of  the 
colonel  he  smiled  slightly  and  gave  his  hand 
in  welcome.  Then  he  sold  such  of  his  wares 
as  the  colonel  wanted,  rather  discouraging 
than  inviting  purchase.  He  talked,  upon 
some  urgency,  of  his  people,  who,  he  said, 
numbered  three  hundred,  and  were  a  few  of 


272  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

them  farmers,  but  were  mostly  hunters,  and, 
in  the  service  of  the  officers  of  the  garrison, 
spent  the  winter  in  the  chase.  He  spoke 
fair  English,  but  reluctantly,  and  he  seemed 
glad  to  have  his  guests  go,  who  were  indeed 
willing  enough  to  leave  him. 

Mr.  Arbuton  especially  was  willing,  for  he 
had  been  longing  to  find  himself  alone  with 
Kitty,  of  which  he  saw  no  hope  while  the 
idling  about  the  village  lasted. 

The  colonel  bought  an  insane  watch-pocket 
for  une  dolleur  from  a  pretty  little  girl  as 
they  returned  through  the  \-illage  ;  but  he 
forbade  the  boys  any  more  archery  at  his 
expense,  with  "Pas  de  grand  shoot,  now, 
mes  enfants  ! — Friends,"  he  added  to  his  own 
party,  "  we  have  the  Falls  of  Lorette  and 
the  better  part  of  the  afternoon  still  before 
us  ;  how  shall  we  employ  them  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ellison  and  Kitty  did  not  know,  and 
Mr.  Arbuton  did  not  know,  as  they  saun- 
tered do-mi  past  the  chapel,  to  the  stone 
mill  that  feeds  its  industry  from  the  beauty 
of  the  fall.  The  cascade,  with  two  or  three 
successive  leaps  above  the  road,  plunges 
headlong  down  a  steep  crescent-shaped  slope, 
and  hides  its  foamy  whiteness  in  the  dark- 
loliaged  ravine  below.  It  is  a  wonder  of 
giaceful    motion,    of    ii'idescent  lights  and 


ORDEAL,  273 

delicionB  shadows  ;  a  shape  of  loveliness  that 
seems  instinct  with  a  conscious  life.  Its 
beauty,  like  that  of  all  natural  marvels  on 
our  continent,  is  on  a  generous  scale ;  and 
now  the  spectators,  after  viewing  it  from  the 
mill,  passed  for  a  different  prospect  of  it  to 
the  other  shore,  and  there  the  colonel  and 
Fanny  wandered  a  little  further  down  the 
glen,  leaving  Kitty  with  Mr.  Arbuton.  The 
affair  between  them  was  in  such  a  puzzling 
phase,  that  there  was  as  much  reason  for  as 
against  this  ;  nobody  could  do  anything,  not 
even  openly  recognise  it.  Besides,  it  was 
somehow  very  interesting  to  Kitty  to  be 
there  alone  with  him,  and  she  thought  that 
if  all  were  well,  and  he  and  she  were  really 
engaged,  the  sense  of  recent  betrothal  could 
be  nowhere  else  half  so  sweet  as  In  that 
wild  and  lovely  place.  She  began  to  ima- 
gine a  bliss  so  divine,  that  it  would  have 
been  strange  if  she  had  not  begun  to  desire 
it,  and  it  was  with  a  half-reluctant,  half- 
acquiescent  thrill  that  she  suffered  him  to 
touch  upon  what  was  first  in  both  their 
minds. 

' '  I  thought  you  had  agreed  not  to  talk 
of  that  agaia  for  the  present,"  she  feebly 
protested. 

"  No  ;  I  was  not  forbidden  to  tell  you  I 
s 


274  A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE. 

loved  you  ;  I  only  consented  to  wait  for  my 
answer  ;  but  now  I  shall  break  my  promise. 
I  cannot  wait.  I  think  the  conditions  you 
make  dishonour  me,  said  Mr.  Arbuton, 
with  an  impetuosity  that  fascinated  her. 

"Oh,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing  as 
that?  "  she  asked,  liking  him  for  his  resent- 
ment of  conditions  that  he  found  humilia- 
ting, while  her  heart  leaped  remorseful  to 
her  lips  for  having  imposed  them.  "You 
know  very  well  why  I  wanted  to  delay  ;  and 
you  know  that — that — if — I  had  done  any 
thing  to  wound  you,  I  never  could  forgive 
myself. " 

"  But  you  doubted  me  all  the  same,"  he 
rejoined. 

"  Did  I  ?  I  thought  it  was  myself  that  I 
doubted."  She  was  stricken  with  sudden 
misgiving  as  to  what  had  seemed  so  well  ; 
her  words  tended  rapidly  she  could  not  tell 
whither. 

"But  why  do  you  doubt  yourself? " 

"I — I  don't  know." 

"No,"  he  said  bitterly,  "for  it  really  is 
I  whom  you  doubt.  I  can't  understand 
what  you  have  seen  in  me  that  makes  you 
believe  anything  could  change  me  towai'ds 
you,"  he  added  with  a  kind  of  humble- 
ness   that    touched  her.      "I    could    have 


ORDEAL.  275 

bonie  to  think  that  I  was  not  worthy  of 
you." 

"  Not  worthy  of  me  !  I  never  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing." 

' '  But  to  have  you  suspect  me  of  such 
meanness  " — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ai-buton  !  " 

— "  As  you  hinted  yesterday,  is  a  disgrace 
that  I  ought  not  to  bear.  I  have  thought  of 
it  all  night ;  and  I  must  have  my  answer 
now,  whatever  it  is." 

She  did  not  speak ;  for  every  word  that 
she  had  uttered  had  only  served  to  close 
escape  behind  her.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  do  ;  she  looked  up  at  him  for  help.  He 
said  with  an  accent  of  meekness  pathetic 
from  him,  "  Why  must  you  still  doubt  me  ?  " 

' '  I  don't, "  she  scarcely  more  than  breathed. 

'*  Then  you  are  mine,  now,  without  wait- 
ing, and  for  ever, "  he  cried  ;  and  caught  her 
to  him  in  a  swift  embrace. 

She  only  said,  "  Oh  !  "  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
reproach,  yet  clung  to  him  a  helpless  moment 
as  for  rescue  from  himself.  She  looked  at 
him  in  blank  pallor,  striving  to  realise  the 
tender  violence  in  which  his  pulses  wildly 
exulted  ;  then  a  turning  flush  dyed  her  face, 
and  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  I  hope 
you  '11  never  be  sorry."  she  said  ;  and  then. 


276  A   CHANCE   ACQUA1>TAN0I.. 

"  Do  let  UB  go,"  for  she  had  no  distinct 
desire  save  for  movement,  for  escape  from 
that  place. 

Her  heart  had  been  surprised,  she  hardly 
know  how ;  but  at  his  kiss  a  novel  tender- 
ness had  leaped  to  life  in  it.  She  suffered 
him  to  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  then 
she  began  to  feel  a  strange  pride  in  his  being 
tall  and  handsome,  and  hers.  But  she  kept 
thinking,  as  they  walked,  "  I  hope  he  '11 
never  be  sorry,"  and  she  said  it  again,  half 
in  jest.  He  pressed  her  hand  against  his 
heart,  and  met  her  look  with  one  of  protest 
and  reassurance,  that  presently  melted  into 
something  sweeter  yet.  He  said,  "  What 
beautiful  eyes  you  have  1  I  noticed  the  long 
lashes  when  I  saw  you  on  the  Saguenay 
boat,  and  I  couldn't  get  away  from  them." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  that  dreadful 
time  !  "  cried  Kitty. 

"No?     Why  not?" 

"Oh,  because  !  I  think  it  was  such  a  bold 
kind  of  accident  my  taking  your  arm  by  mis- 
take ;  and  the  whole  next  day  has  always 
been  a  perfect  horror  to  me. " 

He  looked  at  her  in  questioning  amaze. 

"  I  think  I  was  very  pert  with  you  all 
day, — and  I  don't  think  I  'm  pert  naturally, 
— taking  you  up  about  the  landscape,  and 


0IU3EAI..  277 

twitting  you  about  the  Saguenay  scenery 
aiid  legends,  you  know.  But  I  thought  you 
were  trying  to  put  me  down, — you  are 
rather  down-putting  at  times, — and  I  ad- 
mired you,  and  I  couldn't  bear  it." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Arbuton.  He  dimly 
recollected,  as  if  it  had  been  in  some  former 
state  of  existence,  that  there  were  things  he 
had  not  approved  in  Kitty  that  day,  but 
now  he  met  her  penitence  with  a  smile  and 
another  pressure  of  the  hand.  "  Well, 
then, "  he  said,  ' '  if  you  don't  like  to  recall 
that  time,  let's  go  back  of  it  to  the  day  I 
met  you  on  Goat  Island  Bridge  at  Niagara. " 

"Oh,  did  you  see  me  there?  I  thought 
you  didn't ;  but  /  saw  you.  You  had  on  a 
blue  cravat,"  she  answered;  and  he  re- 
turned with  as  much  the  air  of  coherency  a.-' 
as  if  really  continuing  the  same  train  of 
thought,  "  You  won't  think  it  necessary  to 
visit  Boston,  now,  I  suppose,"  and  he  smiled 
triumphantly  upon  her.  "  I  fancy  that  I 
have  now  a  better  right  to  introduce  you 
there  than  your  South  End  friends." 

Kitty  smiled  too.  "  I  'm  willing  to  wait. 
But  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  see 
Eriecreek  before  you  promise  too  solemnly  ? 
I  can 't  allow  that  there  's  anything  deriou>i, 
till  you  've  seen  me  at  home." 


278  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

They  had  been  going,  for  no  reason  that 
they  knew,  back  to  the  country  inn  near 
which  you  purchase  admittance  to  a  certain 
view  of  the  falls,  and  now  they  sat  down  on 
the  piazza,  somewhat  apart  from  other 
people  who  were  there,  as  Mr.  Arbuton 
said,  "I  shall  visit  Eriecreek  soon  enough. 
But  I  shall  not  come  to  put  mj'self  or  you  to 
the  proof.  I  don't  ask  to  see  you  at  home 
before  claiming  you  for  ever. " 

Kitty  murmured,  '*  Ah  !  you  are  more 
generous  than  I  was." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are.  But  I  wonder  if  you  '11 
be  able  to  find  Eriecreek." 

"  Is  it  on  the  map  ?  " 

"  It 's  on  the  county  map ;  and  so  is 
Uncle  Jack's  lot  on  it,  and  a  picture  of  his 
house,  for  that  matter.  They  '11  all  be 
standing  on  the  piazza — something  like  this 
one — when  you  come  up.  You  '11  know 
Uncle  Jack  by  his  big  grey  beard,  and  his 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  his  boots,  which  he 
won't  have  blacked,  and  his  Leghorn  hat, 
which  we  can't  get  him  to  change.  The 
girls  will  be  there  with  him, — Virginia  all 
red  and  heated  with  having  got  supper  for 
you,  and  Rachel  with  the  family  mending  in 
her  hand, — and  they  '11  both  come  running 


ORDEAL.  279 

down  the  walk  to  welcome  you.  How  will 
you  like  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Arbuton  suspected  the  gross  carica- 
ture of  this  picture,  and  smiled  securely  at 
it.  "I  shall  like  it  well  enough,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  run  down  with  them.  Where  shall 
you  be  ? " 

"I  forgot.  I  shall  be  up-stairs  in  my 
room,  peeping  through  the  window-blinds, 
to  see  how  you  take  it.  Then  I  shall  come 
down,  and  receive  you  with  dignity  in  the 
parlour,  but  after  supper  you  '11  have  to 
excuse  me  while  I  help  with  the  dishes. 
Uncle  Jack  will  talk  to  you.  He  '11  talk  to 
you  about  Boston.  He  's  much  fonder  of 
Boston  than  you  are,  even."  And  here 
Kitty  broke  off  with  a  laugh,  thinking  what 
a  very  different  Boston  her  Uncle  Jack's 
was  from  Mr.  Arbuton's,  and  maliciously 
diverted  with  what  she  conceived  of  their 
mutual  bewilderment  in  trj-ing  to  get  some 
common  standpoint.  He  had  risen  from  his 
chair,  and  was  now  standing  a  few  paces 
from  her,  looking  towards  the  fall,  as  if  by 
looking  he  might  delay  the  coming  of  the 
colonel  and  Fanny. 

She  checked  her  merriment  a  moment  to 
take  note  of  two  ladies  who  were  coming  up 
the  path  towards  the  corch  where  she  waa 


280  A   CHANCB   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Bitting.  Mr.  Arbuton  did  not  see  them. 
The  ladies  mounted  the  steps,  and  turned 
slowly  and  languidly  to  survey  the  company. 
But  at  sight  of  Mr.  Arbuton,  one  of  them 
advanced  directly  towards  him,  with  exclam- 
ations of  surprise  and  pleasure,  and  he  with 
a  stupefied  face  and  a  mechanical  movement 
turned  to  meet  her. 

She  was  a  lady  of  more  than  middle  age, 
dressed  with  certain  personal  audacities  of 
colour  and  shape,  rather  than  overdressed, 
and  she  thrust  forward,  in  expression  of  her 
amazement,  a  very  small  hand,  wonderfully 
well  gloved  ;  her  manner  was  full  of  the 
anxiety  of  a  woman  who  had  fought  hard 
for  a  high  place  in  society,  and  yet  suggested 
a  latent  hatred  of  people  who,  in  yielding  to 
her,  had  made  success  bitter  and  humiliat- 
ing. 

Her  companion  was  a  young  and  very 
handsome  girl,  exquisitely  dressed,  and  just 
80  far  within  the  fashion  as  to  show  her 
already  a  mistress  of  style.  But  it  was  not 
the  vivid  New  York  stylishness.  A  peculiar 
restraint  of  line,  an  effect  of  lady -like  con- 
cession to  the  ruling  mode,  a  temperance  of 
oniament,  marked  the  whole  array,  and 
stamped  it  with  the  unmistakeable  character 
of  Boston.     Her  clear  tints  of  lip  and  cheek 


ORDKAL.  281 

and  eye  were  incomparable  ;  her  blond  hair 
gave  weight  to  the  poise  of  her  delicate  head 
by  its  rich  and  decent  masses.  She  had  a 
look  of  independent  innocence,  an  angelic 
expression  of  extremely  nice  young  fellow 
blending  with  a  subtle  maidenly  charm. 
She  indicated  her  surprise  at  seeing  Mr. 
Arbuton  by  pressing  the  point  of  her  sun- 
umbrella  somewhat  nervously  upon  the 
floor,  and  blushing  a  very  little.  Then  she 
gave  him  her  hand  with  friendly  frankness, 
and  smiled  dazzlingly  upon  him,  while  the 
elder  hailed  him  with  effusive  assertion  of 
familiar  acquaintance,  heaping  him  with 
greetings  and  flatteries  and  cries  of  pleasure. 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  sighed  Kitty,  "  these  are  old 
friends  of  his  ;  and  will  I  have  to  know 
them  ?  Perhaps  it 's  best  to  begin  at  once, 
though,"  she  thought. 

But  he  made  no  movement  towards  her 
where  she  sat.  The  ladies  began  to  walk 
up  and  down,  and  he  with  them.  As  they 
passed  her,  he  did  not  seem  to  see  her. 

The  ladies  said  they  were  waiting  for 
their  carriage,  which  they  had  left  at  a 
certain  point  when  they  went  to  look  at  the 
fall,  and  had  ordered  to  take  them  up  at 
the  inn.  They  talked  about  people  and 
things  that  Kitty  had  never  heaj-d  of. 


282  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

"Have  you  seen  the  Trailings  since  you 
left  Newport?  "  asked  the  elder  woman. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Arbiiton. 

' '  Perhaps  you  '11  be  surprised  then — or 
perhaps  you  won't — to  hear  that  we  parted 
with  them  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington, 
Thursday.  And  the  Mayflowers  are  at  the 
Glen  House.  The  mountains  are  horribly 
full.  But  what  are  you  to  do  !  Now  the 
Continent " — she  spoke  as  if  the  English 
Channel  divided  it  from  us — "  is  so  common, 
you  can't  run  over  there  any  more." 

Whenever  they  walked  towards  Kitty, 
this  woman,  whose  quick  eye  had  detected 
Mr.  Arbuton  at  her  side  as  she  came  up  to 
the  inn,  bent  upon  the  young  girl's  face  a 
stare  of  insolent  curiosity,  yet  with  a  front 
of  such  impassive  coldness  that  to  another 
she  might  not  have  seemed  aware  of  her 
presence.  Kitty  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  being  made  acquainted  with  her;  then 
she  remembered,  "Why,  how  stupid  I  am  ! 
Of  course  a  gentleman  can't  introduce  ladies; 
and  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do  is  to  excuse 
himself  to  them  as  soon  as  he  can  without 
rudeness,  and  come  back  to  me."  But  none 
the  less  she  felt  helpless  and  deserted. 
Though  ordinarily  so  brave,  she  was  so 
beaten  down  by  that  look,  that  for  a  glance 


of  not  unkindly  interest  that  the  young  lady 
gave  her  she  was  abjectly  grateful.  She 
admired  her,  and  fancied  that  she  could 
easily  be  friends  with  such  a  girl  as  that,  if 
they  met  fairly.  She  wondered  that  she 
should  be  there  with  that  other,  not  know- 
ing that  society  cannot  really  make  distinc- 
tions between  fine  and  coarse,  and  could  not 
have  given  her  a  reason  for  their  association. 

Still  the  three  walked  up  and  down  before 
Kitty,  and  still  she  made  his  peace  with 
herself,  thinking,  "He  is  embarrassed;  he 
can't  come  to  me  at  once  ;  but  he  will,  of 
course. " 

The  elder  of  his  companions  talked  on  in 
her  loud  voice  of  this  thing  and  that,  of  her 
summer,  and  of  the  people  she  had  met,  and 
of  their  places  and  yachts  and  horses,  and 
all  the  splendours  of  their  keeping, — talk 
which  Kitty's  aching  sense  sometimes  caught 
by  fragments,  and  sometimes  in  full.  The 
lady  used  a  slang  of  deprecation  and  apology 
for  having  come  to  such  a  queer  resort  as 
Quebec,  and  raised  her  brows  when  Mr. 
Arbuton  reluctantly  owned  how  long  he  had 
been  there. 

"  Ah,  ah  ! "  she  said  briskly,  bringing  the 
group  to  a  stand-still  while  she  spoke,  '•  one 
doesn't  stajr  in  a  slow  Canadian  city  a  whole 


'Ibi  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCK. 

month  for  love  of  the  place.  Come,  Mr. 
Arbuton,  is  she  English  or  French  ?  " 

Kitty's  heart  beat  thickly,  and  she  whim- 
pered to  herself,  "Oh,  now  I — now  surely 
he  must  do  something." 

"Or  perhaps,"  continued  his  tormentor, 
' '  she  's  some  fair  fellow-wanderer  in  these 
Canadian  wilds, — some  pretty  companion  of 
voyage." 

Mr.  Arbuton  gave  a  kind  of  start  at  this, 
like  one  thrilled  for  an  instant  with  a  sub- 
lime impulse.  He  cast  a  quick,  stealthy 
look  at  Kitty,  and  then  as  suddenly  with- 
drew his  glance.  What  had  happened  to 
her  who  was  usually  dressed  so  prettily? 
Alas !  true  to  her  resolution,  Kitty  had 
again  refused  Fanny's  dresses  that  morning, 
and  had  faithfully  put  on  her  own  travel 
ILng-suit, — the  suit  which  Rachel  had  made 
her,  and  which  had  seemed  so  very  well  at 
Eriecreek  that  they  had  called  Uncle  Jack 
in  to  admire  it  when  it  was  tried  on.  Now 
she  knew  that  it  looked  countrified,  and  its 
unstylishness  struck  in  upon  her,  and  made 
her  feel  countrified  in  soul.  "Yes,"  she 
owned,  as  she  met  Mr.  Arbuton's  glance, 
"I'm  nothing  but  an  awkward  milkmaid 
beside  that  young  lady."  This  was  unjust 
to  herself ;   but  truly  it  was   never  in  her 


ORDEAL.  285 

present  figure  that  he  had  intended  to  show 
her  to  his  world,  which  he  had  been  sincere 
enough  in  contemning  for  her  sake  while 
away  from  it.  Confronted  with  good  society 
in  these  ladies,  its  delegates,  he  doubtless 
felt,  as  never  before,  the  vastness  of  his 
self-sacrifice,  the  difficulty  of  his  enterprke, 
and  it  would  not  have  been  so  strange  if 
just  then  she  should  have  appeared  to  him 
through  the  hard  cold  vision  of  the  best 
people  instead  of  that  which  love  had 
illumined.  She  saw  whatever  purpose  to- 
wards herself  was  in  his  eyes  flicker  and 
die  out  as  they  fell  from  hers.  Then  she 
sat  alone  while  they  three  walked  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  and  the  skirts  of  the 
ladies  brushed  her  garments  in  passing. 

"Oh,  where  can  Dick  and  Fanny  be?" 
she  silently  bemoaned  herself,  ' '  and  why 
don't  they  come  and  save  me  from  these 
dreadful  people  ?  " 

She  sat  in  a  stony  quiet  while  they  talked 
on,  she  thought,  for  ever.  Their  voicea 
sounded  in  her  ears  like  voices  heard  in  a 
dream,  their  laughter  had  a  nightmare 
cruelty.  Yet  she  was  resolved  to  be  just  to 
Mr.  Arbuton,  she  was  determined  not  meanly 
to  condemn  him  ;  she  confessed  to  herself, 
with  a  glimmer  of  her  wonted  humour,  thn  t 


•^»b  A   CHANCK   ACQUAINTAXCK. 

her  dress  must  be  an  ordeal  of  peculiar 
anguish  to  him,  and  she  half  blamed  herself 
for  her  conscientiousness  in  wearing  it.  If 
she  had  conceived  of  any  such  chance  as 
this,  she  would  perhaps,  she  thought,  have 
worn  Fanny's  grenadine. 

She  glanced  again  at  the  group  which  was 
now  receding  from  her.  "Ah!"  the  elder 
of  the  ladies  said,  again  halting  the  others 
midway  of  the  piazza's  length,  "  there's  the 
carriage  at  last  !  But  what  is  that  stupid 
animal  stopping  for  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  he 
didn't  understand,  and  expects  to  take  us 
up  at  the  bridge  !  Provoking  !  But  it  'b 
no  use  ;  we  may  as  well  go  to  him  at  once  ; 
it 's  plain  he  isn't  coming  to  us.  Mr.  Ar- 
buton,  will  you  see  us  on  board  ?  " 

"  Who — I  ?  Yes,  certainly,"  he  answered 
absently,  and  for  the  second  time  he  cast  a 
furtive  look  at  Kitty,  who  had  half  started 
to  her  feet  in  expectation  of  his  coming  to 
her  before  he  went, — a  look  of  appeal,  or 
deprecation,  or  reassurance,  as  she  chose  to 
interpret  it,  but  after  all  a  look  only. 

She  sank  back  in  blank  rejection  of  his 
look,  and  so  remained  motionless  as  he  led 
the  way  from  the  porch  with  a  quick  and 
anxious  step.  Since  those  people  came  he 
had  not  openly  recognised  her  presence,  and 


ORDEAL.  287 

now  he  had  left  her  without  a  word.  She 
could  not  believe  what  she  could  not  but 
divine,  and  she  was  powerless  to  stir  as  the 
three  moved  down  the  road  towards  the 
carriage.  Then  she  felt  the  tears  spring  to 
her  eyes ;  she  flung  down  her  veil,  and, 
swept  on  by  a  storm  of  grief  and  pride  and 
pain,  she  hurried,  ran,  towards  the  grounds 
about  the  falls.  She  thrust  aside  the  boy 
who  took  money  at  the  gate.  "  I  have  no 
money,"  she  said  fiercely;  "I'm  going  to 
look  for  my  friends  ;  they  're  in  here. " 

But  Dick  and  Fanny  were  not  to  be  seen. 
Instead,  as  she  fluttered  wildly  about  in 
search  of  them,  she  beheld  Mr.  Arbuton, 
who  had  missed  her  on  his  return  to  the  inn, 
coming  with  a  frightened  face  to  look  for 
her.  She  had  hoped  somehow  never  to  see 
him  again  in  the  world ;  but  since  it  was  to 
be,  she  stood  still  and  waited  his  approach 
hi  a  strange  composure ;  while  he  drew 
nearer,  thinking  how  yesterday  he  had 
silenced  her  prophetic  doubt  of  him:  "I 
have  one  answer  to  all  this  ;  I  love  you. " 
Her  faltering  words,  verified  so  fatally  soon, 
recalled  themselves  to  him  with  intolerable 
accusation.  And  what  should  he  say  now  ? 
If  possibly, — if  by  some  miracle,— she  might 
not  have  seen  what  he  feared  she  must  1 


2S8  4   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

One  glance  that  he  dared  give  her  taught 
him  better ;  and  while  she  waited  for  him 
to  speak,  he  could  not  lure  any  of  the 
phrases,  of  which  the  air  seemed  full,  to 
serve  him. 

"  I  wonder  you  came  back  to  me,"  she 
taid  after  an  eternal  moment. 

"  Came  back  ?  "  he  echoed,  vacantly. 

"You  seemed  to  have  forgotten  my  exist- 
fiice  ! " 

Of  course  the  whole  wrong,  if  any  wrong 
had  been  done  to  her,  was  tacit,  and  much 
might  be  said  to  prove  that  she  felt  need- 
lessly aggrieved,  and  that  he  could  not  have 
acted  otherwise  than  as  he  did  ;  she  herself 
had  o%vned  that  it  must  be  an  embarrassing 
position  to  him. 

' '  Why,  what  have  I  dene  ? "  he  began  ; 
"what  makes  you  think  .  .  .  For 
heaven's  sake  listen  to  me  !  "  he  cried  ;  and 
then,  while  she  turned  a  mute  attentive  face 
to  him,  he  stood  silent  as  before,  like  one 
who  has  lost  his  thought,  and  strives  to 
recall  what  he  was  going  to  say.  "  What 
sense, — what  use,"  he  resumed  at  last,  as  if 
continuuig  the  course  of  some  previous  argu- 
ment, "would  there  have  been  in  making  a 
display  of  our  acquaintance  before  them  ?  I 
did  not  suppose  at  first  that  they  saw  us 


together."  .  ,  .  But  here  he  broke  off,  and, 
indeed,  hi8  explanation  had  but  a  mean 
effect  when  put  into  words.  "  I  did  not 
expect  them  to  stay.  I  thought  they  would 
go  away  every  moment ;  and  then  at  last  it 
was  too  late  to  manage  the  affair  without 
seemmg  to  force  it."  This  was  better  ;  and 
he  paused  again,  for  some  sign  of  acqui- 
escence from  Kitty,  and  caught  her  eye  fixed 
on  his  face  in  wiiat  seemed  contemptuous 
wonder.  His  own  eyes  fell,  and  ran  un- 
easily over  her  dress  before  he  lifted  them 
and  began  once  more,  as  if  freshly  inspired  : 
"I  could  have  wished  you  to  be  known  to 
my  friends  with  every  advantage  on  your 
side,"  and  this  had  such  a  magnanimous 
sound  that  he  took  courage;  "and  you 
ought  to  have  had  faith  enough  in  me  to 
believe  that  I  never  could  have  meant  you  a 
slight.  If  you  had  known  more  of  the 
world, — if  your  social  experience  had  been 
greater,  you  would  have  seen — Oh  !  "  he 
cried,  desperately,  "  is  there  nothing  you 
have  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Kitty,  simply,  but  with  a 
languid  quiet,  and  shrinking  from  speech  as 
from  an  added  pang.  "  You  have  been 
telling  me  that  you  were  ashamed  of  me  in 
^Jiis  dress  before  those  people.     But  I  knew 


290  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE, 

that  already.      What  do   you  want  me  to 
do?" 

"If  you  give  me  time,  I  can  make  every- 
thing clear  to  you. " 

" But  now  you  don't  deny  it." 
"Deny  what?    I" — 

But  here  the  whole  fabric  of  Mr.  Arbu  ton's 
defence  toppled  to  the  ground.  He  was  a 
man  of  scrupulous  truth,  not  accustomed  to 
deceive  himself  or  others.  He  had  been 
ashamed  of  her,  he  could  not  deny  it,  not  to 
keep  the  love  that  was  now  dearer  to  him 
than  life.  He  saw  it  with  pai'alysrng  clear- 
ness ;  and,  as  an  inexorable  fact  that  con- 
founded quite  as  much  as  it  dismayed  him, 
he  perceived  that  throughout  that  ignoble 
scene  she  had  been  t)ie  gentle  person  and  he 
the  vulgar  one.  How  could  it  have  hap- 
pened with  a  man  like  him  !  As  he  looked 
back  upon  it,  he  seemed  to  have  been  only 
the  helpless  sport  of  a  sinister  chance. 

But  now  he  must  act ;  it  could  not  go  so, 
it  was  too  horrible  a  thing  to  let  stand  con- 
fessed. A  hundred  protests  thronged  to  his 
lips,  but  he  refused  utterance  to  them  all  as 
worse  even  than  silence  ;  and  so,  still  mean- 
ing to  speak,  he  could  not  speak.  He  could 
only  stand  and  wait  while  it  wi-ung  his 
heart  to  see  her  trembling,  grieving  lips. 


ORDEAL.  291 

His  own  aspect  was  so  lamentable,  that 
she  half  pitied  him,  half  respected  him  for 
his  truth's  sake.  "  You  were  right ;  I  think 
it  won't  be  necessary  for  me  to  go  to  Bos- 
ton, "  she  said  with  a  dim  smile.  ' '  Good-bye. 
It 's  all  been  a  dreadful,  dreadful  mistake. " 

It  was  like  him,  even  in  that  humiliation, 
not  to  have  thought  of  losing  her,  not  to 
have  dreamed  but  that  he  could  somehow 
repair  his  error,  and  she  would  yet  willingly 
be  his.  "  Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  he  cried,  starting 
forward,  "don't  say  that!  It  can't  be,  it 
mustn't  be  !  You  are  angry  now,  but  I  know 
you  '11  see  it  differently.  Don't  be  so  quick 
with  me,  with  yourself.  I  will  do  anything, 
say  anything,  you  like." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes ;  but  they 
were  cruel  drops.  ' '  You  can't  say  anything 
that  wouldn't  make  it  worse.  You  can't 
undo  what 's  been  done,  and  that 's  only  a 
little  part  of  what  couldn't  be  undone.  The 
best  way  is  for  us  to  part;  it's  the  only 
way." 

"  No,  there  are  all  the  ways  in  the  world 
besides  !  "Wait — tliink  ! — I  implore  you  not 
to  be  so — precipitate." 

The  unfortunate  word  incensed  her  the 
more  ;  it  intimated  that  she  was  ignorantly 
throwing  too  much  away.     "I  am  not  rash 


292  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTAyOK. 

now,  but  I  was  very  rash  half-an-hour  ago. 
I  shall  not  change  my  mind  again.  Oh," 
she  cried,  giving  way,  "  it  isn't  what  you  've 
done,  but  what  you  are  and  what  /  am, 
that 's  the  great  trouble  !  I  could  easily  for- 
give what 's  happened, — if  you  asked  it ;  but 
I  couldn't  alter  both  our  whole  lives,  or 
make  myself  over  again,  and  you  couldn't 
change  yourself.  Perhaps  you  would  try, 
and  I  know  that  I  would,  but  it  would  be  a 
wretched  failure  and  disappointment  as  long 
as  we  lived.  I  've  learnt  a  great  deal  since  I 
first  saw  those  people."  And  in  truth  he 
felt  as  if  the  young  girl  whom  he  had  been 
meaning  to  lift  to  a  higher  level  than  her 
own  at  his  side  had  somehow  suddenly 
grown  beyond  him ;  and  his  heart  sank. 
"  It 's  foolish  to  try  to  argue  such  a  thing, 
but  it 's  true  ;  and  you  must  let  me  go. " 

' '  I  can't  let  you  go, "  he  said,  in  such  a  way 
that  she  longed  at  least  to  pai't  kindly 
with  him. 

"You  can  make  it  hard  for  me,"  she 
answered,  "  but  the  end  wiU  be  the  same." 

"I  won't  make  it  hard  for  you,  then,"  he 
returned,  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  grew 
paler,  and  she  stood  with  a  wan  face  pluck- 
ing the  red  leaves  from  a  low  bough  that 
utretched  itself  towards  her. 


He  turned  and  walked  away  some  steps ; 
then  he  came  suddenly  back.  "I  wish  to 
express  my  regret, "  he  began  formally,  and 
with  his  old  air  of  doing  what  was  required 
of  him  as  a  gentleman,  "  that  I  should  have 
unintentionally  done  anything  to  wound  " — 

"Oh,  better  not  speak  of  that"  inter- 
rupted Kitty  with  bitterness,  "  it 's  all  over 
now."  And  the  final  tinge  of  superiority  in 
his  manner  made  her  give  him  a  little  stab 
of  dismissal.  "Good-bye.  I  see  my 
cousms  coming." 

She  stood  and  watched  him  walk  away, 
the  sunlight  playing  on  his  figure  through 
the  mantling  leaves,  till  he  passed  out  of  the 
grove. 

The  cataract  roared  with  a  seven-fold 
tumult  in  her  ears,  and  danced  before  her 
eyes.  All  things  swam  together,  as  in  her 
blurred  sight  her  cousins  came  wavering 
towards  her. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Arbuton?"  asked  Mrs. 
Ellison. 

Kitty  threw  her  arms  about  the  neck  of 
that  foolish  woman,  whose  loving  heart  she 
could  not  doubt,  and  clung  sobbing  to  her. 
"Gone,"  she  said;  and  Mrs.  Ellison,  wise 
for  once,  asked  no  more. 

She  had   the   whole   story  that  evening, 


294  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

without  asking ;  and  whilst  she  raged,  she 
approved  of  Kitty,  and  covered  her  with 
praises  and  condolences. 

"Why,  of  course,  Fanny,  I  didn't  care 
for  knowing  those  people.  What  should  I 
want  to  know  them  for  !  But  what  hurt 
me  was  that  he  should  so  postpone  me  to 
them,  and  ignore  me  before  them,  and  leave 
me  without  a  word,  then,  when  I  ought  to 
have  been  everything  in  the  world  to  him 
and  first  of  all.  I  believe  things  came  to 
me  while  I  sat  there,  as  they  do  to  drown- 
ing people,  all  at  once,  and  I  saw  the  whole 
affair  more  distinctly  than  ever  I  did.  We 
were  too  far  apart  in  what  we  had  been  and 
what  we  believed  in  and  respected,  ever  to 
grow  really  together.  And  if  he  gave  me 
the  highest  position  in  the  world,  I  should 
have  only  that.  He  never  could  like  the 
people  who  had  been  good  to  me,  and  whom 
I  loved  so  dearly,  and  he  only  could  like  me 
as  far  as  he  could  estrange  me  from  them. 
If  he  could  C00II7  put  me  aside  now,  how 
would  it  be  afterwards  with  the  rest,  and 
with  me  too  ?  That 's  what  iiashed  through 
me,  and  I  don't  believe  that  getting  splen- 
didly married  is  as  good  as  being  true  to  the 
love  that  came  long  before,  and  honestly 
living  your  own  life  out,  without  fear  or 


ORDEAL.  295 

tirembling,  whatever  it  is.  So  perhaps," 
said  Kitty,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears, 
"  you  needn't  condole  with  me  so  much, 
Fanny.  Perhaps  if  you  had  seen  him,  you 
would  have  thought  he  was  the  one  to  be 
pitied.  /  pitied  him,  though  he  ivas  so 
cruel.  When  he  first  turned  to  meet  them, 
you  'd  have  thought  he  was  a  man  sentenced 
to  death,  or  under  some  dreadful  spell  or 
other ;  and  while  he  was  walking  up  and 
down  listening  to  that  hoiTible  comical  old 
woman, — the  young  lady  didn't  talk  much, 
— and  trying  to  make  straight  answers  to  her, 
and  to  look  as  if  I  didn't  exist,  it  was  the 
most  ridiculous  thing  in  the  world. " 

"  How  queer  you  are,  Kitty  !  " 

"Yes ;  but  you  needn't  think  I  didn't  feel 
it.  I  seemed  to  be  like  two  persons  sitting 
there,  one  in  agony,  and  one  just  coolly 
watching  it.  But  oh,"  she  broke  out  again 
while  Fanny  held  her  closer  in  her  arms, 
"how  could  he  have  done  it,  how  could  he 
have  acted  so  towards  me  ;  and  just  after  1 
had  begun  to  think  him  so  generous  and 
noble  !  It  seems  too  dreadful  to  be  true. " 
And  with  this  Kitty  kissed  her  cousin,  and 
they  had  a  little  cry  together  over  the  trust 
so  done  to  death  ;  and  Kitty  dried  her  eyes, 
and    bade     Fanny     a    brave    good    night, 


296  A  CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

and  went  off  to  weep  again,  tipon  her 
pillow. 

But  before  that,  she  called  Fanny  to  her 
door,  and  with  a  smile  breaking  through  the 
trouble  of  her  face,  she  asked,  "  How  do 
you  suppose  he  got  back  ?  I  never  thought 
of  it  before. " 

"  OA .'"  cried  Mrs.  Ellison  with  profound 
disgust,  "  I  hope  he  had  to  icalk  back.  But 
I  'm  afraid  there  were  only  too  many  chances 
for  him  to  ride.  I  daresay  he  could  get  a 
calash  at  the  hotel  there." 

Kitty  had  not  spoken  a  word  of  reproacli 
to  Fanny  for  her  part  in  promoting  this 
hapless  affair ;  and  when  the  latter,  return- 
ing to  her  own  room,  found  the  colonel 
there,  she  told  him  the  story,  and  then 
began  to  discern  that  she  was  not  without 
credit  for  Kitty's  fortunate  escape,  as  she 
called  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  colonel,  "under  exactly 
similar  circumstances  she  '11  know  just  what 
to  expect  another  time,  if  that 's  any  com- 
fort." 

"It's  a  great  comfort,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Ellison  ;  "  you  can't  find  out  what  the  world 
is,  too  soon,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  if  I  hadn't 
manoeuvred  a  little  to  bring  them  together, 
Kitty  might  have  gone  off'  with  some  linger- 


OltDEAI..  297 

ing  fancy  for  him ;  and  think  what  a  mis 
fortune  that  would  have  been  !  " 

"  Horrible  !  " 

"  And  now,  she  '11  not  have  a  single  regret 
for  him. " 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  the  colonel; 
and  he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  such  dejection, 
that  it  went  to  his  wife's  heart  more  than 
any  reproach  of  Kitty's  could  have  done. 
"  You  're  all  right,  and  nobody  blames  you, 
Fanny  ;  but  ii  you  think  it 's  well  for  such  a 
girl  as  Kitty  to  find  out  that  a  man  who  has 
had  the  best  that  the  world  can  give,  and 
has  really  some  tine  qualities  of  his  own, 
can  be  such  a  poor  devil,  after  all,  then  1 
don't.  She  may  be  the  wiser  for  it,  but  you 
know  she  won't  be  the  happier. " 

"  Oh  don't,  Dick,  don't  speak  seriously ! 
It's  so  dreadful  from  you.  If  you  feel  so 
about  it,  why  don't  you  do  something  ? " 

"Oh  j'es,  there's  a  fine  opening.  We 
know,  because  we  know  ever  so  much  more, 
how  the  case  really  is ;  but  the  way  it  seems 
to  stand  is,  that  Kitty  couldn't  bear  to  have 
him  show  civility  to  his  friends,  and  ran 
away,  and  then  wouldn't  give  him  a  chance 
to  explain.  Besides,  what  could  I  do  under 
any  circumstances  ?  " 

"Well,  Dick,  of  course  you  're  right,  and 


298  A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE. 

I  wish  I  could  see  things  as  clearly  as  you 
do.  But  I  really  believe  Kitty 's  glad  to  be 
out  of  it." 

"  What  ? "  thundered  the  colonel. 

"I  think  Kitty  's  secretly  relieved  to  have 
it  all  over.     But  you  needn't  stun  me." 

"  You  do  ?  "  The  colonel  paused  as  if  to 
gain  force  enough  for  a  reply.  But  after  wait- 
ing, nothing  whatever  came  to  him,  and  he 
wound  up  his  watch. 

"  To  be  sure,"  added  Mrs.  Ellison  thought- 
fully, after  a  pause,  "she's  giving  up  a 
great  deal ;  and  she  '11  probably  never  have 
such  another  chance  as  long  as  she  lives." 

"I  hope  she  won't,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  pretend  that  a  high 
position  and  the  social  advantages  he  could 
have  given  her  are  to  be  despised." 

"  No,  you  heartless  worldling  ;  and  neither 
are  peace  of  mind,  and  self-respect,  and 
whole  feelings,  and  your  little  joke." 

"  Oh,  you — you  sickly  sentimentalist  !  " 

"That's  what  they  used  to  call  us  in  the 
good  old  abolition  days,"  laughed  the  colo- 
nel ;  and  the  two  being  quite  alone,  they 
made  their  peace  with  a  kiss,  and  were  as 
happy  for  the  moment  as  if  they  had  therel^y 
assuaged  Kitty's  grief  and  mortification. 

"Besides,  Fanny,"  continued  tlie  colonel. 


"  though  I  'm  not  much  on  religion,  I  believe 
these  things  are  ordered. " 

"  Don't  be  blasphemous,  Colonel  Ellison  1 " 
cried  his  wife,  who  represented  the  church 
if  not  religion  in  her  family,  "As  if  Pro- 
vidence had  anything  to  do  with  love- 
afFau's  ! " 

"Well,  I  won't;  but  I  will  say  that  if 
Kitty  turned  her  back  on  Mr.  Arbuton  and 
the  social  advantages  he  could  offer  her,  it 's 
a  sign  she  wasn't  fit  for  them.  And,  poor 
thing,  if  she  doesn't  know  how  much  she  'a 
lost,  why,  she  has  the  less  to  grieve  over. 
If  she  thinks  she  couldn't  be  happy  with  a 
husband  who  would  keep  her  snubbed  and 
frightened  after  he  lifted  her  from  her  lowly 
sphere,  and  would  tremble  whenev^er  she 
met  any  of  his  o^vn  sort,  of  course  it  may  be 
a  sad  mistake,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  She 
must  go  back  to  Eriecreek,  and  try  to 
worry  along  without  him.  Perhaps  she  '11 
work  out  her  destiny  some  other  way." 


A  CHANCE    ACQUAlNTAyOE. 


XIV. 
AFTERWARDS. 

MRS.  ELLISON  had  Kitty's  whole  story, 
and  so  has  the  reader,  but  for  a  little 
thing  that  happened  next  day,  and  which  is 
perhaps  scarcely  worthy  of  being  set  down. 

Mr.  Arbuton's  valise  was  sent  for  at  night 
fi'om  the  H6tel  St.  Louis,  and  they  did  not 
see  him  again.  When  Kitty  woke  next 
morning,  a  fine  cold  rain  was  falling  upon 
the  drooping  hollyhocks  in  the  Ursulines' 
Garden,  which  seemed  stricken  through 
every  leaf  and  flower  with  sudden  autumn. 
All  the  forenoon  the  garden-paths  remained 
empty,  but  under  the  porch  by  the  poplars 
sat  the  slender  nwn  and  the  stout  nun  side 
by  side,  and  held  each  other's  hands.  They 
did  not  move,  they  did  not  appear  to  speak. 

The  fine  cold  rain  was  still  falling  as  Kitty 
and  Fanny  drove  down   Mountain    Street 


AXTERWARD3,  SOI 

towards  the  railway  station,  whither  Dick 
and  the  baggage  had  preceded  them,  for 
they  were  going  away  from  Quebec.  Mid- 
way, their  can-iage  was  stopped  by  a  mass 
of  ascending  vehicles,  and  their  driver  drew 
rein  till  the  press  was  over.  At  the  same 
time  Kitty  saw  advancing  up  the  sidewalk 
a  figure  grotesquely  resenibliag  Mr.  Ai'butou. 
It  was  he,  but  shorter,  and  smaller,  and 
meaner.  Then  it  was  not  he,  but  only  a 
light  overcoat  like  his  covering  a  very  com- 
mon little  man  about  whom  it  hung  loosely, 
—a  burlesque  of  Mr.  Arbuton's  self -respect- 
ful overcoat,  or  the  garment  itself  in  a  state 
of  miserable  yet  comical  collapse. 

"What  is  that  ridiculous  little  wi-etch 
staring  at  you  for,  Kitty  ? "  asked  Fanny. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Kitty  absently. 

The  man  was  now  smiling  and  gesturing 
violently.  Kitty  remembered  having  seen 
him  before,  and  then  recognised  the  cooper 
who  had  released  Mr.  Arbuton  from  the 
dog  in  the  Sault  au  Matelot,  and  to  whom 
he  had  given  his  lacerated  overcoat. 

The  little  creature  awkwardly  unbuttoned 
the  garment,  and  took  from  the  breast- 
pocket a  few  letters,  which  he  handed  to 
Kitty,  talking  eagerly  in  French  all  the 
time. 


302  A  CHANCE  ACQtTAlNTANCB. 

"  What  is  he  doing,  Kitty  ?  " 
"  What  is  he  saying,  Fanny  ?  " 
"Something  about  a  ferocious  dog  that 
was  going  to  spring  upon  you,  and  the  young 
gentleman  being  brave  as  a  lion  and  rush- 
ing forward,  and  saving  your  life. "  Mrs. 
Ellison  was  not  a  woman  to  let  her  transla- 
tion lack  colour,  even  though  the  original 
wanted  it. 

"  Make  him  tell  it  again," 

When  the  man  had  done  so,  "  Yes," 
sighed  Kitty,  "it  all  happened  that  day 
of  the  Montgomery  expedition  ;  but  I  never 
knew,  before,  of  what  he  had  done  for  me. 
Fanny,"  she  cried,  with  a  great  sob,  "  maybe 
I  'm  the  one  who  has  been  cruel  ?  But  what 
happened  yesterday  makes  his  having  saved 
my  life  seem  such  a  very  little  matter. " 

"Nothing at  all !  "  answered  Farmy,  "less 
than  nothing  !  "     But  her  heart  failed  her. 

The  little  cooper  had  bowed  himself  away, 
and  was  climbing  the  hill,  Mr.  Arbuton's 
coat-skirts  striking  his  heels  as  he  walked. 

"  What  letters  are  those  ? "  asked  Fanny. 

"  Oh,  old  letters  to  Mr.  Arbuton,  which  he 
found  in  the  pocket.  I  suppose  he  thought 
I  would  give  them  to  him." 

"  But  how  are  yoi:  going  to  do  it  ? " 

"  I  ought  to  send  them  to  him,"  answered 


AFTERWARDS.  303 

Kitty.  Then,  after  a  silence  that  lasted 
till  they  reached  the  boat,  she  handed  the 
letters  to  Fanny.  "Dick  may  send  them." 
she  said. 


Date  Due 

PRINTED     IN     U.     S.     A.                                        j^^                      CAT.     NO.     23233 

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