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<h3>Chapter Thirty One.</h3> <h4>Lovers’ Meetings.</h4> The doctor saw no reason why Pixie should not be driven home, and offered to order a closed carriage in the village, and pending its arrival, the adventurers enjoyed another cup of tea, not smoked this time, and made merry over the change in their appearance, wrought by the borrowed clothing. Pixie’s red merino dress was the pride of little Miss Lock-keeper’s heart, but about two sizes too big for its present occupant. The bodice hung in folds about her tiny figure, the sleeves came down to her finger-tips; the Captain’s shiny black suit made him appear quite clumsy and awkward, but that was all part of the fun, in the estimation of three members of the party, at least. Mrs Wallace was undecided whether to laugh or to cry as she welcomed her truants and listened to the story of their adventures. Nothing would satisfy her but to despatch Pixie to bed forthwith, to that young lady’s intense mortification, and to order the Captain upstairs to have a hot bath and a dose of quinine. When he came downstairs, she was putting a letter in the post-box in the hall, and, motioning towards it, explained its purport. “I’ve been writing to Mamzelle’s sister in London. These lock accidents get into the papers sometimes, and are generally exaggerated into something really so thrilling and terrible. It’s best to tell the true story ourselves.” “And I have brought this trouble upon you! I could kick myself for my stupidity. You will never trust me again, but please make me the scapegoat to the sister, and let her wreak her wrath on me. It’s not fair that you should be blamed.” “Oh, I am not afraid of any wrath, I assure you. She’s a charming girl, and as sweet as Mamzelle herself. I have asked her to come down to-morrow and see for herself that there is no harm done. I thought that was the best way out of the difficulty; and please don’t blame yourself too much. It was an accident, and we must just be very, very thankful that you were all preserved from harm.” The next morning the Captain took himself off for a long walk, ostensibly to call on some friends, in reality to avoid meeting the visitor from town; for though a man may boldly acknowledge his responsibility and offer to bear the blame, he has an instinctive shrinking from the society of females in distress, and will walk a very long distance in order to avoid anything like a scene. It seemed the height of bad fortune that this particular visitor should arrive in the afternoon, instead of the morning, and that he should stumble into the library almost immediately after she had arrived. She was seated on an ottoman with her back towards him, but Mrs Wallace’s quick exclamation took away any chance of retreating unseen. “Why, here he is!” she cried. “This is the culprit, or the hero, whichever you choose to call him. Come and tell your own story, Dick. This is Mademoiselle’s sister, Miss O’Shaughnessy.” But he had recognised her already. She had turned her head as Mrs Wallace spoke, and beneath the curving brim of the hat he had seen the face which had been enshrined in his heart for three long years, the sweet face which had brought to him at once the greatest joy and the bitterest sorrow of his life! He stood still in the middle of the room, staring at her as if suddenly turned to stone, and Bridgie rose to her feet, the pretty colour fading out of her cheeks, her lips a-tremble with emotion. Mrs Wallace looked from one to the other, and with a woman’s intuition divined something very nearly approaching the truth. Dick was quite changed from his old happy self—everyone had noticed it, and speculated as to the cause. In his last furlough he had stayed some time in Ireland. Could it be—could it possibly be— “You have met before?” she said quickly. “That is very nice. You know each other, and can talk over yesterday’s adventure without my help. Will you excuse me if I leave you for a few moments, while I give some orders to the maids?” No one answered, but she lost no time in hurrying from the room, and as the door closed behind her, the Captain came slowly across the room, staring at Bridgie’s white face. “Miss O’Shaughnessy! She called you ‘Miss O’Shaughnessy’!” She shrank before him, scared by his strange, excited manner. “Yes, it is my name. I am Bridgie O’Shaughnessy. Don’t you remember me?” “Remember you!” he repeated with an emphasis which was more eloquent than a hundred protestations. He seized her hands in a painful pressure. “You are not married, then? It was not true! You did not marry him as they told me?” “I? You thought I was married! Oh, what put such an idea into your head?” “I heard it eighteen months ago—shortly after your last letter arrived, telling me about your father, and hinting at other changes which might follow. My friend wrote that Miss O’Shaughnessy was engaged to a fellow with a lot of money—Hilliard—that they were going to be married almost at once. Was it all an invention? Was there no truth in it at all?” “It was quite true—quite, but it was Esmeralda, not me! She married him over a year ago.” “Esmeralda! your sister—but he said the eldest daughter, and you are the eldest. I knew I was not mistaken about that, for I remember every word you had told me.” Bridgie smiled faintly; the colour was coming back into her cheeks, and the grey eyes met his with shy, incredulous happiness. “But most people give her the credit for it, all the same. There’s so much more of her, you see. You never wrote to—to ask if it were true?” “I was too proud and hurt, badly hurt, Bridgie—mortally badly! And you never wrote to ask why I was silent. Were you proud too, or contemptuous—which was it? Did you think I was nothing but a flirt, and a heartless one at that?” “I never thought unkindly of you, but I suppose I was proud, for I couldn’t write when all the money was gone, and I was so poor. I thought you had forgotten, or met someone else! I hoped you were very happy, only I—wasn’t!” faltered Bridgie, with a little break in her voice as she spoke that last word, which brought the tears to the Captain’s eyes. He bent his head over the clasped hands, and kissed them a dozen times over. “Bridgie, Bridgie!” he cried brokenly. “Is it true? Have I found you again after all these years? Can you forgive me for this wretched blunder which has brought such unhappiness upon us both? I am thankful to know you were unhappy too, for I had nothing to go on, Bridgie, no claim whatever upon you, only you must have guessed how I felt. I could not believe that you had really given yourself to me in that short time.” “I couldn’t myself!” said Bridgie naïvely. “I tried to pretend that it was all a mistake, and that I was quite happy without you.” She looked up at him shyly, and shook her head in the most beguiling denial. “’Twas not a mite of use. I remember all the same! And are you sure—quite sure—that you thought of me all the time? Was there never anyone else all these long, long years?” The Captain smiled and stroked his moustache in amused, contemplative fashion. “There was never anyone, except one girl! I met one girl who quite stole my heart, and I think I stole hers into the bargain.” “Oh! oh! How dreadful! Why did you tell me? But you didn’t—you never thought of marrying her, did you, Dick?” “I’m not so sure. She did!” He laughed, and seized her hands once more. “No, it is too bad! I won’t tease you. It was Mamzelle Paddy, darling, to whom I confided my story, and who comforted me in her own sweet fashion. And she is your sister, and it is she who has brought us together! Bridgie, if I didn’t love you with all my heart, I believe I should still have to marry you, for nothing else than to be Mamzelle’s brother.” But Bridgie did not affect to be jealous. She threw back her head, and smiled happily as she answered, “I’m thankful to hear you say it, for whoever marries me must love Pixie too. I can never leave her behind me!” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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