you are going 'on
King,' and so am I; so we can walk together."

Consternation in Bluebell's face--it was only a quarter to three.

"I am going quite in the opposite direction," cried she, hurriedly, and,
without waiting to see the effect of her words, abruptly fled.

"Just Canadian independence," muttered Miss Opie; "It makes all the girls
such thoroughly bad style."

Bluebell began to feel very nervous; two or three young friends that she
met on the way, she passed with a quick nod and averted face, dreading
their joining her. Her eye swept the broad walk of the Avenue in an
instant; no familiar figure arrested her vision, and the seats placed at
regular intervals on each side were also vacant of interest.

So she was first--the Cathedral clock had struck three some minutes
before, she was perplexed to know what to do with herself, and began
walking slowly to the other end. Of all possible _contretemps_, the
non-appearance of Du Meresq had never suggested itself; but after a
couple of turns the unwelcome misgiving strengthened, and there would
be only one at the tryst that day.

In a tumult of disappointment and indignation, conjecture after
conjecture chased each other; while ever and anon her fancy was mocked
by some one turning in at the gates bearing a general resemblance to Du
Meresq, only to be dispelled by a nearer and more accurate view.

A simple explanation suddenly dawned; Bertie might have written to warn
her of an unavoidable absence. The possibility of such a letter, which,
had she had received it in the morning, would have been the bitterest
disappointment, now seemed a resurrection from despair to hope, and with
relaxed features and brightening eyes, Bluebell walked rapidly through
the gates to the Post-office.

Letters were so rare and unlooked for at the cottage, that the postman
never included it in his rounds; and the contents of the pigeon-hole
appropriated to them at the office was seldom inquired for, except on
mail-days, when there might be an off-chance of an English letter for
Miss Opie. Even Bluebell, who for the first fortnight after her
banishment from "The Maples" had been a regular applicant, had not been
near it since Bertie's visit to the cottage.

"Two letters for Miss Theodora Leigh." One she scarcely looked at; the
other instinct told her must be Bertie's handwriting; it had been lying
two days at the Post-office.

"My dearest Bluebell," ran this note, "I can't come to