nd very soon after
dinner he departed, taking leave of Cecil before all the rest, with no
more distinguishing mark of affection than a long hand-clasp, which
seemed as if it would never unlock.

"Only his odious flirting manner!" said Cecil to herself; but she did not
think so, and felt a good deal less self-contempt than she had before.

Next day, when Mrs. Rolleston announced Bluebell's expected return, Cecil
felt quite in charity with her, and resolved to make things pleasanter
than they had been, though this relenting mood was nearly dissipated by
her unconscious rival presuming to look miserable at the tidings of Du
Meresq's departure.

CHAPTER XV.

AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER.

'Tis Spring, bright Spring, and bluebirds sing.

I was monarch supreme in my cloudland.
I was master of fate in that proud land;
I would not endure
That a grief without cure,
A love that could end,
Or a false hearted friend,
Should dwell for an instant in cloudland.
--Mackay.

Nothing but rain, pouring rain, for the next few days, washing the walls
of snow down the unmetaled streets, a very slough of despond to all
beasts of burden. Once more the sight of green grass relieved the eye,
weary of the one monotonous hue it had rested on for weeks, and still it
rained as if determined not to stop till it had fulfilled its mission,
and dissolved every sooty patch that in chilly spots still obstinately
lingered.

At last the clouds parted, the sun came out, and Cecil, regardless of
mud, and impatient of long confinement, started off for a gallop on
"Wings."

On her way she met the Post-office orderly with letters, who stopped and
gave her one. It isn't such a very easy thing to read your correspondence
on horseback, with the wind catching the sheets, and the sun shining
through the paper, mixing the writing on the other side with the one you
are reading. Still less feasible is it in a crowded street; so, though
Cecil at once recognised the handwriting of Du Meresq, it had to be
consigned to the saddle-pocket till the traffic was threaded, and she had
entered on a quiet corduroy road by the lake. Then she opened it with a
flattering feeling of expectation, and was half-disappointed at its calm
commencement.

Bertie, with his usual dependence on her sympathy, began by telling her
that he had been able to make a temporary arrangement, which had squared
things for the present