A Canadian Heroine. Mrs. Harry Coghill

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СКАЧАТЬ bring on his side, but these, had their acknowledged value, and, after all, Bella was very nearly of age, and it would be rather a comfort to see her safely disposed of, instead of having to give up her guardianship into her own giddy keeping.

      Mr. Bellairs' office was a small wooden-frame building containing two rooms. In the outer one half-a-dozen budding lawyers, in various stages, sat at their desks; the inner one, where the two gentlemen discussed their arrangements, was small, and contained only a stove, a writing-table, two chairs, and some cupboards. Mr. Bellairs sat at the table with a pile of papers before him: in the second chair—an easy one—Doctor Morton lounged, and amused himself while he talked, by tracing the pattern of the empty stove with the end of a small cane. He was a good-looking young man, with very black eyes, and a small black beard; of middle height and strongly built, and noted in Cacouna as the boldest rider, the best swimmer, and one of the best shots, in the neighbourhood.

      A little stir, and a loud rough voice speaking in the outer office, was followed by the entrance of a clerk.

      "Here is Clarkson, sir. Says he must see you."

      A shaggy head appeared over the clerk's shoulder, and the same rough voice called out, "Just a minute, Mr. Bellairs; it's only a small matter of business."

      Mr. Bellairs went out, drawing the door together after him, and after a few minutes dismissed the man, and came back.

      "That fellow may give you some trouble," he said as he sat down again.

      "Me? How?" asked the Doctor, surprised.

      "Some years ago, Mr. Latour bought a hundred acres of wild land on Beaver Creek. He took no trouble about it, except what he was actually obliged; never even saw it, I believe; and about a year before his death, this Clarkson squatted on it, built a house, married, and took his wife to live there. Mr. Latour heard of all this by chance, and went to see if it were true. There, he found the fellow comfortably settled, and expecting nothing less than to be turned out. The end of the matter, for that time, was, that Clarkson promised to pay some few dollars rent, and was left in possession. The rent, however, never was paid. Mr. Latour died, and when his affairs came into my hands I tried again to get it; threatened to turn Clarkson out, and pull down his house if he did not pay, and certainly would have done it, but for Bella, to whom I should tell you the land belongs. Mrs. Clarkson came into town, and went to her with such a pitiful story that she persuaded me to wait. The consequence is that nothing has been done yet, though I believe it is altogether misplaced kindness to listen to their excuses."

      "I have no doubt it is."

      "Clarkson is a great scamp, but I hear his wife is a very decent woman, and naturally Bella was humbugged."

      "Naturally, yes. But I hope it is not too late to get rid of such tenants, or make them pay?"

      "I would rather you undertook the task than I, except, of course, in the way of business. Professionally, a lawyer has no tenderness for people who can't pay."

      "And in what condition is the rest of the land?"

      "Much as it always was. The Indians are the only people who profit by it at present; they hunt over it, and dry the fish they catch in the creek, along the bank."

      "Yet, if it were cleared, it ought not to be a bad position. Where is it on the creek?"

      Mr. Bellairs reached a map, and the two became absorbed in discussing the probable advantages of turning out Clarkson and the Indians, and clearing the farm on Beaver Creek.

      Mr. Bellairs left his office earlier than usual that day, and found his wife sitting alone in her little morning room. He took up a magazine which lay on the table, and seated himself comfortably in an easy-chair opposite to her.

      "Where's Bella?" he asked presently.

      "Upstairs, I believe. She and I have nearly quarrelled to-day."

      "What about?"

      "About her marriage. I declare, William, I have no patience with her."

      Mr. Bellairs laughed. "An old complaint, my dear; but why?"

      "She is so matter-of-fact. I asked her, at last, what she was going to marry for, and she told me coolly, for convenience."

      Mrs. Bellairs' indignation made her husband laugh still more. "They are well matched," he said; "Morton is as cool as she is. He might be Bluebeard proposing for his thirteenth wife."

      "Well, you may like it, but I don't. If they care so little about each other now, what will they do when they have been married as long as we have?"

      "My dear Elise, you and I were born too soon. We never thought of marrying for convenience; but as our ideas on the subject don't seem to have changed much in ten years, perhaps theirs may not do so either. By the way, where's Percy?"

      "That's another thing. I don't want to be inhospitable to your cousin, but I do wish with all my heart that he was back in England."

      Mr. Bellairs threw his magazine on the table. "Why, what on earth is the matter with him?"

      "Do you know where he spends half his time?"

      "Not I. To tell the truth, his listless, dawdling way rather provokes me, and I have not been sorry to see less of him lately."

      "He goes to the Cottage every day."

      "Does he? I should not have thought that an amusement much in his way."

      "You say yourself that Lucia is a wonderfully pretty girl."

      "Lucia? She is a child. You don't think that attracts him?"

      Mrs. Bellairs was silent.

      "Elise, don't be absurd. You women are always fancying things of that kind. A fellow like Percy is not so easily caught."

      "I hope to goodness I am only fancying, but I believe you would give Mrs. Costello credit for some sense, and she is certainly uneasy."

      "Does she say so?"

      "No. But I know it; and Maurice and Lucia are not the same friends they used to be."

      "Lucia must be an idiot if she can prefer Percy to Maurice; but most girls do seem to be idiots."

      "In the meantime, what to do? I feel as if we were to blame."

      "We can't very well turn out my honourable cousin. I suspect the best thing to do is to leave them alone. He will not forget to take care of himself."

      "He? No fear. But it is of her I think. I should be sorry to see her married to him, even if the Earl would consent."

      "It will never come to that. And, after all, you may be mistaken in supposing there is anything more than a little flirtation."

      Mrs. Bellairs shook her head, but said no more. She knew by experience that her husband would remember what he had heard, and take pains to satisfy himself as to the cause of her anxiety. She had also (after ten years of wedlock!) implicit faith in his power to do something, she did not know what, to remedy whatever was wrong.

      That evening, when the whole family were assembled, the half-abandoned scheme of passing a long day in СКАЧАТЬ