She was now daily expected, the vessel in which she had sailed having landed at New York, and numerous preparations in honor of her arrival were in progress at Cedar Grove, where she was evidently regarded as a person of consequence. The best chamber in the house was appropriated for her use; Mr. Delafield himself taking much interest in the arrangement of its furniture, and bringing over each morning fresh bouquets of flowers, which, in costly vases, adorned the apartment. Every one seemed anxious and expectant, save Jessie and Halbert, the former of whom did not wish her to come, as she took up so much of "Uncle Dick's" time, while the latter openly avowed his dislike, saying, he wished she'd stay in Europe always.
As for myself, though there was no particular reason why I should do so, I dreaded her arrival, and when at last, word come to the schoolroom that she was in the parlor, and the children must come down to see her, I stole out into the garden, in order that I might put off the interview with her as long as possible. I knew I must meet her at the supper-table, and so after a time I went up to my room to dress, donning a plain white muslin, which I had often been told became me better than aught else I could wear. Before my toilet was finished, little Jessie came in and insisted upon twining among my curls a few simple buds, which, she said, looked "mighty nice," adding, as she stepped back a pace or two to witness the effect, "I think you are a heap prettier than Ada; but Uncle Dick don't, 'cause I asked him, and he said 'Of course Ad was the handsomest.' Hal says how he's her beau, and I reckon he is, for he kissed her like fury!"
"He kisses everybody, don't he?" I asked; and she replied,—
"Mighty nigh everybody but you. I never seen him kiss you, and when I asked him why, he said you wouldn't let him—won't you?"
"It wouldn't be proper," I said, smiling down upon the little fairy, who, poised on one foot, was whirling in circles, and then looking up into my face, with her soft dreamy eyes.
At that moment the supper bell rang, and bounding away, she left me alone. For full five minutes I waited, trying to summon sufficient courage to go down, and at last chiding myself for my weakness, I started for the dining-room. My footsteps were light, as they evidently were not aware of my approach, for they were talking of me, and as I reached the door, I heard Jessie, who was giving Ada a description of her teacher, say, "Why she's the properest person in the world, for she won't even let Uncle Dick kiss her."
"Somewhat different from Miss Rawson," said Ada, joining in the general laugh; at the same time lifting her large, languid eyes, she saw me, and started slightly, I fancied, as she recognized me.
She had changed since I saw her last, and her face now wore a weary, jaded look, while the dark circle beneath her eyelids told of late hours and heated rooms.
"Miss Lee—Miss Montrose," said Mrs. Lansing, and the proud Ada bowed haughtily to the humble governess, who with heightened color took her accustomed seat at the table.
"You have seen each other before, I believe," said Mr. Delafield, looking curiously at both of us, while Mrs. Lansing, in much surprise, exclaimed, "Seen each other! Where, pray?"
I waited for Ada to answer, and after staring at me a moment, she replied, quite indifferently, "Miss Lee's face does seem familiar, and if I mistake not, I met her once or twice in Boston"—and this was all she said, if I except a glance, half entreating, half threatening, which she threw at me from beneath her long, drooping eyelashes. This glance I did not then understand, but I now know it to have been prompted by a dread lest I should tell of her engagement with Herbert Langley, and thus betray her to Mr. Delafield, to whom, it seems, she had positively denied the whole, solemnly assuring him that there had never been between them anything more serious than a mere friendly acquaintance. When, therefore, she saw me, her fears were awakened, and knowing that I had her secret in my possession, she looked upon me with suspicion and dislike, while I, wholly unconscious of her feelings, had not the least intention of ever speaking of the past, unless circumstances should render it necessary. But of this she was not aware, and that night, in the privacy of her room, she communed with herself as to the best means of counteracting anything which I might say concerning her conduct in Boston, deciding at last that the surest way of accomplishing her object was to brand me as a person whose word could not be trusted! And this she deemed an easy task, inasmuch as no one there had ever seen or heard of me before. Strange, too, as it may seem, there was mingled with her distrust of me a slight shade of jealousy lest Mr. Delafield should in any way notice me. True, I was a poor obscure girl, earning my daily bread, and on no point could I compete with her save one, and that was age, I being, as she well knew, eight or nine years her junior. To be old and unmarried was with her almost a crime, and as year after year passed on, leaving her still Ada Montrose, her horror of single blessedness increased, while at the same time she seemed to look upon those much younger than herself as almost her enemies, especially if they came between her and Mr. Delafield, who, as the world goes, was at the age of thirty-one more likely to choose a girl of eighteen than one of twenty-seven. This, then, was my fault. I was young and had also in my possession a secret which she did not wish to have divulged, for well she knew that one as upright and honorable as Mr. Delafield would despise a woman who could stoop to a falsehood as she had done.
"No, it shall not be!" said she, as she sat alone in her room with her face resting upon her hands; "it shall not be! I will thwart her and she shall never triumph over me, as did her pale-faced sister, but for whom I might now have borne the title of Mrs. instead of trembling lest some one should ask how old I am!" And the proud belle felt a pang of envy towards my poor widowed sister whose heart was buried in the grave of her unfortunate husband.
Not that she (Ada) had ever cared particularly for Herbert Langley, but women of the world sometimes bestow their hand where the heart cannot be given, and thus might she have done had not circumstances prevented, for she had then no hope of ever winning her guardian.
Here, ere we proceed farther, it may be well to relate briefly her past history, going back to the time when on his death-bed her father had not only given her to the charge of Mr. Delafield, but had also made a request that, if it were consistent with his feelings, Richard would one day make her his wife. As we have said elsewhere, Mr. Delafield was a great admirer of beauty, and when he looked upon the exceedingly lovely face of the youthful, Ada, and thought of her as a lonely orphan, his heart was touched, and he found no difficulty in promising to protect her, and also to make her his wife, if, upon a more intimate acquaintance, he found her all he could wish her to be. That he did not find her thus was proved by the fact that nearly ten years had elapsed since her father's death, and she was Ada Montrose still, while he, as he grew older, seemed less likely to find any one who fully came up to his standard of excellence; beauty, in reality, now being of minor importance, notwithstanding his sister's assertion that he would never marry one who had not a pretty face.
Upon this point, however, Ada had some doubts; for if beauty were what he desired, she still possessed it to an uncommon degree, and it did not seem to move him in the least. Rumor, indeed, said they were on the eve of marriage, but she knew better, for never yet had he really told her in earnest that he loved her. It is true that years before, when she first came a weeping orphan to Cedar Grove, he had devoted himself to her entirely, feeling, perhaps, a little proud of his ward, to whom he sometimes talked of love, or hinted vaguely of the time when she would be his bride, as they wandered together beneath the whispering pines, which grew around his home, and once, when she was in Boston, he had actually made up his mind to offer himself immediately and take her to Sunny Bank as its mistress. To this resolution he was urged by her cousin, a strong-minded woman, who, in visiting at Cedar Grove, had labored to impress upon him the sense of the duty he owed not only to her father but to Ada herself, who was represented as loving him devotedly, and who was said to have made a vow never to marry unless it were her guardian. Very artfully, too, did Mrs. Johnson insinuate that her illness, of which they had heard, had its origin in "hope deferred which maketh the heart sick."
The knowledge that a beautiful girl loves you—nay, is dying for you, is sufficient, I suppose, to touch the feelings of men less susceptible to female charms than Richard Delafield, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, he started off without, however, leaving any word as to his destination. Arrived in Boston, he went to the Revere House, where, as we know, he casually heard of Ada's engagement with Herbert Langley. To say he was not disappointed would hardly be just, for his self-pride was touched in knowing that Ada had given her affections to another, and that other not a very worthy object, if the word of his gossiping informer was to be trusted. Too much displeased even to see her, he had left the city immediately, declaring that he would never again think of marriage with any one.
As the reader will remember, Ada heard of him through one of her acquaintance, and from something her cousin had written, she half guessed the nature of his visit. Accordingly on her return to Georgia she several times in his presence laughingly referred to the gossiping story, which, she said, some of the Bostonians got up concerning her and a millionaire, positively denying it, and wishing people would let her alone! But all this was to no purpose. Mr. Delafield's impulse had subsided, and though his manner towards her was always kind, affectionate, and brotherly, he never spoke to her of love or marriage, except sometimes to ask her teasingly "if they were not both of them almost old enough to get married."
Still she did not despair, for of his own accord he had accompanied her and her cousin to Europe, whither he had always intended to go, and though he had left them some months before, Mrs. Johnson was willing to leave Paris, where Ada's beauty attracted much attention from the polite Frenchmen, she would not believe he was at all weary of her, but rather, as he had said, that his business required his immediate return to America.
Latterly Mrs. Lansing had in a measure espoused her cause, and knowing, as she did, of the recent repairs at Sunny Bank, said by Richard to be for the benefit of his bride, she began again to entertain sanguine hopes of eventually becoming Mrs. Delafield, provided the governess did not, by her foolish tattling, mar her prospects.
Such, then, was the state of affairs when I was the burden of Ada's thoughts, as she sat alone in her room on the first night after her return home. For a time she mused with her face in her hands, then lifting up her head and throwing back the silken tresses, which fell over her brow, she gazed long and earnestly at herself in the opposite mirror.
"Yes, I am fading," she said at last, "and each year my chance for winning him grows less, and if this Lee girl should tell, it would take from me every shadow of hope—but it shall not be. I can prevent her foolish tattling from doing me harm, and I will."
Then the better nature of Ada Montrose whispered to her of the great wrong she was meditating against a poor, defenseless girl, who as yet had never injured her, and for a moment she wavered.
"If I only knew she would never tell," said she; "but she will, accidentally if not intentionally. Low-bred people like her are always bold, and as she becomes better acquainted with me, she may possibly say something to me about Herbert in the presence of Mr. Delafield, who will question her, perhaps, and thus learn the whole. So I'll be prepared. She's nothing but a poor governess, and my word will be preferred to hers, provided I first give her the character of a deceiver."
On awaking next morning her resolution was partially shaken, and might, perhaps, have been given up entirely, if, in looking from her window, she had not seen a sight which awoke within her the demon jealousy, by whose aid she could do almost anything. The governess had arisen early, as was her usual custom, and gone forth into the garden, where she came unexpectedly upon Mr. Delafield, who, after expressing his pleasure at meeting her, very quietly drew her arm within his own, and then walked with her several times through the garden, casting often admiring glances towards the drooping figure at his side, who, trembling lest the Argus eyes of Mrs. Lansing were upon her would fain have been left alone. All this Ada saw, and as she thought how different was his manner towards Rose from what it had ever been towards her, a sudden light flashed upon her. She had not lived twenty-seven years for nothing, and like Dickens' woman with the "mortified bonnet," she knew the signs, and with a sinking heart, she exclaimed, "Is it possible that he loves her?"
The thought was maddening, and now strengthened tenfold in her purpose of working the young girl evil, she went forth into the garden to meet them, nodding coldly to Rosa, and bestowing her sweetest smile upon her guardian, who wound his arm around her waist and playfully kissed her forehead—a liberty he would not dare to have taken with Rose, who, thinking that of course she was not wanted, made an effort to withdraw her hand. But Mr. Delafield's arm was strong, and he pressed it closely to his side, at the same time giving her a look which bade her stay, notwithstanding that Ada two or three times hinted to her the propriety of going.
"Why don't you ask Miss Lee about your Boston friends?" said Mr. Delafield, when they had taken a few turns in silence.
Ada tossed her head scornfully, and replied, "I don't think I had any acquaintances in common with Miss Lee, unless, indeed, it were her old aunty;" and with a little hateful laugh she leaned across Mr. Delafield, and asked, "How is she? Richard, you would like to know."
I was provoked at her manner, but I answered civilly that my aunt was well, adding, as one would naturally do, "Herbert Langley, I suppose you know, is dead."
The news was unexpected, and coming as it did, it produced upon her a singular effect, blanching her cheek to a marble whiteness, while her lips quivered spasmodically. Mr. Delafield was startled, and stopping short, demanded of her what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing much," she answered, recovering her composure, and pressing her hand upon her side, "nothing but an ugly pain, which is gone now. I have felt it often lately," and her face looked as unruffled and innocent as if she really thought it was the truth she had uttered.
I knew she told a falsehood, but Mr. Delafield did not, and leading her to the summer-house, which was near, bade her sit down, while he made minute inquiries concerning the pain, asking how long since she first felt it, and saying he would speak to Dr. Matson the first time he came to Cedar Grove, adding that a blister, he presumed, would help it!
"Oh, mercy!" she exclaimed, again growing pale. "You make too serious a matter of it."
But he did not think so—he was very tender of her, as a brother would be of his orphaned sister; and knowing that her mother had died of consumption, he watched narrowly for the first indications of that disease in her. Just then little Jessie came bounding down the walk, saying that "breakfast was ready," and leading her by the hand, I returned to the house, followed by Mr. Delafield and Ada, the latter of whom made some remark concerning my gait, which she pronounced "wholly Yankee and countrified."
"And graceful," rejoined Mr. Delafield, at the same time telling her he did not like to hear one female speak disparagingly of another.
Ada bit her lip with vexation, and when she took her seat at the table, she was evidently not in the best of humors. At Mrs. Lansing's invitation her brother remained to breakfast, and I could not perceive that he was any more polite to the beautiful lady in elegant French muslin on his right, than he was to the plain-looking girl in a shilling calico on his left. Indeed, if there was a difference, it was in favor of the latter, with whom he conversed the most, addressing her as if she had at least common sense, while towards Ada he always assumed the trifling, bantering manner which he seemed to think was suited to her capacity.
Breakfast being over, I started for my room, accidentally dropping upon the stairs a handkerchief, which had been given me by Anna, and which had her name "Anna Lee" marked in the corner. In honor of Ada's return, there was no school that day, and as the morning advanced and the heat in my chamber grew oppressive, I went with my book to the sitting-room, and took a seat by an open window, where I soon became so absorbed in reading as not to observe Mrs. Lansing and Ada, who came out upon the piazza and sat down quite near me, but still in such a position that neither of us could see the other. After a time they were joined by Mr. Delafield, and then for a moment I thought of stealing quietly away, but thinking my remaining there could do no harm, I resumed my book and forgot my neighbors entirely, until my attention was roused by the sound of my own name.
It was Mrs. Lansing who spoke, and she asked, "What kind of folks are those relatives of Miss Lee?"
"Oh, about so so," answered Ada, and Mrs. Lansing continued, "And she was then at school? I believe."
"At school!" repeated Ada, apparently in much surprise, "Mercy, no! Why, she was a grown-up woman, as much as twenty-two or twenty-three years old."
"There, I thought so," answered Mrs. Lansing, who the reader will remember had, at my first introduction, taken me to be twenty-five. "I thought she must be more than eighteen, didn't you, Richard?"
"Eighteen!" repeated Ada. "It isn't possible she calls herself eighteen. She dare not do it in my presence. Why, she had been a teacher, I don't know how long, and, besides that, 'twas said that she had once been engaged to a Dr. Clayton, who, for some reason, jilted her, and was then a married man as much as thirty years old. Eighteen, indeed. I'd like to hear her say so."
I was confounded, but supposing she had mistaken me for Anna, my first impulse was to go out and tell her so, but fearing lest she should think I had intentionally listened, my second thought was to go away where I could hear nothing further, and then, when Mrs. Lansing questioned me, as I felt sure she would, I fancied it would be an easy matter to exonerate myself from the falsehood Ada had put upon me. I had reached the hall, and was half-way up the stairs, when Mr. Delafield, who had arisen and was walking back and forth on the piazza, espied me, and called me back.
There was a troubled look on hie face, and fixing his piercing black eyes upon me as if he would read my inmost thoughts, he said with something of bitterness in the tones of his voice, "I did think I had found one female who, on all occasions, spoke the truth; but if what Ada has said is true, I am mistaken; though why you (and his hand involuntarily clutched my arm) or any other woman should stoop to a falsehood, or seek to deny her age, be she a hundred or less, is a secret which Heaven knows, perhaps, but I do not."
I felt my face flush with indignation, and turning towards Ada, who, not having expected a scene like this, was very pale, I said, "It is not necessary, Miss Montrose, for you to repeat what you have asserted concerning me, for I accidentally overheard it, and I thank Mr. Delafield for giving me an opportunity to exonerate myself from the charge you are pleased to bring against me."
"Been listening," muttered Mrs. Lansing.
"Silence, Angeline. Go on, Rose," interrupted Mr. Delafield, in a voice which we both obeyed, she resuming her needlework, while I continued, "I had taken my seat by the open window ere you and Miss Montrose came out here, and not thinking it necessary to leave, I remained, without, however, hearing a word of your conversation until I caught the sound of my name. Then, indeed, my senses were sharpened, and I heard Miss Montrose's statement, which I am sure she would never have made were she not laboring under a mistake."
Here Ada, who was not in the least prepared for the occasion, began to stammer out something about "letting the matter drop—she did not wish to harm me, and had said what she did inadvertently, without ever dreaming of making trouble. She didn't see why Richard wished to make it such a serious matter, for she was sure she didn't care whether I were forty or eighteen."
"But I care," he said, grasping my arm still tighter, "I care to have justice done. I have supposed Miss Lee to be frank, ingenuous and truthful, and if what you assert is true, she is the reverse, and should suffer accordingly, while on the contrary if she be innocent, she shall have an opportunity of proving herself so."
By this time Ada had collected her scattered senses, and resolving to brave the storm she had raised, replied, "Certainly, Miss Lee has a right to clear herself if she can, and prove that she is really Rose instead of Anna Lee."
"Rose instead of Anna! What do you mean?" thundered Mr. Delafield, while I was too much astonished to speak.
Ada was not very deep, and in all her plotting she had never thought how easy it would be for me to prove the falsity of her assertion by writing home; so with the utmost coolness she replied, "I mean this:—there were two Lee girls living at the house of their uncle where I occasionally visited: one was Anna, a young lady of twenty-two or twenty-three, the other was Rose, a schoolgirl of fourteen or fifteen. The oldest of these two I have every reason to believe stands before us—at least this, which I found upon the stairs, would indicate as much," and she held to view the handkerchief which I had dropped and had not missed.
Glancing at the name, Mrs. Lansing said, "I have observed a similar mark upon several of her garments, and rather wondered at it."
This was true, for Anna had dealt generously with me, giving me many of her clothes, some of which bore her full name, while others had merely the initials. I was about to tell of this, when Mr. Delafield prevented me by asking if I could prove that I was what I represented myself to be, and that I was a mere schoolgirl when I saw Miss Montrose in Boston.
"Yes, sir, I can," I answered firmly; "by writing home, I can prove it, if in no other way. But Miss Montrose knows better than to confound me with Anna, whom she surely has reason for remembering."
Fearful lest her darling secret was about to be divulged, Ada roused up and in a tone of angry defiance, answered, "Yes, I have reason for remembering you, for you did me good service by taking off my hands a worthless, drunken fellow, about whom the Bostonians were annoying me. I thank you for it, Miss Lee, and only wonder how you could suppose I would forget you. I recognized you the moment we met at the table, but I did not then dream of your calling yourself eighteen when you are certainly twenty-six!"
I was confounded and remained speechless, while with renewed strength my accuser continued, "Perhaps you will deny having been a teacher at that time, when according to your statement you were only fourteen."
"No," I answered, "I do not deny that; I had taught, but I was only thirteen when I did so, as any one at home will testify."
"Thirteen! how improbable!" exclaimed Mrs. Lansing, while Ada continued, "And what of your engagement with Dr. Clayton. I heard it from the lips of your aunt; but perhaps she told me a falsehood?" and she looked maliciously at me, while with a stamp of his foot Mr. Delafield said sternly, "Ada, you have no right to question her of that."
"But I am glad she did," I said, "for as I live, I have never been engaged to any man."
"Nor in love with one either? Will you say you were never in love with Dr. Clayton?" persisted Ada.
It was a cruel question, but I could not deny it, and I remained silent, while I cowered beneath the burning gaze of Mr. Delafield, who still held me fast, but who now loosened his hold, and slightly pushing me from him, leaned against the pillar, with folded arms, and dark, lowering brow, while Mrs. Lansing and Ada exchanged glances of triumph. They had by my silence gained a partial advantage over me, but as long as I felt the clasp of Mr. Delafield's hand, I was strong to defy them. Now, however, that had failed me, and girllike I began to cry, telling them "they could easily test the whole matter by writing either to Boston or Meadow Brook."
This alternative had not occurred to Ada before, but now she readily saw how easily I could prove my innocence, and as she met Mr. Delafield's inquiring glance, she turned very pale and laid her hand upon her side as if the pain had returned.
"Rose," said Mr. Delafield, "you would hardly wish for me to write to Meadow Brook were you guilty, and as you seem willing that we should do so, I am inclined to hope that Ada may be mistaken. Come, stand by me (and reaching out his hand he drew me to his side) and tell me all the particulars of your acquaintance with Miss Montrose, and also about that sister with whom you are confounded, and you (turning to the other ladies) are not to speak, until she is through, when Ada can make any correction or explanation necessary."
It was an act of justice which I owed to myself, I knew, and wiping my eyes, I was about to commence, when Ada, rising up, said mockingly, "With the Honorable Judge's permission I will leave, as I do not wish to hear the falsehoods which I am sure will be uttered."
Again Mr. Delafield's long arm was extended, and catching Ada, as she was passing, he drew her to his side, where he held her firmly, saying, "It looks suspicious, Ada, that you are not willing to hear Miss Lee's defense. You have, either by mistake or design (the former, I hope), preferred against her serious charges, and you must listen to her explanation. Commence," he added, looking down upon me, and in a firm, unfaltering manner I told both my story and that of Anna, who, I said, had eloped with Herbert Langley and was now a broken-hearted widow, living with his mother in Boston.
At this part of my narrative Ada's hand was pressed convulsively on her side, while with parted lips and pale cheeks she leaned forward, looking at me anxiously; but when she saw that I did not speak of her ever having been engaged to Herbert, the color came back to her face, and with a sigh of relief she listened more composedly, nodding assent when I referred her to our meeting at the dépôt at Canandaigua, and faintly admitting that "she might have been mistaken. I looked so much like Anna that 'twas not impossible."
This I knew was false, but I did not contradict her, and proceeded with my story, until suddenly recollecting the incident at the theater, I turned to Mr. Delafield and asked "if he remembered it?"
He thought a moment, and then the arm, which had gradually been winding itself about my waist, clasped me to his side, while he exclaimed, "Remember it? Perfectly, and you are that little girl. They called you Rose;—and this is why your face has puzzled me so much. I see it all now. You are innocent, thank Heaven," and the hand, which, heretofore, had held Ada fast, now rested caressingly upon my head and parted back my curls, as he said, more to himself than to me, "and you have remembered me all this time." Then, turning towards Ada, he said sternly, "We will hear you now."
Ada was caught in her own snare. She had thought to prevent me from doing her injury by branding me as a liar, and now that I was proved innocent, it filled her with confusion, and she remained silent until Mrs. Lansing came to her aid by saying, "I do not think Ada meant to do wrong; she probably mistook Rose for her sister, hence the blunder."
This gave Ada courage, and crossing over to me, she took my hand, begging my forgiveness and saying "she had been mistaken—she certainly did not mean to do me so great a wrong, and she hoped I would forget it and try to look upon her as my friend, for such she would henceforth be."
I was not quite verdant enough to credit all that Ada said; but I replied I was willing to forgive her, and when she asked permission to kiss me, so that the reconciliation might be perfect, I offered no resistance, though I did not return the compliment, for which I think Mr. Delafield felt gratified—at least I read as much in his face. During the progress of my story Ada had alternately turned red and white, particularly at the points where I touched upon Herbert. This did not escape the observation of Mr. Delafield, and suspecting more than Ada thought he did, he half seriously, half playfully asked her "why she had evinced so much feeling whenever Mr. Langley's name was mentioned."
Instantly the color left her face, which wore a livid hue, and her hand went up to her side as if the cause of her agitation were there, while with a half stifled moan, she said, "Oh, oh!—the pain!"
Of course Mrs. Lansing asked what she meant, and Ada, in answering her, managed to dwell so long upon "the horrid pain, which she feared would become chronic," that Mr. Delafield could not reasonably expect an answer to his question. Still, I think, he was not satisfied, and when I saw the mischievous look in his eye, as he told her "she must certainly be blistered," I fancied that he, too, understood her as I did.
That afternoon we were again assembled upon the piazza, Mrs. Lansing, Ada, and myself, the former nodding in her large willow chair, while the latter sat upon a little stool at my feet, and with her elbow upon my lap was looking up into my face with the childish simplicity she knew so well how to assume. She was just asking me to assure her again of my forgiveness when Mr. Delafield joined us, and coming up behind me leaned over my chair, while he handed to Ada a little oblong package, saying, "I was in the village just after dinner, and seeing the Dr. I asked him about your pain. As I expected, he prescribed a blister, and at my request he prepared one, which you are to apply at night when you go to bed!"
I could not see him, but I absolutely pitied poor Ada, who began to realize that the way of the transgressor is hard. The tears started to her eyes, while with a look of dismay, she exclaimed, "Oh, Richard, how could you? I never was blistered in my life. It will kill me. I can't do it,"—and she cried aloud.
Very gently, Mr. Delafield soothed her, telling her that so far from "killing her," it would certainly "cure her," he knew it would, and he insisted upon her trying it. At last, as an idea, perfectly natural, under the circumstances, dawned upon her mind, she looked up very submissively at him and said, "To please you, I'll try it; though the remedy, I think, is worse than the disease."
I hardly know whether he had any faith in her words—I certainly had not, and when next morning she came down to breakfast in a loose wrapper, with a very languid look, I could not bring myself to ask her concerning the blister, which the livelong night had drawn nicely—on the back of the fireboard, in her room! As I expected, Mr. Delafield soon made his appearance, and after inquiring how his prescription worked, and if it had pained her much, he said, looking towards neither of us, "How would you like to ride on horseback with me out to Mr. Parker's plantation? I have business there, and do not wish to go alone."
"Oh, charming!" exclaimed Ada, jumping up and clapping her hands in a manner but little suited to a blistered side; "that will be grand, and I can wear my new riding-dress, which fits so nicely."
"Why, Ada, what do you mean?" said Mr. Delafield, with great gravity. "My invitation was intended for Miss Lee. You can't, of course, think of riding on horseback with a blister. You must have forgotten it!" and his keen eyes rested upon her face with a deeper meaning than she could fathom.
She turned very red, and for an instant, I think, half resolved to acknowledge the deception she was practising. But Richard Delafield was one who despised a falsehood, and she dared not confess to him her error, so she turned away, saying with a feigned indifference which illy accorded with the expression of her face, "Surely I forgot all about it."
Alone in her room, however, she shed tears of anger and mortification as she saw us ride off together, and thought of the happiness from which she was debarred by a fancied blister, which had never come in contact with her flesh. But whether it drew upon her side or the fireboard, it in a measure wrought the desired cure, for seldom again did Ada attempt to deceive her guardian. Would it not be well if more of our modern young ladies should be blistered for the same disease that afflicted Ada Montrose?
——————
It was nearly dark when we returned, and Mrs. Lansing and Ada were in their accustomed places upon the piazza, the latter holding an open letter which she had that afternoon received from her cousin Mrs. Johnson, who was spending some time in Mobile, and who wished Ada to join her there, before going on to New Orleans. They were evidently discussing the matter, and when we came up, Ada handed the letter to Mr. Delafield, bidding him read it and tell her what to do. Hastily running it over, he said, "Go, by all means: you have never seen Mobile, and it will be a good opportunity.
"But I have been thinking of giving up my visit to New Orleans," she continued in a kind of beseeching tone; "Mrs. Lansing had rather I'd remain with her this winter."
It was not so dark as to prevent me from seeing the expression of Mr. Delafield's face, and I fancied the proposition did not altogether please him. She evidently thought so too, for rather pettishly she added, "but if you wish to be rid of me, of course I'll go."
"Ada! How foolish!" he said, sternly. "I've often heard you express a desire to spend a winter in New Orleans, and now that an opportunity is presented, I think you had better accept it. I shall be there a part of the time, perhaps all," he added; and then I turned away lest my face should betray what was passing within.
"And will you go with me to Mobile?" Ada asked of him, as a child would ask her father.
"Certainly," he answered; "I do not propose letting you go alone. But how is that side? I'd almost forgotten to ask."
"It has pained me a good deal," said she, "but Martha dressed it nicely this afternoon, and it feels much better. I'm so glad you made me apply it, now the worst is over, for I believe it will do me good!"
She spoke with every appearance of candor, and much as it surprised him, Mr. Delafield was, I thought, partially, if not wholly, convinced that what she said was true, and that he had suspected her of more than she deserved; for his manner towards her changed, and as if trying to make amends, he devoted himself to her entirely for the remainder of the evening, telling her where they would go when they were in New Orleans, and laying many plans for her pleasure. Once in his zeal he thoughtlessly threw his arm around her waist, but she instantly shrank back, saying, "don't—don't—you hurt!"
This convinced him thoroughly, and I slept and woke twice that night ere the sound of their voices ceased upon the piazza, where their long interview was kept in countenance by Mrs. Lansing, who sat up until he left, and then patting Ada's cheek, told her she thought "her prospects were brightening."
I thought so, too, and there was a shadow on my heart, when I saw how much they were together during the few weeks which elapsed before her departure for Mobile. It is true he was still kind to me as of old; and whenever he found that Ada, by word or look, had slighted me, he always managed to let her know how much he disapproved her conduct, so that in his presence she was usually polite, though she could not quite conceal the fact that I was to her an object of dislike.
It was nearly the middle of October, when Ada finally left us for Mobile, accompanied by Mr. Delafield, who, in bidding us good-by, said we need not be surprised if he did not return in several weeks. I consider it to be my misfortune that my face generally betrays all I feel, and with his physiognomic powers he could not fail to see the effect which his words produced upon me, for well I knew how lonely Cedar Grove would be without him; and when after he was gone, little Jessie climbed into my lap, and laying her head upon my shoulder wished "Uncle Dick never would go away," I mentally responded to the wish. The whole household seemed more or less affected; Mrs. Lansing was cross; Lina careless; Halbert fretful; and Jessie unhappy—while I began to be haunted with my old project of returning home; and I should, perhaps, have proposed it to Mrs. Lansing, had it not been that, at the close of the fifth day, we were greatly surprised at Mr. Delafield's unexpected return. He didn't like Mobile, he said, and would much rather be at home.
Numerous were the questions asked by Mrs. Lansing concerning Ada and the pain in her side, which last, Mr. Delafield said, had left her entirely, owing, he believed, to the timely application of the blister. He was deceived, I thought, and I must confess to a slight feeling of gratification at an occurrence which thoroughly convinced him of his mistake. One night a few days after his return, old Hagar, his head cook, came over to Cedar Grove, groaning with rheumatism, which she termed "a misery in her back." Lina, to whom her complaints were made, listened a while, and then opening an old paper-box which stood under the table, drew forth a plaster, which she said she "had done found in Miss Ada's room, on t'other side the fireboard, oncet when she was clarin' the fireplace."
As Ada was gone she thought there was no harm in. appropriating it to herself, which she accordingly did, laying it carefully away until it should be needed. The recital of Hagar's aches and pains reminded her of it, so she urged it upon the old negress, assuring her it must be good, or white folks would never use it! With many thanks Hagar hobbled home, applied her plaster, and went to bed! But, alas! for the expected relief, which came only in burning sensations and stinging pains, eliciting many a groan from the poor old lady, who heroically bore it until morning, when she found herself unable to perform her accustomed duties.
For a long time Mr. Delafield waited for his breakfast, which was at last served up by Hagar's daughter, who gave such a deplorable account of her mother's condition that the moment breakfast was over he went himself to the cabin, where he found the old lady moaning over her blistered back, which she said, "was a heap harder to bar than the rheumatics."
A few words explained the whole, for Hagar never concealed aught from her master, and so she gave the history of her plaster, which now lay upon the hearth in the ashes, where she had thrown it. Quick as thought the truth burst upon Mr. Delafield, who laughed so long and loud, that Aunt Hagar, thinking that he was making light of her misfortunes, began to cry, saying she "never thought Mars'r Richard would poke fun at her misery."
"Neither am I making fun of you," said he, adding further, by way of atoning for his error, that for the remainder of the week she should be freed from all household service, and devote her whole time, if she liked, to her aching back.
This had the effect of restoring Aunt Hagar to good humor, and in the midst of her thanks, Mr. Delafield returned slowly to the house, thinking that when a habit of deception is once firmly fixed, it requires more to cure it than a blister applied to the fireboard!
Rapidly, and to me very happily, did the winter pass away, for it was enlivened by the presence of Mr. Delafield, who was with us so often, that it became at last a serious debate among the blacks as to whether Cedar Grove or Sunny Bank were really his home. More than once, too, was it whispered in the village, that little Rosa Lee, plain and unassuming as she was, had stirred in the heart of the "stern old bachelor" a far deeper feeling than Ada Montrose had ever been capable of awakening. And sometimes she, foolish child that she was, thought so too, not from anything he said, neither from anything which he did; indeed, it would have been hard for her to tell why her heart sometimes beat so fast when he was near, for though his manner was always kind and considerate, he never spoke to her of love—never appeared as he had once done in the summer-house, when she gave him such silly answers!
And still, occasionally, Rosa dared to hope that her love was returned, else why did each day find him at her side where he lingered so long, saying to her but little, but watching her movements, and listening to her words, as he would not have done had she been to him an object of indifference. Not naturally quick to read human nature, Mrs. Lansing was wholly deceived by her brother's cold exterior, and never dreaming how in secret he worshiped the humble girl she called her governess, she left them much together. Why then, did he never speak to her of the passion which had become a part of his being? Simply because he, too, was deceived. Once, indeed, he had essayed to tell her of his love, and dreading lest his affection should not be returned, he was the more ready to construe her evasive replies into a belief that it was indeed as he feared. Then, too, her shy, reserved manner, while it made him prize her all the more, disheartened him; for not thus was he accustomed to being treated, and with that jealousy which seems to be the twin sister of love, he ofttimes thought he read aversion and distrust, when there was, on Rosa's part, naught save a fear lest he should discover her secret, and despise her for it. Added to this was the remembrance of what Ada had said concerning her former engagement with Dr. Clayton. True, Rosa had denied the engagement, but when charged with having loved him she had remained silent; thus proving the story correct. And if she loved him when a child, was it not probable that she loved him still, married man though he was. He had heard of such things, or, at least, he had read of them in books, and for many days Mr. Delafield's brow was literally tied up in knots, while he tried to solve the question as to "whether, having loved once and been deceived, Rosa Lee could love again."
At last he decided that possibly she could, and his mind was fully made up to talk with her upon the subject, when an unexpected arrival blasted his hopes at once, and darkened the glimmering sunlight which was dawning upon his horizon. It was a dark, rainy night, toward the last of April, that I sat with the family in the pleasant little sitting-room. As usual, Mr. Delafield was with us, and this evening he was reading aloud from Longfellow's wonderful poem. He was just in the midst of Hiawatha's wooing, and I fancied there was in the tones of his voice a softer cadence as he read,
"Hand in hand they went together,
Through the woodland and the meadow,
Left the old man standing lonely
At the doorway of his wigwam,
Heard the falls of Minnehaha
Calling to them from the distance,
Crying to them from afar off,
Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water."
Scarcely had the last words left his lips when a heavy tread upon the piazza and a loud ringing of the bell startled us, for it was not often that we were favored with visitors on such a night as this. Zillah, the colored girl, hastened to the door where she found a stranger, who, stepping into the hall, asked, "if Miss Rosa Lee lived there."
Starting from my chair, I turned very white, for I recognized the voice of Dr. Clayton, who the next moment stood before me! I forgot the past—forgot that he had been my lover—forgot that Richard Delafield's eyes were upon me—forgot everything except that he had come from dear New England—had breathed the air of my native hills—had heard the sound of my mother's voice—and had brought me undoubtedly tidings of that mother's welfare. Springing forward with a cry of joy I took his extended hand, nor shrank away when, with unwonted tenderness he stooped to kiss my lips, low whispering as he did so, "Dear Rosa."
Then, indeed, I blushed, for I knew he had no right to call me thus, but the next moment it was forgotten, and with something of pride in my manner, I presented him to Mrs. Lansing and Mr. Delafield, the latter of whom greeted him rather coldly, and after a few words of common courtesy, bade us good night, but not until he had learned what, until that moment, was news to me, viz. that Dell Clayton had been dead nearly six months! As he passed me on his way out, he said, so low that no one else could hear him, "Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water," referring to the line he had last read. There was a deep scowl upon his dark face, and as I gazed upon him, I could not help wondering if it were thus the old man looked, when from his lonely wigwam door he watched the departing footsteps of his daughter.
"Come again to-morrow, Uncle Dick," said little Jessie, following him into the hall; but he made her no answer, save his accustomed good-by kiss, and I soon heard his heavy tread as he strode down the winding walk and out into the open field, muttering to himself, as I afterwards learned:
"And she will follow where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger."
Yes, Mr. Delafield was jealous—terribly jealous of Dr. Clayton, the nature of whose business he readily divined, though I did not, and nothing was further from my mind than the thought that he intended honoring me with a chance of becoming Mrs. Clayton 2d. And yet it was this alone which had brought him to Georgia, he taking the precaution to send on in advance a letter, in which he had made known his wishes, and asked for a return of the affection which, for five long years, he said, had never known one moment of abatement, even though another had slept upon his bosom as his wife. But she was gone, and in her place, he would see blooming, he said, the Rose he had loved so long. Owing to some detention, this letter had failed to reach me, hence I was wholly unprepared for the scene which followed when, at last, we were left alone. Well skilled in the signs, Mrs. Lansing had purposely retired, not long after her brother's departure, while I, suspecting nothing, made no objection when Dr. Clayton took his seat upon the sofa at my side. I was talking to him of Anna, and from speaking of her, and poor Herbert's death, it was an easy transition to Dell, of whom he spoke kindly, nay, even affectionately, as he told me of her last days; how much she suffered, and how gentle she became, never chiding him, in the least, for a thing unskilfully done, but seeming satisfied with everything, and loving him at last with a love which, had it been earlier born, would have shed happiness over his comparatively cheerless life. Then he told me of the little child, not yet three years old, whom he had called "Rosa Lee," and gently pushing back my curls, and gazing down into my face, he said, "It is a fancy of mine, perhaps, but I love to think she looks like you, who should have been her mother."
With all my stupidity, I understood him then, and blushing crimson, I moved away to the end of the sofa, while he continued, "What did you think of my letter? You received it, I suppose?"
I had received no letter, and so I said; whereupon he proceeded to tell me its contents, a part of which the reader already knows. Utterly confounded and powerless to move, I sat motionless, while, with his arm around me, he went over with the past, recalling to my mind, with a vividness which made it seem real again, the time when first he had found me weeping in the somber old schoolroom, away to the northward; the night when, with the soft moonbeams falling around us, we sat together beneath the tall oak tree, while I laid before him my childish griefs; and, lastly, the many pleasant hours we had whiled away together, listening to the sound of the running brook, which ran past the twining grape-vine, whose broad leaves had rustled above our heads.
"On these occasions, Rose," said he, "did nothing ever tell you how much you were beloved?"
"Yes," I answered bitterly, my woman's nature rousing up as I remembered the times to which he referred. "Yes, and what did it avail me, even though I was beloved? Ambition proved the stronger attraction of the two, and you wedded another. You, who, now that other has gone would talk again to me of love; but Rosa Lee is no longer a child to be deceived, and you mistake her strangely, if you fancy you can cast her off and take her up again at will."
Here, overcome with emotion, I burst into tears. My words and manner misled him, for in them he saw only resentment for his former treatment; and this inspired him with hope that the feeling I once cherished for him could again be nourished into life. Very tenderly, then, he talked to me, and, as I listened, a numbness crept over my heart, for I knew he was in earnest now, and I felt that it was not the Dr. Clayton of old—the fickle, selfish man of the world—with whom I had to deal, but Dr. Clayton purified, and made better by the trials through which he had passed—a noble, true-hearted, and upright man—who now laid at my feet the love which I knew had always been mine. Very earnestly he implored forgiveness for the wrong he once had done me, saying that for it he had been terribly punished, inasmuch as he had suffered far more than I. And still he breathed no word of censure against his erring wife, who, he said, was perhaps more sinned against than sinning, and who, when the last great agony was upon her, had whispered in his ear, as her white, clammy hand rested on the flowing curls of little Rose, "Her mother, I know, will be she whose name she bears, and I am willing it should be so."
"And was she not right?" he continued, drawing me closer to his side. "Will you not be the angel of my home, the mother of my child?"
And then again he told me how much I had been loved; how he had striven in vain to cast me from his heart, when it was madness and sin to keep me there; and how, when his horizon had been darkest with want and care, there was still in the distance a ray of sunlight, the remembrance of me, which had kept his soul from fainting. And now that it was right for him to speak to me of love, would I not listen and give him an opportunity to atone for the wrong he had once done me? He paused for my reply. There was silence in the room, and I counted each pulse of my beating heart as it throbbed with the intensity of my excitement.
"Will not my darling answer me?" he said, and I felt his breath upon my cheek, his lips upon my brow.
Not thus could I sit and tell him what duty bade me say. So I moved away, and standing up before him, I said, slowly, and distinctly, "Dr. Clayton, I loved you once, but the time has gone by, the love has died out, and I would not awaken it if I could."
There was a firmness in my manner, a decision in the tones of my voice, which startled him more than what I said, and with a faint cry he too arose, and coming to my side, said, "God forgive you, Rose, for the cruel words you have uttered, but you cannot be in earnest."
And then, with the firelight flickering over his pale face, he plead with me "to think again, to revoke what I had said, and not to send him away utterly hopeless and wretched. The love I had felt for him once, though chilled and dormant now, would bloom again, for he could bring it back to life, and I must be his; he could not live without me. I need not decide then, that night," he said, "he would give me time," and again he pressed for my answer, which was the same as before; for, much as I pitied him, there was between as a dark shadow, and the substance of that shadow bore the form and features of Richard Delafield!
Sinking into a chair, he laid his head upon the table, while, burying my face in the cushions of the sofa, I wept bitterly, stealing occasional glances towards the bowed form which, in its despair, gave no sign of life. There was no acting there, for it was the grief of a strong man which I saw. Without, the storm had ceased; the wind had died away, and the rain no longer beat against the casement; but within, there raged a wilder storm of human passions, and as it swept over me in its full force, I cried, mentally, "Ought I thus to deal with him? I loved him once, perhaps I could do so again. I would at least try." And, rising up, I glided noiselessly to his side. He did not hear me, and, for a time, I stood gazing down upon him, while I thought of all he had suffered, and of his love for me, which I could not doubt. The shadow no longer stood between us; it was gone, and, strengthened by its absence, I laid my hand upon his shoulder. He shuddered as if it had been a serpent's touch, but when I whispered in his ear, "Look up, I have something to tell you," he raised his head, disclosing to my view a face over which years seemed to have passed since last I had looked upon it.
"I will try," I said, "but give me one day for reflection, and to-morrow night you shall have your answer."
As the clouds are dispersed by the soft rays of the sun, so the shadows passed from his brow at my words, and clasping me in his arms he wept over me, as Heaven grant I may never see man weep again.
The fire on the hearth had long since gone out. The lamp was burning dimly, and the moonbeams came faintly in through an eastern window ere I bade him good night, and sought the solitude of my room, where my resolution almost instantly gave way, for the shadow was there, and in its presence I felt I would rather die than wed a man I did not love.
"Oh, for a female friend with whom to counsel in my need," I said, as I nervously paced the room.
I thought of Mrs. Lansing. She was a woman—she had been kind to me of late, and after a few moments' reflection I determined to ask her advice. This being settled, I fell into a disturbed sleep, from which I did not wake until the bell was ringing for breakfast. I met him at the table, and my heart beat fast when I saw how anxiously he scanned my haggard face.
"You are sick this morning," he said, when at last we were alone.
Taking my hand he felt my quickened pulse, and continued, "This must not be. Calm yourself down, for I would not wish you to answer me under all this excitement."
Soon after this he left me, going down to the hotel where he had first stopped on his arrival at W——. As soon as he was gone I sought an interview with Mrs. Lansing, to whom I confided the whole story of my former love for Dr. Clayton, and of my feelings now, asking her to tell me as a friend what I should do. I did not dare look her in the face while I was talking, and when I had finished I waited with downcast eyes for her answer, which was characteristic of a woman who had never known what love was, save as she felt it for her children.
"Do! Why, marry him of course. I should not hesitate a moment, for 'tis not every girl in your circumstances who has an offer like that. He seems to be a perfect gentleman,—is certainly very fine looking—is refined, polished, highly educated, and has a good profession. What more can you desire?"
"Love for him," I replied; and she continued, "Pshaw! That will come soon enough, depend upon it. There are many happy marriages where one of the parties had at first no particular affection for the other, as I myself can testify. I respected Mr. Lansing, when I married him, but I did not love him, and our union was, I am confident, far happier than three-fourths of those where love is the ruling motive, for in nine cases out of ten they grow sick of each other as faults and peculiarities are brought to light, of whose existence they had never dreamed. Take your own case for an example. Suppose you had married Dr. Clayton when you fancied him so much, you would undoubtedly have been disgusted with him by this time, whereas, now that you know he is fallible, you can safely link your destiny with his, feeling sure that in good time the love you once had for him will return."
I knew there was some truth in this argument, but it failed to convince me, and I remained silent until Mrs. Lansing startled me with, "You do not of course love another?"
I was taken by surprise, and without a thought of the result, I answered "I do."
"And that other?" she continued, fixing her eyes upon me.
I know not what possessed me, but a power I could not resist impelled me to answer, "Is your brother."
She did not send me from her presence with scorn and loathing as I thought she would. Nay, she did not even speak, but for a time stood mute with astonishment. As I now recall that scene, I understand her better, and I know that the truth, just as it was, dawned upon her mind, and suggested the falsehood which she uttered.
Coming closely to me, she said, "I cannot see why it is that all my governesses have fallen in love with my brother, yet such is the case. I did think, Miss Lee, that you were an exception, but I find I am mistaken, which surprises me greatly, inasmuch as he has never paid you the slightest attention, and even if he had, I do not understand how you could think him in earnest. For years the world has looked upon his union with Ada as sure, and though for certain reasons I have sometimes opposed it, I am anxious for it now, and it is well that I am, for I suppose it is a settled thing."
I held my breath for fear I should lose a single word of what she should say next. Perhaps she was unused to falsehoods. Be that as it may, her voice trembled slightly and she spoke hurriedly as she said, "They are engaged, and have been ever since she went to Mobile, and they will probably be married next autumn; hence, you see that the love you have presumed to feel for him would be useless, even were you his equal."
She started to leave me, but turned back while she said, "I trust that what I have told you will be kept a secret, for Richard does not wish to have the matter discussed."
I nodded assent, and the next moment I was alone with my sorrow, which was far easier to bear now that uncertainty was made sure. So long as there remained a lingering hope that my love for Mr. Delafield might possibly be reciprocated, I shrunk in horror from marrying another. But now that hope was swept away, for I never thought of doubting Mrs. Lansing's word, and a kind of torpor crept over me, suspending for a time both my judgment and my will.
"I will marry Dr. Clayton," I said, and with that decision came a feeling of gratified pride as I thought I should thus prove to Richard how little I cared for him!
Ah, I knew not then that the heart I coveted enshrined no image save that of "Rosa Lee," for whom Richard Delafield would almost have lain down his life, so great was the love he bore her. He had readily divined the object of the stranger's visit, and the thought that it might be successful was terrible. All the night long he, too, had been sleepless, pacing the length and breadth of his spacious halls and murmuring occasionally as, peering out into the darkness, he saw the glimmering light from the windows of Cedar Grove, "Oh, Rose, Rose, how can I give you up!"
Perhaps I am superstitious, but I cannot help fancying that as often as these words rang out on the midnight air, the shadow was over and around me. But alas! it faded and I was left to do the rash act I meditated. With the coming of morn, Mr. Delafield grew calm, for he had resolved upon an interview with Rosa Lee, who, if it were not too late, should know how much he loved her, and perhaps, (his heart thrilled with joy as he thought it), perhaps she might yet be won from that fancy of her childhood. But first he would if possible, learn from his sister how far matters had progressed. He had seldom imparted to her his secrets, but he would speak to her now, for he could not keep silent.
She was seated at her work in her own room, when he entered, and with a feeling of alarm at his pale, haggard face, she started up, asking if he were ill. Motioning her aside, he said, abruptly, "It's of no use, Angeline, to deceive you longer. I love Rosa Lee, and if it were not for this accursed doctor, I should tell her so at once. Do you know aught of his intentions? Has he come to seek her for his wife?"
Mrs. Lansing had now a double-part to perform. The falsehood she had told to Rosa made it necessary that she should tell another to her brother, which she did more readily, for her proud nature revolted at the thoughts of receiving her governess as her sister-in-law. So, thinking any means excusable which would prevent so disgraceful a catastrophe, she answered with well feigned surprise, "I am astonished at you, brother—astonished that a Delafield should stoop so low as to think of wedding a girl like Rosa Lee. You cannot, I think, be in earnest; but if you are, I am rejoiced that I have it in my power to tell you there is no hope. I have just left Miss Lee, who has made me her confident, asking if I thought it would be contrary to all rules of propriety for her to marry Dr. Clayton so soon after the death of his wife. It seems he has always preferred her, and could you have heard her tell how much she loved him, I am sure you would have no hope of winning her, even were she your equal."
The wicked woman paused, trembling at her own wickedness; while her brother, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud. It was an hour of bitter trial, for Rosa Lee alone had touched his heart, and could he give her up just as he had found out how dear she was to him? For a time the selfish nature of the man prevailed, and then there came a moment of calmer reflection: if Rose loved another, would it be right for him to mar her happiness by intruding upon her his affection? Should he not rather rejoice in knowing that she was happy with the man she had chosen, and if, henceforth, the world to him was dark and cheerless, might he not occasionally gather a gleam of comfort from knowing that no shadow was across her pathway! Thus he reasoned, and when his sister ventured at last to say, "You will not be foolish enough to talk with her," he answered, "No—no—of course not;" then, with no visible sign of the fierce storm which had swept over him, save the extreme pallor of his face, he arose, and with a firm tread went back to his home, unconscious of the tear-wet eyes which followed his retreating footsteps, as from her window Rosa Lee watched him with a despairing heart and benumbed faculties.
Not again that day was Cedar Grove gladdened by his presence, and when next morning he came as was his wont, I was the betrothed of Dr. Clayton, who, with joy beaming in every look, sat by my side, talking to me of the pleasure we should experience in our projected European tour, for we were to visit the Old World, and he wished our marriage to be consummated at once, so we could sail the last of June. In a measure I had dealt candidly with him, frankly acknowledging that the love I had felt for him in childhood was gone, but saying, as was true, that I respected him—yes, liked him, and if he was satisfied with that, I would be unto him a faithful wife, hoping that the affection of former years might ere long awake again in my heart. And he was content to take me thus, blessing me for the utterance of words which had made him so happy.
Involuntarily I shrank from him, for I knew I was undeserving of such devotion, and my conscience smote me for withholding from him the knowledge of my love for Richard Delafield. But that was a secret I could not reveal, so I kept it to myself, and with a kind of apathetic indifference listened while he depicted in glowing colors the joyous future which he saw before him when I should be indeed his wife. He was going to New Orleans on business, which would detain him for three or four weeks, and on his return he asked that the ceremony might be performed, and I go with him to Meadow Brook as his bride.
"No, not so soon," I exclaimed. "Leave me my freedom a little longer;" but he only smiled as he waved aside every objection and won from me a promise that if Mrs. Lansing were willing, we would be married there as soon as he should return from New Orleans, whither he would start the next night.
Either by design or accident, Mrs. Lansing herself at that moment entered the room, apologizing for the intrusion by saying she wanted a book which lay upon the piano. Having secured the volume, she was about leaving, when, glancing at the doctor she playfully remarked upon the happy expression of his face, saying, she should judge his suit was progressing, and adding that he had her good wishes for his success. Emboldened by her familiarity, Dr. Clayton at once preferred to her his wish that we might be made one under the shadow of her roof; we would make no trouble, he said, as we wished for no display, simply a quiet ceremony at which no one should be present save herself, her children, and her brother!
At the mention of him I started as if smitten by a heavy blow, for I thought, "I cannot in his presence give myself to another;" and I used all the arguments of which I was mistress to induce Dr. Clayton to defer our marriage until we reached Meadow Brook. But to this neither he nor Mrs. Lansing would listen. Glad that I was thus out of her way, the latter seemed unusually kind, offering to give me a bridal party as a "testimony of her respect." Thus was I silenced, while they arranged the matter as they pleased, it being finally decided that the wedding was to take place immediately after the doctor's return, as he had first proposed. So overcome and bewildered was I with the exciting scenes through which I had passed, that, strange as it may seem, I slept soundly that night, dreaming towards daybreak that I stood on the deck of a noble vessel, gazing upon a most glorious sunset, which, however, had less charms for me than did the man at my side, whom I called my husband, and whom I loved again as I had done long ago, when with my face buried in the grass beneath the old grapevine I had wept over his inconstancy.
With the remembrance of that dream still haunting me, it was quite natural that I should in the morning meet Dr. Clayton with more cordiality of manner than I had yet evinced towards him. Quickly perceiving the change, he said, as he kissed my brow, "My Rose is learning to love me, I see."
And for a brief moment I, too, fancied that he was right—that I should love him—nay, that I was beginning to love him, when suddenly in the doorway appeared the form of one, the very sight of whom curdled my blood for an instant and then sent it bounding through my veins! It was Mr. Delafield. He had nerved himself to see me, to stand face to face with his rival, and bravely did he meet the trial, bowing courteously to Dr. Clayton and smiling kindly down upon me as he bade me good morning. I glanced at him once and saw that his eyes were riveted upon the plain band of gold, which encircled my fourth finger, confirming the truth of what he had just heard from his sister. At last, as if he would test his strength to the utmost, he took my hand and said, as he slowly twirled the ring, which was rather large, "And so you are going from us?"
I could not answer, nor was it needful that I should, for without waiting a reply he placed my hand in that of Dr. Clayton, and continued, "As a brother commits a dear sister to the care of another, so commit I to your care my Northern Rose, charging you to watch tenderly over her, for 'tis not every one who winneth such a treasure."
This was all he said; the next moment he was gone, and when Dr. Clayton, drawing me to his side, told me how he would treasure up the words of my friend, I involuntarily shrank away, for the shadow was again around me, and turn which way I would, it whispered to me of another love—another heart, which I fain would have called my own.
That night Dr. Clayton left us, and the very morning after his departure we were surprised by the appearance of Ada, who came unexpectedly to us all. "She was tired of living with that old fidgety Mrs. Johnson," she said, "and would rather come home." Much as Mrs. Lansing liked Ada, she would rather she had stayed away until I was gone, for she was in constant dread lest the falsehood she had told me concerning her brother's engagement should in some way be betrayed. But there was no help for it, and as one sin always calls for another, so she must now conjure up something with which to meet the emergency. Accordingly, Ada was told that "somehow or other I had received the impression that she was engaged to Mr. Delafield, and that it was as well to let me think so; for though I probably liked Dr. Clayton well enough, she (Mrs. Lansing) fancied that I liked her brother better, and that if I supposed there was the slightest chance of winning him, I would not hesitate to discard the doctor."
Very readily Ada fell in with the views of Mrs. Lansing, who proposed further that they should continually ring in my ears the praises of my affianced husband, of whose virtues Ada was supposed to have heard from Mrs. Lansing; while at the same time, I was to be interested as much as possible in the preparations for my wedding, which was to be quite a grand affair, and to which many of the village people were to be invited. And so the days wore on, during which I could hardly be said to exist, so little did I realize what was passing around me. I dared not think, for if I did, the tumult of thought which crowded upon me seemed turning my brain to fire, and when each morning I awoke from an unrefreshing slumber, it was always with the thought, "What is it? This load which oppresses me so?"—then, as the stern reality came up before me, I would bury my face in the pillow and ask that I might die, and thus escape the living death which awaited me, and which was now but a week or two in the distance.