it was early morning. the windows of my room were open, admitting the fresh, cool air, which had been purified by one of those terrific thunder storms, so common in a southern clime. for many weeks i had lain there in a state of unconsciousness, save at intervals when i had a dreamy realization of what was transpiring around me. the physician who was called in dr. clayton’s stead had more than once hinted of continued insanity, citing similar cases which had come under his observation; but in spite of his opinion, i, that bright august morning, awoke from a refreshing sleep, with perfectly restored faculties. at first i thought i was alone, for there was a deep stillness in the room, and from the hall below i distinctly heard the ticking of the clock, reminding me of the time, years ago, when once before i had hovered between life and death. now, as then, i experienced the delicious feeling of returning health, but i missed the familiar faces of my friends, and as i thought how far i was from home, and all who loved me, i said aloud, “i am alone, alone.”
“not alone, rosa, for i am with you,” answered a deep voice near, and the next moment the dark form of richard delafield bent over me.
eagerly scanning my face, he said, “do you know me?”
326“yes,” i answered. “mr. delafield.” then as a dim remembrance of the past came over me, i lifted my head and looked around the room for one who i knew had not long since been there.
divining my thought, he said very gently, as if the announcement would of course give me pain, “he is not here, rosa. he was obliged to go home, but i dare say he will soon return—meantime i will take care of you. don’t feel so badly,” he continued, as tears of genuine joy at dr. clayton’s absence gathered in my eyes.
i could not tell him the truth, and when i next spoke it was to ask him concerning my illness, how long it had been, etc.
after telling me all that he thought proper, he took the letter from his pocket, and said, “dr. clayton left this for you. have you strength to read it now?”
“yes, yes,” i replied eagerly, at the same time stretching out my hand to take it.
there was a blur upon my eyes as i read, and i pitied dr. clayton, who had thus laid bare to me his wretchedness, but mingled with this was a feeling of relief to know that i was free. he told me what he had written to mr. delafield, and when i came to that portion of the letter, i involuntarily uttered an exclamation of delight, while i glanced timidly towards him. but he made no sign. the letter which would have explained all was safely lodged behind the bureau, and with a gloomy brow he watched me while i read, interpreting my emotions into the satisfaction he naturally supposed i would feel in hearing from my lover. with me the revulsion was too great, for i fancied i saw in the expression of his face contempt for one who had presumed to love him, and bursting into tears, i cried and laughed alternately, while he tried to soothe me; but i would not be comforted by him—he hated 327me, i knew, and very pettishly i told him at last “to let me alone and go away—i was better without him than with him,” i said, “and he would oblige me by leaving the room.”
the next moment i repented my harshness, which i knew had caused him pain, for there was a look of sorrow upon his face as he complied with my request. but i was too proud to call him back, and for the next half hour i cried and fretted alone, first at him for making dr. clayton think he loved me when he didn’t, secondly, at dr. clayton for meddling with what didn’t concern him, and lastly, at myself, for being so foolish as to care whether anybody loved me or not! at the end of that time richard came back. the cloud had disappeared, and very good-humoredly he asked “if i had got over my pet, and if i wanted anything.”
i did not, but wishing to make amends for my former ill humor, i asked him to shut the windows, which he did, opening them again in less than five minutes, and fanning me furiously, i was “so hot and fidgety.” for several hours he humored all my whims and caprices, and then, as he saw i was tiring myself out, he began to exercise his authority over me, telling me once, i remember, “to lie still and behave, or i would make myself worse!”
intimidated by his voice and manner, i sank down among my pillows, nor stirred again until i awoke from a sweet sleep into which i had fallen. this time he was gone, but mrs. lansing was with me, and the tones of her voice seemed unusually kind as she addressed me. richard again came in, bearing a beautiful bouquet, which he presented to me “as a peace offering,” he said, “for having scolded me so in the morning.”
before night i was so much better that ada, lina, and halbert came in to see me, each expressing their pleasure at my 328convalescence. but one there was who came not to greet me, and at whose absence i greatly marvelled. she had ever been the first to meet me in the morning, and the last to leave me at night. why, then, did she tarry now, when i wished so much to see her? alas, i did not know that never again would her home be gladdened by the sunshine of her presence, for it was jessie whom i missed—jessie for whom i longed—straining my ear to catch the sound of her ringing laugh, or bounding footsteps.
at last, as the day wore on and she did not come, i asked for her and why she stayed so long away.
wringing her hands, mrs. lansing exclaimed, “tell her, richard, i cannot. it will kill me. oh, jessie, jessie!”
but i had no need for further knowledge. i saw what i had not before observed, viz., the mourning garments of those around me, and in tears of anguish, i cried, “my darling is dead!”
“yes, jessie is dead,” answered richard. “we shall never see her again, for she is safe in the happy land, of which you so often told her.”
i could not weep. my sorrow was too great for tears, and covering my face i thought for a long, long time. “why was it,” i asked myself, “that always when death had hovered near me, i had been spared, and another taken,” for, as in the case of jessie, so had it been with brother jamie—they had died, while i had lived, and with a fervent thanksgiving to heaven, which had dealt thus mercifully with me, i prayed that it might not be in vain.
gradually, as i could bear it, mr. delafield told me the sad story—how she had hung fearlessly over my pillow when all else had deserted me—how she had come for him—and how naught but her mother’s peremptory commands had taken her from my side. as he talked, there came back to 329me a vague recollection of a fairy form, a seraph i thought it to have been, which, when the dark river was running fast at my feet, had hovered near, whispering to me words of love, and bidding some one bury me beneath the tall magnolia. then he told me how she had stood like a ministering spirit by the rude couch of the poor africans, who, with their dying breath, had blessed her, calling her “the angel of the pines.” from her head he himself had shorn her beautiful shining curls, one of which he gave to me, and which i prize as my most precious treasure; for often as i look upon it, i see again the little gleeful girl, my “georgia rose,” who, for a brief space, dwelt within her fair southern home, and was then transplanted to her native soil, where now she blooms, the fairest, sweetest flower of all which deck the fields of heaven.
the shock of her death very naturally retarded my recovery, and for many weeks more was i confined to my room. about the middle of october, charlie, whose coming i had long expected, arrived, bringing to me the sad news that death had again entered our household, that by my father’s and jamie’s grave was another mound, and at home another vacant chair, that of my aged grandmother, whose illness, he said, had prevented him from coming to me sooner, adding further that they had purposely kept her sickness from me, fearing the effect it might have. of dr. clayton he could tell me but little. he had not visited meadow brook at all, but immediately after his return to boston, he had written to them, saying i was out of danger, and charlie must go for me as soon as the intense heat of summer was over. this was all they knew, though with woman’s ready tact, both my mother and my sisters conjectured that something was wrong, and charlie’s first question after telling me what he did, was to inquire into the existing 330state of affairs between me and the doctor, and if it were my illness alone which had deferred the marriage.
“don’t ask me now,” i replied, “not until we are far from here, and then i will tell you all.”
this silenced charlie, and once when mr. delafield questioned him concerning dr. clayton, and why he, too, did not come for me, he replied evasively, but in a manner calculated still further to mislead mr. delafield, who had no suspicion of the truth, though he fancied there was something wrong. in the meantime he was to me the same kind friend, ministering to all my wants, and with a lavish generosity procuring for me every delicacy, however costly it might be.
one day charlie, with his usual abruptness, said to me, “rose, why didn’t you fall in love with mr. delafield. i should much rather have him than a widower?”
the hot blood rushed to my cheeks as i replied quickly, “he is engaged to miss montrose. they were to have been married this fall, mrs. lansing said, but the marriage is, i presume, deferred on account of their recent affliction. at least i hear nothing said of it.”
“if i am any judge of human nature,” returned charlie, “mr. delafield cares far more for you than for miss montrose, even if they are engaged. but then you are poor, while she is rich, and that i suppose makes the difference.”
i knew mr. delafield too well to suspect him of mercenary motives in marrying ada, and so i said, “he loved her, of course, and it was natural that he should, for though she had some faults, he probably saw in her enough of good to overbalance the bad.”
and still i could not help thinking that, as charlie had said, his attentions to me were far more lover-like than they were towards her. but then i fancied that his kindness 331was prompted by the pity which he felt for me, a young girl so far from home. thus the days wore on, leaving me deceived—and him deceived, while the letter still lay behind the bureau!
at last the morning dawned on which i was to say good-bye to the scenes i loved so well. i was to leave the “sunny south,” with its dark evergreens, its flowering vines, its balmy air. i was to leave him, who, ere the next autumn leaves were falling, would take to his beautiful home a bride. then i thought of little jessie’s grave, which i had not seen, and on which my tears would never fall, and taking from its hiding-place the tress of shining hair, i wept over that my last adieu. it was later than usual when mr. delafield appeared, and as he came in i saw that he was very pale.
“are you sick?” i asked, as he wiped the perspiration from his face.
“no, no,” he hurriedly answered; at the same time crossing over to a side table, he poured out and drank two large goblets of ice water.
then resuming his former seat near me, he took my hand, and looking me earnestly in my face, said, “rose, shall i ever see you here again?”
before i could answer, ada chimed in, “of course we shall. do coax the doctor to bring you here sometime, and let us see how you bear the honors of being madam!”
instantly the earnest look passed away from mr. delafield’s face, and was succeeded by a scowl, which remained until the carriage which was to take me to the dépôt was announced. then the whole expression of his countenance changed, and for a brief instant my heart thrilled with joy, for i could not mistake the deep meaning of his looks as he bent over me and whispered his farewell.
332“god bless you, rose,” he said. “my rose i once hoped to call you. but it cannot be. farewell!”
there was one burning kiss upon my lips, and the next moment he was gone.
“are you going to the dépôt?” asked his sister, as he was leaving the room.
“no, no, no,” he replied, and then as charlie again bade me come, i rose bewildered to my feet, hardly realizing when mrs. lansing, ada and lina bade me adieu.
halbert went with me in the carriage, and together with charlie looked wonderingly at me, as i unconsciously repeated in a whisper, “my rose i once hoped to call you. it is ada who stands in the way,” i said to myself, and covering my face with my veil, i wept as i thought of all i had lost when richard delafield offered his heart to another. he did love me. i was sure of that, but what did it avail me. he was too honorable to break his engagement with ada, so henceforth i must walk alone, bearing the burden of an aching heart.
“oh, i have loved you so much,” said halbert, winding his arms about my neck—“loved you as i shall never love another teacher,” and the boy’s tears flowed fast as he bade me good-bye.
one parting glance at cedar grove, one last lingering look at sunny bank, one thought of jessie’s grave, and then the hissing engine shot out into the woods, leaving them all behind. leaning back on charlie’s arm and drawing my veil over my face, i thought how impossible it was that i should ever visit that spot again.
333in the meantime a far different scene was being enacted in the apartment i had just vacated. scarcely had the whistle of the engine died away in the distance, when a troop of blacks, armed with boiling suds and scrubbing-brushes, entered my chamber for the purpose of cleaning it. they had carried from it nearly every article of furniture, and nothing remained save the matting and the bureau, the latter of which they were about to remove when they were surprised at the unexpected appearance of mr. delafield, who could not resist the strong desire which he felt to stand once more in the room where rose had spent so many weary weeks. for a moment the blacks suspended their employment, and then linda, who seemed to be leading, took hold of the bureau, giving one end of it a shove towards the centre of the room. the movement dislodged the long lost letter, which, covered with dirt and cobwebs, fell upon the floor, at her feet. she was the same woman who, weeks before, had carelessly knocked off the letter, which she now picked up and handed to mr. delafield, saying, as she wiped off the dirt, “it must have laid thar a heap of a while, and now i think on’t, ‘pears like ever so long ago, when i was breshin’ the bureau, i hearn somethin’ done drap, but i couldn’t find nothin’, and it must have been this.”
glancing at the superscription, and recognizing the handwriting of dr. clayton, mr. delafield broke the seal, and read! from black to white—from white to red—from red to speckled—and from speckled back again to its natural color, grew his face as he proceeded, while his eyes grew so dazzlingly bright with the intensity of his feelings that the negroes, who watched him, whispered among themselves that he “must be gwine stark mad.”
his active, quick-seeing mind took in the meaning of each sentence, and even before he had finished the letter he understood 334everything just as it was—why rose had appeared so strangely when she read dr. clayton’s letter to herself, and realized perfectly what her feelings must have been as day after day went by and he still “made no sign.”
“but she is mine now, thank heaven! and nothing shall take her from me,” he exclaimed aloud, unmindful of the presence of the negroes, who, confirmed in their impression of his insanity, looked curiously after him as he went down the stairs, down the walk, and out into the street, proceeding with rapid strides towards the dépôt.
