ROSAMOND'S EDUCATION
One year has passed away since Mrs. Van Vechten departed for the
South, and up the locust lined avenue which leads to Riverside, the
owner of the place is slowly riding. It is not pleasant going home
tonight, and so he lingers by the way, wondering why it is that the
absence of a _child_ should make so much difference in one's feelings!
During the year Rosamond had recited her lessons to him, but with many
others he fancied no girl's education could be finished unless she
were _sent away_--and two weeks before the night of which we write he
had taken her himself to Atwater Seminary, a distance of more than two
hundred miles, and then, with a sense of desolation for which he could
not account, he had returned to his home, which was never so lonely
before. There was no merry voice within the walls,--no tripping feet
upon the stairs,--no soft, white hand to bathe his forehead when
suffering from real or fancied headaches,--no slippers waiting by his
chair,--no flowers on the mantel,--no bright face at the window,--no
Rosamond at the door.
Of all this was he thinking that November afternoon, and when at last
he reached his house, he went straight to his library, hoping to find
a letter there, telling him of her welfare. But letter there was none,
and with a feeling of disappointment he started to the parlor. The
door was ajar and he caught glimpses of a cheerfully blazing fire
within the grate. The shutters, too, were open and the curtains were
put back just as they used to be when _she was there_. It seemed like
the olden time, and with spirits somewhat enlivened he advanced into
the room. His favorite chair stood before the fire, and so near to it
that her head was leaning on its arm, sat a young girl. Her back was
turned toward him, but he knew that form full well, and joyfully he
cried: "Rosamond, how came you here?"
Amid her smiles and tears, Rosamond tempted to tell him the story of
her grievances. She was homesick, and she could not learn half so much
at the Atwater Seminary as at home--then, too, she hated the strait-
jacket rules, and hated the lady-boarder, who pretended to be sick,
and wouldn't let the school-girls breathe, especially Rosamond Leyton,
for whom she seemed to have conceived a particular aversion.
Pleased as Mr. Browning was to have Rosamond with him again, he did
not quite like her reasons for coming back, and he questioned her
closely as to the cause of her sudden return.
"I shouldn't have come, perhaps," said Rosamond, "if that sick woman
hadn't been so nervous and disagreeable. She paid enormous sums for
her board, and so Mrs. Lindsey would hardly let us breathe for fear of
disturbing her. My room was over hers, and I had to take off my shoes
and walk on tiptoe, and even then she complained of me, saying I was
rude and noisy, when I tried so hard to be still. I made some hateful
remark about her in the hall, which she overheard, and when Mrs.
Lindsey scolded me for it, saying she was a very wealthy lady from
Florida, and accustomed to every attention at home, I said back some
pert things, I suppose, for she threatened to write and tell you, and
so I thought I'd come and tell you myself."
There was a dizzy whirl in Mr. Browning's brain--a pallor about his
lips--for a terrible suspicion had flashed upon him, and leaning
forward, he said in a voice almost a whisper, "What was the Florida
lady's name?"
"Potter, or Porter--yes, _Miss Porter_, that was it. But what is the
matter? Are you sick?" Rosamond asked, as she saw how white he was.
"Only a sudden faintness. It will soon pass off," he said. "Tell me
more of her. Did she see you? Were you near her?"
"No," answered Rosamond. "She was sick all the time I was there, and
did not leave her room. The girls said, though, that she was rather
pretty, but had big, black, evil-looking eyes. I don't know why it
was, but I felt afraid of her--felt just as though she was my evil
genius. I couldn't help it--but you _are_ sick, Mr. Browning--you are
pale as a ghost. Lie down upon the sofa, and let me bring the pillows,
as I used to do."
She darted off in the direction of his sleeping-room, unconscious of
the voice which called after her, asking if it were not dark in the
hall, and bidding her take a light.
"But what does it matter?" he said, as he tottered to the sofa. "_She_
is not here. Atwater Seminary is two hundred miles away. She can't
harm Rosamond now."
By this time Rosamond came with the pillows, which she arranged upon
the sofa, making him lie down while she sat by, and laid her hand
soothingly upon his burning forehead.
"We will have tea in here to-night," she said, "I told Mrs. Peters so,
and I will make it myself. Do you feel any better?" and she brought
her rosy face so near to his that he felt her warm breath upon his
cheek.
"Yes, I am better," he replied, "but keep your hand upon my forehead.
It assures me of your presence, when my eyes are shut."
So Rosamond sat beside him, and when Mrs. Peters came in to lay the
cloth, she found them thus together. Smiling knowingly, she whispered
to herself, "'Nater is the same everywhere," and the good lady bustled
in and out, bringing her choicest bits and richest cake in honor of
her pet's return. That night, freed from boarding-school restraint,
Rosamond slept soundly in her own pleasant chamber, but to Ralph
Browning, pacing up and down his room, there came not a moment of
unconsciousness. He could not forget how near he had been to one who
had embittered his whole life--nor yet how near to her young Rosamond
had been, and he shuddered as if the latter had escaped an unseen
danger. Occasionally, too, the dread thought stole over him, "suppose
she should come here, and with her eagle eye discover what, if it
exist at all, is hidden in the inmost recesses of my heart."
But of this he had little fear, and when the morning came he was
himself again, and, save that it was haggard and pale, his face gave
no token of the terrible night he had passed. But what should he do
with Rosamond? This was the question which now perplexed him. He had
no desire to send her from him again, neither would she have gone if
he had--and he at last came to the very sensible conclusion that the
school in his own village was quite as good as any, and she
accordingly became an attendant at the Granby Female Seminary. Here
she remained for two years and a half, over which time we will pass
silently and introduce her again to our readers, when she is nearly
eighteen--a graduate---a belle--and the sunshine of Riverside.