BROTHER AND SISTER.
During the time which had elapsed since Ben Van Vechten first made the
acquaintance of Rosamond, he had not once been to Riverside, for,
failing to enter college, and overwhelmed with mortification at his
failure, he had returned to Alabama, from which place he wrote to her
occasionally, always addressing her as a little girl, and speaking of
himself as a very ancient personage in comparison with herself. But
that Rosamond was now no longer a little girl was proved by her finely
rounded figure, her intelligent face, her polished manners and self-
reliant air. And Rosamond was beautiful, too--so beautiful that
strangers invariably asked _who_ she was, turning always for a second
look, when told she was the adopted sister or daughter--the villagers
hardly knew which--of the wealthy Mr. Browning. But whether she were
the daughter or the sister of the man with whom she lived, she was in
reality the mistress of his household, and those who at first slighted
her as the child of a milliner, now gladly paid her homage as one who
was to be the heir of Mr. Browning's wealth. He would never marry her,
the wise ones thought--would never marry anybody--and so, with this
understanding, he was free to talk, walk, and ride with her as often
as he chose. He liked her, the people said, but did not love her,
while Rosamond herself believed he almost hated her, so strangely cold
and harsh was his manner toward her at times.
This coldness had increased of late, and when the Lawries, who, next
to Mr. Browning, were the most aristocratic people in the place,
suggested that she should accompany them for a few weeks to the
Springs, she was delighted with the plan, and nothing doubting that
Mr. Browning would be glad to have her out of the way, she went to him
for his consent. She found him in his library, apparently so absorbed
in reading that he did not observe her approach until she stood
between him and the light. Then he looked up quickly, and, as she
fancied, an expression of displeasure passed over his face.
"Excuse me for disturbing you," she said, rather petulantly; "I have
to break in upon your privacy if I would see you at all."
He gave her a searching glance, and then, laying aside his book and
folding his arms, said pleasantly, "I am at your service now, Miss
Leyton. What is it you wish?"
Very briefly she stated her request, and then sitting down in the
window, awaited his answer. It was not given immediately, and when he
did speak, he said--"Rosamond, do you wish to go?"
"Of course I do," she replied, "I want to go where it is not as
lonesome as I find it here."
"Lonesome, Rosamond, lonesome," he repeated. "Riverside has never been
lonesome since--" he paused a moment and then added, "since you came
here."
The shadow disappeared from Rosamond's face, as she replied--"I did
not suppose you cared to have me here. I thought you did not like me."
"Not like you, Rosamond?" and over his fine features there came a look
of pain, which increased as Rosamond continued:--"You are so cold at
times, and shun me as it were; inventing excuses to drive me from you
when you know I would rather stay."
"Oh, Rosamond," he groaned, "how mistaken you are. The world would be
to me a blank were it not for you; and if my manner is sometimes cold
and cruel, it is because stern duty demands it should be so. I cannot
lay bare my secret heart to you of all others, but could you know me
as I am, you would censure much, but pity more." He paused a moment,
then, scarcely knowing what he said, he continued--"Rosamond, we will
understand each other. _I shall never marry_--never _can_ marry. In
your intercourse with me, will you always remember that?"
"Why, yes," answered Rosamond, puzzled to comprehend him. "I'll
remember that you say so, but it is not likely you'll keep your word."
"I am not trifling with you," he said." Marriage is not for _me_.
There is a dreadful reason why I cannot marry, and if at times I am
cold toward you, it is because--because--"
Rosamond's eyes were riveted upon his face--darker and darker they
grew, becoming at last almost black in their intensity. She was
beginning to understand him, and coloring crimson, she answered,
bitterly: "I know what you would say, but you need have no fears, for
I never aspired to that honor. Rosamond Leyton has yet to see the man
she could love."
"Rosamond," and Mr. Browning's voice was so low, so mournful in its
tone that it quelled the angry feelings in the young girl's bosom, and
she offered no resistance when he came to her side and took her hand
in his, saying as he did so--"Listen to me. You came here a little
girl, and at first I did not heed you, but you made your presence felt
in various ways, until at last I thought I could not live without you.
You are a young lady now--the world calls you beautiful. To me you are
beautiful. Oh, _so_ beautiful," and he laid one hand upon her shining
hair, softly, tenderly nay, proudly, as if she had been his child. "I
am not old yet, and it would be natural that we should love each
other, but we must not--we cannot."
"And lest I should love you too well, you have tried to make me hate
you," interrupted Rosamond, trying in vain to release herself from his
powerful grasp, and adding, "but you can spare yourself the trouble. I
like you too well to hate you; but as I live, I would not marry you if
I could. I mean what I say!"
He released her hand, and returning to his chair, laid his head upon
the table, while she continued--"I know just about how well you like
me--how necessary I am to your comfort, and since fate has decreed
that we should be thrown together, let us contribute to each other's
happiness as far as in us lies. I will think of you as a brother, if
you like, and you shall treat me as a sister, until somebody takes me
off your hands. Now, I can't say _I_ shall never marry, for I verily
believe I shall. Meantime, you must think of me just as you would if
you had a wife. Is it a bargain, Mr. Browning?"
She spoke playfully, but he knew she was in earnest, and from his
inmost soul he blessed her for having thus brought the conversation to
a close. He would not tell her why he had said to her what he had--it
was not what he intended to say, and he knew she was in a measure
deceived, but he could not explain to her now; he could not tell her
that he trembled for himself far more than for her, and it was not for
her then to know how much he loved her, nor how that love was wearing
his life away because of its great sin. He was growing old now very
fast. The shadows of years were on his brow, and Rosamond almost
fancied she saw his brown locks turning white. She was a warm-hearted,
impulsive girl, and going toward him, she parted from his forehead the
hair streaked with gray, saying softly to him: "Shall it not be so?
May I be your sister?"
"Yes, Rosamond, yes," was his answer; and then, wishing to bring him
back to the point from which they started, Rosamond said abruptly--
"And what of the Springs? Can I go?"
The descent was a rapid one, but it was what he needed, and lifting up
his head, he replied, just as he had done before, "Do you want to go?"
"Not as much as I did when I thought you were angry, and if you would
rather, I had quite as lief stay with you."
"Then stay," he said, "and we will have no more misunderstandings."
The next evening, as he sat alone in the parlor, a servant brought to
him a letter, the superscription of which made him reel, as if he
would have fallen to the floor. It was nearly four years since he had
seen that handwriting--he had hoped never to look upon it again--but
it was there before his eyes, and she who wrote that letter was coming
to Riverside--"would be there in a few days, Providence permitting. Do
not commit suicide on my account," she wrote, "for I care as little as
yourself to have our secret divulged, and unless I find that you are
after other _prey_, I shall keep my own counsel."
The letter dropped from his nerveless fingers--the objects in the room
swam before his eyes, and like one on whom a crushing weight has
fallen, he sat bewildered, until the voice of Rosamond aroused him,
and fleeing to his chamber he locked the door, and then sat down to
think. She was coming to Riverside, and wherefore? He did not wish for
a reconciliation now--he would rather live there just as he was, with
Rosamond.
"Nothing will escape her," he said; "those basilisk eyes will see
everything--will ferret out my love for that fair young girl. Oh,
Heaven, _is_ there no escape!"
He heard the voice of Anna Lawrie in the yard. She was coming for
Rosamond's decision, and quick as thought he rang the bell, bidding
the servant who appeared to send Miss Leyton to him.
"Rosamond," he said, when she came to the door, "I have changed my
mind. You must go to the Springs."
"But I'd rather stay at home--I do not wish to go," she said.
"I say you _must_. So tell Miss Lawrie you will," he answered, and his
eyes flashed almost savagely upon her.
Rosamond waited for no more. She had discovered the impediment to his
marrying. It was _hereditary insanity_, and she had seen the first
signs of it in him herself! Magnanimously resolving never to tell a
human being, nor let him be chained if she could help it, however
furious he might become, she went down to Miss Lawrie, telling her she
would go.
One week from that day was fixed upon for their departure, and during
that time Rosamond was too much absorbed in dresses and finery to pay
much heed to Mr. Browning. Of one thing she was sure, though--he was
_crazy_; for what else made him stalk up and down the gravel-walk, his
head bent forward, and his hands behind him, as if intently thinking.
Once, when she saw him thus, she longed to go out to him, to tell him
she knew his secret, and that she would never leave him, however
unmanageable he should become! But his manner toward her now was so
strange that she dared not, and she was almost as glad as himself when
at last the morning came for her to go.
"Promise me one thing," he said, as they stood together a moment
alone. "Don't write until you hear from me, and don't come home until
I send for you."
"And suppose the Lawries come, what then?" she asked, and he replied,
"No matter; stay until I write. Here are five hundred dollars in case
of an emergency," and he thrust a check into her hand.
"Stop," he continued, as the carriage came round--"did you put your
clothes away where no one can see them, or are you taking them all
with you?"
"Why, no, why should I?" she answered. "Ain't I coming back?"
"Yes, yes--Heaven only knows," he said. "Oh, Rosamond, it may be I am
parting with you forever, and at such a moment, is it a sin for you to
kiss me? You asked to do so once. Will you do it now?"
"I will," she replied, and she kissed, unhesitatingly, his quivering
lips.
The Lawries were at the door--Mrs. Peters also--and forcing down his
emotion, he bade her a calm good-by. The carriage rolled away, but ere
its occupants were six miles from Riverside, every article of dress
which had belonged to Rosamond had disappeared from her room, which
presented the appearance of any ordinary bed-chamber, and when Mrs.
Peters, in great alarm, came to Mr. Browning, asking what he supposed
had become of them, he answered quietly--"I have put them in my
private closet and locked them up!"