MARIE PORTER.
The models were crowded with visitors. Every apartment at ---- Hall,
from basement to attic, was full, save two small rooms, eight by ten,
so dingy and uncomfortable, that only in cases of emergency were they
offered to guests. These, from necessity, were taken by the Lawries,
but for Rosamond there was scarcely found a standing point, unless she
were willing to share the apartment of a sick lady, who had graciously
consented to receive any genteel, well-bred person, who looked as
though they would be quiet and not rummage her things more than once a
day!
"She was a very high-bred woman," the obsequious attendant said, "and
her room the best in the house; she would not remain much longer, and
when she was gone the young lady could have it alone, or share it with
her companions. It contained two beds, of course, besides a few
_nails_ for dresses."
"Oh, do take it," whispered the younger Miss Lawrie, who was not yet
thoroughly versed in the _pleasures_ of a watering place, and who cast
rueful glances at her cheerless _pen_, so different from her airy
chamber at home.
So Rosamond's trunks were taken to No. 20, whither she herself
followed them. The first occupant, it would seem, was quite an
invalid, for though it was four in the afternoon, she was still in
bed. Great pains, however had evidently been taken with her toilet,
and nothing could have been more perfect than the arrangement of her
pillows--her hair--her wrapper, and the crimson shawl she wore about
her shoulders. Rosamond bowed to her politely, and then, without
noticing her particularly, went over to the side of the room she
supposed was to be hers. She had just laid aside her hat, when the
lady said: "That open blind lets in too much light. Will you please
shut it Miss ---- I don't know what to call you."
"Miss Leyton," answered Rosamond, "and you are--"
"Miss Porter," returned the speaker.
"Rosamond started quickly, for she remembered the name, and looking
for the first time directly at the lady, she met a pair of large black
eyes fixed inquiringly upon her.
"Leyton--Leyton," repeated the lady, "where have I heard of you
before?"
"At Atwater Seminary, perhaps," suggested Rosamond, a little doubtful
is to the manner in which her intelligence would be received.
A shadow flitted over the lady's face, but it was soon succeeded by a
smile, and she said graciously, "Oh, yes, I know. You annoyed me and I
annoyed you. It was an even thing, and since we are thrown together
again, we will not quarrel about the past. Ain't you going to close
that blind? The light shines full in my face, and, as I did not sleep
one wink last night, I am looking horridly to-day."
"Excuse me, madam," said Rosamond, "I was so taken by surprise that I
forgot your request," and she proceeded to shut the blind.
This being done, she divested herself of her soiled garments, washed
her face, brushed her curls, and was about going in quest of her
companions, when the lady asked if she had friends there. Rosamond
replied that she had, at the same time explaining how uncomfortable
they were.
"The hotel is full," said the lady, "and they all envy me my room; but
if I pay for the best, I am surely entitled to the best. I shall not
remain here long, however. Indeed, I did not expect to be here now,
but sickness overtook me. I dare say I am the subject of many anxious
thoughts to the person I am going to visit."
There was a half-exultant expression upon the lady's face as she
uttered these last words, but in the darkened room, Rosamond did not
observe it. She was sorry for one thus detained against her will, and
leaning against the foot-board, she said: "You suffer a great deal
from ill-health, do you not? Have you always been an invalid?"
"Not always. I was very healthy once, but a great trouble came upon
me, shocking my nervous system terribly, and since then I have never
seen a well day. I was young when it occurred--about your age, I
think. How old are you, Miss Leyton?"
"I am eighteen next October," was Rosamond's reply, and the lady
continued, "I was older than that. Most nineteen. I am twenty-eight
now."
Rosamond did not know _why_ she said it, but she rejoined quickly:
"Twenty-eight. So is _Mr._ Browning!"
"_Who?_" exclaimed the lady, the tone of her voice so sharp--so loud
and earnest, that Rosamond was startled, and did not answer for an
instant.
When she did, she said, "I beg your pardon; it is Mr. Browning who is
twenty-eight."
"Ah, yes, I did not quite understand you. I'm a little hard of
hearing. Who is Mr. Browning?"
The voice had assumed its usually soft, smooth tone, and Rosamond
could not see the rapid beatings of the heart, nor the eager curiosity
lurking in the glittering black eyes. The lady _seemed_ indifferent,
and smoothed carelessly the rich Valenciennes lace, which edged the
sleeve of her cambric wrapper.
"Did you tell me who Mr. Browning was, dear?" and the black eyes
wandered over the counterpane looking everywhere but at Rosamond, so
fearful was their owner lest they should betray the interest she felt
in the answer.
"Mr. Browning," said Rosamond, "is--is--I hardly know what he is to
me. I went to his house to live when I was a little, friendless
orphan, and he very kindly educated me, and made me what I am. I live
with him still at Riverside." "Ye-es--Riverside--beau-ti-ful name--his
country--seat--I--sup-pose," the words dropped syllable by syllable
from the white lips, but there was no quiver in the voice--no ruffle
upon her face.
Raising herself upon her elbow, the lady continued, "Pray, don't think
me fidgety, but won't you please open that shutter. I did not think it
would be so dark. There, that's a good girl. Now, come and sit by me
on the bed, and tell me of Riverside. Put your feet in the chair, or
take this pillow. There, turn a little more to the light. I like to
see people when they talk to me."
Rosamond complied with each request, and then, never dreaming of the
close examination to which her face was subjected, she began to speak
of her beautiful home--describing it minutely, and dwelling somewhat
at length upon the virtues of its owner.
"You like him very much," the lady said, nodding a little affirmative
nod to her own question.
"Yes--very--very much," was Rosamond's answer; and the lady continued,
"And _Mrs_. Browning? Do you like her, too?"
"There is no Mrs. Browning," returned Rosamond, adding, quickly, as
she saw in her auditor's face an expression she did not understand,
"but it is perfectly proper I should live there, for Mrs. Peters, the
housekeeper, has charge of me."
"Perhaps, then, he will marry you," and the jeweled hands worked
nervously under the crimson shawl.
"Oh, no, he won't," said Rosamond, decidedly, "he's too old for me.
Why, his hair is turning gray!"
"That's nothing," answered the lady, a little sharply. "Everybody's
hair turns early now-a-days. Sarah found three or four silver threads
in mine, this morning. Miss Leyton, don't you love Mr. Browning?"
"Why, yes," Rosamond began, and the face upon the pillow assumed a
dark and almost fiendish expression. "Why, yes, I love him as a
brother, but nothing else. I respect him for his goodness, but it
would be impossible to love him with a marrying love."
The fierce expression passed away, and Miss Porter was about to speak
when Anna Lawrie sent for Rosamond, who excused herself and left the
room, thinking that, after all, she should like her old enemy of
Atwater Seminary very much.
Meantime "the enemy" had buried her face in her pillows, and clenching
her blue veined fists, struck at the empty air, just as she would have
struck at the owner of Riverside had he been standing there.
"Fine time he has of it," she muttered, "living there with her, and
she so young and beautiful. I could have strangled her--the jade!--
when she sat there talking so enthusiastically to _me, of him!_ And
she loves him, too. I know she does, though she don't know it herself.
But I must be wary. I must seem to like this girl--must win her
confidence--so I can probe her heart to its core, and if I find they
love each other!"--she paused a moment, then grinding her teeth
together, added slowly, as if the sound of her voice were musical and
sweet, "Marie Porter will be avenged!"
That strange woman could be a demon or an angel, and as the latter
character suited her just now, Rosamond, on her return to her room,
found her all gentleness and love.
That night, when all around the house was still, the full moon shone
down upon a scene which would have chilled the blood of Ralph Browning
and made his heart stand still. Upon a single bedstead near the window
Rosamond Leyton lay calmly sleeping--her brown curls floating o'er the
pillow--her cheeks flushed with health and beauty--her lips slightly
apart and her slender hands folded gracefully upon her bosom. Over her
a fierce woman bent--her long, black hair streaming down her back--her
eyes blazing with passion--her face the impersonation of malignity and
hate; and there she stood, a vulture watching a harmless dove.
Rosamond was dreaming of her home, and the ogress, standing near,
heard her murmur, "dear Mr. Browning."
For a moment Marie Porter stood immovable--then gliding back to her
own couch, she whispered, "It is as I believed, and now _if_ he loves
_her_, the time I've waited for so long has come."
All that night she lay awake, burning with excitement and thirsting
for revenge, and when the morning came, the illness was not feigned
which kept her in her bed and wrung from her cries of pain. She was
really suffering now, and during the next few days, Rosamond stayed
almost constantly at her side, administering to her wants, and caring
for her so tenderly that hatred died out of the woman's heart, and she
pitied the fair young girl, for in those few days she had learned what
Rosamond did not know herself, though she was gradually waking up to
it now. It was a long time since she had been separated from Mr.
Browning, and she missed him so much, following him in fancy through
the day, and at night wondering if he were thinking of her, and
wishing he could hear the sound of her voice singing to him as she was
wont to do when the twilight was over the earth. Anon there crept into
her heart a feeling she could not define--a feverish longing to be
where he was--a sense of desolation and terrible pain when she thought
of his insanity, and the long, dreary years which might ensue when he
would lose all knowledge of her. She did not care to talk so much of
him now, but Miss Porter cared to have her, and caressingly winning
the girl's confidence, learned almost everything--learned that there
was an impediment to his marrying, and that Rosamond believed that
impediment to be _hereditary insanity_--learned that he was often
fitful and gloomy, treating his ward sometimes with coldness, and
again with the utmost tenderness. Of the interview in the library
Rosamond did not tell, but she told of everything else--of his
refusing to let her come to the Springs and then compelling her,
against her will, to go; and Marie Porter, holding the little hands in
hers, and listening to the story, read it all, and read it aright,
gloating over the anguish she knew it cost Ralph Browning to see that
beautiful girl each day and know he must not win her.
"But I pity _her_" she said, "for there is coming to her a terrible
awakening."
Then, for no other reason than a thirst for excitement, she longed to
see that awakening, and one day when they sat together alone, she took
Rosamond's hand in hers, and examining its scarcely legible lines,
said, half playfully, half seriously, "Rosamond, people have called me
a fortune-teller. I inherited the gift from my grandmother, and though
I do not pretend to much skill, I can surely read your destiny. You
_love_ Mr. Browning. I have known that all along. You think of him by
day--you dream of him by night, and no thought is half so sweet as the
thought of going home to him. But, Rosamond, you will not marry him.
There is an impediment, as you say, but not insanity. I cannot tell
you what it is, but I can see," and she bent nearer to the hand which
trembled in her own. "I can see that for you to marry him, or--mark
me, Rosamond--for you even to love him, is a most wicked thing--a
dreadful sin in the sight of Heaven, and you must forget him--will
you?"
Rosamond had laid her face upon the bed and was sobbing hysterically,
for Miss Porter's manner frightened her even more than her words. In
reply to the question, "Will you?" she at last answered passionately,
_"No, I won't!_ It is _not_ wicked to love him as I do. I am his
_sister_, nothing more."
Miss Porter's lip curled scornfully a moment, and then she said, "Let
me tell you the story of _my_ life, shall I?"
No answer from Rosamond, and the lady continued: "When I was about
your age I fancied I loved a man who, I think, must have been much
like Mr. Browning--"
"No, no," interrupted Rosamond. "Nobody was ever like Mr. Browning. I
don't want to hear the Miss Porter, but if I mistake not she will go
home story. I don't want anything but to go home."
I will not tell her until it's more necessary, thought much sooner
than she anticipates. And she was right, for on that very night Mr.
Browning sat reading a letter which ran as follows:
"I find myself so happy with _your little_ Rosamond, who chances to be
my room-mate, that I have postponed my visit to Riverside, until some
future time, which, if you continue neutral, may never come--but the
moment you trespass on forbidden ground, or breathe a word of love
into _her_ ear--beware! She loves _you_. I have found that out, and I
tell it because I know it will not make your life more happy, or your
punishment easier to bear!"
He did not shriek--he did not faint--he did not move--but from between
his teeth two words came like a burning hiss, "Curse her!" Then,
seizing his pen, he dashed off a few lines, bidding Rosamond "not to
delay a single moment, but to come home at once."
"She knows it all," he said, "and now, if _she_ comes here, it will
not be much worse. I can but die, let what will happen."
This letter took Rosamond and the Lawries by surprise, but not so Miss
Porter. She expected it, and when she saw how eager Rosamond was to
go, she smiled a hard, bitter smile, and said, "I've half a mind to go
with you."
"_What! where?_ To _Riverside?_" asked Rosamond, suspending her
preparations for a moment, and hardly knowing whether she were pleased
or not.
"Yes, to Riverside," returned Miss Porter, "though on the whole, I
think I'd better not. Mr. Browning may not care to see me. If he does,
you can write and let me know. Give him my love, and say that if you
had not described him as so incorrigible an old bach, I might be
coming there to try my powers upon him. I am _irresistible in my
diamonds_. Be sure and tell him that; and stay, Rosamond, I must give
you some little token of my affection. What shall it be?" and she
feigned to be thinking.
Most cruel must her thoughts have been, and even she hesitated a
moment ere she could bring herself to such an act. Then with a
contemptuous--"Pshaw!" she arose and opening her jewel box took from a
private drawer a plain gold ring, bearing date nine years back, and
having inscribed upon it simply her name "Marie." This she brought to
Rosamond, saying, "I can't wear it now;--my hands are too thin and
bony, but it just fits you,--see--" and she placed it upon the third
finger of Rosamond's left hand!
Rosamond thanked her,--admired the chaste beauty of the ring and then
went on with her packing, while the wicked woman seated herself by the
window and leaning her head upon her hands tried to quiet the voice of
conscience which cried out against the deed she had done.
"It does not matter," she thought. "That tie was severed years ago,--
by his own act, too. The ring shall go. But will he see it! Men do not
always observe such things," and then lest he should not quaff the cup
of bitterness prepared for him, she wrote on a tiny sheet of gilt-
edged paper, "Look on Rosamond's third finger!"
This she carefully sealed and gave to Rosamond, bidding her hand it to
Mr. Browning, and saying in answer to her look of inquiry, "It is
about a little matter concerning yourself. He can show it to you, if
he thinks proper!"
"The omnibus, Miss, for the cars," cried a servant at the door, and
with a hurried good-bye to her friends, Rosamond departed and was soon
on her way to Riverside.