MAKING LOVE.
An accident had occurred to the downward train, and Rosamond was
detained upon the road for a long time, so that it was already dark
when she reached the Granby depot. Wishing to surprise Mr. Browning,
she started for home on foot, leaving her trunks in charge of the
baggage master. All around the house was still, and stepping into the
hall she was about passing up the stairs, when the parlor door
suddenly opened, throwing a glare of light upon her face. The same
instant some one caught her round the neck, and kissing her twice,
only released her when she exclaimed, "_Mr. Browning_, I am surprised
at you!"
"Mr. Browning! _Thunder!_ Just as though I was my uncle!" cried a
familiar voice, and looking at the speaker, Rosamond recognized _Ben
Van Vechten!_ He had come to Riverside the day previous, he said, and
hearing she was expected, had waited at the depot four mortal hours,
and then returned in disgust.
"But how did you know me?" she asked, and he replied, "By your
daguerreotype, of course. There is but one such beautiful face in the
whole world."
He was disposed to be complimentary, and Rosamond was not sorry when
his mother appeared, for in her presence he was tolerably reserved.
Mrs. Van Vechten greeted Rosamond politely, but the old hauteur was
there, and her manner seemed to say, "If you are educated and refined,
I can't forget that you were once my waiting-maid."
"Where is Mr. Browning?" asked Rosamond, and _Ben_ replied, "Oh, up in
his den having the shakes. He mopes there all the time. Can't you
break him of the blues?"
"I'll go and try," answered Rosamond, and she started up the stairs,
followed by Ben, whose mother called him back, bidding him, in a low
voice, "stay where he was, and not make a fool of himself."
She could trust her _brother_, but not her _son_, and she thus did the
former the greatest favor she could have done--she let him meet young
Rosamond Leyton alone. The evening was quite chilly for July, and, as,
since the receipt of Miss Porter's note, Mr. Browning had seemed
rather agueish, there was a fire burning in the grate, and it cast its
shadows upon him as he sat in his accustomed chair. His back was
toward the door, and he knew nothing of Rosamond's return until two,
soft, white hands were placed before his eyes, and a voice which tried
to be unnatural, said "Guess who I am."
"Rosamond--darling--have you come back to me again?" he exclaimed, and
starting up, he wound his arm about her, and looked into her face,
expecting, momentarily, to hear her say, "Yes, I know it all."
But Rosamond did not say so. She merely told him how glad she was to
be at home once more, in her delight forgetting that Marie Porter had
said she loved the man who held her closely to his side and smoothed
her wavy hair even while his heart throbbed painfully with memories of
the past and trembled for the future. He longed to speak of her room-
mate, but he dared not betray his knowledge of her existence, and he
sat there waiting, yet dreading to hear the hated name.
"Did you room alone?" he asked at last, and now remembering the words,
"You do love him," Rosamond moved quickly from his side. "She does
know," he thought, and a silent moan of anguish died upon his lips.
But Rosamond did not know--the movement was actuated by mere maidenly
reserve, and sitting down directly opposite him, she told him of Miss
Porter, whom she said she liked so well.
"How much of an invalid is she?" asked Mr. Browning, when he could
trust his voice to speak.
"Her health is miserable," returned Rosamond. "She has the heart
disease, and her waiting-maid told me she was liable to die at any
time if unusually excited."
It might have been because Rosamond was there that Mr. Browning
thought the room was brighter than it had been before, and quite
calmly he listened while she told him more of her new friend.
"She seemed so interested in you, and in Riverside," said Rosamond,
"and even proposed coming home with me--"
Mr. Browning started suddenly, and as suddenly a coal snapped out upon
the carpet. This was an excuse for his movement, and Rosamond
continued, "She thought, though, you might not care to see her, being
a stranger, but she sent you _her love,_ and--. You are cold, ain't
you, Mr. Browning? You shiver like a leaf. Ben said you'd had the
ague."
Rosamond closed the door and commenced again. "Where was I? Oh, I
know. She said if you were not a confirmed bachelor she would try her
powers on you. _'She was irresistible in her diamonds,'_ she bade me
tell you. But have you an ague chill, really? or what makes your teeth
chatter so? Shall I ring for more coal?"
"No, Rosamond, no. Fire does not warm me; I shall be better soon."
Rosamond pitied him, he looked so white and seemed to be suffering so
much, and she remained silent for a time. Then remembering the note,
she handed it to him, and turning toward the fire, stooped down to fix
a bit of coal which was in danger of dropping from the grate. While in
this attitude a cry between a howl of rage and a moan of anguish fell
upon her ear--her shoulders were grasped by powerful hands, and
looking up she saw Mr. Browning, his face distorted with passion and
his flashing eyes riveted upon the _ring_ glittering in the firelight.
Seizing her hand, he wrenched it from her finger, and glanced at the
name--then, swift as thought, placed it upon the marble hearth, and
crushed it with his heel.
"It's mine--you've broken it," cried Rosamond, but he did not heed
her, and gathering up the pieces, he hurled them into the grate--then,
pale as ashes, sank panting into the nearest chair.
Rosamond was thunder-struck. She did not suppose he had had time to
read the note, and never dreaming there was any connection between
that and his strange conduct, she believed him to be raving mad, and
her first impulse was to fly. Her second thought, however, was, "I
will not leave him. He has these fits often, now, I know, and that is
why he sent for me. He knew I could quiet him, and I will."
So Rosamond stayed, succeeding so far in soothing him that his eyes
lost their savage gleam, and were suffused with a look of unnatural
tenderness when they rested on her face. He did not ask her how she
came by the ring, for he knew it had been sent as an insult to him,
and he felt a glow of satisfaction in knowing that it was blackening
on the grate. Ben's voice was now heard in the hall, asking if they
intended staying there all night, and in a whisper Mr. Browning bade
Rosamond go down and apologize for him. She accordingly descended to
the parlor, telling Mrs. Van Vechten that her brother was too much
indisposed to come down, and wished to be excused. Mrs. Van Vechten
bowed coolly, and taking a book of prints, busied herself for awhile
in examining them; then the book dropped from her hand--her head fell
back--her mouth fell open, and Ben, who was anxiously watching her,
knew by unmistakable sounds that she was fast asleep. It was now his
time, and faithfully did he improve it, devoting himself so
assiduously to Rosamond, that she was glad when a _snore,_ louder and
more prolonged than any which had preceded it started the lady
herself, and produced symptoms of returning consciousness.
The next day, and the next, it was the same, and at the expiration of
a week, Ben had determined either to marry Rosamond Leyton, or go to
the _Crimean War,_ this last being the bugbear, with which he intended
frightening his mother into a consent. He hardly dared disobey her
openly for fear of disinheritance, and he would rather she should
express her willingness to receive Miss Leyton as her daughter. He
accordingly startled her one day by asking her to sanction his
intended proposal to the young girl. Nothing could exceed Mrs. Van
Vechten's amazement and contempt. She would never consent, and if Ben
persisted in making so disgraceful an alliance, she would disinherit
him at once. Ben knew she was in earnest, and so fell back upon the
Crimean war as a last resort. "He would go immediately--would start
that very day for New York--he had money enough to carry him there,"
and he painted so vividly "death on a distant battle-field, with a
ferocious _Russian_ rifling his trousers' pocket," that his mother
began to cry, though she still refused to relent.
"Choose, mother, choose," said he. "It's almost car time--Rosamond or
the war," and he drew on his heavy boots.
"Oh Benjamin, you, will kill me dead."
"I know it. I mean to. Rosamond or the war!" and he buttoned up his
coat preparatory to a start.
"Do, Ben, listen to reason."
"I won't--I won't;--Rosamond or the war! I shall rush into the
thickest of the fight, and be killed the first fire, of course, and
black is _so_ unbecoming to you."
"Stop, I entreat. You know you are afraid of cannons;" this was said
beseechingly.
"Thunder, mother! No, I ain't! Rosamond or the war--choose quick. I
hear the whistle at East Granby."
He left the room--went down the stairs, out at the door, through the
yard, and out into the avenue, while his distracted mother looked
after him through blinding tears. She knew how determined he was when
once his mind was made up, and she feared his present excitement would
last until he was fairly shipped, and it was too late to return. He
would never fight, she was sure, and at the first battle-sound he
would fly, and be hung as a deserter, no doubt! This touched her
pride. She would rather people should say of her boy that he married a
milliner's daughter than that he was hung, and hurrying to the window
just as Ben looked back, hoping for a signal, she waved her hand for
him to return, calling out at the top of her voice, "I relent--I
relent." "I knew the _Crimea_ would fetch her," said Ben; "lucky I
thought of that," and without going to his mother at all, he sought
out Rosamond. Half an hour later he astonished the former by rushing
into her presence, and exclaiming, "She's refused me, mother; and she
meant it, too. Oh, _I shall die_--I know I shall. _Oh, oh, oh!"_ and
Ben rolled on the floor in his frantic grief. As nearly as she could,
Mrs. Van Vechten learned the particulars of his interview with
Rosamond, and, though at first secretly pleased that he had been
refused, she felt a very little piqued that her son should thus be
dishonored, and when she saw how wretched it had made him, her
feelings were enlisted in his behalf, and she tried to soothe him by
saying that her brother had a great deal of influence with Rosamond,
and they would refer the matter to him.
"Go now, mother. Don't wait a minute," pleaded Ben, and Mrs. Van
Vechten started for her brother's library.
She found him alone, and disclosed the object of her visit at once.
Rosamond had refused her son, who, in consequence, was nearly
distracted, and threatened going to the Crimean war--a threat she knew
he would execute unless her brother persuaded Rosamond to revoke her
decision and think again.
Mr. Browning turned as white as marble, but his sister was too much
absorbed in her own matters to heed his emotions, and she continued--
"Of course it will be mortifying to us all to have her in the family,
and maybe Ben will get over it; but they must be engaged somehow, or
he'll go away. I'll send her up to you immediately," and she hurriedly
left the room in quest of Rosamond. For a moment Mr. Browning sat like
one stupefied; then, covering his face with his hands, he moaned,
"Must _this_ come upon me, too? Must I, who love her so madly, bid her
marry another? And yet what does it matter? She can never be mine--and
if she marries Ben I can keep them with me always, and that vile woman
will have no cause for annoying me. She said Rosamond loved me, but I
pray Heaven that may not be so."
A light tread echoed in the hall, and with each fall of those little
feet, Ralph Browning's heart throbbed painfully. Another moment and
Rosamond was there with him--her cheeks flushed--her eyelashes wet
with tears, and her whole manner betrayed an unusual degree of
excitement.
"I understand from your sister," said she, "that you wish me to marry
_Ben,_ or leave your house. I will do the latter, but the former--
never! Shall I consider our interview at an end?"
She turned to leave the room, but Mr. Browning caught her dress,
exclaiming: "Stay, Rosamond, and hear me. I never uttered such words
to Mrs. Van Vechten. I do not wish you to marry Ben unless you love
him. Do you love him, Rosamond? Do you love anybody?"
This was not what he intended to say--but he had said it, and now he
waited for her answer. To the first question it came in a decided "No,
I do not love him," and to the last it came in burning blushes,
stealing over her cheek--her forehead--her neck, and speaking in her
downcast eye. She had never believed that she did love her guardian,
until told that he wished her to marry another, when it burst upon her
in all its force, and she could no more conceal it now than she could
stop the rapid beatings of her heart. He saw it all in her tell-tale
face, and forgetting everything, he wound his arms around her, and
drawing her to his side, whispered in her ear, "Darling, Rosamond, say
that you love me. Let me hear that assurance once, and I shall be
almost willing to die."
"Ladies do not often confess an attachment until sure it is returned,"
was Rosamond's answer, and doubly forgetful now of all the dreary
past, Ralph Browning poured into her ear hot, burning words of love--
hugging her closer and closer to him until through the open window
came the sound of Mrs. Peters' voice calling to the stranger girl who
had that morning entered service at Riverside as a waiting-maid in
general. _Maria_ was the name, and as the ominous word fell upon Mr.
Browning's ear, he started, and pushing Rosamond from him, turned
his face away so she could not see the expression of mute despair
settling down upon it. Sinking upon the lounge he buried his face in
its cushions while Rosamond looked curiously upon him, feeling sure
that she knew what it was that so affected him. He had told her of his
love--had said that she was dearer to him than his life, and in
confessing this he had forgotten the dark shadow upon his life, and it
was the dread of telling it to her--the pain of saying "I love you,
but you cannot be my wife," which affected him so strangely. But she
knew it all, and she longed to assure him of her sympathy. At last
when he seemed to be more calm, she stole up to him, and kneeling at
his side bent over him so that her bright hair mingled with his own.
"Mr. Browning," she whispered softly, "I _know your secret,_ and I do
not love you less."
"_You, Rosamond, you know it!_" he exclaimed, gazing fixedly at her.
"It cannot be. You would never do as you have done."
"But I do know it," she continued, taking both his hands in hers, and
looking him steadily in the eye, by way of controlling him, should he
be seized with a sudden attack, "I know exactly what it is, and though
it will prevent me from being your wife, it will not prevent me from
loving you just the same, or from living with you either. I shall stay
here always--and--and--pardon me, Mr. Browning, but when you get
furious, as you sometimes do, I can quiet you better than any one
else, and it may be, the world will never need to know you're a
_madman!"_
Mr. Browning looked searchingly into her innocent eyes, and then, in
spite of himself, he laughed aloud. He understood why she should think
him a madman, and though he repented of it afterward, he hastened to
undeceive her now. "As I hope to see another day, it is not that," he
said. "It is far worse than insanity; and, Rosamond, though it breaks
my heart to say it, it is wicked for me to talk of love to you, and
you must not remember what I said. You must crush every tender thought
of me. You must forget me--nay, more--you must _hate_ me. Will you,
Rosamond?"
"No--no--no! she cried, and laying her face in his lap, she burst into
a passionate flood of tears.
"Leave me," he whispered, "or I _shall_ go mad, for I know I am the
cause of this distress."
There was decision in the tones of his voice, and it stilled the
tumult in Rosamond's bosom. Rising to her feet, she said calmly: "I
will go, but I cannot forget that you deceived me. You have wrung from
me a confession of my love, only to throw it back upon me as a
priceless thing."
Not thus would he part with her, and grasping her arm, he began:
"Heaven knows how much more than my very life I love you--"
He did not finish the sentence, for through the air a small, dark
object came, and, missing its aim, dropped upon the hearth, where it
was broken in a hundred pieces. It was a vase which stood upon the
table in the hall, and Ben Van Vechten's was the hand that threw it!
Impatient at the delay, he had come up in time to hear his uncle's
last words, which aroused his Southern blood at once, and seizing the
vase, he hurled it at the offender's head--then, rushing down the
stairs, he burst upon his mother with "Great thunder! mother; Uncle
Ralph is making love to Rosamond himself, and she likes it too. I saw
it with my own eyes! I'll hang myself in the barn, or go to the
Crimean war!" and Ben bounded up and down like an India-rubber ball.
Suddenly remembering that another train was due ere long, he darted
out of the house, followed by his distracted mother, who, divining his
intention, ran swiftly after him, imploring him to return. Pausing for
a moment as he struck into the highway, he called out, "Good-by,
mother. I've only one choice left--WAR! Give my love to Rosamond, and
tell her I shall die like a hero. You needn't wear black, if you don't
want to. Good-by."
He turned the corner--he had started for the _war_--and mentally
resolving to follow him in the next train, Mrs. Van Vechten returned
to the house, and sought her brother.
"Ralph," she began, sternly, "have you talked of love to Rosamond?"
Mr. Browning had borne so much that nothing startled him now, and
returning her glance unflinchingly, he replied, "I have."
"How, then--is Marie dead?" the lady asked.
"Not to my knowledge--but hist," was the reply, as Mr. Browning nodded
toward the hall, where a rustling movement was heard.
It was the _new girl_, coming with a dust-pan and brush to remove the
fragments of the vase, though how she knew they were there, was a
question she alone could answer. For a single instant her dull, gray
eye shot a gleam of intelligence at the occupants of the room, and
then assuming her usual appearance, she did what she came to do, and
departed. When they were again alone, Mrs. Van Vechten demanded an
explanation of her brother, who gave it unhesitatingly. Cold-hearted
as she always seemed, Mrs. Van Vechten had some kind feelings left,
and, touched by her brother's tale of suffering, she gave him no word
of reproach, and even unbent herself to say that a brighter day might
come to him yet. Then she spoke of Ben, announcing her determination
of following him that night. To this plan Mr. Browning offered no
remonstrance, and when the night express left the Granby station, it
carried with it Mrs. Van Vechten, in pursuit of the runaway Ben.