THE GUEST AT RIVERSIDE.
The November days had come. The satin dress was made--the bridal veil
sent home--the wreath of orange, too; and then, one morning when the
summer, it would seem, had come to revisit the scenes of its brief
reign, Mr. Browning kissed his bride-elect, and wiped away the two big
tears which dropped from her eyelashes when he told her that he was
going away for that day and the next.
"But when to-morrow's sun is setting, I shall be with you again," he
said, and he bade her quiet the fluttering of her little heart, which
throbbed so painfully at parting with him.
"I don't know why it is," she said, "I'm not one bit superstitious,
but Bruno howled so dismally under my window all night, and when he
ceased, a horrid owl set up a screech. I told Maria, and she said, in
her country the cry of an owl was a sign that the grave was about to
give up its dead, and she looked so mysterious that she frightened me
all the more--"
"That Maria is too superstitious, and I don't like her to be with you
so much," said Mr. Browning, his own cheek turning slightly pale, as
he thought of the grave giving up _his_ dead. Thrice he turned back to
kiss the little maiden, who followed him down the avenue, and then
climbed into a box-like seat, which had been built on the top of the
gate-post, and was sheltered by a sycamore. "Here," said she, "shall I
wait for you to-morrow night, when the sun is away over there. Oh, I
wish it would hurry."
He wished so, too, and with another fond good-by they parted. The day
seemed long to Rosamond, and, though she varied the time by trying on
each and every one of her new dresses, she was glad when it was night,
so she could go to bed and sleep the time away. The next morning the
depression of spirits was gone; he was coming--she should wait for him
beneath the sycamore--possibly she would hide to make him believe she
was not there, and the bright blushes stole over her dimpled cheeks as
she thought what he would do when he found that she _was_ there.
"Ten o'clock," she said to herself, as she heard the whistle of the
upward train. "Seven hours more and he will come."
Going to her room, she took a book, in which she tried to be
interested, succeeding so well that, though her windows commanded a
view of the avenue, she did not see the lady who came slowly up the
walk, casting about her eager, curious glances, and pausing more than
once to note the exceeding beauty of the place. Once she stopped for a
long time, and, leaning against a tree, seemed to be debating whether
to turn back or go on. Deciding upon the latter, she arose, and
quickening her movements, soon stood upon the threshold. Her ring was
answered by Maria, who betrayed no surprise, for from the upper hall
Mrs. Peters herself was closely inspecting the visitor.
"Is Mr. Browning at home?" the lady asked.
"Gone to Buffalo," was the laconic reply, and a gleam of satisfaction
flitted over the face of the questioner, who continued--"And the young
lady, Miss Leyton? Has she gone too?"
"She is here," said Maria, still keeping her eye upon the shadow
bending over the balustrade. "What name shall I give her?"
"No name. I wish to surprise her," and passing on into the parlor,
thestranger laid aside her hat and shawl with the air of one perfectly
at
home; then seating herself upon a sofa, she examined the room as
curiously as she had examined the grounds of Riverside.
"It seems a pity to mar all this," she said, "and were it not that I
hate him so much, I would go away forever, though that would be a
greater injury to her than my coming to life will be. Of course he's
told her all, and spite of her professed liking for me, she is glad
that I am dead. I long, yet dread, to see her amazement; but hist--she
comes."
There was the sound of little, high-heeled slippers on the stairs, the
flutter of a pink morning gown, and then Rosamond Leyton stood face to
face with--Marie Porter! The grave had given up its dead, and without
any visible marks of the world prepared for such as she, save, indeed,
the increased _fire_ which burned in her black eyes, the risen woman
sat there much as living people sit--her head bent forward--her lips
apart--and a look of expectation upon her face. But she was doomed to
disappointment. Rosamond knew nothing of the past, and with a cry of
pleasurable surprise she started forward, exclaiming, "Oh, Miss
Porter, I felt so cross when told a visitor was here, but now I know
who 'tis, I am so glad, for I am very lonely to-day."
The hard woman swept her hand a moment before her eyes, and with that
movement swept away the kindly spirit, which whispered, "Don't
undeceive her. Don't quench the light of that bright face, nor break
that girlish heart."
But it was necessary; Marie Porter knew that, and though she repented
of what she had done, it was now too late to retreat, and all she
could do was to break the heart of the unsuspecting girl as tenderly
as possible.
"Why are you so lonely?" she said, "This is a most beautiful spot. I
believe I'd like to live here myself."
"Oh, yes, 'tis a lovely place," answered Rosamond, "but--but--Mr.
Browning is not here," and she averted her crimson face.
"Is Mr. Browning so necessary to your happiness" Miss Porter asked,
and bringing an ottoman, Rosamond sat down at her visitor's feet and
thus replied: "We talked so much of him at the Springs that it surely
is not foolish in me to tell you what everybody knows. Now, you won't
laugh at me, will you? Mr. Browning and I are going to--oh, I can't
tell it; but, any way, your fortune-telling is not true."
"Mr. Browning and you are going to be married. Is that it?" the woman
asked; and with a quick, upward glance of her soft, brown
eyes, Rosamond replied, Yes, that's it--that's it; and oh, you can't
begin to guess how happy I am. He is not _crazy_ either. It was
something else, though I don't know what, for he never told me, and I
do not care to know. The obstacle has been removed, whatever it was,
and it has wrought such a change in him. He's so much younger--
handsomer, now, and so kind to me. I'm glad you've come, Miss Porter,
and you'll stay till after the wedding. It's the twentieth, and he has
bought me so many new things. We are going to Europe. Just think of a
winter in Paris, with Mr. Browning! But, what! Are you _crying_?" and
Rosamond started as a burning tear fell upon her forehead.
"Rosamond Leyton," said Miss Porter, in a voice husky with emotion, "I
have not wept in eight long years, but the sight of you, so innocent,
so happy, wrings the tears from my stony heart, as agony will
sometimes force out the drops of perspiration when the body is
shivering with cold. I was young like you once, and my bridal was
fixed--" She paused, and stealing an arm around her waist, Rosamond
said pleadingly, "Tell me about it, Miss Porter, I always knew you had
a history. Did the man die?"
"No--no. Better for me if he had--aye, and better, too, for you."
This last was a whisper, and Rosamond did not hear it. Her thoughts
were bent upon the story, and she continued, "Will it pain you too
much to tell it now?"
"Yes, yes, wait," Miss Porter said, "Wait until after dinner, and
meantime, as I cannot possibly stay until the 20th, perhaps you will
let me see your dresses."
Nothing could please Rosamond more, and gay as a little child, she led
the way to a large upper room, which contained her wedding outfit.
Proudly she displayed her treasures, flitting like a bird from one
pile of finery to another, and reserving the most important until the
very last.
"There's the dinner-bell," she suddenly exclaimed, "I did not think it
could be _one_. Only four hours more--but come, let us go down and
after dinner, if you'll never tell Mrs. Peters, nor anybody, I'll try
on my bridal dress and let you see if it is becoming. I want so much
to know how it looks, since Maria put the rose-buds in the berthe. And
then your story. I must hear that."
As they were going down the stairs Miss Porter took Rosamond's hand
and said, "How is this?--Where is my ring?"
Rosamond could not tell her of an act which now that it no longer had
insanity for an excuse, puzzled her not a little. So she made some
trivial excuse, which, however, did not deceive her auditor. But the
latter deemed it wise to say no more just then, and silently followed
her young friend into the dining-room. Dinner being over they went up
to Rosamond's chamber, the closet of which contained the bridal robes.
"_Two o'clock_," said Rosamond, consulting her watch, then bringing
out the rich white satin and exquisite overskirt of lace, she
continued, "I shall have just time to try this on, hear your story and
get dressed before Mr. Browning comes. How short the day seems with
you here! I told him I'd be sitting in that little box which you
possibly noticed, built on the gate-post against the tree.--And he'll
be so disappointed not to find me there, that maybe you won't mind my
leaving you awhile when the sun is right over the woods."
"Certainly not," answered Miss Porter, and the dressing-up process
began, Rosamond chatting gayly all the while and asking if it were
very foolish for her to try on the dress. "I should not do it," she
said, "if you would stay. Can't you?"
The answer was a decided negative, and adjusting her little slipper,
Rosamond stood up while her companion put over her head the satin
dress. It fitted admirably, and nothing could have been fairer than
the round, chubby arms and plump, well-shaped shoulders which the
_shortcomings_ of the dress showed to good advantage. Now the lace
over-skirt--now the berthe--and then the veil, with the orange-wreath
twined among the flowing curls, and Rosamond was dressed at last.
"How do I look?" she asked, but Marie Porter made no immediate reply,
and as she gazed upon the young girl, so beautiful, so innocent, and
unsuspecting, who can tell of the keen anguish at her heart, or how
she shrank from the bitter task which she must do, and quickly, too,
for the clock pointed to _three_, and her plan was now to strike the
_dove_ and then flee ere the _eagle_ came. She would thus wound him
more deeply, for the very uncertainty would add fresh poison to his
cup of agony.
"How do I look?" Rosamond asked again, and after duly complimenting
the dress, Miss Porter added, "I promised you my story, and if I tell
it at all to-day, I must begin it now, for it is long, and I would
finish it ere Mr. Browning comes."
"Very well, I'm all attention," said Rosamond, and like a lamb before
its slaughterer she knelt before the woman, bending low her graceful
head to have the wreath removed.
This done, Miss Porter said, "Have you any camphor handy, or
hartshorn? I am sometimes faint and may want them."
"Yes, both, here, in the bathing-room," said Rosamond, and she brought
them to the lady, who placed them upon the table--not for herself, but
for one who would need them more--for poor, poor Rosamond. The
disrobing proceeded slowly, for the little girl was well pleased with
the figure reflected by the mirror. But Miss Porter could not wait,
and when the wreath, the veil, and berthe were removed, she seated
herself by the window in a position which commanded a full view of her
victim's face; and forcing down the throbbings of her heart, which it
seemed to her were audible in that silent room, she commenced the
story.