_SHORT AND SWEET._
In the hall she found Steve and Kitty; for he had hidden his little
sweetheart behind the big couch, feeling that she had a right there,
having supported his spirits during the late anxiety with great
constancy and courage. They seemed so cosey, billing and cooing in the
shadow of the gay vase, that Rose would have slipped silently away if
they had not seen and called to her.
"He's not gone: I guess you'll find him in the parlor," said Steve,
divining with a lover's instinct the meaning of the quick look she
had cast at the hat-rack, as she shut the study-door behind her.
"Mercy, no! Archie and Phebe are there, so he'd have the sense to pop
into the sanctum and wait; unless you'd like me to go and bring him
out?" added Kitty, smoothing Rose's ruffled hair, and settling the
flowers on the bosom where Uncle Alec's head had laid until he fell
asleep.
"No, thank you, I'll go to him when I've seen my Phebe. She won't mind
me," answered Rose, moving on to the parlor.
"Look here," called Steve, "do advise them to hurry up and all be
married at once. We were just ready when uncle fell ill, and now we
can _not_ wait a day later than the first of May."
"Rather short notice," laughed Rose, looking back with the door-knob
in her hand.
"We'll give up all our splendor, and do it as simply as you like, if
_you_ will only come too. Think how lovely! three weddings at once! Do
fly round and settle things: there's a dear," implored Kitty, whose
imagination was fired with this romantic idea.
"How can I, when I have no bridegroom yet?" began Rose, with conscious
color in her tell-tale face.
"Sly creature! you know you've only got to say a word and have a
famous one. Una and her lion will be nothing to it," cried Steve, bent
on hastening his brother's affair, which was much too dilatory and
peculiar for his taste.
"He has been in no haste to come home, and I am in no haste to leave
it. Don't wait for me, 'Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr.;' I shall be a
year at least making up my mind: so you may lead off as splendidly as
you like, and I'll profit by your experience;" and Rose vanished into
the parlor, leaving Steve to groan over the perversity of superior
women, and Kitty to comfort him by promising to marry him on May-day
"all alone."
A very different couple occupied the drawing-room, but a happier one;
for they had known the pain of separation, and were now enjoying the
bliss of a reunion which was to last unbroken for their lives. Phebe
sat in an easy-chair, resting from her labors, pale and thin and worn,
but lovelier in Archie's eyes than ever before. It was very evident
that he was adoring his divinity; for, after placing a footstool at
her feet, he had forgotten to get up, and knelt there, with his elbow
on the arm of her chair, looking like a thirsty man drinking long
draughts of the purest water.
"Shall I disturb you if I pass through?" asked Rose, loth to spoil the
pretty tableau.
"Not if you stop a minute on the way and congratulate me, cousin; for
she says 'Yes' at last!" cried Archie, springing up to go and bring
her to the arms Phebe opened as she appeared.
"I knew she would reward your patience, and put away her pride when
both had been duly tried," said Rose, laying the tired head on her
bosom, with such tender admiration in her eyes that Phebe had to shake
some bright drops from her own before she could reply in a tone of
grateful humility, that showed how much her heart was touched,--
"How can I help it, when they all are so kind to me? Any pride would
melt away under such praise and thanks and loving wishes as I've had
to-day; for every member of the family has taken pains to welcome me,
to express far too much gratitude, and to beg me to be one of you. I
needed very little urging; but, when Archie's father and mother came
and called me 'daughter,' I would have promised any thing to show my
love for them."
"And him," added Rose; but Archie seemed quite satisfied, and kissed
the hand he held as if it had been that of a beloved princess, while
he said with all the pride Phebe seemed to have lost,--
"Think what she gives up for me: fame and fortune and the admiration
of many a better man. You don't know what a splendid prospect she has
of becoming one of the sweet singers who are loved and honored
everywhere; and all this she puts away for my sake, content to sing
for me alone, with no reward but love."
"I am so glad to make a little sacrifice for a great happiness: I
never shall regret it or think my music lost, if it makes home
cheerful for my mate. Birds sing sweetest in their own nests, you
know," and Phebe bent toward him with a look and gesture which plainly
showed how willingly she offered up all ambitious hopes upon the altar
of a woman's happy love.
Both seemed to forget that they were not alone, and in a moment they
were; for a sudden impulse carried Rose to the door of her sanctum, as
if the south wind which seemed to have set in was wafting this little
ship also toward the Islands of the Blest, where the others were
safely anchored now.
The room was a blaze of sunshine and a bower of spring freshness and
fragrance: for here Rose had let her fancy have free play; and each
garland, fern, and flower had its meaning. Mac seemed to have been
reading this sweet language of symbols, to have guessed why Charlie's
little picture was framed in white roses, why pansies hung about his
own, why Psyche was half hidden among feathery sprays of
maiden's-hair, and a purple passion-flower lay at Cupid's feet. The
last fancy evidently pleased him; for he was smiling over it, and
humming to himself, as if to beguile his patient waiting, the burden
of the air Rose so often sung to him,--
"Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang
To the birks of Aberfeldie?"
"Yes, Mac, anywhere!"
He had not heard her enter, and wheeling round looked at her with a
radiant face, as he said, drawing a long breath,--
"At last! you were so busy over the dear man, I got no word. But I can
wait: I'm used to it."
Rose stood quite still, surveying him with a new sort of reverence in
her eyes, as she answered with a sweet solemnity, that made him laugh
and redden with the sensitive joy of one to whom praise from her lips
was very precious.
"You forget that you are not the Mac who went away. I should have run
to meet my cousin, but I did not dare to be familiar with the poet
whom all begin to honor."
"You like the mixture then? You know I said I'd try to give you love
and poetry together."
"Like it! I'm so glad, so proud, I haven't any words strong and
beautiful enough to half express my wonder and my admiration. How
_could_ you do it, Mac?" and a whole face full of smiles broke loose,
as Rose clapped her hands, looking as if she could dance with sheer
delight at his success.
"It did itself, up there among the hills, and here with you, or out
alone upon the sea. I could write a heavenly poem this very minute,
and put you in as Spring; you look like her in that green gown with
snowdrops in your bonny hair. Rose, am I getting on a little? Does a
hint of fame help me nearer to the prize I'm working for? Is your
heart more willing to be won?"
He did not stir a step, but looked at her with such intense longing
that his glance seemed to draw her nearer like an irresistible appeal;
for she went and stood before him, holding out both hands, as if she
offered all her little store, as she said with simplest sincerity,--
"It is not worth so much beautiful endeavor; but, if you still want so
poor a thing, it is yours."
He caught the hands in his, and seemed about to take the rest of her,
but hesitated for an instant, unable to believe that so much happiness
was true.
"Are you sure, Rose,--very sure? Don't let a momentary admiration
blind you: I'm not a poet yet; and the best are but mortal men, you
know."
"It is not admiration, Mac."
"Nor gratitude for the small share I've taken in saving uncle? I had
my debt to pay, as well as Phebe, and was as glad to risk my life."
"No: it is not gratitude."
"Nor pity for my patience? I've only done a little yet, and am as far
as ever from being like your hero. I can work and wait still longer,
if you are not sure; for I must have all or nothing."
"O Mac! why will you be so doubtful? You said you'd make me love you,
and you've done it. Will you believe me now?" And, with a sort of
desperation, she threw herself into his arms, clinging there in
eloquent silence, while he held her close; feeling, with a thrill of
tender triumph, that this was no longer little Rose, but a loving
woman, ready to live and die for him.
"Now I'm satisfied!" he said presently, when she lifted up her face,
full of maidenly shame at the sudden passion which had carried her out
of herself for a moment. "No: don't slip away so soon; let me keep you
for one blessed minute, and feel that I have really found my Psyche."
"And I my Cupid," answered Rose, laughing, in spite of her emotion, at
the idea of Mac in that sentimental character.
He laughed too, as only a happy lover could; then said, with sudden
seriousness,--
"Sweet Soul! lift up your lamp, and look well before it is too late;
for I'm no god, only a very faulty man."
"Dear Love! I will. But I have no fear, except that you will fly too
high for me to follow, because I have no wings."
"You shall live the poetry, and I will write it; so my little gift
will celebrate your greater one."
"No: you shall have all the fame, and I'll be content to be known only
as the poet's wife."
"And I'll be proud to own that my best inspiration comes from the
beneficent life of a sweet and noble woman."
"O Mac! we'll work together, and try to make the world better by the
music and the love we leave behind us when we go."
"Please God, we will!" he answered fervently; and, looking at her as
she stood there in the spring sunshine, glowing with the tender
happiness, high hopes, and earnest purposes that make life beautiful
and sacred, he felt that now the last leaf had folded back, the golden
heart lay open to the light, and his Rose had bloomed.
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son.