Madame's anxiety was much diminished after she began to receive
letters in Rosa's own handwriting; but, knowing the laws of Georgia,
and no longer doubtful concerning Fitzgerald's real character, she
placed small reliance upon his promise of manumission. "This is
another of his deceptions," said she to the Signor. "I have been
thinking a good deal about the state of things, and I am convinced
there will be no security in this country for that poor girl. You have
been saying for some time that you wanted to see your beautiful Italy
again, and I have the same feeling about my beautiful France. We each
of us have a little money laid up; and if we draw upon the fund Mr.
King has deposited, we can take Rosabella to Europe and bring her out
as a singer."
"She would have a great career, no doubt," replied the Signor; "and I
was going to suggest such a plan to you. But you would have to change
your name again on my account, Madame; for I was obliged to leave
Italy because I was discovered to be one of the Carbonari; and though
fifteen years have elapsed, it is possible the watchful authorities
have not forgotten my name."
"That's a trifling obstacle," resumed Madame. "You had better give
notice to your pupils at once that you intend to leave as soon as
present engagements are fulfilled. I will use up my stock for fancy
articles, and sell off as fast as possible, that we may be ready to
start for Europe as soon as Rosa has sufficient strength."
This resolution was immediately acted upon; but the fates were
unpropitious to Madame's anticipated visit to the lonely island. A few
days before her intended departure, the Signor was taken seriously
ill, and remained so for two or three weeks. He fretted and fumed,
more on her account than his own, but she, as usual, went through the
trial bravely. She tried to compensate Rosa for the disappointment,
as far as she could, by writing frequent letters, cheerful in tone,
though prudently cautious concerning details. Fearing that Mr.
Fitzgerald's suspicions might be excited by an apparent cessation of
correspondence, she continued to write occasionally under cover to
him, in a style adapted to his views, in case he should take a fancy
to open the letters. The Signor laughed, and said, "Your talent for
diplomacy is not likely to rust for want of use, Madame." Even Rosa,
sad at heart as she was, could not help smiling sometimes at the
totally different tone of the letters which she received under
different covers.
She had become so accustomed to passive endurance, that no murmur
escaped her when she found that her only white friend could not come
to her, as she had expected. Granny Nan boasted of having nursed many
grand white ladies, and her skill in the vocation proved equal to her
pretensions. Only her faithful Tulee and the kind old colored mammy
were with her when, hovering between life and death, she heard the cry
that announced the advent of a human soul. Nature, deranged by bodily
illness and mental trouble, provided no nourishment for the little
one; but this, which under happier circumstances would have been a
disappointment, called forth no expressions of regret from the patient
sufferer. When Tulee held the babe before her in its first dress, she
smiled faintly, but immediately closed her eyes. As she lay there, day
after day, with the helpless little creature nestling in her arms,
the one consoling reflection was that she had not given birth to a
daughter. A chaos of thoughts were revolving through her mind; the
theme of all the variations being how different it was from what it
might have been, if the ideal of her girlhood had not been shattered
so cruelly. Had it not been for that glimmering light in the future
which Madame so assiduously presented to her view, courage would have
forsaken her utterly. As it was, she often listened to the dash of the
sea with the melancholy feeling that rest might be found beneath its
waves. But she was still very young, the sky was bright, the earth was
lovely, and she had a friend who had promised to provide a safe asylum
for her somewhere. She tried to regain her strength, that she might
leave the island, with all its sad reminders of departed happiness.
Thinking of this, she rose one day and wandered into the little
parlor to take a sort of farewell look. There was the piano, so long
unopened, with a whole epic of love and sorrow in its remembered
tones; the pretty little table her mother had painted; the basket she
had received from her father after his death; Floracita's paintings
and mosses; and innumerable little tokens of Gerald's love. Walking
round slowly and feebly in presence of all those memories, how
alone she felt, with none to speak to but Tulee and the old colored
mammy,--she, who had been so tenderly cared for by her parents, so
idolized by him to whom she gave her heart! She was still gazing
pensively on these souvenirs of the past, when her attention was
arrested by Tom's voice, saying: "Dar's a picaninny at de Grat Hus.
How's turrer picaninny?"
The thought rushed upon her, "Ah, that baby had a father to welcome it
and fondle it; but _my_ poor babe--" A sensation of faintness came over
her; and, holding on by the chairs and tables, she staggered back to
the bed she had left.
Before the babe was a fortnight old, Tom announced that he was to
accompany his master to New Orleans, whither he had been summoned by
business. The occasion was eagerly seized by Rosa to send a letter
and some small articles to Madame and the Signor. Tulee gave him very
particular directions how to find the house, and charged him over and
over again to tell them everything. When she cautioned him not to let
his master know that he carried anything, Tom placed his thumb on the
tip of his nose, and moved the fingers significantly, saying: "Dis ere
nigger ha'n't jus' wakum'd up. Bin wake mos' ob de time sense twar
daylight." He foresaw it would be difficult to execute the commission
he had undertaken; for as a slave he of course had little control over
his own motions. He, however, promised to try; and Tulee told him she
had great confidence in his ingenuity in finding out ways and means.
"An' I tinks a heap o' ye, Tulee. Ye knows a heap more dan mos'
niggers," was Tom's responsive compliment. In his eyes Tulee was in
fact a highly accomplished person; for though she could neither read
nor write, she had caught the manners and speech of white people,
by living almost exclusively with them, and she was, by habit, as
familiar with French as English, beside having a little smattering of
Spanish. To have his ingenuity praised by her operated as a fillip
upon his vanity, and he inwardly resolved to run the risk of a
flogging, rather than fail to do her bidding. He was also most loyal
in the service of Rosa, whose beauty and kindliness had won his heart,
before his sympathy had been called out by her misfortunes. But none
of them foresaw what important consequences would result from his
mission.
The first day he was in New Orleans, he found no hour when he could be
absent without the liability of being called for by his master. The
next day Mr. Bruteman dined with his master, and Tom was in attendance
upon the table. Their conversation was at first about cotton crops,
the prices of negroes, and other business matters, to which Tom paid
little attention. But a few minutes afterward his ears were wide open.
"I suppose you came prepared to pay that debt you owe me," said Mr.
Bruteman.
"I am obliged to ask an extension of your indulgence," replied Mr.
Fitzgerald. "It is not in my power to raise that sum just now."
"How is that possible," inquired Mr. Bruteman, "when you have married
the daughter of a Boston nabob?"
"The close old Yankee keeps hold of most of his money while he lives,"
rejoined his companion; "and Mrs. Fitzgerald has expensive tastes to
be gratified."
"And do you expect me to wait till the old Yankee dies?" asked Mr.
Bruteman. "Gentlemen generally consider themselves bound to be prompt
in paying debts of honor."
"I'll pay you as soon as I can. What the devil can you ask more?"
exclaimed Fitzgerald. "It seems to me it's not the part of a gentleman
to play the dun so continually."
They had already drank pretty freely; but Mr. Bruteman took up
a bottle, and said, "Let us drink another glass to the speedy
replenishing of your purse." They poured full bumpers, touched
glasses, and drank the contents.
There was a little pause, during which Mr. Bruteman sat twirling
his glass between thumb and finger, with looks directed toward his
companion. All at once he said, "Fitzgerald, did you ever find those
handsome octoroon girls?"
"What octoroon girls?" inquired the other.
"O, you disremember them, do you?" rejoined he. "I mean how did that
bargain turn out that you made with Royal's creditors? You seemed to
have small chance of finding the girls; unless, indeed, you hid them
away first, for the purpose of buying them for less than half they
would have brought to the creditors,--which, of course, is not to be
supposed, because no gentleman would do such a thing."
Thrown off his guard by too much wine, Fitzgerald vociferated, "Do you
mean to insinuate that I am no gentleman?"
Mr. Bruteman smiled, as he answered: "I said such a thing was not to
be supposed. But come, Fitzgerald, let us understand one another. I'd
rather, a devilish sight, have those girls than the money you owe me.
Make them over to me, and I'll cancel the debt. Otherwise, I shall be
under the necessity of laying an attachment on some of your property."
There was a momentary silence before Mr. Fitzgerald answered, "One of
them is dead."
"Which one?" inquired his comrade.
"Flora, the youngest, was drowned."
"And that queenly beauty, where is she? I don't know that I ever heard
her name."
"Rosabella Royal," replied Fitzgerald. "She is living at a convenient
distance from my plantation."
"Well, I will be generous," said Bruteman. "If you will make _her_
over to me, I will cancel the debt."
"She is not in strong health at present," rejoined Fitzgerald. "She
has a babe about two weeks old."
"You know you have invited me to visit your island two or three
weeks hence," replied Bruteman; "and then I shall depend upon you to
introduce me to your fair Rosamond. But we will draw up the papers and
sign them now, if you please."
Some jests unfit for repetition were uttered by the creditor, to which
the unhappy debtor made no reply. When he called Tom to bring paper
and ink, the observing servant noticed that he was very pale, though
but a few moments before his face had been flushed.
That night, he tried to drown recollection in desperate gambling and
frequent draughts of wine. Between one and two o'clock in the morning,
his roisterous companions were led off by their servants, and he was
put into bed by Tom, where he immediately dropped into a perfectly
senseless sleep.
As soon as there was sufficient light, Tom started for the house of
the Signor; judging that he was safe from his master for three hours
at least. Notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, Madame made her
appearance in a very few moments after her servant informed her who
was in waiting, and the Signor soon followed. In the course of the
next hour and a half an incredible amount of talking was done in negro
"lingo" and broken English. The impetuous Signor strode up and down,
clenching his fists, cursing slavery, and sending Fitzgerald to the
Devil in a volley of phrases hard enough in their significance, though
uttered in soft-flowing Italian.
"Swearing does no good, my friend," said Madame; "besides, there isn't
time for it. Rosabella must be brought away immediately. Bruteman will
be on the alert, you may depend. She slipped through his fingers once,
and he won't trust Fitzgerald again."
The Signor cooled down, and proposed to go for her himself. But that
was overruled, in a very kind way, by his prudent wife, who argued
that he was not well enough for such an exciting adventure, or to
be left without her nursing, when his mind would be such a prey to
uneasiness. It was her proposition to send at once for her cousin
Duroy, and have him receive very particular directions from Tom how to
reach the island and find the cottage. Tom said he didn't know whether
he could get away for an hour again, because his master was always
very angry if he was out of the way when called; but if Mr. Duroy
would come to the hotel, he would find chances to tell him what to do.
And that plan was immediately carried into effect.
While these things were going on in New Orleans, Mrs. Fitzgerald was
taking frequent drives about the lovely island with her mother, Mrs.
Bell; while Rosa was occasionally perambulating her little circuit of
woods on the back of patient Thistle. One day Mrs. Fitzgerald and her
mother received an invitation to the Welby plantation, to meet some
Northern acquaintances who were there; and as Mrs. Fitzgerald's
strength was not yet fully restored, Mrs. Welby proposed that they
should remain all night. Chloe, who had lost her own baby, was chosen
to nurse her master's new-born heir, and was consequently tied so
closely that she could find no chance to go to the cottage, whose
inmates she had a great longing to see. But when master and mistress
were both gone, she thought she might take her freedom for a while
without incurring any great risk. The other servants agreed to keep
her secret, and Joe the coachman promised to drive her most of the
way when he came back with the carriage. Accordingly, she made her
appearance at the cottage quite unexpectedly, to the great joy of
Tulee.
When she unwrapped the little black-haired baby from its foldings
of white muslin, Tulee exclaimed: "He looks jus' like his
good-for-nothing father; and so does Missy Rosy's baby. I'm 'fraid 't
will make poor missy feel bad to see it, for she don't know nothin'
'bout it."
"Yes I do, Tulee," said Rosa, who had heard Chloe's voice, and gone
out to greet her. "I heard Tom tell you about it."
She took up the little hand, scarcely bigger than a bird's claw, and
while it twined closely about her finger, she looked into its eyes,
so like to Gerald's in shape and color. She was hoping that those
handsome eyes might never be used as his had been, but she gave
no utterance to her thoughts. Her manner toward Chloe was full of
grateful kindness; and the poor bondwoman had some happy hours,
playing free for a while. She laid the infant on its face in her lap,
trotting it gently, and patting its back, while she talked over with
Tulee all the affairs at the "Grat Hus." And when the babe was asleep,
she asked and obtained Rosa's permission to lay him on her bed beside
his little brother. Then poor Chloe's soul took wing and soared aloft
among sun-lighted clouds. As she prayed, and sang her fervent hymns,
and told of her visions and revelations, she experienced satisfaction
similar to that of a troubadour, or palmer from Holy Land, with an
admiring audience listening to his wonderful adventures.
While she was thus occupied, Tulee came in hastily to say that a
stranger gentleman was coming toward the house. Such an event in that
lonely place produced general excitement, and some consternation. Rosa
at once drew her curtain and bolted the door. But Tulee soon came
rapping gently, saying, "It's only I, Missy Rosy." As the door
partially opened, she said, "It's a friend Madame has sent ye." Rosa,
stepping forward, recognized Mr. Duroy, the cousin in whose clothes
Madame had escaped with them from New Orleans. She was very slightly
acquainted with him, but it was such a comfort to see any one who knew
of the old times that she could hardly refrain from throwing herself
on his neck and bursting into tears. As she grasped his hand with a
close pressure, he felt the thinness of her emaciated fingers. The
paleness of her cheeks, and the saddened expression of her large eyes,
excited his compassion. He was too polite to express it in words,
but it was signified by the deference of his manner and the extreme
gentleness of his tones. He talked of Madame's anxious love for her,
of the Signor's improving health, of the near completion of their plan
for going to Europe, and of their intention to take her with them.
Rosa was full of thankfulness, but said she was as yet incapable of
much exertion. Mr. Duroy went on to speak of Tom's visit to Madame;
and slowly and cautiously he prepared the way for his account of the
conversation between Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Bruteman. But careful as
he was, he noticed that her features tightened and her hands were
clenched. When he came to the interchange of writings, she sprung to
her feet, and, clutching his arm convulsively, exclaimed, "Did he
do that?" Her eyes were like a flame, and her chest heaved with the
quick-coming breath.
He sought to draw her toward him, saying in soothing tones, "They
shall not harm you, my poor girl. Trust to me, as if I were your
father." But she burst from him impetuously, and walked up and down
rapidly; such a sudden access of strength had the body received from
the frantic soul.
"Try not to be so much agitated," said he. "In a very short time you
will be in Europe, and then you will be perfectly safe."
She paused an instant in her walk, and, with a strange glare in her
eyes, she hissed out, "I hate him."
He laid his hand gently upon her shoulder, and said: "I want very much
that you should try to be calm. Some negroes are coming with a boat
at daybreak, and it is necessary we should all go away with them. You
ought to rest as much as possible beforehand."
"_Rest_!" repeated she with bitter emphasis. And clenching her teeth
hard, she again said, "I hate him!"
Poor Rosa! It had taken a mountain-weight of wrong so to crush out all
her gentleness.
Mr. Duroy became somewhat alarmed. He hastened to the kitchen and
told Chloe to go directly to Miss Rosa. He then briefly explained his
errand to Tulee, and told her to prepare for departure as fast as
possible. "But first go to your mistress," said he; "for I am afraid
she may go crazy."
The sufferer yielded more readily to Tulee's accustomed influence than
she had done to that of Mr. Duroy. She allowed herself to be laid upon
the bed; but while her forehead and temples were being bathed, her
heart beat violently, and all her pulses were throbbing. It was,
however, necessary to leave her with Chloe, who knelt by the bedside,
holding her hand, and praying in tones unusually low for her.
"I'm feared for her," said Tulee to Mr. Duroy. "I never see Missy Rosy
look so wild and strange."
A short time after, when she looked into the room, Rosa's eyes were
closed. She whispered to Chloe: "Poor Missy's asleep. You can come and
help me a little now."
But Rosa was not in the least drowsy. She had only remained still, to
avoid being talked to. As soon as her attendants had withdrawn, she
opened her eyes, and, turning toward the babes, she gazed upon them
for a long time. There they lay side by side, like twin kittens. But
ah! thought she, how different is their destiny! One is born to be
cherished and waited upon all his days, the other is an outcast and
a slave. My poor fatherless babe! He wouldn't manumit us. It was not
thoughtlessness. He _meant_ to sell us. "He _meant_ to sell us," she
repeated aloud; and again the wild, hard look came into her eyes. Such
a tempest was raging in her soul, that she felt as if she could kill
him if he stood before her. This savage paroxysm of revenge was
followed by thoughts of suicide. She was about to rise, but hearing
the approach of Tulee, she closed her eyes and remained still.
Language is powerless to describe the anguish of that lacerated soul.
At last the storm subsided, and she fell into a heavy sleep.
Meanwhile the two black women were busy with arrangements for
the early flight. Many things had been already prepared with the
expectation of a summons to New Orleans, and not long after midnight
all was in readiness. Chloe, after a sound nap on the kitchen floor,
rose up with the first peep of light. She and Tulee hugged each other,
with farewell kisses and sobs. She knelt by Rosa's bedside to whisper
a brief prayer, and, giving her one long, lingering look, she took up
her baby, and set off for the plantation, wondering at the mysterious
ways of Providence.
They deferred waking Rosa as long as possible, and when they roused
her, she had been so deeply sunk in slumber that she was at first
bewildered. When recollection returned, she looked at her babe.
"Where's Chloe?" she asked.
"Gone back to the plantation," was the reply.
"O, I am so sorry!" sighed Rosa.
"She was feared they would miss her," rejoined Tulee. "So she went
away as soon as she could see. But she prayed for ye, Missy Rosy; and
she told me to say poor Chloe would never forget ye."
"O, I'm _so_ sorry!" repeated Rosa, mournfully.
She objected to taking the nourishment Tulee offered, saying she
wanted to die. But Mr. Duroy reminded her that Madame was longing to
see her, and she yielded to that plea. When Tulee brought the same
travelling-dress in which she had first come to the cottage, she
shrunk from it at first, but seemed to remember immediately that she
ought not to give unnecessary trouble to her friends. While she was
putting it on, Tulee said, "I tried to remember to put up everything
ye would want, darling."
"I don't want _any_thing," she replied listlessly. Then, looking up
suddenly, with that same wild, hard expression, she added, "Don't let
me ever see anything that came from _him_!" She spoke so sternly, that
Tulee, for the first time in her life, was a little afraid of her.
The eastern sky was all of a saffron glow, but the golden edge of the
sun had not yet appeared above the horizon, when they entered the boat
which was to convey them to the main-land. Without one glance toward
the beautiful island where she had enjoyed and suffered so much, the
unhappy fugitive nestled close to Tulee, and hid her face on her
shoulder, as if she had nothing else in the world to cling to.
* * * * *
A week later, a carriage stopped before Madame's door, and Tulee
rushed in with the baby on her shoulder, exclaiming, "_Nous voici_!"
while Mr. Duroy was helping Rosa to alight. Then such huggings and
kissings, such showers of French from Madame, and of mingled French
and Italian from the Signor, while Tulee stood by, throwing up her
hand, and exclaiming, "Bless the Lord! bless the Lord!" The parrot
listened with ear upturned, and a lump of sugar in her claw, then
overtopped all their voices with the cry of "_Bon jour, Rosabella! je
suis enchantée_."
This produced a general laugh, and there was the faint gleam of a
smile on Rosa's face, as she looked up at the cage and said, "_Bon
jour, jolie Manon_!" But she soon sank into a chair with an expression
of weariness.
"You are tired, darling," said Madame, as she took off her bonnet and
tenderly put back the straggling hair. "No wonder, after all you have
gone through, my poor child!"
Rosa clasped her round the neck, and murmured, "O my dear friend, I
_am_ tired, _so_ tired!"
Madame led her to the settee, and arranged her head comfortably on its
pillows. Then, giving her a motherly kiss, she said, "Rest, darling,
while Tulee and I look after the boxes."
When they had all passed into another room, she threw up her hands and
exclaimed: "How she's changed! How thin and pale she is! How large her
eyes look! But she's beautiful as an angel."
"I never see Missy Rosy but once when she wasn't beautiful as an
angel," said Tulee; "and that was the night Massa Duroy told her she
was sold to Massa Bruteman. Then she looked as if she had as many
devils as that Mary Magdalene Massa Royal used to read about o'
Sundays."
"No wonder, poor child!" exclaimed Madame. "But I hope the little one
is some comfort to her."
"She ha'n't taken much notice of him, or anything else, since Massa
Duroy told her that news," rejoined Tulee.
Madame took the baby and tried to look into its face as well as the
lopping motions of its little head would permit. "I shouldn't think
she'd have much comfort in looking at it," said she; "for it's the
image of its father; but the poor little dear ain't to blame for
that."
An animated conversation followed concerning what had happened since
Tulee went away,--especially the disappearance of Flora. Both hinted
at having entertained similar suspicions, but both had come to the
conclusion that she could not be alive, or she would have written.
Rosa, meanwhile, left alone in the little parlor, where she had
listened so anxiously for the whistling of _Ça ira_, was scarcely
conscious of any other sensation than the luxury of repose, after
extreme fatigue of body and mind. There was, indeed, something
pleasant in the familiar surroundings. The parrot swung in the same
gilded ring in her cage. Madame's table, with its basket of chenilles,
stood in the same place, and by it was her enamelled snuffbox. Rosa
recognized a few articles that had been purchased at the auction of
her father's furniture;--his arm-chair, and the astral lamp by which
he used to sit to read his newspaper; a sewing-chair that was her
mother's; and one of Flora's embroidered slippers, hung up for a
watch-case. With these memories floating before her drowsy eyes, she
fell asleep, and slept for a long time. As her slumbers grew lighter,
dreams of father, mother, and sister passed through various changes;
the last of which was that Flora was puzzling the mocking-birds. She
waked to the consciousness that some one was whistling in the room.
"Who is that!" exclaimed she; and the parrot replied with a tempest of
imitations. Madame, hearing the noise, came in, saying: "How stupid I
was not to cover the cage! She is _so_ noisy! Her memory is wonderful.
I don't think she'll ever forget a note of all the _mélange_ dear
Floracita took so much pains to teach her."
She began to call up reminiscences of Flora's incessant mischief; but
finding Rosa in no mood for anything gay, she proceeded to talk over
the difficulties of her position, concluding with the remark: "To-day
and to-night you must rest, my child. But early to-morrow you and
the Signor will start for New York, whence you will take passage to
Marseilles, under the name of Signor Balbino and daughter."
"I wish I could stay here, at least for a little while," sighed Rosa.
"It's never wise to wish for what cannot be had," rejoined Madame. "It
would cause great trouble and expense to obtain your freedom; and it
is doubtful whether we could secure it at all, for Bruteman won't give
you up if he can avoid it. The voyage will recruit your strength, and
it will do you good to be far away from anything that reminds you
of old troubles. I have nothing left to do but to dispose of my
furniture, and settle about the lease of this house. You will wait at
Marseilles for me. I shall be uneasy till I have the sea between me
and the agents of Mr. Bruteman, and I shall hurry to follow after you
as soon as possible."
"And Tulee and the baby?" asked Rosa.
"Yes, with Tulee and the baby," replied Madame. "But I shall send them
to my cousin's to-morrow, to be out of the way of being seen by the
neighbors. He lives off the road, and three miles out. They'll be
nicely out of the way there."
It was all accomplished as the energetic Frenchwoman had planned. Rosa
was whirled away, without time to think of anything. At parting, she
embraced Tulee, and looked earnestly in the baby's face, while she
stroked his shining black hair. "Good by, dear, kind Tulee," said she.
"Take good care of the little one."
At Philadelphia, her strength broke down, and they were detained three
days. Consequently, when they arrived in New York, they found that
the Mermaid, in which they expected to take passage, had sailed. The
Signor considered it imprudent to correspond with his wife on the
subject, and concluded to go out of the city and wait for the next
vessel. When they went on board, they found Madame, and explained to
her the circumstances.
"I am glad I didn't know of the delay," said she; "for I was
frightened enough as it was. But, luckily, I got off without anybody's
coming to make inquiries."
"But where are Tulee and the baby? Are they down below?" asked Rosa.
"No, dear, I didn't bring them."
"O, how came you to leave them?" said Rosa. "Something will happen to
them."
"I have provided well for their safety," rejoined Madame. "The reason
I did it was this. We have no certain home or prospects at present;
and I thought we had better be settled somewhere before the baby was
brought. My cousin is coming to Marseilles in about three months,
and he will bring them with him. His wife was glad to give Tulee her
board, meanwhile, for what work she could do. I really think it was
best, dear. The feeble little thing will be stronger for the voyage by
that time; and you know Tulee will take just as good care of it as if
it were her own."
"Poor Tulee!" sighed Rosa. "Was she willing to be left?"
"She didn't know when I came away," replied Madame.
Rosa heaved an audible groan, as she said: "I am so sorry you did
this, Madame! If anything should happen to them, it would be a weight
on my mind as long as I live."
"I did what I thought was for the best," answered Madame. "I was in
such a hurry to get away, on your account, that, if I hadn't all my
wits about me, I hope you will excuse me. But I think myself I made
the best arrangement."
Rosa, perceiving a slight indication of pique in her tone, hastened to
kiss her, and call her her best and dearest friend. But in her heart
she mourned over what she considered, for the first time in her life,
a great mistake in the management of Madame.
* * * * *
After Tom's return from New Orleans, he continued to go to the cottage
as usual, and so long as no questions were asked, he said nothing; but
when his master inquired how they were getting on there, he answered
that Missy Rosy was better. When a fortnight had elapsed, he thought
the fugitives must be out of harm's way, and he feared Mr. Bruteman
might be coming soon to claim his purchase. Accordingly he one day
informed his master, with a great appearance of astonishment and
alarm, that the cottage was shut up, and all the inmates gone.
Fitzgerald's first feeling was joy; for he was glad to be relieved
from the picture of Rosa's horror and despair, which had oppressed him
like the nightmare. But he foresaw that Bruteman would suspect him of
having forewarned her, though he had solemnly pledged himself not
to do so. He immediately wrote him the tidings, with expressions of
surprise and regret. The answer he received led to a duel, in which he
received a wound in the shoulder, that his wife always supposed was
occasioned by a fall from his horse.
When Mr. Bruteman ascertained that Madame and the Signor had left
the country, he at once conjectured that the fugitive was with them.
Having heard that Mr. Duroy was a relative, he waited upon him, at his
place of business, and was informed that Rosabella Royal had sailed
for France, with his cousin, in the ship Mermaid. Not long after, it
was stated in the ship news that the Mermaid had foundered at sea, and
all on board were lost.