RETURN.
For nearly a week after Jessie's death, Mr. Delafield remained at the
Pines, doing whatever he could for the comfort of his servants, and
as at the end of that time the disease had wholly disappeared, he
returned to Cedar Grove, accompanied by his sister and Ada, who had
learned by sad experience that the dangers from which we flee, are
oftentimes less than those to which we go. They found Rose better,
but still quite low, and as the fever had not entirely left her,
neither Mrs. Lansing nor Ada ventured near her room, but shut
themselves in their own apartment, where the former received the
sympathy of her friends, which in this case was truly sincere, for
Jessie was universally beloved and the tidings of her death carried
sorrow to many hearts.
Over Dr. Clayton a change had come. The hopeful, happy expression of
his face was gone, and in its place was a look of utter hopelessness
which at first roused Richard's fears lest Rose should be worse, and
in much alarm he asked if it were so.
"No, no," answered the doctor, while a shadow of pain passed over his
handsome features; "she will live."
Then hurrying to the window he looked out to hide his tears from him
whom he knew to be his rival, and who, now that he was unobserved,
bent over the sleeping Rose, kissing her wasted cheek and mourning
for her as he thought how she would weep when she learned the fate of
her favorite. Oh, could he have known the whole, how passionately
would he have clasped her to his bosom and held her there as his own,
his darling Rose! But it was not yet to be, and he must bide his
time.
She had seemed greatly relieved at his absence, and on the second day
after his departure, she called Dr. Clayton to her side, fancying him
to be her brother Charlie. Taking his hands in hers, she told him
the whole story of her trials; how she had tried to bring back the
old affection of her childhood, but could not because of the love she
had for Richard Delafield.
"Oh Charlie," she exclaimed, "he would forgive me, I know, if he knew
how much I suffered during those terrible days, when I thought of
giving my hand without my heart. The very idea set my brain on fire
and my head has ached, oh, so hard since then, but it's over now, for
I conquered at last, and on the night before the wedding, I resolved
to tell him all, how I could not and would not marry him. But a dark
cloud, which seemed like the rushing of mighty waters, came over me,
and I don't know where I am, nor what has happened, only he has been
here, hanging like a shadow over my pillow, where sat another shadow
tenfold blacker, which he said was death; but grim and hideous as it
was, I preferred it to a life with him, when my whole soul was given
to another. He, too, was here occasionally, and in his presence the
shadow grew less and less, while his voice called me back from the
deep darkness in which I was groping. Once, when I was almost home,
so near that I heard the song which little Jamie sings--Jamie, who
died so long ago--he laid his cool hand upon my forehead, which was
wet with the waters of the rolling river, and I heard him say to some
one, 'Look up; she is better, she will live.' The next moment he was
gone, but I struggled with the waves and floated back to the shore,
where, though I could not see him, his hand was stretched out to save
me, and for a time he stood between me and Dr. Clayton, who, when he
thought nobody heard him, whispered in my ear, 'my bride--my own.'
But from my inmost soul I answered, 'Never, never,' while I looked
again towards the river which is still in sight, though slowly
receding from view."
She paused a moment and then continued: "When I am dead, Charlie, you
must tell him how it was, and ask him to forgive and think with pity
of poor little Rose, who would have loved him if she could. If he
will not listen--if he still persists in marrying me, tell him I
would rather die ten thousand deaths than wed a man I do not love,
and then his pride will come to his aid. But not a word of this to
Mr. Delafield, Charlie, never let him know how I loved him. My
affection is not returned, and he would despise me--would never visit
my grave or think with pity of one who died so far away from home."
Then followed a message for the loved ones of Meadow Brook, but this
Dr. Clayton did not hear. Perfectly paralyzed, he had listened to
her story until his reason seemed in danger of leaving him, and long
ere she had finished he knew he must give her up--but not to _death_;
and as Richard Delafield had done, so he, in this his hour of bitter
trial, felt how much rather he would see her in her coffin than the
wife of another. Then in his ear the tempter whispered, "Why need
these things be? she is not yet out of danger. A little relaxation
of care on your part and Richard Delafield will never call her his."
Only for a moment, however, did Dr. Clayton listen, and then laying
his head upon the pillow beside that of Rose, who, wearied with her
story, had fallen asleep, he wept as he had never wept before, not
even when he saw creeping over her the shadow of death. Turn which
way he would, there was naught before him save the darkness of
despair; and as wave after wave broke over him, his mind went
backward to the time when she might have been his--when he could have
gathered her to his bosom--and in piteous accents he cried aloud, "My
punishment is greater than I can bear."
But as the fiercest storm soonest expends its fury, so he ere long
grew calm and capable of sober, serious thought. Rosa Lee was very
dear to him, and to have possessed her love, he would have given
almost everything; but as that could not be, ought he to stand in the
way of her happiness? He knew she was deceived, for he remembered
many things he had seen in Mr. Delafield, which, though, he had not
thought of it then, convinced him now that her affection was
reciprocated; and should he not tell her so, and at the same time
disclose to Richard the true state of affairs? Rosa's quiet,
unobtrusive, and rather reserved manner had misled Richard, no doubt,
or he would long ere this have declared his love.
"Yes, God helping me, I _will_ do right," he said aloud, clasping his
hands over his feverish brow. "I will watch by her until _his_
return, and then committing her to his care I will leave her forever."
There was a movement at his side--Rose was dreaming, and she uttered
the name of _Richard_, while, with a shiver, the doctor stopped his
ears and shut out the hated sound. In a moment she awoke and asked
for water. It was brought, but he no longer supported her in his
arms--no longer smoothed back the tangled curls from her brow, or
kissed her white lips. "She is not mine, and it were wrong to caress
her now," he thought, and his tears fell upon her face as he laid her
gently back upon the pillow. Wonderingly she gazed upon him, and
lifting her hand, wiped his tears away, asking why he wept.
"Heaven help me from going mad," he exclaimed aloud, as he walked to
the window, where for a long time he stood, trying to school himself
for the part he was to act.
He succeeded at last, and never did a tender brother watch more
carefully over a darling sister than did he over her during the few
days which elapsed ere Mr. Delafield's return. He was alone with her
when he came, and with comparative calmness he greeted his rival,
who, as we have before stated, was surprised at the change in his
looks.
That night, in the solitude of his chamber, the doctor penned two
letters; one for Rose and the other for Richard. In substance, the
contents of each were much the same, for he told them all he had
heard from Rose, and how, though it broke his heart to do so, he had
given her up. "Deal very, very gently with her," he wrote to Mr.
Delafield, "for never was there a purer, gentler being, or one more
worthy of your love than she. Then take her, and when your cup is
overflowing with happiness, think sometimes of one who, henceforth,
will be a lonely, wretched man."
The letters being written, he put them away until such time as he
should need them. Once he thought to talk with Richard face to face,
but this he felt he could not do; so one morning about a week after
the return of the family to Cedar Grove, and when Rose was out of
danger, he pressed a burning kiss upon her forehead, and placing the
letters on the little dressing-bureau where they would attract the
immediate attention of Mr. Delafield, who, he knew would soon be
there, he went in quest of Mrs. Lansing, whom he bade good-by as
composedly as if no inward fire were consuming him. In much
surprise, she asked why he left them so abruptly, and he replied,
"something which has recently come to my knowledge makes it necessary
for me to go."
"You will of course return ere long for Miss Lee," continued the
lady, who had no suspicion of the truth.
"If _I_ do not come I shall send her brother as soon as she is able
to be moved," said he. "She does not know that I am going, for she
would not understand me if I told her, so I leave it with you to tell
her when you think she will comprehend it."
Then leaving a few directions as to how she must be treated, he
hurried away, never looking back, and turning into a side street when
in the distance he saw Mr. Delafield coming towards him. Half an
hour afterward and the puffing engine, which now each day thundered
into town, was bearing him away from a place whither he had come for
a bride, and from which he bore only a crushed and aching heart.
Scarcely had he left Rose's chamber when a colored woman entered it
to "set it to rights" as was her daily custom. She was near-sighted,
and going up to the dressing-bureau, carelessly brushed off the
letter directed to Richard! Falling behind the bureau, it lay
concealed from view, while the negress proceeded with her duties,
unconscious of the mischief she had done!
In great surprise Richard heard of Dr. Clayton's sudden departure.
"There must be something wrong," he thought, though what he did not
know. Going up to Rosa's chamber, he found her still asleep. The
room was in order--the servant gone, and on the bureau lay the letter
which soon caught his attention. Glancing at the superscription he
saw it was for Rose, and thinking to keep it safely until she could
understand its contents, he placed it in his pocket; then taking a
book, he sat by her bedside until she awoke. She was apparently
better, but an unnatural brightness of her eyes told that her mind
was still unsettled. So he said nothing to her concerning the
doctor's desertion, but himself ministered to her wants.
In the course of a few days Mrs. Lansing was induced to visit her.
This she did more willingly, for Rose had loved her little Jessie;
she would weep bitterly when she knew she was dead; and the proud
nature of the haughty woman gave way to the softer feelings, which
often prompts a mother to take a deeper interest in whatever was once
dear to a lost, a precious child. So casting aside her nervous fear,
she at last went frequently to the sick-room, her own white, delicate
hands sometimes arranging the tumbled pillow or holding the cooling
draught to the lips of her formerly despised governess--despised, not
for anything which she had done, but because it was hers to labor for
the bread she ate.