A Romance of the Republic Part 14

"_Adios, luz de mes ojos_. Come soon to

"Your grateful and loving

"ROSA."

That evening the plash of the waves no longer seemed like a requiem over her lost sister; the moonlight gave poetic beauty to the pines; and even the blasted tree, with its waving streamer of moss, seemed only another picturesque feature in the landscape; so truly does Nature give us back a reflection of our souls.

She waked from a refreshing sleep with a consciousness of happiness unknown for a long time. When Tom came to say he was going to Savannah, she commissioned him to go to the store where her dresses were usually ordered, and buy some fine French merino. She gave him very minute directions, accompanied with a bird-of-paradise pattern.

"That is Gerald's favorite color," she said to herself. "I will embroider it with white floss-silk, and tie it with white silk cord and ta.s.sels. The first time we breakfast together at Magnolia Lawn I will wear it, fastened at the throat with that pretty little knot of silver filigree he gave me on my birthday. Then I shall look as bridal as the home he is preparing for me."

The embroidery of this dress furnished pleasant occupation for many days. When it was half finished, she tried it on before the mirror, and smiled to see how becoming was the effect. She queried whether Gerald would like one or two of Madame Guirlande's pale amber-colored artificial nasturtiums in her hair. She placed them coquettishly by the side of her head for a moment, and laid them down, saying to herself: "No; too much dress for the morning. He will like better the plain braids of my hair with the curls falling over them." As she sat, hour after hour, embroidering the dress which was expected to produce such a sensation, Tulee's heart was gladdened by hearing her sing almost continually. "Bless her dear heart!" exclaimed she; "that sounds like the old times."

But when a fortnight pa.s.sed without an answer to her letter, the showers of melody subsided. Shadows of old doubts began to creep over the inward sunshine; though she tried to drive them away by recalling Gerald's promise to try to secure her safety by making a compromise with her father's creditors. And were not the new arrangements at Magnolia Lawn a sign that he had accomplished his generous purpose?

She was asking herself that question for the hundredth time, as she sat looking out on the twilight landscape, when she heard a well-known voice approaching, singing, "C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour, qui fait le monde a la ronde"; and a moment after she was folded in Gerald's arms, and he was calling her endearing names in a polyglot of languages, which he had learned from her and Floracita.

"So you are not very angry with me for going there and finding out your secret," inquired she.

"I _was_ angry," he replied; "but while I was coming to you all my anger melted away."

"And you do love me as well as ever," said she. "I thought perhaps so many handsome ladies would fall in love with you, that I should not be your Rosa _munda_ any more."

"I have met many handsome ladies," responded he, "but never one worthy to bear the train of my Rosa Regina."

Thus the evening pa.s.sed in conversation more agreeable to them than the wittiest or the wisest would have been. But it has been well said, "the words of lovers are like the rich wines of the South,--they are delicious in their native soil, but will not bear transportation."

The next morning he announced the necessity of returning to the North to complete some business, and said he must, in the mean time, spend some hours at the plantation. "And Rosa dear," added he, "I shall really be angry with you if you go there again unless I am with you."

She shook her finger at him, and said, with one of her most expressive smiles: "Ah, I see through you! You are planning some more pleasant surprises for me. How happy we shall be there! As for that rich uncle of yours, if you will only let me see him, I will do my best to make him love me, and perhaps I shall succeed."

"It would be wonderful if you did not, you charming enchantress,"

responded he. He folded her closely, and looked into the depths of her beautiful eyes with intensity, not unmingled with sadness.

A moment after he was waving his hat from the shrubbery; and so he pa.s.sed away out of her sight. His sudden reappearance, his lavish fondness, his quick departure, and the strange earnestness of his farewell look, were remembered like the flitting visions of a dream.

CHAPTER XI.

In less than three weeks after that tender parting, an elegant barouche stopped in front of Magnolia Lawn, and Mr. Fitzgerald a.s.sisted a very pretty blonde young lady to alight from it. As she entered the parlor, wavering gleams of sunset lighted up the pearl-colored paper, softened by lace-shadows from the windows. The lady glanced round the apartment with a happy smile, and, turning to the window, said: "What a beautiful lawn! What superb trees!"

"Does it equal your expectations, dear?" he asked. "You had formed such romantic ideas of the place, I feared you might be disappointed."

"I suppose that was the reason you tried to persuade me to spend our honeymoon in Savannah," rejoined she. "But we should be so bored with visitors. Here, it seems like the Garden of Eden, when Adam and Eve had it all to themselves, before the serpent went there to make mischief. I had heard father and mother tell so much about Magnolia Lawn that I was eager to see it."

"They visited it in spring, when it really does look like Paradise,"

replied he. "It has its beauties now; but this is not the favorable season for seeing it; and after we have been here a few days, I think we had better return to Savannah, and come again when the lawn is carpeted with flowers."

"I see your mind is bent upon not staying here," answered she; "and I suppose it _would_ be rather tiresome to have no other company than your stupid little Lily Bell."

She spoke with a pouting affectation of reproach, and he exclaimed, "Lily, darling!" as he pa.s.sed his arm round her slender waist, and, putting aside a shower of pale yellowish ringlets, gazed fondly into the blue eyes that were upturned to his.

They were interrupted by the entrance of Venus, who came to ask their orders. "Tell them to serve supper at seven, and then come and show your mistress to her dressing-room," he said. As she retired, he added: "Now she'll have something to tell of. She'll be proud enough of being the first to get a full sight of the new Missis; and it _is_ a sight worth talking about."

With a gratified smile, she glanced at the pier-gla.s.s which reflected her graceful little figure, and, taking his arm, she walked slowly round the room, praising the tasteful arrangements. "Everything has such a bridal look!" she said.

"Of course," replied he; "when I have such a fair Lily Bell for a bride, I wish to have her bower pearly and lily-like. But here is Venus come to show you to your dressing-room. I hope you will like the arrangements up stairs also."

She kissed her hand to him as she left the room, and he returned the salute. When she had gone, he paced slowly up and down for a few moments. As he pa.s.sed the piano, he touched the keys in a rambling way. The tones he brought out were a few notes of an air he and Rosabella had sung in that same room a few months before. He turned abruptly from the instrument, and looked out from the window in the direction of the lonely cottage, Nothing was visible but trees and a line of the ocean beyond. But the chambers of his soul were filled with visions of Rosa. He thought of the delightful day they had spent together, looking upon these same scenes; of their songs and caresses in the bower; of her letter, so full of love and glad surprise at the bridal arrangements she supposed he had made for her, "I really hope Lily won't insist upon staying here long," thought he; "for it is rather an embarra.s.sing position for me."

He seated himself at the piano and swept his hand up and down the keys, as if trying to drown his thoughts in a tempest of sound. But, do what he would, the thoughts spoke loudest; and after a while he leaned his head forward on the piano, lost in revery.

A soft little hand touched his head, and a feminine voice inquired, "What are you thinking of, Gerald?"

"Of you, my pearl," he replied, rising hastily, and stooping to imprint a kiss on the forehead of his bride.

"And pray what were you thinking about _me_?" she asked.

"That you are the greatest beauty in the world, and that I love you better than man ever loved woman," rejoined he. And so the game of courtship went on, till it was interrupted by a summons to supper.

When they returned some time later, the curtains were drawn and candles lighted. "You have not yet tried the piano," said he, as he placed the music-stool.

She seated herself, and, after running up and down the keys, and saying she liked the tone of the instrument, she began to play and sing "Robin Adair." She had a sweet, thin voice, and her style of playing indicated rather one who had learned music, than one whose soul lived in its element. Fitzgerald thought of the last singing he had heard at that piano; and without asking for another song, he began to sing to her accompaniment, "Drink to me only with thine eyes." He had scarcely finished the line, "Leave a kiss within the cup, and I'll not ask for wine," when clear, liquid tones rose on the air, apparently from the veranda; and the words they carried on their wings were these:--

"Down in the meadow, 'mong the clover, I walked with Nelly by my side.

Now all those happy days are over, Farewell, my dark Virginia bride.

Nelly was a lady; Last night she died.

Toll the bell for lovely Nell, My dark Virginia bride."

The bride listened intensely, her fingers resting lightly on the keys, and when the sounds--died away she started up, exclaiming, "What a voice! I never heard anything like it."

She moved eagerly toward the veranda, but was suddenly arrested by her husband. "No, no, darling," said he. "You mustn't expose yourself to the night air."

"Then do go out yourself and bring her in," urged she. "I must hear more of that voice. Who is she?"

"One of the darkies, I suppose," rejoined he. "You know they all have musical gifts."

"Not such gifts as that, I imagine," she replied. "Do go out and bring her in."

She was about to draw the curtain aside to look out, when he nervously called her attention to another window. "See here!" he exclaimed. "My people are gathering to welcome their new missis. In answer to Tom's request, I told him I would introduce you to them to-night. But you are tired, and I am afraid you will take cold in the evening air; so we will postpone the ceremony until to-morrow."

"O, no," she replied, "I would prefer to go now. How their black faces will shine when they see the gla.s.s beads and gay handkerchiefs I have brought for them! Besides, I want to find out who that singer is. It's strange you don't take more interest in such a voice as that, when you are so full of music. Will you have the goodness to ring for my shawl?"

With a decision almost peremptory in its tone, he said, "No; I had rather you would _not_ go out." Seeing that his manner excited some surprise, he patted her head and added: "Mind your husband now, that's a good child. Amuse yourself at the piano while I go out."

She pouted a little, but finished by saying coaxingly, "Come back soon, dear." She attempted to follow him far enough to look out on the veranda, but he gently put her back, and, kissing his hand to her, departed. She raised a corner of the curtain and peeped out to catch the last glimpse of his figure. The moon was rising, and she could see that he walked slowly, peering into spots of dense shadow or thickets of shrubbery, as if looking for some one. But all was motionless and still, save the sound of a banjo from the group of servants. "How I wish I could hear that voice again!" she thought to herself. "It's very singular Gerald should appear so indifferent to it. What can be the meaning of it?"

She pondered for a few minutes, and then she tried to play; but not finding it entertaining without an auditor, she soon rose, and, drawing aside one of the curtains, looked out upon the lovely night.