Rose A Charlitte Part 36

Agapit motioned Vesper to the chair, and sprawled himself half over the foot of the bed, half out the open window, while he talked to his companion, whose manner had a new and caressing charm that attracted him even more irresistibly than his former cool and somewhat careless one had done.

"Ah, why is life so?" he at last exclaimed, springing up, with a sigh.

"Under all is such sadness. Your presence gives such joy. Why should it be denied us?"

Vesper stared at his shoes to hide the nervous tears that sprang to his eyes.

Agapit immediately averted his sorrowful glance. "You are not angry with me for my free speech?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Vesper, irritably turning his back on him, "but I would thank you to leave me."

"Good night," said the Acadien, softly. "May the blessed Virgin give you peace. Remember that I love you, for I prophesy that we on the morrow shall quarrel," and with this cheerful a.s.surance he gently closed the door, and went to the next room.

Rose threw open the door to him, and Agapit, though he was prepared for any change in her, yet for an instant could not conceal his astonishment. Where was her pallor,--her weariness? Gone, like the mists of the morning before the glory of the sun. Her face was delicately colored, her blue eyes were flooded with the most exquisite and tender light that he had ever seen in them. She had heard her lover's step, and Agapit dejectedly reflected that he should have even more trouble with her than with Vesper.

"Surely, I am to see him to-night?" she murmured.

"Surely not," growled Agapit. "For what do you wish to see him?"

"Agapit,--should not a mother hear of her little one?"

"Is it for that only you wish to see him?"

"For that,--also for other things. Is he changed, Agapit? Has his face grown more pale?"

Agapit broke into vigorous French. "He is more foolish than ever, that I a.s.sure thee. Such a simpleton, and thou lovest him!"

"If he is a fool, then there are no wise men in the world; but thou art only teasing. Ah, Agapit, dear Agapit," and she clasped her hands, and extended them towards him. "Tell me only what he says of Narcisse."

"He is well; he will tell thee in the morning of a plan he has. Go now to bed,--and Rose, to-morrow be sensible, be wise. Thou wert so noteworthy these three weeks ago, what has come to thee now?"

"Agapit, thou dost remember thy mother a very little, is it not so?"

"Yes, yes."

"Thou couldst part from her; but suppose she came back from the dead.

Suppose thou couldst hear her voice in the hall, what wouldst thou do?"

"I would run to greet her," he said, rashly. "I would be mad with pleasure."

"That man was as one dead," she said, with an eloquent gesture towards the next room. "I did not think of seeing him again. How can I cease from joy?"

"Give me thy promise," he said, abruptly, "not to see him without me.

Otherwise, thou mayst be prowling in the morning, when I oversleep myself, and thou wilt talk about me to this charming stranger."

"Agapit," she said, in amazement, "wouldst thou insult me?"

"No, little rabbit,--I would only prevent thee from insulting me."

"It is like jailorizing. I shall not be a naughty child in a cell."

"But thou wilt," he said, with determination. "Give me thy promise."

Rose became indignant, and Agapit, who was watching her keenly, stepped inside her room, lest he should be overheard. "Rose," he said, swiftly, and with a deep, indrawn breath, "have I not been a brother to thee?"

"Yes, yes,--until now."

"Now, most of all,--some day thou wilt feel it. Would I do anything to injure thee? I tell thee thou art like a weak child now. Have I not been in love? Do not I know that for a time one's blood burns, and one is mad?"

"But what do you fear?" she asked, proudly, drawing back from him.

"I fear nothing, little goose," he exclaimed, catching her by the wrist, "for I take precautions. I have talked to this young man,--do not I also esteem him? I tell thee, as I told him,--he is capable of all, and when thou seest him, a word, a look, and he will insist upon thy leaving thy husband to go with him."

"Agapit, I am furious with thee. Would I do a wrong thing?"

"Not of thyself; but think, Rose, thou art weak and nervous. Thy strength has been tried; when thou seest thy lover thou wilt be like a silly sheep. Trust me,--when thy father, on his dying bed, pointed to thee, I knew his meaning. Did not I say 'Yes, yes, I will take care of her, for she is beautiful, and men are wicked.'"

"But thou didst let me marry Charlitte," she said, with a stifled cry.

Agapit was crushed by her accusation. He made a despairing gesture. "I have expected this, but, Rose, I was younger. I did not know the hearts of women. We thought it well,--your stepmother and I. He begged for thee, and we did not dream--young girls sometimes do well to settle. He seemed a wise man--"

"Forgive me," cried Rose, wildly, and suddenly pushing him towards the door, "and go away. I will not talk to Mr. Nimmo without thee."

"Some day thou wilt thank me," said Agapit. "It is common to reproach those who favor us. Left alone, thou wouldst rise early in the morning,--thy handsome Vesper would whisper in thy ear, and I, rising, might find thee convinced that there is nothing for thee but to submit to the sacrilege of a divorce."

Rose was not touched by his wistful tones. Her pretty fingers even a.s.sisted him gently from the room, and, philosophically shrugging his shoulders, he went to bed.

Rose, left alone, pressed her empty arms and palpitating heart against the bare walls of the next room. "You are good and n.o.ble,--you would do nothing wrong. That wicked Agapit, he thinks evil of thee--" and, with other fond and foolish words, she stood mutely caressing the wall until fatigue overpowered her, when she undressed and crept into her lonely bed.

Agapit, who possessed a warm heart, an ardent imagination, and a lively regard for the other s.e.x, was at present without a love-affair of his own, and his mind was therefore free to dwell on the troubles of Rose and Vesper. All night long he dreamed of lovers. They haunted him, tortured him with their griefs, misunderstandings, and afflictions, and, rather glad than sorry to awake from his disturbed sleep, he lifted his s.h.a.ggy head from the pillow early in the morning and, vehemently shaking it, muttered, "The devil himself is in those who make love."

Then, with his protective instinct keenly alive, he sprang up and went to the window, where he saw something that made him again mutter a reference to the evil one. His window was directly over that of his cousin, and although it was but daybreak, she was up and dressed, and leaning from it to look at Vesper, who stood on the gra.s.s below. They were not carrying on a conversation; she was true to the letter of her promise, but this mute, unspoken dialogue was infinitely more dangerous.

Agapit groaned, and surveyed Vesper's glowing face. Who would dream that he, so dignified, would condescend to this? Was it arranged through the wall, or did he walk under her window and think of her until his influence drew her from her bed? "I also have done such things," he muttered; "possibly I may again, therefore I must be merciful."

Vesper at this instant caught sight of his dishevelled head. Rose also looked up, and Agapit retreated in dismay at the sound of their stifled but irresistible laughter.

"Ah, you do not cry all the time," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in confusion; then he made haste to attire himself and to call for Rose, who demurely went down-stairs with him and greeted Vesper with quiet and loving reserve.

The two young men went with her to the kitchen, where she touched a match to the fire. While it was burning she sat down and talked to them, or, rather, they talked to her. The question was what to do with Narcisse.

"Madame de Foret," said Vesper, softly, "I will tell you what I have already told your cousin. I returned home unexpectedly a fortnight ago, having in the interval missed a telegram from my mother, telling me that your boy was in Boston. When I reached my own door, I saw to my surprise the child of--of--"

"Of the woman you love," thought Agapit, grimly.

"Your child," continued Vesper, in some confusion, "who was kneeling on the pavement before our house. He had dug a hole in the narrow circle of earth left around the tree, and he was thrusting porridge and cream down it, while the sparrows on the branches above watched him with interest.

Here in Sleeping Water we had about stopped that feeding of the trees; but my mother, I found, indulged him in everything. He was glad to see me, and I--I had dreaded the solitude of my home, and I quickly discovered that it had been banished by his presence. He has effected a transformation in my mother, and she wishes me to beg you that we may keep him for a time."

Agapit had never before heard Vesper speak at such length. He himself was silent, and waited for some expression of opinion from Rose.