THE SPELL WORKS.
Rose Stillwater was very near overdoing her part. She rose early the next morning and came down in the drawing room before any of the family had put in an appearance. She had scarcely seated herself before the bright little sea coal fire that the chilly spring morning rendered very acceptable, if not really necessary, when she heard the heavy, measured footsteps of the master of the house coming down the stairs. Then she rose impulsively as if in a flutter of delight to go and meet him; but checked herself and sat down and waited for him to come in.
"How heavily the old ogre walks! His step would shake the house, if it could be shaken. He comes like the statue of the commander in the opera."
She listened, but his footsteps died away on the soft, deep carpet of the library into which he passed.
"Ah! he does not know that I am down!" she said to herself, complacently, as she settled back in her chair. Cora came in and greeted Rose with ceremonious politeness, having resolved, at length, to treat Mrs. Stillwater as an honored guest, not as a cherished friend or member of the household.
"Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater. I hope you have had a good night's rest and feel refreshed after your journey," she said.
Rose responded effusively:
"Ah, good morning, dear love! Yes; thank you, darling, a lovely night's rest, undisturbed by the thoughts of debts and duns and a doubtful future. I slept so deeply and sweetly through the night that I woke quite early this morning. The birds were in full song. You must have millions of birds here! And the subtile, penetrating fragrance of the hyacinths came into the window as soon as I opened it. How I love the early spring flowers that come to us almost through the winter snows and before we have done with fires."
Cora did not reply to this rhapsody. Then Rose inquired:
"Does your grandfather go regularly to look after the works as he used to do?"
"Mr. Rockharrt drives to North End every day," replied Cora.
"It is amazing, at his age," said Rose.
"Some acute observer has said that 'age is a movable feast.' Age, no more than death, is a respecter of persons or of periods. Men grow old, as they die, at any age. Some grow old at fifty, others not before they are a hundred. I think Mr. Rockharrt belongs to the latter class."
"I am sure he does."
Cora did not confirm this statement.
Rose made another venture in conversation:
"So both the gentlemen go every day to the works?"
"Mr. Rockharrt goes every day. Mr. Clarence usually remains there from Monday morning until Saturday evening."
"At the works?"
"Yes; or at the hotel, where he has a suite of rooms which he occupies occasionally."
"Dear me! So you have been alone here all day long, every day but Sunday! And now I have come to keep you company, darling! You shall not feel lonely any longer. And—what was that Mary Queen of Scots said to her lady hostess on the night she passed at the castle in her sad progress from one prison to another:
"'We two widows, having no husbands to trouble us, may agree very well,' or words to that effect. So, darling, you and I, having no husbands to trouble us, may also agree very well. Shall we not?"
"I cannot speak so lightly on so grave a subject, Mrs. Stillwater," said Cora.
Old Mr. Rockharrt came in.
"Good morning, Cora! Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater! I hope you feel quite rested from your journey."
"Oh, quite, thank you! And when I woke up this morning, I was so surprised and delighted to find myself safe at home! Ah! I beg pardon! But I spent so many years in this dear old house, the happiest years of my life, that I always think of it as home, the only home I ever had in all my life," said Rose, pathetically, while tears glistened in her soft blue eyes.
"You poor child! Well, there is no reason why you should ever leave this haven again. My granddaughter needs just such a bright companion as you are sure to be. And who so fitting a one as her first young governess?"
"Oh, sir, you are so good to me! May heaven reward you! But Mrs. Rothsay?" she said, with an appealing glance toward Cora.
"I do not need a companion; if I did, I should advertise for one. The position of companion is also a half menial one, which I should never associate with the name of Mrs. Stillwater, who is our guest," replied Cora, with cold politeness.
"You see, my dear ex-pupil will not let me serve her in any capacity," said Rose, with a piteous glance toward the Iron King.
"You have both misunderstood me," he answered, with a severe glance toward his granddaughter, "I never thought of you as a companion to Mrs. Rothsay, in the professional sense of that word, but in the sense in which daughters of the same house are companions to each other."
"I should not shrink from any service to my dear Cora," said Rose Stillwater, and she was about to add—"nor to you, sir," but she thought it best not to say it, and refrained.
When breakfast was over, and the Rockhold carriage was at the door to convey the Iron King to North End, the old autocrat arose from the table and strode into the hall, calling for his valet to come and help him on with his light overcoat.
"Let me! let me! Oh, do please let me?" exclaimed Rose, jumping up and following him. "Do you remember the last time I put on your overcoat? It was on that morning in Baltimore, years ago, when we parted at the Monument House; you to go to the depot to take the cars for this place, I to remain in the city to await the arrival of my husband's ship? Nine years ago! There, now! Have I not done it as well as your valet could?" she prattled, as she deftly assisted him.
"Better, my child, much better! You are not rough; your hands are dainty as well as strong. Thank you, child," said Mr. Rockharrt, settling himself with a jerk or two into his spring overcoat.
"Oh, do let me perform these little services for you always! It will make me feel so happy!"
"But it will give you trouble."
"Oh, indeed, no! not the least! It will give me only pleasure."
"You are a very good child, but I will not tax you. Good morning! I must be off," said Mr. Rockharrt, shaking hands with Rose, and then hurrying out to get into his carriage.
Rose stood in the door looking after him, until the brougham rolled away out of sight.
At luncheon Rose Stillwater seemed so determined to be pleasant that it was next to impossible for Cora Rothsay to keep up the formal demeanor she had laid out for herself.
"It is very lonely for you here, my dear. How soon does your grandfather usually return? I know he must have been later than usual last night, because he had to go to the depot to meet me," Rose said.
"Mr. Rockharrt usually returns at six o'clock. We have dinner at half-past," replied Cora.
"And this is two! Four hours and a half yet!"
"The afternoon is very fine. Will you take a walk with me in the garden?" inquired Cora, as they left the dining room, feeling some compunction for the persistent coldness with which she had treated her most gentle and obliging guest.
"Oh, thank you very much, dear. With the greatest pleasure! It will be just like old times, when we used to walk in the garden together, you a little child holding on to my hand. And now—But we won't talk of that," said Rose.
And she fled up stairs to get her hat and shawl.
And the two women sauntered for half an hour among the early roses and spring flowers in the beautiful Rockhold garden.
Then they came in and went to the library together and looked over the new magazines. Presently Cora said:
"We all use the library in common to write our letters in. If you have letters to write, you will find every convenience in either of those side tables at the windows."
"Yes. Just as it used to be in the old times when I was so happy here! When the dear old lady was here! Ah, me! But I will not think of that. She is in heaven, as sure as there is a heaven for angels such as she, and we must not grieve for the sainted ones. But I have no letters to write, dear. I have no correspondents in all the world. Indeed, dear Cora, I have no friend in the world outside of this house," said Rose, with a little sigh that touched Cora's heart, compelling her to sympathize with this lonely creature, even against her better judgment.
"Is not Mr. Fabian friendly toward you?" inquired Cora, from mixed motives—of half pity, half irony.
"Fabian?" sweetly replied Rose. "No, dear. I lost the friendship of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt when I declined his offer of marriage. You refuse a man, and so wound his vanity; and though you may never have given him the least encouragement to propose to you, and though he has not the shadow of a reason to believe that you will accept yet will he take great offense, and perhaps become your mortal enemy," sighed Rose.
"But I think Uncle Fabian is too good natured for that sort of malice."
"I don't know, dear. I have never seen him since he left me in anger on the day I begged off from marrying him. Really, darling, it was more like begging off than refusing."
But little more was said on the subject, and presently afterward the two went up stairs to dress for dinner.
Punctually at six o'clock Mr. Rockharrt returned. And the evening passed as on the preceding day, with this addition to its attractions: Mrs. Stillwater went to the piano and played and sang many of Mr. Rockharrt's favorite songs—the old fashioned songs of his youth—Tom Moore's Irish melodies, Robert Burns' Scotch ballads, and a miscellaneous assortment of English ditties—all of which were before Rose's time, but which she had learned from old Mrs. Rockharrt's ancient music books during her first residence at Rockhold, that she might please the Iron King by singing them.
Surely the siren left nothing untried to please her patron and benefactor.
When he complained of fatigue and bade the two women good night, she started and lighted his wax candle and gave it to him. The next day she was on hand to help him on with his great coat, and to hand him his gloves and hat, and he thanked her with a smile.
So went on life at Rockhold all the week.
On Saturday evening Mr. Clarence came home with his father and greeted Rose Stillwater with the kindly courtesy that was habitual with him.
There were four at the dinner table. And Rose, having so excellent a coadjutor in the younger Rockharrt, was even gayer and more chatty than ever, making the meal a lively and cheerful one even for moody Aaron Rockharrt and sorrowful Cora Rothsay.
After dinner, when the party had gone into the drawing room, Mrs. Stillwater said:
"Here are just four of us. Just enough for a game at whist. Shall we have a rubber, Mr. Rockharrt?"
"Yes, my child! Certainly, with all my heart! I thank you for the suggestion! I have not had a game of whist since we left the city. Ah, my child, we have had very stupid evenings here at home until you came and brought some life into the house. Clarence, draw out the card table. Cora, go and find the cards."
"Let me! Let me! Please let me!" exclaimed Rose, starting up with childish eagerness. "Where are the cards, Cora, dear?"
"They are in the drawer of the card table. You need not stir to find them, thank you, Mrs. Stillwater."
"No; here they are all ready," said Mr. Clarence, who had drawn the table up before the fire and taken the pack of cards from the drawer.
The party of four sat down for the game.
"We must cut for partners," said Mr. Rockharrt, shuffling the cards and then handing them to Mrs. Stillwater for the first cut.
"The highest and the two lowest to be partners?" inquired Rose, as she lifted half the pack.
"Of course, that is the rule."
Each person cut in turn, and fortune favored Mrs. Stillwater to Mr. Clarence, and Cora to Mr. Rockharrt. Then they cut for deal, and fortune favored Mr. Rockharrt.
The cards were dealt around.
Rose Stillwater had an excellent hand, and she knew by the pleased looks of her partner, Mr. Clarence, that he also had a good one; and by the annoyed expression of Mr. Rockharrt's face that he had a bad one. Cora's countenance was as the sphnix's; she was too sadly preoccupied to care for this game.
However, Rose determined that she would play into the hand of her antagonist and not into that of her partner.
Pursuing this policy, she watched Mr. Rockharrt's play, always returned his lead, and when her attention was called to the error, she would flush, exhibit a lovely childlike embarrassment, declare that she was no whist player at all, and beg to be forgiven; and the very next moment she would trump her partner's trick, or purposely commit some other blunder that would be sure to give the trick to Mr. Rockharrt.
Mr. Clarence was the soul of good humor, but it was provoking to have his own "splendid" hand so ruined by the bad play of his partner that their antagonists, with such very poor hands, actually won the odd trick.
In the next deal Rose got a "miserable" hand; so did her partner, as she discovered by his looks, while Mr. Rockharrt must have had a magnificent hand, to judge from his triumphant expression of countenance.
Rose could, therefore, now afford to redeem her place in the esteem of her partner by playing her very best, without the slightest danger of taking a single trick.
To be brief, through Rose's management Mr. Rockharrt and Cora won the rubber, and the Iron King rose from the card table exultant, for what old whist player is not pleased with winning the rubber?
"My child," he said to Rose Stillwater, "this is altogether the pleasantest evening that we have passed since we left the city, and all through you bringing life and activity among us! I do not think we can ever afford to let you go."
"Oh, sir! you are too good. Would to heaven that I might find some place in your household akin to that which I once filled during the happiest years of my life, when I lived here as your dear granddaughter's governess," said Rose Stillwater, with a sigh and a smile.
"You shall never leave us again with my consent. Ah, we have had a very pleasant evening. What do you think, Clarence?"
"Very pleasant for the winners, sir," replied the young man, with a good humored laugh, as he lighted his bed room candle and bade them all good night.
Soon after the little party separated and retired for the night.
As time passed, Rose Stillwater continued to make herself more and more useful to her host and benefactor. She enlivened his table and his evenings at home by her cheerful conversation, her music and her games. She waited on him hand and foot, helped him on and off with his wraps when he went out or came in; warmed his slippers, filled his pipe, dried his newspapers, served him in innumerable little ways with a childlike eagerness and delight that was as the incense of frankincense and myrrh to the nostrils of the egotist.
And he praised her and held her up as a model to his granddaughter.
Rose Stillwater was a proper young woman, a model young woman, all indeed that a woman should be. He had never seen one to approach her status in all his long life. She was certainly the most excellent of her sex. He did not know what in this gloomy house they could ever do without her.
Such was the burden of his talk to Cora.
Mrs. Rothsay gave but cold assent to all this. She had too much reverence for the fifth commandment to tell her grandfather what she thought of the situation—that Rose Stillwater was making a notable fool of him, either for the sake of keeping a comfortable home, or gaining a place in his will, or of something greater still which would include all the rest.
She tried to treat the woman with cold civility. But how could she persevere in such a course of conduct toward a beautiful blue eyed angel who was always eager to please, anxious to serve?
Cora felt that this woman was a fraud, yet when she met her lovely, candid, heaven blue eyes she could not believe in her own intuitions. Cora, like some few unenvious women, was often affected by other women's beauty. The childlike loveliness of her quondam teacher really touched her heart. So she could not at all times maintain the dignified reserve that she wished toward Rose Stillwater.
Meantime the day approached when it was decided that they should all go to West Point to the commencement, at which Cadet Sylvan Haught was expected to graduate.
Mr. Rockharrt had invited Mrs. Stillwater to be of their party, and insisted upon her accompanying them.
Rose demurred. She even ventured to hint that Mrs. Rothsay might not like her to go with them; whereupon the Iron King gathered his brow so darkly and fearfully, and said so sternly:
"She had better not dislike it," that Rose hastened to say that it was only her own secret misgiving, and that no part of Mrs. Rothsay's demeanor had led her to such a supposition.
And she resolved never again to drop a hint of her hostess' too evident suspicion of herself to the family autocrat, for it was the last mistake that Mrs. Stillwater could possibly wish to make—to kindle anger between grandfather and granddaughter. Her policy was to forbear, to be patient, to conciliate, and to bide her time.
"Cora," said the Iron King, abruptly, to his granddaughter, at the breakfast table, on the morning after this conversation, and in the presence of their guest, "do you object to Mrs. Stillwater joining our traveling party to West Point?"
"Certainly not, sir. What right have I to object to any one whom you might please to invite?"
"No right whatever. And I am glad that you understand that," replied Mr. Rockharrt.
Rose was trembling for fear that her benefactor would betray her as the suggester of the question, but he did not.
Cora had received no letter from her Uncle Fabian in answer to hers announcing the fact of Mrs. Stillwater's presence at Rockhold.
Mr. Fabian wrote no letters, except business ones to the firm, and these were opened at the office of the works, and never brought to Rockhold.
If Cora should ever inquire of her grandfather whether he had heard from Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt, his answer would be brief—
"Yes; they are both well. They are at Paris. They are at Berne. They are at Aix," or wherever the tourists might then chance to be.
Sylvan was a better correspondent. He answered her letters promptly. His comments on the visit of Rose Stillwater were characteristic of the boy.
"So you have got the Rose 'that all admire' transplanted to the conservatories of Rockhold. Wish you joy of her. She is a rose without a single thorn, and with a deadly sweet aroma. Mind what I told you long ago. It contains the wisdom of ages. 'Stillwater runs deep.' Mind it does not draw in and submerge the peace and honor of Rockhold. I shall see you at the exhibition, when we can talk more freely over this complication. If Mrs. Stillwater is to remain as a permanent guest at Rockhold, I shall ask my sister to join me wherever I may be ordered, after my leave of absence has expired. You see I fully calculate on receiving my commission."
Cora looked forward anxiously to this meeting with her brother. Only the thought of seeing him a little sooner than she should otherwise have done could reconcile her to the proposed trip to West Point, where she must be surrounded by all the gayeties of the Military Academy at its annual exercises.
Cora had yielded to her grandfather's despotic will in going a little into society while they occupied their town house in the State capital. But she took no pleasure—not the least pleasure—in this.
To her wounded heart and broken spirit the world's wealth was dross and its honors—vapor!
The only life worth living she had lost, or had recklessly thrown away. Her soul turned, sickened, from all on earth, to seek her lost love through the unknown, invisible spheres.
She still wore around her neck the thin gold chain, and suspended from it, resting on her bosom, the precious little black silk bag that contained the last tender, loving, forgiving, encouraging letter that he had written to her on the night of his great renunciation for her sake, when he had left all his hard won honors and dignities, and gone forth in loneliness and poverty to the wilderness and to martyrdom.
Oh, she felt she was never worthy of such a love as that; the love that had toiled for her through long years; the love that had died for her at last; the love that she had never recognized, never appreciated; the love of a great hearted man, whom she had never truly seen until he was lost to her forever.
So long as he had lived on earth Cora had cherished a hope to meet him, "sometime, somehow, somewhere."
But now he had left this planet. Oh! where in the Lord's universe was he? In what immeasurably distant sphere? Oh! that her spirit could reach him where he lived! Oh, that she could cause him to hear her cry—her deep cry of repentance and anguish!
But no; he never heard her; he never came near her in spirit, even in her dreams, as the departed are sometimes said to come and comfort the loved ones left on earth.
During these moods of dark despair Cora was so gloomy and reserved that she seemed to treat her unwelcome guest worse than ever, when, in truth, she was not even seeing or thinking of the intruder.
The Iron King, however, noticed his granddaughter's coldness and reserve, and he deeply resented it.
One very rainy, dismal Sunday they were all at home and in the drawing room. Cora had sat for hours in silence, or replying to Mrs. Stillwater's frequent attempts to draw her into conversation in brief monosyllables, until at last the visitor arose and left the room, not hurt or offended, as Mr. Rockharrt supposed, but simply tired of staying so long in one place.
But the Iron King turned on his granddaughter and demanded:
"Corona Rothsay! why do you treat our visitor with such unladylike rudeness?"
Cora, brought roughly out of her sad reverie, gazed at the old man vaguely. She scarcely heard his question, and certainly did not understand it.
"Father," ventured Mr. Clarence, "I do not believe Cora could treat any one with rudeness, and surely she could never be unladylike. But you see she is absent-minded."
"Hold your tongue, sir! How dare you interfere?" sternly exclaimed the despot. "But I see how it is," he added, with the savage satisfaction of a man who has power to crush and means to do it—"I see how it is! That oppressed woman will never be treated by either of you with proper respect until I give her my name and make her my wife and the mistress of my house."