"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 tassels. 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 passed 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 à 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 passed 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."