“He would not be free;” and, lifting up her head, Rossie flashed her bright black eyes upon him indignantly. “The Bible would not recognize him as free, neither would I, and you must not speak of such a thing to me.”
“Then I will not,” he answered, still more soothingly; “but Rossie, it is folly to give way like this, though for this once I am glad you did. For now I understand better the cause of these pale cheeks and irregular pulse, and am sure you need entire change of air and scene, such as you can only find in Europe, where we are going in the spring. Think of a summer in Switzerland among the glorious Alps. I know every rock, and chasm, and winding path there, and shall be so happy in seeing you enjoy them.”
He was speaking very kindly to her now, and she gradually grew calm, and listened while he talked of Europe and what they should see there, for he quite decided that they would go in the spring, and as nothing in the way of travel could suit Rossie better, she told Mrs. Andrews the next day of the plan and wrote of it to Everard, ignoring altogether his right as her guardian to be consulted. But Everard did not resent it, though for a time he felt half tempted to say that she should not go, for a strong presentiment of evil swept over him with such force as to keep him awake the entire night. But with the morning his nervous fears subsided, and he could see no reasonable objection to Rossie’s going for the summer to Europe with her brother, whose perfect knowledge of the manners, and customs, and language of the different countries must make him a very pleasant traveling companion.
Rossie had written that she should go directly from Florida to New York, and so Everard wrote her his farewell letter, and sent her a draft for five hundred dollars, which he said she might need, as she would not care to be altogether dependent upon her brother. Rossie’s first impulse was to return the draft, but Dr. Matthewson advised her to keep it and not wound Everard by returning it to him.
So Rossie kept it, or rather, gave it to her brother, and sent a letter of thanks to Everard and another to Bee, telling her of her intended journey, and bidding her good-by.
With that subtle and mysterious foresight with which women seem to be gifted, and for which there is no explanation, Beatrice anticipated danger at once, though in what form she could not define. She only knew that she wished Rossie was not going away alone with Dr. Matthewson, but she kept her fears from Everard, and wrote to Rossie that she should be in New York to see her off. And when Rossie stood at last on the deck of the Oceanic, Bee was there and Everard, too, taking his last look at the face which would haunt him in the years to come, as the faces of the dead haunt us when we feel that by some act of ours interposed in time we might have saved the life dearer than our own. Beatrice had said to him:
“I am going to New York to see Rossie. Will you go with me?” and without a moment’s reflection he went, and spent one blissful day with her, a day never to be forgotten, when he drove with her in the Park, and watched the constantly changing expression of her sweet face, which had grown so pale and thin that he was more than half reconciled to let her go, hoping much from the sea air and the new life she would lead. To the doctor he was polite and courteous, and an ordinary observer might have thought them the best of friends, so that Rossie was satisfied, and would have been quite happy if she could have forgotten the distance which would so soon intervene between them.
On the whole Beatrice was favorably impressed with Dr. Matthewson, who was so kind to Rossie and so thoughtful for her that she dismissed her fears, and half wished she, too, were going with them. She said as much to Rossie when they stood upon the deck waiting for the order to be given for all visitors to leave.
“Oh, I’d give the world if you were,” Rossie cried. “I should not feel as I do,—afraid, somehow, as if I was never to return,—never to see you again, or Everard.”
She was holding his hand in both hers as she spoke, and in that moment of farewell she forgot everything except the presentiment that she was going from him forever; that their parting was final; and her tears fell like rain as she bent over and kissed his hand, and said: