Crying to them from afar off,
Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water.”
Scarcely had the last words left his lips when a heavy tread upon the piazza and a loud ringing of the bell startled us, for it was not often that we were favored with visitors on such a night as this. Zillah, the colored girl, hastened to the door where she found a stranger, who, stepping into the hall, asked, “if Miss Rosa Lee lived there.”
Starting from my chair, I turned very white, for I recognized the voice of Dr. Clayton, who the next moment stood before me! I forgot the past—forgot that he had been my lover—forgot that Richard Delafield’s eyes were upon me—forgot every thing except that he had come from dear New England—had breathed the air of my native hills—had heard the sound of my mother’s voice—and had brought me undoubtedly tidings of that mother’s welfare. Springing forward with a cry of joy I took his extended hand, nor shrank away when, with unwonted tenderness, he stooped to kiss my lips, low whispering as he did so, “Dear Rosa.”
Then, indeed, I blushed, for I knew he had no right to call me thus, but the next moment it was forgotten, and with something of pride in my manner, I presented him to Mrs. Lansing and Mr. Delafield, the latter of whom greeted him rather coldly, and after a few words of common courtesy, bade us good night, but not until he had learned what, until that moment, was news to me, viz. that Dell Clayton had been dead nearly six months! As he passed me on his way out, he said so low that no one else could hear him, “Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water,” referring to the line he had last read. There was a deep scowl upon his dark face, and as I gazed upon him, I could not help wondering if it were thus the old man looked, when from his lonely wigwam door he watched the departing footsteps of his daughter.
“Come again to-morrow, uncle Dick,” said little Jessie, following him into the hall; but he made her no answer, save his accustomed good-bye kiss, and I soon heard his heavy tread as he strode down the winding walk and out into the open field, muttering to himself, as I afterwards learned:
“And she will follow where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger.”
Yes, Mr. Delafield was jealous—terribly jealous of Dr. Clayton, the nature of whose business he readily divined, though I did not, and nothing was further from my mind than the thought that he intended honoring me with a chance of becoming Mrs. Clayton 2d. And yet it was this alone which had brought him to Georgia, he taking the precaution to send on in advance a letter, in which he had made known his wishes, and asked for a return of the affection which, for five long years, he said, had never known one moment of abatement, even though another had slept upon his bosom as his wife. But she was gone, and in her place, he would see blooming, he said, the Rose he had loved so long. Owing to some detention, this letter had failed to reach me, hence I was wholly unprepared for the scene which followed when, at last we were left alone. Well skilled in the signs, Mrs. Lansing had purposely retired, not long after her brother’s departure, while I, suspecting nothing, made no objection when Dr. Clayton took his seat upon the sofa at my side. I was talking to him of Anna, and from speaking of her, and poor Herbert’s death, it was an easy transition to Dell, of whom he spoke kindly, nay, even affectionately, as he told me of her last days; how much she suffered, and how gentle she became, never chiding him, in the least, for a thing unskillfully done, but seeming satisfied with everything, and loving him at last with a love which, had it been earlier born, would have shed happiness over his comparatively cheerless life. Then he told me of the little child, not yet three years old, whom he had called “Rosa Lee,” and gently pushing back my curls, and gazing down into my face, he said, “It is a fancy of mine, perhaps, but I love to think she looks like you, who should have been her mother.”
With all my stupidity, I understood him then, and blushing crimson, I moved away to the end of the sofa, while he continued, “What did you think of my letter? You received it, I suppose?”