“Jessie is gone, Rosa is going, and I shall be left alone,” he thought. “What have I done to deserve a chastisement like this?”
Soon, however, he grew calmer, and saying, “It is well;” he tenderly kissed the lips and brow of the beautiful child, who seemed to smile on him even in death; then going out among his people, he comforted them as best he could, dropping more than one tear to the memory of those who they told him were dead, and who numbered eight in all. At a short distance from the house was a tall cypress where Jessie had often sported, and where now was a play-house, built by her hands but a few days before. There, by the light of the silvery moon, they made her a grave, and when the sun was up, its rays fell upon the pile of earth which hid from view the sunny face and soft blue eyes of Jessie, “the Angel of the Pines.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
RETURN.
For nearly a week after Jessie’s death, Mr. Delafield remained at the Pines, doing whatever he could for the comfort of his servants, and as at the end of that time the disease had wholly disappeared, he returned to Cedar Grove, accompanied by his sister and Ada, who had learned by sad experience that the dangers from which we flee, are oftentimes less than those to which we go. They found Rose better, but still quite low, and as the fever had not entirely left her, neither Mrs. Lansing nor Ada ventured near her room, but shut themselves in their own apartment, where the former received the sympathy of her friends, which in this case was truly sincere, for Jessie was universally beloved and the tidings of her death carried sorrow to many hearts.
Over Dr. Clayton a change had come. The hopeful, happy expression of his face was gone, and in its place was a look of utter hopelessness which at first roused Richard’s fears lest Rose should be worse, and in much alarm he asked if it were so.
“No, no,” answered the doctor, while a shadow of pain passed over his handsome features; “she will live.”
Then hurrying to the window he looked out to hide his tears from him whom he knew to be his rival, and who, now that he was unobserved, bent over the sleeping Rose, kissing her wasted cheek and mourning for her as he thought how she would weep when she learned the fate of her favorite. Oh, could he have known the whole, how passionately would he have clasped her to his bosom and held her there as his own, his darling Rose! But it was not yet to be, and he must bide his time.
She had seemed greatly relieved at his absence, and on the second day after his departure, she called Dr. Clayton to her side, fancying him to be her brother Charlie. Taking his hands in hers, she told him the whole story of her trials; how she had tried to bring back the old affection of her childhood, but could not because of the love she had for Richard Delafield.
“Oh, Charlie,” she exclaimed, “he would forgive me, I know, if he knew how much I suffered during those terrible days, when I thought of giving my hand without my heart. The very idea set my brain on fire and my head has ached, oh, so hard since then, but it’s over now, for I conquered at last, and on the night before the wedding, I resolved to tell him all, how I could not and would not marry him. But a dark cloud, which seemed like the rushing of mighty waters, came over me, and I don’t know where I am, nor what has happened, only he has been here, hanging like a shadow over my pillow, where sat another shadow tenfold blacker, which he said was death; but grim and hideous as it was, I preferred it to a life with him, when my whole soul was given to another. He, too, was here occasionally, and in his presence the shadow grew less and less, while his voice called me back from the deep darkness in which I was groping. Once, when I was almost home, so near that I heard the song which little Jamie sings—Jamie, who died so long ago—he laid his cool hand upon my forehead, which was wet with the waters of the rolling river, and I heard him say to some one, ‘Look up; she is better, she will live.’ The next moment he was gone, but I struggled with the waves and floated back to the shore, where, though I could not see him, his hand was stretched out to save me, and for a time he stood between me and Dr. Clayton, who, when he thought nobody heard him, whispered in my ear, ‘my bride—my own.’ But from my inmost soul I answered, ‘Never, never,’ while I looked again towards the river which is still in sight, though slowly receding from view.”
She paused a moment and then continued: “When I am dead, Charlie, you must tell him how it was, and ask him to forgive and think with pity of poor little Rose, who would have loved him if she could. If he will not listen—if he still persists in marrying me, tell him I would rather die ten thousand deaths than wed a man I do not love, and then his pride will come to his aid. But not a word of this to Mr. Delafield, Charlie, never let him know how I loved him. My affection is not returned, and he would despise me—would never visit my grave or think with pity of one who died so far away from home.”