Rose in Bloom Part 38

"You haven't succeeded then; for you look now very much like the Young Augustus," returned Rose, rather pleased, on the whole, to see what a finely shaped head appeared after the rough thatch was off.

"Trust a woman to find a comparison for every thing under the sun!"

laughed Mac, not at all flattered by the one just made. "What do you think of me, on the whole?" he asked a minute later, as he found Rose still scrutinizing him with a meditative air.

"Haven't made up my mind. It is such an entire change I don't know you, and feel as if I ought to be introduced. You certainly look much more tidy; and I fancy I _shall_ like it, when I'm used to seeing a somewhat distinguished-looking man about the house instead of my old friend Orson," answered Rose, with her head on one side to get a profile view.

"Don't tell uncle why I did it, please: he thinks it was for the sake of coolness, and likes it, so take no notice; they are all used to me now, and don't mind," said Mac, roving about the room as if rather ashamed of his whim after all.

"No, I won't; but you mustn't mind if I'm not as sociable as usual for a while. I never can be with strangers, and you really do seem like one. That will be a punishment for your want of taste and love of originality," returned Rose, resolved to punish him for the slight put upon her beloved uncle.

"As you like. I won't trouble you much anyway; for I'm going to be very busy. May go to L. this winter, if uncle thinks best; and then my 'originality' can't annoy you."

"I hope you won't go. Why, Mac, I'm just getting to know and enjoy you, and thought we'd have a nice time this winter reading something together. Must you go?" and Rose seemed to forget his strangeness, as she held him still by one b.u.t.ton while she talked.

"That _would_ be nice. But I feel as if I must go: my plans are all made, and I've set my heart on it," answered Mac, looking so eager that Rose released him, saying sadly,--

"I suppose it is natural for you all to get restless, and push off; but it is hard for me to let you go one after the other, and stay here alone. Charlie is gone, Archie and Steve are wrapt up in their sweethearts, the boys away, and only Jamie left to 'play with Rose.'"

"But I'll come back, and you'll be glad I went if I bring you my--"

began Mac, with sudden animation; then stopped abruptly to bite his lips, as if he had nearly said too much.

"Your what?" asked Rose, curiously; for he neither looked nor acted like himself.

"I forgot how long it takes to get a diploma," he said, walking away again.

"There will be one comfort if you go: you'll see Phebe, and can tell me all about her; for she is so modest she doesn't half do it. I shall want to know how she gets on, if she is engaged to sing ballads in the concerts they talk of for next winter. You will write, won't you?"

"Oh, yes! no doubt of that," and Mac laughed low to himself, as he stooped to look at the little Psyche on the mantel-piece. "What a pretty thing it is!" he added soberly, as he took it up.

"Be careful. Uncle gave it to me last New-Year, and I'm very fond of it. She is just lifting her lamp to see what Cupid is like; for she hasn't seen him yet," said Rose, busy putting her work-table in order.

"You ought to have a Cupid for her to look at. She has been waiting patiently a whole year, with nothing but a bronze lizard in sight,"

said Mac, with the half-shy, half-daring look which was so new and puzzling.

"Cupid flew away as soon as she woke him, you know, and she had a bad time of it. She must wait longer till she can find and keep him."

"Do you know she looks like you? Hair tied up in a knot, and a spiritual sort of face. Don't you see it?" asked Mac, turning the graceful little figure toward her.

"Not a bit of it. I wonder whom I shall resemble next! I've been compared to a Fra Angelico angel, Saint Agnes, and now 'Syke,' as Annabel once called her."

"You'd see what I mean, if you'd ever watched your own face when you were listening to music, talking earnestly, or much moved; then your soul gets into your eyes and you are--like Psyche."

"Tell me the next time you see me in a 'soulful' state, and I'll look in the gla.s.s; for I'd like to see if it is becoming," said Rose, merrily, as she sorted her gay worsteds.

"'Your feet in the full-grown gra.s.ses, Moved soft as a soft wind blows; You pa.s.sed me as April pa.s.ses, With a face made out of a rose,'"

murmured Mac, under his breath, thinking of the white figure going up a green slope one summer day; then, as if chiding himself for sentimentality, he set Psyche down with great care, and began to talk about a course of solid reading for the winter.

After that, Rose saw very little of him for several weeks, as he seemed to be making up for lost time, and was more odd and absent than ever when he did appear. As she became accustomed to the change in his external appearance, she discovered that he was altering fast in other ways, and watched the "distinguished-looking gentleman" with much interest; saying to herself, when she saw a new sort of dignity about him alternating with an unusual restlessness of manner, and now and then a touch of sentiment, "Genius is simmering, just as I predicted."

As the family were in mourning, there were no festivities on Rose's twenty-first birthday, though the boys had planned all sorts of rejoicings. Every one felt particularly tender toward their girl on that day, remembering how "poor Charlie" had loved her; and they tried to show it in the gifts and good wishes they sent her. She found her sanctum all aglow with autumn leaves, and on her table so many rare and pretty things she quite forgot she was an heiress, and only felt how rich she was in loving friends.

One gift greatly pleased her, though she could not help smiling at the source from whence it came; for Mac sent her a Cupid,--not the chubby child with a face of naughty merriment, but a slender, winged youth, leaning on his unstrung bow, with a broken arrow at his feet. A poem, "To Psyche," came with it: and Rose was much surprised at the beauty of the lines; for, instead of being witty, complimentary, or gay, there was something n.o.bler than mere sentiment in them, and the sweet old fable lived again in language which fitly painted the maiden Soul looking for a Love worthy to possess it.

Rose read them over and over, as she sat among the gold and scarlet leaves which glorified her little room, and each time found new depth and beauty in them; looking from the words that made music in her ear to the lovely shapes that spoke with their mute grace to her eye. The whole thing suited her exactly, it was so delicate and perfect in its way; for she was tired of costly gifts, and valued very much this proof of her cousin's taste and talent, seeing nothing in it but an affectionate desire to please her.

All the rest dropped in at intervals through the day to say a loving word, and last of all came Mac. Rose happened to be alone with Dulce, enjoying a splendid sunset from her western window; for October gave her child a beautiful good-night.

Rose turned round as he entered, and, putting down the little girl, went to him with the evening red s.h.i.+ning on her happy face, as she said gratefully,--

"Dear Mac, it was _so_ lovely! I don't know how to thank you for it in any way but this." And, drawing down his tall head, she gave him the birthday kiss she had given all the others.

But this time it produced a singular effect: for Mac turned scarlet, then grew pale; and when Rose added playfully, thinking to relieve the shyness of so young a poet, "Never say again you don't write poetry, or call your verses rubbish: I _knew_ you were a genius, and now I'm sure of it," he broke out, as if against his will,--

"No. It isn't genius: it is--love!" Then, as she shrunk a little, startled at his energy, he added, with an effort at self-control which made his voice sound strange,--

"I didn't mean to speak, but I can't suffer you to deceive yourself so. I _must_ tell the truth, and not let you kiss me like a cousin when I love you with all my heart and soul!"

"O Mac, don't joke!" cried Rose, bewildered by this sudden glimpse into a heart she thought she knew so well.

"I'm in solemn earnest," he answered, steadily, in such a quiet tone that, but for the pale excitement of his face, she might have doubted his words. "Be angry, if you will. I expect it, for I know it is too soon to speak. I ought to wait for years, perhaps; but you seemed so happy I dared to hope you had forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" asked Rose, sharply.

"Charlie."

"Ah! you all will insist on believing that I loved him better than I did!" she cried, with both pain and impatience in her voice; for the family delusion tried her very much at times.

"How could we help it, when he was every thing women most admire?"

said Mac, not bitterly, but as if he sometimes wondered at their want of insight.

"_I_ do not admire weakness of any sort: I could never love without either confidence or respect. Do me the justice to believe that, for I'm tired of being pitied."

She spoke almost pa.s.sionately, being more excited by Mac's repressed emotion than she had ever been by Charlie's most touching demonstration, though she did not know why.

"But he loved you so!" began Mac; feeling as if a barrier had suddenly gone down, but not daring to venture in as yet.

"That was the hard part of it! That was why I tried to love him,--why I hoped he would stand fast for my sake, if not for his own; and why I found it so sad sometimes not to be able to help despising him for his want of courage. I don't know how others feel, but, to me, love isn't all. I must look up, not down, trust and honor with my whole heart, and find strength and integrity to lean on. I have had it so far, and I know I could not live without it."

"Your ideal is a high one. Do you hope to find it, Rose?" Mac asked, feeling, with the humility of a genuine love, that _he_ could not give her all she desired.

"Yes," she answered, with a face full of the beautiful confidence in virtue, the instinctive desire for the best which so many of us lose too soon, to find again after life's great lessons are well learned.

"I do hope to find it, because I try not to be unreasonable and expect perfection. Smile if you will, but I won't give up my hero yet," and she tried to speak lightly, hoping to lead him away from a more dangerous topic.

"You'll have to look a long while, I'm afraid," and all the glow was gone out of Mac's face; for he understood her wish, and knew his answer had been given.

"I have uncle to help me; and I think my ideal grew out of my knowledge of him. How can I fail to believe in goodness, when he shows me what it can be and do?"