For Woman's Love Part 62

"He heard me perfectly. Nothing pa.s.ses in my grandfather's presence that he does not see and hear and understand."

"Well, then, I reckon he thinks you have changed your mind; for he spoke of meeting Sylvan at North End to bid him good-by, but said not a word about you."

"He will believe that I am going when he sees me with Sylvan," said Cora.

And then she touched the bell and ordered her carriage to be brought to the door.

"We must go and take leave of Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt," she said to Rose.

Twenty minutes later Cora and Sylvan entered the pony carriage. Sylvan took the reins and started for Violet Banks.

They soon reached the lovely villa, where they found Violet seated in a Quaker rocking-chair on the front porch, with a basket workstand beside her, busily and happily engaged in her beloved work--embroidering an infant's white cashmere cloak. She jumped up, dropped her work, and ran to meet her visitors as they alighted from the carriage. She kissed Cora rapturously, and Sylvan kissed her.

"How lovely of you both to come! Wait a minute till I call a boy to take your chaise around to the stable. And, oh, sit down. You are going to stay all day with me, too, and late into the night--there is a fine moon to-night. Or maybe you will stay a week or a month. Why not? Oh, do stay," she rattled on, a little incoherently on account of her happy excitement.

"No, dear," said Cora, "we can only stay a very few minutes. The rising moon will see us far away on our route to New York."

"W-h-y! You astonish me! How sudden this is! Where are you going?" asked Violet, pausing in her hurry to call a groom.

"Let me explain," said Cora, taking one of the Quaker chairs and seating herself. "Sylvan has just received his commission as second lieutenant in the 3d Regiment of Infantry, now on Governor's Island, New York harbor, but under orders for Fort Farthermost, on the extreme frontier of the Indian Reserve. He leaves by the afternoon express, and I go with him."

"Cora!" exclaimed Violet, as she dropped into her chair. "I know you have talked about this, but I never thought you would do such a wild deed! Please don't think of going out among bears and Indians!"

"I must, dear, for many reasons. Sylvan and myself are all and all to each other at present, and we should not be parted. More than that, I wish to do something in the world. I can not do anything here. I am not wanted, you see. I must, therefore, go where I may be wanted and may do some good."

"But what can you do--out there?"

Cora then explained her plan of establis.h.i.+ng a missionary home and school for Indian children.

"What a good, great, but, oh, what a Quixotic plan! Sylvan, why will you let her do it?" pleaded Violet.

"My dear, I would not presume to oppose Cora. If she thinks she is right in this matter, then she is right. If her resolution is fixed, then I will uphold and defend her in that resolution," said the young lieutenant, loyally. But all the same his secret thought was that some fine fellow in his own regiment might be able to persuade Cora to devote her time and fortune to him, instead of to the redskins.

After a little more talk Cora got up and kissed Violet good-by. Sylvan followed her example with a little more ardor than was absolutely necessary, perhaps.

At Rockhold luncheon was on the table, and young Mrs. Rockharrt waiting for them. Mr. Clarence was also at home, having determined to risk his father's displeasure and to neglect his business on this one day--this last day, for the sake of the niece and the nephew who were so dear to his heart.

After luncheon Sylvan went out to oversee the loading of the farm van, which was drawn by two st.u.r.dy mules, with the many heavy trunks and boxes that contained Cora's wardrobe and books--among the latter a large number of elementary school books. Mr. Clarence stood by his side to help him in case of need. Cora went up to her room, where nothing was now left to be done but to pack her little traveling bag with the necessaries for her journey, and then put on her traveling suit. She had a quant.i.ty of valuable jewelry, but this she put carefully into her hand bag, intending to convert it all into money as soon as she should reach New York, and to consecrate the fund, with the bulk of her fortune, to her projected home school for the Indian children.

As she sat there, she was by some occult agency led to think of her grandfather's young wife--to think of her tenderly, charitably, compa.s.sionately. Poor Rose! In infancy, from the day of her father's death, an unloved, neglected, persecuted child; in childhood, driven to desperation and elopement by the miseries of her home; in girlhood, deceived and abandoned by her lover; now, in womanhood, as friendless and unhappy as if she had not married a wealthy man, and was not living in a luxurious home. Poor Rose! She had lost her sense of honor, or she never would have married Mr. Rockharrt, even for a refuge. But, through all her sins and sorrows, she had not lost her tender heart, her sweet temper, or her amiable desire to serve and to please. She had now a hard time with her aged, despotic husband. He had not gratified her ambition by taking her into the upper circles of society, for he seemed now to have given up society; he had not pleased her harmless vanity with presents of fine dress and jewelry; no, nor even regarded her services with any sort of affectionate recognition.

Cora sat there feeling sorry that she had ever shown herself cold and haughty to the helpless creature who had always done all that she could to win her (Cora's) love, and whom she was about to leave to the tender mercies of a hard and selfish old man, who, though he highly approved of his young wife's meekness, humility and subserviency, and held her up as an example to her whole s.e.x, yet did not care for her, did not consult her wishes in anything, did not consider her happiness.

Cora sat wondering what she could do to give this poor little soul some little pleasure before leaving her. Suddenly she thought of her jewels.

She resolved to select a set and give it to Rose with some kind parting word.

She took her hand bag and withdrew from it case after case, examining each in turn. There was a set of diamonds worth many thousand dollars; a set of rubies and pearls, worth almost as much; a set of emeralds, very costly; but none of them as lovely as a set of sapphires, pearls, and diamonds, artistically arranged together, the sapphires encircled by a row of pearls, with an outer circle of small diamonds; the whole suggesting the blue color, the foam, and the sparkle of the sea.

This Cora selected as a parting present to her grandfather's young wife.

She took them in her hand and hurried to Rose's room, knocked at the door and entered. Rose was seated in a white dimity-covered arm chair, engaged in reading a novel. She looked surprised, and almost frightened, at the sight of Cora, who had never before condescended to enter this private room.

"Have I disturbed you?" inquired Cora.

"Oh, no; no, indeed. Pray come in. Please sit down. Will you have this arm chair?" eagerly inquired the young woman, rising from her seat.

"No, thank you, Rose; I have scarcely time to sit. I have brought you a keepsake which I hope you will sometimes wear in memory of your old pupil," said Cora, opening the casket and displaying the gems.

Rose's face was a study--all that was good and evil in her was aroused at the sight of the rich and costly jewels--vanity, cupidity, grat.i.tude, tenderness.

"Oh, how superb they are! I never saw such splendid gems! A parure for a princess, and you give them to me? What a munificent present! How kind you are, Cora! What can I do? How shall I ever be able to return your kindness?" said Rose, as tears of delight and wonder filled her eyes.

"Wear them and enjoy them. They suit your fair complexion very well. And now let me bid you good-by, here."

"No, no; not yet. I will go down and see you off--see the very last of you, Cora, until the carriage takes you out of sight. Oh, dear, it may indeed be the very last that I shall ever see of you, sure enough."

"I hope not. Why do you speak so sadly?"

"Because I am not strong. My father died of consumption; so did my elder brothers and sisters, the children of his first marriage, and often I think I shall follow them."

Mrs. Rothsay looked at the speaker. The transparent delicacy of complexion, the tenderness of the limpid blue eyes, the infantile softness of face, throat, and hands, certainly did not seem to promise much strength or long life; but Cora spoke cheerfully:

"Such hereditary weakness may be overcome in these days of science, Rose. You must banish fear and take care of yourself. Now, I really must go and put on my bonnet."

"Very well, then, if you must. I will meet you in the hall. Oh, my dear, I am so very grateful to you for these precious jewels, and more than all for the friends.h.i.+p and kindness that prompted the gift," said Rose; and perhaps she really did believe that she prized the giver more than the gift; for such self-deception would have been in keeping with her superficial character.

Cora left the room and hurried to her chamber, where she put on her bonnet and her linen duster. She had scarcely fastened the last b.u.t.ton when her brother knocked at the door, calling out:

"Come, Cora, come, or we shall miss the train."

Cora caught up her traveling bag, cast

"A long, last, lingering look"

around the dear, familiar room which she had occupied when at Rockhold from her childhood's days, and then went out and joined her brother.

In the hall below they were met by Rose

"Be good to her, poor thing," whispered Cora to Sylvan.

"All right," replied the young lieutenant.

Rose's eyes were filled with tears. It seemed to the friendless creature very hard to lose Cora, just as Cora was beginning to be friendly.

"Good-by," said Mrs. Rothsay, taking the woman's hand. But Rose burst into tears, threw her arms around the young lady's neck, hugged her close, and kissed her many times.

"Good-by, my pretty step-grandmother-in-law," said Sylvan, gayly, taking her hand and giving her a kiss. "You are still

'The rose that all admire,'