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Page 23
"God bless you, Rose!" exclaimed the trembling voice of the discarded
lover, who, pale and wo-worn, had been unintentionally concealed among
the trees--"God bless you, Rose!--that prayer has done me good.
Amen to every word of it! She is quite, quite gone now--another's
bride--the wife of a gentleman--and so best; the ambition which fits
her for her present station unfitted her to be my wife. I say this,
and think this--I know it! But though I do know it, her face--that
face I loved from infancy, until it became a sin for me to love it
longer--that face comes between me and reason, and its brightness
destroys all that reason taught."
Rose could not trust herself to reply. She longed to speak to him,
but she could not; she _dared_ not. He continued--"Did she leave no
message, speak no word, say nothing, to be said to me?"
"She said," replied her cousin, "that she hoped you would be happy;
that you deserved to be so"--
"Deserved to be so!" he repeated bitterly; "and that was the reason
why _she_ made me miserable. Oh! the folly, the madness of the man who
trusts to woman's love--to woman's faith! But the spell _once_ broken,
the charm once dispelled, that is enough!" And yet it was not enough,
for Edward talked on, and more than once was interrupted by Rose,
who, whenever she could vindicate her cousin, did so bravely and
generously--not in a half-consenting, frigid manner, but as a true
woman does when she defends a woman, as, if she be either good or
wise, she will always do.
Rose did not know enough of human nature to understand that the more
Edward complained of Helen's conduct and desertion, the less he really
felt it; and the generous portion of his own nature sympathised
with the very generosity which he argued against. He had found one,
who while she listened sweetly and patiently to his complaints,
vindicated, precisely as he would have desired, the idol of his
heart's first love. What we love appears so entirely our own, that
we question the right of others to blame it, whatever we may do
ourselves. If he had known the deep, the treasured secret that poor
Rose concealed within the sanctuary of her bosom, he would have
wondered at the unostentatious generosity of her pure and simple
nature.
"It is evident," said Rose Dillon to herself, when she bade Edward
adieu; "it is quite evident he never will or can love another. Such
affection is everlasting." How blind she was! "Poor fellow! he will
either die in the flower of his age of a broken heart, or drag on a
miserable existence! And if he does," questioned the maiden, "and
if he does, _what is that to me_?" She did not, for a moment or two,
trust herself to frame an answer, though the tell-tale blood, first
mounting to and then receding from her cheek, replied; but then she
began to calculate how long she had known Edward, and thought how very
natural it was she should feel interested, deeply interested, in him.
He had no sister; why should she not be to him a sister? Ah, Rose,
Rose! that sisterly reasoning is of all others the most perilous.
Time passed on. The bride wrote a letter, which, in its tone and
character, sounded pretty much like a long trumpet-note of exultation.
Mrs. Myles declared it to be a dear letter, a charming letter, a most
lady-like letter, and yet evidently she was not satisfied therewith.
She read scraps of it to all the neighbours, and vaunted Mrs. Ivers,
the Honourable Mrs. Ivers, up to the skies. Like all persons whose
dignity and station are not the result of inheritance, in the next
epistle she was even more anxious to impress her humble relatives
with an idea of her consequence. Mingled with a few epithets of love,
were a great many eulogiums on her new station. She was too honest to
regret, even in seeming, the rural delights of the country, (for Helen
could not stoop to deceit,) but she gave a list of titled visitors,
and said she would write more at length, were it not that every spare
moment was spent in qualifying herself to fill her station so as to do
credit to her husband." This old Mrs. Myles could not understand; she
considered Helen fit to be a queen, and said so.
CHAPTER V.
For more than two months, Rose and Edward did not meet again; for more
than four after that, he never entered the cottage which had contained
what he held most dear on earth; but one evening he called with Mr.
Stokes. The good rector might have had his own reasons for bringing
the young man to the cottage; but if he had he kept them to himself,
the best way of rendering them effective.
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