CHAPTER XVIII.
_WHICH WAS IT?_
Rose did read and digest, and found her days much richer for the goodcompany she kept; for an introduction to so much that was wise,beautiful, and true, could not but make that month a memorable one. Itis not strange that while the young man most admired "Heroism" and"Self-Reliance," the girl preferred "Love" and "Friendship," readingthem over and over like prose poems, as they are, to the fittingaccompaniment of sunshine, solitude, and sympathy; for letters went toand fro, with praiseworthy regularity.
Rose much enjoyed this correspondence, and found herself regrettingthat it was at an end when she went home in September; for Mac wrotebetter than he talked, though he could do that remarkably well when hechose. But she had no chance to express either pleasure or regret;for, the first time she saw him after her return, the great change inhis appearance made her forget every thing else. Some whim had seizedhim to be shaven and shorn, and when he presented himself to welcomeRose she hardly knew him; for the shaggy hair was nicely trimmed andbrushed, the cherished brown beard entirely gone, showing a well cutmouth and handsome chin, and giving a new expression to the wholeface.
"Are you trying to look like Keats?" she asked after a criticalglance, which left her undecided whether the change was an improvementor not.
"I am trying not to look like uncle," answered Mac, coolly.
"And why, if you please?" demanded Rose, in great surprise.
"Because I prefer to look like myself, and not resemble any other man,no matter how good or great he may be."
"You haven't succeeded then; for you look now very much like the YoungAugustus," returned Rose, rather pleased, on the whole, to see what afinely 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 youthink of me, on the whole?" he asked a minute later, as he found Rosestill scrutinizing him with a meditative air.
"Haven't made up my mind. It is such an entire change I don't knowyou, and feel as if I ought to be introduced. You certainly look muchmore tidy; and I fancy I _shall_ like it, when I'm used to seeing asomewhat distinguished-looking man about the house instead of my oldfriend Orson," answered Rose, with her head on one side to get aprofile view.
"Don't tell uncle why I did it, please: he thinks it was for the sakeof coolness, and likes it, so take no notice; they are all used to menow, and don't mind," said Mac, roving about the room as if ratherashamed of his whim after all.
"No, I won't; but you mustn't mind if I'm not as sociable as usual fora while. I never can be with strangers, and you really do seem likeone. That will be a punishment for your want of taste and love oforiginality," returned Rose, resolved to punish him for the slight putupon her beloved uncle.
"As you like. I won't trouble you much anyway; for I'm going to bevery 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 enjoyyou, and thought we'd have a nice time this winter reading somethingtogether. Must you go?" and Rose seemed to forget his strangeness, asshe held him still by one button while she talked.
"That _would_ be nice. But I feel as if I must go: my plans are allmade, and I've set my heart on it," answered Mac, looking so eagerthat 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 herealone. Charlie is gone, Archie and Steve are wrapt up in theirsweethearts, 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 hislips, as if he had nearly said too much.
"Your what?" asked Rose, curiously; for he neither looked nor actedlike himself.
"I forgot how long it takes to get a diploma," he said, walking awayagain.
"There will be one comfort if you go: you'll see Phebe, and can tellme all about her; for she is so modest she doesn't half do it. I shallwant to know how she gets on, if she is engaged to sing ballads in theconcerts 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 hestooped to look at the little Psyche on the mantel-piece. "What apretty 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 ofit. She is just lifting her lamp to see what Cupid is like; for shehasn'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 waitingpatiently a whole year, with nothing but a bronze lizard in sight,"said Mac, with the half-shy, half-daring look which was so new andpuzzling.
"Cupid flew away as soon as she woke him, you know, and she had a badtime 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 aspiritual sort of face. Don't you see it?" asked Mac, turning thegraceful little figure toward her.
"Not a bit of it. I wonder whom I shall resemble next! I've beencompared to a Fra Angelico angel, Saint Agnes, and now 'Syke,' asAnnabel once called her."
"You'd see what I mean, if you'd ever watched your own face when youwere listening to music, talking earnestly, or much moved; then yoursoul gets into your eyes and you are--like Psyche."
"Tell me the next time you see me in a 'soulful' state, and I'll lookin the glass; 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 grasses, Moved soft as a soft wind blows; You passed me as April passes, With a face made out of a rose,'"
murmured Mac, under his breath, thinking of the white figure going upa green slope one summer day; then, as if chiding himself forsentimentality, he set Psyche down with great care, and began to talkabout a course of solid reading for the winter.
After that, Rose saw very little of him for several weeks, as heseemed to be making up for lost time, and was more odd and absent thanever when he did appear. As she became accustomed to the change in hisexternal appearance, she discovered that he was altering fast in otherways, and watched the "distinguished-looking gentleman" with muchinterest; saying to herself, when she saw a new sort of dignity abouthim alternating with an unusual restlessness of manner, and now andthen a touch of sentiment, "Genius is simmering, just as I predicted."
As the family were in mourning, there were no festivities on Rose'stwenty-first birthday, though the boys had planned all sorts ofrejoicings. Every one felt particularly tender toward their girl onthat day, remembering how "poor Charlie" had loved her; and they triedto show it in the gifts and good wishes they sent her. She found hersanctum all aglow with autumn leaves, and on her table so many rareand pretty things she quite forgot she was an heiress, and only felthow rich she was in loving friends.
One gift greatly pleased her, though she could not help smiling at thesource from whence it came; for Mac sent her a Cupid,--not the chubbychild 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 beautyof the lines; for, instead of being witty, complimentary, or gay,there was something nobler than mere sentiment in them, and the sweetold fable lived again in language which fitly painted the maiden Soullooking for a Love worthy to possess it.
Rose read them over and over, as she sat among the gold and scarletleaves which glorified her little room, and each time found new depthand beauty in them; looking from the words that made music in her earto the lovely shapes that spoke with their mute grace to her eye. Thewhole thing suited her exactly, it was so delicate and perfect in itsway; for she was tired of costly gifts, and valued very much thisproof of her cousin's taste and talent, seeing nothing in it but anaffecti
onate desire to please her.
All the rest dropped in at intervals through the day to say a lovingword, and last of all came Mac. Rose happened to be alone with Dulce,enjoying a splendid sunset from her western window; for October gaveher child a beautiful good-night.
Rose turned round as he entered, and, putting down the little girl,went to him with the evening red shining on her happy face, as shesaid gratefully,--
"Dear Mac, it was _so_ lovely! I don't know how to thank you for it inany way but this." And, drawing down his tall head, she gave him thebirthday 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 theshyness 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'msure 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 whichmade his voice sound strange,--
"I didn't mean to speak, but I can't suffer you to deceive yourselfso. I _must_ tell the truth, and not let you kiss me like a cousinwhen I love you with all my heart and soul!"
"O Mac, don't joke!" cried Rose, bewildered by this sudden glimpseinto a heart she thought she knew so well.
"I'm in solemn earnest," he answered, steadily, in such a quiet tonethat, but for the pale excitement of his face, she might have doubtedhis words. "Be angry, if you will. I expect it, for I know it is toosoon to speak. I ought to wait for years, perhaps; but you seemed sohappy 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 Idid!" she cried, with both pain and impatience in her voice; for thefamily 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 wantof insight.
"_I_ do not admire weakness of any sort: I could never love withouteither confidence or respect. Do me the justice to believe that, forI'm tired of being pitied."
She spoke almost passionately, being more excited by Mac's repressedemotion than she had ever been by Charlie's most touchingdemonstration, though she did not know why.
"But he loved you so!" began Mac; feeling as if a barrier had suddenlygone down, but not daring to venture in as yet.
"That was the hard part of it! That was why I tried to love him,--whyI hoped he would stand fast for my sake, if not for his own; and why Ifound it so sad sometimes not to be able to help despising him forhis want of courage. I don't know how others feel, but, to me, loveisn't all. I must look up, not down, trust and honor with my wholeheart, and find strength and integrity to lean on. I have had it sofar, 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 giveher all she desired.
"Yes," she answered, with a face full of the beautiful confidence invirtue, the instinctive desire for the best which so many of us losetoo 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 expectperfection. Smile if you will, but I won't give up my hero yet," andshe tried to speak lightly, hoping to lead him away from a moredangerous topic.
"You'll have to look a long while, I'm afraid," and all the glow wasgone out of Mac's face; for he understood her wish, and knew hisanswer had been given.
"I have uncle to help me; and I think my ideal grew out of myknowledge of him. How can I fail to believe in goodness, when he showsme what it can be and do?"
"It is no use for me to say any more; for I have very little to offer.I did not mean to say a word, till I'd earned a right to hope forsomething in return. I cannot take it back; but I can wish yousuccess, and I do, because you deserve the very best," and Mac moved,as if he was going away without more words, accepting the inevitableas manfully as he could.
"Thank you: that makes me feel very ungrateful and unkind. I wish Icould answer as you want me to; for, indeed, dear Mac, I'm very fondof you in my own way," and Rose looked up with such tender pity andfrank affection in her face, it was no wonder the poor fellow caughtat a ray of hope, and, brightening suddenly, said in his own oddway,--
"Couldn't you take me on trial, while you are waiting for the truehero? It may be years before you find him; meantime, you could bepractising on me in ways that would be useful when you get him."
"O Mac! what _shall_ I do with you?" exclaimed Rose, so curiouslyaffected by this very characteristic wooing, that she did not knowwhether to laugh or cry; for he was looking at her with his heart inhis eyes, though his proposition was the queerest ever made at such atime.
"Just go on being fond of me in your own way, and let me love you asmuch as I like in mine. I'll try to be satisfied with that," and hetook both her hands so beseechingly that she felt more ungrateful thanever.
"No, it would not be fair: for you would love the most; and, if thehero did appear, what would become of you?"
"I should resemble Uncle Alec in one thing at least,--fidelity; for myfirst love would be my last."
That went straight to Rose's heart; and for a minute she stood silent,looking down at the two strong hands that held hers so firmly, yet sogently; and the thought went through her mind, "Must he too besolitary all his life? I have no dear lover as my mother had, whycannot I make him happy and forget myself?"
It did not seem very hard; and she owned that, even while she toldherself to remember that compassion was no equivalent for love. Shewanted to give all she could, and keep as much of Mac's affection asshe honestly might; because it seemed to grow more sweet and preciouswhen she thought of putting it away.
"You will be like uncle in happier ways than that, I hope; for you,too, must have a high ideal, and find her and be happy," she said,resolving to be true to the voice of conscience, not be swayed by theimpulse of the moment.
"I _have_ found her, but I don't see any prospect of happiness, doyou?" he asked, wistfully.
"Dear Mac, I cannot give you the love you want, but I do trust andrespect you from the bottom of my heart, if that is any comfort,"began Rose, looking up with eyes full of contrition, for the pain herreply must give.
She got no further, however; for those last words wrought amarvellous change in Mac. Dropping her hands, he stood erect, as ifinspired with sudden energy and hope, while over his face there came abrave, bright look, which for the moment made him a nobler and acomelier man than ever handsome Prince had been.
"It _is_ a comfort!" he said, in a tone of gratitude, that touched hervery much. "You said your love must be founded on respect, and thatyou have given me: why can I not earn the rest? I'm nothing now; butevery thing is possible when one loves with all his heart and soul andstrength. Rose, _I_ will be your hero if a mortal man can, even thoughI have to work and wait for years. I'll _make_ you love me, and beglad to do it. Don't be frightened. I've not lost my wits: I've justfound them. I don't ask any thing: I'll never speak of my hope, but itis no use to stop me; I _must_ try it, and I _will_ succeed!"
With the last words, uttered in a ringing voice, while his faceglowed, his eyes shone, and he looked as if carried out of himself bythe passion that possessed him, Mac abruptly left the room, like oneeager to change words to deeds and begin his task at once.
Rose was so amazed by all this, that she sat down trembling a little,not with fear or anger, but a feeling half pleasure, half pain; and asense of some new power--subtle, strong, and sweet--that had come intoher life. It seemed as if another Mac had taken the place of the oneshe had known so long,--an ardent, ambitious man, ready for any work,now that the magical moment had come, when every thing seems possibleto love. If hope could work such a marvellous change for a moment,could not happiness do it for a lifetime?
It would be an excitingexperiment to try, she thought, remembering the sudden illuminationwhich made that familiar face both beautiful and strange.
She could not help wondering how long this unsuspected sentiment hadbeen growing in his heart, and felt perplexed by its peculiardemonstration; for she had never had a lover like this before. Ittouched and flattered her, nevertheless: and she could not but feelhonored by a love so genuine and generous; for it seemed to make a manof Mac all at once, and a manly man too, who was not daunted bydisappointment, but could "hope against hope", and resolve to _make_her love him if it took years to do it.
There was the charm of novelty about this sort of wooing, and shetried to guess how he would set about it, felt curious to see how hewould behave when next they met, and was half angry with herself fornot being able to decide how she ought to act. The more she thoughtthe more bewildered she grew; for, having made up her mind that Macwas a genius, it disturbed all her plans to find him a lover, and suchan ardent one. As it was impossible to predict what would come next,she gave up trying to prepare for it; and, tired with vainspeculations, carried Dulce off to bed, wishing she could tuck awayher love-troubles as quietly and comfortably as she did her sleepylittle charge.
Simple and sincere in all things, Mac gave Rose a new surprise bykeeping his promise to the letter,--asked nothing of her, said nothingof his hope, and went on as if nothing had happened, quite in the oldfriendly way. No, not quite; for now and then, when she least expectedit, she saw again that indescribable expression in his face, a lookthat seemed to shed a sudden sunshine over her, making her eyes fallinvoluntarily, her color rise, and her heart beat quicker for amoment. Not a word did he say, but she felt that a new atmospheresurrounded her when he was by; and, although he used none of thelittle devices most lovers employ to keep the flame alight, it wasimpossible to forget that underneath his quietude there was a hiddenworld of fire and force, ready to appear at a touch, a word from her.
This was rather dangerous knowledge for Rose, and she soon began tofeel that there were more subtle temptations than she had suspected;for it was impossible to be unconscious of her power, or always toresist the trials of it which daily came unsought. She had never feltthis desire before: for Charlie was the only one who had touched herheart; and he was constantly asking as well as giving, and wearied herby demanding too much, or oppressed by offering more than she couldaccept.
Mac did neither: he only loved her, silently, patiently, hopefully;and this generous sort of fidelity was very eloquent to a nature likehers. She could not refuse or chide, since nothing was asked or urged:there was no need of coldness, for he never presumed; no call forpity, since he never complained. All that could be done was to try andbe as just and true as he was, and to wait as trustfully for the end,whatever it was to be.
For a time she liked the new interest it put into her life, yet didnothing to encourage it; and thought that if she gave this love nofood it would soon starve to death. But it seemed to thrive on air;and presently she began to feel as if a very strong will was slowlybut steadily influencing her in many ways. If Mac had never told herthat he meant to "_make_ her love him", she might have yieldedunconsciously; but now she mistook the impulse to obey thisundercurrent for compassion, and resisted stoutly, not comprehendingyet the reason of the unrest which took possession of her about thistime.
She had as many moods as an April day; and would have much surprisedDr. Alec by her vagaries, had he known them all. He saw enough,however, to guess what was the matter, but took no notice; for he knewthis fever must run its course, and much medicine only does harm. Theothers were busy about their own affairs, and Aunt Plenty was too muchabsorbed in her rheumatism to think of love; for the cold weather setin early, and the poor lady kept her room for days at a time, withRose as nurse.
Mac had spoken of going away in November, and Rose began to hope hewould; for she decided that this silent sort of adoration was bad forher, as it prevented her from steadily pursuing the employments shehad marked out for that year. What was the use of trying to readuseful books, when her thoughts continually wandered to those charmingessays on "Love and Friendship"? to copy antique casts, when all themasculine heads looked like Cupid, and the feminine ones like thePsyche on her mantel-piece? to practise the best music, if it ended insinging over and over the pretty spring-song without Phebe'sbird-chorus? Dulce's company was pleasantest now; for Dulce seldomtalked, so much meditation was possible. Even Aunt Plenty's redflannel, camphor, and Pond's Extract were preferable to generalsociety; and long solitary rides on Rosa seemed the only thing to puther in tune after one of her attempts to find out what she ought to door leave undone.
She made up her mind at last; and arming herself with an unmade pen,like Fanny Squeers, she boldly went into the study to confer with Dr.Alec, at an hour when Mac was usually absent.
"I want a pen for marking: can you make me one, uncle?" she asked,popping in her head to be sure he was alone.
"Yes, my dear," answered a voice so like the doctor's that she enteredwithout delay.
But before she had taken three steps she stopped, looking ratherannoyed; for the head that rose from behind the tall desk was notrough and gray, but brown and smooth, and Mac, not Uncle Alec, satthere writing. Late experience had taught her that she had nothing tofear from a _tete-a-tete_; and, having with difficulty taken aresolution, she did not like to fail of carrying it out.
"Don't get up: I won't trouble you if you are busy; there is nohurry", she said, not quite sure whether it were wiser to stay or runaway.
Mac settled the point, by taking the pen out of her hand and beginningto cut it, as quietly as Nicholas did on that "thrilling" occasion.Perhaps he was thinking of that; for he smiled as he asked,--
"Hard or soft?"
Rose evidently had forgotten that the family of Squeers ever existed,for she answered,--
"Hard, please," in a voice to match. "I'm glad to see you doing that",she added, taking courage from his composure, and going as straight toher point as could be expected of a woman.
"And I am very glad to do it."
"I don't mean making pens, but the romance I advised," and she touchedthe closely written page before him, looking as if she would like toread it.
"That is my abstract of a lecture on the circulation of the blood," heanswered, kindly turning it so that she could see. "I don't writeromances: I'm living one," and he glanced up with the happy, hopefulexpression which always made her feel as if he was heaping coals offire on her head.
"I wish you wouldn't look at me in that way: it fidgets me," she saida little petulantly; for she had been out riding, and knew that shedid not present a "spiritual" appearance, after the frosty air hadreddened nose as well as cheeks.
"I'll try to remember. It does itself before I know it. Perhaps thismay mend matters," and, taking out the blue glasses he sometimes worein the wind, he gravely put them on.
Rose could not help laughing: but his obedience only aggravated her;for she knew he could observe her all the better behind his uglyscreen.
"No, it won't: they are not becoming; and I don't want to look bluewhen I do not feel so," she said, finding it impossible to guess whathe would do next, or to help enjoying his peculiarities.
"But you don't to me; for in spite of the goggles every thing isrose-colored now," and he pocketed the glasses, without a murmur atthe charming inconsistency of his idol.
"Really, Mac, I'm tired of this nonsense: it worries me and wastesyour time."
"Never worked harder. But does it _really_ trouble you to know I loveyou?" he asked anxiously.
"Don't you see how cross it makes me?" and she walked away, feelingthat things were not going as she intended to have them at all.
"I don't mind the thorns if I get the rose at last; and I still hope Imay, some ten years hence," said this persistent suitor, quiteundaunted by the prospect of a "long wait."
"I think it is rather hard to be loved whether I like it or not,"objected Rose, at a loss how to m
ake any headway against suchindomitable hopefulness.
"But you can't help it, nor can I: so I must go on doing it with allmy heart till you marry; and then--well, then I'm afraid I may hatesomebody instead," and Mac spoilt the pen by an involuntary slash ofhis knife.
"Please don't, Mac!"
"Don't which, love or hate?"
"Don't do either: go and care for some one else; there are plenty ofnice girls who will be glad to make you happy," said Rose, intent uponending her disquiet in some way.
"That is too easy. I enjoy working for my blessings; and the harder Ihave to work the more I value them when they come."
"Then if I suddenly grew very kind would you stop caring about me?"asked Rose, wondering if that treatment would free her from a passionwhich both touched and tormented her.
"Try and see;" but there was a traitorous glimmer in Mac's eyes whichplainly showed what a failure it would be.
"No, I'll get something to do, so absorbing I shall forget all aboutyou."
"Don't think about me if it troubles you," he said tenderly.
"I can't help it." Rose tried to catch back the words: but it was toolate; and she added hastily, "That is, I cannot help wishing you wouldforget _me_. It is a great disappointment to find I was mistaken whenI hoped such fine things of you."
"Yes, you were very sure that it was love when it was poetry; and nowyou want poetry when I've nothing on hand but love. Will both togetherplease you?"
"Try and see."
"I'll do my best. Any thing else?" he asked, forgetting the small taskshe had given him, in his eagerness to attempt the greater.
"Tell me one thing. I've often wanted to know; and now you speak of itI'll venture to ask. Did you care about me when you read Keats to melast summer?"
"No."
"When _did_ you begin?" asked Rose, smiling in spite of herself at hisunflattering honesty.
"How can I tell? Perhaps it did begin up there, though; for that talkset us writing, and the letters showed me what a beautiful soul youhad. I loved that first: it was so quick to recognize good things, touse them when they came, and give them out again as unconsciously as aflower does its breath. I longed for you to come home, and wanted youto find me altered for the better in some way as I had found you. Andwhen you came it was very easy to see why I needed you,--to love youentirely, and to tell you so. That's all, Rose."
A short story, but it was enough: the voice that told it with suchsimple truth made the few words so eloquent Rose felt strongly temptedto add the sequel Mac desired. But her eyes had fallen as he spoke;for she knew his were fixed upon her, dark and dilated, with the samerepressed emotion that put such fervor into his quiet tones, and, justas she was about to look up, they fell on a shabby little footstool.Trifles affect women curiously, and often most irresistibly when someagitation sways them: the sight of the old hassock vividly recalledCharlie; for he had kicked it on the night she never liked toremember; like a spark it fired a long train of recollections, and thethought went through her mind,--
"I fancied I loved him, and let him see it; but I deceived myself, andhe reproached me for a single look that said too much. This feeling isvery different, but too new and sudden to be trusted. I'll neitherlook nor speak till I am quite sure; for Mac's love is far deeper thanpoor Charlie's, and I must be very true."
Not in words did the resolve shape itself, but in a quick impulse,which she obeyed,--certain that it was right, since it was hard toyield to it. Only an instant's silence followed Mac's answer, as shestood looking down with fingers intertwined, and color varying in hercheeks. A foolish attitude; but Mac thought it a sweet picture ofmaiden hesitation, and began to hope that a month's wooing was aboutto end in winning for a lifetime. He deceived himself, however; andcold water fell upon his flame, subduing but by no means quenching it,when Rose looked up with an air of determination, which could notescape eyes that were growing wonderfully far-sighted lately.
"I came in here to beg uncle to advise you to go away soon. You arevery patient and forbearing, and I feel it more than I can tell. Butit is not good for you to depend on any one so much for yourhappiness, I think; and I know it is bad for me to feel that I have somuch power over a fellow-creature. Go away, Mac, and see if this isn'tall a mistake. Don't let a fancy for me change or delay your work,because it may end as suddenly as it began, and then we should bothreproach ourselves and each other. Please do! I respect and care foryou so much, I can't be happy to take all and give nothing. I try to,but I'm not sure--I want to think--it is too soon to know yet--"
Rose began bravely, but ended in a fluttered sort of way, as she movedtoward the door; for Mac's face, though it fell at first, brightenedas she went on, and at the last word, uttered almost involuntarily, heactually laughed low to himself, as if this order into exile pleasedhim much.
"Don't say that you give nothing, when you've just shown me that I'mgetting on. I'll go; I'll go at once; and see if absence won't helpyou 'to think, to know, and to be sure,' as it did me. I wish I coulddo something more for you; as I can't, good-by."
"Are you going _now_?" and Rose paused in her retreat, to look backwith a startled face, as he offered her a badly made pen, and openedthe door for her just as Dr. Alec always did; for, in spite ofhimself, Mac did resemble the best of uncles.
"Not yet; but you seem to be."
Rose turned as red as a poppy, snatched the pen, and flew upstairs, tocall herself hard names, as she industriously spoiled all AuntPlenty's new pocket-handkerchiefs by marking them "A. M. C."
Three days later Mac said "Good-by" in earnest; and no one wassurprised that he left somewhat abruptly, such being his way, and acourse of lectures by a famous physician the ostensible reason for atrip to L. Uncle Alec deserted most shamefully at the last moment bysending word that he would be at the station to see the traveller off:Aunt Plenty was still in her room; so, when Mac came down from hisfarewell to her, Rose met him in the hall, as if anxious not to delayhim. She was a little afraid of another _tete-a-tete_, as she fared sobadly at the last, and had assumed a calm and cousinly air, which sheflattered herself would plainly show on what terms she wished topart.
Mac apparently understood, and not only took the hint, but surpassedher in cheerful composure; for, merely saying, "Good-by, cousin; writewhen you feel like it," he shook hands, and walked out of the house astranquilly as if only a day instead of three months were to passbefore they met again. Rose felt as if a sudden shower-bath hadchilled her, and was about to retire, saying to herself withdisdainful decision,--
"There's no love about it after all; only one of the eccentricities ofgenius," when a rush of cold air made her turn, to find herself inwhat appeared to be the embrace of an impetuous overcoat, which wrapther close for an instant, then vanished as suddenly as it came,leaving her to hide in the sanctum, and confide to Psyche with atender sort of triumph in her breathless voice,--
"No, no, it isn't genius: _that_ must be love!"