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.