University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
ROSAMOND LEYTON.

Rosamond had been some weeks at Riverside, and during
all that time Mr. Browning had scarcely noticed her
at all. On the first day of her arrival he had spoken
kindly to her, asking her how old she was, and how long
her mother had been dead, and this was all the attention
he had paid to her. He did not even yet know the color
of her eyes, or texture of her hair,—whether it were curly
or straight, black or brown; but he knew in various ways
that she was there—knew it by the sound of dancing feet
upon the stairs, which were wont to echo only to Mrs.
Peters' heavy tread—knew it by the tasteful air his room
suddenly assumed—by the ringing laugh and musical
songs which came often from the kitchen, and by the thousand
changes which the presence of a merry-hearted girl
of thirteen brings to a hitherto silent house. Of him
Rosamond stood considerably in awe, and though she
could willingly have worshipped him for giving her so
pleasant a home, she felt afraid of him and kept out of his
way, watching him with childish curiosity at a distance,
admiring his noble figure, and wondering if she would
ever dare speak to him as fearlessly as Mrs. Peters did.

From this woman Rosamond received all a mother's
care, and though the name of her lost parent was often
on her lips, she was beginning to be very happy in her
new home, when one day toward the middle of October,

Mrs. Peters told her that Mr. Browning's only sister, a
Mrs. Van Vechten, who lived South, was coming to Riverside,
together with her son Ben. The lady Mrs. Peters
had never seen, but Ben, who was at school in Albany,
had spent a vacation there, and she described him as a
“great, good-natured fool,” who cared for nothing but
dogs, cigars, fast horses and pretty girls.

Rosamond pushed back the stray curls which had fallen
over her face, glanced at the cracked mirror which gave
her two noses instead of one, and thinking to herself, “I
wonder if he'll care for me,” listened attentively while Mrs.
Peters continued,—“This Miss Van Vechten is a mighty
fine lady, they say, and has heaps of niggers to wait on
her at home,—but she can't bring 'em here, for I should
set 'em free—that's so. I don't b'lieve in't. What was
I sayin'? Oh, I know, she can't wait on herself, and
wrote to have her brother get some one. He asked me
if you'd be willin' to put on her clothes, wash her face,
and chaw her victuals like enough.”

“Mr. Browning never said that,” interrupted Rosamond,
and Mrs. Peters replied—“Well, not that exactly,
but he wants you to wait on her generally.”

“I'll do any thing reasonable,” answered Rosamond.
“When will she be here?”

“In two or three days,” said Mrs. Peters, “and I must
hurry, or I shan't have them north chambers ready for her.
Ben ain't coming quite so soon.”

The two or three days passed rapidly, and at the close
of the third a carriage laden with trunks stopped before
the gate at Riverside, and Mrs. Van Vechten had come.
She was a thin, sallow-faced, proud-looking woman, wholly
unlike her brother, whose senior she was by many years.

She had seen much of the world, and that she was conscious
of her own fancied superiority was perceptible in
every movement. She was Mrs. Richard Van Vechten, of
Alabama—one of the oldest families in the state. Her
deceased husband had been United States Senator—she
had been to Europe—had seen the Queen on horseback—
had passed the residence of the Duchess of Sutherland,
and when Rosamond Leyton appeared before her in her
neatly-fitting dress of black and asked what she could do
for her, she elevated her eyebrows, and coolly surveying
the little girl, answered haughtily, “Comb out my hair.”

“Yes, I will,” thought Rosamond, who had taken a dislike
to the grand lady, and suiting the action to the
thought, she did comb out her hair, pulling it so unmercifully
that Mrs. Van Vechten angrily bade her stop.

“Look at me, girl,” said she; “did you ever assist at
any ones toilet before?”

“I've hooked Mrs. Peters' dress and pinned on Bridget's
collar,” answered Rosamond, her great brown eyes brimming
with mischief.

“Disgusting!” returned Mrs. Van Vechten—“I should
suppose Ralph would know better than to get me such
an ignoramus. Were you hired on purpose to wait on
me?”

“Why, no, ma'am—I live here,” answered Rosamond.

“Live here!” repeated Mrs. Van Vechten, “and pray,
what do you do?”

“Nothing much, unless I choose,” said Rosamond, who,
being a great pet with Mrs. Peters and the other servants,
really led a very easy life at Riverside.

Looking curiously into the frank, open face of the
young girl, Mrs. Van Vechten concluded she was never

intended to take a negro's place, and with a wave of
her hand she said, “You may go; I can dress myself
alone.”

That evening, as the brother and sister sat together in
the parlor, the latter suddenly asked, “Who is that Rosamond
Leyton, and what is she doing here?”

Mr. Browning told her all he knew of the girl, and she
continued, “Do you intend to educate her?”

“Educate her!” said he—“what made you think of
that?”

“Because,” she answered, with a sarcastic smile, “as
you expect to do penance the rest of your lifetime, I did
not know but you would deem it your duty to educate
every beggar who came along.”

The idea of educating Rosamond Leyton was new to
Mr. Browning, but he did not tell his sister so—he merely
said, “And suppose I do educate her?”

“In that case,” answered the lady, “Ben will not pass
his college vacations here, as I had intended that he should
do.”

“And why not?” asked Mr. Browning.

“Why not?” repeated Mrs. Van Vechten. “Just as
though you did not know how susceptible he is to female
beauty, and if you treat this Rosamond as an equal, it will
be like him to fall in love with her at once. She is very
pretty, you know.”

Mr. Browning did not know any such thing. In fact,
he scarcely knew how the young girl looked, but his sister's
remark had awakened in him an interest, and after
she had retired, which she did early, he rang the bell for
Mrs. Peters, who soon appeared in answer to his call.

“Is Rosamond Leyton up,” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Peters, wondering at the
question.

“Send her to me,” he said, and with redoubled amazement
Mrs. Peters carried the message to Rosamond, who
was sitting before the fire, trying in vain to undo an obstinate
knot in her boot-string.

“Mr. Browning sent for me!” she exclaimed, her cheeks
flushing up. “Wants to scold me, I suppose, for pulling
his sister's hair. I only did what she told me to,” and
with a beating heart she started for the parlor.

Rosamond was afraid of Mr. Browning, and feeling
sure that he intended to reprove her, she took the chair
nearest to the door, and covering her face with her hands,
began to cry, saying—“It was ugly in me, I know, to
pull Mrs. Van Vechten's hair, and I did it on purpose,
too; but I wont do so again, I certainly wont.”

Mr. Browning was confounded. This was the first intimation
he had received of the barberic performance, and
for a moment he remained silent, gazing at the little girl.
Her figure was very slight, her feet and hands were very
small, and her hair, though disordered now and rough,
was of a beautiful brown, and fell in heavy curls around
her neck. He saw all this at a glance, but her face, the
point to which his attention was chiefly directed, he could
not see until those little hands were removed, and as a
means of accomplishing this he at last said, kindly—“I
do not understand you, Rosamond. My sister has entered
no complaint, and I did not send for you to censure you.
I wish to talk with you—to get acquainted. Will you
come and sit by me upon the sofa?”

Rosamond's hands came down from her face, but she
did not leave her seat; neither did Mr. Browning now

wish to have her, for the light of the chandelier fell full
upon her, giving him a much better view of her features
than if she had been nearer to him. If, as Mrs. Peters
had said, Ben Van Vechten was fond of pretty girls, he
in a measure inherited the feeling from his uncle, who
was an ardent admirer of the beautiful, and who now
felt a glow of satisfaction in knowing that Rosamond
Leyton was pretty. It was a merry, sparkling, little face
which he looked upon, and though the nose did turn
up a trifle, and the mouth was rather wide, the soft,
brown eyes, and exquisitely fair complexion made ample
amends for all. She was never intended for a menial—
she would make a beautiful woman—and with thoughts
similar to these, Mr. Browning, after completing his
survey of her person, said—“Have you been to school
much?”

“Always, until I came here,” was her answer; and he
continued—“And since then you have not looked in a
book, I suppose?”

The brown eyes opened wide as Rosamond replied,—
“Why, yes I have. I've read ever so much in your library
when you were gone. Mrs. Peters told me I might,”
she added hastily, as she saw his look of surprise, and
mistook it for displeasure.

“I am perfectly willing,” he said; “but what have you
read? Tell me.”

Rosamond was interested at once, and while her cheeks
glowed and her eyes sparkled, she replied—“Oh, I've read
Shakespeare's Historical Plays, every one of them—and
Chlide Harold, and Watts on the Mind, and Kenilworth,
and now I'm right in the middle of the Lady of the
Lake. Wasn't Fitz-James the King? I believe he

was. When I am older I mean to write a book just like
that.”

Mr. Browning could not forbear a smile at her enthusiasm,
but without answering her question, he said,—
“What do you intend to do until you are old enough?”

Rosamond's countenance fell, and after tapping her foot
upon the carpet awhile, she said, “Mrs. Peters will get
me a place by-and-by, and I s'pose I'll have to be a milliner.”

“Do you wish to be one?”

“Why, no; nor mother didn't either, but after father
died she had to do something. Father was a kind of a
lawyer, and left her poor.”

“Do you wish to go away from here, Rosamond?”

There were tears on the long-fringed eye-lashes as the
young girl replied, “No, sir; I'd like to live here always,
but there's nothing for me to do.”

“Unless you go to school. How would you like
that?”

“I have no one to pay the bills,” and the curly head
shook mournfully.

“But I have money, Rosamond, and suppose I say that
you shall stay here and go to school?”

“Oh, sir, will you say so? May I live with you always?”
and forgetting her fear of him in her great joy, Rosamond
Leyton crossed over to where he sat, and laying both her
hands upon his shoulder, continued—“Are you in earnest,
Mr. Browning? May I stay? Oh, I'll be so good to
you when you are old and sick!”

It seemed to her that he was old enough to be her
father, then, and it almost seemed so to him. Giving her
a very paternal look, he answered, “Yes, child, you shall

stay as long as you like; and now go, or Mrs. Peters will
be wondering what keeps you.”

Rosamond started to leave the room, but ere she reached
the door she paused, and turning to Mr. Browning, said,
“You have made me so happy, and I like you so much, I
wish you'd let me kiss your hand—may I?”

It was a strange question, and it sent the blood tingling
to the very tips of Mr. Browning's fingers.

“Why, ye-es,—I don't know. What made you think
of that?” he said, and Rosamond replied,—“I always
kissed father when he made me very happy. It was all I
could do.”

“But I am not your father,” stammered Mr. Browning;
“I shall not be twenty-five until November. Still
you can do as you please.”

“Not twenty-five yet,” repeated Rosamond;—“why,
I thought you were nearer forty. I don't believe I'd better,
though I like you just as well. Good night.”

He heard her go through the hall, up the stairs, through
the upper hall, and then all was still again.

“What a strange little creature she is,” he thought;
“so childlike and frank, but how queer that she should
ask to kiss me! Wouldn't Susan be shocked if she knew
it, and won't she be horrified when I tell her I am going
to educate the girl. I shouldn't have thought of it but
for her. And suppose Ben does fall in love with her. If
he knew a little more, it would not be a bad match.
Some body must keep up our family, or it will become extinct.
Susan and I are the only ones left, and I”—
here he paused, and starting to his feet, he paced the floor
hurriedly, nervously, as if seeking to escape from some
pursuing evil. “It is terrible,” he whispered, “but I can

bear it and will,” and going to his room he sought his pillow
to dream strange dreams of tresses black, and ringlets
brown,—of fierce, dark eyes, and shining orbs, whose
owner had asked to kiss his hand, and mistaken him for
her sire.