 | CHAPTER XII. A romance of the republic |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
MR. FITZGERALD had ordered his horse to be
saddled at an earlier hour than Tom had ever
known him to ride, except on a hunting excursion, and in
his own mind he concluded that his master would be asleep
at the hour he had indicated. Before he stretched himself
on the floor for the night, he expressed this opinion to the
cook by saying, “Yer know, Dinah, white folks is allers
mighty wide awake de night afore dey gits up.”
To his surprise, however, Mr. Fitzgerald made his appearance
at the stable just as he was beginning to comb
the horse. “You lazy black rascal,” he exclaimed, “did n't
I order you to have the horse ready by this time?”
“Yes, Massa,” replied Tom, sheering out of the way of
the upraised whip; “but it peers like Massa's watch be
leetle bit faster dan de sun dis ere mornin'.”
The horse was speedily ready, and Tom looked after his
master as he leaped into the saddle and dashed off in the
direction of the lonely cottage. There was a grin on his
face as he muttered, “Reckon Missis don't know whar yer
gwine.” He walked toward the house, whistling, “Nelly
was a lady.”
“Dat ar war gwine roun' an' roun' de hus las' night, jes
like a sperit. 'Twar dat ar Spanish lady,” said Dinah.
“She sings splendiferous,” rejoined Tom, “an' Massa
liked it more dan de berry bes bottle ob wine.” He ended
by humming, “Now all dem happy days am ober.”
“Better not let Massa hear yer sing dat ar,” said Dinah.
“He make yer sing nudder song.”
“She's mighty gran' lady, an' a bery perlite missis, an'
Ise sorry fur her,” replied Tom.
Mr. Fitzgerald had no sense of refreshment in his morning
ride. He urged his horse along impatiently, with brow
contracted and lips firmly compressed. He was rehearsing
in his mind the severe reprimand he intended to bestow
upon Rosa. He expected to be met with tears and reproaches,
to which he would show himself hard till she
made contrite apologies for her most unexpected and provoking
proceedings. It was his purpose to pardon her at
last, for he was far enough from wishing to lose her; and
she had always been so gentle and subnissive, that he entertained
no doubt the scene would end with a loving
willingness to accept his explanations, and believe in his
renewed professions. “She loves me to distraction, and
she is entirely in my power,” thought he. “It will be
strange indeed if I cannot mould her as I will.”
Arrived at the cottage, he found Tulee washing on a
bench outside the kitchen. “Good morning, Tulee,” said
he. “Is your mistress up yet?”
“Missy Rosy ha'n't been asleep,” she answered in a
very cold tone, without looking up from her work.
He entered the house, and softly opened the door of
Rosa's sleeping apartment. She was walking slowly, with
arms crossed, looking downward, as if plunged in thought.
Her extreme pallor disarmed him, and there was no hardness
in his tone when he said, “Rosabella!”
She started, for she had supposed the intruder was Tulee.
With head proudly erect, nostrils dilated, and eyes that
flashed fire, she exclaimed, “How dare you come here?”
This reception was so entirely unexpected, that it disconcerted
him; and instead of the severe reproof he had
I always thought you the soul of honor. When we parted,
you promised not to go to the plantation unless I was
with you. Is this the way you keep your word?”
“You talk of honor and promises!” she exclaimed.
The sneer conveyed in the tones stung him to the quick.
But he made an effort to conceal his chagrin, and said, with
apparent calmness: “You must admit it was an unaccountable
freak to start for the plantation in the evening, and
go wandering round the grounds in that mysterious way.
What could have induced you to take such a step?”
“I accidentally overheard Tom telling Tulee that you
were to bring home a bride from the North yesterday. I
could not believe it of you, and I was too proud to question
him. But after reflecting upon it, I chose to go and see
for myself. And when I had seen for myself, I wished
to remind you of that past which you seemed to have forgotten.”
“Course on Tom!” he exclaimed. “He shall smart for
this mischief.”
“Don't be so unmanly as to punish a poor servant for
mentioning a piece of news that interested the whole plantation,
and which must of course be a matter of notoriety,”
she replied very quietly. “Both he and Tulee were delicate
enough to conceal it from me.”
Fitzgerald felt embarrassed by her perfect self-possession.
After a slight pause, during which she kept her face
averted from him, he said: “I confess that appearances are
against me, and that you have reason to feel offended. But
if you knew just how I was situated, you would, perhaps,
judge me less harshly. I have met with heavy losses
lately, and I was in danger of becoming bankrupt unless I
father of this young lady is rich, and she fell in love
with me. I have married her; but I tell you truly, dear
Rosa, that I love you more than I ever loved any other
woman.”
“You say she loved you, and yet you could deceive her
so,” she replied. “You could conceal from her that you
already had a wife. When I watched her as she walked
on the veranda I was tempted to reveal myself, and disclose
your baseness.”
Fitzgerald's eyes flashed with sudden anger, as he vociferated,
“Rosa, if you ever dare to set up any such
claim —”
“If I dare!” she exclaimed, interrupting him in a tone
of proud defiance, that thrilled through all his nerves.
Alarmed by the strength of character which he had
never dreamed she possessed, he said: “In your present
state of mind, there is no telling what you may dare to
do. It becomes necessary for you to understand your true
position. You are not my wife. The man who married
us had no legal authority to perform the ceremony.”
“O steeped in falsehood to the lips!” exclaimed she.
“And you are the idol I have worshipped!”
He looked at her with astonishment not unmingled with
admiration. “Rosa, I could not have believed you had
such a temper,” rejoined he. “But why will you persist
in making yourself and me unhappy? As long as my wife
is ignorant of my love for you, no harm is done. If you
would only listen to reason, we might still be happy. I
could manage to visit you often. You would find me as
affectionate as ever; and I will provide amply for you.”
“Provide for me?” she repeated slowly, looking him
in me, Mr. Fitzgerald, that has led you to suppose I would
consent to sell myself?”
His susceptible temperament could not withstand the
regal beauty of her proud attitude and indignant look.
“O Rosa,” said he, “there is no woman on earth to be
compared with you. If you only knew how I idolize you
at this moment, after all the cruel words you have uttered,
you surely would relent. Why will you not be reasonable,
dearest? Why not consent to live with me as your mother
lived with your father?”
“Don't wrong the memory of my mother,” responded
she hastily. “She was too pure and noble to be dishonored
by your cruel laws. She would never have entered
into any such base and degrading arrangement as you propose.
She could n't have lived under the perpetual shame
of deceiving another wife. She could n't have loved my
father, if he had deceived her as you have deceived me.
She trusted him entirely, and in return he gave her his
undivided affection.”
“And I give you undivided affection,” he replied. “By
all the stars of heaven, I swear that you are now, as you
always have been, my Rosa Regina, my Rosa munda.”
“Do not exhaust your oaths,” rejoined she, with a contemptuous
curl of the lip. “Keep some of them for your
Lily Bell, your precious pearl, your moonlight sylph.”
Thinking the retort implied a shade of jealousy, he felt
encouraged to persevere. “You may thank your own imprudence
for having overheard words so offensive to you,”
responded he. “But Rosa, dearest, you cannot, with all
your efforts, drive from you the pleasant memories of our
love. You surely do not hate me?”
“No, Mr. Fitzgerald; you have fallen below hatred. I
despise you.”
His brow contracted, and his lips tightened. “I cannot
endure this treatment,” said he, in tones of suppressed rage.
“You tempt me too far. You compel me to humble your
pride. Since I cannot persuade you to listen to expostulations
and entreaties, I must inform you that my power over
you is complete. You are my slave. I bought you of
your father's creditors before I went to Nassau. I can sell
you any day I choose; and, by Jove, I will, if —”
The sudden change that came over her arrested him.
She pressed one hand hard upon her heart, and gasped for
breath. He sank at once on his knees, crying, “O, forgive
me, Rosa! I was beside myself.”
But she gave no sign of hearing him; and seeing her
reel backward into a chair, with pale lips and closing eyes,
he hastened to summon Tulee. Such remorse came over
him that he longed to wait for her returning consciousness.
But he remembered that his long absence must excite surprise
in the mind of his bride, and might, perhaps, connect
itself with the mysterious singer of the preceding evening.
Goaded by contending feelings, he hurried through the
footpaths whence he had so often kissed his hand to Rosa
in fond farewell, and hastily mounted his horse without one
backward glance.
Before he came in sight of the plantation, the perturbation
of his mind had subsided, and he began to think himself
a much-injured individual. “Plague on the caprices
of women!” thought he. “All this comes of Lily's taking
the silly, romantic whim of coming here to spend the honeymoon.
And Rosa, foolish girl, what airs she assumes! I
wanted to deal generously by her; but she rejected all my
all the Americas. There's a devilish deal more of the
Spanish blood in her than I thought for. Pride becomes
her wonderfully; but it won't hold out forever. She'll
find that she can't live without me. I can wait.”
Feeling the need of some safety-valve to let off his vexation,
he selected poor Tom for that purpose. When the
obsequious servant came to lead away the horse, his master
gave him a sharp cut of the whip, saying, “I'll teach you
to tell tales again, you black rascal!” But having a dainty
aversion to the sight of pain, he summoned the overseer,
and consigned him to his tender mercies.
| CHAPTER XII. A romance of the republic | |