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Read Ebook: Rose MacLeod by Brown Alice
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Ebook has 2470 lines and 66618 words, and 50 pages
"Don't you care about mine?"
"Not a bit."
She was lightheaded with the joy of it. There were things she need not tell him.
"Not the years before we met?" Then because she was a woman, she had to spoil the cup. "Nor the years after I go away?"
"No, not the years when you've gone away. You can't take this night with you, nor the other night."
He had hurt her.
"That's enough, then--a memory."
Osmond laughed a little. It was a tender sound, as if he might scold her, but not meaning it.
"You mustn't be naughty," he said. "There's nothing naughtier in a playhouse than saying what isn't true. You know if you go away you'll come back again. You can't help it. It may be a long time first. You were twenty-five years in coming this time. But you'll have to come. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes," she said gravely, "I know that." Then the memory of her wandering life and the sore straits of it voiced itself in one cry, "I don't want to go. I want to stay."
"Stay, dear playmate," said the other voice. "There never will be a night when I'm not here. Is the playhouse key in your hand, all tight and warm? I wear mine round my neck. We shan't lose them."
Immediately she felt that she must tell him her new trouble.
"My father is coming here," she said, in a low tone.
"Ah!" he answered quickly. "You won't like that."
"How do you know?"
"From what you said the other night. You don't like him."
"Is it dreadful to you, if I don't like my father?"
She put it anxiously, with timidity, and he answered,--
"It's inevitable. He hasn't treated you well."
She was staring at him through the darkness, though she could see nothing.
"You are a wizard," she said, "a wizard. Why do you say he has not treated me well?"
"Because I see how you hate him. You would never hate without reason. You are all gentleness. You know you are. You'd go on your knees to the man that was your father, and beg him to be good enough so you could love him. And if you couldn't--George! that settles him. Why, playmate, you're not crying!"
She was crying softly to herself. But for a little unconsidered sniff he need not have known it.
"I like to cry," she said, in a moment. "I like to cry--like this."
"It's awful," said the other voice, apparently to itself, "to make you cry and not know how to stop you. Don't do it, playmate!"
She laughed then.
"I won't cry," she promised. "But if you knew how pleasant it is when it only means somebody understands and likes you just as well--"
"Better," said the voice. "I always like you better. Whatever you do, that's the effect it has. Now let's talk about your father. We can't stop his coming?"
"No. Nobody ever stopped him yet in anything."
"Then what can we do to him after he gets here?"
"That's what I am trying to think. Sometimes I'm afraid I must run away--before he comes."
"Yes, playmate, if you think so." There was something sharp in the tone: a quick hurt, a premonition of pain, and it was soothing to her.
"But I've so little money." She said that to herself, and his answer shocked her.
"There's money, if that's all. I'll bury it here under a stone, and you shall find it."
"No! no! no! How could you! oh, how could you!"
The voice was hurt indeed now, and willing to be thought so.
"Why, playmate, is that so dreadful? Money's the least important thing there is."
"It is important," said she broodingly. "It seems to me all my miseries, my disgraces have come from that."
"You don't want to tell me about them? You don't think it would make them better?"
"You said you didn't care. You said what we had lived through--what I had--these twenty-five years, made no difference!"
"Not to me. But when it comes to you, why, maybe I could help you."
She thought a while and then answered definitely and coldly,--
"No, I can't do it. I should have to tell--too many things."
"Then we won't think of it," said the voice. "Only you must remember, there's money and there's--Peter to take you off and hide you somewhere. You can trust Peter." Again he seemed ready to break their companionship, and she wondered miserably.
"You seem to think of nothing but my going away."
"I must think of it. Nothing is more likely."
"You don't seem to care!"
"Playmate!" Again the voice reproached her.
"Well!"
"There's but one thing I think of--really. To give you a little bit of happiness while you are here. After that--well, you can make the picture for yourself. I shall come to the playhouse every night--alone."
The one thing perhaps that had been the strongest in guiding her romantic youth had been eternal faithfulness. Her heart beat at the word "forever." Now her gratitude outran his calm.
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