"'Lovers love the western star,'" quoted Rosa, merrily, taking
Mabel's work from her and throwing it upon the bed. "Come and enjoy
the holy hour with me."
They leaned together upon the window-sill, their young faces tinted
by the changeful hues of the sky, both thoughtful and mute, until
Rosa broke the silence by a heavy sigh.
"O Mabel, you should be a happy, happy girl; blessed among women.
You can love--freely and joyously--and have pride and faith in the
one beloved."
"As you will some day," rejoined the other, drawing nearer to her,
"when you, in your turn, shall know the unspeakable sweetness of
unquestioning faith--of utter dependence upon him to whom you have
given your heart."
"Utter dependence!" echoed Rosa. "That would mean utter wreck of
heart, hope--everything--should the anchor give way. It is a
hazardous experiment, ma belle!"
The other looked down at her with simple fearlessness.
"'For it was founded upon a rock!'" she repeated softly; yet the
exultant ring of her accent vibrated upon the ear like a joyous
challenge.
Rosa's fretful movement was involuntary.
"Mine would drag in the sand at every turn of the tide, every rise
of the wind, if I were to follow your advice, and say 'yes' to the
pertinacious Alfred," she said reproachfully.
"Don't say advice, dear!" corrected the other. "I only endeavored to
convince you that there must be latent tenderness beneath your
sufferance of Mr. Branch's devotion; that if you really were averse
to the thought of marrying him, you could not take pleasure in his
society or enjoy the marks of his attachment which are apparent to
you and to everybody else."
"Can't you understand," said the beauty, petulantly, "that it is one
thing to flirt with a man in public, and another to cherish his
image in private? There is no better touchstone of affection than
the holiness and calm of an hour like this. If Frederic were with
you, the scene would be the fairer, the season more sacred for its
association with thoughts of him and his love. Whereas, my Alfred's
adoring platitudes would disgust me with the sunset, with the world,
and with myself, for permitting him to haunt my presence and hang
upon my smile--foppish barnacle that he is! If you knew how I
despise myself sometimes!"
"Dear Rosa! I shall never try again to persuade that you care for
him as a woman should for the man GOD intended her to marry. But why
not act worthily of yourself--justly to him, and reject him
decidedly?"