Rae Arbuthnot [pp. 444-448]

RAE ARBUTHNOT.
humors and racy fancies that sometimes came
tripping and laughing from her pen in delicious
morsels of literature. I do n't think that Amy
had ever thlought seriously of a man twice in
her bus-, cheery life. I could never picture to
myself how she would seem with a betrothal
ring on her finger, and with her lips trembling
under the "purple, perfect state" of that third
kiss of Nlwhich iMrs. Browning speaks. We all
knew that Dora looked at her future through
the purple halo of an amethyst ring, and we
often accused her of a particular partiality for
ametlhystine tints in her pretty paintings.
But Rae, dear, patient, womanly Rae! what
hope there lurked for her in the years to come
we none of us dared to guess. Of course, you
understand from this that she suffered in some
iway', but how or whiy the blow had fallen upon
her we did not really know. My only clew to
her story was a remark made by Cycle Lennox
to her one evening as they paused in the moonlight on the veranda. I was waiting for Paul
in my favorite place by the window, and I did
not know they were near until he exclaimed,
lifting her white face tip to the moon, "'0, Rae,
I wonder how far down the future I must look
before I see -our dear face comning up between
the years to meet me again and bless my life!"
I did not hear her answer, but he exclaimed
again, "It maddens me to leave you so, to
know that you love me and suffer for it! I
wIish you had not loved me, Rae, poor child!"
And then she stood apart firom him, white and
still, like a breathing statue, only when she
spoke her voice had the passion of a sufferingi
soul in it: "Leave that to me, Cycle. I do not
regret it; I glory in it! I want you to remember that I take this pain and loss on myself
willingly, and until the burden is lifted I will
never see your face again. The dear Lord
bless you and help you for always, my king!"
And then she had put up her hand and just
touched his forehead, and had gone in and upstairs, and while I sat bewildered Cyde went
down the steps and on through the shrubbery
to the street, and next day Paul told us that he
had gone from town.
Well, that was years ago, and we had never
seen him again nor heard of him, and somehow
it had come to seem like a dream to me, save
when I looked at Rae's patient mouth and
mournful eyes. And so we had lived down to
that rainy twilight in the parlor at La Retraite,
where I began my story.
"His face I ne'er shall see,
And naught is left to me
But bitter weeping,
My lone watch keeping!"
sang Rae, and all at once the clear, pure voice
quavered and broke on the last word, and down
dropped the stately head, hiding the quivering
face upon her slender hands. I started to go
to hler, and Amy roused herself suddenly and
opened wide her great violet eyes, while Dora
parted the curtains and came out from her nest
with, "What is it, Rae, dear?" But Rae swept
swiftly from the room, only saying softly, under
her breath, "Don't mind, please; this weather
makes me dreary."
"Poor Rae!" we all said softly, and again,
"Poor Rae!" and then, as if with an impulse
to banish the chill that had fallen upon her,
Dora went to the piano and sang with a tender
pathos that was infinitely touching a little song
of my own which she had taklen a fancy to,
and which I sang sometimes of an evening for
Paul's pleasure:
Love, I am waiting for you,
Here in the moonlight, that falleth so stilly
On velvety pansy, and white-throated lily,
And heliotrope, heavy with dew;
Here in the shelter of vines trailing lowly,
Here through the scented hours passing so slowly,
Under the sky's fretted blue,
Love, I am waiting for you.
Love, I am longing for you!
When will you come with your tender caresses,
tlushling my heart with your passionate kisses?
Come to me, tender and true!
Come as my liege lord, I'm waiting to own you,
Come as my king, for I wait to enthrone you!
Kingly, and tender, and true,
Love, I am longing for you!
Just then Paul came up the steps, and I
slipped into the hall to meet him. As he
stooped to kiss me, sprinkling my face with
a shower of raindrops firom his beard, I sawv
behind him a str-anger, who watched our little
home scene with an amused smile.
"I see that you do not recognize me, IMrs.
WVard," he said, coming forward with extended
hand.
"'Cyde Lennox, is n't it?" I asked, recalling
the splendid voice and frank dark eyes. "I am
very glad to welcome you to La Retraite after
so many years."
"Yes, it is a many years since I was here,"
he answered, a little sadly I fanciedcl, and then
we all went into the parlor together, and Amy
and Dora welcomed him warmly, for they had
been true friends in the old days.
I left them talking, and went to find Rae.
She was sitting in the dark, her head bowed on
her hands, her whole form drooping wearily.
"Rae, darling, will you come down to the
parlor? for Paul has come, and has brought a
friend with him."
"Is it Cyde Lennox, Ruth?" she asked me
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