Rose of the World

rather with an increase of inner struggle. Hour merged into hour until even the noisy Indian to

liberately fashioned life for herself so that it should give her but one boon—quietude? Her pulse

med to assume the kindly handsome smiling countenance of Sir Arthur, to assure her that it must be. Who knew as well as she that it wa

She slid into snatches of horrid slumber, in which the contending elements in her soul seemed to take tangible form. But with the dawn a change came upon her. She

uld no

alone. What sense of justice could there be in the demand that she should break through the deliberate seal of years, stultify the intention of a whole existence, at the bidding of an overbearing young man, of a pragmatic old one? Once, for a little while, life had held for her mysterious possibilities—sweet, but no more unfolded than the bud in the narrow sheath. Was she now to tear apart these reserves, close-folded, leaf upon leaf, dissect the "might-have-been"

here the turquoise-blue inlay, with its cool stripe of black and white, there a lance of rose-crimson on the tesselated wall, glowing like the dawn itself amid the surrounding gloom. Across the light shafts of the garden window, there was a dance of flickering leaf shadows. And this greenness set her mind wandering, not

d been some time broken. But these outlandish sounds: the cry of the water-carriers and camel-drivers, the jingle of cow-bells, the blast of the shepherd's horn, the bra

ingly, with slinking feet, she called upon sleep agai

*

. And then she heard him withdraw on exaggerated tiptoe. And next entered the a

upon the swing of a censer. And, turning her languid eyes, Rosamond saw how, in the fresh little breez

the masses of golden hair, still heavy, from the night-sweat. The fair brow was cool enough —there was no trace of the ever-dreaded fever in the encircled eyes or on the smooth white face; only the weariness of a long nig

y should not I?" She ducked nimbly under the white-draped forbidding arm, as sh

h from her bath, her crisp hair crinkled into tighter curls than ever and still beaded here and there with the spray of her energetic ablutions, as she stood in the square of

ng, Aunt Rosamond. Are

his mo

bed and took her aunt's hands into her firm grasp. Ther

l; but I s

she bent to kiss the face on the pillow. Lady Gerardine turned her cheek with that tolerant submission

late. And tell your uncle

never a very approachable person, seemed this morning more distant than ever. And catching sight of the dancing leaves outside,

," she announced with cheerful mendacity, "otherwise you'll have

a little, but made no p

pen spaces she heard at last the crisp repeated rhythm of the horses' feet draw close and rin

*

e attitude; the long white hands folded, she could have sworn, exactly as s

there was still a shade of uneasiness in her voice

amond, "I've had a ver

s the room and rubbing her forehead. Her cheeks had gro

ter part, I think,"

much." Her bright hazel gaze misted over in remembrance. "Oh dear," said she, "how can you lie there! You're quite young, Aunt Rosamond, but I think you

ce, to whom she talked more as if she were five years old than eighteen. "While you were out I let my soul swing on that great green

!" cried

No wonder, poor things, their ideal of complete happiness over here is Nirwana! I am glad, Baby, that we shall soon be in our placid England

of her aunt's speech and neglecting the main idea. "I met Major Bethune, this mor

even a contraction of the fingers that rested upon the sheet. Baby peeped at her in a sidelon

aw chestnuts, you know, with a neck that goes up in the air and seems to hang loose. And he sat, just with the grip of his knees, you know. He is as thin as—as

, without lifting her ey

ing for the expected protest. Aspasia's habit of plunging into water f

he door. Still her aunt lay, fair and white and st

retary—the pure native spring, you know," she cried, with a childish eff

ckered with a swift upwar

ght!

I bounced through I nearly fell into his arms—and found it was a black man—ugh! The famous new secretary, in fact. He stood like a stock, and I squeaked in my usual way. And

e of defiance afresh in the new-comer's face—a

ar Asp

number

you've not be

mutual iterations: "Don't say you've not been warned, my dear

Aspasia's somewhat spiteful parting shot,

t w

k step Sir Arthur c

etting Jani to pull the blinds agai

ng, and she felt in her heart that she was doomed to lose.

e fatigue. "Below par! I wish, dear, you would for once pay some attention to what I say. It is not that I have any desire to find fault with you, my

said Ro

dreaded blow to fall.

we should all have a change," p

ely shaped, with taper fingers and filbert nails. The great man had chosen her in the zenith of his life and success because of her beauty. She had little b

r-of-pearl, "that we should get back to England for a while. And, by the way, that young man, Bethune of the Guides, poor Engli

asia to

an, don't you think? We could be talking over that

asser l

le matter yourself. As I said to Bethune: 'I am willing to undertake it for her; but in th

you say?

er, she altered her phrase. Through all the clamour of the inner storm there ha

you," s

hat there should be no hitch in this affair. It would ill become me, as I said to Bethune, me of all men, to

tact to attempt it. It might be transcribed thus: "If that excellent young man, your first husband, had not so obligingly left the world, I should not be standing in this present satisfactory position with regard to yourself."

breath, to end up with a satisfied sigh. "And, by the way, my new secretary has come. A capable fellow he seems! Quite extraordinarily well educated. Speaks English perfectly. Caste

precautions surrounding her would have been of the most minute, not to say wearisome nature, the wife

ur, lightly, "that you intend to supply

vement. And, catching her head in her hand

she cried, "

eed, that even as last night, amazemen

second time in twenty-four hours that you have answered me in this—in really, what I may call—quite with temper

thur, for all his science of life, could not but own to himself that he was nonplussed. He shrugged his shoulders. Fortunately, sensible men were not expected to understand the whims of the charming but irresponsible sex. Rosa

ass a trifle sour," Mr. George Murray

*

and cover her; would have gladly sunk under them, away from the light of life and the pain of living, somewh