Rosamond — or, the Youthful Error by Mary Jane Holmes
page 69 of 142 (48%)
page 69 of 142 (48%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
"She is here," said Maria, still keeping her eye upon the shadow bending over the balustrade. "What name shall I give her?" "No name. I wish to surprise her," and passing on into the parlor, thestranger laid aside her hat and shawl with the air of one perfectly at home; then seating herself upon a sofa, she examined the room as curiously as she had examined the grounds of Riverside. "It seems a pity to mar all this," she said, "and were it not that I hate him so much, I would go away forever, though that would be a greater injury to her than my coming to life will be. Of course he's told her all, and spite of her professed liking for me, she is glad that I am dead. I long, yet dread, to see her amazement; but hist--she comes." There was the sound of little, high-heeled slippers on the stairs, the flutter of a pink morning gown, and then Rosamond Leyton stood face to face with--Marie Porter! The grave had given up its dead, and without any visible marks of the world prepared for such as she, save, indeed, the increased _fire_ which burned in her black eyes, the risen woman sat there much as living people sit--her head bent forward--her lips apart--and a look of expectation upon her face. But she was doomed to disappointment. Rosamond knew nothing of the past, and with a cry of pleasurable surprise she started forward, exclaiming, "Oh, Miss Porter, I felt so cross when told a visitor was here, but now I know who 'tis, I am so glad, for I am very lonely to-day." The hard woman swept her hand a moment before her eyes, and with that |
|