The Arm Chair Library No. 79: The Haunted Homestead — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: was like the quick closi of a door had ta — the ! I listened. All wwas.as as the grave. The moonlight - “] have been dreaming,” I said, and fell a CHAPTER IL. Rossitor House from that morning. “Phe sunshine pa broken gleams upon ‘the sea, rolling in dark and heavy with the recent the suntigh ae above the . Bas 4 ie tae gt 1 * Ba « a ~~ g 1 » * + g into its blue distance, even as one gazed, astately dream, : breakfasted alone, ‘The honse was as stillasif it had beentenantless. Mrs. Rossitor, the servant said, was in lisposed; the judge had ‘gone to his morning row upon the bay, and my weird little pupil came creeping down the es: staircase in her white oight-dress en hour : after, to say good-morning to me, and was carried back screaming by her French nursery- Phere comes to me, as I write, a vision of the low green-room in the west wing of Rossitor House, which had been allotted to me as the place wherein to cultivate poor little Ada Rossiter without merey, and where, day after day for wee«s and months, the task was fulfilled; aud she sat beside me, as still as the ‘ grave, half buried in an easy chair, her 3 | on her Jap, end her solemn little face, old be- | yond its years, gauing withlarge, wistful eyes, oo out upon the sea, No one, excepting, perhaps, s. her father, ever quite understood the child, | 3 think. He was her idol; and beyond ber love for him she -was remarkably sby and unde- monstrative. That morning—but here [ am brought uneonsciously to Grant Wyvil’s com Nhe smoke of a Tarkish pipe curled up from 3s the veranda and clung in mid-air to the hot 5 sunlight, pale and powdery, like wreaths of faint blue blossoms. Ishould have known by the child’s face who it wes, lingering thus in the shadow of“his own fig-tree, even if I had not seen, now and then, the tall figure, likea Spanish hidalgo’s, pacing out into view, with hands clasped behind hin, and receding again, ways with thatsame restless,impatient tread. Perhaps { had become infected. I arose, and went to the window, and looked down the long, sunny vista of poplar trees beyond, toward the comfortless sea. Two © Lie were advancing up that same vista. One, a horse’s head in advance, flushed, | oe handsome, and sitting in his saddle like a cen- taur—I knew my lovel The other a lady, in r the silence; or was it but the poplars. pane ‘J date the commencement of my life at. storm. dn the full fresh wind there was a — geent of the rank marsh grasses, and wild flowers blowing among them, and some ‘hardy | poses that. grew on the veranda; each burned | its crimson cup.of incense, strong and sweet in | ight. Thetown lay ty ae its: and there a white sail decked the horizon, § black velvet “abit, with a crest of white ROSSITOR HOSE, ‘7 ostrich plumes fastened in her cap, and stivea : A . > Hi ’ > ress 0 6 hair : 98 it floated. pa ey : iP loose ramp, tramp, Came the horses’ feet straight pet the west wing. I felt my cheeks burning looked up and saw me, lifting hiscap witw a —_ hot flush. The lady’s eyes followed his, i—I started back from the window, with a cry that was half.of astonishment, halt of terror, for the deadly-fair face uplifted thi: to nine was the one that had looked at m- through the purple satin hangings, ead ax. pale asa spectre’s, upon the preceding night. “Mamma,” said Ada, quietly kissing he: — ms to ar lady. Grant Wyvil came leaping through the window at a bound, and caught the child gay ly in his arms. ; “Pwo lonely little princesses making eyes at the sea from such an unguarded tower as this‘ The mermen will carry you off. Ruth, what is th.e matter?” ‘*¥ do not know,” with my hands in his. “you are as white as a ghost. Did J frighten you?” ‘“* No. Where is your—where is the lady who was with you?’ “ Mrs. Rossiter?” carelessly. ‘‘ Oh,you sew her, then—Agnes, the Magnificent, as poor Jack Brynes used to call her. We met on the beach this morning. She has gone to make her toilette, 1 fancy.” ‘© Such a face—” ** Lovely, isn’t it? So are eg 2 things that we don’t care tohandle. The Wyvils are al’ good-looking, you know,” arching his eyebrows. ‘‘and sheisa cousin, four or five times re moved,” ‘*‘ Are you talking about mamma ¢ ’’ said the child, looking at him preternaturally grave. He twirled his moustache with a shrug. ‘¢ Little pitcher, you have age ears. ‘Take these bon-bons and runand f your dolls.” She opened the pockets of her little Frenct apron, still searching his face with those wonderf al eyes. “ Whata child!” he said petulantly, turn- ing his back upon her. ‘Tell me about last night, Grant,” | whispered, touching hisarm. The broad brow cleared in a moment. ‘Last night? All was as it should hav« been—a story soon told, littlegirl. Applause— laurels—a dreadful grimace, and one sny litt) face missed from the crowd, without which— Ruth, why didn’t you marry me a year ago ¢’ “Grant !” “ Yes, J am a fool—that 1s candid,” turning me to the light. “Do you know, Dare Hubbard, that you are to dine with all the guests of Rossitor House to-day, and you iv sober gray from head to foot #—-come bere.” ~ a Bat I don’t care to see any one but you, rant,’ He drew me into the sunshine, smiling down at me. “The purest, truest, tenderest child a ma» ever trasted in,” he quoted softly, as if to him self, and breaking a halt-blown rose that pis w j Upon the sill, he fastened pt alvkWwardly in 4) haw. pa a ene a ie c- CEORNIELO@C) m= rors . 7 Si onus. Ce ee rem e