The Arm Chair Library No. 79: The Haunted Homestead — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

ROSSITOR more she seemed like a vision to enrapture and enti, 5308 a being of common mould? How could Grant, I thought, ever have learned to love meafter loving such a woman as this! He found me in the east room with little Ada Rossitor, who had stolen down stairs and implored me mutely from the door, when he came to bid me good-bye. It was fast grow- ing dark, I remember, and he entered through the shadows, flushed, radiant, triumphant, his riding whip in his haud, ‘ Hiding away from ine, Dame Hubbard ?”— gaily—‘‘ come out to the light, and let me look at you.” Ho drew the curtain back, kissing the hand HOUSE. 149 in early September—he stretched at my feé his hat off, lazy and handsome, St oe oO the shelter of ny parasol, whose ivory handle he had stuck unceremoniously intoa crevice of rock, hulks in @ reach of gray sand; clusters of black reefs, with dead drowned sailors lying at their bas-,a ghastly half-moon setting on a low, purple coastline: some weird islauds lying dim and distant in a louesome sea, two petrils fly- ing through arising mist—u hundred fantas a dreamy things. idis seashore scenes—half-buried turned a few loose leaves from his sketch book, marveling that all his naiads, mermaid: ; and syrens wore the same face, aud that one’ that fell into his own. as familiar to me as my own now. “Grant,” I said, ‘I want you to tell me} ‘* Grant,you could not picture her half love- something.” ly enough, could you?” “Do you #?—mockingly. ‘* Who?” ‘‘ Indeed—indeed I do.’ “ec To . in—” “Did you ever love anyone before ma, Grant /” He laughed, taking my face in his two hands. t Jealous 3” ‘* Piease answer.” “ My little girl, [am afraid I have loveda great many—scores, in fact. I began at an early age—it was my first step toward jackets, You are my one wee roseculled from a long tract of thorns.” { looked across the marshes—to the sea—to the young mournful moon, set like a broken ring sous the purple tints of the mist, and somes ng, hot and wet, rolled down my cheek. ‘‘ Who has been talking nonsense to you ?” he said, half fretfully. ‘' Don’t mope, Ruth. I will drive over to the beach, to-morrow, and take you rowing—you are pale as a Niobe— good-night.” Gone in a moment. I heard his horses’ hoofs clattering down theavenue, and I leaned from the window, watchin him, till he was out of sight. Over the sandy road, across the ridges, down the long gray beach—he turned at the farthest point, and lifted hiscap. Then from tne balcony above me something fluttered for a breathing space—it might have been a white handkerchief, or a whiter hand. It flashed through the gray shadows but an instant, and then was gone. I drew back from my watch and cl the window. CHAPTER III. A CHARMED place was Rossitor House in the long, sunny summer days following. Itsround rich hospitality had long been proverbial, and the tids of gilded human butterflies set ia the direction of Black Beach and this hive of honey, flowed and ebbed again, day after day, far towarl the sunset autumn. ‘The first to come, the longest to linger, was Grant, We were to be married tau. winter, he said. He had told Judge Rossitor—that little chit of an Ada must find another governess—I was growing as thin as ashadow—to which austere remarks all uy objections availed ime on thing : eo Were sitting Ob Lue shore vile af lero Grant looked up, languidly. the verge of the rock, her dark boating dress looped up, a long gray her hat, white, stately, with no glimmering of color, excepta bright scarlet vine that she was trailing listlessly from her lily hand. It is terrible. the sand, tossed up but an hour ago. Grant, what a dreadful death |” * Mrs. Rossitor.” He laughed, flushing. ‘Tam no artist.” I touched his arm, pointing down the rocks to ag rip of yellowsand, against which a painted wh rry was just grating sharply. Judge Ros- sitor, standing in its bow down an oar that dipped sunlight, and was the first to leap ashore. rect] and tall and dark, flung with crystals in = Ji- the boat was rocking empty in the foam, he rocks swarmed. ‘“* Dolce far niente, said the dreamy voice of —— Rossitor, close beside us. had seen her coming—I was prepared. She paused on lume floating from ‘ Shall I sketch you ?” asked Grant, lazily. She shook her head, smiling at me with her beautiful dark eyes. ‘¢ There was a ship stranded on the shore last night,” in the same dreamy tone, ‘*T saw the wreck as [ came across the beach,” answered Grant, carelessly. She gave a Jong, shuddering sigh. ‘* We rowed down to the point thisafternoon., There was a young girl lying in Oh, The look of horror in the large eyes, brim- ming with sudden tears, I shall never forget. It wus a strange mood for the mistress of Ros- sitor House, and strange, is it not, thatl re- member her best, as she stood that day, lean- ing against the gray, jagged rock, the scarlet vine coiled like a coral snake down her dark dres3, and that singular sadness in her face— she that wasa part of all the beauty and life of that wild shore—of its sunshine and blue sky, its bright waves, and mooulightand silver sands? Grint sprung up from the rocks, bis languor quite goue—.is face almost as pals as her own. ‘+ Agnes ! ” She waved him back with a light laugh. ‘There | it is gone now. Some one was walking on my grave, | think.” ‘* How can you tell so ?” ‘*Ou, itis quite as easy to talk as to think. ‘There | some one is calling me. You shall stay MICO G Sa(6)