Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

content to sing for me alone, with no reward but love.?

“I am so glad to make a little sacrifice for a great happiness I never

shall regret it or think my music lost if it makes home cheerful for

my mate. Birds sing sweetest in their own nests, you know.” And

Phebe bent toward him with a look and gesture which plainly

showed how willingly she offered up all ambitious hopes upon the

altar of a woman’s happy love.

Both seemed to forget that they were not alone, and in a moment

they were, for a sudden impulse carried Rose to the door of her

sanctum, as if the south wind which seemed to have set in was

wafting this little ship also toward the Islands of the Blessed,

where the others were safely anchored now.

The room was a blaze of sunshine and a bower of spring freshness

and fragrance, for here Rose had let her fancy have free play, and

each garland, fern, and flower had its meaning. Mac seemed to

have been reading this sweet language of symbols, to have guessed

why Charlie’s little picture was framed in white roses, why pansies

hung about his own, why Psyche was half hidden among feathery

sprays of maidenhair, and a purple passion flower lay at Cupid’s

feet. The last fancy evidently pleased him, for he was smiling over

it, and humming to himself as if to beguile his patient waiting, the

burden of the air Rose had so often sung to him:

“Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang

To the birks of Aberfeldie??

“Yes, Mac, anywhere!?

He had not heard her enter, and wheeling around, looked at her

with a radiant face as he said, drawing a long breath, “At last! You

were so busy over the dear man, I got no word. But I can wait I’m

used to it.?

Rose stood quite still, surveying him with a new sort of reverence

in her eyes, as she answered with a sweet solemnity that made him

laugh and redden with the sensitive joy of one to whom praise

from her lips was very precious: “You forget that you are not the

Mac who went away. I should have run to meet my cousin, but I

did not dare to be familiar with the poet whom all begin to honor.?

“You like the mixture, then? You know I said I’d try to give you

love and poetry together.?

“Like it! I’m so glad, so proud, I haven’t any words strong and

beautiful enough to half express my wonder and my admiration.

How could you do it, Mac?” And a whole face full of smiles broke

loose as Rose clapped her hands, looking as if she could dance

with sheer delight.

“It did itself, up there among the hills, and here with you, or out

alone upon the sea. I could write a heavenly poem this very

minute, and put you in as Spring you look like her in that green

gown with snowdrops in your bonny hair. Rose, am I getting on a

little? Does a hint of fame help me nearer to the prize I’m working

for? Is your heart more willing to be won??

He did not stir a step, but looked at her with such intense longing

that his glance seemed to draw her nearer like an irresistible

appeal, for she went and stood before him, holding out both hands,

as if she offered all her little store, as she said with simplest

sincerity: “It is not worth so much beautiful endeavor, but if you

still want so poor a thing, it is yours.?

He caught her hands in his and seemed about to take the rest of

her, but hesitated for an instant, unable to believe that so much

happiness was true.

“Are you sure, Rose very sure? Don’t let a momentary admiration

blind you I’m not a poet yet, and the best are but mortal men, you

know.?

“It is not admiration, Mac.?

“Nor gratitude for the small share I’ve taken in saving Uncle? I had

my debt to pay, as well as Phebe, and was as glad to risk my life.?

“No it is not gratitude.?

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