Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

I’ll report if anything is amiss.?

Away went Rose, quite trembling with suspense, but Phebe’s door

was shut, no light shone underneath, and no sound came from the

room within. She tapped and receiving no answer, went on to her

own chamber, thinking to herself: “Love always makes people

queer, I’ve heard, so I suppose they settled it all in the carriage and

the dear thing ran away to think about her happiness alone. I’ll not

disturb her. Why, Phebe!” said Rose, surprised, for, entering her

room, there was the cantatrice, busy about the nightly services she

always rendered her little mistress.

“I’m waiting for you, dear. Where have you been so long?” asked

Phebe, poking the fire as if anxious to get some color into cheeks

that were unnaturally pale.

The instant she spoke Rose knew that something was wrong, and a

glance at her face confirmed the fear. It was like a dash of cold

water and quenched her happy fancies in a moment; but being a

delicate-minded girl, she respected Phebe’s mood and asked no

questions, made no comments, and left her friend to speak or be

silent as she chose.

“I was so excited I would take a turn in the moonlight to calm my

nerves. Oh, dearest Phebe, I am so glad, so proud, so full of

wonder at your courage and skill and sweet ways altogether that I

cannot half tell you how I love and honor you!” she cried, kissing

the white cheeks with such tender warmth they could not help

glowing faintly as Phebe held her little mistress close, sure that

nothing could disturb this innocent affection.

“It is all your work, dear, because but for you I might still be

scrubbing floors and hardly dare to dream of anything like this,”

she said in her old grateful way, but in her voice there was a thrill

of something deeper than gratitude, and at the last two words her

head went up with a gesture of soft pride as if it had been newly

crowned.

Rose heard and saw and guessed at the meaning of both tone and

gesture, feeling that her Phebe deserved both the singer’s laurel and

the bride’s myrtle wreath. But she only looked up, saying very

wistfully: “Then it has been a happy night for you as well as for

us.?

“The happiest of my life, and the hardest,” answered Phebe briefly

as she looked away from the questioning eyes.

“You should have let us come nearer and help you through. I’m

afraid you are very proud, my Jenny Lind.?

“I have to be, for sometimes I feel as if I had nothing else to keep

me up.” She stopped short there, fearing that her voice would

prove traitorous if she went on. In a moment she asked in a tone

that was almost hard: “You think I did well tonight??

“They all think so, and were so delighted they wanted to come in a

body and tell you so, but I sent them home because I knew you’d

be tired out. Perhaps I ought not to have done it and you’d rather

have had a crowd about you than just me??

“It was the kindest thing you ever did, and what could I like better

than ‘just you,’ my darling??

Phebe seldom called her that, and when she did her heart was in

the little word, making it so tender that Rose thought it the

sweetest in the world, next to Uncle Alec’s “my little girl.” Now it

was almost passionate, and Phebe’s face grew rather tragical as she

looked down at Rose. It was impossible to seem unconscious any

longer, and Rose said, caressing Phebe’s cheek, which burned with

a feverish color now: “Then don’t shut me out if you have a

trouble, but let me share it as I let you share all mine.?

“I will! Little mistress, I’ve got to go away, sooner even than we

planned.?

“Why, Phebe??

“Because Archie loves me.?

“That’s the very reason you should stay and make him happy.?

“Not if it caused dissension in the family, and you know it would.?

Rose opened her lips to deny this impetuously, but checked herself

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