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O! My Lady! My Lady, looking at the downcast and blushing face, says smiling: Who is it? Is it Mrs Rouncewells grandson? Yes, if you please, my Lady. But I dont know that I am in love with him yet. Yet, you silly little thing? Do you know that he loves you, yet? I think he likes me a little, my Lady. And Rosa bursts into tears. Is this Lady Dedlock standing beside the village beauty, smoothing her dark hair with that motherly touch, and watching her with eyes so full of musing interest? Aye, indeed it is! Listen to me, child. You are young and true, and I believe you are attached to me. Indeed I am, my Lady. Indeed there is nothing in the world I wouldnt do, to show how much. And I dont think you would wish to leave me just yet, Rosa, even for a lover? No, my Lady! O no! Rosa looks up for the first time, quite frightened at the thought. Confide in me, my child. Dont fear me. I wish you to be happy, and will make you so if I can make anybody happy on this earth. Rosa, with fresh tears, kneels at her feet and kisses her hand. My Lady takes the hand with which she has caught it, and, standing with her eyes fixed on the fire, puts it about and about between her own two hands, and gradually lets it fall. Seeing her so absorbed, Rosa softly withdraws; but still my Ladys eyes are on the fire. In search of what? Of any hand that is no more, of any hand that never was, of any touch that might have magically changed her life? Or does she listen to the Ghosts Walk, and think what step does it most resemble? A mans? A womans? The pattering of a little childs feet, ever coming on on on? Some melancholy influence is upon her; or why should so proud a lady close the doors, and sit alone upon the hearth so desolate? Volumnia is away next day, and all the cousins are scattered before dinner. Not a cousin of the batch but is amazed to hear from Sir Leicester, at breakfast time, of the obliteration of landmarks, and opening of floodgates, and cracking of the framework of society, manifested through Mrs Rouncewells son. Not a cousin of the batch but is really indignant, and connects it with the feebleness of William Buffy when in office, and really does feel deprived of a stake in the country or the pension list or something by fraud and wrong. As to Volumnia, she is handed down the great staircase by Sir Leicester, as eloquent upon the theme, as if there were a general rising in the North of England to obtain her rouge- pot and pearl necklace. And thus, with a clatter of maids and valets for it is one appurtenance of their cousinship, that, however difficult they may find it to keep themselves, they must keep maids and valets the cousins disperse to the four winds of heaven; and the one wintry wind that blows to-day shakes a shower from the trees near the deserted house, as if all the cousins had been changed into leaves. |
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