But she gave no sign of hearing him; and seeing her reel backward into a chair, with pale lips and closing eyes, he hastened to summon Tulee.  Such remorse came over him that he longed to wait for her returning consciousness.  But he remembered that his long absence must excite surprise in the mind of his bride, and might, perhaps, connect itself with the mysterious singer of the preceding evening.  Goaded by contending feelings, he hurried through the footpaths whence he had so often kissed his hand to Rosa in fond farewell, and hastily mounted his horse without one backward glance.

Before he came in sight of the plantation, the perturbation of his mind had subsided, and he began to think himself a much-injured individual.  “Plague on the caprices of women!” thought he.  “All this comes of Lily’s taking the silly, romantic whim of coming here to spend the honeymoon.  And Rosa, foolish girl, what airs she assumes!  I wanted to deal generously by her; but she rejected all my offers as haughtily as if she had been queen of Spain and all the Americas.  There’s a devilish deal more of the Spanish blood in her than I thought for.  Pride becomes her wonderfully; but it won’t hold out forever.  She’ll find that she can’t live without me.  I can wait.”

Feeling the need of some safety-valve to let off his vexation, he selected poor Tom for that purpose.  When the obsequious servant came to lead away the horse, his master gave him a sharp cut of the whip, saying, “I’ll teach you to tell tales again, you black rascal!” But having a dainty aversion to the sight of pain, he summoned the overseer, and consigned him to his tender mercies.

CHAPTER XIII.

If Flora could have known all this, the sisters would have soon been locked in each other’s arms; but while she supposed that Rosa still regarded Mr. Fitzgerald with perfect love and confidence, no explanation of her flight could be given.  She did indeed need to be often reminded by Mrs. Delano that it would be the most unkind thing toward her sister, as well as hazardous to herself, to attempt any communication.  Notwithstanding the tenderest care for her comfort and happiness, she could not help being sometimes oppressed with homesickness.  Her Boston home was tasteful and elegant, but everything seemed foreign and strange.  She longed for Rosa and Tulee, and Madame and the Signor.  She missed what she called the olla-podrida phrases to which she had always been accustomed; and in her desire to behave with propriety, there was an unwonted sense of constraint.  When callers came, she felt like a colt making its first acquaintance with harness.  She endeavored to conceal such feelings from her kind benefactress; but sometimes, if she was surprised in tears, she would say apologetically, “I love you dearly, Mamita Lila; but it is dreadful to be so far away from anybody that ever knew anything about the old times.”