never seemed to recognize Tulee’s presence, or to be conscious where she was.  She was never wild or troublesome, but there were frequent restless motions, and signs of being afraid of something.  Then such a heavy drowsiness came over her, that it was difficult to arouse her sufficiently to swallow a spoonful of nourishment.  She slept, and slept, till it seemed as if she would sleep forever.  “Nature, dear goddess,” was doing the best she could for the poor weak body, that had been so racked by the torture of the soul.

Three weeks passed before Mr. Fitzgerald again made his appearance at the lonely cottage.  He had often thought of Rosa meanwhile, not without uneasiness and some twinges of self-reproach.  But considering the unlucky beginning of his honeymoon at Magnolia Lawn, he deemed it prudent to be very assiduous in his attentions to his bride.  He took no walks or drives without her, and she seemed satisfied with his entire devotion; but a veiled singing shadow haunted the chambers of her soul.  When she and her husband were occupied with music, she half expected the pauses would be interrupted by another voice; nor was he free from fears that those wandering sounds would come again.  But annoyed as he would have been by the rich tones of that voice once so dear to him, his self-love was piqued that Rosa took no steps to recall him.  He had such faith in his power over her, that he had been daily hoping for a conciliatory note.  Tom had been as attentive to the invalid as his enslaved condition would admit; but as Tulee said very decidedly that she didn’t want Massa Fitzgerald to show his face there, he did not volunteer any information.  At last, his master said to him one day, “You’ve been to the cottage, I suppose, Tom?”

“Yes, Massa.”

“How are they getting on there?”

“Missy Rosy hab bin bery sick, but she done better now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, you black rascal?”

“Massa hab neber ax me,” replied Tom.

Mr. Fitzgerald found some food for vanity in this news.  He presumed the illness was caused by love for him, which Rosa found herself unable to conquer.  This idea was very pleasant to him; for it was not easy to relinquish the beautiful young creature who had loved him so exclusively.  Making a pretext of business, he mounted his horse and rode off; throwing a farewell kiss to his bride as he went.  For greater security, he travelled a few moments in another direction, and then sought the sequestered cottage by a circuitous route.  Tulee was vexed at heart when she heard him, as he came through the woods, humming, “C’est l’amour, l’amour”; and when he entered the cottage, she wished she was a white man, that she could strike him.  But when he said, “Tulee, how is your mistress?” she civilly answered, “Better, Massa.”