A Peep Behind the Scenes | Page 9

you ever tell your father
about that house, or that I told you to go and look at it, or about what
that young woman said. Mind you never say a word to him about it;
promise me, Rosalie.'
'Why not, mammie dear?' asked Rosalie, with a very perplexed face.
'Never mind why, Rosalie,' said her mother fretfully; 'I don't wish it.'
'Very well, mammie dear,' said Rosalie.
'I'll tell you some time, Rosalie,' said her mother gently, a minute or
two afterwards; 'not to-day, though; oh no! I can't tell it to-day.'
Rosalie wondered very much what her mother meant, and she sat
watching her pale, sorrowful face as she lay on her bed with her eyes
closed. What was she thinking of? What was it she had to tell her? For
some time Rosalie sat quite still, musing on what her mother had said,
and then she pinned the card on the wall just over her dear picture, and
once more read the words of the hymn.

After this she arranged the flowers in a small glass, and put them on the
box near her mother's bed. The sweet-briar and cabbage-roses and
southernwood filled the caravan with their fragrance. Then Rosalie
took up her usual position at the door, to watch Toby driving, and to
see all that was to be seen by the way.
They passed through several other villages, and saw many lone
farmhouses and solitary cottages. When night came, they drew up on
the outskirts of a small market-town. Toby took the horses to an inn,
and they rested there for the night.

CHAPTER IV
THE ACTRESS'S STORY
The next morning, as soon as it was light, the horses were put in again,
and the theatre party proceeded on their way. Rosalie's mother seemed
much better; the country air and country quiet had, for a time, restored
to her much of her former strength. She was able, with Rosalie's help,
to dress herself and to sit on one of the boxes beside her bed, resting
her head against the pillows, and gazing out at the green fields and
clear blue sky. The sweet fresh breezes came in at the open door, and
fanned her careworn face and the face of the child who sat beside her.
'Rosalie,' said her mother suddenly, 'would you like to hear about the
time when your mother was a little girl?'
'Yes, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, nestling up to her side; 'I know
nothing at all about it.'
'No, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'it's the beginning of a very sad story,
and I did not like my little girl to know about it; but I sometimes think I
sha'n't be long with you, and I had rather tell it to you myself than have
any one else tell it. And you're getting a great girl now, Rosalie; you
will be able to understand many things you could not have understood
before. And there have been things the last few days which have

brought it all back to me, and made me think of it by day and dream of
it by night.'
'Please tell me, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, as her mother stopped
speaking.
'Would you like to hear it now?' said the poor woman, with a sigh, as if
she hardly liked to begin.
'Please, mammie dear,' said Rosalie.
'Then draw closer to me, child, for I don't want Toby to hear; and, mind,
you must never speak of what I'm going to tell you before your
father--_never_; promise me, Rosalie,' she said earnestly.
'No, never, mammie dear,' said little Rosalie.
Then there was silence for a minute or two afterwards--no sound to be
heard but the cracking of Toby's whip and the rumbling of the waggons
behind.
'Aren't you going to begin, mammie?' said Rosalie at length.
'I almost wish I hadn't promised to tell you, child,' said her mother
hurriedly; 'it cuts me up so to think of it; but never mind, you ought to
know, and you will know some day, so I had better tell you myself.
Rosalie, your mother was born a lady.
'Yes,' said the poor woman, as the child did not speak;
'I was never born to this life of misery, I brought myself to it. I chose
it,' she said bitterly; 'and I'm only getting the harvest of what I sowed
myself.'
When she had said this, she turned deadly pale, and shivered from head
to foot. Rosalie crept still closer to her, and put her little warm hand in
her mother's cold one. Then the poor woman by a strong effort
controlled herself, and she went on.

'So now, darling, I'll tell you all about it, just as if I was talking about
some one else; I'll forget it is myself, or