Alonzo Fitz | Page 5

he heard Rosannah Ethelton, whose back was toward him, say:
"So has yours, dearest!"
He saw her bowed form bend lower; he heard her kiss something--not
merely once, but again and again! His soul raged within him. The
heartbreaking conversation went on:
"Rosannah, I knew you must be beautiful, but this is dazzling, this is
blinding, this is intoxicating!"
"Alonzo, it is such happiness to hear you say it. I know it is not true,
but I am so grateful to have you think it is, nevertheless! I knew you
must have a noble face, but the grace and majesty of the reality beggar
the poor creation of my fancy."
Burley heard that rattling shower of kisses again.
"Thank you, my Rosannah! The photograph flatters me, but you must
not allow yourself to think of that. Sweetheart?"

"Yes, Alonzo."
"I am so happy, Rosannah."
"Oh, Alonzo, none that have gone before me knew what love was, none
that come after me will ever know what happiness is. I float in a
gorgeous cloud land, a boundless firmament of enchanted and
bewildering ecstasy!"
"Oh, my Rosannah! for you are mine, are you not?"
"Wholly, oh, wholly yours, Alonzo, now and forever! All the day long,
and all through my nightly dreams, one song sings itself, and its sweet
burden is, 'Alonzo Fitz Clarence, Alonzo Fitz Clarence, Eastport, state
of Maine!'"
"Curse him, I've got his address, anyway!" roared Burley, inwardly,
and rushed from the place.
Just behind the unconscious Alonzo stood his mother, a picture of
astonishment. She was so muffled from head to heel in furs that
nothing of herself was visible but her eyes and nose. She was a good
allegory of winter, for she was powdered all over with snow.
Behind the unconscious Rosannah stood "Aunt Susan," another picture
of astonishment. She was a good allegory of summer, for she was
lightly clad, and was vigorously cooling the perspiration on her face
with a fan.
Both of these women had tears of joy in their eyes.
"Soho!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitz Clarence, "this explains why nobody has
been able to drag you out of your room for six weeks, Alonzo!"
"So ho!" exclaimed Aunt Susan, "this explains why you have been a
hermit for the past six weeks, Rosannah!"
The young couple were on their feet in an instant, abashed, and
standing like detected dealers in stolen goods awaiting judge Lynch's

doom.
"Bless you, my son! I am happy in your happiness. Come to your
mother's arms, Alonzo!"
"Bless you, Rosannah, for my dear nephew's sake! Come to my arms!"
Then was there a mingling of hearts and of tears of rejoicing on
Telegraph Hill and in Eastport Square.
Servants were called by the elders, in both places. Unto one was given
the order, "Pile this fire high, with hickory wood, and bring me a
roasting-hot lemonade."
Unto the other was given the order, "Put out this fire, and bring me two
palm-leaf fans and a pitcher of ice-water."
Then the young people were dismissed, and the elders sat down to talk
the sweet surprise over and make the wedding plans.
Some minutes before this Mr. Burley rushed from the mansion on
Telegraph Hill without meeting or taking formal leave of anybody. He
hissed through his teeth, in unconscious imitation of a popular favorite
in melodrama, "Him shall she never wed! I have sworn it! Ere great
Nature shall have doffed her winter's ermine to don the emerald gauds
of spring, she shall be mine!"
III
Two weeks later. Every few hours, during same three or four days, a
very prim and devout-looking Episcopal clergyman, with a cast in his
eye, had visited Alonzo. According to his card, he was the Rev. Melton
Hargrave, of Cincinnati. He said he had retired from the ministry on
account of his health. If he had said on account of ill-health, he would
probably have erred, to judge by his wholesome looks and firm build.
He was the inventor of an improvement in telephones, and hoped to
make his bread by selling the privilege of using it. "At present," he
continued, "a man may go and tap a telegraph wire which is conveying

a song or a concert from one state to another, and he can attach his
private telephone and steal a hearing of that music as it passes along.
My invention will stop all that."
"Well," answered Alonzo, "if the owner of the music could not miss
what was stolen, why should he care?"
"He shouldn't care," said the Reverend.
"Well?" said Alonzo, inquiringly.
"Suppose," replied the Reverend, "suppose that, instead of music that
was passing along and being stolen, the burden of the wire was loving
endearments of the most private and sacred nature?"
Alonzo shuddered from head to heel. "Sir, it is