Alonzo Fitz | Page 8

every year, as this dear hour
chimes from the clock, we will celebrate it with thanksgivings, all the
years of our life."
"We will, we will, Alonzo!"
"Four minutes after six, in the evening, my Rosannah, shall

henceforth--"
"Twenty-three minutes after twelve, afternoon shall--"
"Why; Rosannah, darling, where are you?"
"In Honolulu, Sandwich Islands. And where are you? Stay by me; do
not leave me for a moment. I cannot bear it. Are you at home?"
"No, dear, I am in New York--a patient in the doctor's hands."
An agonizing shriek came buzzing to Alonzo's ear, like the sharp
buzzing of a hurt gnat; it lost power in traveling five thousand miles.
Alonzo hastened to say:
"Calm yourself, my child. It is nothing. Already I am getting well under
the sweet healing of your presence. Rosannah?"
"Yes, Alonzo? Oh, how you terrified me! Say on."
"Name the happy day, Rosannah!"
There was a little pause. Then a diffident small voice replied, "I
blush--but it is with pleasure, it is with happiness. Would--would you
like to have it soon?"
"This very night, Rosannah! Oh, let us risk no more delays. Let it be
now!--this very night, this very moment!"
"Oh, you impatient creature! I have nobody here but my good old uncle,
a missionary for a generation, and now retired from service--nobody
but him and his wife. I would so dearly like it if your mother and your
Aunt Susan--"
"Our mother and our Aunt Susan, my Rosannah."
"Yes, our mother and our Aunt Susan--I am content to word it so if it
pleases you; I would so like to have them present."

"So would I. Suppose you telegraph Aunt Susan. How long would it
take her to come?"
"The steamer leaves San Francisco day after tomorrow. The passage is
eight days. She would be here the 31st of March."
"Then name the 1st of April; do, Rosannah, dear."
"Mercy, it would make us April fools, Alonzo!"
"So we be the happiest ones that that day's suit looks down upon in the
whole broad expanse of the globe, why need we care? Call it the 1st of
April, dear."
"Then the 1st of April at shall be, with all my heart!"
"Oh, happiness! Name the hour, too, Rosannah."
"I like the morning, it is so blithe. Will eight in the morning do,
Alonzo?"
"The loveliest hour in the day--since it will make you mine."
There was a feeble but frantic sound for some little time, as if
wool-upped, disembodied spirits were exchanging kisses; then
Rosannah said, "Excuse me just a moment, dear; I have an appointment,
and am called to meet it."
The young girl sought a large parlor and took her place at a window
which looked out upon a beautiful scene. To the left one could view the
charming Nuuana Valley, fringed with its ruddy flush of tropical
flowers and its plumed and graceful cocoa palms; its rising foothills
clothed in the shining green of lemon, citron, and orange groves; its
storied precipice beyond, where the first Kamehameha drove his
defeated foes over to their destruction, a spot that had forgotten its grim
history, no doubt, for now it was smiling, as almost always at noonday,
under the glowing arches of a succession of rainbows. In front of the
window one could see the quaint town, and here and there a picturesque

group of dusky natives, enjoying the blistering weather; and far to the
right lay the restless ocean, tossing its white mane in the sunshine.
Rosannah stood there, in her filmy white raiment, fanning her flushed
and heated face, waiting. A Kanaka boy, clothed in a damaged blue
necktie and part of a silk hat, thrust his head in at the door, and
announced, "'Frisco haole!"
"Show him in," said the girl, straightening herself up and assuming a
meaning dignity. Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley entered, clad from head
to heel in dazzling snow--that is to say, in the lightest and whitest of
Irish linen. He moved eagerly forward, but the girl made a gesture and
gave him a look which checked him suddenly. She said, coldly, "I am
here, as I promised. I believed your assertions, I yielded to your
importune lies, and said I would name the day. I name the 1st of April
--eight in the morning. NOW GO!"
"Oh, my dearest, if the gratitude of a lifetime--"
"Not a word. Spare me all sight of you, all communication with you,
until that hour. No--no supplications; I will have it so."
When he was gone, she sank exhausted in a chair, for the long siege of
troubles she had undergone had wasted her strength. Presently she said,
"What a narrow escape! If the hour appointed had been an hour earlier
--Oh, horror, what an escape I have made! And