Rosamond; or, The Youthful Error | Page 2

our story opens, had died, leaving to his nephew the grand old
place, called Riverside, from its nearness to the river. It was a most
beautiful spot; and when its new master first took possession of it, the
maids and matrons of Granby, who had mourned for the elder
Browning as people mourn for a good man, felt themselves somewhat
consoled from the fact that his successor was young and handsome, and
would doubtless prove an invaluable acquisition to their fireside circles,
and furnish a theme for gossip, without which no village can well exist.
But in the first of their expectations they were mistaken, for Mr.
Browning shunned rather than sought society, and spent the most of his
leisure hours in the seclusion of his library, where, as Mrs. Peters, his

housekeeper, said, he did nothing but mope over books and walk the
floor. "He was melancholy," she said; "there was something workin' on
his mind, and what it was she didn't know more'n the dead-- though she
knew as well as she wanted to, that he had been crossed in love, for
what else would make so many of his hairs gray, and he not yet
twenty-five!"
That there was a mystery connected with him, was conceded by most of
the villagers, and many a curious gaze they bent upon the grave,
dignified young man, who seldom joined in their pastime or intruded
himself upon their company. Much sympathy was expressed for him in
his loneliness, by the people of Granby, and more than one young girl
would gladly have imposed upon herself the task of cheering that
loneliness; but he seemed perfectly invulnerable to maiden charms; and
when Mrs. Peters, as she often did, urged him "to take a wife and be
somebody," he answered quietly, "I am content to follow the example
of my uncle. I shall probably never marry."
Still he was lonely in his great house--so lonely that, though it hurt his
pride to do it, he wrote the letter, the answer to which excited him so
terribly, and awoke within his mind a train of thought so absorbing and
intense, that he did not hear the summons to supper until Mrs. Peters
put her head into the room, asking "if he were deaf or what."
Mrs. Peters had been in the elder Browning's household for years, and
when the new owner came, she still continued at her post, and
exercised over her young master a kind of motherly care, which he
permitted because he knew her real worth, and that without her his
home would be uncomfortable indeed. On the occasion of which we
write, Mrs. Peters was unusually attentive, and to a person at all skilled
in female tactics, it was evident that she was about to ask a favor, and
had made preparations accordingly. His favorite waffles had been
buttered exactly right--the peaches and cream were delicious--the
fragrant black tea was neither too strong nor too weak--the fire blazed
brightly in the grate--the light from the chandelier fell softly upon the
massive silver service and damask cloth;--and with all these creature
comforts around him, it is not strange that he forgot the letter and the

tress of hair which so lately had blackened on the coals. The moment
was propitious, and by the time he had finished his second cup, Mrs.
Peters said, "I have something to propose."
Leaning back in his chair, he looked inquiringly at her, and she
continued: "You remember Mrs. Leyton, the poor woman who had seen
better days, and lived in East Granby?"
"Yes."
"You know she has been sick, and you gave me leave to carry her any
thing I chose?"
"Yes."
"Well, she's dead, poor thing, and what is worse, she hain't no
connection, nor never had, and her little daughter Rosamond hain't a
place to lay her head."
"Let her come and sleep with you, then," said Mr. Browning, rattling
his spoon upon the edge of his cup.
"Yes, and what'll she do days?" continued Mrs. Peters. "She can't run
the streets, that's so; now, I don't believe no great in children, and you
certainly don't b'lieve in 'em at all, nor your poor uncle before you; but
Rosamond ain't a child; she's _thirteen_--most a woman--and if you
don't mind the expense, I shan't mind the trouble, and she can live here
till she finds a place. Her mother, you know, took up millinering to get
a living."
"Certainly, let her come," answered Mr. Browning, who was noted for
his benevolence.
This matter being thus satisfactorily settled, Mrs. Peters arose from the
table, while Mr. Browning went back to the olden memories which had
haunted him so much that day, and with which there was not mingled a
single thought of the little Rosamond, who