CHAPTER XI.
MEETING AND PARTING.
THE next night Rosebud lay awake, anxiously waiting for the hour when granny should go forth with her lantern. Her heart beat quickly at the thought of what must that night be done, of all that Bertha expected from her, and she only a little girl, only Rosebud.
But courage was by no means wanting. And, besides, she was very curious to see the sweet singer,—the pleasant-voiced maiden, who, she felt sure, must be wondrously beautiful.
At length footsteps were heard in the next room, the outer door closed, and Rosebud could see from her window the old woman hobbling away to the Wood. She followed, well wrapped in her cloak. Everything was the same as before,—the dew upon the grass, the stillness, the brightness, all the same. Having reached the Wood, Rosebud watched very closely where the old woman disappeared, and entered, behind her, the opening of which Bertha had spoken. She remembered the ten stone stairs, counted them one by one, and reached the bottom in safety. Granny was making her way along the passage; at length she paused, and set down the lantern. Stooping over, she removed a stone from the wall near the ground; from behind this stone she drew out a heavy brass key, with which she proceeded to open the iron door.
Rosebud felt a strong desire to follow still farther, and, if possible, get just one glimpse of the mysterious singer and her little maid, but deemed it wiser to follow Bertha’s directions and return home at once.
Not many days after, granny, one fine morning, took her staff and her bundle, and started for the town. “Now,” thought Rosebud, “now, if ever, must I fulfil my promise.”
And when Myrtle had gone off for a day’s fishing, as granny now often compelled him to do; and when she had piled up her drift-wood, and scrubbed the platters, and sanded the floor, and looked at her plants, and driven the geese to water,—she hastened away over hills and valleys to the Wood, as she had often done before.
The flat stone was soon found, and, after some exertion, removed. Carefully descending the ten steep stairs, she found herself in a narrow passage below. If she had but thought of the lantern! But it was now too late for that.
With both hands extended, she groped along the passage to the iron door. Here, stooping down, she soon found the loose stone. The heavy brass key was drawn forth, and applied to the lock. But, although it turned freely, the door would not open. What was now to be done? There was no time to lose. Suppose some chance traveller were to find the entrance? or suppose granny herself should happen that way?
Again she grasped the key, again it turned in the lock, and again the door would not open.
“Bertha! Bertha!” she called. But Bertha could not hear.
When almost ready to give up in despair, she heard, not far off, a sound like the warbling of a bird, and could very clearly distinguish these words:—
With new courage Rosebud began turning the key to the left, and at the ninth turning the door swung slowly open.
But there was yet a long way to travel. A long, long way it seemed to Rosebud. But she thought of her promise to the sorrowful maiden, and kept bravely on.
Presently she heard voices singing, and knew then that the end of the long passage was near. She called aloud, “Bertha! Bertha!”
“Is it you? Is it Rosebud?” cried a voice. “Hasten, there is yet another iron door.”
“But how shall I enter?” called out Rosebud.
“Feel for the bolt. You can easily slip the bolt,” said Bertha.
The bolt yielded readily, the door flew open, and Rosebud felt herself embraced with kisses and with tears of joy.
For all the dim light, Rosebud could easily perceive how beautiful was her new friend. And she stood gazing, like one entranced, at her dark, flashing eyes, her black, braided hair, and her rosy red cheeks. Upon her head was a small velvet cap of scarlet, and the facings of her dark velvet jacket were of the same color. She was but little taller than Rosebud, but was straight and well formed, and the long, dark braids of hair hung below her waist. A small plume, fastened to the little cap by a cluster of jewels, drooped gracefully at one side. Her face wore a merry look in spite of her troubles, and when she smiled—O, Rosebud thought nothing could be more beautiful than her smile!
“This is my dear little maid,” said she,—“my faithful, loving little maid, who will never desert me.”
The little maid now came forward, and was, so Rosebud thought, almost as charming as her mistress. She was certainly as ready to escape, and in any way Bertha might choose.
It was arranged that Rosebud should leave them, and return to the hut, lest some one should come out in search of her. Late in the afternoon Bertha and her little maid would venture forth, taking care to lock the door behind them, and leave the great brass key in its place. They would remain concealed in the wood until evening, and would then proceed with all haste to the shore, where Rosebud promised to meet them and guide them to a boat.
That night there was no sleep for Rosebud. The moment that granny left the hut with her lantern, she arose and stepped out softly upon the sands. The stars were out, but the moon had not yet risen,—which, for those who wished to remain hid, was all the better. Rosebud walked timidly down to the water’s edge, her little heart beating quickly, for she knew that Bertha and her little maid were then on their way to the shore. She sat down upon the rocks to wait. The time seemed long. Had harm befallen them? Perhaps they were lost in the woods, or had met with robbers, or granny had found them.
But as Rosebud sat there upon the rocks, listening to the dash of the waves, fearing she knew not what, though hoping all would be well, she heard footsteps near, and at the same moment a low, sweet voice singing,—
Rosebud sprang to meet them.
“Safe?” she whispered.
“Safe!” cried Bertha. “Where is the boat?”
“This way,” said Rosebud; “come with me.”
Bertha threw her arm about Rosebud, and, as they thus walked along upon the sands, listening to the rush of the night breeze through the tall beach-grass, and to the never-ending song of the sea, the stars twinkling down upon them all the while, she put to her many questions. Was granny really her grandmother? How long had they lived there? Who were her parents? Where were they? Why was she not with them?
And Rosebud told Bertha her whole history,—weeping as she spoke of her father and mother, and told how they had loved her. And Bertha wept too, and begged that Rosebud would go with her, and be her own dear sister.
But no, Rosebud said, when Rupert came, she might, perhaps, obtain from him some tidings of her parents. She must wait for Rupert. But if, after long waiting, Rupert came not, then she and Myrtle together would seek in distant lands to learn their fate.
Then Bertha promised that her father should send a great army to take the wicked Magnus, and to rescue the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.
In the boat they selected were lines, hooks, leads, and a heavy sea-coat. These were left upon the rocks, and in the pocket of the heavy sea-coat Bertha placed two rings containing jewels of value, that the owner of the boat might suffer no loss.
Bertha then embraced Rosebud, kissing her many times. “My dear Rosebud,” said she, “your sweet face draws my whole heart to you. I grieve that we must now part, and you be left here so sad and lonely. May my dearest hopes perish if I do not yet render you good service! But see! the moon is rising. One more kiss! Farewell!”
They launched their boat, and, stepping in, pushed boldly off from shore. The rising moon threw its beams across the sea. Each little wave danced and sparkled in the light.
Farther, farther away sped the boat; and Rosebud, listening to the dash of the oars, could faintly distinguish the words of Bertha’s farewell, which was a reply to Rosebud’s question, whether they were not afraid to sail away thus alone.
Fainter and fainter grew the music. The boat was now but a speck upon the waters.
And thus did Bertha and her little maiden float away in the moonlight out upon the wide sea!