by Mayne Reid
piece of coldwhite marble with not a movement to betoken that she was breathing.
I gently placed her on a couch--resting her pale cheek upon the pillow.I then requested Mrs Nagger to summon a doctor.
"It's no use, sir," said the woman, her words causing me a painfulapprehension: for I thought that she meant to say there was no hope ofrecovery.
"It's no use, sir," repeated Mrs Nagger, "she'll be over it before thedoctor could get here. She's only fainting; and more's the pity, thatsuch a dear pretty creetur should know the trouble that's causing it.More's the pity! that's all I can say."
Mrs Nagger's prognosis proved correct, for Jessie soon recovered, andas she did so, my composure became partially restored.
I began to breathe more freely: for not being used to scenes of thiskind, I had felt not only excited, but very much alarmed.
"Jessie," said I, as I saw her fix her eyes upon me, "you are ill--youhave been fainting?"
"No," she answered, "I have only been thinking--thinking of what youhave said. It was something about--"
She interrupted herself at sight of Mrs Nagger--whom she now noticedfor the first time. The presence of the housekeeper appeared to makeher conscious of what had occurred; and for some moments she remainedsilent--pressing her hands against her forehead.
Mrs Nagger perceiving, that she was the cause of some embarrassment,silently retired from the room.
"Rowland," said Jessie, after the woman had gone, "I have but a fewwords more to say. To-morrow I am to be married to Mr Vane. It is myfather's wish; and, as I have been told that his wishes should be myown, I have consented to obey him. I have tried to love this man but invain: for I love another. I love you, Rowland. I cannot govern myfeelings; and too well do I remember your own words, when you said, wecould only love one. I will leave you now, Rowland: I have told youall."
"Jessie," said I, "I am truly sorry for you; but I trust that after yourmarriage you will think differently; and will not allow any memories ofthe past to affect your happiness."
"I thank you for your good wishes," she answered, "I will, try to bearmy cruel fate with composure. Farewell, Rowland! I shall now leaveyou. I shall go as I have come--alone."
As I took her hand in mine--to speak that parting, which was to be ourlast--she fixed her eyes upon me in a glance I shall not forget till mydying hour.
In another instant she was gone.
To me there was something more than painful in this visit from Jessie.It surprised me--as did also her bearing and language. Had she been atall like any other girl, the singularity would have been still moreapparent; but she was not. Her conduct was not to be judged by the samestandard, as if she had been a young lady educated in the highlycivilised society of Europe. She was a child of Nature; and believedthat to conceal her thoughts and affections, was a sin against herself--as well as against all whom they might regard. In all likelihood shefondly loved me; and regretted the promise she had given to become thewife of Vane. Such being the case, she may have deemed it her duty tomake known to me the state of her mind, before she became irrevocablyunited to another; and this she had done regardless of consequences. Inacting thus, Jessie H--might have been conscious of no wrong, nor couldI see any, although had another behaved in a similar manner, my opinionwould have been different.
A young lady, brought up in English society, that teaches her rigidly toconceal every warm affection and impulse of the heart, would have beenacting wrong in doing as Jessie H--had done. In her betrothal to Vane,she had undoubtedly yielded to the wishes of her father, instead offollowing the dictates of her own mind; but such was not the case in hermaking that visit to me.
Her marriage was to take place the next day; and it may be supposed thatshe ought to have been engaged in making preparations for that importantevent. Such would the world decide to have been her duty. But herartless, pure, and confiding nature, rendered her independent of theopinions of the world; and she had made one last reckless effort topossess herself of the man she loved.
The effort had failed. Fate was against her.
I went to make my daily visit to Lenore; and Jessie, along with hergrief, was for awhile forgotten.
Volume Three, Chapter XXXII.
MRS NAGGER.
Since meeting with Lenore, I had faithfully responded to the invitationof Captain Nowell. Most of my time had been devoted to his ladies; orrather, spent in the society of Lenore. Every day had witnessed thereturn of happy hours; and, strange to say, the happiest wereexperienced on the day of that sad parting with Jessie!
On that morning, Lenore had promised to be mine; and an early day hadbeen appointed for our marriage.
In procuring her consent to our speedy union, I was aided by CaptainNowell, who wished to be present at the ceremony, and could not postponethe departure of his ship.
When Lenore and I came to compare notes, and make mutual confession, sheexpressed surprise that I should ever have thought her capable ofmarrying another!
"Did you not tell me, Rowland," said she, "to wait for your return, andyou would then talk to me of love? I knew your motive for going away;and admired you for it. I firmly confided in what you told me. All thetime of your absence, I believed you would come back to me; and I shouldhave waited for many years longer. Ah! Rowland, I could never haveloved another."
My journey to Liverpool--to ascertain the name and address of the manLenore had _not_ married--I had hitherto kept a secret, but a letter hadarrived the evening before, which frustrated my designs. Mrs Lansonhad written to her old friend, Mrs Nowell--giving a full account of myvisit that had ended so abruptly. I was compelled to listen to a littlepleasant raillery from Captain Nowell, who did not fail to banter meabout the trouble I had taken, to learn what I might have discoveredmuch sooner and easier--by simply keeping faith with him, in the promiseI had made to call upon him.
"I told you aboard the ship," said he, "that I had something to show youworth looking at; and that you couldn't do better than visit me, beforethrowing yourself away elsewhere. See what it has cost you, neglectingto listen to my request. Now, is it not wonderful, that the plan I hadarranged for your happiness, when we were seven thousand miles from thisplace, should be the very one that fate herself had in store for you?"
I agreed with Captain Nowell, that there was something very strange inthe whole thing; and something more agreeable than strange.
I returned home highly elated with the prospect of my future happiness.I informed my brother and his wife of a change in my intentions--merelytelling them that I had given up the design of returning to Australia.They were much gratified at this bit of news, for they had both usedevery argument to dissuade me from going back to the colonies.
"What has caused this sudden, and I must say sensible, abandonment ofyour former plans?" asked my brother.
"I have at last found one," I answered, "that I intend making my wife."
"Ah!" exclaimed William, "the one that you had lost?"
"Yes, the one that I had lost; but what makes you think there was suchan one?"
"Oh! that was easily seen. Ever since meeting you on the Victoriadiggings, I noticed about you the appearance of a man who had lostsomething--the mother of his children, for instance. I have never askedmany particulars of your past life; but, until within the last few days,you looked very like a man who had no other hope, than that of beingable to die sometime. Why, Rowland, you look at this minute, ten yearsyounger, than you did three days ago!"
I could believe this: for the change that had taken place in my soul waslike passing from night to day.
I was, indeed, happy, supremely happy: since Lenore had promised to bemine.
That day I did not think of poor Jessie, until after my return home,when Mrs Nagger, while setting my tea before me, put the question:
"Please, sir, how is the poor young lady who was here this morning? Shewas such a nice creetur, I'm anxious to hear if she be well again."
This was the most reasonable r
emark I had heard the old housekeepermake, during all my acquaintance with her. She had given utterance to along speech, without once using her favourite expression. The fact wassomething wonderful; and that is probably the reason why I have recordedit.
In answer to her interrogatory, I told her, that I had neither seen norheard of the young lady since the morning.
"Then more's the pity!" rejoined Mrs Nagger. "If men have no regardfor such a lovely creetur as her, it's no wonder _I_ have never found ahusband. More's the pity, sir! That's all _I_ can say."
Mrs Nagger was a good servant; but my sister-in-law and her mother wereoften displeased with her; on account of a disposition she oftendisplayed for meddling too much with what did not, or should not haveconcerned her. She seemed to consider herself one of the family; andentitled to
