by T. S. Arthur
It is impossible for any woman to pass through an ordeal like the one that was testing the quality of Jessie Loring, and not show signs of the inward strife. It is in no way surprising, therefore, that, in her exterior, a marked change soon became visible. There was a certain dignity and reserve, verging, at times, on coldness, not seen prior to her engagement—and a quiet suppression of familiarity, even with her most intimate friends. The same marked change was visible in her intercourse with Mr. Dexter. She did not meet him with that kind of repulsion which is equivalent to pushing back with the hand. She accepted his loving ardor of speech and act; but passively. There was no responsive warmth.
At first Mr. Dexter was puzzled, and his ardent feelings chilled. He loved, admired, almost worshipped the beautiful girl from whom consent had been extorted, and her quiet, cold manner, troubled his sorely. Glimpses of the real truth dawned into his mind. He let his thoughts go back, and went over again, in retrospection, every particular of their intercourse—dwelling minutely upon her words, looks, manner and emotions at the time he first pressed his suit upon her. The result was far from satisfactory. She had not met his advances as he had hoped; but rather fled from him—and he had gained her only by pursuit. Her ascent had not come warmly from her heart, but burdened with a sigh. Mr. Dexter felt that though she was his, she had not been fairly won. The conviction troubled him.
“I will release her,” he said, in a sudden glow of generous enthusiasm. But Mr. Dexter had not the nobility for such a step. He was too selfish a man to relinquish the prize.
“I will woo and win her still.” This was to him a more satisfactory conclusion. But he had won all of her in his power to gain. Her heart was to him a sealed book. He could not unclasp the volume, nor read a single page.
Earnestly at times did Jessie strive to appear attractive in the eyes of her betrothed—to meet his ardor with returning warmth. But the effort was accompanied with so much pain, that suffering was unable to withdraw wholly beneath a veil of smiles.
The wordy, restless pleasure evinced by Mrs. Loring, was particularly annoying to Jessie; so much so that any allusion by her aunt to the approaching marriage, was almost certain to cloud her brow. And yet so gratified was this worldly-minded woman, at the good fortune of her niece in securing so brilliant an alliance, that it seemed as if, for a time, she could talk of nothing else.
Mr. Dexter urged an early marriage, while Jessie named a period nearly a year in advance; but, as she could give no valid reason for delaying their happiness so long, the time was shortened to four months. As the day approached, the pressure on the heart of Miss Loring grew heavier.
“Oh, if I could die!” How many times in the silence of night and in the loneliness of her chamber did her lips give forth this utterance.
But the striving spirit could not lay down its burden thus.
Not once, since the exciting interview we have described, had Paul and Jessie met. At places of fashionable amusement she was a constant attendant in company with Dexter, who was proud of her beauty. But though her eyes searched everywhere in the crowded audiences, in no instance did she recognize the face of Hendrickson. In festive companies, where he had been a constant attendant, she missed his presence. Often she heard him inquired after, yet only once did the answer convey any intelligence. It was at an evening party. “Where is Mr. Hendrickson? It is a long time since I have seen him,” she heard a lady say. Partly turning she recognized Mrs. Denison as the person addressed. The answer was in so low a tone that her ear did not make it out, though she listened with suspended breath.
“Ah! I’m sorry,” responded the other. “What is the cause?”
“A matter of the heart, I believe,” said Mrs. Denison.
“Indeed is he very much depressed?”
“He is changed,” was the simple reply.
“Who was the lady?”
Jessie did not hear the answer.
“You don’t tell me so!” In a tone of surprise, and the lady glanced around the room.
“And he took it very much to heart?” she went on.
“Yes. I think it will change the complexion of his whole life,” said Mrs. Denison. “He is a man of deep feeling—somewhat peculiar; over diffident; and not given to showing himself off to the best advantage. But he is every inch a man—all gold and no tinsel! I have known him from boyhood, and speak of his quality from certain knowledge.”
“He will get over it,” remarked the lady. “Men are not apt to go crazy after pretty girls. The market is full of such attractions.”
“It takes more than a painted butterfly to dazzle him, my friend,” said Mrs. Denison. “His eyes are too keen, and go below the surface at a glance. The woman he loves may regard the fact as a high testimonial.”
“But you don’t suppose he is going to break his heart over this matter.”
“No—oh, no! That is an extreme disaster.”
“He will forget her in time; and there are good fish in the sea yet.”
“Time is the great restorer,” said Mrs. Denison; “and time will show, I trust, that good will come from this severe trial which my young friend is now enduring. These better natures are oftenest exposed to furnace heat, for only they have gold enough to stand the ordeal of fire.”
“He is wrong to shut himself out from society.”
“So I tell him. But he says ‘wait—wait, I am not strong enough yet.’”
“He must, indeed, take the matter deeply to heart.”
“He does.”
Here the voice fell to such a low measure, that Jessie lost all distinction of words. But the few sentences which had reached her ears disturbed her spirit profoundly—too profoundly to make even a ripple on the surface. No one saw a change on her countenance, and her voice, answering a moment after to the voice of a friend, betrayed no unusual sign of feeling.
And this was all she had heard of him for months.
Once, a little while before her marriage, she met him. It was a few weeks after these brief unsatisfactory sentences had troubled the waters of her spirit. She had been out with her aunt for the purpose of selecting her wedding attire; and after a visit to the dressmaker’s, was returning alone, her aunt wishing to make a few calls at places where Jessie did not care to go. She was crossing one of the public squares when the thought of Hendrickson came suddenly into her mind. Her eyes were cast down at the moment. Looking up, involuntarily, she paused, for within a few paces was the young man himself, approaching from the opposite direction. He paused also, and they stood with eyes riveted upon each other’s faces—both, for a time, too much embarrassed to speak. Their hands had mutually clasped, and Hendrickson was holding that of Jessie tightly compressed within his own.
The first to regain self-possession was Miss Loring. With a quick motion she withdrew her hand, and moved back a single step. The mantling flush left her brow, and the startled eyes looked calmly into the young man’s face.
“Have you been away from the city, Mr. Hendrickson?” she inquired, in a voice that gave but few signs of feeling.
“No.” He could not trust himself to utter more than a single word.
“I have missed you from the old places,” she said.
“Have you? It is something, even to be missed?” He could not suppress the tremor in his voice.
“Good morning!”
Jessie almost sprang past him, and hurried away. The tempter was at her side; and she felt it to be an hour of weakness. She must either yield or fly—and she fled; fled with rapid unsteady feet, pausing not until the door of her own chamber shut out all the world and left her alone with Heaven. Weak, trembling, exhausted she bowed herself, and in anguish of spirit prayed—
“Oh, my Father, sustain me! Give me light, strength, patience, endurance. I am walking darkly, and the way is rough and steep. Let me not fall. The floods roar about me—let me not sink beneath them. My heart is failing under its heavy burden. Oh, bear me up! The sky is black—show me some rift in the clouds, for
I am fainting in this rayless night. And oh, if I dare pray for him—if the desire for his happiness springs from no wrong sentiment—let this petition find favor—as he asked that I might be kept spotless as the angels, so keep him; and after he has passed through the furnace, let not even the smell of fire be upon him. Send him a higher blessing than that which he has lost. Oh Lord, give strength to both—especially to her whose voice is now ascending, for she is weakest, and will have most to endure.”
For a long time after the murmur of prayer had died on her lips, Jessie remained prostrate. When she arose at last, it was with a slow, weary movement, dreary eyes, and absent manner. The shock of this meeting had been severe—disturbing her too profoundly for even the soothing influence of prayer. She did not arise from her knees comforted—scarcely strengthened. A kind of benumbing stupor followed.
“What ails the girl!” said Mrs. Loring to herself as she vainly strove at dinner-time to draw her forth into lively conversation. “She gets into the strangest states—just like her poor mother! And like her I’m afraid, sometimes, will make herself and every one else around her miserable. I pity Leon Dexter, if this be so. He may find that his caged bird will not sing. Already the notes are few and far between; and little of the old sweetness remains.”
CHAPTER VIII.
A FEW days after the meeting between Mr. Hendrickson and Miss Loring, as just mentioned, Mr. Dexter received the following communication:
“DEAR SIR—I am scarcely well enough acquainted with you to venture this note and request; but I happen to know of something so vital to your happiness, that I cannot feel conscience-clear and not ask an interview. I shall be at home this evening.
“ALICE DENISON.”
Early in the evening, Dexter was at the house of Mrs. Denison.
“You have frightened me my dear madam!” he said, almost abruptly, as he entered the parlor, where he found her awaiting him.
“I have presumed on a slight acquaintance, Mr. Dexter, to ask an interview on a very delicate subject,” Mrs. Denison replied. “May I speak freely, and without danger of offending, when no offence is designed?”
“I have not had the pleasure of knowing you intimately, Mrs. Denison,” replied the visitor, “but it has been no fault of mine. I have always held you in high regard; and always been gratified with our passing intercourse on the few occasions it has been my privilege to meet you. That you have felt enough concern for my welfare to ask this interview, gratifies me. Say on—and speak freely. I am eager to hear.”
“You are about to marry Jessie Loring,” said Mrs. Denison.
“I am.” And Dexter fixed his eyes with a look of earnest inquiry upon the lady’s face.
Mrs. Denison had come to the subject more abruptly than she at first intended, and she was already in doubt as to her next remark; but there could be no holding back now.
“Are you sure, Mr. Dexter, that you possess her undivided heart?”
“I marvel at your question, madam!” he answered, with a start, and in a tone of surprise.
“Calmly, my friend.” And Mrs. Denison, who was a woman of remarkably clear perceptions, laid her hand upon his arm. “I am not questioning idly, nor to serve any sinister or hidden purpose—but am influenced by higher motives. Nor am I acting at the instance of another. What passes between us this evening shall be sacred. I said that I knew of something vital to your happiness; therefore I asked this interview. And now ponder well my question, and be certain that you get the right answer.”
Dexter let his eyes fall. He sat for a long while silent, but evidently in earnest thought.
“Have you her full, free, glad assent to the approaching union?” asked Mrs. Denison, breaking in upon his silence. She saw a shade of impatience on his countenance as he looked up and checked the words that were on his lips, by saying:
“Marriage is no light thing, my young friend. It is a relation which, more than any other, makes or mars the future; and when entered into, should be regarded as the must solemn act of life. Here all error is fatal. The step once taken, it cannot be retraced. Whether the path be rough or even, it must be pursued to the end. If the union be harmonious—internally so, I mean—peace, joy, interior delight will go on, finding daily increase—if inharmonious, eternal discord will curse the married partners. Do not be angry with me then, for pressing the question—Have you her full, free, glad, assent to the approaching union? If not, pause—for your love-freighted bark may be drifting fast upon the breakers—and not yours only, but hers.
“I have reason to fear, Mr. Dexter,” continued Mrs. Denison, seeing that her visitor did not attempt to reply, but sat looking at her in a kind of bewildered surprise, “that you pressed your suit too eagerly, and gained a half unwilling consent. Now, if this be so, you are in great danger of making shipwreck. An ordinary woman—worldly, superficial, half-hearted, or no-hearted—even if she did not really love you, would find ample compensation in your fortune, and in the social advantages it must secure. But depend upon it, sir, these will not fill the aching void that must be in Jessie Loring’s heart, if you have no power to fill it with your image—for she is no ordinary woman. I have observed her carefully since this engagement, and grieve to see that she is not happy. Have you seen no change?”
Mrs. Denison waited for an answer.
“She is not so cheerful; I have noticed that,” replied the young man.
“Have you ever questioned in your own mind as to the cause?”
“Often.”
“And what was the solution!”
“I remain ignorant of the cause.”
“Mr. Dexter; I am not ignorant of the cause!”
“Speak, then, in Heaven’s name!”
The young man betrayed a deeper excitement than he wished to manifest. He had been struggling with himself.
“Her heart is not yours!” said Mrs. Denison, with suppressed feeling. “It is a hard saying, but I speak it in the hope of saving both you and the maiden from a life of wretchedness.”
“By what authority and under what instigation do you say this?” was demanded almost angrily. “You are going a step too far, madam!”
The change in his manner was very sudden.
“I speak from myself only,” replied Mrs. Denison, calmly.
“If her heart is not mine, whose is it?” Dexter showed strong excitement.
“I am not her confidant.”
“Who is? Somebody must speak from her, if I am to credit your assertion.”
“Calm yourself, my young friend,” said Mrs. Denison; “there are signs which a woman can read as plainly as if they were written words; and I have felt too deep an interest in this matter not to have marked every sign. Miss Loring is not happy, and the shadow upon her spirit grows darker every day. Before this engagement, her glad soul looked ever out in beauty from her eyes; now—but I need not describe to you the change. You have noted its progress. It is an extreme conclusion that her heart is not in the alliance she is about to form.”
A long silence followed.
“If you were certain that I am right—if, with her own lips, Jessie Loring were to confirm what I have said—what then?”
“I would release her from this engagement; and she might go her ways! The world is wide.”
He spoke with some bitterness.
“The way is plain, then. From what I have said, you are fully warranted in talking to her without reserve. Quote me if you please. Say that I made bold to assert that you did not possess the key that would unlock the sacred places of her heart; and you may add further, that I say the key is held by another. This will bring the right issue. If she truly loves you, there will be no mistaking her response. If she accepts the release you offer, happy will you be in making the most fortunate escape of your life.”
“I will do it!” exclaimed Dexter, rising, “and this very night!”
“If done at all, it were well done quickly,” said Mrs. Denison, rising also. “And now, my young friend, let what will
be the result, think of me as one who, under the pressure of a high sense of responsibility, has simply discharged a painful duty. I have no personal or private ends to gain; all I desire is to save two hearts from making shipwreck. If successful, I shall have my reward.”
“One question, Mrs. Denison,” said Dexter, as they were about separating. “Its answer may give me light, and the strength to go forward. I have marked your words and manner very closely; and this is my conclusion: You not only believe that I do not possess the love of Jessie Loring, but your thought points to another man whom you believe does rule in her affections. Am I wrong?”
The suddenness of the question confused Mrs. Denison. Her eyes sunk under his gaze, and for some moments her self possession was lost. But, rallying herself, she answered:
“Not wholly wrong.”
Dexter’s countenance grew dark.
“His name!—give me his name!”
He spoke with agitation.
“That is going a step too far,” said Mrs. Denison, with firmness.
“Is it Hendrickson?”
Dexter looked keenly into the lady’s face.
“A step too far, sir,” she repeated. “I cannot answer your inquiry.”
“You must answer it, madam!” He was imperative. “I demand the yes or no. Is it or is it not Paul Hendrickson?”
“Your calmer reason, sir, will tell you to-morrow that I was right in refusing to give any man’s name in this connection,” replied Mrs. Denison. “I am pained to see you so much disturbed. My hope was, that you would go to Miss Loring in the grave dignity of manhood—But, while in this spirit of angry excitement, I pray you keep far from her.”
“Hendrickson is the man!” said Dexter, his brows still contracting heavily. “But if he still hopes to rival me in Jessie’s love, he will find himself vastly in error. No, no, madam! If it is for him you are interested, you had better give it up. I passed him in the race long ago!”
