Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life
by Ann S. Stephens · English · Gutenberg #36374 · 773,652 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life
Author: Ann S. Stephens
Release date: June 11, 2011 [eBook #36374]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
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WIVES AND WIDOWS;
OR,
THE BROKEN LIFE.
BY
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
AUTHOR OF "RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY," "FASHION AND FAMINE," "THE CURSE OF
GOLD," "THE REJECTED WIFE," "THE OLD HOMESTEAD," "THE WIFE'S SECRET,"
"MABEL'S MISTAKE," "THE GOLD BRICK," "SILENT STRUGGLES," "MARY DERWENT,"
"DOUBLY FALSE," "THE HEIRESS," "THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS," ETC., ETC.
When falsehood genders in a human soul,
Blossoms may hide the reptile in his creeping,
But every pulse will stir at his control,
Or feel the burden of his poisonous sleeping,
Until the tight'ning circle of his coils
Binds down the heart, which God alone assoils.
In honest hearts the gentle truth reposes;
As nightingales, with rapturous music filled,
Nestle down, softly, in the clust'ring roses,
While the sweet night and moonlit air is thrilled
With perfect harmonies,--truth will arise
And send its voice, upringing, to the skies.
PHILADELPHIA:
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
TO
MISS ELIZA S. ORMSBEE,
OF
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND,
THIS BOOK IS
MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
ST. CLOUD HOTEL, NEW YORK,
NOVEMBER, 1869.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LEAVING MY HOME 25
II. MY NEW HOME 31
III. A NEW LIFE 35
IV. THREATENED WITH SEPARATION 40
V. AFTER THE WEDDING 48
VI. TELLING HOW LOTTIE INTRODUCED HERSELF 53
VII. OUT IN THE WORLD 59
VIII. OUR GUEST 63
IX. FANCIES AND PREMONITIONS 70
X. NEW VISITORS 76
XI. THE BASKET OF FRUIT 81
XII. BREAKFAST WITH OUR GUEST 86
XIII. JESSIE LEE AND HER MOTHER 88
XIV. INTRUSIVE KINDNESS 92
XV. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 97
XVI. AFTER DREAMING 101
XVII. LOTTIE EXPRESSES HER OPINION OF THE
WIDOW 106
XVIII. THE UNWELCOME PROPOSAL 109
XIX. OUT UPON THE RIDGE 112
XX. ADROIT CROSS-QUESTIONING 118
XXI. THE EVENING AFTER BOSWORTH'S PROPOSAL 121
XXII. SOWING SEED FOR ANOTHER DAY 125
XXIII. AN OUTBREAK OF JEALOUSY 130
XXIV. THE OLD PENNSYLVANIA MANSION 135
XXV. THE MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER 139
XXVI. SICK-BED FANCIES 143
XXVII. THE FIRST SOUND SLEEP 147
XXVIII. THE INTERVIEW IN THE WOODS 150
XXIX. TROUBLES GATHER ABOUT OUR JESSIE 155
XXX. MRS. DENNISON GATHERS WILD FLOWERS 159
XXXI. LOTTIE'S ADVICE 165
XXXII. MRS. LEE DREAMS OF PASSION-FLOWERS 169
XXXIII. COMPANY FROM TOWN 173
XXXIV. OUR VISIT TO THE OLD MANSION 177
XXXV. YOUNG BOSWORTH'S SICK-ROOM 181
XXXVI. LOTTIE'S REPORT 184
XXXVII. MY FIRST QUARREL WITH MR. LEE 188
XXXVIII. MR. LAWRENCE MAKES A CALL 192
XXXIX. LOTTIE AS A LETTER-WRITER 197
XL. YOUNG BOSWORTH RECEIVES A LETTER 200
XLI. OUT IN THE STORM 206
XLII. JESSIE GETS TIRED OF HER GUEST 208
XLIII. A CONSULTATION WITH LOTTIE 211
XLIV. THE MIDNIGHT DISCOVERY 216
XLV. BAFFLED AND DEFEATED 221
XLVI. LOTTIE OWNS HERSELF BEATEN 225
XLVII. MR. LEE SENDS IN THE ACCOUNT OF HIS GUARDIANSHIP 227
XLVIII. COMING OUT OF A DANGEROUS ILLNESS 231
XLIX. LOTTIE SEEMS TREACHEROUS 237
L. CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE WIDOW AND
MRS. LEE 240
LI. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER 247
LII. THE FATAL LETTER 252
LIII. DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER 257
LIV. MRS. LEE'S FUNERAL 261
LV. OLD MRS. BOSWORTH'S VISIT 265
LVI. LOTTIE'S REVELATIONS 268
LVII. MRS. DENNISON URGES LAWRENCE TO PROPOSE 272
LVIII. AFTER THE PROPOSAL 277
LIX. A HEART-STORM ABATING 282
LX. THE TWO LETTERS 286
LXI. THE DEPARTING GUEST 290
LXII. WHOLLY DESERTED 297
LXIII. OLD-FASHIONED POLITENESS 302
LXIV. NEWS FROM ABROAD 306
LXV. LOTTIE LEAVES A LETTER AND A BOOK 313
LXVI. MRS. DENNISON'S JOURNAL 316
LXVII. OUR FIRST VISITOR 323
LXVIII. THE WATERFALL 329
LXIX. THE THREATENED DEPARTURE 338
LXX. THE MIDNIGHT WALK 348
LXXI. AWAY FROM HOME 355
LXXII. OUT IN THE WORLD AGAIN 358
LXXIII. FIRST WIDOWHOOD 362
LXXIV. LOTTIE'S LETTER 385
LXXV. LOTTIE IN PARIS 392
LXXVI. THE CASKET OF DIAMONDS 395
LXXVII. ALL TOGETHER AGAIN 404
WIVES AND WIDOWS.
CHAPTER I.
LEAVING MY HOME.
At ten years of age I was the unconscious mistress of a heavy stone
farm-house and extensive lands in the interior of Pennsylvania, with
railroad-bonds and bank-stock enough to secure me a moderate
independence. I shall never, never forget the loneliness of that old
house the day my mother was carried out of it and laid down by her
husband in the churchyard behind the village. The most intense suffering
of life often comes in childhood. My mother was dead; I could almost
feel her last cold kisses on my lip as I sat down in that desolate
parlor, waiting for the guardian who was expected to take me from my
dear old home to his. The window opened into a field of white clover,
where some cows and lambs were pasturing drowsily, as I had seen them a
hundred times; but now their very tranquillity grieved me. It seemed
strange that they would stand there so content, with the white clover
dropping from their mouths, and I going away forever. My mother's
canary-bird, which hung in the window, began to sing joyously over my
head, as if no funeral had passed from that room, leaving its shadows
behind, and, more grievous still, as if it did not care that I might
never sit and listen to it again.
One of the neighbors had kindly volunteered to take charge of the gloomy
old house till my guardian came, but her presence disturbed me more than
funereal stillness would have done. I had a family of dolls up stairs,
and any amount of tiny household furniture, which I would have given the
world to take with me; but this thrifty neighbor protested against it.
She said that I was almost a young lady and must forget such childish
things, now that I was going into the world to be properly educated.
To a shy, sensitive child, this was enough. So, with a double sense of
bereavement, I saw my pretty dolls and delicate toys swept into a basket
and carried off to the woman's house, between two stout Irish girls, who
seemed to be taking my heart off with them.
In less than half an hour one of this woman's children came down the
road with my prettiest doll under her arm. Its flaxen curls were all
disordered, and its tiny feet, with their slippers of rose-colored kid,
had evidently been in the mud, where she had probably insisted on making
the doll walk. While I sat by the window, waiting and watching, this
bare-headed little girl sat down by a fragment of stone that had fallen
from the wall close by, and began pounding the head of my doll upon it
with all her might. A cry broke from me that made the little wretch
start and run away, leaving my poor mutilated doll by the stone.
I ran out, seized upon my ruined doll, and came back to the house,
crying over it in bitter grief. With trembling hands I unlocked my
trunk, which was ready packed for travelling, and laid my broken
treasure down among the most precious of my belongings. Just then Mrs.
Pierce, our neighbor, came in, and in a half jeering, half kind way,
expostulated with me for being such a little goose as to cry over a
doll. This woman did not mean to be hard with me; far from it. Persons
exist who are really kind-hearted, and seem cruel only because they
cannot comprehend feelings utterly unknown to themselves. To me that
doll was a type of my wrecked home; to her it was a combination of wax,
sawdust, and leather, which a few dollars could at any time replace;
besides that, she was put a little on the defensive by the fault of her
child.
While she reasoned with me in her coarse kindness, which only wounded me
deeper, a carriage had driven up, and two persons entered through the
outer door, which had been left open by the little girl when she ran
into the house to claim her mother's protection. I was sitting on the
floor by my trunk, with both hands pressed to my face, sobbing
piteously, when a sweet, strange voice checked the force of that woman's
harangue; some one sank down to the floor by me, and I was all at once
drawn into a close embrace.
"Don't cry, dear; it is all very sad, no doubt, but you are going with
us, and to-morrow will be brighter."
I looked through a mist of tears that half blinded me, and saw the
kindest, sweetest face that my eyes ever dwelt upon. It was that of a
young woman, perhaps twenty or twenty-two years of age. "You must not
feel yourself alone, dear child," she said, smoothing my hair with one
hand, from which she had drawn off the glove.
"Oh," said Mrs. Pierce, pushing her daughter behind her, "you will never
believe, marm, what she is crying about,--leaving home, you think it is?
Oh, no; Miss is just taking on about a snip of a doll which my little
girl here smashed a trifle, not meaning any harm, for children will be
children, you know."
Here Mrs. Pierce patted her child's head, who cast sidelong glances at
me and attempted to hide herself behind her mother's dress.
I looked up at the young lady, blushing red, and begging her in my heart
not to think me so very ridiculous.
She smiled encouragingly, and turning upon Mrs. Pierce, said, very
gravely,--
"I am surprised, madam, that you should think this a slight cause of
grief. The smallest thing connected with the child's home must be dear
to her."
Mrs. Pierce gave her head a fling, and muttered that she meant no harm.
Miss was welcome to all her things back again; her children did not want
them, not they.
"You are right," said the young lady, quite seriously; "have everything
she has owned or loved packed up at once."
Mrs. Pierce went out muttering; the child followed her with a finger in
her mouth.
"Now," said the young lady, "is there anything else you would like to
take away,--a bird, a little dog, or the cat you have loved; we can find
room for them?"
My heart leaped. I had the dear old canary-bird; and lying upon the
crimson cushions of my mother's easy-chair was "Fanny," a pretty
chestnut-colored dog, that had all the grace of an Italian greyhound,
and the brightness of a terrier.
"May I take her with me?" I cried, springing up and falling on my knees
before my mother's arm-chair, and hugging Fanny to my bosom. "I am so
glad, so grateful, so--"
Here I broke down, and burying my face in Fanny's fur, cried and laughed
out my thankfulness. When I looked up, one of the handsomest men I ever
saw stood by the young lady, who was smiling upon him, though I saw
bright tears in her eyes.
"So this is your father's ward," said the gentleman, reaching out his
hand as if he had known me all his life.
I put my hand in his, and felt my heart grow warm, as if it had found
shelter from its loneliness. He exchanged glances with the lady, and I
felt sure that they were pleased with me.
"Now," said the gentleman, "we have a little time, if you want to take
leave of anything."
"Oh, I have been taking leave ever since she died," I answered, saddened
by his words. "I couldn't do it again."
"Perhaps that is best," said the gentleman; "so get on your things; we
have a long ride before us."
I started to obey him, but all at once a doubt seized upon me. Who were
these people? I did not know them. Mr. Olmsly, my guardian, I had been
informed, was an old man. What right had these people to take me away
from my home?
I stole back to the gentleman, trembling, and filled with sudden
apprehension.
"Please tell me who you are," I said; "Mr. Olmsly! I thought he was an
old man."
"And so he is," answered the gentleman, smiling pleasantly, "but he is
not very well, and so his daughter came after you in his place. This is
Miss Olmsly."
The young lady stooped down and kissed me. My arms stole around her neck
unawares, and from that moment I loved her dearly. When I turned away
from the young lady's caresses, her companion said,--
"Now you would like to know who I am; isn't that so?"
I nodded my head, feeling that I could tell at once who he was.
"Her brother, I am sure of that, you are both so--so--pleasant."
I was about to say "handsome," but changed it to the less flattering
word.
They both laughed, and the gentleman glanced at Miss Olmsly's face,
which, I was surprised to see, turned red as a wild rose.
"No, I am not her brother," he said, flushing up himself; "but I shall
be a great deal at your guardian's, and I shall think that you are
almost my sister. Will you like that?"
"So much!" I replied, with a light heart, for all my anxieties were put
to rest. "Now I will get my things."
I went up-stairs and entered my own little room for the last time. How
homelike and familiar everything looked: the little bed in the corner,
with its draperies of white net; the muslin window-curtains, through
which I could see great clusters of old-fashioned white roses, still wet
with morning dew, and lying like snow among the vivid green of the thick
leaves; my little walnut-wood desk, where I had got my first
lessons,--all appealed to me with a force that swept away the dawning
cheerfulness which the conversation down-stairs had inspired. I sat down
by the window and looked sadly out. The sash was open, and a sweet
fragrance came up from the white clover-field, mingling with that of the
great rose-bush, which had reached the second-story windows, ever since
I could remember. I could not bear to leave all these things. Yet the
house had been so lonely that I had no clear wish to stay. To me there
was something terrible in leaving that safe home-shelter. I grew cold,
and began to cry again. Afar off I could see the graveyard where my
mother was lying. Her presence was close to me then. How could I go away
and leave her resting there within sight of the old house? But she had
herself arranged that I should live with my guardian. Why should these
bitter regrets depress me, while obeying her? It was that strong home
feeling which has never left me during my life,--the feeling which
prompted me to gather a handful of those white roses, and keep them till
they crumbled into nothing but the ashes of a flower. Oh, how my heart
ached when we drove away from that old stone house! the picture is even
yet burned in on my brain. That tall hickory-tree at one end--the willow
in front. Those fine old lilac-bushes, and the clustering roses reaching
luxuriantly to the upper windows, in the full rich blossoming of early
June. Many a time since, when in sadness and sorrow this picture has
come back to my mind, I have wondered if it might not have been better
had I stayed in that quiet old home.
CHAPTER II.
MY NEW HOME.
Mr. Olmsly was a very wealthy man. His property stretched far into an
iron and coal district of Pennsylvania, and every day increased its
value. It lay in and around a fine inland town, situated among some of
the most picturesque scenery to be found in the State. His residence was
about five miles from this town, and a most beautiful spot it was. The
house was built on the last spur of a range of hills, which ran for some
distance down the valley of the Delaware. Around this tall ridge the
noble river made a bold sweep, turned an old stone mill on its outer
curve, and went careering down one of the richest and most beautiful
valleys that the eye ever dwelt upon. The whole of this mountain spur,
the mill and the land down to the river, which swept around it like an
ox-bow, was the property of Mr. Olmsly. His house of heavy stone was
built half-way up the side of the ridge, in the form of the letter T,
which ran lengthwise along the face of the hill, presenting a pointed
roof, and one sharp gable in the front view. The walls were stuccoed
like many houses to be found in European countries, and were settled
back on the hill by three curving terraces, two of them blooming with
rare flowers. These terraces cut the hill as with a girdle of blossoms
about half-way up from its base. The first was a carriage-road, which
was connected with the house by a long flight of steps leading across
the first flower-terrace to the front door.
In front, the house was three stories high. The basement story opened on
the first broad terrace, with its wreathing vines, and glowing blossoms.
An oriel window curved out from the gable, and a square balcony
surrounded by an arabesque railing, formed a pleasant lounging-place
over the front entrance. At the back of the house the entrance was from
the third terrace, directly to the second story, which was half occupied
by a broad hall, ending in the square balcony; a noble drawing-room,
whose latticed windows opened on every side save the front, from which
the oriel jutted, opened upon a platform some ten feet wide, which
formed a promenade around one end of the second story, and along the
back of the building, surrounded by a low balustrade, to which a hundred
rare plants and vines were clinging; beyond this was a labyrinth of
flower-beds, through which a broad gravel-path wound gracefully,
separating the green turf of the hill-side from the third and last
terrace, which was most beautiful of all.
These terraces threw broad belts of flowers half across the face of the
hill, and ended in pleasant footpaths which led through the turf and
under some sheltering trees to the top of the ridge. There everything
was wild as nature left to herself can be. At noonday the sunshine was
darkened by the woven branches of pines, hemlocks, beech, and oak trees,
with a tangle of blossoming laurel among the dusky undergrowth. From
this eminence, you commanded a glorious sight of two magnificent
valleys,--one stretching off toward the Blue Ridge and overlooking the
town, the other opening in rich luxuriance down the banks of the
Delaware, mile after mile, league after league, till villages in the
distance seemed scarcely more than a handful of snow-flakes.
Half-way down you saw the house I have been describing, the
carriage-road that wound beneath it, and below that, the hill sloping
downward in a broad, rolling lawn, which lost itself with gentle
undulations in the green bosom of the valley.
This was the home to which I was brought, and this beautiful view lay
before me as I stood upon the terrace-steps, wondering that the earth
could be so lovely. Miss Olmsly paused by my side, enjoying my
surprise.
"You like it," she said; "we shall be very happy here, for I know how it
will be with my father when he sees your demure little face."
"Happy," I said, looking at the flowers which bloomed around me
everywhere. "I did not know that there was any place in the world so
lovely as this."
"I am glad you are pleased, young lady."
I started, turned toward the speaker, and saw a fine old gentleman, with
soft brown eyes, and hair as white as snow, standing on the step above
me.
"It is my father, dear," said Miss Olmsly, mounting a step higher and
offering the old man a kiss; "she is a dear, good child, papa, and we
love her already."
"I am glad of that," he said, stooping down and kissing me on the
forehead. "Your father was my friend, child, and I will be yours. Come
into the house; you must be tired and hungry."
We entered the house which was henceforth to be my home. Miss Olmsly
took me directly to a pretty chamber, that had been evidently prepared
for my coming. Everything was simple, neat, and pure as snow. As if they
had known how I loved flowers, they were placed in the deep
window-seats, on the white marble of the mantelpiece, and the principal
window opened on the loveliest portion of the third terrace, where a
world of flowers were in bloom from May till November.
There I hung up the bird-cage which I had brought from home in the
carriage, and the little inmate began to sing joyously, as if he
understood all the beauties of our new home and rejoiced over them.
Fanny, too, put her paws on the window-seat, and looked out demurely, as
if taking a survey of the landscape. She dropped down with what seemed a
little bark of approval, and curling herself up on my travelling-shawl,
which had dropped to the floor, watched me as I unlocked my trunk and
prepared for dinner.
Miss Olmsly was right. I had a demure little face, but it looked upon me
from the glass less sorrowfully than I had seen it since my mother's
death. The sombre blackness of my dress threw it all into shadow and
made the deep blue-gray of my eyes darker, by far, than was natural.
This, contrasting with the slightness of my form, made me look like a
little woman who had known suffering, rather than the sensitive child
that I really was.
The dinner filled me with awe; the bright silver, the cut-glass, and
delicate china impressed me greatly, and I was half afraid to tell the
waiter what I wanted, he seemed so great a gentleman. Everybody was
kind, the conversation was bright and cheerful; I understood it all, and
felt myself brightening under it. Once or twice I caught myself laughing
at the pleasant things the old gentleman was saying.
After dinner, when Mr. Olmsly was asleep in his great easy-chair, Mr.
Lee and Miss Olmsly went out on the platform, lifted a little from the
third terrace, and walked up and down, now and then looking in through
one of the open French windows, and saying a kind word to me. I remember
thinking what a splendid couple they were, and how happy they seemed to
be in each other's company. No wonder; she was a lovely creature,
slender, graceful, and caressing in all her ways, while he was like a
demigod to my imagination, grand as a monarch, and good as he was
kingly. Even then, young as I was, the smile with which he occasionally
bent to her, made my heart yearn with a strange desire that I, too,
might be so smiled upon.
Still, I was neither lonely nor home-sick, for my whole heart had gone
out toward those young people, and I had begun to connect the old
gentleman lovingly with my own father, whose face and kind ways I could
just remember.
After a while I stole up to my own room again, unpacked my trunk, hung
up my mourning dresses, and lingered regretfully over my doll a few
moments, ashamed of having loved it so; for the sneers of Mrs. Pierce
had made a deep impression on me, and I began to feel that I ought to be
something more than a child. Still I could not put the poor, broken
thing entirely away, but a sight of it always gave me a heart-ache. It
is a terrible thing when one's childhood is broken up with harsh words
and coarse jeers.
Where refinement is, illusions remain beautiful far beyond childhood.
They belong to innocence, and seldom dwell long with the worldly and the
bad.
Mrs. Pierce had swept away one joy from my life, but a beautiful
compensation had been sent me in my new home and my new friends. It all
seemed like paradise to me when I went to bed that night.
CHAPTER III.
A NEW LIFE.
The next morning, Miss Olmsly came into my room and helped me arrange my
little mementos in a homelike fashion. My work-box was brought forth and
placed on the little table provided for it. My pretty writing-desk was
unlocked and placed convenient for use. Brackets were ready for the
ornaments that had been so dear that I could not leave them behind. From
that hour, this room became in fact my home; the old stone farm-house
receded into the shadows of the past. I thought of it sometimes sadly,
as I thought of the graves where my parents lay. The sight of an
old-fashioned damask-rose has still power to bring tears into my eyes,
and my heart would thrill if I passed a white clover-patch, years and
years after that I left at home had been ploughed out of existence. But
after all, the brightest sunshine of my life fell through the latticed
windows of my room on the Ridge.
No humming-bird ever loved flowers as I did;--no artist ever gave
himself up to the enjoyment of a fine landscape more completely than it
was in my nature to do. I have no doubt that the beauty that surrounded
me was one great cause of the tranquil happiness which settled upon my
whole being as I became accustomed to the place. I loved to spend whole
mornings alone on the Ridge, collecting mosses and searching for
birds'-nests, which were abundant in the pines and the drooping hemlock
boughs. Among Miss Olmsly's old school-books I found one that gave me an
elementary knowledge of botany; I did not consider it a dry study, but
loved to sit upon a rock carpeted with moss, and look into the fragrant
hearts of the wild-flowers, searching out their sweet secrets with a
feeling of profound sympathy in their loveliness and in the races to
which they belonged. Child as I was, these things satisfied me, and I
wanted no other companionship.
Mr. Olmsly's land covered extensive woods beside those on the Ridge.
There was nothing likely to harm me anywhere in the grounds, and I was
allowed to run wild out of doors wherever I pleased. Thus I made
acquaintance with many things beside the flowers; gray squirrels and
pretty striped chipmunks, with bushy tails curled over their backs,
would sit upon the tree-boughs just over my head and look at me with shy
friendliness. Now and then, I saw a rabbit peeping at me through the
ferns. These pretty creatures were not afraid, for no sportsman was ever
allowed to bring his gun into those woods, and I think they knew how far
I was from wishing to harm them.
My mother had been a timid woman, and her love for me always rendered
her unduly careful. She had a terror of allowing me out of her sight,
and being feeble herself, kept me mostly indoors, where I had learned
to content myself in a passionate love of my dolls, that really seemed
to me like living creatures capable of loving me as I worshipped them.
But at the Ridge I really did enjoy living companionship. Nature lay all
before me, wild as the first creation; or so blended with art that its
richest beauties were enhanced threefold. There was also vitality and
intelligence in these living creatures that stirred my heart with a
strange sympathy.
My dog Fanny sometimes troubled me a little: she would insist upon
routing the ground-birds from their nests, and in an effort to become
friendly with the rabbits, would send them scampering wildly into the
underbrush. I loved Fanny dearly, but it was not pleasant to see my pets
driven off by her frolicsome way of making herself agreeable.
One day I had gone farther than usual into the woods, and come out upon
the outer verge of Mr. Olmsly's estate. Here the trees grew thin and
scattered off into a pasture, where a flock of sheep was grazing; beyond
that, some fine meadow sloped down toward the valley, cut in two by the
highway, on which a large stone house was visible through the trees
growing thickly around it.
A flat rock, half in sunshine, half in shadow, lay hidden in the grass
close by the footpath I had been pursuing, and I sat down upon it,
somewhat tired from my long walk in the woods. Fanny was with me and
sprang with a leap to my side, but kept moving restlessly about, as if
she did not quite like the position, or saw something that displeased
her.
I had gathered some spotted leaves of the adder's-tongue, with a few of
its golden flowers, and had found some lovely specimens of cup-moss on
an old stump, which nature was embellishing like a fairy palace, and sat
admiring them in the pleasant sunshine, when Fanny gave a sudden yelp,
and bounded from the rock, barking furiously.
I dropped the flowers into my lap, half frightened by her sudden
outburst; but as she continued wheeling around the rock, darting off and
back again, yelping like a fury, I ordered her to be quiet, and fell to
arranging my treasures once more.
All at once Fanny ceased barking, but crept close to me, seized upon my
dress with her teeth and began to pull backward, almost tearing the
fabric. Just then I heard a rustling sound on the rock behind me;
forcing my dress from the dog's teeth, I sprang up, and saw quivering
upon the moss what seemed to be a dusky shimmer of jewels all in motion.
In an instant the glitter left my eyes. I felt myself turning into
marble. There, coiled up ready for a spring, its head flattened, its
eyes glittering venomously, was a checkered adder preparing to lance out
upon me.
I could not move, I could not scream; my strained eyes refused to turn
from the reptile, who, quivering with its own poison, seemed to draw me
toward him. For my life I could not have moved; my lips seemed
frozen,--a fearful fascination possessed me utterly. It was broken by
the rush of a fragment of rock, under which I saw the reptile writhing
fiercely. Then my faculties were unchained, and a shriek broke from my
cold lips. I sprang from the rock and was running madly away, when Mr.
Lee caught me in his arms, and I shuddered into insensibility there.
When I came to, the crushed adder lay dead upon the rock, from a crevice
of which he had crept forth upon me. Fanny was barking furiously around
it, and Mr. Lee had carried me to a spring close by, where he was
bathing my face with water.
I looked around in terror. "Is it gone? is it dead?" I questioned,
shuddering.
He pointed out the adder, which hung supine and dead over the edge of
the rock, and attempted to soothe my fears, but I trembled still, and
could hardly force myself to take a second look at my dead foe.
How kind Mr. Lee was then; how tenderly he compassionated my terror, and
assured me of safety. Fanny, too, forgot her rage, and came leaping
around me. Oh, how grateful I was to that man. My heart yearned to say
all it felt, but found no language. I could only lift my eyes to him now
and then in dumb thankfulness, wondering if he cared that I was so
grateful, or dreamed how much a girl of my years could feel.
How foolish all these thoughts were; of course, he only thought of me as
a frightened child. From that day I never knelt to God, morning or
evening, without asking some blessing on the head of Mr. Lee. Gratitude
had deepened my reverence for that man into such worship as only a
sensitive child can feel. Yes, worship is the word, for this young man
in the grandeur of his fine person, gentle manners, and superior age,
seemed as far above me as the clouds of heaven are above the daisies in
a meadow. Even now I cannot comprehend the feelings with which I
regarded him.
Have I said that Mr. Lee was a partner in the Olmsly Iron Works, and
though he boarded in town, half his time was of necessity spent at the
Ridge? My guardian only attended to business through him, and expected a
report at least twice a week.
Many and many a time, when I knew that he was coming, have I wandered
down the carriage-road to the grove where it curved off from the
highway, and was closed into our private ground by a gate. There,
sheltered by the spruce-trees and hidden by the laurel-bushes, I have
waited hours, listening for the tread of his horse, and feeling
supremely rewarded by a brief glimpse of his manly figure, as it dashed
up the road, unconscious alike of my presence and my worship.
I never mentioned these feelings, or all the secret sources of happiness
to which my soul awoke, not even to Miss Olmsly. I would have died
rather than breathe them to any human being; they were sacred to me as
my prayers. Sometimes I would be days together without speaking to Mr.
Lee, but I was seldom out of the sound of his voice when he visited the
Ridge, and would follow him and Miss Olmsly like a pet dog about the
garden, glad to see her brighten and smile when he looked upon her, and
loving them both with my whole heart.
Sometimes other company came from the town. We frequently drove over
there and brought Mr. Lee home with us; indeed, he was one of the family
in every respect, save that he did not sleep at the Ridge, and called
himself a visitor. One thing is very certain--on the days he did not
come Miss Olmsly was sure to grow serious, almost sad; only there never
was any real sadness at our house in those days.
CHAPTER IV.
THREATENED WITH SEPARATION.
This beautiful life must have an end. Even childhood has its duties, and
mine could no longer be invaded.
One day Miss Olmsly came into my room, and looking around, sighed; but
there was a smile on her lip and an expression in her face that made me
wonder at the sigh; for I had not learned that superabundant joy has
sometimes the same expression as grief; but oh, how different the
feeling.
She sat down by the window, and drawing me close to her, kissed my
forehead two or three times with so much feeling that I began to
tremble.
"Is anything the matter?" I said, winding my arms around her neck; "have
I done wrong?"
"Wrong, my sweet child, no; who ever accused you of being anything but
the best girl in the world? I was only thinking how lonesome you would
be without us."
"Without you?" I faltered,--"without you?"
I felt myself growing pale, my arms fell away from that white neck, and
I looked piteously in her kind face, afraid to ask the meaning of these
words.
"Don't look so frightened, dear," said Miss Olmsly, drawing me fondly to
her side. "Even if we were not going, you must have been sent to school.
No young lady can get along without education, you know; still, I shall
feel very anxious about you."
"Are you going away; am I to be left?"
I could ask no more; the very idea of parting with them choked me.
Miss Olmsly drew my face to hers as if she wanted to keep me from
looking at her so earnestly. My cheek was wet with tears, but hers was
red as it touched mine, and I could feel that it was burning.
"I am about to tell you something that I hope you will be glad to hear,
darling," she said, almost in a whisper. "In two weeks Mr. Lee and I are
going to be married. Why, how you shiver, child! I should have told you
of this first; the very thought of a school terrifies you."
I heard this and no more. Another death seemed upon me; I fell upon my
knees and caught at her dress with both hands.
"Oh, do not leave me--I shall die! I shall die!" She lifted me from the
floor and attempted to soothe me, but I was not to be pacified. To live
without him--never to see him! There would be nothing worth loving in my
life after that.
"Is it so hard to part with us," she said, smoothing my hair with both
hands.
I flung my arms around her neck in passionate grief.
"Let me go too; oh, take me, take me!"
"But we are going to Europe."
"Over the sea? I know, I know, take me!"
She kissed me again, and seemed thoughtful. My heart rose: I began to
plead with hope. She listened tenderly; told me not to cry, and left me
in a state of suspense hard to bear. An hour after this I saw her
walking in the garden with Mr. Lee. She was addressing him with sweet
earnestness. He looked smilingly down into her face and seemed to
expostulate against something that she was urging. At last he appeared
to give way, but shook his head and threatened her with his finger,
which she answered by tossing the ripe leaves of an autumn rose in his
face. As he shook them laughingly away, his eyes fell on me where I
leaned from the window, and he made a sign for me to come down.
Breathless, and wild with anxiety, I ran down to the garden and stood
beside him, panting for breath, eager to speak, and yet afraid.
"Well, little lady," he said, holding out a hand; "you are determined
that we shall not leave you behind."
"It would kill me," I murmured, striving to read my fate in his eyes.
"But we shall be gone from home a long time."
"My home is where--where she is," I answered.
Why did I hesitate to include him. I think he noticed it, for he said,
laughing, "Then you care everything for her, nothing for me?"
I burst into tears and cried out in my trouble, "Oh, you are cruel to
me; you laugh when I am so unhappy."
"But no one shall be made so unhappy when--when--" Here Miss Olmsly
broke off what she had begun to say, and flushed like the rose she had
just torn to pieces.
"When we are married; that is what she will not say, sweetheart," broke
in Mr. Lee, blushing a little himself; "and if it really will make you
unhappy to stay behind, why, there must be some way found by which you
can go with us."
I caught a deep breath and felt a glow of keen happiness rush up to my
face, but no word would leave my lips.
"Now, this will make you happy?" questioned Miss Olmsly, looking into my
eyes,--I think as much to avoid his, as from a wish to read my joy
there.
"So happy," I answered.
"But we shall be gone a long time and shall travel a great deal, while
you must be put to school."
This dampened my spirits a little, but I answered, bravely, that I did
not mind, so long as there was no ocean between us.
Then they informed me that Mr. Olmsly had consented that I should go
with them to Paris and remain in school while they travelled. Then he
would join us and make new arrangements for the future.
After explaining all this to me, the young people walked off together,
satisfied that I was made happy as themselves; and so I ought to have
been; but my poor heart would not rest, and I went off into the woods
like a wild bird, wondering why it was that a flutter of pain still kept
stirring in my bosom.
They were married just two weeks from that day. All the principal
families of the place were invited, and the entertainment proved a grand
affair. All the grounds were illuminated for the occasion. The house was
one blaze of lights. Every tree on the hill-side or the sloping lawn
seemed blossoming with fire, or drooping with translucent fruit, so
numerous were the colored lamps and gorgeous lanterns that hung amid
their foliage.
It was like fairy-land to me. The moon was at its golden fulness, and
never before had the purple skies seemed so full of stars; but, spite of
this, I was sad and restless. Miss Olmsly insisted upon it that my
mourning should be laid aside, and I felt strange in the cloudy
whiteness of my dress, simple and plain as it was. Indeed, the whole
thing seemed to me like a dream which must pass away on the morrow.
Perhaps it was this abrupt change in my dress which made me feel so
lonely when all the world was gay and brilliant beyond anything my short
life had witnessed. Perhaps I felt sad at the thought of leaving my
native land. Be this as it may, I can look back upon few nights of my
life more dreary than that upon which the two best friends I ever had,
or ever shall have, were married.
Memory is full of pictures; events fade away, feelings die out, but so
long as the heart keeps a sentiment or the brain holds an image, groups
will start up from the past and bring back scenes which no effort of the
mind can displace. It is strange, but such pictures are burned, as it
were, upon the soul unawares, and often without any remarkable event
which can be said to have impressed them there. You may have known a
person all your life, yet remember him only as he was presented to you
at some given moment. Whole years may pass in which you scarcely seem to
have observed him; but at some one moment he comes out upon your
recollection with all his features perfect and clearly cut as a cameo.
Of all the pictures burned in upon my life, that of Mr. Lee and his
bride, as they stood up in that long drawing-room to be married, will be
the last to die out from my mind. No bridesmaids were in attendance; no
ushers coming and going drew attention from that noble couple. This was
the picture,--a woman standing at the left hand of a tall, stately man.
He was upright, firm, and self-poised as the pillar of some old Grecian
temple. She drooped gently forward, her hands unconsciously clasped, the
long black lashes sweeping her cheeks; a soft tremor, as of red
rose-leaves stirred by the wind, passing over her lips; draperies of
satin, glossy and white as crusted snow, fell around her; a garland of
blush-roses crowned the braids of purplish-black hair thickly coiled
around a most queenly head. Draperies of rich, warm crimson fell from
the windows just behind them, and swept around the foot of a noble vase
of Oriental alabaster, from which a tall crimson and purple fuchsia-tree
dropped its profuse bells. Directly the clergyman, with a book in his
hand, broke into the picture; but my mind rejects him and falls back
upon the man, and the woman who stood with lovelight in her eyes and
prayers at her heart, waiting to become his wife.
There was great rejoicing after the picture was lost in a crowd of
congratulating friends; music sent its soft reverberations out among the
flowers, that gave back rich odors in return; for it was a lovely
autumnal night, and the whole platform to which the windows opened was
garlanded in with hot-house plants. I remember seeing groups of persons
wandering about in the illuminated grounds. Their laughter reached me as
I sat solitary and alone in the oriel window, over which lace curtains
fell, and were kindled up like snow by the lights from without.
I was very sad that night, and felt the tears stealing slowly into my
eyes. Every one was happy, but joy had forgotten to find me out. All at
once the lace curtains were lifted softly and fell rustling down again.
_She_ had thought of me even in her happiest moments. Her arms were
folded around me; her lips, warm with smiles, were pressed to my face.
"All alone and looking so sad! why will you not enjoy yourself like the
rest?" she said.
"I am so young and so wicked," I answered, wiping the tears from my
eyes.
"Wicked! oh, not that, only there is no one of your own age here; come
out a little while; he has been asking for you."
"For me?"
"Of course; who else should he think of? Why, child, you will never know
how dearly we both love you."
"And you always will?" I asked, holding my breath in expectation of her
answer.
"And always will, be sure of that. Ah! here he comes to promise for
himself."
Yes; there he stood holding back the curtains, proud, smiling, and
strong, as I shall always remember him.
"Ah! you have found her, silly thing, hiding away by herself," he
exclaimed, kindly.
"I have just made a promise for you," answered the bride with gentle
seriousness.
"Which I will keep; for henceforth, fair lady, am I not your slave."
"I have promised to love this girl so long as I shall live, and that you
will be her very best friend, and love her dearly."
"Dearly, you say?"
"Most dearly."
"Next to yourself?"
"Next to myself; and after me, best of all."
"Ah, it is easy to promise that, for, next to yourself, sweet wife, she
is the dearest creature in existence." She held my hand in hers while he
was speaking. When he uttered the word wife, I felt her finger quiver as
if some strange thrill had flashed down from her heart, and the broad
white lids drooped suddenly, veiling the radiance of her eyes.
"Now that I have promised, let us seal the compact," he said, with
touching seriousness; and lifting me for a moment in his arms, he
pressed a kiss upon my lips.
"Why, how she trembles; don't be afraid, you sensitive little thing;
come, come go with us and see how the people are making themselves
happy."
The bride took his arm, and leading me with his disengaged hand, he
crossed the drawing-room and went out on the flower-wreathed platform,
where a band of music was filling the night with harmonies.
Here an ecstasy of feeling came upon me; I remembered all that both
these persons had promised, and that it would be a solemn compact which
they would never think of breaking. I should be with them, not for a
time only, but so long as I lived. Remember, I was an imaginative girl,
and knew but little of the mutability of human affairs. I only felt in
my soul that these two persons whom I loved so entirely, would be
faithful to the promise they had made that night, and this certainly
filled me with exultation that was, for the time, something better than
happiness. After a while, Mr. Lee dropped my hand, but it crept back to
his, and I made a signal that he should bend his head.
"It is a promise," I whispered; "you will never, never send me away from
you?"
"It is a promise," he answered, smiling down upon me.
"Good night," I said, longing to be alone in my room where I could feel
of a certainty that the few words spoken that night had anchored me for
life. "Good night; I shall never leave you or her while I live."
It seemed a rash promise, but I made it to God in my prayers that night.
The reader shall see how I kept it.
CHAPTER V.
AFTER THE WEDDING.
Our Jessie was born in Paris, a little more than a year after her
parents were married, and a lovelier child never drew breath. I was in
school then, and she was two months old before I saw her, but she had
learned to smile, and was a beautiful, bright little creature even then.
How I worshipped the child! no elder sister ever rendered her heart more
completely up to an infant of her own blood, than I gave mine. All the
affection I had ever felt for the parents was intensified and softened
into infinite tenderness for their little girl. In her I resolved to
repay some of the kindness which had been so lavishly bestowed on me.
How this was to be done, I could not tell, but I had dreams of great
sacrifices, unlimited devotion, and such care as one human being never
took of another. Thus the first existence of this child was woven into
my own better life and became a part of it.
Our Jessie was two years old when Mr. Olmsly joined us in Europe, and
for the first time saw his little grandchild; before she had counted
another year, the good old man was dead and buried in a strange country.
He left a will contrary to all expectation, written after he had seen
and loved little Jessie. All his vast property was left to Mr. Lee and
his wife, but on the death of Mrs. Lee, even though the husband was
still living, one half the estate was to revert, unrestricted and
uncontrolled, to her daughter.
This was all, and with it the persons in interest were satisfied;
indeed, the property was large enough to have been divided half a dozen
times, and still have been sufficient for the ambition of any reasonable
person.
Mr. Lee did not return to the United States at the death of his
father-in-law; there was, in reality, nothing to call him home. He had
retired from active business soon after his marriage, and the old world
had so many resources of knowledge and pleasure, for persons of their
fine cultivation, that they lingered on, year after year, without a wish
for change, sometimes travelling from country to country, but making
Paris their head-quarters so long as I remained in school.
After that, we spent a year in Italy, and some months in Germany and
Spain, where I became perfect mistress of the languages, and found
happiness in imparting them to "Our Jessie," who became more lovely and
lovable every year of her life.
At last we went to the Holy Land, and lingered a while in Egypt, where
Mrs. Lee was taken ill, almost for the first time in her life, and then
came the only real sorrow that we had known since Mr. Olmsly's death.
The moment it was possible, we returned to Paris, in order to get the
best medical advice. It came all too soon; Mrs. Lee was pronounced a
confirmed invalid, some disease of the nerves, in which the spine was
implicated, threatened a tedious, if not incurable illness.
At this time Jessie was ten years old, and I had entered the first
stages of womanhood; as her mother became more and more frail, the dear
child was almost entirely given up to me, and my love for her became
absolute idolatry. The child had always been taught to call me aunt, and
for her sake I was ready to give up all the bright social prospects that
opened to me just then. Indeed, there never was a time in my life that I
could not have found pleasure in sacrificing anything to the parents or
the child.
One thing troubled Mrs. Lee at this time,--a craving desire to go home
seized upon her. With an invalid's incessant longing, she wearied of the
objects that had so pleasantly amused her, and sighed for rest. But it
had been arranged that Jessie should be educated at the same school
which I had left, and the gentle mother could not find it in her heart
to be separated from that dear one.
Now came the time for my dream to be realized. Why should "Our Jessie"
be given up to the hard routine of a school, when I could make her
studies easy and her life pleasant. It was in my power to keep the
mother and child in one home.
I found Mr. Lee and his wife together one day, and made my proposition.
I would become Jessie's governess.
My generous friends protested against this. It was, they said, the
opening of my life. In order to do this, I must give up the society
which I had but just entered, and perhaps injure my own prospects in the
future. No, no, they could not permit a sacrifice like this.
But if they were generous, I was resolute. To have Jessie always with
me, had been the brightest dream of my girlhood. I could not be
persuaded to give it up. What did I care for society, if she was to
suffer the dreary routine of the school-life from which I had but just
been emancipated? I really think it would have broken my heart had the
dear child been left behind. But great love always prevails. We sailed
for America a united family, happy even with the drawback of Mrs. Lee's
illness, which in itself was seldom painful, and her untiring
cheerfulness was never broken.
The valley of the Delaware had become highly cultivated in our long
absence. A railroad ran up the banks of the river, from which our house
could be seen standing on the hill-side miles and miles away. I started
with surprise when it first met our view. A square stone tower, three
stories high, loomed up behind the pointed gables and balconied front,
giving a castellated air to the whole building.
This had been done by Mr. Lee's orders. He had drawn the plans, and his
architect had carried them out splendidly. Our first view of the house
was accompanied with exclamations of pleasure which delighted Mr. Lee,
who had kept all his improvements a secret, that he might enjoy our
surprise. Indeed, the site of the house was so finely uplifted from the
valley, that the effect was that of many lordly mansions we had seen on
the Continent, though I do not remember one more picturesque in itself,
or that could command a landscape to compare with this in extent or
varied beauty.
It was a lovely June day when we reached the Ridge; everything had been
prepared for our reception. In the years of our absence nothing had been
permitted to go to decay, but many improvements presented themselves as
we turned up the carriage-road. A young peach-orchard had grown into
bearing trees; grape trellices were tangled thickly with vines; choice
fruit-trees of every kind had just lost their blossoms. A range of
hot-houses glittered through the trees. All this made the Ridge more
beautiful by far than it had been years before when it seemed a paradise
to me. On entering the house, we were still more pleasantly surprised.
Everything rich and rare that a long residence abroad had enabled Mr.
Lee to collect, was arranged through the rooms,--bronzes, statuettes of
marble, old china carvings, pictures, ornaments of malachite, and Lapes
lazula, met us on every hand. All this might have seemed out of place in
a country house of almost any ordinary description, where the occupant
was likely to spend half the year in town; but Mr. Lee had fitted up
this place as his principal and permanent residence. The health of his
wife demanded quiet; her tastes required beautiful objects, and all
these rare articles had been carefully selected for her pleasure. Here
she found many a precious gem of art which she had seen in her travels,
admired, but never thought to possess. But he had remembered her
faintest preference, and the proofs of his unbounded devotion met her at
every turn, as we entered, what was, in fact, the blending of an old and
new home.
Not one article of the old furniture was missing, every sweet
association had been preserved with religious care; but affection had
grafted the new life she had been leading on the reminiscences of her
girlhood, and, spite of her infirmity and fatigue, Mrs. Lee was
supremely happy as she entered her home. The square tower was entirely
modern, and everything it contained had been sent from abroad. The lower
room was a library, with pointed windows, a black-walnut floor, and a
small Gobeline carpet in the centre of the room, upon which a heavily
carved table was placed. From floor to ceiling the walls were lined with
books, richly bound, and carefully selected; the book-cases were each
surmounted with a bas-relief in bronze, representing some classical
subject, while the glass that shut in the books was pure as crystal.
Easy-chairs of every conceivable pattern stood about this room, and
between each book-case a bronze statuette reminded you of some classic
name, or hero known to history.
The second story of the tower opened into the main building; thus the
large square chamber fitted up for Mrs. Lee was connected with two
smaller rooms, one intended for her personal attendant, the other a
dressing-room.
The principal window of this room opened upon a balcony, which
overlooked the brightest portion of the terraces; near this window a
couch was drawn, from which even an invalid might attain lovely glimpses
of the clustering flowers, without changing her position. A carpet,
thick and soft as a meadow in spring, covered the floor, and in the back
part of the room stood a bed, surmounted by a canopy carved from some
rare dark-hued wood, from which curtains of lace that a countess might
have worn, swept to the floor, and clouded the bed, without in any
degree obstructing the air. In this room everything invited to repose.
The pictures were all dreamily beautiful. On one side of the large
window a marble child lay sleeping, with a smile on its lips. On the
other, just within the frost-like shadow of the curtains, an angel, of
the same size, knelt, with downcast face, and hands pressed softly
together, praying. This was the room into which Mr. Lee carried his
wife, after she had rested a few minutes in the drawing-room. He laid
her upon the couch with gentle care, but she rose at once, and leaning
upon her elbow, looked around. Everything was new and strange; but, oh,
how beautiful! tears came into her eyes; she leaned back upon the
cushions, and held out both hands.
"And you have done all this," she said. "Was ever a woman so blessed?"
Then she turned her eyes upon the window and saw the flowers gleaming
through.
"The garden is as he left it," she murmured. "I am glad of that--I am
glad of that."
Mr. Lee sat down by her couch, smiling, and evidently rejoiced that he
had given her so much pleasure. Jessie was moving about the room, happy
as a bird; to her everything was new and charming, and the restlessness
of childhood was upon her.
CHAPTER VI.
TELLING HOW LOTTIE INTRODUCED HERSELF.
As we were settling down to a quiet admiration of all these things, a
strange little girl appeared at the door, where she hesitated, and
peeped in as if half afraid. Thinking that she wished to speak with some
of us, I went toward her, but she waved me off with an air, saying,--
"It's no use your coming, you're not the madam, I'll bet."
With these words she walked into the room and took a general survey of
our party. First she cast a sharp glance at Mr. Lee, but withdrew it
directly; passed a careless look over my person, broke into a broad
smile as Jessie came under her observation, and having thus disposed of
us, came up to Mrs. Lee, who opened her eyes wide, and was for a moment
astonished by the sudden appearance of the girl.
"Perhaps you don't want me here, now that so many other folks are
coming," said the girl, clasping and unclasping her hands, which at last
fell loosely before her. "They tell me down-stairs that I don't belong
here nohow, and hadn't ought to put myself forward. But I haven't got no
one to speak up for me, being an orphan, so here I am; do you want me,
or must I up and go."
"Who are you, my girl?" asked Mrs. Lee, in her gentle way.
"My father was the gardener here, marm, but he's dead; so is my mother,
long ago. My name is Lottie, and I've stayed on here doing things about,
because I hadn't anywhere else to go. That's pretty much all about it."
"And you wish to stay?"
"Do I wish to stay, is it? Yes, I do, awfully. I can earn my board and
more, too, in the kitchen, cleaning silver and scouring knives and
feeding chickens, but since I catched sight of you being carried up them
steps, marm, my ideas have ris a notch. I should like to tend on you
dreadfully. You could tell me how, you know, and I'm cute to learn; ask
'em down below, if you don't believe me."
Mrs. Lee broke into a faint laugh; the manners and abrupt speech of the
girl struck her as comical in the extreme. As for myself, I have seldom
seen a creature so awkward, so brusque, and yet so interesting. She was,
I should fancy, about eight years of age, square, angular, restless, but
no lily was ever more pure than her complexion, and her hair, thick and
soft, was of that delicate golden tint we find in new silk, before it
is reeled from the cocoon. Altogether, she was a strange creature, full
of vivid feeling and dreadfully in earnest. Mrs. Lee liked her, I could
make sure of that, from the serene pleasure which came to her face as
she looked into the girl's large gray eyes, which were shaded with
lashes much darker than her hair.
"And you would like to make yourself useful up here," she said, smiling
at the girl's intense eagerness.
"Goodness--wouldn't I?"
"But, can you be quiet?"
"As a bird on its nest."
"And cheerful?"
"Why, marm, I'm the cheerfullest creature on these premises. You may
count in the squirrels, rabbits, and robins, and after that, I can say
it."
Mrs. Lee turned her eyes on her husband, who sat near her couch, greatly
amused by the dialogue.
"What do you think? She seems bright, and I dare say will try her best."
"At any rate, she promises to be amusing," answered Mr. Lee, and a
good-natured smile quivered about his lips.
"And kind-hearted, I will answer for that, don't you think so, Martha?"
"I am sure of it."
As the words left my lips, Lottie made a dive at me, took my hand in
both hers, and kissed it with a wild outgush of feeling. "You're good as
gold, silver, and diamonds," she said. "I was sure that you would be on
my side, though you do look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.
Tell me just what to do about the lady, and see if I don't come up to
the mark. It's in me, I know that."
Mrs. Lee closed her eyes wearily; even this short conversation was too
much for her weak nerves.
"Go down-stairs now," I said to the girl in a low voice; "by-and-by you
shall be told about your duties. The first and greatest is quietness."
She nodded her head, put a finger to her lips, and went out of the room
on tiptoe.
Mrs. Lee opened her eyes as the girl went out, and beckoned to Jessie.
"Do you like that strange little orphan?" she questioned.
"Like her? indeed I do, mamma," said the kind-hearted girl. "She is so
warm, so earnest, and uses such queer words. But Aunt Martha will cure
her of that. I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to teach her."
"That is a good idea, child; who knows what we may do for her?"
Here Mrs. Lee turned upon her cushions a little wearily, and from that
time, Lottie became her attendant.
Now our domestic life began in earnest. Mrs. Lee's disease was not often
painful, nor immediately dangerous. Contented with the love that
surrounded her, she fell gently into the invalid habits, which had
something pleasant in them when incited by a home like that.
For my part, I knew no more attractive spot than her room. There Jessie
took her lessons in the morning, and in the afternoon, Mr. Lee always
sat with us, reading to her while we worked or studied. Never in this
world, I do think, was a family more closely united, or that seemed so
completely uplifted from care or trouble as ours.
Sometimes Mrs. Lee would regret what she called the waste of my youth in
her daughter's behalf, but I had no such feeling. Society was nothing to
me, while those I loved so dearly were part of my every-day life. Of
course I had seen my share of social life in Europe, had met many
agreeable people, and knew what it was to be admired,--perhaps
loved,--but my heart had never, for one moment, swerved from its old
affections. Ardently as in my childhood, I loved those two first and
last friends. As for "Our Jessie," I cannot trust myself to speak of
her. If ever one human being adored another, I adored that bright,
beautiful girl. They talked of sacrifices; why, it would have broken my
heart had Jessie been taken from me and sent to school. Of course, we
had plenty of society, the best people from the town visited us often,
and sometimes an old friend whom we had met on our travels would find us
out. But Mrs. Lee's state of health precluded much hospitality, and so
we were left almost entirely to the quiet home-life which all of us
loved so well.
Thus months and years rolled on, stealing the freshness and bloom from
me, and giving them tenfold to my darling.
If I have dwelt somewhat at length on my early life, it is not because I
am attempting to give prominence to my own feelings or actions, but that
the reader may understand how intense and all-absorbing a feeling of
affectionate gratitude may become,--how it may color and pervade a whole
existence.
In my helpless orphanage, two noble young people had found me lonely,
despondent, and almost friendless. At once, without question or
reservation, they took me into their hearts and gave me a permanent
home. Now that my benefactress had fallen into entire dependence upon
those she loved for happiness, was it strange that I stood ready to give
up my youth for her and her beautiful child?
This generous woman was forever speaking of my action as a noble
sacrifice. But to my thinking it was happiness in itself. I loved to
watch what might have been my own life, dawning brightly in the youth of
Jessie Lee; and when her first lover appeared, I was almost as much
interested as the girl herself, who was, in fact, quite unconscious, for
a long time, that the young man loved her at all.
He was a splendid young fellow, though, and even "Our Jessie" might have
been proud of the conquest she had unconsciously made.
Young Bosworth was the grandson of a fine old lady, born in England, I
think, who inhabited the large stone house I have spoken of as forming a
picturesque feature in the landscape, on the day I was rescued from the
adder. He was interested in an iron company near the town, financially,
and was about to enter into active business in the partnership, having
just completed his minority. His business brought him frequently to our
house, for Mr. Lee was considered a safe adviser in such matters; thus
an intimacy sprung up between the young man and "Our Jessie" just when
the first bloom of her girlhood was deepening into the rare beauty for
which she was so remarkable in after-years.
But Jessie was all unconscious of the love that I could detect in every
glance of those fine eyes, and in every tone of the voice that grew
tender and musical whenever it addressed her. Indeed, the young man took
no pains to conceal the feelings that seemed to possess him entirely. No
one but a person utterly innocent and unconscious of her own attractions
could have remained an hour ignorant of such devotion.
I think Jessie liked this man, and if nothing had happened to intervene,
that liking would have ripened gently into love, as fruit exposed to the
sweet dews of night and the warm noonday sun, ripens and grows crimson
so gradually that we mark the result without observing the progress.
But something did happen, which not only interrupted the pleasant
relations which had been established between this young man and our
family, but which broke up all the quiet and happiness of our domestic
life.
Hitherto our lives had been so tranquil that there was little to
describe. We had, to an extent, isolated ourselves from the general
world, and so surrounded ourselves with blessings, that the one
misfortune of our lives had proved almost a beneficence, for Mrs. Lee's
illness had only drawn us closer together. But all was to be changed
now.
CHAPTER VII.
OUT IN THE WORLD.
When Jessie reached her eighteenth year, Mrs. Lee became more languid
than usual, and early in the season her physician suggested a few weeks
at the sea-side.
I think the dear lady was induced to follow his advice from a desire to
give our girl a glimpse of the life which should have been opened to her
about that time, rather than from any hopes of benefit from sea-bathing.
She entered into the project at once, and brightened visibly under the
influence of Jessie's openly expressed enthusiasm. The dear girl had in
reality seen nothing of life, and she was happy as a bird at the
prospect of entering what seemed to her like an enchanted land.
Late in June, that year, we went to Long Branch upon the Jersey shore,
and there among the crowd of fashionables from Philadelphia and New
York, a new life opened to our Jessie, whose wealth and exceeding beauty
soon made her an object of general admiration.
I cannot tell you how we first became acquainted with Mrs. Dennison. She
was a Southern woman, about whom there was a vague reputation of wealth
inherited from an old man, whom she had married in his dotage, and of a
very luxurious life which had commenced so soon after the funeral as to
create some scandal. She was certainly a very beautiful woman, tall,
exquisitely formed, lithe and graceful as a leopardess. Her manners were
caressing, her voice sweetly modulated, and her powers of conversation
wonderfully varied. At first I was fascinated by the woman. She occupied
rooms that opened on the same veranda with ours, and had stolen so
completely into our companionship by a thousand little attentions to
Mrs. Lee, before we really knew anything about her, that afterward it
seemed unnecessary to make further inquiry. It would have proved of
little avail had our research been ever so rigid, for no one seemed
really to have any positive knowledge about her. Even the gossip I have
mentioned could always be traced back to a remarkably bright mulatto
lady's-maid, who was generally in attendance upon her, and who conversed
freely with every one who chose to question her. But all the
intelligence so gathered was sure to add to the power and wealth of a
mistress whom the mulatto pronounced to be one of the most distinguished
and beautiful women of the South. All this rather interested Mr. Lee,
who found this lady so often bestowing little attentions upon his wife,
that he came to recognize her as a friend, and, after a time, seemed to
take great pleasure in her conversation. All this troubled me a little.
Why? surely the feeling which turned my heart from that woman was not
jealousy. Had I indeed so completely identified myself with my friends,
that the approach to confidential relations with another person gave me
pain? I could not understand the feeling, but, struggle against it as I
would, the presence of that woman made me restless. She never touched
Mrs. Lee that I did not long to dash her hand away.
Jessie, like the rest, was fascinated with her new friend. They would
walk together for hours on the shore, where a crowd of admirers was sure
to gather around them, while I sat upon the veranda with my
benefactress, anxious and disturbed.
After a time, another person was introduced into our party. He first
became acquainted with Mrs. Lee, and seemed to drop into our
companionship in that way without any connection with Mrs. Dennison; but
I learned afterward that Mr. Lawrence had been very attentive to her
from her first appearance at the Branch, and that a rumor had for a time
prevailed that they were engaged.
All this might not have interested me much but for something that I
observed in Jessie, who was evidently far better acquainted with the man
than any of us; for it seems he had been in the habit of joining her and
Mrs. Dennison in their walks long before he attained an introduction to
Mrs. Lee. Lawrence was a tall, powerful man, very distinguished and
elegant in his bearing, wonderfully brilliant in conversation, and one
who always would be a leader for good or evil among his fellow-men. He
had been a good deal connected with the politics of the country, and at
one time was considered a power in Wall Street, from which he had
withdrawn, it was impossible to say whether penniless, or with a large
fortune.
This man was soon on terms of cordial intimacy with our family, but I
watched him with distrust. He was just the person to dazzle and
fascinate an ardent, inexperienced girl like our Jessie, and I saw with
pain that her color would rise and fade beneath his glances, and that a
look of triumph lighted up his eyes when he remarked it.
Here was another source of anxiety. This man of the world, who had spent
half his life in the struggles of Wall Street and a tangle of politics,
was no match for a creature so pure and true as our Jessie. Yet I
greatly feared that her heart was turning to him at the expense of that
brave, honorable young man whose very existence seemed to have been
forgotten among us.
But young Bosworth came at last, and I was more at rest. Jessie was
certainly glad to see him, and, much to my surprise, he dropped at once
into intimate relations with Lawrence, and recognized him as an old
friend whom he had met during the few months that he had spent abroad.
I have not said that Lottie was one of the attendants whom we brought
from the Ridge. This girl had grown somewhat in stature, but was still
very small. Her light-yellow hair was wonderfully abundant, and she had
a dozen fantastic ways of dressing it, which added to the singularity
of her appearance. At times, her eyes were clear and steady in their
glances; but, if a feeling of distrust came over her, both eyes would
cross ominously, and she seemed to be glancing inward with the sharp
vigilance of a fox.
There always had been a remarkable sympathy between me and this strange
girl. From the day I first saw her, she seemed to divine my feelings,
conceal them as I would, and to share all my dislikes almost before they
were formed. At first, she had kept aloof from the servants of the
hotel. This was not strange, for Lottie was, in fact, better educated
than some of their mistresses. She had managed to pick up a great deal
of knowledge as she sat by while Jessie took her lessons, and I had
found pleasure in teaching her such English branches as befitted her
station in life. In fact, Lottie had become more like a companion than a
servant with us all.
To my surprise, after keeping aloof for a whole week, Lottie fell into
the closest intimacy with Cora, Mrs. Dennison's maid, and I could see
that she lost no opportunity of watching the mistress and Mr. Lawrence.
What all this might have ended in I cannot tell, for just as our
intimacy became closest, the strong sea-air began to have an unfavorable
effect on our patient.
A sudden longing for home seized upon her one day, after Lottie had been
with her talking about the Ridge, and it was decided that we should
leave the Branch at once, though the season was at its height, and
Jessie had entered into its gayeties with all the zest of her ardent
nature.
I think Mr. Lee was rather reluctant to go away so suddenly. He had been
so long excluded from this form of social life that it had all the charm
of novelty to him; but the least wish of his wife was enough to change
all this, and he became only anxious to get her safely home again.
I do not know how it happened, or who really gave the invitation, but
on the night before I left we learned from Mrs. Dennison herself, that
she had promised to make us an early visit; and half an hour later, as I
sat alone in the lower veranda, young Bosworth and Mr. Lawrence passed
me, talking earnestly. "Of course, my dear fellow, I shall come if a
careless person like me will be acceptable to that fine old lady, your
grandmother. That promise of partridge-shooting is beyond my powers of
resistance."
It was Mr. Lawrence who spoke, and I knew by this fragment of
conversation that he too was coming into our neighborhood.
CHAPTER VIII.
OUR GUEST.
I stood in the oriel window that curved out from one end of the large
parlor and looked toward the east; that is, it commanded a broad view
from all points, save the direct west. The heavenly glimpses of scenery
that you caught at every turn through the small diamond panes were
enough to drive an artist mad, that so much unpainted poetry could
exist, and not glow warm and fresh on his canvas. I am an artist, at
soul, and have a gallery of the most superb brain-pictures stowed away
in my thoughts, but among them all there is nothing to equal the scene,
or rather scenes, I was gazing upon.
The window was deep, and when that rich volume of curtains shut it out
from the parlor, it was the most cosy little spot in the world. A deep
easy-chair, and a tiny marble stand, filled it luxuriously. On the
outside, white jasmines, passion-flowers, and choice roses, crept up to
the edge of the glass in abundance, encircling you with massive wreaths
of foliage and blossoms.
This window had always been my favorite retreat, when sadness or care
oppressed me, as it had begun to do seriously of late, for a degree of
estrangement had arisen between Jessie and myself, after our return from
the sea-side. I could not share her enthusiasm regarding some of the
persons we had met there, and for the first time in her life she was
half offended with me.
I can hardly express the pain this gave me. All her life she had come to
me in her troubles; and her bright, innocent joys I always shared; for,
like a flower-garden, she sent back the sunshine that passed over her,
enriched and more golden from a contact with her loveliness. I can
hardly tell you what a thing of beauty she was; yet, I doubt if you
would have thought her so very lovely as I did, for my admiration was
almost idolatry. Of late I had remarked a certain reserve about her, the
reticence which kept a sanctuary of feeling and thought quite away from
the world, and alas, from me also. Yet she was frank and truthful, as
the flower which always folds the choicest perfume close in its own
heart. What secret feeling was it that kept her from me, her oldest and
best friend.
I was thinking of Jessie while I sat in the easy-chair, looking down the
carriage-road that led through our private grounds from the highway; for
ours was an isolated dwelling, and no carriage that was not destined for
the house ever came up that sweep of road. I looked down upon it with a
sad, heavy feeling, though my eyes passed over a terrace crowned with a
wilderness of flowers, reached by a flight of steps. The gleam of these
flowers, and the green slope beyond, were a part of the scenery on which
I gazed, yet I saw nothing of them.
We expected Mrs. Dennison. The carriage had gone over to the country
town which lay behind the hills piled up at my left, and I was listening
for the sound of its wheels on the gravel with a strange thrill of
anxiety. Why was this? What did I care about the young widow who had
been invited to spend a few days with our Jessie? She was only a
watering-place acquaintance--a clever, beautiful woman of the world,
who, having a little time on her hands, had condescended to remember
Mrs. Lee's half-extorted invitation, and was expected accordingly.
Jessie was rather excited with the idea of a guest, for it so chanced
that we had been alone for a week or two; and though I never saw a
family more independent of society than Mrs. Lee's, guests always bring
expectation and cheerfulness with them in a well-appointed country
house.
"I wonder what keeps them?" said my darling, softly lifting one side of
the silken curtains, and unconsciously dropping them into the background
of as lovely a picture as you ever saw. "Here are some flowers for the
stand, Aunt Matty. She'll catch their bloom through the window, and know
it is my welcome."
I took the crystal vase from her hand, and set it on the little table
before me.
"Hush!" she said, lifting the drapery higher, and bending forward to
listen. "Hush! Isn't that the carriage coming through the pine grove?"
I turned in my chair, for Jessie was well worth looking at, even by a
person who loved her less fondly than I did. Standing there, draped to
artistic perfection in her pretty white dress, gathered in surplice
folds over her bosom, and fastened there with an antique head, cut in
coral, with its loose sleeves falling back from the uplifted arm, till
its beautiful contour could be seen almost to the shoulder, she was a
subject for Sir Joshua Reynolds. I am sure that great master would not
have changed the grouping in a single point.
"No," I said, listening; "it is the gardener's rake on the gravel walk,
I think."
She bent her head sideways, listening, and incredulous of my
explanation. Some gleams of sunshine fell through the glass, and lay
richly on the heavy braid of hair that crowned her head in a raven
coronal.
We always remember those we love in some peculiar moment which lifts
itself out of ordinary life by important associations; or, as in this
case, by the singular combinations of grace that render them attractive.
To my last breath, I shall never forget Jessie Lee, as she stood before
me that morning.
"Well," she said, with an impatient movement that left the curtains
falling between us like the entrance of a tent, "watched rose-buds never
open. I'll go back to the piano, and let her take me by surprise. I'm
glad you're looking so nice, aunt. She'll be sure to like you now in
spite of herself, though you were so cold and stiff with her at the
Branch, and I defy you to help liking her in the end."
As Jessie said this, her hand fell on the keys of the piano, and
instantly a gush of music burst through the room, so joyous that the
birds that haunted the old forest-trees around the house burst into a
riot of rival melody. Amid this delicious serenade the carriage drove
up.
I saw Mr. Lee alight, in his usual stately way; then Mrs. Dennison
sprang upon the lowest step of the broad stairs that led up to the
terrace, scarcely touching Mr. Lee's offered hand. There she stood a
moment, her silk flounces fluttering in the sunlight, and her neatly
gloved hands playing with the clasp of her travelling satchel, as the
servant took a scarlet shawl and some books from the carriage. Then she
gave a rapid glance over the grounds, and looked up to the house,
smiling pleasantly, and doubtless paying Mr. Lee some compliment, for
his usually sedate face brightened pleasantly, and he took the lady's
satchel, with a gallant bow, which few young men of his time could have
equalled.
Certainly our guest was a beautiful woman: tall, queenly, and conscious
of it all; but I did not like her. One of those warnings, or
antipathies, if you please, which makes the heart take shelter in
distrust, seized upon me again that moment, and I felt like flying to my
darling, who sat amid the sweet harmonies she was herself creating, to
shield her from some unknown danger.
I left my seat and passed through the curtains, thinking to warn Jessie
of her friend's arrival; but when I was half across the room, our
visitor came smiling and rustling through the door. She motioned me to
be still, and, darting across the carpet, seized Jessie's head between
both hands, bent it back, and, stooping with the grace of a Juno, kissed
her two or three times, while her clear, ringing laugh mingled with the
notes which had broken into sudden discords under Jessie's fingers.
"So I have chased my bird to its nest, at last," she said, releasing her
captive with a movement that struck even me--who disliked her from the
beginning--as one of exquisite grace. "Hunted it to the mountains, and
find it in full song, while I searched every window in the house, as we
drove up, and fancied all sorts of things: a cold welcome among the
least."
"That you will never have," cried Jessie, and the smile with which she
greeted her guest was enough of welcome for any one. "The truth is, I
got out of patience, and so played to quiet myself while Aunt Matty
watched."
"And how is the dear Aunt Matty?" said the guest, coming toward me with
both hands extended. "Ah! Jessie Lee, you are a fortunate girl to have
so sweet a friend."
"I am fortunate in everything," said Jessie, turning her large, earnest
eyes on my face with a look of tenderness that went to my heart, "and
most of all here."
"And I," said Mrs. Dennison, with a suppressed breath, and a look of
graceful sadness. "Well, well, one can't expect everything."
Jessie laughed. This bit of sentiment in her guest rather amused her.
"Ah, you never will believe in sorrow of any kind, until it comes in
earnest," said the widow, with an entire change in her countenance; "but
I, who have seen it in so many forms, cannot always forget."
"But," said Jessie, with one of her caressing movements, "you must
forget it now. We are to be happy as the day is long while you are here.
Isn't that so, aunt? We have laid out such walks, and rides, and
pleasant evenings--of course, you have brought your habit."
"Of course. What would one be in the country without riding?"
"And your guitar? I want Aunt Matty to hear you sing. She never was with
us when you had an instrument."
"Oh! Aunt Matty shall have enough of that, I promise her; the man who
follows with my luggage has the guitar somewhere among his plunder."
"I'm very glad," said Jessie, smiling archly. "Now everything is
provided for except--"
"Except what, lady-bird?"
"Except that we have no gentlemen to admire you."
"No gentlemen!"
"Not a soul but papa."
The widow certainly looked a little disappointed for the first instant,
but she rallied before any eye less keen than mine could have observed
it, and laughed joyously.
"Thank heaven, we sha'n't be bothered with compliments, nor tormented
with adoration. Oh! Jessie Lee, Jessie Lee! I am so glad of a little
rest from all that sort of thing: a'n't you?"
"I never was persecuted with it like you, fair lady, remember that,"
replied Jessie, demurely.
"Hypocrite! don't attempt to deceive me; I had eyes at the sea-side."
"And very beautiful ones they were--everybody agreed in that."
"There it is!" cried the widow, lifting her hands in affected horror;
"when gentlemen are absent, ladies will flatter each other. Pray, put a
stop to this, Miss,----"
"Miss Hyde," I said, rather tired of these trivialities; "but Jessie, in
the eagerness of her welcome, forgets that our guest has scarcely time
to prepare for dinner."
"Ah! is it so late?" said Mrs. Dennison.
"Shall I show the way to your chamber?"
"We will all go," said Jessie, circling her friend's waist with her arm
and moving off.
We crossed the hall, a broad, open passage, furnished with easy-chairs
and sofas, for it was a favorite resort for the whole family, and opened
into a square balcony at one end, which commanded one of the heavenly
views I have spoken of. The widow stopped to admire it an instant, and
then we entered the room I had been careful to arrange pleasantly for
her reception.
It was a square, pleasant chamber, which commanded a splendid prospect
from the east; curtains like frostwork, and a bed like snow, harmonized
pleasantly with walls hung with satin paper of a delicate blue, and fine
India matting with which the floor was covered. We had placed vases and
baskets of flowers on the deep window-sills, those of the richest
fragrance we could find, which a soft, pure wind wafted through the
room; the couch, the easy-chair, and the low dressing-chair were draped
with delicate blue chintz, with a pattern of wild roses running over it.
Mrs. Dennison made a pretty exclamation of surprise as she entered the
room. She was full of these graceful flatteries, that proved the more
effective because of their seeming spontaneousness. She took off her
bonnet, and, sitting down before the toilet which stood beneath the
dressing-glass, a cloud of lace and embroidery, began to smooth her hair
between both hands, laughing at its disorder, and wondered if anybody
on earth ever looked so hideous as she did.
"This woman," I said, in uncharitable haste,--"this woman is insatiable.
She is not content with the flattery of one sex, but challenges it from
all." Yet, spite of myself, I could not resist the influence of her
sweet voice and graceful ways; she interested me far more than I wished.
"Now," said Jessie, coming into the hall with her eyes sparkling
pleasantly,--"now what do you think? Have I praised her too much? Are
you beginning to like her yet?"
I kissed her, but gave no other answer. A vague desire to shield her
from that woman's influence possessed me, but the feeling was misty, and
had no reasonable foundation. I could not have explained why this
impulse of protection sprung up in my heart, or how Jessie, the dear
girl, guessed at its existence.
But she was perfectly content with the approval which my kiss implied,
and went into the parlor to await the coming of her guest. That moment
Mrs. Lee's maid came down with a message from her mistress, and I went
up-stairs at once.
CHAPTER IX.
FANCIES AND PREMONITIONS.
It seemed a wonder that Mrs. Lee ever could have been a beautiful woman
like her daughter, for she had faded sadly during her illness. Her hair
was still thick and long, but the mountain snow was not whiter. Her
face, too, was of opaque paleness; while her delicate eyebrows were
black as jet; and the large eyes beneath them had lost nothing of their
penetrating brightness.
Mrs. Lee was lying on the couch, in the light of a broad window which
opened to the south; the balcony was as usual filled with plants, and
every morning her couch was moved, and the window drapery put back that
she might command some feature in the landscape over which her eye had
not wearied the day before. It was a harmless enjoyment, and one which
the whole family loved to encourage. Indeed, there was not a fancy or
caprice of hers which was ever questioned in that house.
"Ah, Martha, it is you; I am glad of it. For when I am ill at ease, you
always do me good."
She held out her little thin hand while speaking, and pressed mine
almost imperceptibly.
"What has happened, Martha? During the last half hour something
oppresses me, as if the atmosphere were disturbed; yet it is a clear
day, and the roses on the terrace look brighter than usual."
"Nothing has happened, dear lady. Mr. Lee has come back from town,
bringing the lady we all expected."
"Mrs. Dennison?"
"Yes, Mrs. Dennison. She has just gone to her room."
Mrs. Lee closed her eyes a moment and opened them with a faint smile,
which seemed to ask pardon for some weakness.
"Have you seen her?"
"Yes. I was in the parlor when she came, and went with her to her room."
"And you like her better than at first, I hope?"
I hesitated.
"She is beautiful!"
"Yes, in a certain way," I answered; "but when one has got used to our
Jessie's style, nothing else seems to equal it."
The mother smiled and held out her hand again.
"You love Jessie?"
I felt the tears filling my eyes. There was something so tender and
sweet in this question that it made a child of me. The mother turned
upon her couch, bent her lips to my hand, and dropped it gently from her
hold.
"Martha Hyde, what is this which troubles me?"
"Indeed, I cannot tell."
"Does Jessie seem happy with her friend?"
"Very happy; I have seldom seen her so animated."
"But you have not told me plainly. Do you like this lady?"
"I--I cannot tell. She is beautiful; at least most people would think
her so;--rich, I believe?"
I rather put this as a question.
"I think so. She had splendid rooms at the hotel, you know, and spent
money freely, so Mr. Lee was told; but that is of little consequence; we
want nothing of her riches if she has them."
"Certainly not; but if she has expensive habits without the means of
gratifying them within herself, it is an important proof of character,"
I said. "May I ask, dear lady, who really recommended Mrs. Dennison to
you or your daughter?"
"Oh! a good many people spoke highly of her; she was a general
favorite!"
"Yes; but did you meet any person who had known her long?--who had been
acquainted with her husband, for instance?"
"No, I cannot remember any such person."
"And you invited her? she said so."
"That is it. I cannot quite call to mind that I did invite her.
Something was said about our house being among pleasant scenery, and she
expressed a desire to see it. I may have said that I really hoped she
would see it some time; and then she thanked me as if I had urged her to
come. Still Jessie liked her so much that I was rather pleased than
otherwise, and so it rested."
"Well," I said, "if Jessie is pleased, that is everything, you know,
madam. I sometimes think the dear girl ought to have the company of
younger persons about her."
"Yes, certainly; but with a girl like my Jessie, so sensitive, so proud,
for she is very proud, Martha."
"I know it," was my answer. "I have never seen more sensitive pride in
any person of her age."
"Well, with a disposition like that, the kind of young person she is
intimate with is very important. This is the reason I wished to see you
and learn if your opinion has not changed regarding our guests; my own
feelings are strangely disturbed."
"You are not as well as usual this morning," I replied. "Let me draw the
couch nearer and open a leaf of the window."
She assented, and I drew the couch so close to the window that with a
sash open she could command a view of the richest corner of the
flower-garden and a slope of the lawn. The wind swept pleasantly over
the balcony, in which pots of rose geraniums and heliotrope had been
placed. Mrs. Lee loved the breath of these flowers, and sighed faintly
as it floated over her with the fresh morning air.
She lay some time in this pleasant position without speaking. When she
was disposed to be thoughtful, we seldom disturbed her, for so sensitive
had disease rendered her nerves, that the sudden sound of a voice would
make her start and tremble like a criminal. So I kept my place behind
the couch, looking down into the garden, and thinking of many things.
All at once, sweet, dear voices rose from among the flowers, and I saw
our Jessie and the widow Dennison turning a corner of the house, each
with an arm around the other's waist, laughing and chatting together.
Jessie had not changed her dress, but a cluster of crimson roses glowed
in her hair, and coral bracelets tinted the transparency of her sleeves.
The sun touched the black braid which surrounded her head as she came
out of the shadow, and no raven's plumage was ever more glossy.
Mrs. Dennison was strangely attired. The period of which I speak was
about the time the Zouave jacket took its brief picturesque reign. This
woman was, in a degree, her own inventor of fashions, and something very
similar to this jacket fell over the loose habit-skirt that draped her
bosom and arms. This garment of black silk, richly braided, matched the
rustling skirt of her dress, and the Oriental design of the whole was
completed by a net of blue and gold, which shaded half her rich brown
hair, and fell in tassels to her left shoulder.
In my whole life I never saw a more striking contrast than these two
persons presented. I cannot tell you where it lay. Not in the
superiority which the widow possessed in height--not in her elaborate
grace. Jessie was a little above the medium height herself, and a more
elegant creature did not live. But there was something which struck you
at once. It is of no use attempting to define it. The difference was to
be imagined, not explained. The mother felt it, I am certain, for her
eyes took a strange, anxious lustre as they fell on those two young
persons, and she began to breathe irregularly, as if something oppressed
her.
She looked up to me at last to see if I was watching them. I smiled and
said, "At any rate, she is a splendid creature."
"No one can dispute that! But our Jessie! Do you know, as I was looking
at them, something came across me. Through the hazy light which settled
around me, I saw a bird with its wings outspread flitting in the folds
of a serpent? The picture passed through my brain one instant, and was
gone--gone before Jessie, who had stooped to gather something, regained
her position. This has happened before in my life--what can it be?"
"You are anxious and nervous, dear lady, that is all. Since your visit
to the sea-side, these strange visions have become more common."
"I hope they will pass off," she murmured, pressing a pale hand over her
eyes. "But there was another in the group; behind Jessie's frightened
face, I saw that of Mr. Lee."
While she was speaking, I saw Mr. Lee come out of the hall-door, and
cross the platform which led to the garden, where his daughter and her
guest were walking. He was a handsome man, still in the very prime of
life, one of the most distinguished persons that I ever saw. It was from
him that our Jessie had inherited her queenly pride, which the exquisite
sensibility of the mother's nature had softened into grace.
Mrs. Lee closed her eyes, and I saw her lips turn pale; but she repulsed
my approach with a motion of the hand. I have no idea what she had seen
which escaped me. But when I looked again, Mr. Lee was talking with his
daughter; while the widow stood by, grouping some flowers which she held
coquettishly in her hand. I saw Mr. Lee look at her, indifferently at
first, then with smiling interest. They were evidently talking of her
graceful work, for she held it up for both father and daughter to
admire.
As Jessie lifted her eyes, she saw us near the window, and, forgetting
the bouquet, waved a kiss to her mother. That instant I saw the widow
press the bouquet lightly to her lips.
Mr. Lee reached forth his hand; but she shook her head, laughed, and
placed the flowers in her bosom.
Mrs. Lee was not in a position to see this. I stood up and had a better
view; but she instantly complained of dizziness, and faint spasms of
pain contracted her forehead.
I had seen nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet the glances of that woman,
as she looked at Mr. Lee over the cluster of flowers, seemed absolutely
like wafting kisses with her eyes. Jessie saw nothing, save that the
little cluster of blossoms somehow found its way into her friend's
bosom. So, in her sweet unconsciousness, she passed on, and was lost on
the other side of the tower.
CHAPTER X.
NEW VISITORS.
Mrs. Lee never went down to dinner, or, if she did, it was so rarely
that we looked upon her presence as a sort of holiday. She was very
dainty in her appetite, and on ordinary occasions was served by her own
maid, or of late by Lottie. I think she had rather intended to come down
that day in honor of our guest, but the illness that seized upon her
drove this idea from her mind; so, leaving her with Lottie, I went away
restless and unaccountably unhappy.
How bright and blooming they came in from the garden, bringing its
fragrance with them to the dinner-table! What a joyous, piquant
conversation it was, that commenced with the soup and sparkled with the
wine! There is no disputing it, our guest was a wonderful creature, her
graceful wit sparkled, her sentiment fascinated. She was calculated to
keep the man her beauty should win,--no doubt of that. Her conversation
charmed even me.
Jessie was constantly challenging admiration for her
friend--interrogating me with her eyes, and looking at her father to be
sure that he fully appreciated the brilliancy which filled her own heart
with a sort of adoration. But the widow seemed quite unconscious that
she was an object of special admiration to any one. Nothing could be
more natural than her manner. At times she was really child-like.
Still I did not like her. Why, it is useless to ask. Perhaps Mrs. Lee
had left an impression of her strange fancies on my mind,--perhaps the
atmosphere which surrounded her mingled with the subtile vitality of my
intelligence and gave me the truth.
We had music in the evening. Our Jessie possessed the purest of soprano
voices. Many a celebrated prima donna has won laurels from inferior
capacity. As in all other things, her musical education had been
perfect. Mrs. Dennison was her inferior in this. She performed
splendidly, and her rich contralto voice possessed many fine qualities;
but our birdie swept far above her, and soared away upon an ocean of
harmonies that seemed born of heaven.
The windows were open, and we knew that this heaven of sweet sounds
would float to the invalid's chamber. Indeed, when I went out upon the
platform, back of the house, I saw Mrs. Lee lying in her white, loose
dress, on the couch, as if the music had lulled her to sleep.
I think Mrs. Dennison was not quite satisfied with herself. The glorious
voice of our Jessie seemed to take her by surprise, for after the first
trial she refused to sing again, but still kept the piano, and dashed
through some fine opera music with spirit. Was she exhausting her
ill-humor in those stormy sounds?
On the next day, our young ladies rode on horseback. Both were superb
equestrians; and Mr. Lee's stately management of his coal-black horse
was something worth looking at. As they dashed round a curve of the
road, Jessie turned on her saddle and waved me a kiss, where I stood on
the square balcony watching them. What a happy, bright creature she
looked!
It took me by surprise; but when the equestrians came back, two
gentlemen had joined the party. One was young Bosworth, who had returned
to the old country place, a mile down the valley, directly after we
left Long Branch, and since then had managed to join our Jessie in her
rides oftener than any supposition of mere accident could warrant. The
dear girl seemed a little annoyed when these meetings became more
frequent; but she bore our joking on the subject pleasantly, and up to
that morning had, I fancy, given little thought to his movements. The
other man I recognized at once. It was Mr. Lawrence.
This gentleman rode up with Mr. Lee and Mrs. Dennison, who was evidently
dividing her fascinations very equally between the two gentlemen. Jessie
followed them with her cavalier, and I observed, as they dismounted,
that her cheeks were flushed, and her lips lightly curved, as if
something had disturbed her.
The gentlemen did not dismount, for Jessie left Mrs. Dennison on the
foot of the terrace-steps, and, without pausing to give an invitation,
ran into the house.
I left the balcony and went up to her chamber. She was walking to and
fro in the room, with a quick, proud step, the tears sparkling in her
eyes.
"What is it?" I said, going up to where she stood, and kissing her. "Who
has wounded you?"
"No one," she answered, and the proud tears flashed down to her cheek,
and lay there like rain-drops hanging on the leaves of the wild
rose,--"no one. Only, only--"
"Well, dear?"
"You were right, Aunt Matty. That man really had just the feelings you
suspected; I could hardly prevent him from expressing them broadly. Keep
as close to papa as I would, he found means to say things that made my
blood burn. What right has any man to talk of love to a girl, until she
has given him some sort of encouragement, I should like to know?"
"But perhaps he fancies that you have given him a little
encouragement."
"Encouragement! I? Indeed, Aunt Matty, I never dreamed of this until
now!"
"I am sure of it; but then you allowed him to join your rides, and
seemed rather pleased."
"Why, the idea that he meant anything never entered my mind. Ah! Aunt
Matty, haven't we said a thousand times that there must be some blame,
some coquetry on the lady's part, before a man, whom she is sure to
reject, could presume to offer himself?"
"But has he gone so far as that?" I asked.
"Let me think. Alas! I was so confused, so angry, that it is impossible
to remember just what he did say."
"But your answer?"
"Why, as to that," she cried, with a little nervous laugh, "I gave Flash
a cut with the whip and dashed on after the rest. Aunt Matty, upon my
word, I doubt if I spoke at all."
"My dear child, he may half imagine himself accepted then."
"Accepted! What can you mean?" she exclaimed, grasping her whip with
both hands and bending it double. "I shall go wild if you say that."
"Why, do you dislike him so much?"
"Dislike! no. What is there to dislike about him?"
"Well, then," I said, a little mischievously, "he is rather
good-looking, well educated, of irreproachable family, and rich."
"Don't, don't, Aunt Matty, or I shall hate you."
"Not quite so bad as that," I cried, kissing her hot cheek. "Now, let us
be serious. All young ladies must expect offers of this kind."
"But I don't want them. It distresses me."
I saw that she was in earnest, and that young Bosworth's attentions had
really distressed her. So, drawing her to a sofa, we sat down and talked
the matter over more quietly.
I told her that it was useless annoying herself; that, until the young
gentleman spoke out more definitely, she had nothing to torment herself
about; and when he did, a few quiet words would settle the whole matter.
"But can't we prevent him saying anything more? Or, if he does, will you
just tell him how it is?" she said, anxiously.
I could not help smiling; there was no affectation here. I knew very
well that Jessie would give the world to avoid this refusal; but in such
cases young ladies must take their own responsibilities: the
interference of third parties can only produce mischief.
She began to see the thing in its true light after a little, and talked
it over more calmly. Many a girl would have been delighted with this
homage to her charms; but Jessie was no common person, and she felt a
sort of degradation in inspiring a passion she could not return.
Besides, it placed upon her the necessity of giving pain where it was in
every way undeserved; and that she had never done in her life.
While we were talking, a light knock at the door heralded Mrs. Dennison.
There was nothing to call her to that part of the house, and her first
words conveyed an apology for the intrusion, for we both probably looked
a little surprised.
"I beg ten thousand pardons for rushing in upon you; but the gentlemen
are waiting in the road to know if they can join us to-morrow. I could
only answer for myself, you know."
"Let them join you," I whispered; "the sooner it is over with the
better."
Jessie stood up, gathered the long riding-skirt in one hand, while she
walked past her guest with the air of a princess, and stepped out on the
balcony, from which she made a gesture of invitation, which the two
gentlemen acknowledged with profound bows, and rode away.
"That's an angel!" exclaimed Mrs. Dennison, laying her hand on Jessie's
shoulder. "I almost thought something had gone wrong, by the way you
left us. Poor Mr. Bosworth was quite crestfallen."
Jessie made a little gesture of annoyance, which the widow was quick to
observe, and instantly changed the subject.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BASKET OF FRUIT.
"I should not have thought, by the way you parted, that you and Mr.
Bosworth were old friends."
Jessie seemed annoyed, and replied, with a flush on her cheek, "that it
was rather difficult to be demonstrative on horseback."
"At any rate, he's a splendid man," said the widow. "Rich or poor? Bond
or free? Tell us all about him. I never thought to inquire before, but
this looks serious."
"What strange questions you ask!" answered Jessie, and the color
deepened in her cheek.
"Well, well, but the answer?"
Here I interposed: "Mr. Bosworth is not very rich. At least I never
heard that he was."
"What a pity!" whispered the widow. "But the other questions?"
"If having no wife is to be free, you can hardly call him a bondman.
Yes."
"What has he ever done to distinguish himself, then? Can you tell me
that, Miss Hyde?"
"He is considered a man of brilliant parts, certainly," I answered; "but
at his age few men have won permanent distinction, I fancy."
"At his age! Why, the man must be over eight-and-twenty, and half the
great men that ever lived had made their mark in the world before they
reached that age."
"Well, that may be," I replied; "but in these times greatness is not so
easily won. The level of general intelligence, in our country at least,
is raised, and it requires great genius, indeed, to lift a man suddenly
above his fellows. In a dead sea of ignorance, superior ability looms up
with imposing conspicuousness. This is why the great men of past times
have cast the reflection of their minds on history;--not entirely
because they excelled men of the present age, but from the low grade of
popular intelligence that existed around them."
"Why, you talk like a statesman," said the widow, laughing. "I had no
idea that anything so near politics existed in the ladies of this
house."
"What is history but the politics of the past?" said Jessie. "What is
politics but a history of the present?"
"Perhaps you are right," said the widow, flinging off her careless
manner, and sitting down on one of the rustic chairs, where she began to
dust her skirt with the fanciful whip fastened to her wrist. "I have
often wondered why it should be considered unfeminine for an educated
woman to understand the institutions of her own or any other country."
Mrs. Dennison looked at me as she spoke. Was the woman playing with my
weakness? Or, did she really speak from her heart? If the former, she
must have been amused at my credulity, for I answered in honest
frankness:
"Nor I, either; except in evil, which is always better unknown. I can
fancy no case where ignorance is a merit. Imagine Queen Victoria pluming
herself on lady-like ignorance of the political state of her kingdom,
when she opens Parliament in person."
Mrs. Dennison laughed, and chimed in with, "Or the Empress of France
being appointed Regent of a realm, the position of which it was deemed
unwomanly to understand; yet, on the face of the earth, there are not
two females more womanly than Victoria of England, and Eugenie of
France."
"What true ideas this woman possesses!" I said to myself. "How could I
dislike her so? Really, the most charming person in the world is a woman
who, under the light, graceful talk of conventional society, cultivates
serious thought." While these reflections passed through my mind, the
widow was looking at me from under her eyelashes, as if she expected me
to speak again; so I went on,--
"It is not the knowledge of politics in itself of which refined people
complain; but its passion and the vindictive feelings which partisanship
is sure to foster. The woman who loves her country cannot understand it
too well. The unwomanliness lies in the fact that she sometimes plunges
into a turmoil of factions, thus becoming passionate and bitter."
"How plainly you draw the distinction between knowledge and prejudice!"
she said, with one of her fascinating smiles. "But you must have
discussed this subject often--with Mr. Lee, perhaps?"
"Yes, we talk on all subjects here. Nothing is forbidden, because few
things that are not noble and true ever present themselves."
"I was sure of it!" exclaimed the lady, starting up with enthusiasm. "I
have never been in a house where everything gave such evidence of
high-toned intelligence."
She sat down again thoughtfully, dusting her habit with the little whip.
"I have not yet seen my hostess, but that does not arise from increased
ill health, I trust. She seemed very feeble when we met on the
sea-shore, last season--somewhat consumptive, we all thought."
I did not like the tone of her voice. There was something stealthy and
creeping in it which checked the rising confidence in my heart.
"Mrs. Lee is very far from well," I answered, coldly.
"Not essentially worse, I trust."
She was looking at me keenly from the corners of her almond-shaped eyes.
It was only a glance, but a gleam of suspicion sprung from my heart and
met it half-way.
"It is difficult to tell. In a lingering disease like hers, one can
never be sure."
"Mr. Lee must find himself lonesome at times without his lady's society,
for she struck us all as a very superior person."
"On the contrary," I replied, with a quick impulse, for she still kept
that sidelong glance on my face; "on the contrary, he spends most of his
leisure time in her chamber, reads to her when she can bear it, and sits
gently silent when she prefers that. A more devoted husband I never
knew."
I saw that she was biting her red lips, but as my glance caught hers,
the action turned to a smile.
"There is Mr. Lee going to his wife's room now," I remarked, as that
gentleman passed the hall-door, with a little basket in his hand filled
with delicate wood-moss, in which lay two or three peaches, the first of
the season.
The exclamation that broke from Mrs. Dennison at the sight of the fruit
arrested his steps, and he turned into the hall, asking if either of us
had called.
She went forward at once, sweeping the cloth skirt after her like the
train of an empress.
"Oh, what splendid peaches--and the basket! The bijou!" She held out
both hands to receive the fruit, quite in a glow of pleasure.
"I am very sorry," said Mr. Lee, drawing back a step, "but this is--is
for my wife. She is an invalid, you know."
"You misunderstand," replied the lady, coloring to the temples. "I only
wish to admire the arrangement. It is really the prettiest fancy I ever
saw."
He hesitated an instant; then held out the basket and placed it between
her hands, with some little reluctance, I thought. Her side-face was
toward me; but the look, half grieved, half reproachful, which she
lifted to his face did not escape me.
"Shall I take the basket to Mrs. Lee?" I said, reaching out my hand.
"She must have heard the horses return some time ago, and will expect
some one."
"No," said the gentleman, bending his head, and taking the fruit. "I
cannot allow you to deprive me of that pleasure."
"And I," rejoined the widow, with animation, "I must take off this
cumbersome riding-dress."
I went to my room early that evening. Indeed, I had no heart to enter
the parlor. Anxieties that I could not define pressed heavily upon
me--so heavily that I longed for solitude. In passing through the hall,
I met Mrs. Dennison's mulatto maid, who had, I forgot to say, followed
our guest with the luggage. She was going to her mistress's chamber,
carrying something carefully in her hand. When she saw me, her little
silk apron was slyly lifted, and the burdened hand stole under it, but
in the action something was disturbed, and the half of a peach fell at
my feet.
I took up the cleft fruit very quietly, told the girl to remove her
apron, that I might see what mischief had been done, and discovered a
second basket filled with mossrose-buds from which the half peach had
fallen.
I laid the fruit in its bed, saw the girl pass with it to her lady's
chamber, and then went to my own room sick at heart. The half of a
peach, offered among the Arabs, means atonement for some offence. What
offence had Mr. Lee given to our guest in carrying a little fruit to his
invalid wife?
CHAPTER XII.
BREAKFAST WITH OUR GUEST.
Mrs. Dennison was late the next morning. Indeed, she generally was late.
It was sure to produce a little excitement when she entered, if the
family were grouped in expectation, and her system of elegant
selfishness rendered any consideration of the convenience of others a
matter of slight importance. She was always lavish in apologies, those
outgrowths of insincerity; and, in fact, managed to weave a sort of a
fascination out of her own faults.
This certainly was the case here. If Mr. Lee was resolute about anything
in his household, it was that punctuality at meals should be observed:
indeed, I have seldom seen him out of humor on any other subject. But
this morning he had been moving about in the upper hall a full hour,
glancing impatiently at the papers which always reached us before
breakfast, and walking up and down with manifest annoyance. Yet the
moment that woman appeared with her coquettish little breakfast-cap just
hovering on the back of her head, and robed in one of the freshest and
most graceful morning dresses you ever saw, his face cleared up. With a
smile that no one could witness without a throb of the heart, he
received her apologies and compliments all mingled together on her lips
like honey in the heart of a flower, as if they had been favors of which
we were all quite undeserving.
We went down to breakfast at last; but just as we were sitting down, our
guest took a fancy to run out on the terrace and gather a handful of
heliotrope which she laid by her plate, exhaling the odor sensuously
between the pauses of the meal. I don't know what the rest thought of
all this, but I was disgusted. It is a strong word, I know, but I have
no other for the repulsion that seizes upon me even now when I think of
that woman. Her very passion for flowers, to me almost a heavenly taste
in itself, was so combined with materialism, that the perfume of the
heliotrope sickened me.
Jessie did not seem to sympathize in these feelings, nor care that her
own choice flower-plot had been rifled of its sweetest blossoms. In
fact, the fascination of that woman's manner seemed more powerful with
her than it had proved with the proud, strong man who sat opposite me.
Jessie, the darling, either because she did not like the restraint, or,
what was more like her, wishing to give me dignity in the household,
always insisted that I should preside at the table; Mrs. Lee, from her
feeble state of health, being at all times unequal to the task. Three
times did that insatiable woman return her coffee-cup: first, for an
additional lump of sugar, again for a few drops more cream, and then for
the slightest possible dilution of its strength. While I performed these
smiling behests, she sat brushing a branch of heliotrope across her
lips, exclaiming at the beauty of the scene from an opposite window, and
behaving generally like an empress who had honored her subjects with a
visit, and was resolved to put them quite at ease in her presence.
But Jessie could not see things in this light. She was evidently as well
pleased with her guest as she had been the night before, but, though she
smiled and joined in the pleasant conversation, I saw by the heavy
shadows under her eyes that some anxiety disturbed her. The fact that
she had made an appointment to ride with a suitor whom she must reject
accounted sufficiently for this; Jessie had the finest traits of a
purely proud nature, and the idea of giving pain was to her in itself a
great trial. Still, these observations only applied to the undercurrent
that morning; on the surface everything was sparkling and pleasant.
Mr. Lee was more than usually animated, and, before the meal was ended,
quite a war of complimentary badinage had commenced and was kept up
between him and our guest.
Jessie always went to her mother after breakfast. So, immediately on
quitting the table, she stole away to the tower, looking a little
serious, but not more so than her peculiar trial of the day accounted
for.
I followed her directly, leaving Mrs. Dennison and Mr. Lee on the square
balcony, on which the early sunshine lay in golden warmth.
Mrs. Lee had not rested well; her eyes, usually so bright, were heavy
from want of sleep; and the pillow, from which she had not yet risen,
bore marks of a thousand restless movements, which betrayed unusual
excitement.
CHAPTER XIII.
JESSIE LEE AND HER MOTHER.
Jessie was sitting on one side of the bed holding a Parian cup in her
hand; the amber gleam of coffee shone through the transparent
vine-leaves that embossed it, and she was stirring the fragrant beverage
gently with a spoon.
"Try, dear mother, and drink just a little," she was saying, in her
sweet, caressing way. "It makes me very unhappy to see you looking so
ill."
"Indeed I am not ill, only a little restless, Jessie," answered the
sweet lady, rising languidly from her pillow and reaching forth her hand
for the cup. She tasted the coffee and looked gratefully at her
daughter. "It is nice; no one understands me like you, my daughter."
Jessie blushed with pleasure, and began to mellow a delicate slice of
toast with the silver knife that lay beside it, making a parade of her
efforts, which she evidently hoped would entice her mother's appetite:
and so it did. I am sure no one besides her could have tempted that
frail woman to eat a mouthful. As it was, one of the birds that was
picking seeds from the terrace could almost have rivalled her appetite:
the presence of her daughter, I fancy, gave her more strength than
anything else.
"So you have had a bad night, my mother," said Jessie, tenderly; "once
or twice I awoke and felt that you did not sleep."
"Indeed!" said the mother, with an earnest look breaking through the
heaviness of her eyes.
"Yes, indeed; but then I never wake in the night without wondering if
you sleep well."
"Did you see me?" questioned the mother, anxiously.
"See you, mother?"
Mrs. Lee smiled faintly, and shook her head as if to cast off some
strange thought.
"Of course, it was impossible. I must have slept long enough to dream;
but it seems to me as if I was in your room last night. Something called
me there, a faint, white shadow, that sometimes took the outline of an
angel, sometimes floated before me like a cloud."
"Oh, my good mother! it was kind to come, even in your dreams," said
Jessie, kissing the little hand that lay in hers.
Mrs. Lee looked troubled, and seemed to be searching her memory for
something.
"It took me--the cloud-angel--you know, into the blue room."
"The blue room!" Jessie and I exclaimed together, for that was the
apartment in which Mrs. Dennison slept, though the fact had never been
mentioned to Mrs. Lee, and another chamber had at first been intended
for our guest. "The blue room?"
"Yes, the blue room!" she said; "but like all dreams, nothing was like
the reality. Instead of the enamelled furniture, everything was covered
with the prettiest blue chintz, with a wild-rose pattern running over
it."
Jessie and I looked at each other in consternation, for the furniture
which Mrs. Lee described as familiar to the blue room had been removed
to the chamber we had first intended for Mrs. Dennison, and that with
which we had replaced it being too rich for a sleeping-room, we had
covered it with the pretty chintz, without mentioning the fact to Mrs.
Lee or any one else.
"There was a toilet instead of the dressing-table, I remember,"
continued the lady, "with quantities of frost-like lace falling around
it and on it; with other things, a little basket, prettier than mine,
full of mossrose-buds."
"Was there nothing else in the basket?" I questioned, holding my breath
for the reply.
"Nothing else," answered the lady, smiling; "oh! yes, combs and
hair-pins, rings and bracelets, the whole toilet was in a glitter."
"But nothing else in the basket?" I persisted.
"No; rose-buds--mossrose-buds, red and white. Nothing more," she
answered, languidly.
Mrs. Lee paused a moment with her eyes closed. Then starting as if from
sleep, she almost cried out,--
"There was a woman in the room--in the bed--a beautiful woman. The
ruffles of her night-gown were open at the throat, the sleeves were
broad and loose; you could see her arms almost to the shoulders. She
wore no cap, and her hair fell in bright, heavy coils down to her waist.
She had something in her hand; don't speak, I shall remember in a
minute: the color was rich. It was, yes, it was half a peach, with the
brown stone partly bedded in the centre; the fragrance of it hung about
the basket of roses."
"And you saw all this, dear lady?" I exclaimed, startled by the reality
of her picture, which, as a whole, I recognized far more closely than
Jessie could.
"In my dream, yes; but one fancies such strange things when asleep, you
know, dear Miss Hyde."
"Strange, very strange," murmured Jessie; "but for the basket of roses
and the fruit, we might have recognized the picture. Don't you think so,
Aunt Matty?"
"Did you get a look at the lady's face?" I inquired, suppressing
Jessie's question.
"No, no; I think not. The thick hair shaded it, but the arms and neck
were white as lilies. She had bitten the peach; I remember seeing marks
of her teeth on one side. Strange, isn't it, how real such fancies will
seem?"
"It is, indeed, strange," I said, feeling cold chills creeping over me.
"Besides," continued the invalid, while a scarcely perceptible shiver
disturbed her, "notwithstanding the freshness and beauty of everything,
I felt oppressed in that room--just as flowers may be supposed to grow
faint when vipers creep over them; the air seemed close till I got to
your chamber, Jessie."
"And there?" said the sweet girl, kissing her mother's hand again.
"There, the angel that had been a cloud took form again. It beckoned
me--beckoned me--I cannot tell where; but you were sleeping, I know
that."
"It was a strange dream," said Jessie, thoughtfully.
"The impression was very strong," answered the mother, drawing a hand
across her eyes,--"so powerful that it tired me. This morning it seemed
as if I had been on a journey."
"But you are better now," I said; "this sense of fatigue is wearing off,
I hope."
"Oh, yes!" she answered, languidly.
"And you will be well enough to see Mrs. Dennison before dinner, I
hope," whispered Jessie.
"Perhaps, child."
"Father will persuade you."
"Where is your father, Jessie?"
"Oh! somewhere about. On the front balcony, I believe, with Mrs.
Dennison, who declares that she never will get tired of looking down the
valley."
"Yes, it is a lovely view. We used to sit on the balcony for hours--your
father and I--but now--" Mrs. Lee turned away her face and shaded her
eyes with one pale hand.
I walked to the window and lifted the curtain; but there was a mist over
my eyes, and I could not discern a feature of the landscape.
CHAPTER XIV.
INTRUSIVE KINDNESS.
Some one knocked at the door. I went to open it, and found Cora, Mrs.
Dennison's maid, who had been brushing her mistress's riding-habit on
the back terrace, and flung it across her arm before coming up-stairs.
The girl was a pretty mulatto, with teeth that an empress might have
coveted, and eyes like diamonds; but there was something in her face
that I did not like--a way of looking at you from under her black
eyelashes that was both searching and sinister.
"Mistress told me to run up, and inquire if it wasn't time for Miss Lee
to put on her habit," she said, shooting a quick glance into the room;
"the horses are ordered round."
I felt the color burning in my face. The impertinence of this intrusion
angered me greatly.
"Miss Lee is with her mother," I said, "and cannot be disturbed; when
she is ready, I will let your mistress know. Until then the horses must
wait."
The girl gave the habit on her arm a shake, and went away, casting one
or two glances behind. What possible business could the creature have in
that part of the house? Had the mistress really sent her? It was an hour
before the time for riding, and it had not been our custom to hurry
Jessie away from her mother's room.
While I stood by the window, thinking angrily of this intrusion, another
knock called me back to the door. It was the mulatto again, with her
mistress's compliments, and, if Mrs. Lee was well enough, she would pay
her respects while the horses waited.
I went down myself at this, and meeting Mrs. Dennison on the terrace,
informed her, very curtly, I fear, that Mrs. Lee was not out of her
bedroom, having spent a restless night, and was quite incapable of
seeing strangers.
I put a little malicious emphasis on the word _strangers_, which brought
a deeper color into her cheeks; but she answered with elaborate
expressions of sympathy, inquired so minutely into the symptoms and
causes of Mrs. Lee's prostration, that I felt at a loss how to answer.
"Dear lady!" she went on, "I'm afraid these severe attacks will exhaust
the little strength she has left; they must make life a burden."
"On the contrary," I said, "there is not, I am sure, a person living who
so keenly enjoys the highest and most lofty principles of existence.
With the love of God in her heart, and domestic love all around her,
life can never be a burden."
"Indeed!" she answered, with something in her voice that approached a
sneer; "I never was sick in my life, that is, perhaps, why it seems so
terrible to me. Nothing could reconcile me, I am sure, to a life like
Mrs. Lee's. At her age, too, with disease helping time to chase away
what beauty one has left, how she must feel it!"
"You quite mistake the case, madam," I answered; "Mrs. Lee never
depended on her beauty, which, however, no one can dispute, as a means
of winning love; her sincerity, intelligence, and gentle wisdom are
enough to outlive the loveliness of a Venus."
"You are enthusiastic, Miss Hyde."
"I love Mrs. Lee, and speak as I feel."
"I am afraid," she said, in her blandest manner, "that my interest in
the dear lady has led me into obtrusiveness, or, at least, that you
think so. But she is so very superior--so perfect, in fact, that one
cannot shake off the interest she inspires. It was this feeling which
tempted me to ask for the privilege of paying my respects;--I see now
that it was inopportune; but a warm heart is always getting one into
scrapes, Miss Hyde. I shall never learn how to tame mine down. It seemed
to me that the sweet invalid yonder must feel lonely in her room, and
this was why that importunate request was made."
"Mrs. Lee is a woman who would find something of paradise in any
position. Her sitting-room, up in the tower yonder, has always been
considered the pleasantest apartment in the house."
"No doubt; it was this conviction which made me anxious to be admitted.
Still, I must think that a confinement, that only promises to be
relieved by death, must be a painful thing."
Why did the woman always return to that point? In my whole life I had
never heard the probable result of Mrs. Lee's illness alluded to so
often, as it had been hardly mentioned since Mrs. Dennison's arrival. It
shocked me, and became the more repulsive from the usual levity of her
manner. She seemed to weave the idea of my dear friend's death with
every luxury that surrounded her dwelling; to my prejudiced fancy, she
even exulted in it. I stood looking her in the face while these thoughts
troubled my mind. What my eyes may have spoken I cannot tell, but hers
fell beneath them, and, with an uneasy smile, she turned to walk away.
That moment Jessie came out to the terrace, looking a little anxious.
"Where is father?" she said; "mother is up and waiting for him."
I saw a faint smile quiver around the widow's lips, but she busied
herself with some branches of ivy that had broken loose from the
terrace-wall, and did not seem to heed us. Just then the tramp of horses
sounded from the front of the house, and Jessie exclaiming with a little
impatience, "Dear me!" walked quickly to the square balcony. I followed
her, and saw Mr. Lee standing at the foot of the steps ready to mount.
He was giving some orders to the groom, and seemed particularly anxious
about the horse which Mrs. Dennison was to ride.
Jessie's face flushed, and a look of proud surprise came across it. Mr.
Lee turned his head that way and called out,--
"Why, Jessie, where is your habit? I never found you late before."
Jessie did not answer, but passed me, descending to the terrace and down
the flight of steps. She spoke to her father, looking back anxiously.
After the first words, he started and seemed taken by surprise. Even
from the distance I could see a flood of crimson rush to his forehead.
They both ascended the steps together. Mr. Lee went to the tower, and
Jessie ran up-stairs to put on her riding-dress.
I went up to help her, but walked slowly; everything conspired to
depress me that morning. One serpent was enough to destroy the perfect
happiness of Eden. Our little paradise seemed changing after the same
fashion, and yet no one could tell why.
Jessie was buttoning her habit as I went in. She looked restless and
hurt.
"Aunt Matty," she said, "I have a great mind to give up this ride; the
thought of meeting that gentleman troubles me. Look how my hands
tremble."
Yes, the serpent was doing its work. Even our sweet, honest Jessie was
beginning to cover up her true feelings under false issues. It was
something nearer home than the dread of an unwelcome offer that made her
so nervous. For the first time since her remembrance Mr. Lee had
forgotten his wife. But for Jessie's interposition, he would have ridden
away without inquiring after her. I recollected how he had blushed when
reminded of this.
Of course, I could not speak of the true cause of this discontent, the
delicate reticence becoming to a daughter was too sacred for that; but I
said quickly,--
"Yes, yes, darling, you must go. It is your duty."
She looked at me earnestly, then dropping her eyes, went on with her
preparations.
A second time Mrs. Dennison came to her chamber. Our coldness the day
before had left no impression on the materialism of her nature.
Sparkling with cheerfulness, and brilliant with smiles, she swept in,
bending her flexible whip into a ring, with both hands, and letting it
free again with a prolonged snap.
"All ready? That's right, my Lady Jess! The day is heavenly, and our
cavaliers are coming up the road!"
"Thank heaven!" I heard Jessie whisper, as she drew on her gantlets.
If she fancied that the coming of Mr. Bosworth and his friend would
release Mr. Lee, and leave him at liberty to spend his morning with the
invalid, she was disappointed in the result, though not in the fact.
Just as the party were mounting, he appeared on the terrace, and,
descending the steps, joined them, whip in hand.
I watched all these movements keenly; why, it would have been impossible
for me to explain even to my own judgment; but shadows tormented me at
this time, and all my senses were on the alert. Mr. Lee rode by his
daughter, leaving his guest to the other gentlemen, between whom she
rode triumphantly, as Queen Elizabeth may have entered Kenilworth,
flirting royally with her handsomest subjects. Jessie and her father
seemed to be conversing quietly, as I had seen them a hundred times
riding down that road.
CHAPTER XV.
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
After the party was out of sight, I went into Mrs. Dennison's room to
see that the maid had performed her duty, as was my custom; for I had
assumed these light cares in the household, and loved them from the fact
that they attached an idea of usefulness to my residence in the house.
Everything seemed in order. Cora, the mulatto girl, was busily arranging
the dress her mistress had just taken off. Ear-rings and a brooch of
blue lava were lying on the toilet, and the pretty cap, with its
streamers of black velvet and azure ribbon, hung upon one of the
supports of the dressing-table, as she had left them.
I looked for the basket of mossrose-buds, but it was gone; some buds
were opening in one of the toilet-glasses, but that was all. Why had the
widow Dennison taken such pains to put the basket out of sight?
"What have you done with the basket?" I inquired very quietly of the
girl. "If you wet the moss again, we can fill it with fresh flowers."
"What basket, Miss?" inquired the girl, lifting her black eyes
innocently to my face.
"The basket you brought in here last evening."
"Oh, that!" she continued, dropping her eyes; "I've made so many of them
things that mistress doesn't seem to care for 'em any more."
"You--you make them?"
"Yes, indeed! Is there any harm, Miss?" she said, lifting her eyes
again, with a look of genuine earnestness.
"And you arranged those buds in the moss?"
"Yes, indeed!"
"And placed the half peach among them?"
"Was there any harm, Miss?"
"The half peach--after an Oriental fashion?"
"Dear me! I hope there wasn't any harm in the gardener's letting me have
that one. It was the first I had seen this year, so I couldn't give up
more than I did; but it was the biggest half that I saved for the
mistress."
Nothing could be more natural than her dawning contrition, nothing more
satisfactory than the solution she had given to a subject that had kept
me awake half the night. What a fool I had been! Was I, in fact,
becoming fanciful and old-maidish--ready to find error in shadows, and
crimes in everything? Heaven forbid that anything so unwomanly and
indelicate as this should come upon me.
Was it possible that I, in the waning freshness of my life, had begun to
envy brighter and handsomer women the homage due to their attraction,
and had thus become suspicious? The very idea humiliated me; I felt
abashed before that mulatto girl, who sat so demurely smoothing the
folds of her mistress's breakfast-dress across her lap. It seemed as if
she must have some knowledge of the mean suspicion that had brought me
there. How artful and indirect my conduct had been! In my heart I had
rather plumed myself on the adroit way in which my questions had been
put regarding that annoying basket. Now, I was heartily ashamed of it
all, and stole out of the room bitterly discomfited.
In shutting the door, I glanced back; the girl was looking up from her
work. The demure expression had left her face, the black eyes flashed
and danced as they followed me; but the moment my look met hers, all
this passed away so completely, that my very senses were confused, and
the doubts that I had put aside came crowding back upon me.
I went up to Mrs. Lee's room. She was resting on the lounge, sound
asleep; but her face seemed cold as well as pale. There was a strange
look about it, as if all the vitality were stricken out; yet she
breathed evenly, and though I made some noise in entering, it did not
disturb her in the least.
I sat down on a low chair by the side of her couch; for Jessie had
desired me to sit by her during all the time I could command. Thus I was
placed close to the gentle sleeper. The deathly stillness in which she
lay troubled me; it seemed too profound for healthy slumber. One little
hand fell over the couch. I took it in my own, and passed my other hand
softly over it. Strange enough, she did not move, but began to murmur in
her sleep, while a cold, troubled cloud contracted her forehead.
"Ah! now I can see everything--everything; they are cantering by the old
mill. I haven't seen it before in years. How beautifully the shadows
fall on the water; the waves are tipped with silver; the trees rustle
pleasantly! No wonder they draw up to look at the mill; it always was a
picturesque object!"
She was following the equestrians in her dreams--those strange dreams
that seemed to drink up all the color and warmth from her body.
According to the best calculation I could make, the party would have
reached the old mill about this time. It stood under the curve of the
precipitous banks, a mile or two up the river, and Mr. Lee had spoken of
riding that way at breakfast. Thus it seemed more than probable that the
party was exactly as she fancied it. Mr. Lee had doubtless informed her
what route he would take, and so her imagination followed him while her
frail form slumbered.
She stirred uneasily on her pillow, drew her black eyebrows together,
and spoke again:--
"Why does he leave my Jessie? She don't want to be left with that young
man;--and he, poor fellow! how frightened he is! What is that he is
saying? Wants to marry my Jessie! Alas! how the heart shrinks in her
bosom! My poor child! he should not distress you so! Yet it is an honest
heart he offers--full of warmth, full of goodness! Can't you understand
that, my darling?"
After this speech she lay quiet a few minutes, and then spoke like one
who had been examining something that puzzled her.
"Jessie, Jessie! what is this? Why does your heart stand still while he
speaks to her? It troubles me, darling. I am your mother, and this thing
disturbs me more than you can guess. You have driven one away--he
retreats to the rear, heart-broken. That other one comes up. Who is he?
what is he? Ask her, for she is watching him, and her loaded heart
follows after, though he, my husband, is by her side."
Here she dropped into silence again, only breaking it by faint moans,
and a single ejaculation, "Oh, not that! not that!"
Her face grew so painfully wan, and she gave evidence of so much inward
anguish, that I was constrained to arouse her. My voice made no
impression, and the clasp of my hand only threw her into a more deathly
slumber. I began to comprehend her state. I had heard of deep trances,
when the soul seems released from the body, or is gifted with something
like prophecy. I knew, or believed, that this was an unhealthy state,
the result of disease, or the offspring of a badly balanced
organization; and this thought horrified me; there was something of the
supernatural in it that filled my soul with awe. By the contraction of
her pale forehead, I saw that there was some distress in the head; so
lifting my hand, I passed it across her brow, hoping to soothe away the
pain.
Certainly, the face became calm, a smile stole across the lips, and
after a moment her eyes opened, and looked vaguely around, as a child
awakes from its sleep.
CHAPTER XVI.
AFTER DREAMING.
"I have been asleep," said Mrs. Lee, pleasantly; "sound asleep. When did
you come in?"
"Only a short time since."
"And you have been sitting here while I slept?"
"Yes; after a restless night, I fancied a quiet sleep would do you no
harm."
"Harm? It has given me strength."
"Do you think so?"
She smiled.
"Have you been dreaming again?" I inquired, a little anxiously.
"Dreaming? No, my sleep was profound, perfect rest. But where is Jessie?
She sat where you are when I fell off."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, I remember--her left hand held mine, with her right she was
soothing the pain from my forehead."
"That was some time ago; she has gone out to ride since, and I am quite
sure Mr. Lee came up here after she left you," I said.
"I am glad of it," she answered, gently. "He was rather late this
morning, I remember thinking; but Jessie would not own it. So he came
up, and I did not hear him. Miss Hyde, this is the first time in my
whole life that his lightest footstep failed to awake me,--what can it
mean?"
"Yes," broke in Lottie, who had been hanging around the door, unnoticed;
for we had all become so used to her presence in that room, that it was
no more heeded than that of the canary-bird in its cage on the
balcony,--"yes, ma'am, Mr. Lee came up with his spurs on, and his whip
all ready, just like a trooper, clang, clang, clang. I thought the noise
would make you jump out of the window in that white, loose gown, just
like an angel with its wings spread; but law! there you were, ma'am,
snoozing away right in his face, and he making up his mind, with the
whip in his hand, whether to kiss you good-bye or not."
"And did he?" inquired the lady, with a faint flush of the cheek.
"No, ma'am; I suppose he was afraid of scaring you out of that nice
sleep. He only looked at you sort of earnestly, and went off trying to
walk on tiptoe; but mercy! didn't them boots creak?"
"I thought not," murmured the lady, with infinite tenderness in her
voice; "I must have been dead if that failed to arouse me."
"Lor, Mrs. Lee," continued the maid, spreading her flail-like arms in
illustration, "I wish you could have seen that new widder-woman when
them two gentlemen helped her on to the horse. Didn't her dress swell
out--and didn't she keep Mr. Lawrence a-tinkering away at her stirrups,
with one foot in his hand, till it made me sick looking on. Awful 'cute
lady that is, Miss Hyde; you ain't no match for her, nohow!"
I really think that witch of a girl was gifted with something almost
like second sight. I never had a secret taste or dislike that she did
not understand at once, and drag it out in some blundering way before
the whole world.
"What makes you think so, Lottie?" I inquired, a little annoyed.
"Because you're straightforward right out, and flat-footed honest; and
she--oh my!"
"What makes you say, 'oh my!' Lottie?"
"Nothing, Miss Hyde; only I've got eyes, and can see right through a
mill-stone, especially when there's a hole in the middle. Perhaps you
can't, then again perhaps you can; I don't dispute anything; only, as I
said before, that widder-woman is too 'cute for such a mealy-mouthed
lady as you are. My!--wouldn't she ride over you rough-shod and with
spurs to her slippers!"
We spoiled that girl. She was neither servant, companion, nor protegee,
and yet partook of the position which three such persons might have
occupied in the family. She waited upon every one with the faithfulness
of a hound and the speed of a lapwing, seemed to be always in the
kitchen, constantly flitting through the parlor, yet never beyond the
sound of her mistress's voice. She belonged everywhere and nowhere in
the household. She had taken her position out of the kitchen entirely,
by refusing to sit down at the table there, whatever the temptation was,
she invariably carrying off the tray into her own little room, after the
mistress was served, taking her meals in solitary grandeur from frosted
silver and china so delicate that you could see a shadow through it.
Nay, she affected great elegance in this little room, which was a sort
of select hospital for all the old finery in the household. Lace
curtains, condemned as too much worn for the parlor-windows, after
passing through her adroit hands, appeared at the casement of her little
room transparent as new; silk hangings, when faded from their first
splendor, she managed to revive into almost pristine brightness. She
would cut out the freshest medallions from an old carpet, and make it
bloom out anew under her own feet. Then she had pretty knick-knacks and
keepsakes scattered about, which made her little nook quite a
boudoir--indeed, almost the prettiest one in the family.
Mrs. Lee was rather proud of her unique handmaiden's retreat; it
gratified her own exquisite sense of the beautiful; and, as the room
opened into her own, it was but a continuation of the refinements that
surrounded her.
In her dress, too, Lottie was more original than half the old pictures
one sees offered for sale. Jessie's cast-off dresses were remodelled by
her nimble fingers into a variety of garments really marvellous. Indeed,
Lottie was generally the most perfectly costumed person in our
household. No one felt disposed to check this exuberant taste in the
strange girl: it pleased the invalid, and that was reason enough for
anything in our family.
"Yes, I say it again," persisted the strange little creature, folding
her arms and setting her head on one side, "widders are monstrous smart,
up to a'most anything. I've often wished that I'd been born a widder
with both eye-teeth cut, as theirs always is--are, I meant. Lor! Miss
Hyde, you ain't a circumstance; just leave this one to me."
"Lottie, Lottie," said Mrs. Lee, shaking her head, "you speak too loud
and look bold, it isn't becoming. Besides, the guests in a house must
always be honored, never made subjects of criticism: in short, my good
child, we are spoiling you."
Lottie withered into penitence with the first words of this reproof.
When it was ended, a deep flush settled around her eyes, as if tears
were suppressed with difficulty.
"Spoiling me! not with kindness, I should die without that," she said,
half sitting down on the ottoman, half kneeling by the couch. "I won't
speak another word against that--that lady. There, I've got it out; say
you are not angry with me."
"Angry! no, my child. Only be careful not to say harsh things of any
one, it is a bad habit."
"I am sorry!"
"Well, well."
"Very sorry!"
"There, there, child, it is not so very terrible."
"I'll never call the lady a widder again. Never!"
Mrs. Lee smiled, and sent her into the next room. She seemed troubled
after the girl went out; for certainly tears had glittered in Lottie's
eyes, a thing I had never witnessed before.
"Go in, Miss Hyde, and comfort her, poor thing! It was cruel to reprove
her so harshly; but my temper is getting ungovernable."
It was almost amusing to hear that gentle creature condemn herself with
so little reason; but she would not be convinced that something of the
spirit of a Nero had not been manifest in that mild reprimand; so I went
into Lottie's room, much better disposed to give her a second lesson
than to console her for the first.
Miss Lottie had curled herself up in the window-seat, with both hands
clasped around her knees, and her face buried upon them.
CHAPTER XVII.
LOTTIE EXPRESSES HER OPINION OF THE WIDOW.
"Lottie," I said, going up to the girl, "what are you huddled up in that
place for? Is there nothing you can find to do more profitable than
pouting?"
"I'm not pouting, Miss Hyde," she said; "only grinding my teeth in peace
and comfort. Why can't you let me alone, I should like to know?"
"What folly! Do get down and act like a sensible creature."
"Well," she said, throwing herself off the window-seat with a
demi-summersault, which landed her in the middle of the room, "here I
am. What's wanted?"
It was rather difficult for me to say just that instant what I did want,
having only a charge of consolation on hand.
"Well," she added, "what have I done to you, Miss Hyde, that I can't be
allowed to sit still in my own room?"
"Nothing, Lottie; I was only afraid that you might be fretting."
Her eyes instantly filled with tears, which she dashed aside with her
hand.
"So I was; what's the use of denying it? She never said a cross word to
me before, and wouldn't now but for that Mrs. Babylon. I hate that
widder; I want to stomp her down under my feet. It makes me grit my
teeth when she comes sailing out into the garden, and looks up to Mrs.
Lee's window, just like a dog hankering after a bone."
"Why, how can you feel so bitterly, Lottie, about a person you never
spoke to a dozen times in your life?" I said, shocked and surprised by
her vehemence.
"Didn't I, though? How 'cute people can be with their eyes shut! Well, I
fancy that the widder and I are slightly acquainted--better than she
thinks for."
"Why, how can that be possible; you are always in Mrs. Lee's room?"
"Generally, generally--not always. There is hours in the morning, before
she gets up; hours in the evening, after she goes to bed; when I break
out, and do a little exploring about the premises. This morning I was in
Mrs. Babylon's room before any of you were up."
"Indeed! How did that happen?"
"That sneaking mulatto girl came to the chamber-door as I was passing,
and beckoned me to come in."
"And you went?"
"Me! Why not? If a girl never sinsatiates around, how is she to find out
what's going on? Besides, I wanted to know just how Babylon looked in
her own room; so, being invited, I went in."
"But what did she want of you?"
"Don't know. Something besides doing a braid up in eleven strands, I
surmise; but that was what she made believe it was about--just as if
that mulatto creature didn't understand that much of her business. I did
it though, meek as Moses--such hair! a yard long in the shortest part.
It was worth while trying a hand at it; but, after all, it seemed like
braiding copperheads and rattlesnakes. I hate to touch anybody's hair if
I don't like 'em; it makes me crawl all over."
"But why don't you like Mrs. Dennison?"
"Why--because I don't; and because you don't either."
I could not help smiling, and yet was half angry with the girl. She
shook her head gravely and went on:
"It wasn't the hair, Miss Hyde; that copper-colored girl knew more than
I did about it, often as I've braided for Miss Jessie."
"Then what did she want?"
"I've found out--never you fear."
"Well?"
"Can't tell anything about it. It's like a patch-work quilt in my mind,
the pieces all sorted, but not laid together; the colors will get
ship-shape by-and-by, and then I'll answer everything. She wants me to
come into her room every morning, and I'm going."
"What, when you dislike her so much?"
"Yes, in spite of that, and fifty times as much. I'm going to do up Mrs.
Babylon's hair for her."
"Well, well, I am glad you are not heart-broken about Mrs. Lee's mild
rebuke."
"Heart-broken! I'd die rather than have a real cross word from her; for
I tell you, Miss Hyde, if ever there was an angel with a morning-dress
and slippers on as a general thing, that angel is the lady in yonder.
Miss Jessie is considerable, and you sometimes come almost up to the
mark, but you can't hold a candle to her, neither one of you."
It was of no use reproving or questioning Lottie; she was in reality the
most independent person in the house, so I went away rather amused by my
efforts at consolation.
Earlier than I expected, the riding party came back. Everybody seemed a
little out of sorts. Jessie was pale and looked harassed. Young Bosworth
rode by her side, but it was with the appearance of a man returning from
a funeral. He lifted Jessie from the saddle. She reached forth her hand
before ascending the steps, and seemed to be speaking earnestly. I saw
him wring the hand with unusual energy, and spring to his saddle again.
As he was turning his horse, Mrs. Dennison rode up with Lawrence and Mr.
Lee. For a voice so musical, hers was rather loud, so I could distinctly
hear her call out,--
"Remember, Mr. Bosworth, your engagement for this evening; don't hope to
be excused."
Bosworth bowed, and rode slowly away; but Lawrence sprang from his
horse, and ran up the steps after Jessie, leaving Mr. Lee to help the
other lady from her saddle.
Jessie heard him coming, and fairly ran into the house, a piece of
rudeness that seemed to surprise him very much; but unlike as this was
to her usual manner, it did not astonish me. The dear girl's face was
toward me, and I saw that it was flushed with tears. Bosworth had
offered himself, and been refused, poor fellow! I was sure of that.
Mrs. Dennison laughed till her clear voice rang far out among the
flowers as she witnessed Lawrence's discomfiture. He colored a little
angrily, and would have passed her on the steps, but she took his arm
with exquisite coolness, and smilingly forced him into the house.
"Babylon's got two strings to her bow,--smart!"
This strange speech was uttered at my elbow. I looked round and saw
Lottie close to me.
"Better go up-stairs," she said, pointing over her shoulder; "she
wouldn't let me help her; you must."
Mrs. Dennison entered the upper hall. Her eyes sparkled, her lips curved
triumphantly. She had carried away her captive and exulted over him with
charming playfulness, which he answered in a low, impressive voice.
I went up-stairs, leaving them together: Jessie stood in the upper
passage leaning against the banister. She was pale as death, and her
lips quivered like those of a wronged child; but the moment she saw me,
the proud air natural to her returned, and she moved toward her room,
waving me back.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE UNWELCOME PROPOSAL.
It was true, Jessie had received the proposal she so much dreaded,
received it exactly as her mother had described the scene. If other and
deeper feelings prevailed with her, they were buried far out of sight
by the delicate reticence of a nature which shrunk from any revelation
of feelings which would, perhaps, never receive a generous response.
Though the most single-hearted and frank creature in the world, Jessie
would have died rather than confess feelings such as I fear occupied her
heart even at this time.
"Well, Aunt Matty, I have obeyed you," she said, with a sorrowful look
of the eyes, the moment we were alone together. "It breaks my heart, but
I have listened to all he could say, poor fellow! and it is over. What a
terrible, terrible thing it must be to love a person who does not care
for you. Oh! Aunt Matty, Aunt Matty! it is--" She hesitated, turned
crimson, and added, "it must be like death, worse than death; for to
crush one's pride is to deprive life of its dignity, and this thing I
have done for him."
"And do you begin to regret it?" I said, sitting down, and drawing her
head to my shoulder.
"Regret it? The thought oppresses me; I am so sorry for him; my heart
aches when I think of the look he gave me. Oh! why is it that love
cannot always be mutual?"
"That would destroy half its romance, I fear," said I, smiling in spite
of my sympathy in her distress.
She gave a little nervous laugh and said, "she supposed so; but it was
very hard to see a good man suffer disappointment and mortification such
as she had just witnessed. Some ladies might glory in these things, but,
for her part, she hoped never to have another offer in her life. It was
hard to give pain, harder by far than to endure it. Poor John Bosworth,
how wretched he must be!"
I strove to comfort her, for there was no affectation in all this. She
really did suffer all her broken speech implied, but she felt the
humiliation she had given too keenly for argument.
"He bowed himself before me as if I were a queen; and to be rejected
after all, it was very cruel!" she exclaimed, excitedly; "but what
could I do? There was Mrs. Dennison--but no matter about her."
Jessie stopped suddenly, and a flame of crimson spread and glowed in her
cheeks.
"You don't like Mrs. Dennison, Aunt Matty?" she said, after a moment's
silence.
"No, I never did like her," was my prompt reply.
"She is a strange woman," said Jessie, thoughtfully; "so brilliant, so
full of attractions, everybody is charmed with her at first sight. I
was."
"And now?" I suggested.
She looked at me a moment, then smiled, a little bitterly, I thought,
and said,--
"Who can help like--admiring her?"
Something was wrong in that quarter; I was sure of it. Two natures so
opposite as those of our Jessie and Mrs. Dennison could not long
harmonize under the same roof.
"Well," I said, smoothing the raven braids of Jessie's hair, "the worst
is over now. Mr. Bosworth will think all the better of you for being
truthful and honest; we shall have him for a friend still, never fear."
Jessie shook her head quite dejectedly.
"No, that can never be; these rides and invitations have been
misunderstood. He really thought I was encouraging him, when you know,
dear Aunt Matty, I hadn't the least idea of what it all meant. He talks
of going to Europe at once, or--or--"
"Or what?" I inquired, with an inclination to smile; "drown himself by
the old mill, perhaps?"
She glanced at me a little roguishly, and said, with a half-sigh, "Yes,
aunt, I believe he almost threatened that."
"So much the better," I said, gravely enough; for she was on the alert
for any signs of ridicule. "The disappointment that takes that form is
not killing."
"Don't!" she said, with a contraction of the forehead, which gave
evidence of real pain, "the very remembrance of his face is a reproach
to me; and there _they_ sat so quietly in the shade of a tree enjoying
the scenery. To them, I dare say, the world contained nothing else to
think of. Mrs. Dennison even pointed at us with her whip, as if we made
up the figures of a picture."
"Well, but she did not know," I suggested.
"Heaven forbid!"
We were interrupted then, and Jessie went to her mother, whose gentle
sympathy was always at command, though the cause of grief might be
unexplained. The presence of that woman was like a calm autumn day--it
saddened while it made you better.
CHAPTER XIX.
OUT UPON THE RIDGE.
I could not divine why it was, but for some reason Mrs. Dennison
appeared ill at ease after her ride that morning. Mr. Lee was about the
house all day; but she rather avoided him, and disappeared altogether
from the square balcony, where he was in the habit of reading when the
shadows crept round to that side of the house.
Late in the day I went out for a walk, and, mounting the hill back of
the house, wandered along its upper ridge, where a thick growth of
hemlocks and forest-trees shut out a glorious landscape on either hand;
for this hill formed a spur of the mountains which partially separated
two broad valleys. That on the east I have already described; but the
other and broader space of country could only be commanded from one or
two prominent points on the ridge. A large rock, fringed with ferns and
mountain pinks, marked one of these spots. A footpath led to it through
the trees, and, as the rock crowned a precipitous declivity of several
hundred feet, it ended there.
I sat down upon the rock weary from my long walk, and gazed dreamily
upon the broad plain at my feet. It was in a state of beautiful
cultivation: a large county-town lay under the shelter of the near
mountains, over which a cloud of smoke floated from the numerous iron
foundries in full blast in the environs. The breaks and gossamer
floating of this cloud interested me, not the less because its source
was in the useful development of the resources of a great commonwealth.
I loved to think that with every wreath of that graceful vapor came
assurance of bread for the working-man, and profits to the capitalist;
for to me such thoughts give dignity to the beautiful. I am not one of
those who would object to having the waters of Niagara lowered half an
inch, if it would give the poor better and cheaper flour.
Well, as I was saying, the hives of industry which lay in the hazy
distance made the landscape one of peculiar interest. The signs of rich
cultivation upon the undulating grounds stretching to a range of the
Blue Ridge, so far away that the mountain peaks seemed embankments of
clouds, took a new aspect every time I saw them.
Like the busy city, every beautiful object conveyed an under-thought of
prosperity; even the distant noise of some forges under the mountain
sounded harmonious in connection with the broad scene.
As I sat looking upon this glorious picture, reflecting that my beloved
country could boast of thousands on thousands equally rich, both in
beauty and thrift, a footstep in the grass disturbed me, and, turning my
head, I saw Mrs. Dennison walking slowly along the footpath.
The woman was in deep thought, and evidently did not observe me, for I
was sitting on a slope of the rock, and a mossy fragment rose up between
us. She held a letter in her hand, which seemed to give her anything but
pleasure, for as she read, a cloud fell heavily on her forehead, and the
beautiful brows contracted. She stopped in the middle of the footpath,
and seemed to read the letter over a second time. During all this time
she was so near to me, that I could distinguish the heavy sigh with
which she folded the paper.
After this she stood a moment gazing upon the landscape at her feet. She
seemed to feel the beauties this glorious point of view presented, and
her face cleared up.
That moment I spoke to her. She gave a little start, hid the letter away
somewhere in the folds of her dress, and sat down upon the rock. That
woman, I do think, never took a position which did not at once settle
into lines of grace. Just then the scarlet folds of her shawl fell in
rich contrast with the green mosses of the rock and cool foliage of the
trees, and I could not help observing that, even for my sake, she
condescended to be artistic.
"Ah, Miss Hyde, I am glad to find you here; these woods were getting
lonesome," she said, pleasantly.
"But it is not lonesome here," I replied; "this moment I was thinking
what a cheerful idea of life the whole scene yonder presented."
"Yes," she answered, looking toward the distant city; "after all,
civilization has its fine points, even in a picture. I do not wonder you
love this spot, if it were only from its contrasts. A moment back, I was
almost chilled by the lonely murmur of the pines, and the dull sweep of
waters answering them; surely there is some river near, Miss Hyde."
"Yes, at the foot of this hill."
"Oh! true, I can see gleams of water through the gloom. How steep it
is!"
"Yes, almost a precipice," I answered. "One would not like to attempt a
descent."
"Indeed, I would rather like it. If one had a mania for suicide now, it
would be a romance. A single false step, and you could hardly hear the
plunge or a cry for help, if the actor were coward enough to give it.
The waters are very black and sullen down yonder."
I turned away from them with a shudder; this idea of death and crime
which she had advanced chilled me. The waters did, indeed, look black as
we saw them weltering on through the piny gloom far below us.
"Do you know," she said, smiling blandly upon me, "I found a pretty
bird's-nest under a tuft of fern-leaves up yonder, with four lovely
speckled eggs? My red shawl frightened the poor birds, and they made a
terrible fluttering; so, in pity to the little creatures, I came away
only half satisfied."
"Oh! you have found my nest!" I exclaimed, thanking her kindness from
the depths of my heart. "My own little birds; they have built in that
spot for three years; I dare say some of the birds hatched under those
broken leaves are singing to us now. No one ever molests them here."
"Indeed I did them no harm; only took one little peep at the eggs and
ran away; so, don't look so terrified; the birds did not seem half so
much frightened."
I smiled and dropped the subject. The truth is, I really am silly about
my birds, and always keep their hiding-places secret, if I can, even
from Jessie, who does not understand their dainty habits as I do.
Mrs. Dennison busied herself looking about on the landscape.
"Tell me," she said, "whereabouts is that delightful old mill which we
stopped at this morning? I do assure you, Miss Hyde, it is the most
picturesque bit that I ever saw out of a picture; this river must be the
stream on which it stands."
"Yes," I answered; "but the mill is not visible from here."
"We had a delightful five minutes examining it," she resumed, "that is,
my good host, Mr. Lawrence, and myself. As for our sweet Jessie and her
cavalier-lover, must I say--"
"Jessie Lee has no lovers," I answered, coldly, for there was something
in the side-glance of her almond-shaped eyes that I did not like,--a
sinister questioning that aroused all the original distrust that her
simple manner had, for a time, laid to rest.
"Indeed! What, no lover? and she so beautiful, such a peculiar style! I
thought young Bosworth was something more than a neighborly cavalier; a
fine young fellow, Miss Hyde, and a catch, isn't he?"
"I don't know exactly what you mean by a catch, madam," I replied, more
and more repulsed.
"Oh! I see; not worldly enough for boarding-school vulgarisms; but I,
who am naughty enough to remember them now and then, will explain that
there is nothing very terrible in a 'good catch.' It only means a
handsome, fashionable, and rich man, whom every marriageable young lady
is dying for and only one can get."
"Then our young neighbor will not answer to the character, for he is
neither fashionable nor more than comfortably rich; nor has he any
number of young ladies dying for him."
"Only one, perhaps?"
The same sidelong glance, the same crafty undercurrent in her
questioning.
"If you mean Jessie, Mrs. Dennison, I am very sure she has no such
feelings as you suspect, toward any one."
"Oh, I dare say not; one always likes to talk nonsense about such
things, but it amounts to nothing. Of course, people are always
expecting hosts of lovers when an heiress is in question, and Miss Lee
has the reputation of immense expectations."
"Yes," I answered, artfully, "I am afraid Jessie will be very rich,
indeed. Along that valley she will own land enough for a small
principality, if such things were recognized in this country, and many a
smoke-wreath that you see curling up from the city yonder comes from the
dwellings that will yet be hers, and so will several foundries that are
coining money for her out of iron."
Mrs. Dennison's eyes kindled. "Show me," she said, eagerly, and shading
her eyes with one hand, "where does the land lie--this principality of
which Jessie will be mistress?"
"Yonder to the left, around and far beyond that hill."
"The hill with so many grassy slopes, and crested with groves? That
hill, and the lands around it, will it surely be Jessie Lee's
inheritance?"
"Every foot of land, every smoke that curls from several blocks of
houses in the centre of the city."
"And does Mr. Lee have all this income?"
"Every cent."
Her eyes sparkled. Fresh roses bloomed out on her cheeks. She threw out
her arm, and waved it inward, as if gathering the property in one
sweeping embrace.
"Ah! what a world of enjoyment you or I could get out of all that if it
were ours!" she said, with unaccountable exultation in her voice. "No
wonder he lives like a prince."
I answered her with constraint. This enthusiasm disturbed me.
"I am not sure, madam, that either you or I would be happier for
possessing so much care as this wealth would bring; for my part, that
which I enjoy without responsibility, is enough."
Her beautiful mouth curled with a sneer, the first I ever saw on those
lips.
"Ah! it requires taste and habits of power to prepare one for these
things; some people are born with them. Some people are born for them,
and others--"
"Well?" I said, smiling with satisfaction that she had at last broken
loose from her system of crafty adulation.
"And others," she said, adroitly, "are so gentle and unselfish, that
they live in the happiness of their friends. It would be a pity to
cumber such with all the anxieties of wealth; one would as soon think of
weighing the angels down with gold."
I declare, the quickness of that woman frightened me. The sneer left her
lips in a glow of smiles before it was formed. Her eyes were bent on my
face innocent as a child's. She sat down by me, folding the scarlet
shawl lightly around her.
CHAPTER XX.
ADROIT CROSS-QUESTIONING.
"Now that we are talking of rich people," said Mrs. Dennison, with an
air of the most natural confidence, "do tell me about this Mr. Lawrence.
Is he very much in love with our Jessie, or not?"
"I never heard or thought that he was in love with her, Mrs. Dennison."
"Nor she with him?"
The question stung me. It gave form to a painful thought that had been
growing in my heart, and I felt myself blushing hotly under her glance.
"Mrs. Dennison, are such questions honorable?"
"Not if you cannot answer them without blushes. I beg pardon."
"Are they delicate?" I urged, angrily.
"Not if they touch her friends so keenly. Again I beg pardon."
"Mrs. Dennison," I said, conquering the anger that burned in me like a
fire, "excuse me if I seem rude, but if there is anything of excitement
in my manner, it is because I am not used to canvassing the feelings of
my friends, even with those nearest and dearest to me."
"And me you consider a stranger," she said, deprecatingly.
"Almost," I replied, with blunt truth.
"And one whom you cannot like?"
I bit my lips to keep back the words that pressed against them.
"At my age, Mrs. Dennison, new feelings spring up slowly in the heart."
She made another desperate attempt at my weak side.
"At your age? My dear Miss Hyde, am I to judge what it is by that smooth
cheek, or by your words?"
"I am afraid it is best to be judged of by the slow growth of feelings
such as we speak of," I replied, gravely.
She looked down sadly, and tears came trembling into her eyes. I really
think she felt it. Her habits of fascination were such that she was
doubtless wounded that they could fail even with so unimportant a person
as I was.
"You are unkind, I would say unjust; only that feeling is seldom a
matter of choice. But I, who was prepared to love you as the friend of
dear Jessie, who did like you so much at the first sight, it does seem a
little cruel that you should meet all this with repulsion."
Her tears made me uncomfortable; one had fallen to her cheek, and hung
on its roses like a dew-drop. A man, I think, would have yielded to her
then and there; a quiet person of her own sex was not likely to be so
impressible. But her grief touched me, and feeling that there had been
something of rudeness in my speech, I strove to soften it.
"Not repulsion, Mrs. Dennison, but we country people are a little on the
reserve always. Do not think me unkind because I do not care to talk
much of those who trust and shelter me."
She laid her hands on mine and smiled sweetly through her tears.
"You are right. It was all rash childishness, not curiosity; how could
it be when dear Jessie tells me everything with her own sweet lips?"
I longed to draw my hand from under hers, but conquered the impulse, and
seemed to listen with patience at least.
"But we will drop our sweet Jessie," she said, "and talk of some one
else--Mr. Lawrence, for instance. Are you sure that he is not really
poor?"
"Indeed, I cannot tell. He lives in another State, and may be rich or
poor, for aught we know of a certainty; all that I can say is, that his
friend Bosworth never represented him as wealthy to us."
"That is a pity," she said, thoughtfully, "a great pity; an heiress
stands no chance with such men."
I started, feeling as if it were Jessie she was speaking of.
"And why, pray?" was my sharp response.
"Ah! these splendid men, proud and poor, how can you expect them to face
the world as fortune-hunters? After all, wealth has its drawback. I
often pity a girl with money, for the most sensitive and the most noble
keep aloof. I can imagine a man like this Lawrence now wearing his heart
out, or turning it to iron if it brought him to the feet of an heiress.
Such men like to grant, not take."
"Isn't that a sort of proud selfishness?" I asked, struck by the force
and truth of her worldly knowledge.
"Selfishness? Of course it is. What else do we find in the noblest
nature? But you are looking serious, and I have watched that cloud of
smoke till it wearies me."
She arose while speaking, and walked away, passing through the trees
like some gorgeous bird whose home was beneath the branches.
I watched her with a strange feeling of excitement. What would her
object be in cross-questioning me as she did? Was it mere vulgar
curiosity, or some deep-seated purpose? Why this anxiety about Jessie's
expectations? In short, had the woman come to us bent on mischief of
some kind, or was I a suspicious wretch, determined to find evil in
everything?
CHAPTER XXI.
THE EVENING AFTER BOSWORTH'S PROPOSAL.
That evening Messrs. Lawrence and Bosworth came, according to some
previous engagement. I was a little surprised at this, but after awhile
saw that a generous and noble motive lay at the bottom of it all. Jessie
had besought Bosworth to remain her friend; he had promised, and thus
generously kept an engagement made before his proposal, and when it must
have been a painful sacrifice.
Nothing could be more delicate and lovely than Jessie's manner of
receiving him. She neither colored nor looked down, but came toward him
with a deprecating stoop of the whole person, while there was a depth of
sadness in her eyes that more than begged pardon for the wound she had
given.
Bosworth was grave, but very gentle in his reception of this kindness.
He moved toward a far end of the room, and they sat down together,
talking earnestly to each other.
Mr. Lee was in the room and watched them rather gravely, I thought; but
Mrs. Dennison, who was chatting merrily with Lawrence, called him to her
side, and after that he seemed to forget everything but her.
Being left to myself, I was crossing the room to go out, when Jessie
beckoned me to the sofa, where she was sitting.
"Ah! Miss Hyde," she said, earnestly, "try and persuade Mr. Bosworth to
give up his wild plan of going away."
"And have you really formed such an idea?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, striving to smile; "one cannot loiter forever in these
pleasant country places. I have been a dreamer too long."
"But not yet," I pleaded, answering the appeal in Jessie's eyes; "you
will not go in this unfriendly way."
"Unfriendly?" he repeated, glancing at Jessie. "No, I shall never do
that; never feel unfriendly toward any of you, Miss Hyde."
"But we cannot spare you, and I am quite sure Mrs. Dennison will be
heart-broken if--" I hesitated, conscious of the impropriety contained
in these impulsive words.
"Oh! Mrs. Dennison will never be quite heart-broken at anything, I
fancy," he replied, with a faint smile; "but if you really desire it, I
will not break up the arrangements of our guests. A few weeks more or
less need make little difference in a life-time."
Jessie brightened at this, and looked so gratefully on her rejected
lover, that he smiled, but very mournfully, as if reproaching her for
being so kindly and yet so firm.
Early in the evening, Mrs. Lee's little maid, Lottie, came into the
parlor, and after casting her bright eyes in every corner of the room,
went up to her master and whispered something. Mr. Lee arose and went
out. I beckoned Lottie, and asked if her mistress was worse?
"No, Miss Hyde, I can't say that she is, or that she isn't; because she
hasn't said a word about it. But she isn't asleep, and it seems lonesome
up there, within hearing of all the fun, and not know what it is about.
For how Mrs. Bab--how that lady's voice rings through the tower when she
laughs."
"Yes," said I, "she has a clear, sweet voice."
Lottie gave an almost imperceptible toss of the head.
"Besides," she said, drawing me aside, and speaking in a low voice,
"mistress can look right into the window where those people stand; I
don't know as she did, but I can."
"Well; could you discover more than we did, who are in the room,
Lottie?"
The toss of her head was defiant now, but she made no other reply,
except to whisper, "Mrs. Babylon is coming this way, and I'm off."
"Stop," I said; "did Mrs. Lee send for--for any of us?"
"Send? No; but she expected, and being all alone evenings is what she
isn't used to."
"I'll go up at once."
"There now, always flying off! It isn't you she wants."
"How do you know that, if she asked for no one in particular?"
"How do I know? Well, that's good! As if I didn't know the difference
between her wanting you and him! When she wants you, it's all quiet and
don't-care-much-about-it in her looks. When he ought to be there, and
isn't, something comes into her eyes that makes your heart ache. I never
saw it till lately; but that look is growing on her, and would more, if
it wasn't for me."
"Why, how can you prevent it, Lottie?"
"Well, in a good many ways, Miss Hyde. One of 'em is by nice little lies
that hurt nobody, but do her lots of good. I know just how he makes
bouquets, and when they don't come at the right time, I run down and
make up a bunch of flowers myself. I stole some pink and blue ribbons
from his room to tie 'em with. Oh! it's worth while to see her eyes
sparkle when I bring them in. Then I've studied his way of sending
compliments and messages. Don't pretend to be a genius like you that
write poetry."
"Lottie!"
"Oh! don't be frightened. I sha'n't bring you to disgrace about it. Made
up my mind to that from the first. You needn't get mad and blush so; I
ain't a genius, but I can make up stories in my head; and why not tell
'em to her? Why not, I say, when they please her? You should hear the
elegant messages I bring from Mr. Lee, at least four times a day. When
she gets a nice little dish for dinner, it gives her appetite to think
he ordered it; but the cook knows."
"But, Lottie, this is wrong."
"Wrong! Well, I like that, Miss Hyde."
"It isn't the truth, Lottie."
"The truth! Who said it was? As if I didn't know it was lying, and glory
in it!"
I could hardly keep my countenance. As for arguing a moral question with
Lottie, the thought was too ridiculous. She had her own ideas, and kept
to them without the slightest regard to those of other people.
While we were talking, Lottie had gradually edged herself out of the
room, and her last speech was delivered on the platform of the terrace.
Mrs. Lee's window was up, and I saw her husband enter the room with what
seemed to me a reluctant step. He sat down, and opened a book, as if to
read aloud. This had been his usual custom, but the last few evenings he
had spent in the drawing-room. I would have taken his place, but she
rejected my offer with one of those deep sighs that excite so much pity
when they come from an invalid.
"You talk against fibs, Miss Hyde; now what do you think of that? She
never would 'a' sent for him--died first, like a lamb starving in the
cold. Hist! there comes Mrs. Babylon and her private beau."
True enough, Mrs. Dennison and Lawrence had passed through one of the
drawing-room windows, and were slowly coming down the terrace platform,
which, as I have said, ran around one end and the back of the house. It
afforded a fine promenade, and they were enjoying the moonlight that
fell upon it. My attention was occupied by them a moment, during which
Lottie disappeared. The railing of this platform was lined with a rich
shrubbery of hot-house plants, lemon-trees, tall roses, and such
creeping vines as bear most choice blossoms. These cast heavy shadows,
and I fancy that the girl disappeared among them,--listening, perhaps,
being considered as one of the accomplishments which she devoted to the
benefit of her mistress.
When I went back to the drawing-room, Jessie was at the piano, and
Bosworth sat near, watching her sadly as she played. She did not attempt
to sing, and he offered no request of the kind. Altogether, it was a
gloomy evening. Really, I think this idea of turning love into
friendship is an absurd way of settling things. Throwing ashes on hot
embers only keeps the fire in more certain glow. Jessie was young, and
had no idea of prudence in such matters. I did not quite understand the
undercurrent of her nature, but, in my heart, thought it best that
Bosworth should leave the neighborhood.
The next morning I saw Lottie coming out of Mrs. Dennison's room,
looking demure as a house-cat.
"I've taught 'em how to do another braid," she said, innocently. "If
they tangle it, you know, I ain't to blame."
CHAPTER XXII.
SOWING SEED FOR ANOTHER DAY.
After our conversation on the ridge, Mrs. Dennison made the best of her
advantages, and, having ingratiated herself into the room of our
invalid, managed to pass a good deal of her time there. I think Mrs.
Lee, without knowing it herself, exercised a little selfishness in this;
for it happened--so naturally that I never should have observed it but
for Lottie--that Mr. Lee visited his wife more frequently when his guest
was there than at any other time. Indeed, it was not many days before
the invalid ceased almost entirely to see him alone.
After my attention was drawn to this by one of Lottie's curt sayings, I
noticed another thing that troubled me more than Mrs. Dennison's visits.
Cora, the mulatto girl, was constantly following her mistress to the
room, asking for orders, or reminding Mrs. Dennison of something that
she had been desired to remember. She made one or two efforts to fix
herself in Lottie's apartment, but that singular female rebuffed the
first attempt, by standing square in the door, and asking point-blank if
there were anything in that room which Cora wanted. The girl answered,
"No," and went away rather crestfallen.
It is very difficult to repress the aggressions of a guest under your
own roof, especially one who invariably disarms you with honeyed words
and apologies for anything that threatens to offend. It was not for me
to regulate a visitor's movements in Mr. Lee's house; and so adroitly
were they managed, that no power, however on the alert, could have
reached them.
To my surprise, Lottie, all of a sudden, not only seemed to lose her
animosity to the widow, but hung about her with assiduity almost equal
to that bestowed on her mistress. But one thing was remarkable: none of
her bright sayings, or exhibitions of sharp, good sense were manifested
in Mrs. Dennison's presence. With her she was dull and quiet, nay,
almost stolid. I have heard her ask questions with the most innocent
air, which a child of three years old could have answered. It was
surprising how anything so near a witch in her real nature could tame
herself into that lump of stupidity. She was a great deal in Mrs.
Dennison's room; and once I saw them seated together on the hill-side,
talking earnestly. Still, for several days nothing happened worthy of
remembrance.
Mr. Lee and the widow rode out once or twice without Jessie, who,
feeling a little hurt for her mother's sake, decided to remain at home
and sit with the gentle invalid. I do not know that she observed it, but
there certainly was very little entreaty used to induce her to join
them. Indeed, upon the third morning nothing was said on the subject;
Jessie was not even invited.
One day, just after Mr. Lee and his guest had ridden from the door, Mr.
Lawrence called. He had seen them from a distance, he said, and came to
inquire after Miss Lee's health. The flood of crimson that rushed over
Jessie's face, when I told her this, made my heart beat heavily. She
arose, and went down, avoiding my anxious glance as she passed me.
The doors were all open, but I heard no voices in the drawing-room; they
must have been talking very low: what did that portend between two
persons perfectly alone? So anxious had I become that it seemed to me as
if some harm were intended our Jessie among these strange people. She
had never seemed really happy since their advent among us. Indeed, there
had been little of comfort for any one.
What passed between Jessie and Lawrence I learned afterward. But only so
far as a young girl can force herself to speak of things pertaining to
her affections. One thing is certain: when she came up-stairs, after his
departure, a look of uncertain joy pervaded her face, and she breathed
quickly. I asked no questions, and was not surprised that she said
little about the interview. After that day Jessie's manner became more
elastic; and from some words that escaped, I am confident that, up to
this time, she had fancied Lawrence engaged to Mrs. Dennison; or, at
the least, ready at any moment to assume that position. Indeed, the
widow had told her as much.
The next day Jessie was invited to join Mr. Lee and his guest in their
ride; but she refused it coldly, nay, almost haughtily. Her father, for
the first time in his life, seemed really angry with her. He said
nothing, however, but rode forth with a flush on his brow.
Again Mr. Lawrence called, or would have called, but that he saw Jessie
wandering off toward the pine woods, and followed her. I saw them
sitting a long time on a garden-chair stationed on the skirts of the
grove, but said nothing to any one, not even to herself when she came
down the hill, alone, with a light in her eyes that I had never seen
there before.
I think Lawrence must have made five or six of these morning visits
before they were suspected by any one in the house. Cora was generally
busy in her mistress's room all the forenoon, and Lottie took the
occasion of Mrs. Dennison's absence to sit with loving watchfulness by
our invalid, only too happy if a low word or patient smile rewarded her
devotion. But it came out at last.
One day I went suddenly upon the terrace platform, and found Cora
standing close by one of the drawing-room windows, with her shoulder
against the framework. The blind swinging open concealed her from any
person within; and the position she maintained, while sorting the shades
from some skeins of worsted that she held, was that of careless rest.
She moved indolently, and sauntered away on seeing me; but it was with a
heavy, sullen manner, as if she had been unwarrantably disturbed. I
looked into the sitting-room in passing, and, as I expected, Lawrence
and Jessie were sitting on a sofa close to that window.
Mrs. Dennison was in splendid spirits when she came back from her ride
that day. There was something triumphant in her step which put one in
mind of some handsome Amazon returning from battle. She leaned heavily
on Mr. Lee, as he lifted her from the saddle; nay, I am certain that she
rested against him a moment longer than was necessary.
Jessie was standing near me, but noticed none of these things. Noble
girl, she was never on the lookout for evil. Her upright mind tinted
everything with its own pure hues.
Mr. Lee stayed a long time, giving orders about the horses. When he came
up the steps, I had an opportunity of observing him closely. He was
pale, and looked strange. I cannot describe what I wish to be
understood, but all the influences that had so long dwelt around that
man seemed swept away. The very dignity of his tread was gone. What had
occasioned this? I know now, and never doubted then. The woman sweeping
through our hall, at the moment, had produced this transformation; yet
no words had passed between them that his own daughter might not have
heard without reproof.
Mrs. Dennison gave us a triumphant glance, as she passed the balcony
where we were standing, and proclaimed that she had never enjoyed a ride
so much. It was a heavenly day, and the landscape transcendent.
Jessie smiled softly, and turned a bright glance on my face, which said,
more plainly than Mrs. Dennison's words, "I, too, have had a heavenly
day, which will go with my dreams into many another day, making an Eden
of them all."
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN OUTBREAK OF JEALOUSY.
In a few moments Mrs. Dennison came out of her chamber, still in her
riding-habit. She was pale as death, her eyes gleamed, and her lips
quivered. She dashed into the balcony, and laid her hand on Jessie's
shoulder with such rude suddenness, that the young girl drew back with
an impulse of surprise.
"What is the matter, Mrs. Dennison?"
Mrs. Dennison looked at her a moment, subdued the quivering of her lips
with a great effort, and broke into a laugh so hoarse and constrained
that Jessie shrunk back.
"What is the matter?" she said. "Why, nothing; only we have but just
time to dress for dinner, and here you stand as if the whole world could
wait."
I could see that her frame was trembling from head to foot. The color
would not come back to her face. With all her powers, she was but a
woman, and a jealous woman at the best. From that moment I felt very
sure that Cora had performed her mission promptly. Jessie could not
understand it, but stood looking at her guest in blank amazement.
"You have ridden too far," she said, coldly, "and the fatigue has shaken
your nerves, I fear. Shall I send for a glass of wine? it will be some
time before dinner."
"Wine? no; but--but I will take a glass of water, if you please, Miss
Hyde."
Jessie seemed anxious to get away, for she started before I could
anticipate her to order the water, and I was left alone with Mrs.
Dennison. Her self-command was giving way again. She sat down, and,
covering her face with both hands, shook from head to foot; but she did
not weep. Something too hard and fiery for tears possessed her.
"Yes," she said at last, "Miss Lee is right! These long rides do shake
one's nerves terribly!"
Directly Jessie came bringing a glass of water. With her usual delicacy,
she would not intrust the duty to a servant, who might witness her
friend's discomposure and comment upon it.
Mrs. Dennison held the water a moment, regarding Jessie with gleaming
eyes, as if she longed to dash the contents in her face; but the insane
fit went off. She drank the water, and arose to leave the balcony.
"I am not usually nervous, but this ride has completely upset me."
With these words she left the balcony and went back to her room.
"She is very ill, I am sure, Aunt Matty," said Jessie, full of gentle
sympathy; "pray go and see if nothing more can be done?"
I went to Mrs. Dennison's chamber and knocked; no one came or spoke. But
the door stood upon the latch, and the vibration of my hand unclosed it.
Mrs. Dennison was standing in the middle of the room, white with rage,
and with specks of foam on her lips. She was tearing open her habit with
a violence that made the buttons start. The face with which she met my
intrusion was that of a beautiful fiend.
I closed the door and went back repulsed. But without giving me time to
cross the hall, she came to the door, opened it wide, and called me in
with a laugh.
"Come back one moment," she said, "and tell me which of these two
dresses is most becoming. That which I had intended for dinner, Cora has
been altering, and she has spoiled it entirely. I confess, Miss Hyde,
that my temper is not good enough to stand a pet dress in ruins. The
fact is, I have frightened poor Cora half to death."
Quick as lightning, while her mistress spoke, Cora laid some dresses on
the bed, apologizing, in a low voice, for the mischief she had done. If
I had possessed no clue to the scene, it would have deceived me
completely; but I comprehended it too well, and absolutely felt myself
growing faint with disgust.
"I am no judge in these matters," I said, without any pretence at
cordiality; "nor would my opinion be of the least consequence if I were.
Your dresses always prove becoming, Mrs. Dennison."
"The first compliment I ever received from you," she answered,
impressively; "I shall remember it with gratitude."
I went quietly out of the room, tired of the scene.
A little while after this, Lottie came to me with one of her keen
smiles, and, opening her hands, which were folded palm to palm, gave me
one glimpse of a little note, primrose-tinted, and sealed with a drop of
green wax, in which an antique head was stamped.
"What is it? whom is it for?" I inquired, thinking that it must be
intended for Jessie.
"You'll see to-night, or to-morrow morning," she answered. "Mrs. Babylon
writes on handsome paper; I won't use white any more. I'll say this for
her: when it comes to dress and pretty things, she can't be beat easy.
Don't quite come up to Mrs. Lee: who can?--but putting her aside, I
don't know Mrs. Babylon's match."
"And is that Mrs. Dennison's note?"
"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies."
"But how came it in your possession?"
She eyed me a moment sideways, then broke forth as if some grand thought
had just seized upon her.
"Now, I'll make a bargain with you, Miss Hyde. If you'll just persuade
my mistress, or Miss Jessie, to buy me half a dozen sheets of that
straw-colored paper, I'll tell you all about it."
"But what can you want of primrose paper, Lottie,--you that never write
letters?"
"No; but I may take to writing poetry; who knows?"
She said this with a twinkle of the eye that provoked me. How on earth
had that creature got hold of my secret weakness?
"It isn't at all likely that you'll want paper for that purpose, Miss
Lottie."
"Miss Lottie--Miss! Well now, I have always said that if there was a
genuine lady, and no nonsense in this house, it was you, ma'am. Even my
mistress hasn't got up to that mark--Miss Lottie! Wouldn't that look
beautiful on a yellow note like this? Miss Lottie--"
She plumed herself, like a bird, in the ecstasy of my random speech, and
both her hands and her heart opened at once.
"Now, I'll tell you all about it! There's no secret, and if there is, I
didn't promise not to tell; that is, down in my heart. Cora came to me
just now, and says she, 'Lottie, you know all the men about the
premises, I suppose?'
"'Well, pretty much,' says I.
"'I thought so,' she said. 'Now, here is a little note that my mistress
wants to have sent right off. If you can coax one of the men to take a
horse from the stable, and just gallop over to Mr. Bosworth's with it,
and bring an answer back, she'll give you that dress you took such a
fancy to.'
"'Well,' says I, 'hand over the note; I'll get it done.' She had been
holding the note seal up all the time, and says she, 'Lottie'--not Miss
Lottie, mind--but, 'Lottie, can you read writing?'
"'Can you?' says I.
"'No,' says she; 'colored people seldom do.'
"'Well, then I don't.'
"'Well, this note is for a lady that is staying at Mr. Bosworth's; she's
an old friend of Mrs. Dennison's, and we want to hear from her.'
"'All right,' says I. 'If you hadn't told this, it would be Greek and
Latin to me.'
"She handed over the note, and told me to put it in my bosom for fear of
its being seen. So I did; and came here, but not till I had read Mr.
Lawrence's name on the outside. Now, Miss Hyde, just tell me what to
do."
"There is one thing you must not do, Lottie, and that is, tempt any of
the men from their duty."
"But then that dress! Light green foulard, with bunches of roses--sweet
roses!"
"Wait a moment, Lottie; we must not do anything without Mr. Lee's
sanction: that will never answer."
I went up to Mr. Lee, who was sitting in the window recess, apparently
reading, and asked if he could spare a horse and man long enough to ride
over to Mr. Bosworth's.
"Who wishes to send?" he inquired, indifferently.
"Mrs. Dennison," I answered, not unwilling to give him the information.
He held the paper a little tighter in his hand, repeating:
"Mrs. Dennison! What correspondent has she at Mrs. Bosworth's?"
There was an effort at indifference in his voice, but it did not conceal
that he was touched.
I did not feel at liberty to answer his question, and said nothing.
After a moment's silence, he said,--
"Certainly, Miss Hyde. Our guests always command here."
I went back to Lottie, and told her to carry Mr. Lee's orders to the
stable, and, if she wished it, claim her reward. She seized my hand in
an ecstasy of delight.
"Oh! Miss Hyde, I never will talk about poetry again, never so long as I
live; but I'll tell everybody that you don't know a thing about it, no
more than I do; and I believe it."
With this outburst she went away. Directly after, I saw one of the
grooms riding down the road. Two hours after, he came back, and gave
Lottie, who was waiting near the pine woods, with great appearance of
secrecy, a note, with which she went at once to Mrs. Dennison, evidently
resolved to keep up appearances, and leave her employers in the belief
that the whole thing had been managed privately.
I had thrown the subject of the note quite off my thoughts, when the
groom, who had been to Mr. Bosworth's, came to me in the garden with
distressing news.
Poor young Bosworth was ill--so ill, that he had not been out of his
room for some days; and his mother desired very much that I should come
over and see him. He had spoken of it several times, and, now that he
was growing worse, she could refuse him nothing. It was asking a great
deal, but would I come at the earliest time possible?
This was indeed sad news. I liked the young man. He was honorable,
generous, and in all respects a person to fix one's affections
upon--that is, such affections as a lady just dropping the bloom of her
youth may bestow on the man who looks upon her as a sort of relat
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