The Hand But Not the Heart
by
T.S. Arthur
Part 1 out of 4
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THE HAND BUT NOT THE HEART;
OR, THE LIFE-TRIALS OF JESSIE LORING.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
NEW YORK:
1858.
THE HAND BUT NOT THE HEART.
CHAPTER I.
"PAUL!" The young man started, and a delicate flush mantled his
handsome face, as he turned to the lady who had pronounced his name
in a tone slightly indicative of surprise.
"Ah! Mrs. Denison," was his simple response.
"You seem unusually absent-minded this evening," remarked the lady.
"Do I?"
"Yes."
"You have been observing me?"
"I could not help it; for every time my eyes have wandered in this
direction, they encountered you, standing in the same position, and
looking quite as much like a statue as a living man."
"How long is it since I first attracted your attention?" inquired
the person thus addressed, assuming an indifference of manner which
it was plain he did not feel.
"If I were to say half an hour, it would not be far wide of the
truth."
"Oh, no! It can't be five minutes since I came to this part of the
room," said the young man, whose name was Paul Hendrickson. He
seemed a little annoyed.
"Not a second less than twenty minutes," replied the lady. "Your
thoughts must have been very busy thus to have removed nearly all
ideas of time."
"They _were_ busy," was the simple reply. But the low tones were
full of meaning.
Mrs. Denison looked earnestly into her companion's face for several
moments before venturing to speak farther. She then said, in a
manner that showed her to be a privileged and warmly interested
friend--
"Busy on what subject, Paul?"
The young man offered Mrs. Denison his arm, remarking as he did so--
"The other parlor is less crowded."
Threading their course amid the groups standing in gay conversation,
or moving about the rooms, Paul Hendrickson and his almost maternal
friend (sic) souhgt a more retired position near a heavily curtained
window.
"You are hardly yourself to-night, Paul. How is it that your evenly
balanced mind has suffered a disturbance. There must be something
wrong within. You know my theory--that all disturbing causes are in
the heart."
"I am not much interested in mental theories to-night--am in no
philosophic mood. I feel too deeply for analysis."
"On what subject, Paul?"
A little while the young man sat with his eyes upon the floor; then
lifting them to the face of Mrs. Denison, he replied.
"You are not ignorant of the fact that Jessie Loring has interested
me more than any maiden I have yet seen?"
"I am not, for you have already confided to me your secret."
"The first time I met her, it seemed to me as if I had come into the
presence of one whose spirit claimed some hidden affinities with my
own. I have never felt so strangely in the presence of a woman as I
have felt and always feel in the presence of Miss Loring."
"She has a spirit of finer mould than most women," said Mrs.
Denison. "I do not know her very intimately; but I have seen enough
to give me a clue to her character. Her tastes are pure, her mind
evenly balanced, and her intellect well cultivated."
"But she is only a woman."
Mr. Hendrickson sighed as he spoke.
"_Only_ a woman! I scarcely understand you," said Mrs. Denison,
gravely. "_I_ am a woman."
"Yes, and a true woman! Forgive my words. They have only a
conventional meaning," replied the young man earnestly.
"You must explain that meaning, as referring to Jessie Loring."
"It is this, only. She can be deceived by appearances. Her eyes are
not penetrating enough to look through the tinsel and glitter with
which wealth conceals the worthlessness of the man."
"Ah! you are jealous. There is a rival."
"You, alone, can use those words, and not excite my anger," said
Hendrickson.
"Forgive me if they have fallen upon your ears unpleasantly."
"A rival, Mrs. Denison!" the young man spoke proudly. "That is
something _I_ will never have. The woman's heart that can warm under
the smile of another man, is nothing to me."
"You are somewhat romantic, Paul, in your notions about matrimony.
You forget that women are 'only' women."
"But I do _not_ forget, Mrs. Denison, that as you have so often said
to me, there are true marriages in which the parties are drawn
towards each other by sexual affinities peculiar to themselves; and
that a union in such cases, is the true union by which they become,
in the language of inspiration, 'one flesh.' I can enter into none
other. When I first met Jessie Loring, a spirit whispered to me--was
it a lying spirit?--a spirit whispered to me--'the beautiful
complement of your life!' I believed on the instant. In that I may
have been romantic."
"Perhaps not!" said Mrs. Denison.
Hendrickson looked into her face steadily for some moments, and then
said--
"It was an illusion."
"Why do you say this, Paul? Why are you so disturbed? Speak your
heart more freely."
"Leon Dexter is rich. I am--poor!"
"You are richer than Leon Dexter in the eyes of a true woman--richer
a thousandfold, though he counted his wealth by millions." There
were flashes of light in the eyes of Mrs. Denison.
Hendrickson bent his glance to the floor and did not reply.
"If Miss Loring prefers Dexter to you, let her move on in her way
without a thought. She is not worthy to disturb, by even the shadow
of her passing form, the placid current of your life. But I am by no
means certain that he _is_ preferred to you."
"He has been at her side all the evening," said the young man.
"That proves nothing. A forward, self-confident, agreeable young
gentleman has it in his power thus to monopolize almost any lady.
The really excellent, usually too modest, but superior young men,
often permit themselves to be elbowed into the shade by these
shallow, rippling, made up specimens of humanity, as you have
probably done to-night."
"I don't know how that may be, Mrs. Denison; but this I know. I had
gained a place by her side, early in the evening. She seemed
pleased, I thought, at our meeting; but was reserved in
conversation--too reserved it struck me. I tried to lead her out,
but she answered my remarks briefly, and with what I thought an
embarrassed manner. I could not hold her eyes--they fell beneath
mine whenever I looked into her face. She was evidently ill at ease.
Thus it was, when this self-confident Leon Dexter came sweeping up
to us with his grand air, and carried her off to the piano. If I
read her face and manner aright, she blessed her stars at getting
rid of me so opportunely."
"I doubt if you read them aright," said Mrs. Denison, as her young
friend paused. "You are too easily discouraged. If she is a prize,
she is worth striving for. Don't forget the old adage--'Faint heart
never won fair lady.'"
Paul shook his head.
"I am too proud to enter the lists in any such contest," he
answered. "Do you think I could beg for a lady's favorable regard?
No! I would hang myself first!"
"How is a lady to know that you have a preference for her, if you do
not manifest it in some way?" asked Mrs. Denison. "This is being a
little too proud, my friend. It is throwing rather too much upon the
lady, who must be wooed if she would be won."
"A lady has eyes," said Paul.
"Granted."
"And a lady's eyes can speak as well as her lips. If she likes the
man who approaches her, let her say so with her eyes. She will not
be misunderstood."
"You are a man," replied Mrs. Denison, a little impatiently; "and,
from the beginning, man has not been able to comprehend woman! If
you wait for a woman worth having to tell you, even with her eyes,
that she likes you, and this before you have given a sign, you will
wait until the day of doom. A true woman holds herself at a higher
price!"
There was silence between the parties for the space of nearly a
minute. Then Paul Hendrickson said--
"Few women can resist the attraction of gold. Creatures of
taste--lovers of the beautiful--fond of dress, equipage, elegance--I
do not wonder that we who have little beyond ourselves to offer
them, find simple manhood light in the balance."
And he sighed heavily.
"It is because true men are not true to themselves and the true
women Heaven wills to cross their paths in spring-time, that so many
of them fail to secure the best for life-companions!" answered Mrs.
Denison. "Worth is too retiring or too proud. Either diffidence or
self-esteem holds it back in shadow. I confess myself to be sorely
puzzled at times with the phenomenon. Why should the real man shrink
away, and let the meretricious fop and the man 'made of money' win
the beautiful and the best? Women are not such fools as to prefer
tinsel to gold--the outside making up to the inner manhood! Neither
are they so dim-sighted that they cannot perceive who is the man and
who the 'fellow.' My word for it, if Miss Loring's mind was known,
you have a higher place therein than Dexter."
Just then the two persons of whom they were speaking passed near to
them, Miss Loring on the arm of Dexter, her face radiant with
smiles. He was saying something to which she was listening,
evidently pleased with his remarks. The sight chafed the mind of
Hendrickson, and he said, sarcastically--
"Like all the rest, Mrs. Denison! Gold is the magnet."
"You are in a strange humor to-night, Paul," answered his friend,
"and your humor makes you unjust. It is not fair to judge Miss
Loring in this superficial way. Because she is cheerful and social
in a company like this, are you to draw narrow conclusions touching
her heart-preferences?"
"Why was she not as cheerful and as social with me, as she is now
with that fellow?" said the young man, a measure of indignation in
the tones of his voice. "Answer me that, if you please."
"The true reason is, no doubt, wide of your conclusions," answered
Mrs. Denison. "Genuine love, when it first springs to life in a
maiden's heart, has in it a high degree of reverence. The object
rises into something of superiority, and she draws near to it with
repressed emotions, resting in its shadow, subdued, reserved, almost
shy, but happy. She is not as we saw Miss Loring just now, but more
like the maiden you describe as treating you not long ago with a
strange reserve, which you imagined coldness."
"Woman is an enigma," exclaimed Hendrickson, his thoughts thrown
into confusion.
"And you must study, if you would comprehend her," said Mrs.
Denison. "Of one thing let me again assure you, my young friend, if
you expect to get a wife worth having, you have got to show yourself
in earnest. Other men, not half so worthy as you may be, have eyes
quite as easily attracted by feminine loveliness, and they will
press forward and rob you of the prize unless you put in a claim. A
woman desires to be loved. Love is what her heart feeds upon, and
the man who appears to love her best, even if in all things he is
not her ideal of manhood, will be most apt to win her for his bride.
You can win Miss Loring if you will."
"It may be so," replied the young man, almost gloomily. "But, for
all you say, I must confess myself at fault. I look for a kind of
spontaneity in love. It seems to me, that hearts, created to become
one, should instinctively respond to each other. For this reason,
the idea of wooing, and contending, and all that, is painfully
repugnant."
"It may be," said Mrs. (sic) Dunham, "that your pride is as much at
fault in the case, as your manhood. You cannot bend to solicit
love."
"I cannot--I will not!" The gesture that accompanied this was as
passionate as the surroundings would admit.
"It was pride that banished Lucifer from Heaven," said Mrs. Denison,
"and I am afraid it will keep you out of the heaven of a true
marriage here. Beware, my young friend! you are treading on
dangerous ground. And there is, moreover, a consideration beyond
your own case. The woman who can be happy in marriage with you,
cannot be happy with another man. Let us, just to make the thing
clear, suppose that Jessie Loring is the woman whose inner life is
most in harmony with yours. If your lives blend in a true marriage,
then will she find true happiness; but, if, through your failure to
woo and win, she be drawn aside into a marriage with one whose life
is inharmonious, to what a sad, weary, hopeless existence may she
not be doomed. Paul! Paul! There are two aspects in which this
question is to be viewed. I pray to Heaven that you may see it
right."
Further conversation was prevented by the near approach of others.
"Let me see you, and early, Paul," said Mrs. Denison. It was some
hours later, and the company were separating. "I must talk with you
again about Miss Loring."
Hendrickson promised to call in a day or two. As he turned from Mrs.
Denison, his eyes encountered those of the young lady whose name had
just been uttered. She was standing beside Mr. Dexter, who was
officiously attentive to her up to the last moment. He was holding
her shawl ready to throw it over her shoulders as she stepped from
the door to the carriage that awaited her. For a moment or two the
eyes of both were fixed, and neither had the power to move them.
Then, each with a slight confusion of manner, turned from the other.
Hendrickson retired into the nearly deserted parlors, while Miss
Loring, attended by Dexter, entered the carriage, and was driven
away.
CHAPTER II.
IT was past the hour of two, when Jessie Loring stepped from the
carriage and entered her home. A domestic admitted her.
"Aunt is not waiting for me?" she said in a tone of inquiry.
"No; she has been in bed some hours."
"It is late for you to be sitting up, Mary, and I am sorry to have
been the cause of it. But, you know, I couldn't leave earlier."
She spoke kindly, and the servant answered in a cheerful voice.
"I'll sit up for you, Miss Jessie, at any time. And why shouldn't I?
Sure, no one in the house is kinder or more considerate of us than
you; and it's quite as little as a body can do to wait up for you
once in a while, and you enjoying yourself."
"Thank you, Mary. And now get to bed as quickly as possible, for you
must be tired and very sleepy. Good-night."
"Good night, and God bless you!" responded the servant, warmly. "She
was the queen there, I know?" she added, proudly, speaking to
herself as she moved away.
It was a night in mid-October. A clear, cool, moon-lit radiant
night. From her window, Jessie could look far away over the
housetops to a dark mass of forest trees, just beyond the city, and
to the gleaming river that lay sleeping at their feet. The sky was
cloudless, save at the west, where a tall, craggy mountain of vapor
towered up to the very zenith. After loosening and laying off some
of her garments, Miss Loring, instead (sic) off retiring, sat down
by the window, and leaning her head upon her hand looked out upon
the entrancing scene. She did not remark upon its beauty, nor think
of its weird attractions; nor did her eyes, after the first glance,
convey any distinct image of external objects to her mind. Yet was
she affected by them. The hour, and the aspect of nature wrought
their own work upon her feelings.
She sat down and leaned her head upon her hand, while the scenes in
which she had been for the past few hours an actor, passed before
her in review with almost the vividness of reality. Were her
thoughts pleasant ones? We fear not; for every now and then a faint
sigh troubled her breast, and parted her too firmly closed lips. The
evening's entertainment had not satisfied her in something. There
was a pressure on her feelings that weighed them down heavily.
"There is more in one sentence of his than in a a page of the
other's wordy utterances." Her lips moved in the earnestness of her
inward-spoken thoughts. "How annoyed I was to be dragged from his
side by Mr. Dexter just as I had begun to feel a little at my ease,
and just as my voice had gained something of its true expression. It
is strange how his presence disturbs me; and how my eyes fall
beneath his gaze! He seems very cold and very distant; and proud I
should think. Proud! Ah! has he not cause for pride? I have not
looked upon his peer to-night. How that man did persecute me with
his attentions! He monopolized me wholly! Perhaps I should be
flattered by his attentions--and, perhaps, I was. I know that I was
envied. Ah, me! what a pressure there is on my heart! From the
moment I first looked into the face of Paul Hendrickson, I have been
an enigma to myself. Some great change is wrought in me--some new
capacities opened--some deeper yearnings quickened into life. I am
still Jessie Loring, though not the Jessie Loring of yesterday. Have
I completed a cycle of being? Am I entering upon another and higher
sphere of existence? How the questions bewilder me! Clouds and
darkness seem gathering around me, and my heart springs upward, half
in fear, and half in hope!"
An hour later, and Miss Loring still sat by the closed window, her
eyes upon the gleaming river and sombre woods beyond, yet seeing
them not. The tall mountain of vapor, which had arisen like a
pyramid of white marble, no longer retained its clear, bold outline,
but, yielding to aerial currents, had been rent from base to crown,
and now its scattered fragments lay in wild confusion along the
whole sweep of the western horizon. Down into these shapeless ruins
the moon had plunged, and her pure light was struggling to penetrate
their rifts, and pour its blessing upon the slumbering earth.
A rush of wind startled the maiden from her deep abstraction, and,
as it went moaning away among the eaves and angles of the
surrounding tenements, she arose, and putting off her garments, went
sighing to bed. Dreams visited her in sleep, and in every dream she
was in the presence of Paul Hendrickson. Very pleasant were they,
for in the sweet visions that came to her, Paul was by her side, his
voice filling her ears and echoing in her heart like tones of
delicious music. They walked through fragrant meadows, by the side
of glittering streams, and amid groves with singing birds on all the
blossomy branches. How tenderly he spoke to her!--how reverently he
touched with his manly lips her soft white hand, sending such
electric thrills of joy to her heart as waking maidens rarely know!
But, suddenly, after a long season of blessed intercourse, a stern
voice shocked her ears, and a heavy hand grasped roughly her arm.
She turned in fear, and Leon Dexter stood before her, a dark frown
upon his countenance. With a cry of terror she awoke.
Day had already come, but no bright sun shone down upon the earth,
for leaden clouds were in the sky, and nature was bathed in tears.
It was some time before the agitation that accompanied Miss Loring's
sudden awakening, had sufficiently subsided to leave her mind
composed enough to arise and join the family. When she did so, she
found her aunt, Mrs. Loring and her cousins Amanda and Dora, two not
over refined school girls, aged fourteen and sixteen, awaiting her
appearance.
"You are late this morning, Jessie," said Mrs. Loring. Then, before
her niece had time to reply, she spoke to her eldest
daughter--"Amanda, ring the bell, and order breakfast at once."
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, aunt Phoebe," replied Jessie.
"I did not get to bed until very late, and slept too soundly for the
morning bell."
"You must have been as deeply buried in the arms of Morpheus as one
of the seven sleepers, not to have heard that bell! I thought Kitty
would never stop the intolerable din. The girl seems to have a
passion for bell-ringing. Her last place was, I fancy, a
boarding-house."
Mrs. Loring spoke with a slight shade of annoyance in her tones. Her
words and manner, it was plain from Jessie's countenance, were felt
as a rebuke. In a few moments the breakfast bell was heard, and the
family went down to the morning meal, which had been delayed full
half an hour beyond the usual time.
"Had you a pleasant time last evening?" inquired Mrs. Loring, after
they were seated at the table, and a taste of the fragrant coffee
and warm cakes had somewhat refreshed her body, and restored the
tranquillity of her feelings.
"Very," replied Jessie in an absent way.
"Who was there?"
"Oh! everybody. It was a very large company."
"Who in particular that I know?"
"Mrs. Compton and her daughter Agnes."
"Indeed! Was Agnes there?" said Mrs. Loring, in manifest surprise.
"Yes; and she looked beautiful."
"I didn't know that she had come out. Agnes must be very young--not
over seventeen. I am surprised at her mother! How did she behave
herself? Bold, forward and hoydenish enough, I suppose! I never
liked her."
"I did not observe any impropriety of conduct," said Jessie. "She
certainly was neither bold nor forward."
"Did she sing?"
"No."
"Probably no one asked her." Mrs. Loring was in a cynical mood.
"Yes; I heard her asked more than once to sing."
"And she refused?"
"Yes."
"Affectation! She wanted urging. She has had peculiar advantages,
and is said to possess fine musical ability. I have heard that she
is a splendid performer. No doubt she was dying to show off at the
piano."
"I think not," said Jessie, "for I heard her say to Mrs. Compton, in
an under tone, 'I can't, indeed, dear mother! The very thought of
playing before these people, makes my heart tremble. I can play very
well at home, when my mind is calm; but I should blunder in the
first bar here."
"Children should be left at home," said Mrs. Loring. "That is my
doctrine. This crowding of young girls into company, and crowding
out grown up people, is a great mistake; but, who else was there?
What gentlemen?"
"Mr. Florence."
Mrs. Loring curled her flexible lip.
"Mr. Dexter."
"Leon?"
"Yes."
The eyes of Jessie drooped as those of her aunt were directed in
close scrutiny to her face.
"He's a catch. Set your cap for him, Jessie, and you may ride in
your own carriage." There was a vulgar leer in Mrs. Loring's eye.
The color rose to Jessie's face, but she did not answer.
"Did he show you any attentions?" inquired the aunt.
"Yes. He was quite as attentive as I could desire."
"Indeed! And what does 'as you could desire,' mean?"
Jessie turned her face partly away to hide its crimson.
"Ah, well; I see how it is, dear. You needn't blush so. I only hope
you may get him. He was attentive, then, was he?"
"I have no reason to complain of his lack of attentions, said
Jessie, her voice cold and firm. "They would have been flattering to
most girls. But, I do not always give to compliments and 'company
manners,' the serious meanings that some attach to them."
"Jessie," Mrs. Loring spoke with sudden seriousness; "take my
advice, and encourage Leon Dexter. I am pleased to know that you
were so much an object of his attentions as your remarks lead me to
infer. I know that you will make him a good wife; one of whom he can
never be ashamed; and I know that a union with him will give you a
proud position."
"Will you waive the subject, at present, dear aunt?" said Jessie,
with a pleading look, at the same time glancing covertly towards her
cousins, who were drinking in every word with girlish eagerness.
"Oh, by all means," answered Mrs. Loring, "if it is in the least
annoying. I was forgetting myself in the interest felt for your
welfare."
"And so Mr. Dexter showed you marked attentions last evening?" said
Jessie's aunt, joining her in the sitting-room, after Amanda and
Dora had left for school.
"Did I say so, aunt?" inquired Jessie, looking into her relative's
face.
"You said enough to make the inference clear, my child."
"Well, Aunt Phoebe, he was attentive--more so, by a great deal, than
I desired!"
"Than you desired!" There was unfeigned surprise in the voice of
Mrs. Loring. "What do you mean, Jessie?"
"The man's position is all well enough; but the man himself is not
altogether to my liking."
"You must have grown remarkably fastidious all at once. Why, girl!
there isn't a handsomer man to be found anywhere. He is a noble
looking fellow! Where are your eyes?"
"The man that a wife has to deal with, is the man of the spirit,
Aunt Phoebe--the real man. The handsome outside is nothing, if the
inner man is not beautiful!" Jessie spoke with a sudden glow of
feeling.
"Stuff and nonsense, child!" said Mrs. Loring, impatiently. "Stuff
and nonsense!" she repeated, seeing that her niece looked steadily
into her face. "What do you know of the man of the spirit, as you
call it? And, moreover, what possesses you to infer that Mr.
Dexter's inner man is not as beautiful as the outer?"
"The soul looks forth from the eyes, and manifests its quality in
the tones of the voice," replied Jessie, a fine enthusiasm
illuminating her beautiful face. "No man can hide from us his real
character, unless we let self-love and self-interest draw an
obscuring veil."
"You are a strange girl, Jessie--a very strange girl!" Mrs. Loring
was fretted. "What can you mean? Here, a splendid fortune promises
to be poured into your lap, and you draw your garments aside,
hesitating and questioning as to whether the golden treasure is
worth receiving! I am half amazed at your conduct!"
"Are you weary of my presence here, Aunt Phoebe?" said Jessie, a
tremor in her low failing tones.
"Now give me patience with the foolish girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Loring,
assuming an angry aspect. "What has come over you, Jessie? Did I say
anything about being wearied with your presence? Because I manifest
an unusual degree of interest in your future welfare, am I to be
charged with a mean, selfish motive? I did not expect this of you."
"Dear aunt! forgive me!" said Jessie, giving way to tears. "My
feelings are unusually disturbed this morning. Late hours and the
excitement of company have made me nervous. As for Mr. Dexter, let
us pass him by for the present. He has not impressed me as favorably
as you seem to desire."
"But Jessie."
"Spare me, dear aunt! If you press the subject on me now, you will
only excite disgust where you hope to create a favorable impression.
I have had many opportunities of close observation, and failed not
to improve them. The result is"
Jessie paused.
"What?" queried her aunt.
"That the more narrowly I scan him the less I like him. He is
superficial, vain and selfish."
"How do you know?"
"I cannot make manifest to your eyes the signs that were clear to
mine. But so I have read him."
"And read him with the page upside down, my, word for it, Miss
Jessie Loring!"
Jessie answered only with a sigh, and when her aunt still pressed
her on the subject, she begged to be spared, as she felt nervous and
excited. So, leaving the sitting room, she retired to her own
apartment, to gather up, and unravel, if possible, the tangled
thread of thought and feeling.
CHAPTER III.
"THERE is a gentleman in the parlor, Miss Jessie," said Mary, the
chambermaid, opening the door and presenting her plain, but pleasant
face. It was an hour after Miss Loring had left her aunt in the
sitting room.
"Who is it, Mary?"
The girl handed her a card.
On it was engraved, PAUL HENDRICKSON. The heart of Jessie Loring
gave a sudden leap, and the blood sprung reddening to her very
temples.
"Say that I will be with him in a few minutes."
The servant retired, and Jessie, who had arisen as she received the
card, sat down, so overcome by her feelings, that she felt all
bodily strength depart.
"Paul Hendrickson!" she said, whispering the name. "How little did I
expect a visit from him! After our first interview last evening, he
seemed studiously to avoid me."
Then she arose hastily, but in a tremor, and made some hurried
changes in her dress. She was about leaving her room, when Mary
again presented herself.
"Another gentleman has called," and she handed another card. Jessie
took it and read LEON DEXTER!
Could anything have been more inopportune! Jessie felt a double
embarrassment.
"The fates are against me I believe!" she murmured, as, after a few
moments of vigorous expression of feeling, she left her room, and
descended to the parlor, entering with a light but firm tread.
Dexter stepped quickly forward, giving his hand in the most assured
style, and putting both her and himself entirely at ease. She smiled
upon him blandly, because she felt the contagion of his manner.
Hendrickson was more formal and distant, and showed some
embarrassment. He was not at ease himself, and failed to put Jessie
at ease.
After all were seated, Dexter talked freely, while Hendrickson sat,
for the most part silent, but, as Jessie felt, closely observant.
Light and playful were the subjects introduced by Mr. Dexter, and
his remarks caused a perpetual ripple of smiles to sparkle over the
countenance of Miss Loring. But whenever Mr. Hendrickson spoke to
her, the smiles faded, and she turned upon him a face so changed in
expression that he felt a chill pervade his feelings. She did not
mean to look grave; she did not repress the smiles purposely; there
was neither coldness nor repulsion in her heart. But her sentiments
touching Mr. Hendrickson were so different from those entertained
for Mr. Dexter; and her estimation of his character so widely
variant that she could not possibly treat him with the smiling
familiarity shown towards the other. Yet all the while she was
painfully conscious of being misunderstood. If she had met Mr.
Hendrickson alone, she felt that it must have been different. A
degree of embarrassment might have existed, but she would not have
been forced to put on two opposite exteriors, as now, neither of
which, correctly interpreted her state of mind, or did justice to
her character.
"I did not see much of you last evening, Mr. Hendrickson. What were
you doing with yourself?" she remarked, trying to be more familiar,
and giving him a look that set his pulses to a quicker measure.
Before he could answer, Dexter said, gaily, yet with covert sarcasm.
"Oh, Mr. Hendrickson prefers the society of elderly ladies. He spent
the evening in sober confabulation with Mrs. Denison. I have no
doubt she was edified. _I_ prefer maid to matron, at any time. Old
women are my horror."
Too light and gay were the tones of Dexter to leave room for
offence. Hendrickson tried to rally himself, and retort with
pleasant speech. But his heart was too deeply interested,--and his
mood too serious for sport. His smile did not improve the aspect of
his countenance; and if he meant his words for witticisms, they were
perceived as sarcasms. Jessie was rather repelled than
attracted--all of which he saw.
Conscious that he was wholly misrepresenting himself in the young
lady's eyes, and feeling, moreover, that he was only spoiling
pleasant company, Hendrickson, after a brief call, left the field
clear to his rival. Jessie accompanied him to the door.
"I shall be pleased to see you again, Mr. Hendrickson," she said, in
a tone of voice that betrayed something of her interest in him.
He turned to look into her eyes. They sustained his penetrating gaze
only for a moment and then her long lashes lay upon her crimsoning
cheeks.
"Not if I show myself as stupid as I have been this morning," said
the young man.
"I have never thought you stupid, Mr. Hendrickson."
"I am dull at times," he said, hesitating, and slightly confused.
"Good morning!" he added, abruptly, and turned off without another
look into the eyes that were upon him; and in which he would have
read more than his heart had dared to hope for.
"What a boor!" exclaimed Dexter as Miss Loring returned to the
parlor.
"Oh, no, not a boor, sir. Far, very far from that," answered the
young lady promptly.
"Well, you don't call him a gentleman, do you?"
"I have seen nothing that would rob him of the title," said Miss
Loring.
"A true gentleman will put on a gentlemanly exterior; for he is
courteous by instinct--and especially when ladies are present. A
true gentleman, moreover, is always at his ease. Self-possession is
one of the signs of a well bred man. Hendrickson is not well bred.
Any one who has been at all in society, can perceive this at a
glance. Did you notice how he played with his watch chain; crossed
his legs in sitting; took out his pencil case, and moved the slide
noisily backwards and forwards; ran his fingers through his hair;
exhibited his pocket-handkerchief half-a-dozen times in as many
minutes, and went through sundry other performances of which no well
bred man is guilty? I marvel, that a young lady of your refinement
can offer a word of apology for such things. I see in it only
kindness of heart; and this shall be your excuse."
So gaily were the closing sentences uttered; yet with so manifest a
regard softening the final words, that Miss Loring's rising anger
against the young man, went down and was extinguished in a pleasing
consciousness of being an object of marked favor by one whose
external attractions, at least, were of the highest order.
"But the subject is not agreeable to either of us, Miss Loring,"
said Dexter in a voice pitched to a lower tone, and with a softer
modulation. "I did not expect to find a visitor here at so early an
hour; and I fear that I have permitted myself to experience just a
shade of annoyance. If I have seemed ill-natured, pardon me. It is
not my nature to find fault, or to criticise. I rather prefer
looking upon the bright side. Like Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'I am a wide
liker.' There are times, you know, in which we are all tempted to
act in a way that gives to others a false impression of our real
characters."
"No one is more conscious of that than I am," replied Miss Loring.
"Indeed, it seems often, as if I were made the sport of adverse
influences, and constrained to act and to appear wholly different
from what I desire to seem. There are some of life's phenomena, Mr.
Dexter, that puzzle at times my poor brain sorely."
"Don't puzzle over such things, Miss Loring," said Mr. Dexter; "I
never do. Leave mysteries to philosophers; there is quite enough of
enjoyment upon the surface of things without diving below, into the
dark caverns of doubt and vague speculation. I never liked the word
phenomenon."
"To me it has ever been an attraction. I always seem standing at
some closed door, hearkening to vague sounds within and longing to
enter. The outer life presents itself to me as moving figures in a
show, and I am all impatient, at times, to discover the hidden
machinery that gives such wonderful motion.
"Morbid; all morbid!" answered Dexter, in a lively manner. "Dreams
in the place of realities, Miss Loring. Don't philosophize; don't
speculate; don't think--at least not seriously. Your thinkers are
always miserable. Take life as it is--full of beauty, full of
pleasure. The sources of enjoyment are all around us. Let us drink
at them and be thankful."
"You are a philosopher, I perceive," said Miss Loring, with a smile,
"and must have been a thinker, in some degree, to have formed a
theory."
"I am a cheerful philosopher."
"Are you always cheerful, Mr. Dexter?" inquired Miss Loring.
"Always."
"Never feel the pressure of gloomy states? Have no transitions of
feeling--sudden, unaccountable; as if the shadow of a cloud had
fallen over your spirit?"
"Never."
"You are singularly fortunate."
"Am I, Miss Loring?" and the young man's voice grew tender as he
leaned nearer to the maiden.
"I am blessed with a cheerful temper," he added, "and I cultivate
the inheritance. It is a good gift--blessing both the inheritor and
his companions. Neither men nor women are long gloomy in my
presence."
"I have often noticed your smiling face and pleasant words," said
Jessie, "and wondered if you moved always in a sunny atmosphere."
"You are answered now," he replied.
A little while there was silence. Jessie did not feel the repulsion
which had at first made Dexter's presence annoying; and as he drew
his chair closer, and leaned still nearer, there was on her part no
instinctive receding.
"Yes," she murmured softly, almost dreamily, "I am answered."
"Jessie." The young man's breath was on her cheek--his hand touching
her hand. She remained sitting very still--still as an effigy.
"Jessie." How very low, and loving, and musical was the voice that
thrilled along the chords of feeling! "Jessie; forgive me if I have
mistaken the signs." His hand tightened upon hers. She felt
spell-bound. She wished to start up and flee. But she could not.
There was a strange, overshadowing, half paralyzing power in the
man's presence. Without a purpose to do so, she returned the
pressure of his hand. It was enough.
"Thanks, dear one!" he murmured. "I was sure I had not mistaken the
signs. The heart has language all its own."
Still the maiden's form was motionless; and her hand lay passive in
the hand that now held it with a strong clasp. Yet, how wildly did
her heart beat! How tumultuous were all her feelings! How delicious
the thrill that pervaded her being!
"I love you, Jessie! Dear one! Angel! And by this token you are
mine!" said Dexter, his voice full of passion's fine enthusiasm. And
he raised her hand to his lips, kissing it half-wildly as he did so.
"The gods have made this hour propitious!" he added, as he drew her
head down against his bosom, and laid his ardent lips to hers.
"Bless you, darling! Bless you!" he went on. "My life is crowned
this hour with its chiefest delight! Mine! mine!"
Yet, not a word had parted the maiden's lips, thus spirited away, as
it were, out of herself, and strangely betrayed into consenting
silence. She had neither given her yea nor her nay--and dared as
little to speak the one as the other.
Almost bereft of (sic) physicial power, she sat with her face hidden
on the bosom of this impulsive lover, for many minutes. At last,
thought cleared itself a little, and, with a more distinct
self-consciousness, were restored individuality and strength. She
raised herself, moved back a little, and looked up into the face of
Mr. Dexter. The aspect of her own was not just what the young man
had expected to see. He did not look upon a countenance blushing in
sweet confusion; nor into eyes radiant with loving glances; but upon
a pale face, and eyes whose meanings were a mystery. Slowly, yet
persistently, did she withdraw her hand from his clasp, while slowly
her form arose, until it gained an erect position.
"You have taken me off my guard, Mr. Dexter," she said, a tremor
running through her voice.
"Say not a word, Jessie! say not a word! I am only too happy to have
taken your heart captive. You are none the less my own, whether the
means were force or stratagem."
"Speak not too confidently, sir. Have I"--
Mr. Dexter raised his hand quickly, and uttered a word of warning.
But were silent again. Then the young man said, his manner growing
deferential, and his voice falling to a low and subdued tone--
"Miss Loring, I here offer you heart and hand; and in making this
offer, do most solemnly affirm that you are precious to me as
life.--The highest boon I can crave from heaven is the gift of your
dear self."
As he spoke, he extended his hand towards her. But her own did not
stir from her lap, where it lay as still as if paralyzed.
"This is no light matter, Mr. Dexter," she said; still with the
huskiness and tremor which had before veiled her voice. "I cannot
decide on a thing of such infinite moment, in hot blood and on the
spur of a sudden occasion. You must give me time for reflection."
"The heart knows no time. It neither reasons nor deliberates; but
speaks out upon the instant, as yours has already done, Miss
Loring," replied Dexter, with reviving ardor.
"Time, Mr. Dexter, time! I must have time!" said Jessie, almost
imploringly.
But Dexter, who saw that time might turn the scale against him,
resolved to press his suit then to the final issue.
"I cannot accept delay," he answered, throwing the most winning
tenderness into his voice. "And why should you hesitate a moment?"
"My aunt"--murmured Jessie.
"Consult her with all maidenly formality. That is right--that is
prudent," he said, leaning again very near to her. "But, ere we
separate this morning, let me ask one question--I am not
disagreeable to you?"
"Oh, no, no, Mr. Dexter!" was the quick, earnest reply.
"Nor is your heart given to another?"
"No lips but yours have ever uttered such words as have sounded in
my ears this day."
"And no lips, speaking in your ears, can ever utter such words with
half the heart-warmth that were in mine, dear Jessie! True love is
ever ardent, and cannot wait. I must have a sign from you before I
leave. You need not speak; but lay your hand in mine," and he
reached his hand towards her.
It was a moment of strong trial. Again her thoughts fell into
confusion. Again a wild delicious thrill swept like a strain of
music through all her being. She was within the sphere of an
irresistible attraction. Her hand fluttered with a sudden impulse,
and then, moving towards the hand of Dexter, was seized and covered
with kisses.
"Thanks, dearest!" he murmured. "Thanks! By this token I know that I
am loved--by this token you are mine--mine forever! Happy, happy
day! It shall be the golden one in all the calendar of my life."
With the ardor of passion he drew her to his side again, and
clasping his arm around her, kissed her with all the fervor of an
entranced lover--kissed her over and over again, wildly.
All this was not mere acting on the part of Mr. Dexter. He did love
the sweet young girl as truly as men of his peculiar character are
capable of loving. He was deeply in earnest. There was a charm about
Jessie Loring which had captivated him in the beginning. She was
endowed with rich mental gifts, as well as personal beauty; and with
both, Dexter was charmed even to fascination. Superficial, vain of
his person, and self-satisfied from his position, he had not been
much troubled by doubts touching his ability to secure the hand of
Miss Loring, and by his very boldness and ardor, won his suit ere
she had sufficient warning of his purpose to throw a mail-clad
garment around her.
Dexter remained for only a short period after this ardent
declaration. He had penetration enough to see that Miss Loring was
profoundly disturbed, and that she desired to be alone. He saw with
concern that her countenance was losing its fine warmth, and that
the lustre of her eyes was failing. Her look was becoming more
inverted each moment. She was trying to read her heart, and
understand the writing inscribed thereon.
"I will see you this evening, Jessie," said Mr. Dexter, on rising to
depart. Their intercourse had already been touched with a shade of
embarrassment.
Miss Loring forced a smile and simply inclined her head. He bent
forward and kissed her. Passively--almost coldly was the salute
received. Then they parted. A film of ice had already formed itself
between them.
CHAPTER IV.
ON leaving Mr. Dexter, Jessie Loring almost flew to her room, like
one escaping from peril. Closing and locking the door, she crossed
the apartment, and falling forward against the bed, sunk down upon
her knees and buried her face in a pillow. She did not pray. There
was no power in her to lift a petition upwards. But weak, in
bewilderment of spirit and abandonment of will she bent in deep
prostration of soul and body.
It was nearly an hour before she arose. Very calm had her mind
become in this long interval--very calm and very clear. With the
plummet line of intense thought, quickened by keen perception, she
had sounded the depths of her heart. She found places
there--capacities for loving--intense yearnings--which had remained
hidden until now. The current of her life had hitherto run smoothly
in the sunshine, its surface gleaming and in breezy ripples. But the
stream had glided from the open meadows and the sunshine, and the
shadow of a great rock had fallen upon it. The surface was still as
glass; and now looking downward, she almost shuddered as sight
descended away, away into bewildering depths. She held her breath as
she gazed like one suspended in mid-air.
"Too late! too late!" she murmured, as she lifted herself up. "Too
late!"
Her countenance was pale, even haggard. There was no color in her
lips--her eyes were leaden--her aspect like one who had been shocked
with the news of a great calamity.
Mrs. Loring, Jessie's aunt, had been informed by the servant of whom
she made inquiry, as to the identity of the gentleman who had called
that morning to see her niece--or at least as to the identity of one
of them. She did not make out by the servant's description the
personality of Mr. Hendrickson, but that of Mr. Dexter was clear
enough. She was also informed that the one whose name she could not
guess, made only a brief visit, and that Mr. Dexter remained long,
and was for most of the time in earnest conversation with Jessie.
Her hopes gave her conclusions a wide latitude. She doubted not that
the elegant, wealthy suitor was pressing a claim for the hand of her
niece.
"Will she be such a little fool as to throw this splendid chance
away?" she questioned with herself. "No--no;" was the answer.
"Jessie will not dare to do it! She is a strange girl in some
things, and wonderfully like her mother; but she will never refuse
Leon Dexter, if so lucky as to get an offer."
Mrs. Loring heard Mr. Dexter leave the house, and with expectation
on tip-toe, waited for Jessie to join her in the sitting-room. But
while she yet listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs
below, her ears caught the light rustle of Jessie's garment as she
glided along the passages and away to her own chamber.
"Something has taken place!" said Mrs. Loring to herself. "There's
been a proposal, I'll bet my life on't! Why didn't the girl come and
tell me at once? Ain't I her nearest relative--and haven't I always
been like an own mother to her? But she's so peculiar--just as Alice
used to be. I don't believe I shall ever understand her."
And Mrs. Loring fretted a little in her moderate way, not being
capable of any very profound emotion. Ten, fifteen, twenty
minutes--half an hour she waited for Jessie to appear. But there was
no movement in the neighborhood of her chamber.
"Didn't Jessie go to her room, after the gentleman went away?" asked
Mrs. Loring, speaking to a servant, who was passing down the stairs.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is she there now?"
"I believe so ma'am. I haven't seen her anywhere about the house."
The servant passed on, and Mrs. Loring waited for full half an hour
longer. Then, unable to repress impatient curiosity, she went to
Jessie's room and knocked at the door. Twice she knocked before
there was a sound of life within. Then she heard footsteps--a bolt
was withdrawn, and the door opened.
"Jessie!" exclaimed Mrs. Loring, "how white you are! What has
happened?"
"Come in dear aunt!" said Jessie, "I have been wanting to see you;
but had not yet made up my mind to seek you in the sitting-room. I
am glad you are here."
Mrs. Loring passed in and Jessie closed the door.
"Take this seat aunt," and she pointed to an easy-chair: "I will sit
here," drawing a lower one close to that which Mrs. Loring had
taken.
"Now, dear, what has happened?" Mrs. Loring's curiosity had been so
long upon the stretch, that she could ill endure delay.
"Will you listen to me patiently, Aunt Phoebe?"
There was a calmness of manner about Jessie that seemed to Mrs.
Loring unnatural.
"Speak, dear--you will find me all attention."
"I am in a--strait. I must act; but cannot of my own reason,
determine what action is right," said Jessie, "you must think for
me, and help me to a just decision."
"Go on dear," urged Mrs. Loring.
Then as briefly and as clearly as possible, Jessie related all that
had passed in her excited interview with Mr. Dexter. On concluding,
she said with much earnestness of manner:
"And now, Aunt Phoebe, what I wish to know is this--will Mr. Dexter
be warranted in regarding either my words or my actions, as an
acceptance of his offer?"
"Certainly," was the unhesitating reply of Mrs. Loring.
"Aunt Phoebe!"
There was a tone of anguish in the voice of Jessie; and her pale
lips grew paler.
"Why, what can ail you, child?" said Mrs. Loring.
"I had hoped for a different decision. Mr. Dexter took me at
unawares. In a certain sense, I was mesmerized by the stronger
action of his mind, quickened by an ardent temperament.
Self-consciousness was for a time lost, and I moved and acted by the
power of his will. There was no consentation in the right meaning of
the word, Aunt Phoebe, and I cannot think I am bound."
"Bound, fully, in word and act Jessie," was Mrs. Loring's firmly
spoken answer. "And so every one will regard you. Mr. Dexter, I am
sure, will not admit your interpretation for an instant. He, it is
plain, looks upon you as affianced. So do I!"
"Oh, aunt! aunt!" cried Jessie, clasping her hands, "say not so! say
not so! Knowing, as you do, all that occurred, even to the utmost
particulars of my strange position in the interview, how can you
take part against me?"
"Take part against you, (sic) clild! How strangely you talk! One who
did not know Mr. Dexter, might suppose him to be an Ogre, or second
Blue Beard. I think the events of this morning the most fortunate of
your life."
"While I fear they will prove most disastrous," said Jessie.
"Nonsense, child! you are excited and nervous. There is always
something novel and romantic to a young girl in an offer of
marriage. It (sic) it the great event of her life. I do not wonder
that you are disturbed--though I am surprised at the nature of this
disturbance. Time will subdue all this. You have a beautiful life
before you, darling! The cherished bride of Leon Dexter must tread a
path of roses."
A long sigh parted the lips of Miss Loring, and her face, to which
not even the faintest tinge of color had yet returned, bent itself
downward. She was silent.
"You leaned your face against him?" said Mrs. Loring.
"He drew my head down. I had no power of resistance, aunt. There was
a spell upon my senses."
"You did not reject his ardent kisses?"
"I could not."
"And when he extended his hand, and asked you to lay your own within
it, as a sign and a token of love, you gave him the sign and the
token. Your hands clasped in a covenant of the heart! So he regarded
the act. So do I; and so will all the world regard it. Jessie, the
die is cast. You cannot retreat without dishonor."
"Will you leave me, aunt?" said Jessie, after a long silence. Her
tones were sad. "I am very much excited. All this has unnerved me. I
would like to be alone again."
"Better come down into the sitting-room," replied Mrs. Loring.
"No, aunt. You must let me have my way."
"Willful, and like your mother," said Mrs. Loring, as she arose.
"Was my mother willful?" inquired Jessie, looking at her aunt.
"Sometimes."
"Was she happy?"
"No. I do not think she ever understood or rightly appreciated your
father. But, I should not have said this. She was a beautiful,
fascinating young creature, as I remember her, and your father was
crazy to get her. But I don't think they were very happy together.
Where the blame lay I never knew for certain, and I will make no
suggestions now."
"They were uncongenial in their tastes, perhaps," said Jessie.
"Dear knows what the reason was! But she died young, poor thing! and
your father was in a sad way about it. I thought, of course, he
would marry again. But he did not--living a widower until his
death."
"Is my mother's picture very much like her, Aunt Phoebe?"
"Very like her; but not so handsome."
"She was beautiful?"
"Oh, yes; and the reigning belle before her marriage."
Jessie questioned no farther. Her aunt's recollections of her mother
were all too external to satisfy the yearnings of her heart towards
that mother. Often had she sat gazing upon the picture which
represented to her eyes the form and face of a parent she had never
seen; and sought to comprehend some of the meanings in the blue orbs
that looked down upon her so calmly. But ever had she turned away
with vague, unquiet, restless feelings.
"If my mother had lived!" she would sometimes say to herself, "she
could comprehend me. Into her ears I could speak words that now
sleep on my lips in perpetual silence.
"Oh, if my mother were alive!" sobbed the unhappy girl, as the door
closed on the retiring form of wordly-minded Aunt Phoebe. "If my
mother were only alive!
"Affianced!" she said a little while after, as thought went back to
the interview between herself and Mrs. Loring which had just closed.
"Affianced! Yes, that was the word. 'He regards you as affianced,
and so do I!' How completely has this web invested me! Is there no
way of escape?" A slight shudder went through her frame. "Ah, well,
well!"--low and mournfully--"It may be that my woman's ideal has
been too exalted, and above the standard of real men. Mr. Dexter is
handsome; kind-hearted enough, no doubt; moderately well cultivated;
rich, elegant in manner, though a little too demonstrative; and,
most to be considered, loves me--or, at least, declares himself my
lover. That he is sincere I cannot doubt. His was not the role of a
skillful actor, but living expression. I ought to be flattered if
not won by the homage he pays me."
Then she sat down, and began looking into her heart again, her keen
vision penetrating to its farthest recesses. A long fluttering sigh
breathed at length through her lips, and starting up she said,
"I am weak and foolish! Life is a reality; not a cycle of dreamy
romance. All poetry lies in the dim distance--a thing of memory or
anticipation--the present is invariably prose. How these vague
ideals do haunt the mind! Love! Love! I had imagined something
deeper, purer, holier than anything stirring in my heart for Leon
Dexter! Was I deceived? Is the poet's song but jingling rhyme?--a
play of words in trancing measure? Let me bind back into quietude
these wildly leaping impulses, and clip the wings of these girlish
fancies. They lead not the soul to happiness in a world like ours."
Again her form drooped, and again she sat for a long period so lost
in the mazes of her own thoughts, that time and place receded alike
from her consciousness. Not until dinner-time did she join her aunt.
Her cousins had returned from school, and she met them as usual at
the table. Her exterior was carefully controlled, so that the only
change visible was a slight pallor and a graver aspect. Mrs. Loring
scrutinized her countenance closely. This she bore without a sign of
embarrassment. She partook but lightly of food. After the meal
closed she retired to her own room, once more to torture her brain
in a fruitless effort to solve this great problem of her life.
CHAPTER V.
WHEN Paul Hendrickson left the house of Mrs. Loring, his mind was in
a state of painful excitement. The inopportune appearance of Dexter
had so annoyed him, that he had found it impossible to assume the
easy, cheerful air of a visitor. He was conscious, therefore, of
having shown himself in the eyes of Miss Loring to very poor
advantage. Her manner at parting had, however, reassured him. As
they stood for a moment in the vestibule he saw her in a new light.
The aspect of her countenance was changed, the eyes, that fell
beneath his earnest gaze, burned with a softened light, and he read
there a volume of tender interest at a single glance.
"I shall be pleased to see you again, Mr. Hendrickson." There was
more than a parting compliment in her tones as she said these words.
"I have never thought you stupid." What pleasure he derived from
repeating these sentences over and over again! Early in the evening
he called upon his friend Mrs. Denison.
"I have come to talk with you again about Miss Loring," said he. "I
can't get her out of my thoughts. Her presence haunts me like a
destiny."
Mrs. Denison smiled as she answered a little playfully:
"A genuine case of love; the infection taken at first sight. Isn't
it so, Paul?"
"That I love this girl, in spite of myself, is, I fear, a solemn
fact," said the young man, with an expression of face that did not
indicate a very agreeable self-consciousness.
"Fear? In spite of yourself? A solemn fact? What a contradiction you
are, Paul!" said Mrs. Denison.
"A man in love is an enigma. I have often heard it remarked, and I
now perceive the saying to be true. I am an enigma. Yes, I love this
girl in spite of myself; and the fact is a solemn one. Why? Because
I have too good reason for believing that she does not love me in
return. And yet, even while I say this, tones and words of hers,
heard only to-day, come sighing to my ears, giving to every
heart-beat a quicker impulse."
"Ah! Then you have seen Miss Loring to-day?"
"Yes," answered Hendrickson, in a quick, and suddenly excited
manner. "I called upon her this morning, and while I sat in the
parlor awaiting her appearance, who should intrude himself but that
fellow Dexter. I felt like annihilating him. The look I gave him he
will remember."
"That was bad taste, Paul," said Mrs. Denison.
"I know it. But his appearance was so untimely; and then, I had not
forgotten last evening. The fellow has a world of assurance; and he
carries it off with such an air--such a self-possession and easy
grace! You cannot disturb the dead level of his self-esteem. To have
him intruding at such a time, was more than I could bear. It
completely unsettled me. Of course, when Miss Loring appeared, I was
constrained, cold, embarrassed, distant--everything that was
repulsive; while Dexter was as bland as a June morning--full of
graceful compliments--attractive--winning. When I attempted some
frozen speech, I could see a change in Miss Loring's manner, as if
she had suddenly approached an iceberg; but, as often, Dexter would
melt the ice away by one of his sunny smiles, and her face would
grow radiant again."
"You exaggerate," said Mrs. Denison.
"The case admits of no exaggeration. I was too keenly alive to my
own position; and saw only what was."
"The medium was distorted. Excited feelings are the eyes' magnifying
glasses."
"It may be so." There was a modification in Hendrickson's manner. "I
was excited. How could I help being so?"
"There existed no cause for it, Paul. Mr. Dexter had an equal right
with yourself to visit Miss Loring."
"True."
"And an equal right to choose his own time."
"I will not deny it."
"Therefore, there was no reason in the abstract, why his
complimentary call upon the lady should create in your mind
unpleasant feelings towards the man. You had no more right to
complain of his presence there, than he had to complain of yours."
"I confess it."
"There is one thing," pursued Mrs. Denison, "in which you disappoint
me, Paul. You seem to lack a manly confidence in yourself. You are
as good as Leon Dexter--aye, a better, truer man in every sense of
the word--a man to please a woman at all worth pleasing, far better
than he. And yet you permit him to elbow you aside, as it were, and
to thrust you into a false position, if not into obscurity. If Miss
Loring is the woman God has created for you, in the name of all that
is holy, do not let another man usurp your rights. Do not let one
like Dexter bear her off to gild a heartless home. Remember that
Jessie is young, inexperienced, and unskilled in the ways of the
world. She is not schooled in the lore of love; cannot understand
all its signs; and, above all, can no more look into your heart,
than you can look into hers. How is she to know that you love her,
if you stand coldly--I might say cynically--observant at a far
distance. Paul! Paul! Women are not won in this way, as many a man
has found to his sorrow, and as you will find in the present case,
unless you act with more self-confidence and decision. Go to Miss
Loring then, and show her, by signs not to be mistaken, that she has
found favor in your eyes. Give her a chance to show you what her
real feelings are; and my word for it, you will not find her as
indifferent as you fear. If you gain any encouragement, make farther
advances; and let her comprehend fully that you are an admirer. She
will not play you false. Don't fear for a moment. She is above
guile."
Mrs. Denison ceased. Her words had inspired Hendrickson with new
feelings.
"As I parted from her to-day," he remarked, "she said, 'I shall be
pleased to see you again.' I I felt that there was meaning in the
words beyond a graceful speech. 'Not if I show myself as stupid as I
have been this morning,' was my answer. Very quickly, and with some
earnestness, she returned: 'I have never thought you stupid, Mr.
Hendrickson.'"
"Well? And what then? Did you compliment her in return; or say
something to fill her ears with music and make her heart tremble?
You could have asked no better opportunity for giving the parting
word that lingers longest and is oftenest conned over. What did you
say to that, Paul?"
"I blundered out some meaningless things, and left her abruptly,"
said Hendrickson, with an impatient sweep of his hand. "I felt that
her eyes were upon me, but had not the courage to lift my own and
read their revelation."
"Too bad! Too bad! The old adage is true always--'Faint heart never
won fair lady'--and if you are not a little braver at heart, my
young friend, you will lose this fair lady, whose hand may be had
for the asking. So, I pray you, be warned in time. Go to her this
very evening. You will probably find her alone. Dexter will hardly
call twice in the same day; so you will be free from his intrusion.
Let her see by tone, look, manner, word, that she has charmed your
fancy. Show yourself an admirer. Then act as the signs indicate."
"I will," replied Hendrickson, speaking with enthusiasm.
"Go and heaven speed you! I have no fear as to the issue. But, Paul,
let me warn you to repress your too sensitive feelings. Your
conduct, heretofore, has not been such as to give Miss Loring any
opportunity to judge of your real sentiments towards her. Your
manner has been distant or constrained. She does not, therefore,
understand you; and if her heart is really interested, she will be
under constraint when she meets you to-night. Don't mind this. Be
open, frank, at ease yourself. Keep your thoughts clear, and let not
a pulse beat quicker than now."
"That last injunction goes too far, my good friend; for my heart
gives a bound the moment my eyes rest upon her. So you see that mine
is a desperate case."
"The more need of skill and coolness. A blunder may prove fatal."
Mr. Hendrickson rose, saying,
"Time passes. A good work were well done quickly. I will not linger
when minutes are so precious."
"God speed you!" whispered Mrs. Denison, as they parted, a few
minutes later at the door.
CHAPTER VI.
IT was an hour from the time Mr. Hendrickson left the house of Mrs.
Denison before he found himself in one of Mrs. Loring's parlors. He
had been home, where a caller detained him.
Full ten minutes elapsed after his entrance, ere Jessie's light
tread was heard on the stairs. She came down slowly, and as she
entered the room, Hendrickson was struck with the singular
expression of her face. At the first glance he scarcely recognized
her.
"Are you not well, Miss Loring?" he asked, stepping forward to meet
her.
His manner was warm, and his tones full of sympathy.
She smiled faintly as she answered--
"Not very well. I have a blinding headache."
Still holding the hand she had extended to him in meeting, Mr.
Hendrickson led her to a sofa, and sat down by her side. He would
have retained the hand, but she gently withdrew it, though not in a
way that involved repulsion.
"I am sorry for your indisposition," he said, in a tone of interest
so unusual for him, that Miss Loring lifted her eyes, which had
fallen to the carpet, and looked at him half shyly--half
interrogatingly.
"If you had sent me word that you were not well, Miss Loring"--
He paused, gazing very earnestly upon her face, into which
crimsoning blushes began to come.
"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Hendrickson. I did not wish to be
excused," she answered, and then, as if she had been led to utter
more than maidenly modesty approved, averted her face suddenly, and
seemed confused. There followed a moment or two of silence; when her
visitor said, leaning close to her, and speaking in a low,
penetrating, steady voice--
"Your reply, Miss Loring, is an admission of more than I had
expected--not more than I had hoped."
He saw her start, as if she had touched an electric wire. But her
face remained averted.
"Miss Loring"--
Warmer words were on his lips, hut he hesitated to give them
utterance. There was a pause. Motionless sat the young maiden, her
face still partly turned away. Suddenly, and with an almost wild
impulse, Hendrickson caught her hand, and raising it to his lips,
said--
"I cannot hold back the words a moment longer, dear Miss Loring!
From the hour I first looked into your face, I felt that we were
made for each other; and now"--
But ere he could finish the sentence, Jessie had flung his hand away
and started to her feet.
"Miss Loring!"
He was on his feet also. For some moments they stood gazing at each
other. The countenance of Miss Loring was of an ashen hue; her lips,
almost as pallid as her cheeks, stood arching apart, and her eyes
had the stare of one frightened by some fearful apparition.
"Miss Loring! pardon my folly! Your language made me bold to utter
what had else slept in my heart eternally silent. Forget this hour!"
"Never! Never!" and she struck her hands together wildly. Her voice
had in it a wail of suffering that sent a thrill to the heart of
Paul Hendrickson.
Then recollecting herself, she struggled for the mastery over her
feelings. He saw the struggle, and awaited the result. A brief
interval sufficed to restore a degree of self-possession.
"I have nothing then to hope?" said the young man. His tones were
evenly balanced.
"Too late! Too late!" she answered, in a hoarse voice. "The cup is
dashed to pieces at my feet, and the precious wine spilled!"
"Oh, speak not thus! Recall the words!" exclaimed Hendrickson,
reaching out his hands towards her.
But she moved back a pace or (sic) too repeating the sentence--
"Too late! Too late!"
"It is never too late!" urged the now almost desperate lover,
advancing towards the maiden.
But retreating from him she answered in a warning voice--
"Touch me not! I am already pledged to another!"
"Impossible! Oh, light of my life!"
"Sir! tempt me not!" she said interrupting him, "I have said it was
too late! And now leave me. Go seek another to walk beside you in
life's pleasant ways. Our paths diverge here."
"I will not believe it, Miss Loring! This is only a terrible dream!"
exclaimed Hendrickson.
"A dream?" Jessie seemed clutching at the garments of some departing
hope. "A dream!" She glanced around in a bewildered manner.
"No--no--no." Almost despairingly the words came from her lips. "It
is no dream, Paul Hendrickson! but a stern reality. And now,"
speaking quickly and with energy, "in Heaven's name leave me!"
"Not yet--not yet," said the young man, reaching for his hands and
trying to take one of hers; but she put both of her hands behind her
and stepped back several paces.
"Spare me the pain of a harsh word, Mr. Hendrickson. I have
said--leave me!"
Her voice had acquired firmness.
"Oh, no! Smite me not with an unkind word," said Hendrickson. "I
would not have that added to the heavy burden I seem doomed to bear.
But ere I go, I would fain have more light, even if it should make
the surrounding darkness black as pall."
His impassioned manner was gone.
"I am calm," he added, "calm as you are now, Miss Loring. The
billows have fallen to the level plain under the pressure of this
sudden storm. You have told me it was _too late_. You have said,
'leave me!' I believe you, and I will go. But, may I ask one
question?"
"Speak, Mr. Hendrickson; but beware how you speak."
"Had I spoken as now this morning, would you have answered: 'Too
late?'"
He was looking intently upon her face. She did not reply
immediately, but seemed pondering. Hendrickson repeated the
question.
"I have said that it was _now_ too late." Miss Loring raised her
eyes and looked steadily upon him. "Go sir, and let this hour and
this interview pass from your memory. If you are wise, you will
forget it. Be just to me, sir. If I have betrayed the existence of
any feeling towards you warmer than respect, it has been under
sudden and strong temptation. As a man of honor, you must keep the
secret inviolate."
There was not a sign of girlish weakness about the calm speaker. Her
small head was erect; her slight body drawn to its full height; her
measured tones betrayed not a ripple of feeling.
"I am affianced, and know my duty," she added. "Know it, and will
perform it to the letter. And now, sir, spare me from this moment.
And when we meet again, as meet no doubt we shall, let it be as
friends--no more."
The pressure of despair was on the heart of Paul Hendrickson. He was
not able to rally himself. He could not retain the calm exterior a
little while before assumed.
"We part, then," he said, speaking in a broken voice--"part--and,
ever after, a great gulf must lie between us! I go at your bidding,"
and he moved towards the door. "Farewell, Miss Loring." He extended
his hand; she took it, and they stood looking into each other's
eyes.
"God bless you, and keep you spotless as the angels!" he added,
suddenly raising her hand to his lips, and kissing it with wild
fervor. In the next moment the bewildered girl was alone.
CHAPTER VII.
THE visit of Hendrickson was an hour too late, Dexter had already
been there, and pressed his suit to a formal issue. The bold suitor
had carried off the prize, while the timid one yet hesitated. Jessie
went back to her room, after her interview with Paul Hendrickson, in
spiritual stature no longer a half developed girl, but a full woman
grown. The girl's strength would no longer have sustained her. Only
the woman's soul, strong in principle and strong to endure, could
bear up now. And the woman's soul shuddered in the conflict of
passions that came like furies to destroy her--shuddered and bent,
and writhed like some strong forest-tree in the maddening whirl of a
tempest. But there was no faltering of purpose. She had passed her
word--had made a solemn life-compact, and, she resolved to die, but
not to waver.
The question as to whether she were right or wrong, it is not for us
here to decide. We but record the fact. Few women after such a
discovery would have ventured to move on a step farther. But Jessie
was not an ordinary woman. She possessed a high sense of personal
honor; and looked upon any pledge as a sacred obligation. Having
consented to become the wife of Leon Dexter, she saw but one right
course, and that was to perform, as best she could, her part of the
contract.
How envied she was! Many wondered that Dexter should have turned
aside for a portionless girl, when he might have led a jewelled
bride to the altar. But though superficial, he had taste and
discrimination enough to see that Jessie Loring was superior to all
the maidens whom it had been his fortune to meet. And so, without
pausing to look deeply into her heart, or take note of its peculiar
aspirations and impulses, he boldly pressed forward resolved to win.
And he did win; and in winning, thought, like many another foolish
man, that to win the loveliest, was to secure the highest happiness.
Fatal error! Doubly fatal!
It is impossible for any woman to pass through an ordeal like the
one that was testing the quality of Jessie Loring, and not show
signs of the inward strife. It is in no way surprising, therefore,
that, in her exterior, a marked change soon became visible. There
was a certain dignity and reserve, verging, at times, on coldness,
not seen prior to her (sic) engagment--and a quiet suppression of
familiarity, even with her most intimate friends. The same marked
change was visible in her intercourse with Mr. Dexter. She did not
meet him with that kind of repulsion which is equivalent to pushing
back with the hand. She accepted his loving ardor of speech and act;
but passively. There was no responsive warmth.
At first Mr. Dexter was puzzled, and his ardent feelings chilled. He
loved, admired, almost worshipped the beautiful girl from whom
consent had been extorted, and her quiet, cold manner, troubled his
sorely. Glimpses of the real truth dawned into his mind. He let his
thoughts go back, and went over again, in retrospection, every
particular of their intercourse--dwelling minutely upon her words,
looks, manner and emotions at the time he first pressed his suit
upon her. The result was far from satisfactory. She had not met his
advances as he had hoped; but rather fled from him--and he had
gained her only by pursuit. Her ascent had not come warmly from her
heart, but burdened with a sigh. Mr. Dexter felt that though she was
his, she had not been fairly won. The conviction troubled him.
"I will release her," he said, in a sudden glow of generous
enthusiasm. But Mr. Dexter had not the nobility for such a step. He
was too selfish a man to relinquish the prize.
"I will woo and win her still." This was to him a more satisfactory
conclusion. But he had won all of her in his power to gain. Her
heart was to him a sealed book. He could not unclasp the volume, nor
read a single page.
Earnestly at times did Jessie strive to appear attractive in the
eyes of her betrothed--to meet his ardor with returning warmth. But
the effort was accompanied with so much pain, that suffering was
unable to withdraw wholly beneath a veil of smiles.
The wordy, restless pleasure evinced by Mrs. Loring, was
particularly annoying to Jessie; so much so that any allusion by her
aunt to the approaching marriage, was almost certain to cloud her
brow. And yet so gratified was this worldly-minded woman, at the
good fortune of her niece in securing so (sic) brillant an alliance,
that it seemed as if, for a time, she could talk of nothing else.
Mr. Dexter urged an early marriage, while Jessie named a period
nearly a year in advance; but, as she could give no valid reason for
delaying their happiness so long, the time was shortened to four
months. As the day approached, the pressure on the heart of Miss
Loring grew heavier.
"Oh, if I could die!" How many times in the silence of night and in
the loneliness of her chamber did her lips give forth this
utterance.
But the striving spirit could not lay down its burden thus.
Not once, since the exciting interview we have described, had Paul
and Jessie met. At places of fashionable amusement she was a
constant attendant in company with Dexter, who was proud of her
beauty. But though her eyes searched everywhere in the crowded
audiences, in no instance did she recognize the face of Hendrickson.
In festive companies, where he had been a constant attendant, she
missed his presence. Often she heard him inquired after, yet only
once did the answer convey any intelligence. It was at an evening
party. "Where is Mr. Hendrickson? It is a long time since I have
seen him," she heard a lady say. Partly turning she recognized Mrs.
Denison as the person addressed. The answer was in so low a tone
that her ear did not make it out, though she listened with suspended
breath.
"Ah! I'm sorry," responded the other. "What is the cause?"
"A matter of the heart, I believe," said Mrs. Denison.
"Indeed is he very much depressed?"
"He is changed," was the simple reply.
"Who was the lady?"
Jessie did not hear the answer.
"You don't tell me so!" In a tone of surprise, and the lady glanced
around the room.
"And he took it very much to heart?" she went on.
"Yes. I think it will change the complexion of his whole life," said
Mrs. Denison. "He is a man of deep feeling--somewhat peculiar; over
diffident; and not given to showing himself off to the best
advantage. But he is every inch a man--all gold and no tinsel! I
have known him from boyhood, and speak of his quality from certain
knowledge."
"He will get over it," remarked the lady. "Men are not apt to go
crazy after pretty girls. The market is full of such attractions."
"It takes more than a painted butterfly to dazzle him, my friend,"
said Mrs. Denison. "His eyes are too keen, and go below the surface
at a glance. The woman he loves may regard the fact as a high
testimonial."
"But you don't suppose he is going to break his heart over this
matter."
"No--oh, no! That is an extreme disaster."
"He will forget her in time; and there are good fish in the sea
yet."
"Time is the great restorer," said Mrs. Denison; "and time will
show, I trust, that good will come from this severe trial which my
young friend is now enduring. These better natures are oftenest
exposed to furnace heat, for only they have gold enough to stand the
ordeal of fire."
"He is wrong to shut himself out from society."
"So I tell him. But he says 'wait--wait, I am not strong enough
yet.'"
"He must, indeed, take the matter deeply to heart."
"He does."
Here the voice fell to such a low measure, that Jessie lost all
distinction of words. But the few sentences which had reached her
ears disturbed her spirit profoundly--too profoundly to make even a
ripple on the surface. No one saw a change on her countenance, and
her voice, answering a moment after to the voice of a friend,
betrayed no unusual sign of feeling.
And this was all she had heard of him for months.
Once, a little while before her marriage, she met him. It was a few
weeks after these brief unsatisfactory sentences had troubled the
waters of her spirit. She had been out with her aunt for the purpose
of selecting her wedding attire; and after a visit to the
dressmaker's, was returning alone, her aunt wishing to make a few
calls at places where Jessie did not care to go. She was crossing
one of the public squares when the thought of Hendrickson came
suddenly into her mind. Her eyes were cast down at the moment.
Looking up, involuntarily, she paused, for within a few paces was
the young man himself, approaching from the opposite direction. He
paused also, and they stood with eyes riveted upon each other's
faces--both, for a time, too much embarrassed to speak. Their hands
had mutually clasped, and Hendrickson was holding that of Jessie
tightly compressed within his own.
The first to regain self-possession was Miss Loring. With a quick
motion she withdrew her hand, and moved back a single step. The
mantling flush left her brow, and the startled eyes looked calmly
into the young man's face.
"Have you been away from the city, Mr. Hendrickson?" she inquired,
in a voice that gave but few signs of feeling.
"No." He could not trust himself to utter more than a single word.
"I have missed you from the old places," she said.
"Have you? It is something, even to be missed?" He could not
suppress the tremor in his voice.
"Good morning!"
Jessie almost sprang past him, and hurried away. The tempter was at
her side; and she felt it to be an hour of weakness. She must either
yield or fly--and she fled; fled with rapid unsteady feet, pausing
not until the door of her own chamber shut out all the world and
left her alone with Heaven. Weak, trembling, exhausted she bowed
herself, and in anguish of spirit prayed--
"Oh, my Father, sustain me! Give me light, strength, patience,
endurance. I am walking darkly, and the way is rough and steep. Let
me not fall. The floods roar about me--let me not sink beneath them.
My heart is failing under its heavy burden. Oh, bear me up! The sky
is black--show me some rift in the clouds, for I am fainting in this
rayless night. And oh, if I dare pray for _him_--if the desire for
his happiness springs from no wrong sentiment--let this petition
find favor--as he asked that I might be kept spotless as the angels,
so keep him; and after he has passed through the furnace, let not
even the smell of fire be upon him. Send him a higher blessing than
that which he has lost. Oh Lord, give strength to both--especially
to her whose voice is now ascending, for she is weakest, and will
have most to endure."
For a long time after the murmur of prayer had died on her lips,
Jessie remained prostrate. When she arose at last, it was with a
slow, weary movement, dreary eyes, and absent manner. The shock of
this meeting had been severe--disturbing her too profoundly for even
the soothing influence of prayer. She did not arise from her knees
comforted--scarcely strengthened. A kind of benumbing stupor
followed.
"What ails the girl!" said Mrs. Loring to herself as she vainly
strove at dinner-time to draw her forth into lively conversation.
"She gets into the strangest states--just like her poor mother! And
like her I'm afraid, sometimes, will make herself and every one else
around her miserable. I pity Leon Dexter, if this be so. He may find
that his caged bird will not sing. Already the notes are few and far
between; and little of the old sweetness remains."
CHAPTER VIII.
A FEW days after the meeting between Mr. Hendrickson and Miss
Loring, as just mentioned, Mr. Dexter received the following
communication:
"DEAR SIR--I am scarcely well enough acquainted with you to venture
this note and request; but I happen to know of something so vital to
your happiness, that I cannot feel conscience-clear and not ask an
interview. I shall be at home this evening.
"ALICE DENISON."
Early in the evening, Dexter was at the house of Mrs. Denison.
"You have frightened me my dear madam!" he said, almost abruptly, as
he entered the parlor, where he found her awaiting him.
"I have presumed on a slight acquaintance, Mr. Dexter, to ask an
interview on a very delicate subject," Mrs. Denison replied. "May I
speak freely, and without danger of offending, when no offence is
designed?"
"I have not had the pleasure of knowing you intimately, Mrs.
Denison," replied the visitor, "but it has been no fault of mine. I
have always held you in high regard; and always been gratified with
our passing intercourse on the few occasions it has been my
privilege to meet you. That you have felt enough concern for my
welfare to ask this interview, gratifies me. Say on--and speak
freely. I am eager to hear."
"You are about to marry Jessie Loring," said Mrs. Denison.
"I am." And Dexter fixed his eyes with a look of earnest inquiry
upon the lady's face.
Mrs. Denison had come to the subject more abruptly than she at first
intended, and she was already in doubt as to her next remark; but
there could be no holding back now.
"Are you sure, Mr. Dexter, that you possess her undivided heart?"
"I marvel at your question, madam!" he answered, with a start, and
in a tone of surprise.
"Calmly, my friend." And Mrs. Denison, who was a woman of remarkably
clear perceptions, laid her hand upon his arm. "I am not questioning
idly, nor to serve any sinister or hidden purpose--but am influenced
by higher motives. Nor am I acting at the instance of another. What
passes between us this evening shall be sacred. I said that I knew
of something vital to your happiness; therefore I asked this
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