WILD JEALOUSY.
When she entered the house so abruptly, Elizabeth Parris went to her
chamber, and sitting down upon her bed, remained there in the gloom,
brooding over the passion and sorrow to which the scene below had given
rise. She wept bitterly with mingled anger and grief, striking her hands
down upon the counterpane, and sobbing aloud in unwonted excitement.
She believed that Barbara Stafford had lured her young lover from his
allegiance, and that she was left to stand quietly by and see this
stranger woman usurp and claim the affection which, almost up to that
hour, she had deemed wholly her own.
There she sat while the moments crept on, seeming to her like hours. At
intervals, through the open casements, came the murmur of voices from
the porch, mingling at times with the deeper tones of Sir William
Phipps, from where he sat in earnest conversation with his wife in the
apartment below.
At length Elizabeth rose and approached the window, flung back the
muslin draperies with an impatient movement, and looked out into the
night. Those two forms were dimly perceptible, seated side by side on
the carved seat, and a pang of jealousy, more acute than she had yet
felt, wrung her girlish heart. She leaned over the sill, striving to
catch those low tones, then, startled by the meanness of which she had
not believed herself capable, drew back, and began to walk up and down
the room, weeping with quick, convulsive sobs, which seemed suffocating
her.
Still the murmur of those voices was borne up to her tortured ear,
rising and falling unequally as if the subject of conversation were of
deep interest. This was only an added pain to the poor girl, who kept
that gloomy vigil with such unquiet thoughts for her companions.
At last the suspense and wretchedness became too great for her young
heart to bear. With it all, there started up in her mind the wilful
pride and determination of a petted child accustomed to being treated as
the idol of all about her.
"She has stolen him from me--bad, designing woman!" she exclaimed. "But
this shall not last--she shall not stay here--I will not be braved by
her and set aside that she may be worshipped! She shall see, and Norman
Lovel, too; they are laughing at me, I dare say, at this very
moment--but they shall not laugh long."
She approached the window once more and looked out. Barbara and Norman
Lovel stood side by side, as before; her hand rested on his arm, he was
looking into her face. Elizabeth could not clearly distinguish his
features, but her jealous fancy required no aid to help her paint that
glance. Her own eyes had drooped so often beneath its passionate fervor,
her girlish heart, ever tremulous, had responded so fully to the tones
of that thrilling voice--yes, she could imagine it all!
She flung down the draperies again, and, forcing back the tears which
had fairly pained her cheeks as they poured over them, she left the
chamber and hurried down-stairs to put in force a resolve formed during
her unquiet vigil.
When Sir William Phipps conducted his wife into the house, at the
conclusion of that embarrassing scene, they passed through the long
passage and entered an apartment which the governor occupied as his
study.
"I was hardly expecting your arrival to-night," Lady Phipps said, as he
placed a chair and sat down near her.
"I made all haste, for I was anxious to return--"
"Be careful how you arrive again in the dark," she said, interrupting
him in a playful tone, through which some faint annoyance that her
husband's mistake had occasioned might have been detected.
"I regret that," replied Sir William, gravely; "but supposing the lady
could be no other than my own fair wife, I did not hesitate to greet
her."
"Let us say no more about it--we will leave the lady to herself for a
little, when she will have recovered from her agitation."
"Is she your friend from the farm house?"
"Yes--it is Mistress Barbara Stafford; you remember the name, and the
shipwreck."
"I remember; and you have persuaded her to become our guest at last?"
"I have. You do not disapprove? I thought you desired it."
"Whatever you do, fair lady, must be well done--any arrangement that
affords you pleasure always meets with my approval."
Lady Phipps made some laughing remark concerning his habitual courtesy,
but Sir William scarcely heard her words. He had fallen into deep
thought, so vague and singular that he was himself at a loss to trace
its source. He remembered how the presence of that woman had affected
him during the holy services of the church, causing his hand to tremble
when he raised the sacramental wine to his lips, and rousing emotions
which carried his mind far from the solemn interest of the occasion.
Then again that very night--the touch of that head seemed yet upon his
heart--the trace of the kiss he had pressed upon her mouth lingered
still upon his lips, even the pure embrace of his wife had failed to
obliterate it--the entrancing magic of those eyes followed him and
burned into his very soul, starting up like some Circean enchantment
even between himself and the faithful woman by his side.
With a strong effort he banished those wild reflections, and roused
himself to return an answer to the idle question his wife had asked,
appearing calm and unconcerned.
"And you are pleased with the lady?" he said, quietly.
"She is charming," returned Lady Phipps; "her manner is perfect, she is
a woman of great natural gifts, heightened by cultivation. There is an
irresistible grace in her slightest word and movement, an inexplicable
charm in every smile and glance, yet--"
"Well," said Sir William, as she paused, "go on, and yet?"
"I cannot tell! I feel drawn toward her by some unaccountable spell; it
is as if she attracted me at will, biased my thoughts by her judgment,
and held me, during our conversations, completely under her sway."
"She might easily be a very dangerous companion, were this not a mere
fancy."
"It is no fancy, Sir William--you will yourself remark it. There is
little Bessie, who dislikes her extremely, and yet, at Mistress
Stafford's bidding, she will sit down at her feet and listen for hours
to her conversation, like one entranced."
"Is not this hypocrisy in our little Bess?"
"No--oh, no. The child is truth and sincerity itself! I have seen her
strive to resist the spell, hovering restlessly about like a
half-charmed bird; but Mistress Stafford would follow her continually
with those wonderful eyes, and in the end, by her power, whatever it may
be, she is certain to conquer."
"But why does Elizabeth Parris dislike her?"
"The girl is jealous; Norman Lovel, she tells me, has neglected her of
late; she complains that this stranger lures him away, and fears that
she will in the end wholly alienate his affection."
"And is this true, or but the suspicion of a foolish girl?"
"I cannot tell; certain it is that since Mistress Stafford's arrival
here Norman has been thrown much in her society, but I cannot believe
that she would exercise any undue influence over him, or seek to create
a coldness between those two young hearts whose mutual affection has
been so beautiful to look upon."
Sir William was silent again for a moment; his wife's description of the
influence which the stranger exerted over them all accorded so entirely
with the impression she had created upon his own feelings, that he was
startled and perplexed.
"And what account does she give of herself--who is she, and what has
brought her here to this new world, alone and unprotected?"
"She speaks vaguely of her past or of her future plans. She told me that
she might perhaps soon return to England; then, as we were talking, she
fainted suddenly away, and fell senseless in my arms, just as she had
done during my visit to her at Goody Brown's."
"It is very strange," said Sir William. "These are wayward times in
which we live, and it behoves us all to be well upon our guard; we know
not in what way the great adversary of souls may weave his snares for
us."
"It grieves me to think ill of her, my husband, and yet, when out of her
sight, evil forebodings rise in my mind, which the first glance of her
eyes is sure to dispel. To-night her manner was so wayward--another
would have explained--would have called out--no word, no sign. She
neither moved nor seemed to note the presence of any human being."
"I must converse with this stranger; after receiving her as our friend
and guest, it is meet that we should know somewhat more concerning her."
"She will set every doubt at rest in your mind, of that I am certain. I
know not what to advise, but I am glad that you are returned, for I was
sorely puzzled how to act."
"Where are our friends? I fear we left them somewhat unceremoniously."
"Let us go back to them," returned Lady Phipps. "I believe, in truth, we
should offer some apology for our abrupt departure."